Tamsin’s emerald-green velvet gown was low-cut, revealing the faintly dimming etchings of the Soul-Ledger seal across her porcelain cleavage."Mayfair's twenty secondary clans have already withdrawn their troops from the Palace perimeter," Tamsin whispered, looking up into Gavin's sharp, defined jawline. Her soft hand stroked his sturdy thigh with complete submission. "Arabella Vane's sacrifice and Inquisitor Valerius's fall scared them half to death. No one is willing to die to defend the Crown Prince anymore."Gavin gently patted the top of Tamsin’s head, letting his fingers sweep through her soft blonde hair before stepping toward the desk.There, Selene was examining a secret map of the Mayfair Palace's underground tunnels spread out over the mahogany wood. Her purple irises flickered with a long-suppressed, forbidden vengeance."The Royal Palace is guarded by three thousand Royal Vanguard soldiers and three Palace Archmages," Selene said, pointing to a red dot in the center of th

A long, thick wool coat embroidered with Calloway rune carvings was draped loosely over his shoulders. In his right hand, Gavin gripped a porcelain teacup filled by Tamsin. Thin wisps of jasmine-scented steam wafted upward, cutting through the fishy stench lingering from the bloodshed of the previous night.To the left of the throne, Princess Regent Rosalind von Valois sat slumped upon a velvet cushion placed on the floor. Her luxurious white silk gown, torn at the upper thigh, remained unchanged. The silver seal of the Soul-Ledger on her smooth inner thigh glowed faintly every time Gavin sipped his tea, serving as a permanent reminder of the princess's new status as a mana-supplying servant.Below the throne steps, Aurelius lay stiffly like a crippled dog. His shattered Magic Core had withered and frailified his body overnight. The man who once ruled the Kingdom with an iron fist could now barely even lift his head from the cold marble."Master Gavin," Selene's voice broke the silenc

The iron war-dreadnought Gotteszorn, carrying the crippled Grand Duke Victor and the armless, bleeding Legate Ignatius, slammed into the naval fortresses of Normandy. By noon, the entire European mainland was convulsed in terror. A single man—a disgraced former pawnbroker from the slums of Soho—had crushed the military might of the Iron Empire and spat in the face of the Vatican of Magic.Inside the high-vaulted private chambers of Mayfair Palace, Gavin Calloway leaned back on a carved obsidian throne. The atmosphere was heavy with the rich scent of ozone, burning myrrh, and the raw, metallic tang of the newly absorbed Imperial Iron Mana Spring. His bare chest was crisscrossed by glowing silver circuits of the Soul-Ledger, pulsing with immense, refined power.At his feet, Lady Archmage Vivienne knelt, her slender hands carefully polishing his knee-high leather boots with dark velvet. Her former pride as Chief Palace Archmage was completely stripped away, replaced by an intoxicating, b

From the snow-draped fortresses of Bavaria to the sun-drenched vine estates of Lombardy, kings, grand dukes, and merchant princes awoke to find the seals on their royal vaults rewritten. The golden cross of the Vatican had faded from their ancestral ledgers, replaced by the silver-and-emerald brand of Shop No. 13. Every loan, every war-bond, every soul-mortgage taken out over the last century was now owned by Gavin Calloway—and he was demanding immediate liquid settlement or spiritual collateral.Panicked and desperate, forty-two monarchs and sovereign rulers crossed the English Channel under a white flag of truce, convening in the grand ballroom of Mayfair Palace for an emergency council: The Debtors’ Congress.The ballroom was an arena of suffocating tension.Huge crystal chandeliers cast an amber glow over the polished marble floor, reflecting the anxious faces of Europe’s most powerful elite. They sat in arched rows of velvet chairs, surrounded by two hundred heavily armed shadow-

The news of the Northern Dragon Imperium’s submission traveled faster than storm-driven lightning. Within three days, every major kingdom across Western Europe had replaced its traditional royal seals with the silver-and-emerald crest of Shop No. 13. The Western continent was no longer a fractured tapestry of warring dynasties; it had become an integrated financial and magical domain governed by a single, absolute law—the Soul-Ledger of Gavin Calloway.Yet, as the silver twilight settled over Mayfair Palace, a dark, heavy shadow began to creep across the eastern horizon.Inside the imperial map room of the palace, a massive table of carved obsidian projected a three-dimensional magical map of the known world. Gavin Calloway stood at the head of the table, his midnight-blue coat draped loosely over his shoulders, revealing his bare chest covered in the intricate, glowing silver circuits of his Peak Sovereign Archmage core.Beside him stood his inner circle: Selene, her twin daggers gle