Met with such a suggestion, Eberhard was left flabbergasted. He had only served Max for less than a week, and now this young king was already asking him to walk into the Wind Dragon Empire and make Emperor Oswald submit.

He did not know if he should choose loyalty to the old or the new. Emperor Oswald had once been the ruler of all wind dragons, while Max was the man who had taken over by force and placed Eberhard in a position he had never expected to hold. But the look in Max’s eyes, and the way he put it, made the future sound far better than watching the elves run wild and strip the Wind Dragon lands away piece by piece.

If Max took over, his clansmen could reclaim the capital city and rebuild. Maybe, if he played his cards well enough, he could even raise a city that belonged to him.

That small temptation was enough for him, and Max saw it clearly in the eyes of the cunning old dragon.

Marcus remained silent, but his expression darkened. Sigmund lowered his gaze, as if pretending not to understand where this conversation was going. Arvid’s fingers stopped moving on the table, his eyes narrowing slightly. None of them spoke, but the air in the room had changed.

They were all serving Max now.

But they had not forgotten that this rule was still new, still raw, and still built on force.

"I can certainly try, but Emperor Oswald is very prideful. No matter what, he would rather die than ever submit to you..."

"Exactly," Max cut him off.

The temperature in the room dropped.

Eberhard swallowed hard, as if a thick cork were stuck deep in his throat.

"Are you asking me to... assassinate him?"

"Did I say that?" Max smiled only with his eyes, while his lips remained flat.

"No, King. No such thing." His blood ran cold. The look in Max’s eyes was threatening and tricky at the same time, like he was giving an order without ever saying it out loud.

Marcus’s jaw tightened slightly. Sigmund remained still. Arvid looked away for a moment, his face unreadable. None of them dared to interfere.

"Then you know what you must do in case negotiations go south. I can trust you with at least that much, as my new head of the Wind Dragon Clan House. Right?" Max reached out and patted Eberhard’s shoulder firmly.

The touch looked casual.

But to Eberhard, it felt less like approval and more like a death sentence.

"Yes, my king." Eberhard lowered his head, his eyes shining with a mysterious light. It was not simple obedience. There was hesitation there, but also calculation, as if he was weighing his loyalty, his whole life, and the possibilities he could no longer ignore. The Dragon Region was changing too quickly, and the power struggles that would soon flood every clan were already beginning to take shape inside his mind.

"Good. I knew I could trust you."

Eberhard’s body shivered in response to those words. They sounded gentle, almost approving, but coming from Max’s mouth, they felt more like chains tightening around his neck.

"As for you, Arvid," Max continued, slowly turning his head. "I have some plans for you. It will be a long mission, but I want you to turn Freya against her husband. I don’t care how you do it. I need her to start supporting me as well, no matter what lies you have to spin."

For a moment, Arvid did not answer.

The old thunder dragon’s fingers rested against the table, his expression calm, but his gaze had grown sharper. Unlike Eberhard, he did not look frightened. He looked thoughtful.

He might have been loyal to Emperor Thor for many years, but his loyalty to Freya had always been older, quieter, and far more personal. She was his niece, a woman he had watched grow into a powerful dragon in her own right, yet still forced to stand in the shadow of a husband whose ambitions could drag her into ruin.

"Yes, my king," Arvid said at last.

His voice was steady.

If Max’s plan had involved hurting Freya, Arvid might have hesitated. He might have resisted. But turning her against Thor? Making her choose a future where she could survive, rise, and become more than a wife standing in an emperor’s shadow?

That was different.

Arvid saw opportunities better than Eberhard. And this time, Max’s order did not go against Freya’s interests. It only went against Thor’s.

For that, Arvid had no complaints, even if he had to lie a little.

"Great. Now that that’s out of the way, let’s discuss the possible locations for the four family cities, where each one of you will rule as the head of your clan."

Max pulled out a large map and spread it across the table.

The discussion quickly turned heated.

Each of them had different ideas. Marcus wanted the Ice Dragon city close enough to the new capital to act as its first shield. Sigmund argued that the Fire Dragon city needed to be built near the volcanic lands, where their bloodline would grow stronger and their soldiers would be easier to train.

Eberhard kept pushing for a location that would give the Wind Dragons easy access to the eastern borders, while Arvid quietly pointed out that the Thunder Dragons needed open skies and high peaks if they were going to defend the kingdom properly.

At first, Max had already chosen several locations in his mind, but the longer they talked, the more he realized these old dragons knew their lands better than he did. They corrected him. Then they corrected each other. Voices rose, fingers tapped against the map, and several times, one of them nearly stood up just to prove his point.

It took the five of them the entire night to choose the locations of the four main family cities. They drew potential borders for the current Dragon Region, then another set for the future, after Max took over everything. After that, they chose the location of the capital city, the place where Max would sit as the one and only ruler.

By the time morning came, the map was covered in lines, markings, and circles.

They had also discussed how the four clans would support Max in every major matter, from politics and economy to military defense. Each clan would still act as its own entity, keeping its own bloodline, traditions, and ruling house, but all of them would stand under one name.

Voidstar Empire.

A sudden knock early in the morning stopped their debates.

The room fell silent.

The door opened, revealing Clotilde standing there with her spear in hand, using it to support her weight. Her face was pale, and the way her fingers tightened around the shaft of the spear made it clear she had forced herself to come here.

"If I may," she said, her voice strained but steady, "I need to speak with King Maximus in private. It’s an emergency."