Lionel Leonberk dreamed a long dream. It was less a dream than a recollection, a retrospective of his entire life.

Days of humiliation spent ruling a kingdom groaning beneath the Empire's heel. A life in which he had persevered and given his all, only for nothing to go as he wished. Memories riddled with failure and disgrace that he never wanted to revisit.

And yet, when he woke, the first thing he felt was an overwhelming sense of loss. With sorrowful eyes, he brushed his hand over the empty place beside him in bed. The cold fabric, devoid of warmth, only deepened his longing.

But he made himself master his feelings. Surely that long dream was the sort of regret that visited those nearing the end of their lives. The thought that he would soon see her again eased his melancholy.

Thus his day began in rather poor spirits, but despite that, his head was strangely clear. The medicine prescribed by the royal physician had been fairly effective at easing the pain of his wounds, though it never relieved it entirely. It also left his mind clouded, as though he were dreaming even while awake.

Even before that, his head had never felt this clear. The headaches and stifling pressure that had plagued him ever since taking the throne had vanished as if they had never existed. His whole body brimmed with vitality. He felt as though he had been born anew.

Perhaps this was what people meant by a dying candle's final flare, he thought. Until he saw the pale, unblemished skin exposed through his disheveled clothes.

"Ah..."

Lionel froze. Belatedly, he lifted his shirt and stared with wide eyes.

There was nothing there. No filthy bandages that soaked through with pus and discharge no matter how often they were changed, even three times a day. No wounds rotting black beneath them. Nothing. These were wounds that both Dotrin's warlocks and the royal physician had given up trying to heal. It was a miracle.

He knew at once who had worked this miracle.

"So the boy was telling the truth."

He had said there was an elixir that could save even someone on death's doorstep, so long as they still breathed. It had been no lie. Come to think of it, he vaguely recalled Ian visiting him.

Lionel frowned. He could hardly tell where the dream ended and reality began. He clutched his head.

["It will be over soon! Please, bear it a little longer!"]

The moment he recalled that firm voice, heard while he howled like an animal in excruciating pain, memories sleeping deep within him began to surface one by one. The terrible loss and agony when something shattered inside his body. The unfamiliar energy that filled its place before he could collect himself. The exhaustion and fullness, those contradictory sensations amid which his memories finally broke off.

Then, suddenly, his consciousness reached the boundary between dream and reality.

["When you wake, Your Majesty, you may be angry with me for wasting such precious medicine. Or perhaps, now that you are no longer the man you once were, you may thank me."]

The boy's voice, heard as the pain began to subside, had certainly been real.

["But thanks are entirely unwarranted."]

That voice, somehow both familiar and strange, was harder to place.

["As the sworn ally of the Royal House of Leonberk, I have merely done my duty. All you need do, Your Majesty, is live out your remaining days with your house's oath engraved upon your heart."]

And those last words he had heard before losing consciousness surely could not have been real.

"The royal house's oath..."

Amid his confusion, he recalled the oath of the Royal House of Leonberk, of which his eldest son had spoken in the dream.

A kingdom founded by people who had fled the Empire's exploitation and tyranny. A monarch chosen by those suffering from savage monsters and bitter cold. The vow the founder of the Royal House of Leonberk had made before them.

"I shall live as king of the weak."

The instant he repeated those words, his heart began to pound. A surge of heat followed, setting his chest ablaze. Hot breath escaped between his teeth. It felt as though a fire had been lit in the very center of his chest.

An inexplicable elation, an incomprehensible fullness. Confronted with feelings he had never known in his life, the king could only breathe hard. The heat would not readily subside. He almost feared his body would burn up.

But the fire dwindled as suddenly as it had arisen. When Lionel came to his senses, only a faint warmth remained, drifting through his body. At some point, the heat coursing through him gathered in one place: somewhere in his chest, where it had first arisen.

The gathered heat vanished as though it had never existed. What remained was a heavy mass, pulsing like a heart.

"Mana?"

It was mana. And its nature was entirely different from that of the mana he had possessed before. Mana of the heart. Realizing at last what that heavy mass inside him was, Lionel looked utterly dazed.

Though his lack of talent had allowed him to forge only two Rings, he was nonetheless a Knight of the Ring. Yet he had awakened to find his perfectly sound Rings gone and a new heart sitting in their place. It would have been stranger if he had not been bewildered.

But the truly bewildering thing was not the change in his mana. He was about to call a maid so he could at least change his sweat-soaked shirt when he froze again.

Not far from the bed stood the mirror Margarita had used in life. Within it was a man whose face was both familiar and strange. He looked exactly like the boy, differing only in age and hair color. If Lionel had to name one more difference, it was that the man in the mirror had slightly gentler eyes.

Lionel raised a hand and touched his face. The silver-haired man in the mirror did the same. He was dumbfounded. The man in the mirror looked equally dumbfounded. Only then did he realize that he was looking at his own reflection.

Though he had no idea why his hair, bleached white, had turned a mysterious silver, or where all the wrinkles on his face had gone.

KNOCK, KNOCK.

As he stared blankly into the mirror, someone knocked on the door.

"Enter," Lionel said quietly after a moment's hesitation.

The door soon opened, revealing the kingdom's leaders, led by the Commander of the Royal Knights. They started, eyes widening at his changed appearance. Lionel frowned, at a loss as to how he should explain. But he need not have worried.

The Commander of the Royal Knights, Grand Marshal Bielefeld, Chancellor Kirgayen—not one of them asked what had happened.

"Our congratulations on your recovery, Your Majesty!"

They simply offered their congratulations, their faces filled with emotion, as though they already knew everything.

Now it was Lionel who had to ask them what had transpired.

"What in the world has happened? I understand that the boy healed me, but I cannot fathom what now resides in my heart, or why my appearance has changed."

The Commander of the Royal Knights stepped forward to answer.

"His Highness the Crown Prince said that your two Rings would be unable to contain most of the elixir's energy and would let it escape. Thus, to make that energy wholly yours, he shattered your Rings and created a new Mana Heart."

It was difficult to believe. He had often seen those of great attainment shatter their enemies' Rings, but never in his life had he heard of anyone creating a Mana Heart inside another person's body at will. Yet he could not disbelieve it. The heavy mass he felt in his chest was proof.

"Congratulations, Your Majesty."

Seeing him unconsciously feel his chest, the old knight offered another unexpected congratulation. When asked why, he smiled.

"You have acquired an amount of mana comparable to a Master's. It will be of little use immediately, but with unceasing effort, that power will one day become fully yours to command."

He could only marvel once more. He had thought the mass in his chest felt substantial, but had never realized it amounted to so much. Soon, however, he put aside his astonishment and frowned.

"You speak as though I might become a Silver Lion."

"If you gain insight worthy of your power and attain true mastery, even that would not be impossible."

"I know well that with my aptitude, even a minor accomplishment will be difficult, let alone mastery."

His meager talent had kept him from breaking through the barrier despite acquiring mana equal to a Master's. The renewed thought that such precious medicine had found the wrong recipient weighed heavily on him.

"Where is the boy—the crown prince?"

"His Highness is resting to recover his strength."

Lionel reproached himself all the more.

Having performed the miracle of changing the very nature of another person's mana, how could the effort have been slight? No doubt the boy had poured into this undeserving cause the effort he should have devoted to the kingdom's future, heedless of the toll on his own body. His eldest son seemed so foolish to him. Yet he also cherished the heart that had used an elixir of unparalleled worth on his father without hesitation. His feelings were too tangled for him to speak readily.

As he merely sighed, Marquis Bielefeld gave him a gentle smile. He explained that only half the elixir had been used for the treatment; the crown prince had kept the remaining half. That brought Lionel considerable comfort.

"I must go see him."

When Lionel looked ready to set out for the First Prince's Palace at once, Marquis Bielefeld stepped forward to dissuade him.

"He said he must rest for a while to recover his strength, and asked that no one come to see him until he emerges of his own accord."

Then he added,

"He said he would leave the remaining matters for Your Majesty to conclude."

"That boy worked himself to the bone, running from one task to the next. If tending to my troubles has worn him down enough to make him say that, what would I not do for him, let alone finish his work?"

With those words, Lionel turned to Siorin Kirgayen.

"Chancellor, prepare a report on everything that happened in my absence."

"You have only just recovered from your injuries, Your Majesty. I believe you ought to rest a little longer."

Lionel merely smiled at the chancellor's words.

"Never in my life have I felt more vigorous or clearheaded. So put aside your worries about me and summon Teuton's representative."

These were not empty words. His body truly brimmed with vitality. Even the anxious urgency that had made him feel constantly pursued had vanished as though it had never been. With that anxiety gone, so much had changed. His narrow field of vision broadened, his constricted thinking expanded. He felt capable now of countless things that had once been beyond him.

Countless tasks that needed immediate attention sprang to mind. He did not delay. This was different from the anxiety that had ruled an ineffectual monarch's entire life. This was motivation. Passion. It was also the sense of duty of his youth, lost amid countless setbacks and failures.

"Chancellor, see that there is no delay whatsoever."

Lionel's voice rang with more strength than ever before. In his calm eyes, a keen light burned.

Seeing this, the chancellor and grand marshal could no longer dissuade him. They accepted his command and left the royal bedchamber.

Meanwhile, the very person responsible for the king's tangled feelings, Crown Prince Adrian Leonberk, was holed up in his own palace. Contrary to the king and countless others who imagined him bedridden, replenishing his depleted strength, he looked perfectly vigorous.

"To think my original body rejected me because of the pact with the royal house!"

In his hand, he held the royal house's treasured sword, shining resplendently.