Nwadiebube closed his eyes.

“Leave,” he repeated.

That was all it took.

The doors shut behind her with a muted finality, and for the first time that night, the room felt truly silent.

Nwadiebube exhaled, the breath leaving him slower than it had entered. His hand clenched at his side, then relaxed. The fire crackled, indifferent to the weight of revelation it had borne witness to.

A god.

The word no longer felt abstract. It pressed against his thoughts, invasive and dangerous. Empire, conquest, influence, those had once felt like the summit of ambition. Now they seemed like scaffolding around something far greater, something far more terrifying.

He turned sharply and strode from the room, robes whispering against the stone floor.

There was only one person he trusted to anchor him when his mind threatened to spiral. One voice that could cut through illusion without feeding it.

“My sister,” he murmured to himself.

Tonight, he would not face these thoughts alone.

Nwadiebube’s feet dragged him toward his sister’s quarters, each step heavier than the last. The palace corridors were quiet at this hour, lantern light casting long, wavering shadows against the walls. By the time he reached her door, the weight in his chest had settled into something dull and aching.

The guards stationed outside stiffened at his approach. His late appearance unsettled them; the hour alone was enough to give pause. They exchanged brief, uncertain glances, hands hovering near their weapons, torn between duty and decorum. The princess would almost certainly be asleep.

But he was the king.

The words they might have spoken died in their throats. One after the other, they swallowed their hesitation and bowed deeply, stepping aside as he passed. Nwadiebube did not acknowledge them. His mind was elsewhere.

He stopped before the door to his sister’s room and lifted his hand. He knocked once, no more. Anything further would have been an intrusion. Sleep, after all, was a luxury for those who lived on their stage; not a necessity, merely a kindness the night sometimes allowed.

He did not have to wait long.

The door opened to reveal his sister standing in the soft light of her chambers, clad in a simple nightgown. A frown tugged at her features, annoyance already forming at being disturbed so late, until her eyes met his. Whatever rebuke she had prepared vanished the instant she took in his expression: the tension in his brow, the weariness etched too deeply to be from the day alone.

Without a word, she reached for him.

Her fingers closed around his hand and she pulled him inside, shutting the door firmly behind them as if to keep the rest of the world out. Only then did she turn to face him fully, her earlier irritation replaced with unmistakable concern.

“Did something happen, brother?” she asked softly, her voice gentle but urgent, as though afraid that if she spoke too loudly, whatever was holding him together might finally break.

Nwadiebube did not answer immediately. He remained where he stood, eyes closed, as though gathering his thoughts or steadying himself against them. The silence stretched.

Nwadimma did not press him. Silence, in moments like this, was not empty, it was information. She watched him carefully, already piecing together possibilities. Whatever had gone wrong was not a failure of logistics or politics. This was something heavier. Something that had shaken his certainty.

At last, he exhaled and opened his eyes.

“Nothing is wrong, sister,” Nwadiebube said, his voice calm yet threaded with something unmistakable. Excitement. “I have simply been exposed to things I once thought impossible.”

Her brows drew together slightly at that.

And just like that, he began to speak.

He told her everything of his conversation with Mei, of the patterns they had noticed, the implications drawn from her master’s actions, and the speculation that followed. He spoke quickly at first, words tumbling over one another as if he feared the thoughts might slip away if he slowed. As the meaning of it all settled in, his pace steadied.

Nwadimma listened without interruption.

Her expression mirrored his own from earlier that night, disbelief giving way to excitement, excitement edged with fear. The idea was vast, unsettling, and dangerously plausible. For a brief moment, all those emotions warred across her face.

Then they stilled.

The princess’s gaze sharpened, her features smoothing into something thoughtful and composed. This was where she excelled, where emotion gave way to clarity. She turned the information over carefully, testing each piece against what little they truly knew.

Finally, she spoke.

“If she and you could reach this conclusion simply by observing her master’s actions,” Nwadimma said slowly, “then I doubt her master himself has not already considered it.”

She lifted her eyes to meet her brother’s.

“We know very little of him,” she continued, her voice steady, “but what we do know is enough. Enough to tell us that he is neither careless nor shortsighted.”

“Mei’s defiance, her hopes, even her belief that you could become her salvation… all of that may already be accounted for.”

Nwadiebube stiffened slightly.

“I have been thinking” Nwadimma continued. “Her master keeps a tight grip on his pawns. Too tight for her actions to be mere rebellion. It would not be unreasonable to assume that her ambitions, her desire for freedom, her attempts to sway you were anticipated long before she ever set foot in your court.”

As the words left his sister’s mouth, the earlier excitement that had filled his chest began to fade. The thrill of discovery dulled, replaced by something colder and far more sobering. His sister’s reasoning settled in his mind, forcing him to revisit the revelation from a different angle.

If this was true… then none of it was accidental.

“With a plan so obvious,” he continued, pacing now, his steps slow and deliberate, “with a move laid so plainly before us, why would we willingly fall into the trap set for us?”

He stopped mid-step.

The answer came unbidden.

A frown carved itself deeply into his face.

Nwadimma saw it at once and nodded, her expression grave. “Indeed, brother. This is a trap we must willingly fall into.”

She folded her arms, gaze steady. “If before I was against you accepting these envoys, against taking the helping hand they offered then now I believe we must do the opposite.”

Her eyes hardened with resolve.

“We must accept their aid.”

Nwadiebube resumed walking, the room suddenly feeling smaller as the pieces fell into place. The hesitation that once clouded his judgment gave way to clarity. His sister was right, painfully so. Avoiding the trap would only place them at a disadvantage.

It was clear now that this master was someone who possessed the knowledge, the secret required for a human to ascend to godhood. In that light, it could almost be called fortune that they had been chosen as the target to receive it.

Almost.

Because such knowledge was not a gift. It was leverage.

It was power in its purest, most dangerous form, and power was something that could never be left beyond their grasp. Nwadiebube began to understand that what lay before them was a naked threat, one not issued by Mei herself, but by her master.

Through Mei, he was speaking to them.

He was showing them his hand while simultaneously reminding them how little they truly mattered to him. Any kingdom of the eastern continent could have been chosen. Any power across the world might have been granted this opportunity or burden.

The fact that it was them carried no special meaning.

And that realization was the most chilling part.

If another kingdom were to obtain this knowledge, their position as a dominant force in the eastern continent would crumble. The balance of power would tilt sharply, and it would do so in a direction profoundly unfavorable to them. Influence, authority, even survival, everything they had built would be placed at risk.

So yes, as his sister had said, this was a trap they must willingly fall into.

Especially now that they were aware of the danger.

To refuse would be to surrender control. To hesitate would be to invite irrelevance. Any other course of action would not be caution, it would be foolishness.

Both of them fell into silence as Nwadiebube let out a long sigh. He truly hated it when the godlings were proven right. Yet there was no denying it now, the caution they had shown, the immediate measures they had taken upon the appearance of the envoys, had all been justified.

The godlings had sensed it long before he had.

They had been wary of this master whose name was still unknown, and now Nwadiebube and his sister were experiencing the reason firsthand. A single, subtle move barely more than a nudge, had left them with no room to maneuver. There was no counterplay available to them, no path that did not lead into the same camp as him.

And that was what frightened him most.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep