Iver sat in the courtyard, gazing at the crescent moon as he poured himself drinks.
The summer night breeze was hardly cold; rather, it was pleasantly cool. The Royal Garden was empty, with only fairyland-like White Mist billowing through it.
The White Mist rising from the lake flowed around Iver's feet. It reached above his ankles, but not quite to his knees.
Suddenly, Iver raised his head and looked toward the depths of the mist.
"—What brings you here?"
Iver spoke without warning.
A dark silhouette gradually approached through the mist ahead.
It was none other than the First Black Prime Minister, the lich Grunewald.
A plain skeleton draped in a tattered black robe slowly walked over.
"I came to chat."
Grunewald's skull clicked as a low voice echoed from the depths of Iver's heart.
He sat down in the pavilion opposite Iver.
The three Jade Locks hanging from his chest knocked against his ribs, producing crisp clinking sounds. Apart from the dim yellow flame flickering inside the old skeleton's skull, there was not the slightest trace of supernatural power on him.
"I assume this is about the Fallen Angel?"
Iver asked casually. "What would you like to know?"
He poured the old lich a cup of wine and handed it to him.
The old lich lowered his head and looked at the wine. Having no flesh on his body at all, he remained silent for a while.
"Do you have a chance of winning?" Grunewald asked.
"There's no such thing as a 'chance of winning.' I have to win. If I lose, I die."
Iver's tone was firm.
He had never had any room to retreat.
Among all the enemies he was destined to face in the future, the Fallen Angel was one of the weakest. If he could