The Last Human: Unlimited Power, Unlimited Beauties

Nemris and I entered one of the castle’s dining halls.

Apparently, somebody had heard “dinner for two” and interpreted it as “prepare for famine.”

The room itself was enormous, because normal-sized architecture had apparently insulted the royal family sometime in the distant past and they had never forgiven it. 

A polished table stretched through the center beneath chandeliers glittering with dozens of tiny lights. Tall windows lined one wall, though evening had already turned them into black mirrors reflecting the warmth inside.

But the table was what really caught my attention.

Food covered it.

Not a few plates.

Not even a respectable banquet.

An agricultural emergency.

Roasted meats sat on silver platters large enough to double as shields. Baskets of fresh bread steamed gently beneath folded cloth. Bowls contained vegetables glazed with sauces, thick soups, sliced fruits, cheeses, pastries, and several colorful dishes made from monsters whose original shapes I preferred not to imagine while chewing.

There were two prepared seats.

Two.

I looked at the food.

Then at the seats.

Then at Nemris.

“Did someone tell the kitchen we were bringing an army?”

She glanced at the table like there was absolutely nothing strange about it.

“No.”

“That’s concerning.”

I pulled out my chair and sat.

Nemris took the seat beside me.

Beside.

Not across the table.

I noticed.

Obviously.

I also chose not to comment on it because occasionally my survival instincts managed to drag themselves out of bed and report for duty.

Servants moved quietly around us, filling plates and arranging utensils with terrifying precision.

I glanced around the otherwise empty room.

No King Viar.

No Queen Milfy.

No Leyra.

No Zeria.

Just me, Nemris, enough servants to make lifting a spoon feel like a supervised activity, and enough food to destabilize grain prices.

“The royal family isn’t joining us?”

Nemris unfolded her napkin and placed it neatly across her lap.

“They have another matter requiring attention.”

I looked toward her.

“And you don’t?”

“I have different responsibilities.”

“Convenient.”

Her eyes shifted toward me.

“How?”

“You escape mysterious family obligations and get dinner instead.”

Nemris picked up her utensils.

“That is not what happened.”

“Sounds exactly like what happened.”

“One of the advantages of serving as Lord Commander is that my duties do not always overlap with royal matters.”

I nodded slowly.

“More knight than princess.”

She paused for the briefest moment.

Then gave a small nod.

“Yes.”

The answer came without hesitation or embarrassment.

Just fact.

That was Nemris.

She had royal blood, probably enough formal titles to make introductions require water breaks, and yet she carried herself far more naturally in armor than I could imagine her wearing a crown.

Knowing what Zeria had told me made the statement land differently.

Nemris had once wanted books.

Quiet shelves.

A librarian’s life.

Instead, the kingdom had looked at her power and decided she belonged holding a sword.

Life had a wonderful habit of asking what you wanted and then using the answer as decorative comedy.

I studied her profile for a second.

Nemris noticed instantly.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“You keep doing that.”

“Doing what?”

“Looking at me and saying nothing.”

I smiled.

“You prefer when I say whatever comes to mind?”

“No.”

“There we go.”

She sighed.

Dinner began.

I took my first bite.

Then stopped chewing for half a second.

Oh.

That was unfair.

The meat was ridiculously tender.

Whatever monster had donated itself to my evening had apparently died knowing it would achieve greatness.

The sauce was rich without smothering the flavor, with a little sweetness followed by warmth that lingered after I swallowed. The vegetables had been roasted perfectly. Even the bread tasted like someone had personally negotiated with flour until it agreed to become excellent.

I tried another dish.

Then another.

Nemris watched me briefly.

“You seem pleased.”

I pointed toward the plate.

“This is dangerous.”

Her eyebrows lowered.

“The food?”

“Yes.”

“How?”

“If I eat like this every day, I may never leave the castle.”

“That seems unlikely.”

“You underestimate butter.”

She returned to eating.

I tried a piece of something glazed in dark sauce.

Very good.

Probably the best meal I had eaten since arriving in Aphrodasia.

Technically.

And yet...

Something was missing.

I kept eating, trying to identify it.

The flavors were better than the food I had eaten in the city.

The ingredients were clearly superior.

The presentation looked like someone had measured the angle of every carrot before allowing it onto the plate.

Everything was precise.

Perfect.

Maybe that was it.

Perfect.

I thought about street food.

Meat sizzling over open flames.

Uneven pieces.

Burned edges.

Sauce dripping onto paper.

The smell of smoke mixing with crowds and market stalls.

Nothing elegant.

Nothing refined.

Yet somehow it had been more satisfying in a way I could not explain.

The palace meal tasted like it had attended etiquette lessons.

Street food tasted like it had been arrested twice and refused to apologize.

I preferred neither exactly.

But the difference was there.

Nemris glanced at me.

“You became quiet again.”

“Thinking.”

“That is what worries me.”

“I’m comparing food.”

“Less worrying.”

“Thank you for the confidence.”

She took a sip of water.

“Your training went well.”

I looked toward her.

“You got all that from watching me briefly?”

Nemris did not react to that part.

“I saw enough in the ballroom.”

Ah.

Personal observation.

Good.

I rested one arm near the edge of the table.

“Enough to judge me?”

“Enough to see improvement.”

“That sounded almost complimentary.”

“It was not meant to.”

“Your compliments are shy.”

Nemris ignored me.

“When you arrived here, you carried yourself like someone who had never spent time in court.”

“Because I hadn’t.”

“Exactly.”

She looked at the way I sat.

“Now your posture is controlled. Your movements are more deliberate. You even bowed correctly when Leyra left.”

“I contain multitudes.”

“You contain problems.”

“Also true.”

Her mouth twitched.

Tiny.

There and gone.

I caught it anyway.

“I improved faster than I expected,” I admitted.

Nemris nodded.

“I can see that.”

I placed a hand against my chest.

“Lord Commander, please. I’m not emotionally prepared for this much praise.”

“That was still not praise.”

“Too late. I’ve accepted it.”

She gave me the look.

The Nemris look.

The one suggesting patience had recently become an endangered species.

I smiled and took another bite.

For a little while, we ate in relative peace.

Then Nemris spoke again.

Her tone changed.

Less dry.

More serious.

“I would prefer the war never happens.”

I slowed.

There it was.

The reason behind all the lessons.

Agran.

Diplomacy.

Whatever tension had pushed King Viar into offering an important position to a man he had met only minutes earlier.

I looked at Nemris.

Her eyes were on the food, but she did not seem particularly interested in eating anymore.

She continued.

“If negotiations can prevent it, then they should.”

No grand speech.

No fear.

Just certainty.

Of course Nemris would care.

She was the Lord Commander.

If diplomacy failed, the consequences would not remain words on paper for her.

She would lead soldiers.

People under her command would fight.

Some would not return.

She might be ordered to kill people who had never personally wronged her because two kingdoms had reached the point where conversation stopped working.

I set my utensil down.

“I’ll try.”

Nemris looked toward me.

The seriousness in my voice seemed to catch her slightly off guard.

I shrugged.

“I make jokes. I’m not completely irresponsible.”

“Debatable.”

“Fair.”

Her expression softened by a fraction.

Then she said, “As much as I dislike saying this, I am counting on you to succeed.”

I stared at her.

Then smiled.

Slowly.

Nemris saw it immediately.

Regret hit her face like a door slamming shut.

“I withdraw that statement.”

“No.”

Her eyebrows lowered.

“No?”

“No take backs.”

“That is not how conversation works.”

“It does now.”

“Caled.”

“You said you’re counting on me.”

“I am reconsidering.”

“Reconsider privately.”

“That makes no sense.”

“It makes perfect sense to me.”

She sighed.

I raised my cup slightly.

“Your faith in me is deeply moving.”

“I did not say faith.”

“Support.”

“No.”

“Trust.”

“Definitely not.”

“Confidence?”

“Stop.”

I laughed.

Nemris shook her head and returned to her meal.

A few seconds passed.

Then she looked at how casually I was eating.

Something curious entered her expression.

“How about a demonstration?”

I swallowed.

“Of what?”

“What Leyra taught you.”

I glanced around.

“Here?”

“This is a dining hall.”

“Yes. I noticed the food.”

“Dining etiquette.”

“Oh.”

She leaned slightly back.

“You are supposed to represent Inizio eventually. Show me how you would behave during a formal meal.”

I placed one hand against my chest.

“And here I thought I could be myself with you.”

It was a joke.

Mostly.

But something changed in Nemris’s eyes.

Regret.

Brief.

Sharp.

Unexpected.

Like my words had hit somewhere she had not expected.

Her lips parted.

Before she could respond, I straightened.

No reason to make her explain whatever that reaction had been.

Besides, she asked for a demonstration.

Fine.

I gave her one.

My shoulders settled.

My posture shifted.

The relaxed slouch disappeared.

My hands moved into the positions Leyra had drilled into me earlier.

Utensils adjusted.

Napkin placed correctly.

Even my expression changed.

Caled Morningwood, wandering disaster and enthusiast of inappropriate comments, temporarily stepped aside.

Diplomat Caled entered the room.

Terrifying creature.

I resumed eating.

Small, clean movements.

No unnecessary reaching.

No leaning across the table.

Proper handling of utensils.

Measured pauses.

Even the way I turned toward Nemris carried a different rhythm.

She watched closely.

The trace of regret slowly faded from her eyes.

Amusement replaced it.

“There.”

I glanced toward her.

“There what?”

“You do know how to behave.”

I raised an eyebrow.

“Cruel accusation.”

“You’re doing it perfectly.”

“Maybe I’ve always been secretly sophisticated.”

“No.”

“Immediate rejection.”

“I met you.”

I gave her a polished diplomatic smile.

“Then perhaps you simply inspired improvement, Princess.”

Nemris froze for half a heartbeat.

Princess.

Not Commander.

Not Lord Commander.

Her title by blood.

I enjoyed the tiny surprise in her expression.

I glanced toward the wine bottle resting near her side.

“Would you pass me the wine, Princess?”

She looked at me.

Then at the bottle.

Then back at me.

“Of course.”

Her voice came out slightly more measured than before.

She picked up the bottle and handed it across.

A servant stepped forward automatically.

I lifted one hand politely.

“I can manage.”

The servant stopped.

Nemris passed me a clean glass as well.

I poured myself some wine.

Dark red liquid filled the crystal.

I set the bottle down.

Then looked toward Nemris’s empty glass.

“What about you?”

She hesitated.

Barely.

But Nemris rarely hesitated about anything.

That made each one feel like finding treasure.

She reached for another glass and held it toward me.

I picked up the bottle again.

Then began pouring.

I looked directly into her eyes.

Not at the wine.

Not at the glass.

Nemris.

She noticed almost immediately.

Her pupils widened just slightly.

I kept pouring.

Carefully.

No spill.

When the glass had enough, I lowered the bottle.

Nemris still held it.

“That is improper.”

I blinked innocently.

“What is?”

“Your attention.”

“My attention is excellent.”

“You were looking at me instead of the glass.”

“Yes.”

“When pouring for someone during formal dining, your eyes should remain on what you are doing.”

“I know.”

Nemris frowned.

“Then why did you deliberately ignore the rule?”

I set the bottle down.

“Because this isn’t a formal dinner.”

She said nothing.

I leaned slightly toward her.

“It’s just you and me.”

Her eyes widened again.

Tiny reaction.

But very real.

Nemris lowered the glass to the table.

“You should not say things like that casually to women.”

“Why?”

“Because they could misunderstand your intention.”

I lifted my own glass.

“You didn’t misunderstand.”

She went quiet.

Very quiet.

I took a sip.

Smooth wine.

Rich.

Probably old enough to have political opinions.

Then I simply returned to my meal.

No explanation.

No rescue.

I had learned something important about Nemris.

Sometimes the best way to flirt with her was to drop a sentence directly into her lap and then behave like nothing happened.

Her mind did the rest of the work.

Efficient.

Nemris eventually took a sip from her own glass.

She did not answer.

Good.

Dinner continued.

By the time we finished, I had eaten enough that standing felt like a negotiation between my stomach and gravity.

Servants cleared the table around us.

Nemris stood first.

I followed.

We left the dining hall together.

The castle had fully entered night.

Warm lights burned along the walls. The enormous windows reflected the corridors instead of showing the grounds outside. Guards stood at their assigned positions while servants moved between rooms carrying trays, linens, and documents.

Nemris guided me back toward my room.

I was beginning to recognize some of the corridors.

Not enough to confidently walk alone.

But enough that if abandoned, I might become lost with dignity.

Progress.

When we reached my door, I stopped.

Nemris stopped beside me.

I turned toward her.

“Having the Lord Commander herself escort me to my bedroom is strangely comforting.”

Nemris looked away.

Just slightly.

“I’m making sure you actually reach it.”

“That sounds caring.”

“It is preventative.”

“Even better.”

“You have already caused enough trouble.”

I placed a hand against the door.

“Unproven.”

“You vanished yesterday.”

“Exploration.”

“You were later found wandering through the castle.”

“More exploration.”

“You were lost.”

“That is an aggressive interpretation of exploration.”

Nemris sighed.

I leaned against the doorway.

“You could always come inside.”

Her eyes immediately narrowed.

There it was.

Beautiful.

“For what?”

“Guard duty.”

“Guard duty.”

“Make sure I don’t sneak out and cause more trouble.”

“You are perfectly capable of staying inside your room.”

“That sounds like trust.”

“It isn’t.”

“Then you should probably supervise me.”

Nemris stared.

I kept smiling.

This was entertainment.

Not expensive entertainment either.

Just one dangerous woman, one hallway, and my continued refusal to value self-preservation.

Finally, she shook her head.

“One day, your boldness is going to get you killed.”

“I hope you’re not the one who does it.”

Her eyes narrowed further.

Then she sighed.

“Get inside.”

“Yes, Commander.”

“I need to patrol.”

“Responsible.”

She turned slightly.

I opened the door.

“Good night, Nemris.”

She paused.

Then glanced back.

“Good night, Caled.”

I stepped inside.

Closed the door.

And finally had silence.

Wonderful silence.

No lessons.

No royal family.

No diplomacy.

No dangerous princesses.

Just me and the best bed I had encountered in this world.

I changed into lighter clothing and dropped onto it.

The mattress welcomed me like family.

My eyes closed.

Sleep arrived quickly.

Then someone knocked on the door.

I opened my eyes.

Darkness.

I stared at the ceiling.

“No.”

Another knock.

I covered my face with one hand.

“Why does everyone in this castle hate sleep?”

Knock.

Persistent.

Professional.

Definitely not accidental.

I sat up.

At least this time I had learned something from recent mornings.

I grabbed a shirt.

Put it on.

Then walked toward the door.

When I opened it, four knights were standing outside.

Four.

Not one messenger.

Not a servant.

Four armed royal knights.

Well.

That immediately improved my mood in the same way finding smoke in your bedroom improves relaxation.

The knight in front bowed his head.

“Sir Caled.”

I glanced at the others.

“Please tell me this is a surprise party.”

Nobody smiled.

Worth trying.

The lead knight continued.

“His Majesty has summoned you to the council hall.”

I looked back toward my room.

“Now?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Give me a moment to prepare.”

“I apologize, but we were instructed to bring you immediately.”

I looked at him.

“Immediately.”

“This is an urgent matter.”

Wonderful.

Nothing made midnight more exciting than urgency from a king.

I sighed.

“Fine. Lead the way.”

The knights turned.

I followed.

The castle felt different at night.

Not merely quieter.

Tighter.

There were more guards at intersections than I remembered.

Several groups moved briskly through the halls.

Officials carried documents.

Nobody ran.

Nobody shouted.

That somehow made the entire thing more concerning.

Panic would have been easy to understand.

This was organized urgency.

The kind professionals wore when something had already gone wrong and everyone had been told exactly where to stand while pretending it had not.

We moved through unfamiliar parts of the palace.

Down a staircase.

Across a wide enclosed passage connecting two buildings.

Past several guarded doors.

Every few minutes I wanted to ask what had happened.

Nobody looked like they were planning to answer.

So I kept walking.

Eventually, the knights stopped before a massive pair of dark wooden doors reinforced with metal.

No decorative lions.

No elaborate artwork.

No royal flair.

Just heavy doors.

Two guards opened them.

The council hall waited beyond.

I stepped inside.

The room was enormous, but unlike the throne room, it did not feel designed to impress anyone.

No red carpet.

No elevated throne.

No paintings of legendary kings staring down at visitors like judgmental ancestors.

Instead, a huge circular stone table dominated the room.

Maps covered portions of its surface.

Stacks of documents rested beside wax seals.

Small carved markers sat over different regions on the maps.

Thirteen seats surrounded the table.

All twelve were occupied.

I recognized five people immediately.

King Viar.

Queen Milfy.

Zeria.

Leyra.

Nemris.

Seven others sat with them.

All Lionkin.

All unfamiliar.

All radiating the particular energy of people whose opinions made servants nervous.

Their clothing alone marked them as high-ranking.

Fine coats.

Formal robes.

House insignias.

Military decorations.

Jewelry that probably had biographies.

One older Lionkin man carried enough medals across his chest that falling forward might create structural damage.

Nobody smiled.

Not even Zeria.

That got me.

Zeria sat straight in her chair.

No playful grin.

No bouncing.

No cheerful eyes planning her next escape from Nemris.

Her face was calm.

Focused.

Serious.

This was Great Sage Zeria.

Not the woman who wanted street food.

The woman kings listened to.

Whatever had pulled me out of bed had managed to turn off Zeria’s usual sunshine.

That was enough to make me stop joking internally too.

Viar rose from his chair when I entered.

“Caled.”

I approached the table.

“Your Majesty.”

He gestured toward the remaining seat.

“Please, sit.”

I shifted.

Diplomat mode.

The change felt almost embarrassingly natural now.

My shoulders straightened.

My stride became measured.

My face settled into polite neutrality.

No wandering tourist.

No sarcastic idiot who flirted with princesses.

At least not visibly.

I acknowledged the king properly.

Then the queen.

Then the gathered council.

The seven unfamiliar faces watched every movement.

Some curious.

Some suspicious.

One openly unimpressed.

Another looked like he had already decided my presence was a clerical error.

I moved toward the empty chair.

Then several of them noticed the golden crest Zeria had given me.

The reaction was immediate.

Whispers.

Low.

Controlled.

But unmistakable.

One noble leaned toward the person beside him.

Another looked from the insignia to Zeria.

A woman across the table narrowed her eyes slightly.

Someone else whispered something I could not hear.

Interesting.

Apparently carrying Zeria’s personal approval into this room was equivalent to arriving with a political grenade clipped to my belt.

I kept my expression neutral.

No point asking.

No point reacting.

Just observe.

I sat.

Hands relaxed.

Back straight.

Eyes moving calmly from person to person.

So.

This was the council.

The actual council.

Not ceremonial nobles standing around a throne because tradition required expensive witnesses.

These people mattered.

I could feel it in the room.

In the documents.

The maps.

The way Viar carried himself.

The way even Nemris looked more severe than usual.

The way Zeria had completely buried her playful side.

Decisions made here probably moved soldiers.

Changed laws.

Altered alliances.

Possibly ruined lives.

And somehow I had been given a chair.

My career path had become completely unreasonable.

Viar waited until the murmuring faded.

Then he placed both hands against the circular stone table.

His gaze moved around everyone gathered.

“Now that everyone is here, we should begin the meeting.”