The Last Human: Unlimited Power, Unlimited Beauties

The portal released us directly in front of the royal castle.

One step I was crossing through a wall of white magic.

The next, polished stone was beneath my boots, sunlight hit my face, and I discovered that someone had apparently informed half the military we were coming home.

Knights surrounded the arrival courtyard in disciplined formations.

Not dozens.

A ridiculous number.

Silver armor stretched across the open grounds in orderly lines, golden lion insignias catching the morning light. Spears stood upright. Swords remained sheathed. White banners bearing Inizio’s crest hung from balconies above us.

Nobody cheered.

Nobody moved.

They simply stood at attention.

Which somehow made the whole thing feel more dramatic.

I stepped fully out of the portal and glanced around.

“Subtle.”

Nemris emerged beside me.

“What?”

“This.”

I gestured toward the army of people staring at us.

“Nothing says casual welcome home like enough armored witnesses to invade a neighboring province.”

Nemris ignored me.

She was good at that.

The rest of our group stepped through behind us.

Then the portal collapsed.

White light folded inward, shrank into a glowing line, and disappeared with a soft pulse.

Silence returned.

Ahead of us stood the people who mattered most.

King Viar.

Queen Milfy.

Leyra.

Zeria.

And the six remaining members of the council.

Balder was obviously absent.

Hard to attend a welcome ceremony when your current schedule included treason charges and probably several uncomfortable conversations involving prison bars.

Dren stood near Heim and Feig.

Nalrus looked noticeably more relaxed than the last time I had seen him.

Garren had his usual expression, which suggested happiness was a weakness he intended to defeat personally.

Yori stood with his arms folded.

All of them watched us.

Viar’s attention went immediately to Nemris.

Milfy’s too.

Leyra’s eyes moved between her sister and me.

Zeria?

Zeria was smiling.

Not her enormous sunshine smile.

Not yet.

She was clearly waiting for the official part to finish before attacking someone with affection.

Nemris stepped forward.

Her armor was scratched.

Dust still marked several plates.

She looked like someone who had returned from battle because that was exactly what had happened.

Her voice carried across the courtyard.

“The parley was successful.”

The atmosphere shifted immediately.

Not loudly.

You could feel it.

Shoulders relaxing.

Breaths releasing.

The tension everybody had apparently been carrying since our departure loosened by one degree.

Nemris continued.

“Supreme General Rel has agreed to approach Queen Firsa and request the reopening of formal negotiations between Agran and Inizio.”

Viar’s expression softened.

Milfy closed her eyes for half a heartbeat.

Relief.

Leyra exhaled.

Zeria smiled wider.

The council members were less unified.

Dren nodded slowly.

Heim looked openly pleased.

Feig gave a small approving smile.

Nalrus seemed like someone had removed a boulder from his shoulders.

Garren’s expression remained difficult to read.

Yori looked like peace had personally offended him.

Naturally.

The knights remained motionless.

Professionalism.

Probably very exhausting.

Then Nemris turned slightly.

Toward me.

Oh no.

I knew that look.

She addressed everyone.

“Sir Caled also proved himself deserving of our trust.”

That got attention.

A lot of it.

The council looked at me.

The knights looked at me.

The royal family looked at me.

I smiled politely.

Inside, I wondered whether diving back through the now nonexistent portal would be considered poor etiquette.

Nemris continued.

“Without his actions, our mission would have ended very differently.”

I gave her a look.

She ignored it.

Traitor.

Then she walked toward her family.

Zeria immediately abandoned all restraint.

She ran forward.

“Nemris!”

Nemris barely had time to brace before Zeria wrapped both arms around her.

Leyra followed more gracefully.

She hugged her sister from the other side.

For one rare moment, Lord Commander Nemris Goldmane disappeared inside a cluster of golden hair and familial affection.

Several knights looked away.

Again.

Apparently everyone in the army had silently agreed that watching the Lord Commander get hugged violated regulations.

Nemris awkwardly placed one arm around Leyra and another around Zeria.

“I’m fine.”

Zeria squeezed harder.

“You say that after every dangerous thing.”

“Because I usually am.”

“You could stop doing dangerous things.”

Nemris stared at her.

“You suggested this mission.”

Zeria blinked.

Then smiled.

“Oh.”

Leyra laughed softly.

Viar began clapping.

Slowly.

Milfy joined him.

Their faces carried unmistakable pride.

Not the king and queen looking at the Lord Commander.

Parents looking at their daughter.

Nemris noticed.

Her expression softened.

Just slightly.

Viar stopped clapping and walked toward me.

Uh-oh.

Royal gratitude.

He looked me over once.

Probably confirming that all my important pieces had returned attached.

“You exceeded expectations.”

I smiled.

“Dangerous thing to tell me.”

His brow rose.

“Why?”

“My ego has been difficult enough to manage.”

Viar laughed.

Then his expression became more serious.

“You have proven your value to this kingdom.”

He looked toward the council.

Then back at me.

“That may make it considerably harder for us to allow you to leave.”

I nodded thoughtfully.

“That sounds like a challenge.”

Viar stared.

I smiled.

“Escaping is one of my specialties.”

He laughed louder.

Even Milfy smiled from behind him.

Viar lifted one hand and gave my shoulder a firm tap.

“You have my gratitude, Caled.”

Another tap.

“And Inizio’s.”

That landed differently.

I let some of the humor leave my expression.

“Save the gratitude for later.”

Viar’s eyebrows lowered slightly.

“The problem isn’t solved.”

I glanced toward the castle.

“We managed to open one door. Queen Firsa still has to agree to let me through it.”

Viar nodded.

“True.”

“And everyone expecting me to magically fix international politics is putting a lot of pressure on my naturally fragile personality.”

Viar looked at me.

“Fragile?”

“Extremely.”

Nemris, still trapped between Leyra and Zeria, said, “Ignore him.”

Rude.

That evening, the capital celebrated anyway.

Apparently kingdoms did not wait for final success before throwing parties.

Smart.

If politics exploded tomorrow, at least everybody got one good night first.

The streets around the castle were packed.

Music drifted through the city.

Lanterns hung from buildings.

Food stalls remained open late.

People drank, danced, shouted, sang, and generally behaved like war had already been canceled rather than merely delayed by diplomacy.

Inside the castle, the celebration was significantly more expensive.

The grand ballroom had been transformed.

Hundreds of floating lights hovered beneath the high ceiling like artificial stars. Massive chandeliers glittered between them. Musicians occupied a raised platform along one wall, filling the hall with elegant strings and soft percussion.

Nobles filled the floor.

So many nobles.

Apparently political success attracted aristocrats the way unattended meat attracted wolves.

I had been dressed appropriately.

Dark formal coat.

Gold accents.

Clean white shirt.

Tailored trousers.

Polished shoes.

The kind of clothing that made me look like I owned property I had never visited.

Leyra stood beside me.

She looked devastatingly royal.

Her gown was a deep blue tonight, decorated with subtle golden patterns that caught the ballroom lights whenever she moved. Her long golden hair had been partially tied back, leaving the rest flowing behind her.

Princess mode.

Maximum strength.

She had been assigned to introduce me.

Again.

Except this time, I was no longer the suspicious stranger people reluctantly tolerated because Zeria liked me.

Now I was interesting.

Dangerously interesting.

Leyra leaned slightly toward me.

“Remember what I taught you.”

I smiled without looking at her.

“Smile, bow, compliment, pretend everyone is fascinating.”

“That is a terrible summary.”

“Accurate?”

She paused.

“Unfortunately.”

The first noble approached.

Then another.

Then five.

Everyone suddenly wanted to meet Caled Morningwood.

Fascinating development.

A few days ago, half these people probably would have struggled to remember my name.

Tonight?

“Sir Caled, your accomplishments are remarkable.”

“Sir Caled, we have heard extraordinary reports.”

“Sir Caled, Inizio is fortunate to have you.”

“Sir Caled, if you ever require anything from House Valen…”

Ah.

There it was.

Ulterior motives wrapped in silk.

I could practically smell them.

Sweet perfume, expensive wine, and ambition.

Diplomat Caled stepped forward.

He was getting disturbingly good at this.

I bowed.

Smiled.

Remembered names.

Asked polite questions.

Accepted compliments without appearing arrogant.

Returned praise without promising anything.

One elderly noble spent five minutes explaining the importance of his family’s vineyards.

I responded like fermented grapes were the foundation of civilization.

Another casually mentioned three eligible daughters within two minutes of introducing himself.

Subtle.

A third tried to suggest I visit his estate once negotiations ended.

I answered warmly enough to make him happy without agreeing to anything.

Leyra occasionally glanced toward me.

Approval in her eyes.

Also amusement.

She knew exactly what I was doing.

Several nobles did too.

But that was the game.

Everybody knew everybody else had motives.

You simply decorated them with manners until greed looked respectable.

As the night deepened, the music changed.

Dancing began.

Wonderful.

Because apparently talking my way through political predators had only been the appetizer.

A nobleman approached.

He was smiling far too broadly.

“My daughter would be honored to dance with you.”

His daughter stood nearby.

Young.

Beautiful.

Well dressed.

And judging by the way she looked at me, extremely informed about what her father wanted from this interaction.

I glanced toward Leyra.

She gave the smallest nod.

Political usefulness.

Fine.

I accepted.

The woman was an excellent dancer.

Of course she was.

Noble daughters probably learned court dancing before they learned how taxes worked.

Her hand rested lightly in mine.

My other hand stayed properly at her waist.

We moved.

She smiled.

“You learn quickly, Sir Caled.”

“I had a terrifying teacher.”

Her eyes brightened.

“Princess Leyra?”

“I value my neck too much to confirm.”

She laughed.

One dance became several.

Different women.

Different noble houses.

Different flavors of political ambition.

Some were shy.

Some confident.

Some terrifyingly direct.

And several absolutely knew what they were doing.

Eye contact held half a second too long.

Hands resting a little more comfortably than necessary.

Bodies drifting slightly closer during turns.

Soft compliments delivered close enough to become private.

I understood the game.

I played it.

Politely.

Charm without promises.

Interest without commitment.

Enough attention to make everyone feel appreciated.

Not enough to accidentally become engaged to six women before dessert.

Professional growth.

As the evening went on, my dances became increasingly political.

Apparently, once the ordinary nobles had finished sending beautiful women in my direction, the council members decided it was their turn to participate in the ancient aristocratic tradition of pretending matchmaking had absolutely nothing to do with influence.

Lord Heim introduced me to his younger sister first.

She had the same calm confidence as her brother, though considerably less interest in discussing military logistics. Our dance remained pleasant, and Heim watched from nearby with the subtle expression of a man pretending he had not personally arranged the entire interaction.

Lady Dren followed by introducing one of her younger cousins, an elegant Lionkin woman who asked surprisingly sharp questions about diplomacy while we danced.

I respected that.

At least she was interrogating me honestly.

Then came Lord Feig’s daughter.

Beautiful, clever, and apparently blessed with the same talent for saying dangerous things while maintaining a perfectly innocent expression as her father.

She smiled up at me during one turn.

“My father says you’re difficult to predict.”

“Your father says very flattering things about me.”

“He didn’t mean it as praise.”

“I accepted it as praise anyway.”

She laughed.

Across the ballroom, Feig lifted his glass toward me.

The man definitely heard that somehow.

Lord Nalrus introduced me to his niece, who was much quieter than the others. She seemed genuinely embarrassed by the entire arrangement, which made the dance considerably easier because neither of us had to pretend her uncle wasn’t watching us from approximately ten meters away.

Then came Garren’s daughter.

That one surprised me.

Garren himself stood at the edge of the ballroom with his arms crossed, looking like he would rather be inspecting border fortifications than watching his daughter dance with the diplomat who had recently helped clean up the international disaster he contributed to creating.

His daughter, fortunately, had inherited more charm than hostility.

“You know my father doesn’t particularly like you.”

“I had noticed the overwhelming affection.”

She suppressed a laugh.

“He respects strength.”

“Good thing I’m incredibly humble too.”

“That, I doubt.”

Smart woman.

Finally, Lord Yori presented one of his younger relatives, a niece from his house who carried herself with the kind of practiced elegance that made it obvious she had been prepared for court politics since childhood.

Yori watched our dance carefully.

Probably evaluating whether associating his family with the newly successful diplomat could somehow benefit him later.

Very touching.

By that point, I had danced with a younger sister, daughters, cousins, and nieces connected to practically every remaining member of the royal council.

Heim’s younger sister.

Dren’s cousin.

Feig’s daughter.

Nalrus’s niece.

Garren’s daughter.

Yori’s niece.

Six council houses.

Six politically useful dances.

And enough carefully disguised matchmaking to make me wonder whether preventing a war had accidentally turned me into the capital’s newest valuable bachelor.

Every woman was charming in her own way.

Every conversation carried a second meaning.

And somewhere beyond the dance floor, their relatives were undoubtedly calculating alliances, influence, prestige, and whatever other mysterious currency nobles collected when they weren’t collecting land.

I smiled.

I danced.

I played along.

Diplomacy, apparently, involved significantly more attractive women than the job description had mentioned.

I danced.

Talked.

Listened.

And stored every connection away.

By the time my social obligations finally ended, my face hurt from smiling.

Diplomacy was exhausting.

Give me Remgar again.

At least he communicated his intentions using swords.

I returned to the table reserved for the royal family.

Viar sat near Milfy.

Zeria was eating dessert with enough enthusiasm to suggest she had discovered cake for the first time despite definitely knowing what cake was.

Nemris sat nearby wearing lighter ceremonial armor.

Of course.

Everyone else attended a ballroom in silk.

Nemris apparently compromised by wearing armor that was slightly more decorative.

Her golden plates were thinner tonight, engraved with elegant lion patterns rather than built entirely for warfare.

Still armor.

Still Nemris.

I sat.

Zeria immediately leaned toward me.

“You danced with a lot of women.”

I reached for a drink.

“Apparently.”

She watched me.

“Pretty women.”

“Dangerous observation.”

Nemris looked toward us.

I noticed.

Zeria smiled innocently.

“Did you enjoy it?”

I took a sip.

“I enjoy surviving politics.”

“That wasn’t my question.”

I narrowed my eyes.

She smiled wider.

Someone had learned mischief.

Terrible influence.

Probably me.

I looked toward Leyra’s seat.

Empty.

I frowned.

She had been there earlier.

I scanned the ballroom.

No golden-haired crown princess.

Then movement caught my eye near one of the tall doors leading into the gardens.

Leyra stood there.

Half inside.

Half outside.

Watching me.

Our eyes met.

She subtly moved two fingers.

Come.

Then disappeared through the doorway.

Interesting.

I waited.

No reason to make it obvious.

Zeria was currently distracted by a pastry.

Viar was talking with Milfy.

Nemris had turned toward an officer who approached her.

Perfect.

I stood.

Walked normally.

Casually.

Absolutely not sneaking away from a royal table to follow the crown princess into a dark garden.

Diplomatic business.

Probably.

I stepped outside.

Cool night air replaced the heat of the ballroom.

The music softened behind me.

The gardens were illuminated by small magical lamps tucked among stone paths, trees, and flowerbeds. Their warm light painted the leaves gold and left the spaces between them wrapped in gentle darkness.

The scent of flowers mixed with cool grass.

I followed the path.

Then found Leyra.

She stood in the middle of a circular garden surrounded by pale flowers.

Moonlight caught her hair.

The ballroom music drifted faintly through the open doors behind us.

She looked beautiful.

Also mildly annoyed.

Fun combination.

I approached.

Leyra folded her arms.

“So.”

Dangerous word.

“So?”

“You seemed busy.”

“I was.”

“Dancing.”

“Yes.”

“With many beautiful noblewomen.”

Ah.

There it was.

I smiled.

“Very observant.”

Her eyes narrowed.

“Did you enjoy yourself?”

“Sure.”

Leyra looked away.

I continued.

“Not nearly as much as dancing with the crown princess.”

Her head turned back.

Immediately.

I smiled.

Leyra exhaled.

“I hate that.”

“What?”

“You always know what to say.”

“Occupational requirement.”

“You did it before becoming a diplomat.”

“Natural talent.”

She rolled her eyes.

“I must have been born for this.”

“That would explain the excessive confidence.”

“It’s a gift.”

Leyra stared at me.

Then her expression softened.

She stepped closer.

Slowly.

One hand lifted.

Palm upward.

The gesture was unmistakable.

“Would you honor a lady with a dance, Sir Caled?”

I looked at her hand.

Then her eyes.

“Gladly.”

I took it.

Her fingers closed around mine.

My other hand settled against her hip.

Not too low.

I had learned.

Mostly.

Leyra placed her free hand on my shoulder.

The music from the ballroom was barely loud enough to follow.

We did anyway.

One step.

Turn.

Another.

The garden became our ballroom.

No nobles watching.

No fathers arranging introductions.

No political calculations hidden behind smiles.

Just the two of us moving beneath moonlight.

Leyra’s blue eyes stayed on mine.

Her expression slowly relaxed.

Then she smiled.

A real smile.

Not princess perfect.

Leyra.

“I was worried.”

The words came quietly.

I nodded.

“Things got messy.”

“That is an understatement.”

“One invisible army.”

Her brows rose.

“Three generals.”

“Also that.”

“And Balder.”

“I try not to count him.”

Leyra almost laughed.

Then seriousness returned.

“When those three generals came through the portal as prisoners…”

She looked down briefly.

“I almost ran through before it closed.”

I watched her.

“To find me?”

She looked up.

“You and Nemris.”

“Right.”

I nodded solemnly.

“Mostly me.”

Leyra’s mouth curved.

“Mostly Nemris.”

“Cruel.”

“A little bit you.”

“I’ll take it.”

She laughed softly.

We turned.

My hand remained at her hip.

Hers stayed on my shoulder.

The faint rhythm from inside guided us.

I pulled her slightly closer.

Leyra noticed.

Did not resist.

Her fingers tightened gently against my shoulder.

We kept moving.

The space between us became smaller.

Then smaller again.

Eventually dancing became almost an excuse.

I leaned toward her.

Leyra stopped moving.

So did I.

Her breath touched my lips.

Then she whispered, “I should warn you.”

I raised an eyebrow.

“Sounds promising.”

“If you kiss me…”

Her voice lowered.

“There may be no going back for me.”

Interesting.

Her eyes stayed locked on mine.

“I’m not as delicate as everyone thinks.”

“I know.”

“I can be…”

She hesitated.

Then smiled faintly.

“A little crazy.”

I leaned closer.

“Don’t threaten me with information I already have.”

Her hand tightened on my shoulder.

Not nervous.

Possessive?

Maybe.

Dangerously interesting.

Leyra’s voice became softer.

“Could you handle someone like me becoming obsessed with you?”

I smiled.

“That doesn’t sound particularly terrible.”

Her lips parted slightly.

That was enough.

I closed the remaining distance.

Our lips touched.

Gentle.

For one heartbeat, neither of us moved.

Just contact.

Warm.

Soft.

Then I moved first.

Slowly.

Leyra followed.

Her fingers pressed more firmly into my shoulder.

My hand drew her closer at the hip.

The kiss deepened naturally.

Nothing rushed.

Nothing desperate.

But everything we had left unfinished in the ballroom days ago suddenly had somewhere to go.

Leyra tilted her face.

I kissed her again.

Her lips moved more confidently.

The composed crown princess disappeared one breath at a time.

When we finally separated, she stayed close.

Very close.

Her cheeks had turned pink.

I smiled.

Leyra narrowed her eyes.

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Look pleased with yourself.”

“Impossible.”

She shook her head.

Then smiled despite herself.

Her gaze moved over my face.

“If you were secretly trying to claim the throne…”

I blinked.

“That escalated.”

“You’re doing an excellent job.”

I laughed quietly.

“I have absolutely no interest in the throne.”

The change in her expression was immediate.

Small.

But I caught it.

The warmth in her eyes dimmed.

Sadness.

Why?

Leyra looked away.

“The throne isn’t enough?”

Ah.

Oh.

She misunderstood.

Completely.

I touched her chin gently and turned her face back toward me.

“I think you misunderstood me, Princess.”

Her blue eyes searched mine.

Curiosity replaced some of the sadness.

I smiled.

“I don’t care about the throne.”

She remained quiet.

“I don’t care about becoming king.”

Her eyes widened slightly.

I let my hand settle against her cheek.

“You’re more than enough.”

Leyra stopped breathing for a second.

“I don’t need anything attached to you.”

Her crown.

Her title.

Her inheritance.

None of it.

“I just want you.”

The sadness disappeared.

Completely.

Her smile came slowly.

Then suddenly she stepped into me.

Both arms wrapped around my body.

Tight.

Much tighter than princess etiquette probably recommended.

I hugged her back.

Her face pressed against my chest.

We remained there.

No dancing.

No jokes.

Just holding each other while distant music continued through the garden.

Minutes passed.

Maybe several.

Neither of us seemed eager to count.

Eventually, reality returned.

Ballroom.

Royal family.

Nobles.

People who would ask uncomfortable questions if the crown princess and new diplomat vanished together for too long.

Leyra slowly pulled away.

Her cheeks were still pink.

I fixed one slightly displaced strand of her hair.

She adjusted the front of my coat.

We looked at each other.

Then silently agreed to commit fraud.

Royal social fraud.

We returned separately enough to avoid attention.

Leyra entered first.

I followed shortly afterward.

Back into the lights.

Back into the music.

Back into the smiles and polished manners.

Like absolutely nothing had happened.

And luckily, it seemed no one noticed.