CHAPTER 454: ’THE TRUE HEIR.’

What is Hendrix doing here?

Florian didn’t know.

And more importantly, he didn’t understand why Hendrix wasn’t the least bit afraid—despite the fact that Heinz looked mere seconds away from blasting him into ashes.

Yet Hendrix kept that same maddeningly calm smile on his lips as he exhaled, a quiet sigh escaping him. "You always did hate when I danced around a point. Fine, I’ll be direct." His crimson eyes drifted downward—toward Florian.

And God.

Florian felt a chill creep down his spine.

It was unnerving just how closely Hendrix resembled Heinz, even though they were only half-brothers. From a distance, the similarities were bone-deep—same sharp jaw, same dark lashes framing blazing red eyes.

But where Heinz’s presence was like a dagger to the throat, Hendrix’s was something subtler. Lighter.

More... invasive, in its own way.

And the way Hendrix was looking at him—

’Why is he looking at me with so much familiarity?’ Florian thought, a nervous thrum behind his ribs. Though, truly, he shouldn’t have been surprised. Hendrix’s gaze held more than interest—it held intent.

Right... in the novel, Hendrix fell in love with Florian at first sight.

The third male lead. The one who didn’t survive long enough to even stand a chance. He died not many Chapters later—on the same day as Florian, in fact.

’Though, technically, he might’ve been the real male lead,’ Florian thought bitterly. ’They both died the same day. Even if Florian died still loving Heinz.’

Even if the original Florian had been carrying Heinz’s child.

"I came here to speak with you, dear king," Hendrix finally said, his voice light—but his eyes never once left Florian.

Of course, Heinz noticed.

With a sharp movement, Heinz stepped forward and pulled Florian behind him, shielding him completely. Florian didn’t resist, but he peeked from around Heinz’s shoulder, curious and terrified of what would come next.

"I don’t need to hear a single fucking word from you," Heinz growled, his tone laced with venom. "Get out of my palace before I have you executed for trespassing."

His words rang with the weight of a promise, not a threat.

Florian’s heart pounded. He tried to look past Heinz’s shoulder again, his breath catching.

But Hendrix?

Hendrix still looked completely, frustratingly unbothered.

He placed one hand casually on his waist and tilted his head, sighing like this was all some minor inconvenience. "Must you always be like this, brother? You’re king. You’ve already exiled both me and my mother. Father’s dead. What else do you need to feel victorious?" His tone was calm—so calm it was maddening.

"Do you think I’m joking, Hendrix?" Heinz snapped.

And for the first time, Hendrix’s smile slipped.

Slowly, carefully, it faded—replaced with a far more serious expression. His posture straightened, the lightness in his face dropping like a curtain.

"No," Hendrix replied softly. "I know you’re fully capable of killing me."

He shrugged.

"But I came here anyway. Because I want to take back..."

He paused, locking eyes with Florian.

The contact made Florian stiffen.

’He keeps looking at me.’

"...what’s rightfully mine."

"Hah?" Heinz’s voice cracked with disbelief. It wasn’t just anger now—it was pure outrage. "Has the cold up north finally rotted your fucking brain? There’s nothing here that belongs to you."

"I beg to differ."

Hendrix reached inside his coat.

Florian watched the movement closely—and beside him, he felt Heinz tense, his body going rigid like a blade pulled taut.

From inside his coat, Hendrix pulled a scroll—no, a document. A thick one, sealed, official.

And when he began to unfurl it, Heinz’s reaction was immediate.

His jaw clenched. His fingers twitched. He knew what it was.

’Huh? Does Heinz know what that document is?’ Florian thought, eyes wide.

"This looks familiar, doesn’t it?" Hendrix said smoothly, holding it out for them to see.

He unrolled it fully—letting the golden crest and wax seal become visible.

And Florian’s breath caught.

His entire body froze as he read the contents of the document.

Last Will and Testament of His Majesty, King Henry Malachi Obsidian of Concordia

In the event of my untimely death, and in full clarity of mind and body, I, Henry Malachi Obsidian, King of Concordia, do hereby declare and affirm the following:

Let it be known that my chosen successor, and rightful heir to the throne of Concordia, shall not be my firstborn, but rather my second son—

Hendrix Obsidian

—whom I hereby name as the true and lawful King of Concordia. He shall inherit not only the crown, but the duties, titles, and authority therein. This decision has been made in accordance with my own judgment, free from coercion, and for the good of the kingdom.

I entrust Hendrix Obsidian with the future of Concordia, believing in his capacity to rule with wisdom, compassion, and strength.

Let this document serve as a binding royal decree, signed and sealed by my hand.

—Henry Malachi ObsidianKing of Concordia

"That’s..." Florian couldn’t stop the words from slipping past his lips. His voice was barely above a whisper, laced with disbelief. He stared at the document in Hendrix’s hands, his heart pounding in his ears.

He had always believed that Henry had been killed before he could officially name an heir. That had been the story—Henry’s reign had ended abruptly, and Heinz took the throne unchallenged.

But this?

This was proof.

And there it was, staring them in the face—bearing the unmistakable royal Obsidian crest, clear as day.

’He really named Hendrix his heir...?’

"You’re surprised, aren’t you?" Hendrix’s voice cut through the tension like a blade. He wore a smug smile, bringing the document closer to Heinz in a taunting gesture. "After all the effort you put into hiding this... even trying to destroy it. But alas—this document is protected. Not even magic bordering on divine can erase it."

Heinz didn’t speak right away. His body remained still, but the air around him grew heavier, colder. When he finally spoke, his voice was nearly unrecognizable—deep, venomous, and seething with restrained fury.

"...How," he growled, "did you get your hands on that?"

The moment those words left him, the palace responded. The marble beneath their feet cracked with a sharp, echoing groan. Faint fractures spiderwebbed up the walls like creeping vines of destruction, and the air itself felt like it might split.

Florian whipped his head toward Cashew, instinctively checking on him—

And froze.

Cashew was staring at Hendrix.

No, watching him—intently. His expression wasn’t just nervous anymore. It was something else.

Recognition. Guilt. Fear.

’He knows him?’ Florian realized, his heart dropping. ’Cashew’s not supposed to know Hendrix.’

His mind raced.

When had Cashew started acting so strangely? It had started right when Hendrix showed up.

And the vision the masked man gave him...

Hendrix had been there.

The masked man had told him to figure it out—and everything about that man had screamed Heinz, yet hadn’t been

him.

And now, listening to Hendrix speak...

’Is... he the strange man?’

"Why don’t you figure it out?" Hendrix said, almost playfully—but his eyes were sharp, challenging.

It was the confirmation Florian needed.

Heinz’s boot slid forward across the cracked floor, a deliberate step. His body tensed, and magic visibly swirled around him like dark smoke rising from his skin. His gaze locked onto Hendrix with murderous intent.

He was going to attack.

Florian acted before he could think. His hand shot out, grabbing Heinz’s arm and tugging him back with all the strength he could muster.

"Y-Your Majesty, stop!" he cried out, his voice high with panic.

The room stilled.

"Stay out of this, Florian." Heinz’s voice was sharp and final, his eyes still locked onto the place where Hendrix had stood just moments ago.

But Florian couldn’t. He couldn’t stay out of this.

He had to stop him.

’But how?’

His heart was racing, and in a split second, desperation took over. He clutched Heinz’s arm tighter, fingers trembling slightly.

"Y-Your Majesty, I... I don’t feel good," Florian said, his voice soft but strained. His hand tightened around Heinz’s sleeve as he leaned against him for support. "I feel... sick..."

He kept his head down, hoping Heinz wouldn’t see right through him. Silence followed. Long, heavy silence.

’Please let it work...’ Florian prayed, biting down on his lip. Heinz wasn’t responding, and that silence made his stomach twist with dread.

Then suddenly—he gasped.

His feet were no longer touching the ground.

Heinz had lifted him into his arms, effortlessly, carrying him as if he weighed nothing. Bridal style.

"Y-Your Majesty—!"

"What’s wrong? Is it your memories?" Heinz asked quickly, his voice suddenly soft, concerned—so unlike the furious king from moments before. "Do you feel sick? Did your injuries open?"

’It... worked?’

Florian could hardly believe it, but he wasn’t about to question his luck.

He nodded quickly, playing into it. "I feel lightheaded... Can we go back? I..."

He didn’t even get to finish his sentence—Heinz was already turning around, already walking, as if Hendrix had never existed.

Behind them, Hendrix’s voice echoed down the hall. "Are you just going to leave me here?"

Florian suppressed a groan, squeezing his eyes shut.

’I’m literally trying to save your life right now, idiot.’

Fortunately, Heinz didn’t even glance back. "Do what you want," he said coldly. "I’ll deal with you later."

Hendrix’s amused chuckle followed. "My, what a big change. Then, I’ll go to my room—assuming it’s still there. I’ll see you later, brother... and you as well, beautiful Prince Florian."

Florian’s eyes widened at the use of his name—and so did Heinz’s temper.

Heinz abruptly turned, seething. "You fucking—"

But the space behind them was empty.

Hendrix was gone.