The Heroine is My Stepsister, and I'm her Final Boss-Chapter 61: A king or An old man.

Atlas felt a pang in his chest as he listened to Henry calling out for him again. But even if he answered, communication between them was impossible; the system indicated it clearly. His influence over his father was less—or even lesser—than what it should have been. Less than Lara’s, who truly cared for him.

But Atlas didn’t know how much distance had grown between them until now. He could still see the fire burning in the nobles’ eyes, ready to assemble whatever armies they had and march right away. He had hoped—even just a little—that his father, King Henry, would try to negotiate with the Empire.

Even though Henry had been a bad father, Atlas knew he was a good king. Or so he thought. Now, after accepting the Empire’s bait and throwing the entire kingdom into war without strategy or discussion of consequences, Atlas didn’t know what to think anymore. Something was wrong. Even in the game, Henry had always been a golden strategist—not some war-hungry mongrel driven by pride and recklessness.

’...I wanna crack open that old skull of his and just see what he’s racking up,’ Atlas thought bitterly, clenching his fists tightly.

But now he understood why such a war had been declared. The regent empress—the Empire claimed she’d been kidnapped by Berkimhum. What kind of lunacy was that? This kingdom might be filled with foolish nobles, but not ’that’ foolish. Someone was pulling strings behind the scenes, orchestrating this madness like a puppeteer or was it some consequence he didn’t know about.

’I need more info on this...’

As these thoughts churned within him, the meeting finally ended. The bloody nobles dispersed, each scrambling to garner fame and power for themselves, oblivious to the chaos their actions would unleash upon their people. Claire, however, remained eerily silent throughout the gathering, speaking only when necessary to shush the rowdier ones. Her quiet demeanor unnerved Atlas further—Claire wasn’t one to stay silent unless she had something significant planned.

His perspective shifted once more as Henry stood up, commanding silence with nothing more than his presence. All the nobles rose alongside him, bowing deeply in respect as he walked away, leaning heavily on his cane. Commander David followed closely at his side, a shadow of loyalty etched into every step.

Atlas watched in awe. The sheer authority radiating from Henry commanded respect even from the most powerful figures in the realm. Seeing the unyielding Claire bow her head humbly struck a chord deep within him.

’I hope she shows an inkling of that respect to me someday.’

Henry gradually made his way toward his chambers, his frail frame silhouetted against the fading sunlight. The commander knight stayed by his side, ever vigilant. There should have been four royal knights flanking him, but the old man seemed too tired to deal with formalities. Instead, he relied solely on David—a trusted companion since their days as young warriors.

"....pretty eager for war. They all are," Henry muttered under his breath, his voice weak yet tinged with disdain.

"...most of the nobles seek what you garnered in the past, my king. Your triumph against so many foes—including the Empire—still burns in their hearts with passion," David replied softly.

Henry chuckled dryly. "Haha...so you’re saying it’s my fault, David?"

"Haha...I wouldn’t dare, your Majesty."

Their laughter faded into the cool evening air as they reached the battlements. The sun hung low on the horizon, its dying light casting long, jagged shadows across the stone walls of Berkimhum’s fortress. The air carried the faint scent of damp earth and iron—a reminder of battles fought and those yet to come.

Henry paused, leaning heavily against the cold stone as he caught his breath. His face was pale, gaunt, but there was a fire in his eyes that no illness could extinguish. "You remember the Battle of Sundered Stars?" he asked suddenly, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. "When I tried to swing that hammer one-handed and nearly brained myself on a low-hanging chandelier?"

David chuckled, the sound deep and rumbling like distant thunder. He tossed a walnut into the air, catching it deftly—a habit from their younger days—and shook his head. "Aye, and I was the fool who yelled, ’Duck, you mad bastard!’ mid-swing. Nearly cost us the element of surprise."

Henry grinned wider, though it faltered briefly as another cough wracked his body. He steadied himself against the wall, wiping a fleck of blood from his mouth with the back of his hand. "Mockery? Me? The man who crowned himself ’Hammer of the Dark Continent’ after tripping over my own warhorse?" He let out another rasping laugh, but there was an edge to his tone now, a gravity that hadn’t been there moments before.

David noticed the shift immediately. The humor faded from his expression, replaced by something harder, more solemn. "You shouldn’t be up here, old friend," he said quietly, glancing toward the horizon where the Empire’s banners loomed like dark omens. "The physicians say—"

"The physicians say ’nothing’ I haven’t heard a dozen times," Henry interrupted sharply, his voice cutting through the evening air like steel. "’Rest,’ ’conserve your strength,’ ’stop barking orders at the servants.’" He mimicked a shrill voice, then sobered, gripping the battlement wall with trembling fingers. "But you know why I called you up here, David. It’s not to relive our glory days."

David sighed, shoving the uneaten walnut into a pocket of his tunic. "The Empire’s declaration. Aye. Their ’diplomats’ arrived this morning, all silk and poisoned honey. They think us fools. Blind, toothless fools."

"They see a king on his deathbed," Henry replied, his gaze fixed on the distant horizon, "and a prince they deem unworthy. They think Berkimhum’s spine is broken." His grip tightened on the cane, knuckles whitening. With a sudden burst of energy, he slammed its base against the stone floor, the metallic clang reverberating like a war drum. "But you and I... we know better. Don’t we?"

David met his gaze, unflinching. "Aye. The girl—Lara—she’s got fire in her. The genius and the power. Reminds me of you, before the crown... before ’her.’" He spat over the edge of the battlement, the gesture deliberate, laced with contempt for the unseen enemies beyond.

"Careful, David," Henry warned, his voice soft but tinged with amusement. "That ’girl’ could gut you with a word if she heard you comparing us. She’s no one’s shadow, least of all mine." Another coughing fit seized him, forcing him to lean against the wall for support. This time, David stepped closer without hesitation, steadying him with a firm hand.

"You have my oath," David said firmly, his voice thick with emotion. "But Henry... she’s got enemies everywhere. Half the nobles, the mages—even Lady Claire who supports the prince and with her scheming—"

Henry silenced him with a raised hand, his crimson ring gleaming faintly in the fading light. "Let them plot. She thrives in the light. She’ll need you to light the pyres when the time comes." His words hung heavy in the air, a promise and a prophecy wrapped in one.

For a moment, neither man spoke. The wind picked up, carrying with it the faint scent of rain. Somewhere below, the sounds of soldiers training drifted upward, a steady rhythm of clashing steel and shouted commands. It was a reminder that life went on, even as death loomed ever closer.

"Besides..." Henry added, his voice softer now, almost wistful. "What’s a throne worth if not defended by wolves?"

David clapped him on the back, the gesture both comforting and grounding. "Then we’ll make them choke on our teeth."

Henry managed a weak chuckle, though it dissolved into another bout of coughing. "Gods, David... you’ve ruined my dramatic exit. Help an old king to his chambers before I collapse. And fetch that sour-faced maid of yours—what’s her name? Sauny? She brews a passable tonic."

David guided him forward, muttering under his breath, "Aye, Your Majesty. But only if you admit my hound’s uglier than your warhorse."

"Aye, deal," Henry rasped, flipping him off weakly as they disappeared into the dimly lit corridors of the fortress.

But their banter faded abruptly as they saw the purple queen standing by. Quickly, David fixed his posture, transforming from a friend into the stoic guard he was expected to be.

"Greetings, my lady Claire. I greet the new Marquise of House Phoenixia," David voiced, bowing slightly—but only as a gesture, not out of respect.

Claire glared at him, her silence speaking volumes. "Your Majesty, I hope I may have a moment."

Henry gazed at his friend, giving a small nod. David followed suit, taking all the royal guards with him to stand guard at the end of the corridor.

"Speak, cousin. What irks you so that your purple eyes burn so?" Henry asked, leaning heavily on his cane.

She twitched her forehead, her gaze hardening further. "...What are you going to do about all the news of Atlas’s death spreading everywhere, let alone the bloody war? This kingdom needs Atlas more than ever. The rumors are spreading faster than fire through dry grass," she began, her words measured but tinged with bitterness. "They say Atlas is dead—killed in the Dark Continent, left to rot by those too cowardly or indifferent to retrieve him." She paused, her fingers tightening imperceptibly around the delicate fan in her hand. "Do you intend to let them believe it? Or will you finally address the whispers about your so-called heir?"

Henry’s head tilted further, the light catching the edges of his mask as though mocking her audacity. When he spoke, his voice was low and rasping, laced with disdain. "Let them sing their dirges. A dead prince draws more flies than a live one. Let the Empire choke on their laughter when they realize he still breathes...."

Claire flinched at the cruelty in his tone, but her expression hardened almost immediately. Her knuckles whitened against the fan, and she took a step closer to the dais, her composure slipping just enough to reveal the storm beneath. "This isn’t a game, Henry," she snapped, her voice rising sharply. "The boy’s been seen alive—not here, but beyond our borders. And still, you sit here, polishing your crown while the realm teeters on the brink of war. How do you expect to fight an empire with half the nobility questioning your sanity?"

For a moment, Henry said nothing. He simply stared at her, his crimson ring gleaming faintly in the dim light. Then, with a dismissive wave of his hand, he cut her off before she could continue. "You mistake me for a man who cares what sheep think. The war will be won in blood, not debates. Lara will lead the charge. ’She’ understands sacrifice."

At the mention of Lara, Claire’s jaw tightened, her lips pressing into a thin line. There it was—the dismissal she had come to expect, the casual disregard for anyone who wasn’t his golden child. But this time, something inside her snapped. She stepped closer still, her heels clicking sharply against the marble floor, until she stood directly before him. Her voice dropped, trembling not with fear but with fury. "And Atlas?" she demanded, her words slicing through the air like daggers. "He’s your ’son’, you fool. Or have you forgotten how to feel anything that isn’t hatred?"

Henry froze, his gloved hand twitching against the armrest of the throne. For a brief moment, the mask seemed to falter—not physically, but emotionally, as though the weight of her words had cracked something deep within him. But then he straightened, his tone sharpening like steel. "Has Lara heard about the war?" he asked, cutting through her tirade with surgical precision.

Claire blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift in conversation. She hesitated, then nodded stiffly. "Yes," she admitted, her voice quieter now, tinged with something akin to sorrow. "Yes...she’s on her way, but don’t you forget, Unlike you, she ran to the Dark Continent to save him, not abandoned him."

Henry absorbed this information in silence, his good eye narrowing slightly behind the mask. After a long pause, he gave a single nod, as if confirming some private calculation. "..." he murmured, his voice barely audible. "..... when she arrives, tell her to visit my quarters..." He trailed off, waving a hand dismissively,

Claire recoiled as though struck, her face pale with shock and disgust. She opened her mouth to retort, but no words came. Instead, she turned abruptly, her skirts swirling like storm clouds as she strode toward the massive double doors. At the threshold, she paused, glancing back over her shoulder. Henry remained where she’d left him, slumped before his throne room. The mask tilted downward once more. In that fleeting moment, she saw not a king, but a broken man—a shadow of the titan he once claimed to be.