Awakening in The World of Gods

Inside the meeting room, a maid stood at the far side, delicately arranging a silver tray adorned with fine porcelain cups and a gleaming teapot. She glanced up at Poll's entrance, her practiced expression polite but subtly appraising. Another young master, probably expecting coffee strong enough to fuel an army… or something pretentious like aged royal tea, she thought, her mind running through her usual checklist of noble whims. She offered a small bow, her voice smooth and professional.

"Good afternoon, young master," she greeted with a practiced warmth.

Poll nodded slightly, returning the gesture with a touch of formality but surprising charm. "Good afternoon. Thank you for preparing the room."

The maid blinked. Huh, polite. Not what I expected. Maybe this one's different. She straightened, her smile softening into something more genuine. "Is there anything I can bring you before the meeting begins?"

Poll tilted his head, considering. The maid braced herself, already envisioning a lengthy list of extravagant demands. But instead, he said, "Yes, please—some milk, if you don't mind."

She faltered for a moment, caught off guard. Milk? Not coffee? Not imported dragon-leaf tea? Just… milk? It was so simple, almost endearing. "Of course, right away," she replied smoothly, though internally, she was laughing at how different he was from the entitled brats she usually dealt with. With a quick, graceful nod, she exited through a side door to fulfill his request.

As soon as the door clicked shut, Poll's demeanor shifted. His relaxed, affable exterior gave way to a sharp focus as he surveyed the room. His eyes roved over the ornate furniture, from the regal centerpiece table with its golden inlays to the chairs whose intricate carvings spoke of painstaking craftsmanship. He lingered on the tapestries, each one a story woven in thread, their depictions of battles and coronations brimming with life.

Then, his gaze landed on the windows, the tall panes of stained glass filtering soft beams of light that scattered into a kaleidoscope of colors. Beautiful, but impractical for an ambush, he mused absently, before a sly grin crept across his face.

Slipping his hand into his pocket, Poll pulled out his magestone. The faintly glowing crystal pulsed in rhythm with his mana, a reassuring weight in his palm. He whispered to himself, his tone laced with mischief, "Oh, this is going to be fun."

He held the magestone in both hands and began channeling his mana into it, weaving an enchantment that subtly diffused through the room. At first, it seemed simple—just faint ripples of energy, harmless and unnoticeable to the untrained eye. But as Poll's concentration deepened, the spell grew more intricate. Lines of glowing mana began to appear across the floor like an artist's brushstrokes, creating swirling, interconnected patterns. They shimmered faintly before vanishing, embedding themselves invisibly into the room's very fabric.

The walls seemed to hum softly as the enchantment spread, weaving threads of mana into corners, beneath furniture, and even the air itself. A perfect zone, cloaked in subtlety, Poll thought with satisfaction. To anyone else, the room would appear entirely normal, but in reality, it was now a stage primed for his unique talents. Whatever he had planned, this setup was key.

He stepped back, admiring his handiwork as a painter might admire a finished masterpiece. Then he leaned casually against one of the grand chairs, his expression a mix of smugness and anticipation. Let's see them try to catch this one.

Moments later, the maid returned, balancing a silver tray with a crystal glass of milk. She pushed the door open gently and stepped inside, expecting the usual noble idleness. Instead, she froze mid-step. The light seemed to shift—soft, radiant, and almost celestial. The polished floor shimmered like a mirrored lake, the carved furniture appeared imbued with life, and the air itself felt charged with divine energy. For a moment, she swore she was no longer in the palace but in some heavenly realm. Her heart raced, her knees felt weak, and her eyes widened in awe. Standing at the center of this unearthly glow was Poll, reclining with an aura of calm, radiant power.

Liana's breath hitched. For a fleeting moment, she wondered if she had stepped into another realm. Her pulse quickened, a strange mixture of awe and reverence washing over her. what is this..!!, So much divine Aura.....,

Is he some kind of reincarnation or something, Am I… in the presence of a higher being? Is this… his true power?,  Her grip on the tray faltered for a moment before she quickly steadied herself.

Poll, perfectly aware of her reaction, spoke without opening his eyes, his voice calm, composed, and laced with an almost divine authority. "Ah… you've returned. Forgive me for keeping you waiting. You may place the milk here on the table."

His words snapped her back to reality—or whatever this was. Liana's cheeks flushed, and she gave a flustered bow. "O-Of course, my lord… I mean, young master. It is truly… an honor to witness you in your true self," she stammered, her voice trembling with both awe and nervousness.

Poll opened one eye just slightly, catching the red creeping up her face. He had to stifle a smirk. Oh, this is gold. She's completely fallen for it. The enchanted magestone in his pocket hummed faintly, amplifying his mana aura just enough to create this dramatic effect. It was all calculated—well, mostly.

"True self," he murmured under his breath, trying to suppress a chuckle. Outwardly, he let his aura dim, the shimmering energy dissipating slowly as if the heavens themselves were retreating. The room's natural lighting returned, and the serene weight lifted. Liana let out a small sigh of relief, though she still seemed slightly starstruck.

"Thank you," Poll said with a gentle smile as she carefully placed the goblet of milk on the table. "And, if you don't mind my asking, what is your name?"

The maid blinked, caught off guard by his kind tone. "M-my name is Liana, young master," she replied, curtsying gracefully.

"Liana," Poll repeated, as if tasting the word. "That's a beautiful name." He picked up the milk, taking a deliberate sip. And a perfect opening for some reconnaissance. "Tell me, Liana, how long have you been working here at the palace?"

Liana's face brightened at the question. "About five years, young master. I started as an assistant maid, but I was promoted to one of the attendants for esteemed guests."

Poll tilted his head, feigning casual interest. "That's impressive. The palace must be an incredible place to work."

"Oh, it is," she said, her voice carrying a note of pride. "There's always something happening—royal events, important guests. It's an honor to be part of it."

"And the king?" Poll pressed, watching her reaction closely. "What's he like to work under?"

Liana hesitated, choosing her words carefully. "His Majesty is a fair ruler—stern but just. He's… very powerful. Just being in his presence feels… significant."

Poll nodded thoughtfully. "He sounds formidable. Thank you for sharing, Liana. It's people like you who make the palace what it is."

Her smile widened at the compliment, and she curtsied again. "You're too kind, young master."

As she turned to back and stood there in distance, Poll's gaze lingered. The information was helpful, but something about her aura stuck in his mind. Once the door closed, he leaned back in his chair and took another sip of milk. But then, the faintest ripple in his mana field caught his attention.

His eyes narrowed. What was that? He focused on the spot where Liana had stood moments earlier. Her mana presence had felt… ordinary at first, but now he wasn't so sure. It was subtle, but he could feel traces of something sharp and precise—powerful mana, tightly controlled and expertly suppressed.

Poll's thoughts raced. A maid shouldn't have mana like that, Unless they hire extraordinary maids. Is she really a maid, or is she something else entirely? An agent of the king? An assassin?

He replayed her demeanor in his mind—the slight hesitations, the too-perfect answers. Did she notice the enchantments I placed in the room? Did I overdo it?

He set the goblet down, his grip tightening. For a moment, his confidence wavered. Calm down, Poll. Think. She could be just a maid… but if she isn't, you'll need a plan. He exhaled slowly, steadying himself. No moves yet. Just… watch. For now.

In the back, Liana paused for a moment, clutching the tray to her chest. Her face still burned with embarrassment, but she allowed herself a small smile. The young master's power is real, but… he doesn't seem unkind. Still, the aura in that room… It wasn't normal. I'll have to report this.

Both their minds swirled with doubts and secrets, neither realizing the other was already several steps ahead in their respective plans.

Poll turned toward her with an air of serene authority, his calm smile softening his features. "Liana," he began, his tone gentle but deliberate, "I sense there's more to you than meets the eye… something beautiful yet burdened." His words were measured, laced with a kind of pseudo-philosophical wisdom he was sure would disarm her. "Life isn't always kind. Lies, secrets… they don't just happen. They're made under pressure. I won't pry, but if there's ever anything you wish to ask of me—or confess—I'll listen. Without judgment."

He watched her intently, his sharp eyes drinking in every subtle shift in her expression. This was it—the carefully calculated bait. Whether she was an undercover agent, a spy, or just an exceptionally weird maid, this approach would peel back at least one layer of her defenses. At the very least, it would be entertaining.

For Liana, the words hit like a bolt of lightning. Her face turned a deep shade of red as panic seized her. "W-What… I… I don't know what you're talking about, young master!" she stammered, her voice cracking as her composure crumbled. She took a shaky step back, gripping the edge of the tray like a lifeline. "I—I should leave the room now," she squeaked, her head lowering as if she hoped to vanish entirely.

Poll's expression softened further, though his mind danced with glee. Got her. She's rattled. Now to twist the screws just a bit more.

"One more thing before you go," he said smoothly, rising from his seat with deliberate grace. He extended a hand toward her, his gaze warm but piercing. "May I see your hand? Sometimes, when I meet someone extraordinary, I like to look closer. To understand the soul behind their eyes."

Her face practically erupted into flames. "Wh-what are you saying?! I—no! That's not…!" Her words came out a flustered jumble, her feet shuffling back with an almost comical urgency. "I can't—I mean, I mustn't!" she sputtered before spinning on her heel and fleeing toward the door, the tray wobbling dangerously in her grip.

Poll tilted his head, letting a mischievous grin spread across his face. "So dramatic," he murmured to himself, reclining back into his chair with a victorious sigh. That went even better than expected. She's completely unbalanced. Whether she's a spy or just tragically shy, this is leverage. And leverage is power.

As the door clicked shut, Poll chuckled softly, swirling the milk in his goblet like a seasoned villain contemplating their next move. "Not bad for a glass of milk and a little charm."

Meanwhile, outside the room, Liana stumbled to a halt, clutching the tray to her chest as her heart threatened to leap out of her ribcage. She glanced down at her hands, trembling from a mix of adrenaline and embarrassment. What was that? Why did it feel like he could see through me? She let out a shuddering breath, trying to calm herself. No, no. He's just playing mind games. That's all. I've faced worse than this. Just breathe.

She barely had time to collect herself before the unmistakable presence of the king loomed at the end of the corridor. His long, measured strides brought him closer with every heartbeat, his golden regalia glinting faintly in the torchlight. Liana's face, still flush from her encounter, grew redder as she hurriedly stepped aside and bowed deeply. "Y-Young Master Poll… is ready for you, Your Majesty," she said, her voice still betraying her frazzled state.

The king raised an eyebrow at her unusual tone, his piercing gaze scanning her face. He was no fool. The girl was visibly shaken, and not by something trivial. His sharp eyes flicked toward the door before narrowing slightly in thought. Though he said nothing, his expression carried an unspoken question: What did he do this time?

With a brief nod, the king brushed past her and placed a hand on the door handle. He paused for a moment, as if bracing himself for the scene awaiting him. With a steadying breath, he opened the door and entered.

Inside, Poll sensed the king's mana signature before the door even moved. He felt the air shift slightly, a heavy presence brushing against his own field. A sly smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he casually took another sip of milk, his posture the epitome of relaxed composure.

When the king stepped inside, his sharp gaze landed on Poll immediately, narrowing slightly as if trying to decode the younger man's intentions. Poll greeted him with an easy, almost childlike grin, raising his goblet in mock salute.

"Your Majesty," he said smoothly, leaning back in his chair as though he owned the palace. "Took your time, didn't you? I was starting to wonder if you'd gotten lost."

The king's lips twitched—not quite a smile, but close enough to suggest amusement. "I see you've made yourself comfortable," he said, his voice low and commanding. His gaze flicked to the goblet of milk. "And… indulged."

Poll chuckled, setting the glass down with exaggerated care. "What can I say? Your hospitality is divine. Speaking of divine…" He let the words hang in the air, the faintest spark of mischief in his eyes. "Your maid seemed to think I was some sort of higher being. Care to explain what kind of training your staff receives?"

The king's brow furrowed slightly, his keen instincts catching the underlying tension in the room. "I'll be the one asking questions," he said firmly, striding toward the table with deliberate authority.

Poll's grin widened. Good. Let's play.