Chapter 108: Gift-giving Competition (2)

"What?" Orlan was stunned, staring at Nolan in surprise. "What do you mean, Prince Nolan?"

Nolan took a sip of his wine, then smiled coldly. "What else could I mean if not that book? Do you really think it’s the real one?"

Orlan fell silent, his expression turning serious. He narrowed his eyes and examined the book carefully.

As a devoted admirer of Edward Layard’s works, Orlan was deeply familiar with them and could naturally distinguish an original from a fake.

But the more he examined the book, the more flawless it appeared.

Edward Layard’s books were unique—none of them had titles on the front cover. The title was always printed on the back.

Only the author’s name appeared on the front, along with Edward’s signature at the bottom.

And the book Cedric had given to Ragan matched that exact description—it was identical to Edward Layard’s usual works.

In an instant, Orlan’s doubts about the book faded—replaced by suspicion toward Nolan.

"Could you be mistaken, Prince? This book is clearly Edward Layard’s. I’d stake my name on it," Orlan said seriously.

Nolan exhaled slowly. He glanced at Orlan and replied, "Edward Layard never used white ink for his signature. He explicitly stated that in one of his books—Journey to the Inner Enlightenment, published two years ago. However..."

He turned his gaze back to the dark green cover of the book, where Edward’s name and signature gleamed in white ink.

"This one clearly shows both in white ink—directly contradicting what he wrote. Do you think Edward is a fool who would forget his own rules?"

As soon as those words reached his ears, Orlan’s expression tightened, and his heart began to race.

Then, slowly, the memory of the final page in the book Nolan referred to resurfaced in his mind.

How could I forget? Edward Layard did write that!

he muttered, taking a deep breath to suppress his shock.

He had claimed to be a devoted admirer of Edward, yet he had forgotten something so simple.

How could he still call himself a fan?

At the same time, his view of Nolan shifted once again.

He’s even more meticulous—and a little more unnerving—than I thought,

he muttered with a quiet chuckle.

The fact that Nolan could recall such a small detail was proof of his disturbingly sharp memory.

"You really are a genius, Prince. Even I didn’t catch that," he said sincerely. "But... do you think His Majesty noticed it?"

Nolan paused for a moment, glancing at Ragan, who still wore a broad smile. He shook his head slightly.

"I’m not sure," he replied flatly. "But knowing how much he loves Edward Layard’s works, it’s likely he did. He just chose to stay silent—probably to avoid embarrassing Cedric and the Imperial family."

Orlan nodded in agreement. Had he been in Ragan’s position, he would’ve been just as angry—but he, too, would have kept it to himself for the sake of the imperial family’s honor.

After all, exposing the truth in public would have been the same as slapping Cedric in the face—and that would only serve to benefit the other princes.

Worse, if such a thing came to light, it could even disrupt the line of succession to the throne.

"Well, thank you, Cedric," Ragan said, gently patting his left shoulder.

Cedric clasped his hands together and offered a small smile. "You’re welcome, Father."

But for a brief moment, a flicker of disappointment crossed Ragan’s eyes—though he quickly masked it.

After Cedric, it was Adalen’s turn to step forward and present his gift. Unlike the others, he didn’t carry it himself—instead, a servant approached, holding a slim black wooden tray covered with a cloth.

Resting neatly on the tray was a folded golden robe, adorned with fiery red patterns that shimmered with elegance.

Adalen took the tray from the servant and offered it directly to Ragan.

"Happy birthday, Father. May you live a long life," Adalen said softly. "This is a golden robe from the Holy Empire of Valtanir. It was designed by their top artisans using only the finest materials, and I had it tailored specifically to your measurements. Please accept it."

Ragan accepted the robe, examining it with interest.

"I really like the design and texture. Thank you, Adalen," he said with a pleased smile, his eyes filled with pride.

Adalen smiled back and gave a polite nod. "You’re welcome, Father. I’m glad you like it."

While it didn’t quite match the grandeur of Aldric’s gift, the noble heads present acknowledged it with approving nods.

The robe was truly exquisite—clearly a garment worthy only of someone who exuded power and authority, like Ragan.

After Adalen, Zarak stepped forward to present his gift: a silver crown adorned with three small, multi-colored crystals embedded on the right, center, and left sides.

"Father, this is my gift. I hope it pleases you," Zarak said with courtesy, though the pride in his eyes was unmistakable.

The crown was a rare treasure known as Frost Moon, valued at over one million Sharn. Zarak had acquired it from an auction hosted by his grandfather’s trading house.

Naturally, with his status, obtaining the crown had not been difficult.

Still, had Ragan known where it came from, the gesture might have seemed less meaningful.

After all, the true essence of a gift lies not in its price, but in the sincerity behind it.

Ragan accepted the crown with a nod of approval. "Thank you, Zarak. I like it."

Zarak’s smile broadened, and he bowed respectfully.

Then came Cassian’s turn. He stepped forward and presented a small red box containing a dark blue ring.

"Father, this is Tears of the Goddess, a magic ring," Cassian said gently. "It shields the mind from ill intent and brings peace to the heart. I hope you’ll accept it."

Ragan took the box, a flicker of surprise in his expression. "This ring is extraordinary. Its magical aura is impressive. Thank you, Cassian."

Cassian smiled, then placed his left hand over his chest and bowed his head respectfully.

"You’re welcome, Father. Your happiness is mine."

After Cassian, it was Elina’s turn to present her gift to Ragan.

All eyes turned to her—including Ragan’s—filled with curiosity.

"What do you think Princess Elina’s gift will be?" One of the noble family heads whispered.

The others simply shook their heads.

"I’m not sure," another replied quietly. "But one thing is certain—it must be something extraordinary."

Several nearby nodded in agreement. None of them had ever underestimated Elina, despite the fact that her mother—the sixth concubine—lacked a powerful background.

The protection granted by the Singularity of Chaos alone was enough to prove that Elina was not someone to be taken lightly.

On top of that, the Caltheron family had already pledged their full support to her—a backing that, for the time being, even surpassed that of Cedric and Adalen in the ongoing struggle for the throne.

Under the weight of expectant stares, Elina stepped forward.

A maid followed beside her, carrying a slim black wooden tray—similar to the one used by Adalen earlier.

"First of all, allow me to wish you a happy birthday, Father," Elina said softly, lifting the hem of her gown and offering a graceful curtsy. "I’ve prepared a gift for you."

She took the tray from the maid and offered it directly to Ragan.

In an instant, Ragan’s composed expression crumbled—replaced by visible shock.

"Is this... the Shinketsu dagger?!"