Count Arthur Drayton is an enigma wrapped in impeccable aristocratic attire. A young economic advisor to the King, he appeared at court several years ago and rapidly gained influence through brilliant intellect and ruthless efficiency.

His appearance unsettles: an albino with snow-white hair and pale, almost ghostly eyes, he moves with unnatural grace, as if he doesn't belong to this world. They say he never falls ill. They say his gaze sees too much.

Arthur embodies cold calculation. He turns politics into chess, where people become pieces on the board. Marriage of convenience? Manipulating allies? Cruel but necessary decisions? To him, these are merely tools. But sometimes, in rare moments alone, something else flickers across his face—the exhaustion of a man carrying an unbearable burden, revulsion at his own methods.

What hides behind the iron chancellor's mask? What game is he truly playing? And why does a man who plays with thousands of fates sometimes look upon the world with the longing of someone who has lost something precious?

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