1
The majestic cathedral of Tenessia dominated the street view in Falvale district, on the northern banks of the river Thuleois, the wide stream of which separated it from the rest of Eskeleion.
Falvale was a clean and orderly district with apartment complexes of white stone, housing a great number of the society’s more bourgeois inhabitants. Whereas their earthly needs were effortlessly sated by the various service facilities around, the ancient Cathedral of Divine Worship had been repurposed to meet the ever-growing demand for spiritual enrichment.
To be more precise, it provided a venue for profitable markets.
Those taking part in the daily masses could always spare a few coins for charity, in the hopes of curing the mild guilt that those with a full stomach were bound to feel next to those less fortunate—which the Gralia district a few miles east supplied without limit. Some of the poor from the slums would make the day trip to Falvale, to beg for change at street corners and secluded alleys, before being chased away by the guard patrols.
In the Cathedral markets were also sold charms, magical items, blessings, curse-breaking services, exorcisms, fortune-telling, and so on, the effectiveness of them varying from mild to non-existent. Not all the entrepreneurs worked for the Marquess, independent businesses were also welcome, so long as they could afford to rent a spot for their stand in the cathedral hall. Also, of all monetary transactions, the management taxed a meager percentage, which over time had produced quite a mountain of silver nonetheless, and that further grew each day.
At the heart of all these operations was De la Cartá, an Archbishop and a Marquess in title, a corporate CEO in function.
Labeling the man a greedy, self-centered, money-grubbing hypocrite would have been easy and perhaps largely justified—but a few did so. In this world, in this Empire of men, no one saw an issue in seeking earthly fortune through facilities of spiritual service. Rather, whatever way one could come up with to earn wealth and power was surely only to their credit. After all, in Tratovia, strength was everything.
The concept of sin was also missing.
Good fortune as well as poor were both things to be earned and sold, like anything else about life, and nothing more profound than that. What awaited after death, no one could say for certain, and thus it was meaningless to even ponder.
No heavenly punishment was to be expected for making money, as the old Marquess proved by his healthy example. Therefore, he had always been quite transparent about his prosperity and the benefits of it, took pride in it, and proclaimed it as the natural result of his inborn business sense. As a matter of fact, the old Archbishop was a widely liked figure with a warm personality, perhaps even more so than anyone of the ruling regime. It was undeniable thanks to his work in part that the city flourished.
The cathedral building itself was, surprisingly enough, very much like a cathedral one might see in an entirely different world.
A large and sturdy, almost coffin-like building, of tranquil white stone, taller than it was wide, with high and narrow windows spotting the walls on two layers. The back end of the long building was split into hefty twin towers, with great bells of copper at the top of each. In the front end, framed by great pillars, was a vaulted entryway, with a flight of wide stone stairs connecting it to the street level.
Already well before dusk, a line of guests had formed on said stairs, on top of which servants verified the identity of each, matching the letters of invitation with the corresponding entries on the guest list. The unrest of recent days hadn’t gone unnoticed by the cathedral staff, who exercised particular caution and took their time allowing entry, despite the growing line. A solid number of armored knights stood outside the building and at the entrance, ensuring with their mere presence that not even the more impatient guests would dare to cut in line.
Inside, the visitor would first come into a majestic entrance hall, often lined all around with small stands selling previously described spiritual goods and services. On this grand day, such crude shops had been cleared away. Instead, a small army of servants was there to receive the guests and, if necessary, take and store their belongings which weren’t needed inside. Due to the warm climate, few would come with any excess clothing, though.
Only slightly younger than the Imperial Palace, the cathedral hardly lost to it in the exquisiteness of interior design. Polished marble floor featured a check-pattern of white and jade-green tiles. On the ceiling, ageless art works of painters long gone, with themes of Divine lore, elicited gasps of awe from the guests, regardless of how many times they had seen them. The air was cool and fresh, speaking voices echoing from the voluminous walls.
Following the entrance hall was a no less dignified vestibule, with stairs on both sides leading to the upper floors, presently off-limits and sealed off by thick ropes and informing placards across the way.
Forward from there came the nave, the vast central hall of the cathedral, exhibiting the full splendor of the architecture of old. There were no benches to sit on, like in a church. The extensive floor space was largely clear today, save for tables set up on the far sides, where the necessary consumables would be placed, in no small quantities. Six hundred guests was a considerable number, but seeing the grandiose hall with one’s own eyes, it was easy to believe they would all fit inside without making compromises in comfort. Rather, there was bound to be space left over.
No more would the guests see of the cathedral on this occasion, it was all they needed to, and in this regard, the princess of Langoria was no exception.
Although Yuliana and the Emperor weren’t among the first to arrive—for their tour around the city had taken them longer than expected—they weren’t subjected to the tedious wait in the line either. Not at all. With stern Bramms making them way with his imposing presence alone, they strode past the awed guests and were quickly admitted without any jarring introductions or verification of documents.
Even as Yuliana expected no less, her modest, chivalrous spirit couldn’t help but feel guilty, for passing so easily where her elders were left to wait their turn. Not that she would have joined them with pleasure, even if given the choice. As the sun started to set, the streets of Bhastifal were quickly turning chilly.
Meanwhile, the certain would-be assassin was looking at sides of the cathedral no one else knew about. A flimsy, inconspicuous fisher boat brought Izumi to the northern bank of the Thuleios, where an entry point had been previously identified. There was a small opening of a tunnel, half submerged in the water, so covered in dirt and natural in appearance that one had to wonder how it had been discovered in the first place.
“Mind showing the way?” Izumi asked the shady, cloaked man rowing the boat, after jumping off. Not saying a word, the man merely turned the boat around and sailed away. Up to her thighs in the muddy stream, feeling lukewarm water flood her shoes, Izumi had to go on by herself.
Sighing heavily, she crouched and entered the tunnel.
The way in didn’t look one bit inviting.
At times, it was so cramped that Izumi was forced to crawl on all fours in the water, while even at its highest, she had to remain deeply crouched. Progress was painfully slow. She had to be careful not to hit her head on the sudden, rocky bumps on the walls and the ceiling.
Needless to say, in addition to spare room, the tunnel was also utterly devoid of light sources. Not far in, Izumi found that she couldn’t see in any direction anymore. After a few more minutes of blind fumbling, her sense of direction became helplessly mixed.
Which way had she come from, which way was she going, the uneven, slimy walls appeared to oppose her in every direction. There was barely enough room left to turn around, her shoulders kept hitting the walls. A few times her feet slipped on the soft, unstable path, and she nearly became fully submerged in the dirty, stagnant water.
Izumi hadn’t ever felt claustrophobic before, but neither had she crawled in tight places much either. Soon, she found that she had reached a psychological limit she never wanted to test.
“Come on, now’s not the time to panic...” she muttered and stopped, forcing her erratic breathing back under control. Doing her best to ignore her soaked clothes and the resulting discomfort, Izumi gathered focus and recalled the previous day’s lessons.
“Gehir...Osil.”
The root rune, which opened one’s form to change, and the rune of perception—casting the two now, Izumi tested if they would improve her situation.
As magical energy flowed into her eyes, her optic nerves started to pick up the normally imperceptible natural light seeping in, allowing her to vaguely make out the interior of the narrow tunnel. Better than nothing.
The way forward didn’t look any more encouraging than previously—rather, not seeing the hellish hole ahead had been a blessing—but at least she knew where she was going.
“Why do I have to do something like this…?” The joy of having obtained magical powers only warmed her heart faintly now, as she waded on. “This isn’t a job for a lady! Not one bit!”
The tunnel appeared to go on forever.
Izumi felt like she had been crawling on for at least an hour already, but there was no ending in sight. What if this was the wrong path? What if a part of it had collapsed? If she reached a dead end now, there would be no other way but to return the same way. It would’ve been so much easier to just give up and die there.
Then, it appeared that her fears were going to turn real.
The tunnel abruptly ended in a pile of rubble.
No matter how she looked at it, Izumi saw no way forward. No side paths. Nothing. Despair already gripped at her heart—but then a random observation made her forget it. The messy end of the tunnel looked oddly bright and clear in her vision. Dragging herself closer to see better, Izumi discovered that the ragged path actually took a sharp turn upward, and the opening in the ceiling had simply been hidden from her view.
Moreover, there was clearly light coming from high above.
Squeezing through the turn, begrudgingly agreeing that large breasts were not always a thing to be grateful about, Izumi started to climb. Taking support of the deep cracks and corroded corners along the way, she pulled herself up, little by little. Higher and higher she ascended, one painful inch at a time, and as she advanced, the light showering her grew brighter, bright enough so that she had to deactivate Osil. One small slip-up could have caused her to plummet back down to the bottom of this deceitful shaft, but the wild hope brought by the nearing destination banished the threat from her mind.
Finally, Izumi reached an iron grate riddled with ornate holes, like the lid of a drain. Through the holes, she could see that there was no more mud or rock, but a spacious room above. With only a bit of effort, she pushed the grate out of the way—it had clearly been loosened for her—and pulled herself up.
There she lied, sprawled on the cold stone floor for a while, catching her breath, congratulating herself for the unlikely survival, as well as trying to gather the willpower to go on. She was tired by the effort, muddy all over, but it was only here that her actual mission could begin.
The room around appeared to be a storage room of some kind. Only a few meters wide and deep, full of wooden barrels and grates. Small stone stairs led to a solitary doorway. The door was open. Or rather, there was no door to begin with.
“I’m not going to pass for a guest, looking like this...” Izumi examined her dirty clothes. Her face had to have been rather muddy too, and her hair wet. A mirror to make herself more presentable and a spare set of clothes—the latter was supposed to have been provided by an insider.
According to Carmelia, the disguise had been left somewhere near the entry point, and Izumi started to look for the quest item at once. She examined the barrels and the grates, under them, between them, behind them…
...But found nothing.
There were some old bottles, boxes, half-burned candles, ladles, sacks, plates, rope, cobwebs, but nothing that could be identified as human clothing. Clearly enough, the insider hadn’t made things too easy for her, or else she really sucked at looking. Both, most likely.
Sighing, Izumi left the room.
Being spotted by a servant or a guard in her present state would’ve meant instant game over, and her wet clothes and shoes left a distinct trail on the floor for anyone to follow, but there were no alternatives.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
Izumi stepped into a narrow corridor going left, with an intersection along the way. No places to run or hide. Listening close for footsteps, she discreetly made her way to the next corner, peeked her head around it, and gave a quick glance both ways.
Only an identical view met her.
Another long, featureless corridor, with two more intersections.
“What’s up with this place…! Where am I?”
Little by little, Izumi grew certain there were no other people around, and hurried her exploration. But the more she learned about her surroundings, the more her confusion increased. The place was a downright maze. At the end of each corridor was a door. Some doors were locked, others were not. Behind the open doors were more storage rooms similar to the one she had entered through, with hardly better loot. There was a room with a great many wine bottles, but all unlabeled and dusty, clearly not for the party. Another room had crates with dry meat, not from this century. One more had long, wooden benches, piled along the walls in massive heaps. Still, Izumi found neither dresses or a mirror. Or even a way out. After concluding her fruitless search to all the unlocked rooms, she realized she had to start going through the locked ones as well.
All the while the success of her mission was on a countdown.
“This...is going to get complicated, huh.”
2
Marquess De la Cartá looked shorter in person than one would have expected. A bit chubby, though not to the point of obesity, he was dressed in a light, white silk cassock, with a turquoise-patterned surplice over it. Around his neck hung various gold accessories, medallions and such, and on his fingers as well were a number of great rings bearing rare stones. On top of his head was a tiny, white hat, which couldn’t cover even the few short strands of gray hair still left on his scalp. De la Cartá’s wide face was quite sympathetic and humorous, however, and he greeted the Emperor and Yuliana with a wide smile.
“Welcome! Welcome!” he received them with open arms. “Fear not, for I have been informed of your circumstances, and am most happy to be depended on by his majesty. Dear friends, treat everything here as your own, and myself as your humble servant.”
Yuliana thought his greeting was a bit strange, but could think no deeper on it, when the Marquise already approached her directly.
“Princess Yuliana Da Via Brannan of Langoria, I presume,” the man shook her hand with fatherly warmth. “It is a pleasure. I’ve had the honor of meeting your father once in the past, and it was a privilege I shall never forget. A true man, he was. No doubt, still is. You were not yet born at the time but, seeing your highness in person, I deeply regret not coming to visit the proud Castle of Walhollem more often.”
“Eh, the honor is all mine,” Yuliana courteously answered.
“If there is anything at all that you need...anything...don’t hesitate to let me know.”
“Thank you, so I shall.”
—“Congratulations on your sixtieth birthday, your excellency,” the Emperor spoke and stepped forward to shake his hand, as if to save the princess from the older man’s mischievous eyes. “It is a reputable age you’ve reached, in this dangerous world.”
“Dangerous,” the Marquess repeated with a coy glance. “What danger could there be, as I spend all my time holed up indoors, counting numbers, bottles, and lovers. Of course, there is the ever-present danger of slipping on a bar of soap in a hot bath, but I thank the Divines it hasn’t happened just yet. Not at a fatal level, at any rate.”
“I am of the opinion that good luck is most certainly a talent.”
“And how lucky are you? I’m afraid I’d be left second in that contest.”
The Emperor lowered his voice and leaned slightly closer to the old man.
“I understand this is terribly amusing to you, but try to remember what is at stake. One careless word could bring...”
“Oh, don’t lecture me on my birthday, you’re much too green for that,” the Marquess interrupted him with a snort. “Do you think one still fears death at my age? I’ll have you know I’m not terribly fond of that boy. I only agreed to this because it amused me, and because I happen to have something of a personal interest in you, my friend. After everything I’ve achieved in life, games of destiny like this are all I have left to look forward to. I’ll gladly die to witness it unfold, if I must.”
“...I see you have elected your path then.”
“But I’m not going to die,” De la Cartá added in a lighter tone and spread his arms. “I practically own this city! What would happen to it without me? You know that, don’t you? A ruler rules, but it’s the ones who keep the industry running that really make or break an empire. If I’m not indispensable, then who is, pray tell?”
Even at the face of this rather scandalous statement, the Emperor remained composed.
“I assure you, I am better than aware of the intricacies of economy.”
“And that is why you are here,” De la Cartá nodded with a more serious look. “Please, your highness...your majesty...enjoy the food and drinks. Enjoy life. For all it lasts.”
The Marquess turned away, ending the brief meeting. Naturally, there were a great many more people he had to meet and greet tonight. Gesturing for the princess to follow, the Emperor left to return where the other guests were gathering.
“What was that about?” Yuliana couldn’t help but ask with a confused look.
The Emperor she had grown to know wouldn’t let such remarks go without consequences—but the man stepping beside her only answered with a careless shrug.
“The old fool has lost his marbles. Pay no heed to his ramblings. All I am counting on him for is setting the stage, and in that, I’d say he has done adequately enough. Before anything else, this is a night for us, remember?”
“So that we may see eye to eye, is that it?”
“If all goes well,” he answered. “Come now. I shall use my authority to secure the best parts of the lobster for you.”
“Hey!” she laughed. “Are you trying to be a diplomat, or to turn me into a pig?”
3
It took Izumi quite some time to find a way forward, but she finally did. One of the locked doors hid no costumes, but there were stairs taking upward. Following them, she reached a larger hallway, where servants occasionally passed through, on the way to retrieve supplies. Apparently, she had progressed from the abandoned underground storage rooms to storage rooms that were still actively in use. The main hall couldn’t have been far off now. Barely avoiding detection, she slowly advanced in the direction the servants were coming from, before spotting a lone maid coming in with an empty tray in her hands.
The maid was roughly Izumi’s size.
“Snake, if you’re out of ammo, then you’ve got pick some up in the battlefield…”
Stealthily following the maid into a room full of kitchenware, Izumi caught the poor woman in a chokehold from behind. Applying pressure as gently as possible, she closed the windpipe and kept the hold, until her victim ceased her struggle and fell limp.
“I’m really sorry about this, but the fate of the world is at stake,” she apologized, checking that the woman resumed breathing, and quickly started to take off her skirt. “Not enjoying this. Nope. Not at all. It’s a terrible thing to do to another person. Nice undies, by the way. Real retro.”
Tying the maid’s hands and legs with improvised binds and gagging her with a napkin, Izumi hid her behind a heap of boxes. Then, double-checking that no one was coming, with shaking hands, she put the acquired costume on, tying up and veiling her dirty hair with a white scarf. She examined her disguise using the polished steel tray for a mirror. There was no helping her foreign looks, but she definitely seemed like a simple worker now and nobody too conspicuous.
“Well, aren’t I just too pretty for my own good?” She nodded approvingly.
Giving the room one last look, to see if the captive wasn’t easily spotted, Izumi gathered her courage, picked up some random utensils to take with her, and headed out.
Walking briskly through the hallway, trying to appear like she belonged there, she ran into a male servant along the way. The frown he gave her was a bit disconcerting, but he wasn’t slowing down, at least.
“Busy night, huh!” Izumi said to him with a smile, while passing. A mistake.
“Wait, who are you?” the servant immediately stopped and turned to question her.
BANG! Izumi whacked him overhead with the large tray, knocking the man out. Subsequently, all the spoons, forks, and knives she’d been carrying were sent flying all over the floor, leaving a hideous mess.
“Okay, this is not good. Nerves. Nerves.”
The number of captives increased by one, Izumi tried again, this time determined to apply more discretion in spite of the disguise. Fortunately for her, no more servants were coming, for the time being. She found another set of stairs that took her further up, until she stepped out—not into a hallway, but into the vestibule between the entrance hall and the nave.
Ahead was a rope drawn across the way, with a placard warning the guests, and beyond that, the way to the central hall. The doors had already been closed. Apparently, all the expected guests were already inside. Going in now was bound to attract some unnecessary attention, not to mention that the doorway was guarded by two armed knights.
Izumi looked right. There was another set of stairs, taking to the second floor. She decided to take this path, hoping it would give her a better overview of the situation on the party floor. She wasn’t mistaken, either. Rushing the stairs up, she came to the interior balcony spanning the entire length of the nave. She also saw that it was guarded, with a number of armed knights positioned at each pillar, supervising the guests below over the shallow railing.
“The heck,” Izumi frowned, taking cover at the entryway. “’Minimal security’...Yeah, right. There’s going to be an uproar if I start dropping them.”
She had found her way inside, but there remained a near insurmountable distance between her and the target, who was somewhere in that faceless mass swarming downstairs.
—“Hey!”
At that moment, Izumi heard an angry voice coming from behind her.
Before she realized, someone had appeared on the landing at the base of the stairs and spotted her. A man dressed in a black suit, with short mustache and sleek black hair. With quick feet, the man ran up the stairs to her.
She was in trouble.
The nearest knight had heard the shout and was already looking at her. Caught between the fire and the frying pan, Izumi had nowhere left to go. Was it going to turn into a fight? Even with the runes, could she take all the knights on the balcony out before they would raise an alarm, sending the population downstairs into chaos? No, what if there were more nearby that she couldn’t see? And what about the guards on the opposing side balcony? It was impossible. All hell would break loose. The Emperor would immediately escape, and the mission would fail. In the worst case, Izumi herself would be caught. And everything would be over.
However, as she hesitated, the suited man quickly spoke to her,
“Are you here to work or spectate? Well?”
“Eh?”
It seemed the man hadn’t realized Izumi wasn’t part of the work force yet.
Surprised, she caught onto the slim hope and hurried to reply,
“W-work, of course. Why, I was—just taking a little breather, that’s all!”
“A breather?” he gasped. “Now’s really not the time for that, missy! I sent someone to retrieve glasses and a bottle of Bourdelain forever ago and they still haven’t come back. You go get them! The guests will toast any moment now and we can’t serve the Emperor any old cow piss! By the Lords, this night is shaping up to become the greatest disaster in my whole career! People just disappear into thin air when I’m not looking!”
“T-that’s terrible!” Izumi said. “Just leave it to me! I’ll take care of it.”
“Music to my ears. Be quick now! Bourdelain, remember; the ‘69 vintage. The Emperor is a connoisseur of wines, he’ll have us hanged if we serve him a subpar product. Run, woman, run! I’ll wait here, I’ve already walked too much today, my feet are killing me!”
“Gotcha!”
Izumi ran straight back to the cellar room where she had hidden the captured servants. Both had regained consciousness by now. Propping the male servant up to a sitting position, she removed the gag and blindfold, and asked,
“Where can I find me some Boulder-rain, sixty-nine vintage?”
“What? Bourdelain?” the servant repeated, confused. “What are you going to do with that? No, wait, who the—”
—“One chance to answer, then your pinky goes. This is a matter of national security, and I’ll have you know I’ve seen all seasons of 24.”
“That’s...I-in the next room. The bottles by the left-hand wall. You can’t miss them, the name is on the label—mmphh-hmm!”
Izumi put the gag and blindfold back on.
“Thanks Jeeves. Someone will come free you someday soon, I’m sure. And no peeking, you’ve got lady company.”
Izumi returned to the mustache man with a bottle of Bourdelain and a number of glasses on a tray, thanking Aiwesh at her heart for the ability to read this odd world’s writing.
“Excellent!” the servant nodded. “Follow me and pray his majesty is in a good mood.”
“Oh, he’ll be in seventh heaven. Real soon.”