1

As reaching the Imperial Palace was impossible for her, by forces she could not understand, princess Yuliana wearily returned to her chambers, the only safe place she knew. There, without a word, she freed the maids she had imprisoned, and spent the following moments seated on the bed, staring languidly into nothingness, wallowing in bottomless apathy. Her prisoners were momentarily confused by her unexpected return, wearing maids’ clothing, and questioned her intentions and sanity. Then, receiving no answers, they eventually took pity on her and made the girl some tea.

The princess’s night slowly passed like this, without much sleep.

In those dark hours, everything seemed completely bleak and hopeless to her. In a word, meaningless.

However, her blue season did not continue for very long.

At some point in the early hours of the new day, the maids returned to her.

“Your highness,” Tilfa said. “Your presence is being requested.”

“My presence?” Yuliana slowly raised her face. “Why? By who?”

“Such things were not shared with us and neither did we ask,” Hila said. “All we know is that they want you at the Palace.”

But I can’t even go anywhere near it.

“If that’s what his majesty wishes...” Replying without much energy, not bothering to argue or explain herself, Yuliana got up to her feet and followed after the maids. Even if she were struck dead on the way, it didn’t matter. At least then she would be free.

No one spoke a word the whole way.

Yuliana paid no attention to her surroundings, as various theories on the reasons for her summoning coursed through her mind. Had Izumi been captured? Did the Emperor want her to see his moment of triumph? Or had both lost their lives in the cruel conflict, and her account as a witness was wanted? Or had some different, even more unexpected development taken place? She couldn’t imagine. Depressed and unwilling, she climbed the endless stairs after the maids.

As they neared the front entrance, Yuliana braced herself for the onslaught of unspeakable pain. However, to her mystery, she felt in no way different from the usual even as they passed through the turquoise gate. There was no agony, not even a hint of it. Her entry to the Palace was no longer being prohibited by the powers binding her soul. As if those powers had altogether ceased to be.

Yuliana’s confusion only deepened as they passed through the Azure Hall, to their destination in the room beyond, where a most unexpected sight awaited her.

In the nexus hall before the Throne Room, numerous unknown people had gathered. There were military officers, people who looked like lawyers, scholars, attendants, and high-ranking officials of the court. Guards there were, to preserve order, as well as court magicians, to ensure nothing fishy was going on.

In that crowd, Yuliana's attention was drawn to the tall elven woman she had met before.

Indeed, the maids led the princess straight to Carmelia, who greeted her with a soft smile.

“My apologies for the late timing, your highness,” the Court Wizard said, “but matters such as these rarely ask for our convenience. And I felt it appropriate that you should be here. After all, though you hail from another land, you cannot be called merely an outsider in this situation.”

“Excuse me, but what is that situation?” Yuliana asked. “What has happened?”

Clang—!

At that moment, the two were interrupted by a door opening on the left.

Yuliana gasped, as she recognized the person coming in.

“Master!?”

Through the doorway, escorted by two servants, leaning heavily on a crutch as she walked, was the former Colonel of the Imperial army, Miragrave Marafel, still alive after her death sentence and the following harrowing escape. Many heads were turned by her unexpected appearance.

“It is much too early for you to be walking around,” Carmelia told the woman in a somewhat scolding tone.

“As if I could play sick, at a time like this,” Miragrave replied. Though her face was pale and tired, speaking of great pain underneath, the usual willful light burned in her eyes uninterrupted. “Is it true, what they say? I’m not being played, am I?”

“It is true,” the sorceress nodded. “His majesty is dead.”

“Eh?” Yuliana couldn’t hide her shock at the news.

“One would be hard-pressed to find a soul genuinely remorseful for the fact, but such is the truth of the matter,” Carmelia continued. “But the world is not ending just yet, and we must now answer the question of what comes after.”

“There’ll be no tears from me, that is for certain,” Miragrave said, “but those are heavy boots his successor must fill. Who is to take his place? He did a thorough job at eliminating his siblings, who had any hope of overthrowing him. Is there anyone left in the world with a lawful claim? Or is competence to be the deciding factor? Will a revolution be declared, with one of the Generals to seize the Throne?”

“In this matter, the Circle has certain preferences,” Carmelia replied. “I suspect that anyone affiliated with the old regime would not be acceptable in the eyes of our alliance. Coincidentally, it appears that the local Board of Generals has been disbanded in recent hours, a great many officials resigning of their own accord. What a troubling situation this has become. In my role as an emissary, I would recommend that the aspect of racial cooperation should be considered a priority in the shaping of the new government. In that vein, I would deem that starting from a clean slate would be preferable in choosing his majesty’s successor.”

“I see that you wasted no time taking the reins,” the Colonel said with a scowl. “If that is how far you have gone to level the playground, then why not simply name your candidate outright?”

“Now, now. I merely represent the interests of the Circle,” Carmelia diplomatically responded, closing her eyes. “I would not want to be accused of meddling in humans’ internal affairs. I can merely give advice and voice my educated opinions. The resolution itself must ultimately be one that you humans reach of your own accord.”

“And you still wonder why we say, ‘elves have a thousand faces’?” Miragrave sighed. “His majesty’s death may have rid us of a tyrant, but it’s also left us at the mercy of your machinations. Can’t say I ever liked the idea, but now that it’s come to this, we don’t have a choice but to play along, do we?”

“Your prideful character shows you a woman of your country,” the Court Wizard told her. “But it would be wise to be mindful of what is at stake. Pride is not something any of us can afford at this stage.”

Understanding her meaning, Miragrave begrudgingly set aside her complaints and gestured to one of the men standing further away. It was an Imperial official dressed in black-and-white attire, carrying a large tome under his arm. That elderly man was the chief legal advisor of the palace, named Alevin. The book in his clutches was, of course, nothing other but the Law, to be readily referenced in the event of a debate.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

“Who is the next in line of succession?” Miragrave asked him.

“I can’t begin to count how many times I’ve been asked that tonight,” the man exhaled a helpless sigh. “And the short answer is: I have no fucking idea. After all these assassinations, arrests, exiles, disappearances, and record manipulation that’s been going on in recent years, I can’t tell who’s who anymore! By the way, were you not executed earlier this week, Marafel? Oh my, I’m beginning to feel dizzy...”

“I’m quite positive I feel several orders of magnitude worse than you do, but now’s no time to lie down. We must have a sound solution to present to the public by sunrise, before the citizens draw their own conclusions, and we have an uprising in our hands. Do we have any legal grounds to appoint a successor to the Throne outside of the hereditary order?”

“Well, there are laws by which the military can temporarily assume control of the government, helmed by the Field Marshal, but the rank of Field Marshal was abolished in 605, and the Board of Generals has apparently dissolved mere moments ago. Right now, the highest-ranking person I know, who still hasn't resigned or died under mysterious circumstances, is the baker who lives next door to me. We’d need an emperor to appoint new generals, and generals to manage matters until an emperor can be found, which is all backwards and doesn’t make any sense—”

—“Anything else? Someone who is not affiliated with the military or the previous regime?”

“...N-no,” Alevin stuttered. “I don’t know. You must understand that situations like this are exceedingly rare. Usually, when an emperor is killed, the culprit is the next one in the line of succession, and there is no need for all these special arrangements!”

“Think of something,” Miragrave urged him. “It doesn’t have to be strictly legal, so long as it can be rationalized in a way the public can accept. We can’t afford to lose our internal integrity now.”

“I...Well, there is one article that stuck to my mind over the years,” the official pondered. “I was quite fascinated by it when I was still a student at the Academy. In Tratovia, strength is everything, as they say, and this law is the very embodiment of that principle. It is an ancient custom, hundreds of years old, which says that if someone were to challenge the reigning Emperor to single combat, and bests him in fair feats of arms, that person will then have the right to the Throne. The law hasn’t been referenced in centuries, but has never been abolished either, so far as I know. I believe the public could accept this manner of a simplified solution. But, of course, the challenger cannot be a simple layman either, but must be of noble heritage...”

Miragrave glanced at Carmelia. “...Not going to work.”

“Yes,” the sorceress replied with a smile. “I believe that person would not only be unsuited to rule, but entirely unwilling.”

From the cirelo, Miragrave’s gaze shifted to Yuliana, who followed the whole conversation with an expression speaking of a struggle deep on the borders of comprehension.

Looking at the young girl, a light of realization appeared in Miragrave’s green eyes.

“...Yes,” the former Colonel slowly said. “Now that I recall, I have heard of such a law myself. Moreover, I have heard of another convention similar and not much younger. Accordingly, the achievements of a servant can be attributed to the master. And it has not been uncommon for declining monarchies to invite royal blood from another land.”

At her words, the Court Wizard’s smile widened.

“I believe we have found a candidate the Circle can approve.”

“Excuse me,” Yuliana could cope with her confusion and their strange looks no longer and intervened. “Master, Lady Carmelia, could someone please explain to me in plain words what is going on here? Your words make very little sense to me.”

“Yes,” Carmelia turned to the girl with motherly warmth on her countenance, “I believe the time has come for me to keep my word. Why don’t we look for a more private room, and I shall explain to you everything that has transpired at the capital over the past week...your majesty.”

No less puzzled, Yuliana blinked her large, round eyes like a little bird.

“Eh?”

2

A great many twists and turns followed that fateful discussion, quite colorful and complex, and by all means sufficient for an entirely new book to be written to record them. But such matters we must not leave aside and look ahead to the conclusion instead. What was that conclusion and what did it mean for the world?

Ultimately, as was told in so many songs and tales long after, heard in all corners of the free world, on the thirtieth of Maarat, in the year nine hundred and ninety-nine of the thirty-third cycle of the Covenant, a new ruler was crowned in the city of Bhasitfal. Adopting the regnal name “Ashwelia”, a young woman of only nineteen years of age acceded to the Throne, as the new Empress of the Tratovian Empire.

This unexpected celebration was initially met with widespread suspicion and raising of brows among the general public. Yet, the fresh sovereign’s slightly awkward but no less valorous and endearing coronation speech quickly won over even the opposition. It was made clear to all at a glance that she was a good girl, with a good head on her shoulders—and a downright beauty to boot. Certainly in every way preferable to the cocky youngster, who had ruled the chaotic years before, when all sorts of loathsome incidents happened and monsters and murderers roamed the streets unchallenged.

Only a handful of seasoned travelers and politicians marked the new Empress’s uncanny likeness with the princess of the faraway kingdom of Langoria. But such paranoid and senseless observations were quickly laughed into silence by the majority.

The previous Emperor, a tall, broad-shouldered man of age, against all recollections, was laid to rest in a grave by his ancestors at the Imperial graveyard, a beautiful slab of marble marking the spot, in honor of his bravery in life.

Meanwhile, the body of a certain young man, discovered on the Palace roof, was unceremoniously buried in an unmarked grave in the Gralia District, among the deceased poor and homeless, for whom he had never spared a thought whilst alive.

From that day on, a mysterious change was felt everywhere at the capital and the surrounding lands. It was as if the very sun had suddenly grown brighter than usual, the air more crisp, the water more fresh, and the crops more bountiful. People felt as though they had woken up from a long, sickly slumber, with the prior lulling, stagnant atmosphere swept away overnight, together with the momentary storm. Everyone carried about their daily labors with an alert and cheerful spirit and a brighter outlook for life in general. New, fresher winds seemed to blow over Tratovia, bearing whispers of hope with it. An age of prosperity and glory was surely upon them, with reinforced bonds of cooperation with the cirelo of lonely Ledarnia across the seas.

In these joyful, sunny days, filled with energetic effort, no one was there to see when deep at the heart of the Imperial Palace at times, instead of their youthful new ruler, a strange being would sit on the Onyx Throne, a winged apparition of inhuman looks. And when no one was there to hear it, this otherworldly vision would let out bright, unbridled laughter, ridiculing the adorable naivety of her adopted children.

But where was the champion, who had brought all this about? The mercenary who had overthrown the tyrant was nowhere to be seen on the day of the successor’s coronation. Her majesty would ask for that hero’s whereabouts at every available opportunity, but no one she found was able to produce the answer.

A hero that person was not, perhaps, but not entirely unnoticed did she go either.

No legend speaks of what happened to that unlucky warrior, save for just one.

In his famous magnum opus, The Long Song, the bard Waramoti tells of how the woman from the other world boarded a simple hay cart bound out of the capital, and so departed with only her trusty sword for company, leaving not a single word of farewell behind.

Where to, you may ask?

Towards another adventure, of course.

To live out her life in another world.

Old Empire | END