1
Once again, three eccentric figures gathered around the long library table in the seclusive keep, wearing serious faces. Spread between them was a map of the vast city, detailing the districts near the western border of Eskeleion.
“So Mira-rin’s going to be toast.” Izumi furrowed her brows. “Fast action, considering she only just came home and was safe and sound until yesterday.”
“Apparently, she fell from grace with the board of generals already a while back,” Benjamin explained. “It seems the Colonel was attached to the Felorn expedition part under the assumption that the mission was a guaranteed failure, providing them with the excuse to get rid of her. In the event that she didn’t die along the way, that is. Her safe return was definitely not a welcome event.”
“Fell from grace?” Izumi tilted her head.
The Court Wizard ended up answering her.
“For years, Colonel Marafel has been on the forefront of demanding increased support for Ledarnia. For us. She wants humans to take a more active role in the war against the daemons, and increase the material aid to our colony. As is to be expected, the Imperial generals do not love the idea of fighting monsters far across the sea; the losses would greatly outweigh the gains. They will much rather import our military know-how and apply it on local campaigns to subdue the other human states. They don’t need one of their own to complicate matters.”
“At the same time, there have been talks of Marafel becoming the first female general in the history of the Empire,” Benjamin continued. “Her leadership in the Dharvic war earned her great fame, and with her looks and charisma, she’s quite popular with the public. And popular individuals always look threatening in the eyes of the leaders. What’s worse, the Stohenkartes are loyal to her above any general and stationed right here, at the heart of the city. If only she wanted to, Marafel could easily stage a coup d’état, using the elite knights division to seize control of the palace. The Colonel’s practically holding a dagger on the Emperor’s throat, even as she pretends to be a mere loyal subject.”
“So that’s where the rub lies,” Izumi sighed with a troubled face. “I guess she had her circumstances. But thinking about it, wouldn’t she make a good ally to us? I mean, I kind of tried to recruit her into my harem—team, I mean—but she wasn’t too taken by my plan at the time. But if Lia’s doing the planning, we might just get her on board...We get Mira-rin, and we get an army as bonus.”
“Hey, hey, aren’t you getting a little carried away?” Benjamin argued, looking unnerved. “Who are you planning to conquer?”
“Rescue would be difficult at this point,” Carmelia commented. “The third division garrison was elected as the execution site. It is a suitably remote location away from Selenoreion, close to the slums of the Gralia district. The Colonel will be executed together with a number of common criminals, to keep the occasion suitably controlled and low in profile. The local news outlets are pressured to withhold details. Apparently, the authorities are very much concerned with the risk of her subordinates interfering. But this also makes it more difficult for us to get to her. The Colonel was moved to the garrison’s holding cell earlier today. Our best chance was to extract her during the transit, an opportunity now lost to us.”
“As you can see, the garrison grounds are completely walled off on all sides,” Benjamin picked up, pointing at the map. “The only way in and out is the main gate here, and only authorized military personnel are allowed entry. Needless to say, the walls are guarded by archers around the clock. You’d need to be able to fly and turn invisible in order to get in.”
“Shucks,” Izumi remarked, staring at the map.
“There will come a time when the gates are opened to the public,” the Court Wizard said. “Shortly before the event itself, early in the morning. Executions tend to be open for all, so they will be letting in locals for a brief time. They obviously don’t want the Colonel’s demise to go entirely unseen. A number of knights from the Stohenkartes have also been assigned on guard duty—as witnesses, you might say. They’ll have to see what happens to those who turn on the Throne, and then take the message to their comrades.”
Benjamin glanced at the human woman across the table, at Itaka Izumi.
“The high command wants to make an example of Marafel. To improve discipline and quell the anti-government sentiments in the military that our antics have further fueled. It’s become a useful situation for them. One they’re not willing to give up easily.”
“...In other words, their hurry to get the murder machine going is in part thanks to me?” Izumi sullenly muttered, before looking up at the sorceress. “Is there no magical way for us to spirit her away from the holding cell then?”
“No,” Carmelia answered. “Your case was convenient for us. People were determined to forget you ever existed, and the isolation they imposed on you worked to our advantage. The Colonel’s situation differs, somewhat. She is kept under surveillance, day and night, in case she would try to take her own life to preserve her honor. Additionally, there are adept mages stationed at every garrison, who may perceive interference in their surroundings. If they catch any wind of my involvement...I shouldn’t need to remind you of my precarious position at the Court.”
“Yes, yes, Lia’s completely useless again, and I have to do everything by myself,” Izumi complained. “Well, I think I can get in with the crowds easily enough, once the doors open.”
“Don’t think it’s going to be that simple!” Benjamin told her. “They’re obviously checking people at the gate. You won’t get in with your sword, never mind other weapons, and there’s no way to hide or smuggle such onto the site beforehand either. There’ll be guards everywhere you look, and what can you do without a weapon? It’s hopeless, and you’re going to get yourself killed! Please, just forget about it!”
“Mmmm...”
While Izumi was busy puffing her cheeks, giving Benjamin her, “don’t tell me what I can’t do”-face, Carmelia carried on.
“The guards would not be your only concern inside. I have received word that two heroes of the Guild will be present at the execution.” Taking out two of the previously seen profile pages, the Court Wizard placed them atop the pile of other documents. “Shivgried, the hero of the cursed spear, also known as the Impaler. And, carrying out the executions in person, infamous Raleigh...Attempting to save the Colonel would mean making those two your opponents.”
“Unarmed,” Benjamin added, going on to lift the spearman’s picture. “We went over Raleigh before, but take a look at this guy. Our intel paints Shivgried Zaxon as an upstanding member of the Guild. He once served as a soldier in the Stohenkartes himself, but resigned to join the Dharvic war as a freelancer. His achievements over the course of the campaign made him a celebrity, and now he ranks above any knight.”
“Well, isn’t he a hard worker?” Izumi shrugged. “Everybody in this guild of champs has some sort of cheat skills, don’t they? So what can he do?”
“Oh, you’d be sorely mistaken to think they’re all about some easily countered gimmicks,” Benjamin rebuked the woman. “These are real human beings, like you and me, who fought to the top through outstanding effort, talent, and bravery. Underestimating the heroes of the Guild wouldn’t end well for you. That being said, having a trump card or two did help them make a name for themselves. There is one peculiar legend I’ve learned about Shivgried as well.”
“Surprised: none.”
“Do you want to hear it or not!?” The man cleared his throat and explained. “Ahem, they say that Shivgried’s grandmother was a powerful witch and blessed the boy when he was still little. The spell she used supposedly gives him unnatural luck in battle, although I can’t say whether that is strictly true or just a fable.”
“There is some truth to it, yes,” Carmelia confirmed. “I have personally observed the effects of a peculiar enchantment around the man. To describe its nature, in an event where a sufficient number of variables remain unknown, the spell aligns these small factors favorably for the bearer. For example, it would greatly reduce the chances that a randomly fired enemy projectile would hit him in battle. Conversely, were he to blindly loosen a bolt himself under identical circumstances, he would be nearly guaranteed to always hit a target.”
“So, basically, statistical manipulation?” Izumi summarized. “Guess that would get him thrown out of every casino in Vegas.”
“Uh-huh,” Benjamin nodded. “He’s certainly not the kind of a guy you want to face unprepared. But on top of his special luck, Shivgried also carries a rather nasty weapon.”
“Lanhglid, the cursed crulean spear,” Carmelia explained. “I know not where he obtained it, but it is one of the eldest, greatest treasures of military history, dating back a great many cycles. Made by the famous blacksmith Cowlénanh, the spear was enchanted to penetrate anything the spearhead lands on, regardless of the target’s defenses. In fact, according to an old anecdote, the weapon’s prior holder once thoughtlessly released it from his grip, causing the spear to slip straight through the entirety of Ortho, only to emerge again on the other side of the planet. And it was then that cruleans discovered the world to be a globe...”
“…….”
“……...”
“…...Heh.” The magician softly chuckled at her absurd story, while the other two stood stupefied.
“… Elves don’t think very highly of cruleans,” Benjamin whispered to Izumi.
“I can see that...” Izumi replied with a blank face. “But, we’ve already proven this stick has its limits. It couldn’t get through my sword, after all.”
“That may be true,” the man said. “But you can’t bring your weapon to the execution grounds, remember? You'd be defenseless. Really, I don’t see any way for us to interfere. Walking in there when you have a legion of soldiers and two famous warriors against you is a suicide, no way around it. Our only hope is that the princess can somehow persuade the Emperor to veto the verdict. Once the worst buzz dies down, we’ll have an easier time getting to the Colonel. So let us believe in her highness and wait. If that fails...well, we should probably brace ourselves for the worst.”
“Don’t forget,” Carmelia told Izumi, “your body is still recovering, and I am not done analyzing the effects of the Red Serum on you. Do not push yourself too hard now that your body is in such an unstable state, or irrecoverable ailments may occur.”
“Yes, yes...”
“Saying ‘yes’ once will do.”
Everyone around the table fell quiet, as if already praying in the prisoner’s memory.
Izumi glanced first at the man, then at the elven sorceress, as if expecting either one to break the silence with a well-timed, “unless...”
In vain. Neither met her look.
“So that’s it then?” Izumi asked. “We’re just going to sit still and do nothing? And that’s fine with you, Lia? Weren’t you friends with Mira-rin?”
“We mustn’t forget what we stand for,” Carmelia evasively responded, a neutral expression on her noble features. “The future of our races, of the world, depends on the choices we make here. We cannot risk everything for just one. It is irrational.”
“I have to agree,” Benjamin nodded. “It’s imperative that we keep our heads. As unfortunate as this is, Colonel Marafel is an outsider to our business. There are no guarantees that she’s willing to join our cause, even if we did somehow rescue her. We don’t have the luxury to be worrying about others while the noose tightens around our own necks. Rather, hiding more fugitives would only be another liability, one more way for the enemy to discover us. If we keep taking wild gambles like that, it will definitely come to cost us in the long run. Don’t give up hope, but don’t tempt fate either. Such is my policy.”
“You can only say that because you don’t know the person...” Izumi told him.
“You’re right,” Benjamin admitted. “But I believe that is all the more reason why I shouldn’t keep it to myself. As the only neutral party here, with no emotional investment, I have the necessary clarity of thought to say what needs to be said. As much as I loathe to be that ‘voice of reason’. But Ms Izumi, your life has been spared a great many times by now, by a hair. Please don’t waste those unlikely miracles for any emotional and thoughtless reason, all right? Not even God would forgive you if you did.”
“I’m not a Christian, though.”
Not responding, Izumi looked at the sorceress instead.
You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.
Carmelia didn’t look back. The cirelo remained quiet, her eyes closed, her face serene and still, as if she had turned into a statue on the spot, perfectly neutral and impartial.
“I get it,” Izumi finally said and turned to leave. “Yeah. I think I understand now. At any rate, I’m still feeling sleepy, so I’m gonna call it a day early.”
As if to emphasize her words, Izumi yawned wide and stretched her arms as she turned and left the library.
Shortly after the summoned woman had left, the Court Wizard recovered from her solemn meditation.
“I believe I shall also retire for the day,” she said and turned away from the table.
“Could you tell me something first, malevála,” Benjamin suddenly called after her. “After how long you’ve walked this earth, after all that you’ve seen, do you still hold faith in something like miracles?”
The sorceress paused, not turning.
“Of course not,” she answered, before continuing on out through the grand doors.
Early in the following morning, as a servant went to check up on her, Itaka Izumi’s room was found empty.
2
The Emperor of Tratovia didn’t spend his lengthy working hours exclusively seated on the cold Obsidian Throne. Obviously, that harsh chair was only ever intended for the more formal occasions, where he addressed his subjects and honorable guests ex cathedra, as an institution.
The Imperial Palace had numerous other, more comfortable facilities for tackling the various mundane affairs related to governing a nation, and it was in one such office that his majesty received princess Yuliana today. It was a room in the quiet northern section of the palace, largely resembling a simple parlor in layout, with a set of chairs, a divan, and an oval table, and one tall window in the back. Under the window's light also stood a heftier work desk. Additionally, there were bookshelves, drawers, and such like set alongside the walls, the sort you would see in the office of any humble civil servant.
Naturally, the aesthetics of the room were a touch above that of a common mansion.
The furniture, fashioned of dark, imported wood, had been engraved all over with ornate, flowery patterns by masters of their craft, further adorned with linings of silver and platinum. The floor was tiled with cleanly polished, white and cyan stone. The air in the room, completely still, bore the weight of many a century, as well as the distinct, mixed scent of old wood, paper, and dust.
It was early in the morning. Not even the sun had risen yet. In spite of Yuliana’s persistent insistence, she hadn’t been granted an audience any sooner. The servants had repeated that the Emperor was occupied and couldn’t be reached.
It had to have been a lie. No doubt this stalling was only another part of the game to take her anxiety and endurance to their limits, and so pressure her to comply with whatever more demands he could issue. Yuliana hadn’t been told when the execution would take place, exactly, but the growing unrest within her suggested that the hour wasn’t far off.
Did his majesty even have any intention to act?
Was he determined to punish Yuliana out of petty pride, for defying him, by letting the Colonel die? No, surely he had to realize he was only damaging his own plans by doing so? There was no reason for the princess to keep her own word, if he decided to betray his own. Rather, in that event, she was determined to resist his every request to the bitter end.
Surely there was still time.
While she struggled with these depressing thoughts, at long last, the princess was taken from her tower, into the palace. Into this room, where the Emperor sat behind the desk by the window, calm and composed, as if it were only another average day of work for him. And perhaps it was.
—“You wished to see me, your highness?”
No matter how many times Yuliana saw him, the looks of the Emperor never failed to unnerve her. His firm posture, strong frame, and the direct, unabashed gaze of his grim, deep eyes, which appeared to see straight through to her heart—that gaze rendered her vulnerable and insecure inside.
This was the man who led the greatest nation on the continent...That terrible burden of responsibility had to have tempered his will to monstrous hardness, the way diamonds are squeezed out of carbon under the monumental pressure of earth’s depths.
Be it in body or mind, Yuliana had no hope of overpowering him.
Then what could she do, exactly?
While Langoria was no small kingdom either, the princess had never experienced her rank there as something particularly cumbersome or painful. Not the same way. Her nation was at peace and she had always had others by her side, to guide her, to advise her, to lend their strength at moments of need. She had been able to share the weight of her royal status with the many people around her, with her family, friends, and devoted servants.
Or, was that it?
Wasn’t her ease of living actually only because nothing was expected of her?
She had no real responsibility, no consequences.
Because she was only a girl, unfit to rule.
No matter how she wished for the opportunity, she would never have to bear the burden of Kingship.
Her only source of stress in life was the fact that she had none. To prove she was worthy to carry the burdens of others, she had joined the army. As a knight officer, she had been made accountable for the lives of her subordinates, but even then, she could instinctively sense the truth: it was not enough.
Incomparable.
No one is alone in the army—even there she had comrades she could trust, colleagues with whom to share the shackles of duty, and dear friends she could count on with her life. None of it could compare to the solitude of King.
Who did the sovereign of this powerful Empire have to support him?
The Obsidian Throne could only be claimed by one.
Countless were the servants around him, but did he have even one to call a friend? Who could this man trust in the eye of the ceaseless struggle for power, which carried on all around him? Here even his friends were his enemies, more than willing to take him apart for the slightest hint of weakness.
Nevertheless, not only that of his city, his country—this man had willingly assumed responsibility for the very future of mankind. Could anyone even dream of matching his resolve?
Nevertheless, Yuliana couldn’t allow herself to be defeated by their differences now.
Once again, as a princess, she had to contain her personal emotions, her fatigue, and worry, and fight her own battle.
“Can I count on your word—are you able to stop the execution?” Yuliana asked the Emperor, without wasting time for greetings.
Not giving an immediate answer, the Emperor stood from his chair and turned to the window.
“You ask certainty from me, which I cannot provide,” he finally said.
“Then we are at an impasse,” Yuliana continued. “I have no guarantees that my father will agree to your terms, even if I’m to present them on your behalf. And I have none that you will keep your word, no matter what I promise in exchange. Do tell me then, how do you see this playing out?”
The Emperor gave her a quick glance.
Her tone was sharp, aggressive. How quickly she had bounced back after the shock of the previous morning, the Emperor didn’t fail to recognize it. As if his stalling and their personal disparities meant nothing, she faced him head-on, asking neither for forgiveness nor mercy. Was only youth the source of her vigor? Or was it simply her tenacious nature?
“An agreement would be a start,” the man said. “For me to overstep my boundaries and overrule a legal verdict, exceptional terms are required. Can you offer me such terms, or can you not?”
“All I can offer is my word that I will try,” Yuliana said. “I will negotiate for you. I will face my father, in person. For your right of passage and the construction of the fleet on Langorian territory. I will do all I can to bring him to our side, and this I promise.”
The Emperor turned back from the window and faced the princess—and shook his head.
“Your word alone is not good enough.”
Yuliana scowled at him, as he continued,
“Walking over my generals means taking on their ire. In Tratovia, strength means everything. The army has the strength to overthrow me, as they have done with so many of my forefathers in the past. I am risking an uprising and could lose my head for helping you, for making a deal that guarantees practically nothing in exchange. Did I give you such lukewarm assurances? No. Equality is the basis of all transactions, your highness, and so far as I can tell, this bargain favors you greatly. You will need to do better than that to prove your resolve to me.”
The princess bit her lip.
Speaking of equal exchange, the life of a single person could hardly be valued the same as risking the violent takeover of an entire kingdom; how would the Emperor answer such a retort? No. There was no time to waste on arguing who had it worse, as such cycles tended to be neverending. She had to achieve progress, by whatever means.
“Then what do you propose?” she asked instead.
“I need insurance,” the man’s basso reached easily across the silent room. “Are you prepared to stake your life, the same as myself? Are you willing to commit in the true sense of the saying? It is only then that we become equal and a contract can be made.”
“What manner of insurance are you talking about?”
“Either you will turn your father to our cause—or you will carry the cause in his place. Do you understand? If the King cannot be reasoned with, then he must be overthrown. Either through conventional war, or by your very own hands, if necessary. How far are you willing to go for the sake of our world? Do you only preach heroic words of the path of least suffering, or are you able to take us down that road by force, if you must? Are you prepared to swear you will fight for our collective future, vow on it? With a geas?”
Yuliana looked back at the Emperor in dismay.
Geas, a self-inflicted spell, the true oath, an unbreakable curse…Where one’s words lacked mass, her very soul could be made her judge. The consequences of breaking one’s geas extended into the afterlife, leaving the oathbreaker roaming the borderlands of life and death as a mindless wraith, forever consumed by rage and regret.
Yuliana was better than familiar with the concept. She had been bound by a geas already once before, in a not very distant past. That immaterial bind still chained her spirit, even now, though she did her best to hide it. The Emperor would have Yuliana take on that dreadful shackle, unaware that she was trapped from the start. The leverage he wished to obtain, he already had, and were he to learn this, there would be no room left for bargaining.
Nevertheless, the way ahead stood grim.
Either Yuliana would convince her father that the Emperor, their greatest enemy, was just. Or else she would make the King her enemy instead and help bring him down.
The King, her own flesh and blood.
For the sake of the world.
For her mentor’s life.
This contract was far from the answer to her wishes, never mind equal. The face that this two-sided blade showed the princess looked by far worse than it did for him—for it carried the danger of having her good will be exploited anyhow, wielded as a tool to enslave her and destroy her people. Just how much black could be mixed into white, while still keeping it acceptably gray and ambiguous?
“And what insurance will I have that you will honor your end of the bargain?” she therefore asked. “You aren’t willing to swear it all the same, are you?”
“I am,” the Emperor said, to her surprise. “I do not know who you take me for, but you do me injustice by doubting my intentions. My priorities are perfectly clear. If you vow to aid me, I will vow to stop the execution. Of course, I cannot vow I will not go to war, as the risk of your failure remains. But I can promise that I will hold from war for as long as you live, that your people will stand for as long as you do. I will sign the terms in my own blood, if I must. So how shall it be, your highness, Yuliana Da Via Brannan? How far do you value Colonel Marafel? Enough to deliver her from a terrible fate? How far do you value the world you inhabit? If Ortho is destroyed, Langoria goes along with it! Do you love life itself more than the old fool of a father, who drove you into exile and branded you a traitor for your selfless sacrifice? It is time we cast our differences aside and looked into one direction. Together.”
“Regardless of his deeds, it is my father you speak of...” Yuliana muttered, but without much spirit.
“My apologies. But time is of the essence. Have you made up your mind? I can stop the Executioner, yes. My word alone can even halt the tongues of flames as they climb up the stake to devour their helpless victim. I can steal the Colonel from that inferno with but one command. But that command I cannot give, unless you give me your word first. So, how shall it be?”
Yuliana raised her face and looked at the Emperor, determined, but not hiding her displeasure.
“I will do it,” she said.
“Now you show the maturity befitting your rank,” he nodded in approval.
“Spare me your patronizing.”
“Sadly, we don’t have a mage skilled enough to enforce a geas at hand, so we will have to do it the old-fashioned way: in writing. The appropriate scroll will be prepared shortly, so be ready for the signing. I will send for you once it is time.”
“Do not stall any further,” Yuliana warned him. “Betray me, and I will rather haunt you as a wraith to the end of the world than aid your wretched ‘cause’. Of that, I can give you my word, without magic and theatrics.”
“Duly noted,” the man said, before turning away and leaving the room.
Again, Yuliana was left to wait.
Wait, as if it were her only role in life.
Impatient, she looked at the window.
Outside, the eastern sky was turning faintly blue.