Arc 2: Sang-Froid
Prologue
Location: Tian Tang, Laks of Ira.
Words shiver to describe Tian Tang's beauty, as the first emperor of Laks envisaged. From its uncanny and unblemished high walls, made of the white bone of an extinct creature—Hieur—the White Seal, embellished with white gold whose apotheosis aloft any eminence in the circumambient. To the heavenly clouds that encircled the rise at the centre of Tian Tang. The castle atop the cliff had jade stairs that became heavy with each step, imposing all that dared—are you worthy? And behind it, the crystal shine of the waterfall dipped in it were the blue, opaque spirits that laughed, a melody to all the Tian Tang’s ears.
At the base of the waterfall was a humble abode, a bed, a dresser, and a desk where the emperor wrote poems for his newborn daughter, for she was born with love for one thing.
The emperor sat beneath the waterfall, meditating. His massive form, his light tan skin covered in scars, bounced off the water to the blue rock-strewn fringes. His eyes closed, hair untied falling off his back, an impassive frown on his face as he draws conjecture on the dawn of fifth age.
“My Lord,” a voice cooed, disturbing his meditation. Such crimes, as per law, should end with swift execution. Except it was his empress.
“Sei,” the Emperor gruntled. “Here, this early. Urgent news?”
“No such thing, my lord,” Sei replied. She spoke melodiously, an air of tranquility in her manner as she went to her knees and placed her forehead on the soft grass.
A weary sigh escaped the emperor: “In seclusion, at least, courtesies are dispensable. Lift your head.”
“Courtesy and deference are essences for perenniality—as its empress, I shall not be the one to quash the foundation that I am Idol of,” Sei replied, her tone’s edge dug into Emperor’s pride, yet he remained appeased. A voice that disarms even the rowdiest of mind—were the words of his mother when she proposed their marriage. Truth, his mother's words were.
“So is the unquestioned servility to the Emperor,” the emperor breathlessly whispered. His eyes lingered on her luscious ass—covered under a single layer of smooth silk that hugged the curve as if inviting him for another sweaty adventure—for a moment longer than it should’ve, their eyes met, and a coy smile took her soft face spread as she questioningly raised her left brow.
He sucked in a breath, yet the virtue of self-control was not lost to him. A cough, and he was of a calm mind again. “Speak, what brings you here?” His weezy voice questioned, a draught of authority.
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
“News from Gracia.”
Tian Ming's ears perked up. “Ohh…”
“Lancaster has prevailed to no one’s surprise,” except the emperor’s. He understood the mage’s strength better than anyone. “And,” Tian Ming nodded, there should be more. “Hecate Meredith became Level 5.”
“Impossible…” How could she? Another conjecture.
“There’s more…”
Tian Ming nodded. His mind raced; another Duke in his nobility, delaying her title ceremony to the New Year festival, was the right move.
“A unique class, one of its kind—Reaper,” Sei understood the implication, but years of practiced speech hid it all.
“So it is. What of Lancaster? I suppose she sent words,” Tian Ming muttered. He knew that was the cause of Sei’s early and uncalled-for arrival. Lancaster was a thorn in their relationship. For the last eight years, Sei was under the impression that he wished to replace her with Lancaster. To spite him, she would always disturb his meditation to relay her words.
“She demands the location of an individual called Fenroy. Failure to meet demand, and she shall cleanse Gracia of every sin.”
“Hmm…” The name was intimate yet faded. Who? Ah! He remembered. A deranged scientist in the service of Old Lancaster and Meredith. Tian Ming cared little of such an individual, but his words left a thought that seldom mused—the reaper shall visit this world once more.
“Is that all?”
“It is,” Sei hissed. “Or were you expecting something more intimate?”
Emperor sighed. He met Lancaster when she was fifteen, even younger than his son. Even his divine wisdom fails to wrap his head around the reasoning of his wife. “Why does that thought even cross your mind?”
“Only once in the Court of Ira, a criminal was pardoned. Only once did the divine wisdom of TianMing Huangdi fail to judge a criminal. Only once was a criminal questioned about her crime. Only once in the history of Laks did a criminal speak to the wearer of the crown. What else shall I make of it, my lord?”
The emperor kept his mouth shut, for it was yet time before he would reveal his mind to his wife.
“The silence only strengthens my credence, my lord,” Sei bent to a bow again. “Whatever shall we do of her demand?”
“Ignore it,” Tian Ming replied simply.
“What?!” Sei’s voice wavered. “The number of deaths she will leave in the trail of cleansing. No one shall be allowed for such bloodshed of nobles.”
“A Grand Duchess has all right to wage war in her territory—what of Huang?”
“You still have all the authority to debar her from that privilege.”
“I shall not,” Tian Ming replied, impassive. What his wife desired was unreasonable. After the humiliating duration, the only thing that may appease the Jade of his crown is a bloodbath.
“Why?” She asked, much calmer.
"Sang-froid," the Emperor uttered. “Do you know why the capital of Gracia was named Sangfroid?”
“No,” Gracia was too distant and offered too little in resources to woo his wife’s interest.
“Gracia was a lawless land. Every human was enslaved, and human meat was their cuisine—it was hell; no one ever got close to it. Then Grace Lancaster stumbled into that place, decided to change its history, and committed the genocide of its natives. A species, one of a kind, went extinct, and Grace Lancaster looked down on their pilling corpses in cold blood, not so much as a frown on her face. That genocide was named Sang-Froid. So the humans who inhabited it dubbed it the capital—Sangfroid. ”
“I don't find that to be of any relevance to our conversation, my lord.”
"But it is. I wish to see another Sang-Froid. And the Lancaster shall show me that her blood still runs as cold as when she entered the court of Ira as a criminal.”
“If it does not,” Sei intoned. She knew of Diantha Lancaster’s deed, and she saw no cold-blooded ruler in her.
“A pity," the Emperor smiled, feral. He looked down at the bent form of his wife, “Dispose of her. In favour, promote Laurent to Grand Duchess. If nothing more, she shall entertain the court for the next few years—until our mage concocts the final circle to move the Gracia.”
“So I shall,” Sei stayed like that until the emperor dressed in his imperial outfit and prepared to leave.