Footsteps echoed across the stone floor as the green-haired beauty strode through the dim light of the dungeon. She had visited several times over the past week, but the man had remained unconscious for much longer than expected.
Reinhard had explained that while his method of absorbing mana did not generally lead to long-term harm, the duration they stayed unconscious could vary.
He had explained that it depended on how quickly a person could recover their mana, as well as the minimum each body required to function. Some people required large stores of mana, as was common among warriors and mages, while others needed little.
The man had been using magic, which meant his gate must have been decent, but…
The timeframe Reinhard had provided had been a few hours to a few days. Already, the spy had been unresponsive for twice the maximum, and Crusch couldn’t decide what it meant.
Healers who had examined the body had been baffled at why his mana was recovering so slowly, and while Crusch wished she could get Ferris’s opinion, she’d noticed how exhausted he was after each day of lessons at the Margrave.
Stopping several feet from the entrance to the cell, Crusch narrowed her eyes. The wind emanating from the unoccupied cells was slight, almost stale. That was how it should be, given that there was no other opening in the cells for air to flow from.
But that was not the case at the spy’s door. She could clearly see a slight stream of air emerging from under the thick wood. After a moment, the stream reversed, almost as if the cell was slowly breathing in and out.
She unsheathed her blade, instinctively falling into a fighting stance, and advanced.
The first thing that hit her as she drew close was the smell. As a veteran of the battlefield Crusch was familiar with the smell of blood, but never had it been so strong. Another step, and her straining ears caught the quiet sound of a low-pitched drone.
There was something in the cell. And that something wasn’t likely to be their prisoner.
She narrowed her eyes. The cell door was locked, and she had the key, but she didn’t want to let her guard down to open it. It was unfortunate, but surely the warden would understand.
She raised a hand, and flicked a finger, activating the slightest version of her signature attack.
‘One Blow, a Hundred Felled’ was a technique capable of shearing through the armour, flesh, and bone of one hundred people at once. A wooden door, no matter how sturdy, was no match for it.
The blade of wind flew out, tearing through the door’s locking mechanism. The door jolted, and drifted ever so slightly ajar.
She reached out with a strand of her wind magic, and pulled the door open, both hands ready on her sword.
The sight was so unexpected, so terrible, that she failed to process it for a moment. The only thing she could see was the disgusting aftermath of death.
Blood painted the floor and walls of the cell red. A reddish mound lay on the cell’s bed, what she could only assume was the body of the former spy. But most disturbing of all, the cell was covered with various forms of insects feeding off the blood and remains. Crusch recognized the majority of them, maggots and flies were common in the aftermath of any battle, but she couldn’t place the bigger and more brightly coloured ones.
The opening of the door had disturbed them. Crusch could see the draft from the door spread throughout the room, agitating the insects it passed over.
Then in an instant, they swarmed, gathering together into a cloud of darkness that rushed at her.
But Crusch was ready for them. She summoned the mana in her gate and swung her blade.
What emerged was not the cutting edge of the technique she was famous for. To attempt to cut a swarm of insects would be the height of foolishness.
Instead, as she swung her sword, the air rippled, and a shockwave tore through the cell, ripping through the swarm. The lightweight insects could not resist the power of the blow, and were flung against the far wall, where they were crushed into pulp.
She maintained her combat readiness for a few seconds, then when no further insects attacked her, allowed it to fade. Aside from the maggots that had managed to cling onto the remains, there were no living things left in the cell.
Taking a step forward to the edge of the bloodstains, she examined the room more closely. She didn’t need to guess why the man had been killed. It was clear that the man had been silenced to prevent the kingdom from gaining answers, and if the abnormal bugs left behind were any clue, then it had happened recently.
But for them to use such a method… I’ve never heard of anyone with control of insects. How did they get in?
Her eyes were drawn to the flow of air in the room, a single strand of air that was easily traced back to its source.
One of the window panes had been cut.
The cell was located in one of the palace’s towers. It was not a comfortable place by any means, but it was one of the most secure prisons in the capital, given that it was located far above the ground.
There was no way anyone could scale the outside of the palace to open that hole.
Crusch stepped inside the cell, heedless of the blood staining her boots. On closer inspection, the window seemed to have been cut with fine instruments. It was a perfectly circular opening, roughly two-finger-width wide.
Slowly, Crusch removed one of her gloves, and felt the edge of the hole. It was perfectly smooth, as if created by a master craftsman.
She narrowed her eyes.
Very fine instruments indeed.
She glanced at the back wall, the stone bricks obscured by the viscera of the countless insects she had killed.
Could it have been them? I don’t know of any insects that can tunnel through glass…
She frowned.
But I don’t know any insects that act like this either.
She stepped back outside the cell, her boots leaving bloody footsteps on the ground. By her own orders, guards checked this cell frequently, so could it mean the culprit knew the schedule for when to attack?
Such knowledge was difficult to attain, since it was changed regularly. Could it indicate that this was the same culprits that had cursed the Royal Family? Or was there the possibility that this was a new enemy, and if so, could the two be colluding or sharing information?
I don’t want to believe more than one group could infiltrate our kingdom so deeply. Not after we’ve tightened our guard so much.
But she couldn’t deny that this assassination was a major departure from the way the curse-user had operated. That assassination had been methodical, making sure to target each and every member of the royal family, and had even gone to serious lengths to pass it off as an illness.
If the culprit for this new death truly was the same, why had they changed their methods? Why move so overtly now?
Because unlike the curse, there was no way that a swarm of bugs killing a spy before he could talk could be passed off as mere happenstance. If the Kingdom didn’t suspect something before, they would now, and the culprits had to know that.
Did they already know their curse had been discovered, and they’re mocking us for trying to hide that fact? Or did they think that now that Lugunica knew of it, there was no point in trying to be subtle anymore? Did they think Lugunica would continue to hide the truth after this?
Then what of the other possibility, that this new assassination was carried out by another group?
She didn’t think Vollachia would hesitate to kill one of their own spies to tie up loose ends, and they would always have the motive to try and learn of Lugunica’s secrets. The Empire was also home to various races who had strange abilities, it wasn’t unthinkable that they had access to an insect controller.
But that doesn’t add up with the spy’s identity. He has no ties to Vollachia, and his family’s lands are nowhere near the southern border.
Not that the spy’s identity matched up with anything remotely related to assassinating the Royal Family either. But Crusch felt that the two events were too close together for them to be unconnected.
What am I missing?
She paused, deep in thought, but nothing came to her. She simply did not have enough information to learn anything.
Opening her eyes, Crusch took one last look at the gruesome scene, then turned around. She needed to alert the healers and guards about what had just happened to examine the body further, even if she suspected no answers would come from it.
But despite the uncertainty in her mind, she kept moving, leaving a trail of bloody footprints in her wake.
----------------------------------------
Time steadily moved forward, and in what felt like a blink of an eye, a month had passed.
Fourier often wondered if his father had been as busy when he had first ascended to kingship. The King had always had the final say in the running of the kingdom, but the Royal Family had many duties that were expected to be split by several members.
Fourier had inherited them all, and while he’d passed on the strongest title onto Crusch, that still left numerous other titles, all bearing their own duties to add to his already busy schedule. Already it felt as if he would never leave the palace again. The days when he could freely leave the palace felt almost like they had happened in another life.
Worst of all, with how busy they all were, he hadn’t gotten the chance to talk to either Ferris or Crusch about anything that wasn’t business. Both of them had thrown themselves into their work, putting everything else aside.
He was well aware of not only how important each of their duties was, but that both of them were fueled in part by their close friendship. Yet he was ashamed to note that thought didn’t stop the loneliness that crept up on him at times. He would often daydream of simply announcing his feelings to the both of them, and simply spending time with each other just as they would in the old days.
He knew that both of them would set their tasks aside and come if he called them, not because he was their monarch, but because of their friendship. But both of them had their own burdens that were slowly changing them.
Each time they met Ferris grew more despondent as he failed to make tangible progress in his lessons. In turn, Crusch seemed more uncertain, her eyes seeming to constantly evaluate those around her, the only two being spared such scrutiny being Ferris and Fourier himself.
If he had the time to truly sit them both down, then he would have tried to convince them both to open up to him and do the same.
Or is this just an excuse, and the truth is that I can’t bring myself to open up?
The door opened and Fourier’s eyes snapped open, lifting his head to look at the door. But when he saw it was just Julius, he relaxed and sank back into his mattress.
There was already a cup of tea in the knight's hand, and he was carrying a small stack of papers under his arm. The Finest Knight was always on top of things, even early in the morning.
It was perhaps unsightly for a king to layabout in bed while his servants worked, but Fourier liked to have the time. The only time he allowed himself to fully contemplate everything was while drifting to and from sleep.
“Good morning, Julius,” he said, trying to work up the energy to start the day. “And thank you as always for collecting the tea from the maids.”
The Knight bowed, a smile on his face. “It is my pleasure, Your Majesty.”
He placed the tea on the bedside table, careful not to look directly at Fourier.
Yes, yes, it’s very amusing to see the head of state trying to get out of bed. Fourier shook his head with mock exasperation, but then realised he still wasn’t making any moves to get up.
He sighed, reluctantly swinging his duvet aside, and practically leapt out of bed.
It was cold. So cold that he was already regretting his decision.
“Has anything important happened while I was sleeping?” Fourier asked, hurriedly swapping his nightclothes for a warmer outfit from his wardrobe.
“Nothing out of the ordinary took place overnight,” Julius reported. “However, I do have the Treasurer’s weekly report on the city’s economic activity, and a few other ‘notes’ that he thought you might find interesting.”
Fourier nodded, straightening out the creases in his overcoat as he put on his final article of clothing.
“Do those ‘notes’ contain anything major?”
Julius shook his head. “No changes since the last report. He says they’re not finding any leads, but will continue to support Lady Crusch’s efforts.”
Fourier let out a small sigh, and picked up his tea. The Kingdom’s Treasurer, Russel Fellow, was one of Fourier’s most important advisors, and not only because he was intimately familiar with the flow of money through the country.
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He ran the kingdom’s spy network, the Six Tongues, and he had been searching through every nook and cranny to try and find the ones responsible for the curse.
In the preceding weeks, he had been assigning some of his operatives to help Crusch with both her new duties as well as her efforts to track down the sources of certain rumours. Fourier thought it was likely just the overeager imaginations of the civilians, but it wasn’t like they had other leads.
Because the one lead they had collected was…
“Was there anything more from our ‘autopsy expert’?” he asked, lowering his cup.
Julius nodded, and flicked through the papers. “Just one. He identified the carapace of one of the unknown insects, which turns out to have been an Iridescent Sun Beetle. They are fairly rare in the capital, but not too uncommon in the western parts of the country.”
Identifying beetles was a rather unusual job for an autopsy, but then, they weren’t using a normal autopsy expert.
There were several nobles in the kingdom with hobbies that could kindly be referred to as ‘eccentric’. The other nobles generally tried not to mention them in polite conversation, whether they be Roswaal’s tendency to shut himself in his manor and create metias, the habit of tracking down and observing birds that were gaining popularity in the south, or the practice of collecting the dead bodies of bug and insects, then framing them in their homes.
That last hobby belonged to a rather colourful old man, Edgar Mueller, a noble with lands near Preistella. After the assassination of their only lead, Miklotov had suggested bringing him in to try and get what information they could from the remains that had been left in the cell.
The old man had truly been methodical, cleaning and examining every little piece, and he had a wealth of knowledge about the habits and biology of the insects he identified.
“I don’t suppose these beetles can break through glass?” Fourier asked.
“They cannot,” Julius confirmed. “Lord Mueller says their jaws are designed for slicing, and they usually feed on recently dead animals.”
He paused to retract the paper he was looking at, and place it down on a table. “However, their jaws are apparently strong enough to cut into animal hides. A number of them could tear human skin into bloody strips in short order—”
“Okay, okay, I get it,” Fourier said, lifting a hand to ward off any further details. “Please don’t bring them up with me again. But this makes, what? The seventh type of insect that had a specific purpose?”
Julius nodded. “Prior to this, he identified the green-belly wasps which sprayed acid on the bones, the dragonflies which seemed to be present to carry the flesh-eater caterpillars, and three different types of fly to consume—”
“I said no! Please! Not when I’m drinking my tea!”
Julius bowed, an unrepentant smile on his face. “As you wish.”
Fourier sighed, taking a gulp of his beverage to try and calm his writhing stomach.
Edgar was competent, but his descriptions of the insects could be rather… graphic. Fourier had pretty quickly had to move to get his reports in writing, and then get that writing interpreted by Julius to avoid losing his meals.
He lowered his cup, and placed it down on the table.
“An insect controller, huh?”
The mood in the room turned sombre in an instant.
“It looks increasingly likely,” Julius confirmed. “We have no records of any such Divine Protection, but Reinhard isn’t able to say whether or not one exists. He believes it may be possible.”
“Or it could be a long-forgotten technique, like the curse arts,” Fourier said. “Has Roswaal learned anything new, or…?”
Julius shook his head. “He believes there may be information on it in his family’s library, but he did not bring any such volumes with him to the capital. Nor can he return there while Sir Felix is unable to replicate his ability.”
“Does Roswaal not have any retainers cleared to enter the library?” Fourier asked in surprise. He was aware that the older man had no direct family, so he’d have expected that the man would have aid from trusted staff.
He’d even taken the time to brush up on his Father’s notes on the Roswaal Family. From what he’d read, they had a Great Spirit who organised and helped defend the so-called ‘Forbidden Library’.
Julius inclined his head. “From what I’ve been told, he does have staff who are authorised to enter the library, and even to read some of the simpler texts contained within. However, the texts we would require are far more advanced, and only the head of the Roswaal Family may borrow them. It is part of the contract created with the Great Spirit.”
Fourier clicked his tongue in annoyance, for he knew just how sacred a contract was to a Spirit and their contractor. The only way to get those books would be to send Roswaal back to his domain, a task that would unfortunately, leave Fourier vulnerable.
With a shake of his head, he dismissed the worries. “It’s unfortunate, but I suppose that we’ll just have to continue relying on Crusch and Ferris then.”
Julius’s expression became guarded, which Fourier noticed immediately. In recent weeks, they’d started to open up to each other, and it had become rare for Julius to make such an expression when they were alone.
“You may speak your mind,” Fourier stated. “You know that I value your council.”
Julius blinked, then smiled sheepishly. Perhaps he thought he had managed to cover up his reaction.
“With all due respect to Your Highness,” he began, “it’s been more than a month since Ferris began to study how to dispel curses. A month is not a long time, however, Ferris has always been extremely gifted. I do not believe he has ever had to struggle to master a technique in his life. It is starting to get to him.”
He lifted his head to meet Fourier’s gaze. “I have tried to offer my encouragement, but I fear my words are insufficient. As someone who has known him longer, do you believe that there is any way to help lighten his burden?”
Fourier sighed, it brought him no pleasure to hear that his suspicions were right. He’d noticed Ferris’s growing despondency, but had refused to allow himself to consider that it would impact Ferris’s learning.
Leaning back, he forced himself to consider what he’d do if Ferris failed to learn how to break curses. The mere thought made anger burn in his gut. Even contemplating it felt like a betrayal, for Ferris had earned Fourier’s trust and respect. But a King could not afford to let such petty emotions cloud their mind.
Keeping Roswaal inside the capital was truly the more important task, the fact that he had taken to teaching Ferris was a welcome bonus from a more utilitarian viewpoint. More than that, Fourier couldn’t shake the faith he had in Ferris, even for this theoretical scenario. He knew that Ferris would be able to figure it out.
“No,” he finally said with a shake of his head. “Unfortunately, I do not believe there is anything we can do, other than having faith in him. Even if I ordered him to take a break, he’d just spend the entire time obsessing over what he could do better. He’ll be able to do it. I have the utmost certainty of that.”
Julius bowed his head in solemn acceptance. “I suppose it is as you say. Ferris may give out his recognition to few, but he always puts his heart and soul into helping those important to him. Even for a task this difficult, Lord Roswaal believes Ferris is making excellent progress. He expects him to make a breakthrough any day now.”
Fourier nodded.
“We’ve talked about my friends,” he said, “but do not think that I don’t notice that you yourself have been separated from your friends and family.”
Julius made the slightest movement of his shoulders, the most casual shrug the knight would allow himself to make.
“The duties of the knights often station us away from the capital,” he said. “My family understands that these things happen sometimes. And as for my friends, this is not the first time Reinhard has been stationed elsewhere, though I’ll admit it is unusual for him to be deployed indefinitely.”
Fourier nodded. In general, the kingdom tried to avoid moving Reinhard suddenly, to avoid disturbing the other nations. But given the uncertainty in their relationship with the Divine Dragon, Reinhard had been sent to his family’s domain in Flanders, a reasonable move to make for the Sword Saint, and well outside the exclusion zone set out by the Reinhard Law.
But it was much closer to the Vollachian border than the capital was. Sending him there was a threat, plain and simple. A warning to the empire, that despite the kingdom’s apparent weakness, they still had strength available to them.
“A little distance will not strain our bonds of friendship,” Julius continued, “and I know that Reinhard is doing his own duty. I only hope that his estate treats him well.”
Fourier nodded in understanding, while he didn’t know Reinhard, as well as his Knight did, he was well aware of the complex Astra Family history, and how sending him to their home manor could cause discomfort.
“As for my brother, while I have had less time to spend with him, I would say he is even more thrilled with my new position than I am.” Julius smiled gently, clearly reminiscing on his brother’s words.
Fourier felt his chest tighten slightly at that expression, for his own elder brother had given him such an expression once upon a time.
Before he could ruminate further in his thoughts, a knock at the door caught both of their attention. Julius went to open the door, a hand resting on his sword, a habit Fourier still had trouble getting used to, despite the necessity of it.
Miklotov entered with a smile and a bow of his own to Fourier. It was unusual to see him this early, but he supposed he should have expected it after last night.
“Your Majesty, it is good to see you in fine health,” Miklotov said.
Fourier sighed. Normally he’d hate to be so curt with a man he respected so much, but if this was what he thought…
“I have not changed my mind about the coronation ceremony being lower on my priority list than catching the culprit behind my family's deaths, Miklotov.”
Miklotov's smile didn’t fade at the words, and in fact, it seemed to grow a little more mischievous. After a moment of silence he replied, “That was not my intention, however, I am open to it if you feel the need to discuss it further.”
A very polite way to disarm someone, Fourier noted, but simply shook his head.
Perhaps he had been wrong to jump to conclusions, but that particular question was the greatest point of contention between Fourier and his Prime Minister.
Miklotov believed the coronation should take place as soon as possible, and Fourier wanted to delay it as long as he could, or at least until they had some breathing room.
Since the creation of the contract with the Divine Dragon, every new King had been crowned in Volcanica’s presence, in an elaborate ceremony to reaffirm the contract.
It was a ceremony Fourier was keenly aware he did not have the time to do.
Traditionally the Crown Prince would pray with the Church for several days, using an artefact gifted to them to contact Volcanica himself, who would come and bless the new crown and renew their oaths.
Fourier did not have time to spend those few days activating the artefact. Too much of his time was spent simply keeping the kingdom running. He had already delegated too many important tasks to administrators he didn’t trust fully.
His predecessors had not had the same issue, as they were usually crowned after the prior king had abstained, and they could rely on them to keep the kingdom running. Even in the cases that the prior king wasn’t alive, his predecessors had been able to rely on the rest of the Royal Family to help carry the burdens.
But Fourier had no family left, and those few he did trust with the power to rule in his absence were instead busy attempting to destroy the curse-user.
And it wasn’t like he could get Miklotov to cover for him, the Prime Minister was just as overworked as he was.
He wished he could get someone else to activate the artefact, but supposedly it only responded to those of royal blood.
He sighed. There was no helping it, he did need to be crowned soon to legitimise his position as King, but he could not stomach the thought of letting the curse-user slip even further away.
“If it’s not about the coronation, then I assume that you want to discuss the events of yesterday’s meeting with the full court?” Fourier asked.
Miklotov nodded. “It’s as you say. This is the first time your greater plans have been presented to the nobility as a whole, rather than just to myself and your subordinates.”
Fourier rubbed his forehead at the thought, just remembering the headache of the previous day was unpleasant.
Originally he’d wanted to bring up all of his plans to the council, but Miklotov had convinced him of the need to stay impartial. Miklotov had instead partitioned a few of the less extreme proposals among Fourier’s most stalwart allies in the court, and they had brought up the plans in his place, including steps to minimise the ongoing demi-human discrimination, how to better handle the slums, as well as a proposal to renew the stockpiling of food in case a disaster hit.
The sheer amount of blowback to those proposals had surprised him. The majority of the outer court had scoffed at them, criticising every little detail, and questioning the underlying purpose.
“The demi-human discrimination shouldn’t be a priority right now.”
“Leave the slums, they’re just a drain on our resources!”
“Famine? So what if there is a famine? The Divine Dragon will fix it!”
Fourier was well aware that if he had revealed that he had drafted those plans, their words would have been put more delicately, but the result would have been the same.
He was still new to his position, and the last few Kings had earned a reputation for being overly optimistic. Without hard results, he was unlikely to be able to push anything through the court. He would still be able to enact his will as king, but without the support of the court, it was unlikely that his edicts would be treated as law in the majority of the kingdom.
The nobles had an odd dichotomy between being extremely cautious and utterly carefree. They resisted any change in small acts of governance, being afraid to make the situation worse. But for large things, like the possibility of famine or invasion, they did not seem to see any issues. After all, the Divine Dragon would protect them.
It frustrated Fourier to no end. It seemed no wonder that the Kingdom was in the midst of an economic collapse. As a whole, the nobles did not take the possibility of a crisis seriously. They had grown used to the security Volcanica provided, and had forgotten that the Dragon did not interfere with internal affairs.
What was worse was that the counter-arguments to his proposals weren’t entirely without merit. They were correct to question the cost of the measures Fourier wanted to take.
After all, the kingdom’s Treasury simply did not have much gold left in it. The vast majority of the revenue they raised was spent before it even reached their vaults. Fourier had himself proposed increasing taxes to make up the shortfall, however, the nobles had openly pushed back against that idea.
Fourier sighed. In truth, he couldn’t really blame them. The problems the kingdom was having with their economy weren’t happening in isolation. The nobles had their own lands to govern, and they too were being hit by hardship. Increasing the burden on them further might cause some of the lesser domains to collapse into anarchy.
He supposed if there had been a simple solution to the conundrum, then his own father would have used it.
“You were not wrong when you said that the majority of the council would not like my proposals, but I still believe it was worth the attempt,” Fourier said. “After all, it also told us who would welcome those ideas.”
Miklotov tilted his head. “There were less costly methods to find sympathisers,” he said, “but I will admit that it was rather effective at finding the most passionate. Do you have any ideas on how to follow up with them?”
Fourier pursed his lips. “Nothing concrete, but I’ve been thinking over some methods to begin. The kingdom’s coffers aren’t so empty that we are in danger of collapsing anytime soon, provided we don’t have to face a major emergency. If there are things we can do without drawing on them, that will increase my reputation with the court, and allow us to win over more participants in our proposals.”
Miklotov nodded. “Then I assume you have an idea of what those things might be?”
“We’ll create a new branch of the Healer’s guild,” Fourier said. “The Royal Family owns several old buildings in the city, several of which have fallen out of use. We can use one of them for a new training institute, and the location will make it easier for commoners to get treatment.”
He sighed. “The only problem is that the building would have to be renovated and staff hired, but without access to the treasury, I don’t possess the funds to do so. I could ask for donations from the nobility, but that would put more strain on our allied houses.”
He shook his head. “It all comes down to money. We need money to fix things, but we don’t have it, and so the problems get worse, and thus we raise less in taxes. It’s a vicious cycle I do not see a way to break.”
Miklotov stroked his beard. “Yes, I’ve found the same. It has been all the kingdom can do to slow the decline, and reversing it has often seemed nothing but a wishful dream.”
But then he smiled, in stark contrast to his sombre words. “However, I have faith that we will be able to get through this with you on the throne, Your Majesty.”
Fourier snapped his head up.
“Me?” he asked. “I’m thankful for the vote of confidence, but I’m not sure I’m in any more of a position to steer the country back on track than Father was.”
“Perhaps,” Miklotov said, then he chuckled. “But perhaps you would be surprised. It’s been a very long time since a Lion King has worn the crown. Who knows what you may accomplish?”
Lion King.
Fourier had a love-hate relationship with that title. On the one hand, he respected his legendary ancestors who had borne it, indeed, he had looked up to them as his heroes during childhood.
But on the other hand, they had stolen away Crusch’s gaze, and Fourier wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to steal it back, to surpass them in her eyes. A thoroughly petty reason, but a prince was allowed to be petty sometimes.
“I haven’t done anything worth being called ‘Lion King’ over,” Fourier said. “After all it is the people around me who are amazing.”
Miklotov gave him an odd look at those words, but he didn’t pursue the subject further, allowing the conversation to drift to other matters of governance.
But the words had left an impression on him, giving fresh fuel to a spark from Fourier’s youth.
I will become a Lion King. I’ll reverse this economic disaster, and I’ll root out the people that cursed my family. I swear it.