Rain steadily fell from the heavens in a steady downpour, but the two nobles walked forward unconcerned. They stood in stark contrast to each other—one striding confidently as the rain drenched his clothes, while the other followed closely behind, the rain seeming to bend out of his path even as he radiated uncertainty. In silence, they moved forward, with the rain and the occasional wail the only sounds to pierce the silence of the funeral.

They had left the ambassadors behind soon after they finished their conversation with the Divine General. They had not done much more than exchange greetings and perfunctory conversation. Even the Kararagian had known better than to try and talk business on the day of the royal family’s burial.

After they’d departed, Fourier had quietly requested that Julius cease shielding him from the rain, and he’d given himself a moment to simply unwind. Allowing his eyes to drift, he spotted many other nobles ignoring the rain as he was, even as a few found ways to avoid it.

Together the two strode through the rain in silence for several minutes, before Fourier knew he needed to help Julius handle his melancholic aura, so unlike the normally calm and composed knight any longer. He knew that the two of them were not yet close friends, but he refused to see such sadness and not do anything about it.

“Julius, it’s clear that our conversation with Goz has given you room for thought,” he said, falling in step beside him. “Tell me what troubles you, my knight.”

Julius hesitated, but after a moment, he acquiesced to Fourier’s command.

“Your Majesty, do you really think Lugunica could manage without the Royal Family?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, so as not to concern anyone who might overhear them.

“I do.”

Fourier's answer came easily, and he spoke clearly, much to Julius’s discomfort. But there was no need to fear someone overhearing this truth.

“You underestimate just how amazing you, Ferris, and the rest of the Royal Knights are. Not to mention the elders and nobles, who even now work to protect the Kingdom, and the quality of the people we govern. I firmly believe that even without me, Lugunica could have a bright future,” Fourier said, his tone serious.

But that seriousness soon faded, and he allowed a cheeky smile to brighten the mood.

“Of course, that just means that with a King such as I, Lugunica is bound for greatness.”

Julius didn’t laugh, but a smile did touch his lips, so Fourier would chalk this up as a victory.

His next meeting would be with the Church, and as if in response to that thought, he saw Roswaal approaching him. The man seemed… restrained. Like he was keeping the usual excesses of his behaviour under wraps for the gathering. There was not a trace of rain on him, the droplets repelled by an invisible force whenever they drew close to him.

But strangest of all, he was wearing a cloak Fourier had never seen before, one that seemed to shift in the light when he wasn’t looking directly at it. It was coloured in the Court Mage’s usual shades of purple, but something about it seemed… nondescript. As if it were completely ordinary, and not the gaudy wardrobe that Fourier could clearly see it for.

“Your Ma~jesty.” Roswaal greeted with a bow.

“Good of you to join us, Roswaal,” Fourier said, dragging his eyes away from the cloak to look at Roswaal’s face. He still wore clown makeup, which brightened up his face, but the man did not seem comfortable. Well, Fourier supposed that was to be expected, given the person they were about to talk to.

“We are heading to meet the Church… Which is something you're clearly already aware of with that timing of yours,” Fourier noted with a tired sigh. “Your information on the Church is clearly more up-to-date than my own, especially with your ‘vested interest’. Tell me, is there anything I should be aware of?”

“Nothing that’s rele~vant to matters at hand,” Roswaal replied. “I take it that you’ve met Bishop Jaune before?”

Fourier nodded. He’d first met Jaune when he was young. The man was the youngest Bishop in centuries, and it had been hoped that the smaller age gap would give him an easier time teaching the rowdy young Fourier.

It hadn’t taken Fourier long to learn the lessons, which had pushed Jaune to incorporate more details than Fourier cared to know about the Church.

Beyond his distant memories of his youth, he could far more easily recall Jaune in meetings with his father, where the man had seemed perpetually nervous. It had been clear even to him that Jaune had hung onto his father’s every word back then.

Fourier hadn’t had the experience of seeing Jaune at work either, although the man had incredible charisma when he focused, and was a true believer in the divinity of both the dragon and royals. He’d have to be, to have achieved the most prominent position in the church, second only to the monarch himself.

It made him wonder which Jaune he’d see today, and what his new status would mean to him. After all, even though Goz had been incredibly crude, he hadn’t been lying when he had emphasised what a difference there was between a formally recognized King, and an informal one.

Especially in Lugunica, where the full title meant that the Divine Dragon himself had recognized and approved of him. Such a difference could matter to a believer as fervent as Jaune, especially since he would be ordering him to accept Roswaal disobeying his father’s final wishes.

Fourier doubted that Jaune would ever go directly against the crown, but all he had to do was share his displeasure with his followers, and any hope of keeping Roswaal’s involvement secret would disappear.

At the very least, Jaune should have taken part in the preparation of each of the Royal Bodies himself, as was customary of the Capital’s Bishop. The fact that it wasn’t already common knowledge suggested that at the very least, Jaune had accepted the council’s orders.

Although even that could have been out of interest. To Fourier’s shock, there were apparently talks of adding Jaune himself to the council in order to give a seat to the church.

The bishop was not alone in the field. He stood in discussion with two companions, neither of whom were in the traditional white robes required for the ceremony. One was in the blue dress of a priestess, and stood uneasily, nervously fiddling with her hands. The other woman was dressed in a standard civil official business uniform, and appeared far more relaxed, almost seeming bored.

One of the church’s civil employees, perhaps? Fourier thought to himself. I don’t recognise her, but if she’s with Jaune, she must be important.

Jaune himself was dressed in his typical attire, a long white robe that was ornately decorated, his blond hair covered with a white hat that had always been a little too large. In his youth, Fourier had once asked him why he didn’t simply have it resized, which had prompted a lecture about the values of tradition, and had taught Fourier a great deal about the ancient hat’s history.

“Jaune, you did a lovely job organising the ceremony. I take it the two besides you must have helped a great deal?” Fourier inquired as they reached him, forcing a gentle tone.

Jaune turned to face him, and a large smile lit up his face.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” he said, bowing deeply. “Both Sakura and Melty were invaluable to the ceremony. Sakura is our cathedral’s treasurer, and handled acquisitions for the event today, and Melty is one of my finest priestesses. While she was unable to take part in the ceremony today, she performed many of the last rites.”

He looked quite proud as he spoke, like a father bragging about a talented daughter.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Your Highness,” Melty said, immediately lowering herself into a quick bow, only to tip too far and almost fall over, her nerves ruining the practised gesture.

Fourier didn’t say anything, but his amusement must have shown on his face because Melty had turned beat red and refused to even look at him.

Jaune watched with a small smile, although Fourier noticed he had turned his head as if to avoid looking at Roswaal directly.

The reminder caused the last of his amusement to vanish and he turned towards Jaune.

“It was a pleasure to meet two of the people who helped put this ceremony together, however, Jaune, there are other matters I’d like to get your council on,” Fourier concluded, allowing a slight emphasis on his word choice.

Jaune nodded, white hat slipping to shade his eyes.

Sakura pursed her lips, and then understanding seemed to dawn on her.

“In that case, we will be on our way,” she said, taking Melty by the hand. “Father Jaune, we prepare for our return to the cathedral. We can manage on our own, so there is no need to rush.”

With that, she guided Melty away, and headed for a group of the other priests.

After the two had walked several metres, Fourier turned to Julius, well aware that asking Roswaal would simply be provoking the Bishop at this point.

“Julius, put up a barrier to prevent us from being overheard,” he said, turning to face Jaune directly.

“We both know that what I’m about to command is distasteful,” he said as the sounds of the crowd faded away to nothing, leaving only the faint breeze of Julius’s barrier. “But it was thanks to his actions that the Royal Line wasn’t ended.”

Fourier had originally planned to have Roswaal begin the negotiations, however, after seeing Jaune’s face, he realised that would be pointless.

Because while Jaune had tried to avoid looking at Roswaal directly, Fourier had seen the flash of fiery hatred that had crossed his eyes as they had approached.

“Your Majesty, it was your father’s dying wish that his children be spared such desecration!” Jaune growled, his face turning red, and his tone steadily rising. “Have you seen your brothers’ bodies?! Zabinel was desecrated beyond anything I’ve ever seen!”

Fourier closed his eyes, because he didn’t want to imagine his eldest brother torn to pieces. He’d witnessed what unchecked Water Mana could do to bodies when he had rescued Ferris from Biehn Argyle, the man who had been Ferris’s father in name only, and the thought of Zabinel’s body being treated similarly made Fourier want to assault Roswaal.

However, this wasn’t just about feelings, because the truth was he agreed with what Roswaal had done. He honestly believed that Lugunica could still flourish without him, but what about their next leader?

The assassin had already killed Lugunica’s leadership once, so what was to stop it from doing so again?

During his curse, he’d been under the impression that it was an illness.

Studying the bodies would still have been helpful, and could have dramatically sped up any research into the disease. But he could admit to being selfish enough that even if it would have been best for Lugunica and the medical community, he’d refuse to let them be studied.

He didn’t want his own body being disrespected in such a manner, let alone his beloved family members. From that perspective, he could understand his own Father’s decision.

However, things changed when. rather than a natural illness, this was revealed to be a weapon made to kill them. It had not been misfortune that had befallen them, but the ire of an unknown assassin, with unknown intentions towards Lugunica. That simple fact changed the calculus completely.

Had the entire Royal Family been wiped out, the kingdom would have had time while deciding on a new ruler, which might have allowed Roswaal to find and destroy those responsible himself. But that would be putting the entire kingdom’s stability on one man. If he failed in that situation, they may have kept losing monarchs until Lugunica fell to ruin.

Fourier hated to admit it, but he knew that given the knowledge of the curse and Roswaal’s capabilities, he wouldn’t have just granted Roswaal permission to desecrate his entire family.

No, he’d have ordered it done.

Such knowledge didn’t dissipate the anger, but it allowed him to control it. Opening his eyes he looked Jaune straight in the eyes, allowing his own anger to show.

Jaune grit his teeth but looked downwards after several seconds.

“Your Majesty has made up his mind then? To ignore your Father’s final words?” Jaune’s entire body shook in disbelief.

“I have.”

Fourier refused to mince words. He had his reasons, but in the end, it was his order that Jaune let this go.

Jaune’s body slowly stilled, but as he looked at Fourier, his eyes seemed to centre at where his crown should sit.

“Your Majesty… no, Your Highness. I will accept your words for now,” Jaune said quietly, with resignation and disappointment. But then his voice began to rise, not with anger but with a burning intensity that commanded attention. “I am not a man who truly understands the strategic importance of the wretch beside you, but I worry that without further guidance you’ll continue to drift further astray.”

Fourier’s eyes widened as he realised that this was the Jaune that had skyrocketed through the ranks of the church with his charisma alone, and ended by becoming the Bishop of the Capital at an almost unprecedented young age.

“It is easy to look at the world with nothing but logic, where each person is just a piece on a board. Where people are not individuals who all matter, but instead simply pawns serving their king. I know that for many countries in history, such Kingship was all too common, and for many, it is a sign of strength and power.”

Jaune allowed a moment to pause as he stared steadily at Roswaal, who returned the gaze silently.

“But,” he continued, “it was your Father’s compassion that inspired us all to go beyond our limits. I’ll admit that in a world without our Divine Dragon, such compassion might have led us down the wrong path, but it is precisely because of it that such a man was the Ideal King for Lugunica.” Allowing his gaze to swap from Roswaal to Fourier, he smiled and kneeled on the dirt, allowing dirt to stain white robes.

“I will gladly accept the invitation to join the council, due to the growing concerns, and I pray that my service there will be enough that you will one day rule with all the compassion your father did.”

Fourier stared at the kneeling form. For a moment even he had been moved by the man’s speech. It was a touching sentiment, and he could tell that Jaune meant it from the bottom of his heart. However, he thought it telling how even Jaune used the Dragon to prop up his Father, rather than defending him solely on his merits.

Slowly a burning resentment stirred in his gut, and for the first time in his life, he felt a tinge of resentment for the Dragon that protected them.

It was irrational, he knew, and the Dragon had done nothing to deserve such feelings. But it stung to see one of the men who most respected his Father act in such a way, and it sparked a desire to one day have somebody defend his own decisions without invoking the dragon.

“Jaune, in honour of the service you’ve performed my father, and because you saved such insolence for a private audience, I’ll overlook your behaviour,” Fourier said. “However, never forget that although you join the council, its purpose is to advise me and not rule for me. My decision to utilise Roswaal skills for our Kingdom is not up for debate.”

Fourier paused for a moment to let it sink in, before allowing himself to smile as he relaxed, and offered a hand to the kneeling man before him.

With a heave, Fourier had pulled the man up and allowed Jaune to sweep the worst of the mud off his robes.

“While we have our disagreements, trust that I do choose my actions for the sake of our Kingdom,” Fourier said. “I am not my Father, and so I cannot rule in the same way he once did. There will undoubtedly be decisions I make that will be worse than him. But by that same metric, there will be ones I make that are better as well.”

Jaune bowed, clearly having heard the dismissal in Fourier’s voice, and with one final glare at Roswaal he left, passing through the swirling wind without resistance.

Julius glanced at Fourier to see if he should lower the barrier, but Fourier shook his head and turned to Roswaal.

“I suppose I should thank you for not interrupting and making things worse,” he said. “I did not expect Jaune to react so negatively. Not once did he stop aiming his hostility towards you.”

Roswaal’s grin slowly grew as his eyes locked onto Fourier’s own.

“Why your Ma~jesty, seeing you defend me was well worth the price. We both know that the Bishop spo~ke only the truth after all. You will be a different sort of ruler compared to your Father. He would never have agreed to spare me after what I did to his family, even if it was to save Lugu~nica.”

Fourier saw Julius tighten his grip on his sword, but no outburst came from him this time.

Instead of allowing his own anger to erupt, Fourier stared at Roswaal, practically willing his intuition to tell him why Roswaal would say something so outrageous.

Several seconds passed in silence, before the answers unfolded in his mind. Roswaal was doing this primarily to anger him, which had dual purposes. First it allowed Roswaal to see exactly how he dealt with such emotions, now that he was starting to recover physically. Second and more importantly it would cement Fourier’s distaste for the man, as rather than attempt to fix his damaged image, it would appear Roswaal would prefer to know exactly what Fourier thought of him.

Fourier’s frown deepened as he felt a headache form. The worst part was that he couldn’t deny that the plan was working flawlessly. Unwilling to subject himself to more of Roswaal’s games, and aware that he wouldn’t be able to get anything else from the man, he simply gestured for Julius to break the barrier and stormed off.

----------------------------------------

Invisible winds swirled around the Royal Mausoleum, all bearing a deep sadness. Crusch had rarely seen so much emotion gathered in one place, and even in prior funerals she had attended, never had the sorrow been so rich. Proof of just how beloved the Lugunica Royal Family was made her own heart clench and deepened her own sorrow.

Yet rather than their surroundings, she found her eyes drawn to their new king instead. Placed as he was in the centre of the ceremony, Fourier stood out even when surrounded by the royal knights. It would have been easy to use that to explain the way her gaze was drawn to him. But in truth, she had simply become familiar with seeing Fourier’s emotions. So when he began the speech that had been prepared, she found herself focusing on those emotions instead.

Sorrow was the most dominant emotion he radiated, but she spotted joy, fear, loneliness mixed in as well. But what worried her most was that the puzzling wind Fourier had always possessed had weakened. It was still present and as she spotted him sneak a look at Ferris, she saw as it flared to life before weakening once more.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Crusch had spotted a certain frantic energy about the king, now that he knew he’d live, and his emotions reflected that in turn. It had made their separation more difficult than it normally was, although Julius’s presence by his side helped alleviate some of it. She put great faith in Ferris’s judgement of character and knew the two would become friends in the future. In some ways, that made her feel lonely, but it would be the height of foolishness to indulge her desires. Perhaps when the current crisis had abated, they would have time for such idle activities.

She watched as the coffins were entered into their final resting place, and found herself taking an unconscious step forward when she saw the sorrow overwhelm Fourier.

Yet the hand that had gently rested on her shoulder tightening banished such sentiments, and as she turned to face her father, she found herself frozen.

This wasn’t the private funeral that she had attended with Ferris, where Fourier had collapsed into their arms wailing. It could not be her place to so publicly comfort their King.

Instead she watched, feeling helpless, and all she could do was renew her personal vow. Crusch Karsten refused to see Fourier Lugunica dominated by sadness. She’d destroy the ones that had caused this, and would never allow it to be repeated.

----------------------------------------

Crusch walked with her Father quietly, focusing on the winds around them. Meckart had been requested to socialise while keeping Fourier in eyeshot. It allowed her to be seen and see to her duties as both head of the Karsten and Captain of Public Safety. She’d been tempted to request her Father drift closer when Fourier had moved to talk to the foreign diplomats.

But while it was more difficult to perform her duty, she’d been able to read the wind even from a distance. She kept an eye on Fourier and Julius, easily recognisable by the outfits they wore, as they approached the ambassadors from the other three great nations.

Crusch was too far away to make out more than the ambassadors’ general builds, but she could still read their emotions fine. The skinny one was animated, but his emotions were dull, the wind blowing around him radiating nothing but greed. The portly one was most similar to the mood of the crowd, feeling both sorrow and anxiety.

But the large, auburn-haired one made her hackles rise. He felt no sorrow, no regret, nothing. Only boredom and a faint trace of amusement.

That one was almost assuredly the Vollachian ambassador. Neither of the other countries would dare to send someone so crass.

When Julius’s aura flared with indignation and rage, she’d almost rushed over, but Fourier’s emotions hadn’t spiked to the same extent. Instead she forced herself to examine the winds near them for as much information as possible.

The dominant emotion she saw in the Vollachian was intrigue. But what interested her most were the secondary feelings, for she felt both anger and begrudging respect seemingly aimed at the same subject, likely Fourier himself.

People often felt multiple emotions regarding complex topics, and it made Crusch wish that she could participate in the conversation herself. She’d grown skilled over the years at using conversations to allow the winds to reveal more.

But that’s not my mission, she had to remind herself, and swept her eyes over the rest of the crowd near Fourier. Only after she was satisfied that no one held harmful intentions did she allow herself to look back at the group.

After another spike of anger from Julius, Fourier said a few words, and the emotions of the entire group turned to incredulity. It was a bit amusing to see Fourier’s doubt start to grow the way it did when he wasn’t sure whether or not he said the right thing. But confidence in himself eclipsed that doubt.

When he turned his head to address one of the other ambassadors, the anger had cooled to a low simmer. Crusch couldn’t guess at what they had discussed, but for the time being, it seemed Fourier had managed to neutralise the situation.

“Qui~te something, isn’t he?”

Crusch snapped her attention to her side at the sound of the voice. A nondescript elderly man had approached while she had been concentrating on Fourier’s group. She glanced at her father, but his group had moved a short distance, and he hadn’t noticed the man either.

He lifted a hand, twirling strands of wind magic through his fingers. The sight of an unknown person casting magic so close to her set Crusch on guard, but with the sight bestowed by her Divine Protection, she could see wind spells as clearly as she could see emotions of the flow of air. This one was a simple wind barrier that would obscure their voices to anyone outside its range. It wasn’t an uncommon spell, used extensively by nobles to prevent eavesdropping while they were in public.

“Can I help you?” she asked, turning her head to look at him directly.

Now that she was focusing on him, something seemed strange. His outfit did not stand out, and yet it was coloured in the gaudiest shades of purples she had ever seen. Even with her terrible fashion sense, she could tell that it should have been an offence to her sensibilities.

“Help? Perha~ps,” the man replied. “I wished to talk for a moment. After all, there are few as clo~se to our new King as you are.”

Crusch narrowed her eyes. Normally, such a statement would have indicated that the man wished to use her to find out about Fourier, but the man’s emotions did not indicate he was trying to manipulate. And he seemed so familiar…

“Who are you?” she asked.

The man blinked at her, then smiled, the slightest tinge of embarrassment flowing around him.

“Ah, my apologies. I do not do so we~ll with crowds, so I’ve been wearing this to grant myself a little space,” he said, running a hand down his cloak.

And then in an instant, Crusch recognised his pale face, covered in makeup, the bizarre outfit, and the strange manner of speech.

“Margrave Mathers,” she said, immediately bowing her head to him. “I apologise for my—”

“Pay it no mi~nd,” Roswaal interrupted, waving a hand dismissively. “I should extend my own apologies to you. This particular cloak makes percei~ving my identity difficult.”

Crusch stared at it, then nodded. “I see,” she whispered, “you do not wish for our advisory to discern your presence here.”

Roswaal remained silent for a moment. “...yes, I suppose you could say that. More to the point, have you noticed anything so far?”

Crusch shook her head. “Nothing out of the ordinary.”

“As I expected,” Roswaal said. “Sir Felix and Sir Reinhard have not raised any commotion ei~ther. But do remain alert. This day is the easiest for our enemy to get close enough to lea~rn of His Majesty’s condition.”

Crusch nodded. “Of course.”

She glanced at Fourier’s group, then looked back at Roswaal.

“I apologise if I overstep,” she began, “but I have not had the chance to speak to you yet. I wished to thank you for your actions in protecting His Majesty.”

She bowed deeply once more. “You have my gratitude.”

A touch of guilt swirled around Roswaal, and he turned away from her. “Had I succeeded at convincing the King to examine the first bodies, most of the royal line would have survived. That gratitude is misplaced.”

The wind of untruth did not blow around him, but Crusch had long since learned that just because someone believed what they said, did not mean that it was the truth in reality.

“Regardless, it is how we feel,” Crusch said. “When this can safely be revealed to the public, I have no doubt that most will feel the same way.”

“Is that so?” Roswaal whispered. He glanced in Fourier’s direction, who seemed just about finished with the ambassadors, and then said, “It seems that I will be needed now. However, before I go, I have something for you.”

He pulled a small object out of his pocket and raised it out to Crusch.

She took it in one hand and examined it. It was a small circular item, resembling a conversing mirror, except it had no clasp to open it.

“That is a metia of my own design,” Roswaal said. “Speak a message into it while concentrating on a person, and the wind will carry your words to them. I would have given it out earlier, but I only finished this prototype today. The range is short, but it should be sufficient for today.”

Crusch bowed her head. “I understand. Thank you, Lord Roswaal. Should the situation arise, I will make use of it.”

Roswaal nodded, and turned, dispelling the wind barrier around them without a word.

Crusch turned her attention back to Fourier, who had begun to move on. Her father was still deep in discussion, and while he was mostly there to serve as a method for her to avoid conversation, he was not so unimportant that she could drag him away.

Thus, she moved on alone, trusting her own ability to avoid superfluous conversation. She kept Fourier within her sight at all times, periodically scanning the crowd around them.

Roswaal joined up with Fourier and Julius, which made the tension in her heart ease up a bit. With him by Fourier’s side, there was no possibility for a curse to grasp him once more.

However, the tension immediately returned when Fourier reached another group, and she saw a hurricane of sheer rage.

It was an intense, personal rage, so overpowering she could practically feel it blowing on her skin.

The assassin?

She picked up her pace, cursing herself for leaving her father behind. She could have gotten him to carry a message if things were desperate. As it was…

She lifted the metia Roswaal had given her, ready to send a message at the slightest hint of trouble. Despite how much she wished to rush in or call Reinhard, she did not feel that she could afford to cause a commotion until she knew for certain what was going on. If the source of this anger was not the assassin, her actions could give away the fact that the kingdom was on guard.

If only she could see more than the robe’s colours from this distance.

To her surprise, she soon felt the winds distort around Fourier, obscuring the details of the emotions wafting off him and those accompanying him. She could still detect the intensity of the emotions surrounding Fourier easily, but it was in the colours and details of the Wind that she could pick out useful information.

After a moment’s thought she recognized the phenomenon as a wind screen, a more potent version of the wind barrier Roswaal had just used. She could make out the strands of magic, which were thicker and less elegant than the ones Roswaal had used. It was probably Julius’s spell. As she grew closer, she was able to make out the faces close to Fourier.

Besides Julius, Bishop Jaune had joined Fourier, along with the Margrave, Roswaal.

The sight should have reassured her, but instead she could feel her gut twisting. Did one of those prominent members hate each other? Worse yet, was it directed towards Fourier?

Crusch soon began to look for weaknesses in the wind screen, so that she could resume her duty, but soon stumbled upon another worrying detail as she saw a foreign wind trailing across Julius’s barrier. It was well hidden, and if she hadn’t been examining the barrier directly she wouldn’t have spotted it.

Julius’s barrier wasn’t powerful per say, she could easily shatter it as could many others. However it would be an obvious feat that would alert Julius immediately. Sneaking through the barrier was a far more impressive feat, and one she wasn’t sure she could accomplish herself.

Crusch hesitated for only a moment, before deciding to trust Julius to keep Fourier safe. In a fight between her and the Finest Knight, she doubted that she would be the one to prove victorious.

And even if she did choose to trade places with Julius, he would have to rely on his wind spirit to follow the magic, a slower and far more obvious method of tracking than Crusch’s Divine Protection.

No, Julius’s place was by His Highness, while hers was handling this spy. Her heart felt heavy for a moment, but she was already striding away.

She let her hand rest on the hilt of her sword and assessed how prepared she was for possible combat. It was unfortunate that she could not have worn her usual military uniform, instead dressed in a simple funeral dress that had been picked out to impede her movements the least.

It couldn’t be helped though. This funeral was the most formal event she had ever attended. To so blatantly ignore decorum would be unacceptable.

Her Father had even been thankful for her reputation of disdain towards feminine or restricting clothing. As while normally a noble woman of her stature would be required to wear an elaborate dress, instead wearing a simple one was considered a large concession on her part.

Truthfully her sword wasn't something that she would be able to use easily, as conspicuous as it was, but it would hopefully draw attention from her true weapon, her magic. If pressed, she could use her bare hands to release Wind Blades almost as sharp as the ones from her sword, even if it wasn’t her preferred combat style.

Ideally she would sneak up as close to the spy as possible, as if she could get close enough to hit the man with a blunted version of her wind strike, or sneak up behind him and get him in a choke-hold, she might be able to avoid drawing attention to herself, especially if she used her magic to silence her actions.

Wind magic could prevent noise from escaping through several different methods, from forcing a target to hold their breath to a barrier preventing noise from entering or leaving an area. Crusch could perform a wind barrier of her own, however if her target was skilled enough to sneak through a wind screen they would almost certainly notice if she created one, alerting them before her attack.

In addition, while a wind barrier distorted the sounds, and details of her Divine Protection, it could not truly obscure sight. While her invisible wind magic could be hidden, if she drew her sword it would take but one person noticing to cause a commotion.

Crusch frowned in contemplation. She had never been fond of attacking without first speaking with her target. Many would mistake it solely for chivalry, and while that was part of it there were also tactical reasons.

When cornered there were enemies that would rather deny a defeat and die than survive and accept defeat. The possibilities were varied, from the culprit using poison capsules, to slitting their own throat, or in some rare cases, they might use powerful magic to blow themselves and everyone around them away.

Thankfully, the last scenario was highly unlikely, as those displays tended to stand out, and in a funeral with such powerful attendants, someone would notice buildup of mana that the culprit would have to use.

But either of the other two methods, or even a weak spell designed to shred the user’s own body could make an autopsy difficult, even for someone as gifted as Ferris.

By being diplomatic and taking the first overtures, enemies were less likely to resort to their last resources with the exception of the truly insane such as the Witch Cult.

For a moment the hand not resting on her sword rested on the metia the Margrave had lent her. It opened up options that she would be foolish to ignore, and while contacting any of the members in the wind screen would alert her target, others were still an option.

Crusch wished she had a chance to test it beforehand to see how noticeable such an item was to a skilled Wind Mage. However Roswaal himself was such a mage and hadn’t warned her against such actions either.

Raising the metia to her lips, she concentrated on the world’s most powerful knight, who had lingered in the funeral for such a purpose.

“Reinhard, I am following the trail of a potential assailant, who is attempting to spy on His Majesty. Please follow covertly after receiving this message.”

She carefully watched the device to see if she could spot the Wind that would ferry her message, but if it had worked, even she could not tell.

The trail led her to a man in a black suit, the standard for the funeral. She didn’t recognize him on sight, nor did the swirling of the wind around him remind her of anyone. Was he perhaps a lesser noble one she had never met, or perhaps even a commoner dressed up for the event? To her sight his clothes seemed fine, and he stood straight, his complexion indicating he was in good health.

He stood alone, his eyes focused entirely on the heavens, twisting his magic to his will. The wind he controlled seemed to blend in with the sky itself, easily hiding itself despite the sheer quantity present.

Should she wait for Reinhard to arrive? He would find capturing the man unharmed far easier than she would, and it would be done without a commotion as well.

Before she could come to a decision, the man ceased his casting, finally allowing his eyes to look around him, and in an instant, their eyes met.

Crusch saw as the Wind already infused with the man’s mana abandoned its old form in seconds, as it reformed into a hammer of wind screaming towards her. Normally such fierce wind magic would take time to form, but the man had bypassed it by preparing the mana ahead of time.

Crusch's right hand tightened around her sword, but instead she swung her empty left hand against the wind, trusting that even against such magic, her own wind would surpass her foe.

The blade of wind, as sharp as her own, slammed into the hammer and in seconds cut through it to slam against her foe. But instead of a blade of wind, the blade had lost all cohesion and a blast of air ripped the man off his feet.

The man attempted to resummon the wind, his feet slipping against the wet grass, but found it once more interrupted as he slammed head first into one of the stelea with a loud thump.

The wind dissipated and the man seemed stunned, but before Crusch could even feel a sense of victory, she saw as the gazes of the surrounding crowd began to turn towards them. She grit her teeth. It seemed unavoidable that there would be some commotion at this stage, but it would send the people into a panic if they realised a fight had broken out in the midst of the funeral.

All she could do was end it now. Wind magic was invisible to the untrained eye, so if she blunted her blow enough, perhaps she could—

A man seemed to materialise from the air beside the spy, his fiery red hair seeming to glow in the dim light.

“Are you not feeling well, sir?” Reinhard asked, as he pulled the man from the ground, the Sword Saint’s abnormal gate draining the mana directly out of him. It was a risky method, but one Reinhard was well-practised with. Robbed of consciousness, the man slumped in his arms.

The crowd started muttering amongst themselves, but Reinhard’s comment had shifted the sentiment. Even if someone had thought they saw a fight break out, now they would be more inclined to believe the man had merely collapsed due to exhaustion. Especially when the only spells that had been thrown around had been based on wind. Even a mage wouldn’t have detected more than a flurry of mana in the air.

Luckily, it seemed that no one was questioning that version of events. What little doubt swirled around them cleared up within moments, replaced by a concern directed at the man. Misplaced concern, considering what Crusch had just caught him trying to do, but it was better than the public belief that the kingdom had apprehended a spy.

“My, that was sudden,” a voice said from Crusch’s side. The crowd had closed in around her due to the attention the spy had drawn, so someone had managed to get close without Crusch noticing.

She turned to see a woman in a Civil Affairs outfit, looking at Reinhard’s back as the knight carried the spy away.

The woman glanced at Crusch, and asked, “Did you see what happened? I wasn’t all that close, but it looked like someone just collapsed.”

“Yes, it appears he stumbled and hit his head,” Crusch said. She wasn’t great at lying, but the woman seemed to have bought her explanation. The emotions flowing around her mostly indicated weariness, with an underlying touch of concern and anxiety.

“Ah, I see,” the woman said. “Yes, it can be difficult to walk on wet grass. It’s unfortunate that we had such an accident.”

She sighed, and looked back at Crusch. “I suppose we’ll have to offer him healing as compensation. How troublesome.”

Crusch tilted her head. “You will? I believe His Majesty will handle that.”

The woman seemed to notice the confusion on Crusch’s face, and said, “Ah, I’m Sakura Element. I’m the treasurer of the Church of the Divine Dragon for the capital. Organising the event today was one of my tasks. I was not informed that His Majesty would be offering to cover healing for any accidental injuries. Did you hear something about it?”

Crusch paused, and looked away. “No, I merely know His Majesty’s personality. He would not want people hurt on this day.”

She technically wasn’t lying, but mostly she just wished to distract the woman’s attention, and to cover up that they had taken the man prisoner for his attempted spying.

“Really?” Sakura asked. “Are you close to him? Forgive me, but I do not recognise you, miss…”

“Karsten,” Crusch replied, belatedly realising that she had forgotten to introduce herself. “I’m Crusch Karsten.”

Sakura’s eyes widened. “Lady Karsten? I extend my deepest apologies for my behaviour,” she said, bowing her head.

She sounded and acted contrite, but the emotions swirling around her did not shift from weariness. It seemed the woman was too tired to properly feel anything.

Crusch hadn’t realised organising a funeral was so hard on the mind.

“It is fine,” she replied. “All are equal on this day of mourning.”

Sakura lifted her head. “Yes, perhaps that is so. It is truly mournful.”

She shifted to look to the mausoleum, the door tightly sealed once more. “It seems unthinkable that so many died.”

She lowered her voice to a whisper, and turned back to Crusch. “I apologise, but I must ask… is His Majesty truly safe? There are so many rumours around, at this stage I fear he may end up joining his family.”

“That will not happen,” Crusch stated. She would not let it be so. “The healers are certain that they have figured out the illness. You needn’t fear.”

“I see,” Sakura said softly. The flow of her emotions was difficult to read, but she seemed doubtful. She clearly suspected Crusch was hiding something.

To be fair, that was exactly what Crusch was doing. She thought she had covered it up with her confident tone and demeanour, but the treasurer seemed difficult to fool. It would be best if she didn’t speak about the topic too much.

“That is good to hear,” Sakura continued. “Some of the rumours have been quite incredible, but there is always the possibility that some of them have a grain of truth to them.”

Crusch narrowed her eyes. “Rumours? I beg your pardon, but I’m unaware of any particular rumours.”

Sakura’s eyes widened.

“Oh? They are quite prevalent in the lower regions of the city,” she said, then pursed her lips and put a finger to her chin. “Though, I suppose the citizenry is less willing to discuss their thoughts so openly around the nobility. They wouldn’t want to be disrespectful.”

Disrespectful? …Yes, I suppose that could make people less likely to share their thoughts.

“I will not consider it disrespectful,” Crusch said. “And I’m interested to hear what people think. If you wouldn’t mind, could you tell me about them?”

Sakura nodded. “Well, most of them are quite unbelievable. For instance, most cast out of hand the possibility that His Majesty was behind the illness, that he used it to take the throne.”

“Fourier would never—!” Crusch began, but Sakura lifted a hand.

“Yes, most of the city knows that,” she said. “This particular rumour only thrives in the far reaches of the slums, and only with the down-on-their-luck who see the worst in everyone. Perhaps there are other regions where similar rumours abound, but I only gather information from the capital.”

Crusch took a breath, forcing herself to calm down. She couldn’t blame the people if they did notice something suspicious in the royal family’s sudden demise. All of them died except Fourier, it would be odd if some of them didn’t think that it could be a play for power.

“What others?” she asked. “What are some that the people put faith in?”

Sakura shrugged. “It is difficult to say whether there are any that have any widespread belief. Most trust the announcements from the palace, that the illness was simply the result of misfortune, and that His Majesty was lucky to survive.”

She paused. “However, if we are to mention the more believable rumours… some suspect that the illness was not misfortune at all, but an attack on Lugunica.”

Crusch’s blood froze. She didn’t dare to speak, in case she confirmed anything the woman said.

“Vollachia has many abhorrent practices and ideals,” Sakura continued, seeming not to notice Crusch’s dilemma. “And in recent years, they have been gathering their military strength, most notably with the reinstatement of the Nine Divine Generals. Some suspect this illness was created by Vollachia to break the contract with the Divine Dragon, so they could invade the kingdom.”

“That… is quite the rumour,” Crusch said.

Sakura nodded. “The product of great uncertainty, no doubt. I personally find it unlikely that they would take such an indirect method, but I’ll admit, the actions of the Vollachian ambassador were enough to make me second-guess myself.”

She shook her head. “Most other rumours are not as dire. Some suspect that the illness came from the slums, which is hard to doubt, considering how riddled with disease that place is at the best of times. Others think that Gusteko offered a cure, and that only His Majesty was still alive when it arrived.”

Crusch nodded, not trusting herself to speak. She hadn’t heard anything about a leak in the kingdom’s operations, but the amount of correct information the citizens had surmised was astonishing. It was surrounded by so much drivel that it would be difficult to get an accurate picture of the situation from rumours alone, so she didn’t think she needed to worry.

But… perhaps she’d have some people look into them, just to be safe.