The clouds rumbled overhead, rain drizzling down on those gathered beneath the dark sky. Fourier had little doubt that many of the more religious would believe that it was the heavens weeping over the deaths of his family. Sadly, like many things in life, the truth was less glamorous. They had scheduled the date of the funeral to lie on such a day, in order to make the state address have more impact.
Fourier’s thoughts were invaded by the image of a cheerful sunny day, the kind that his eldest brother Zabinel would use as an excuse to nap and lounge in the sunshine. Zabinel had always been conscious of his position as both Crown Prince, and Captain of Public Safety, which had cursed him with the responsibility of appearing strong. But fine weather had been one of the things he most fiercely cherished, and had brought out a side of him Fourier had treasured.
The deluge of memories brightened his mood, though he was careful to keep his face neutral. Such an expression was hardly appropriate at his family's funeral, and he was all too aware of how mercurial his feelings had been lately. The past few days had been a rollercoaster of emotions, ever since he was saved from what he thought was certain death.
In the past he’d been told about how open he was, for he had allowed himself to publicly shed tears and had laughed often. He’d always found it easy to cheer himself up, but had suspected that after his family's death had sunk in that such a trait would fade.
Instead he’d found his emotions swinging wildly out of control. At times he was so thankful that he had survived it was all he could do to refrain from laughing aloud, and at other times he wanted to curl up and weep his heart out.
But he could not afford to display either extreme so openly. Not today, not in the presence of so many.
He stood on a stone podium looking out over those in attendance for the funeral.
As was tradition, the funeral was being held in the Field of Mourning, the little space of greenery that stood before the Royal Mausoleum, the fated resting place of all of Lugunica’s royalty.
A thin stone pavement ran through the field, connecting the mausoleum to a small temple. That temple was not used for worship. It was only ever used on days of great import.
Many stelae dotted the field, each of the chest-high stone slabs carved with a depiction of one of the kings or other notable member of the royal family, as well as their name and any titles they held. In a way, they could be said to be the kings’ gravestones.
The mausoleum was a small building, and not one that had been decorated to any major degree. When they were building the palace, the ancient progenitors of the royal line decided they did not want a large monument to their own deaths, and used the building merely as an entrance to a series of catacombs.
The stone slab on which Fourier now stood had also been laid down by those first royals, set by the edge of the field. Anyone who looked toward the king as he addressed his subjects would see the Royal Palace towering over his head, a symbol of enduring strength even in times of great loss.
Fourier thought the attempt was a struggle in vain. A building, no matter how impressive, could never make up for the beloved rulers of a nation. And an empty palace was nothing more than a symbol of decline.
He tried to ignore the overbearing structure to his back, and focused on a much more present symbol of strength. Several knights had joined him on the podium, wearing their formal uniforms and standing tall.
By tradition, they should not have been by his side, and should have instead been standing around the slab. The stone itself was supposed to be reserved for his family, but that family no longer existed. It was better to break tradition than to emphasise just how close Lugunica had come to losing their entire royal line.
Having the knights beside him served far better as a symbol of safety and protection. Julius to his right, in the hopes that showing off the Finest Knight’s position as his personal guard, would help to establish that he was protected.
Marcos Gildark, Captain of the Royal Knights, was the only person on the platform wearing armour, and for good reason. The man looked like someone from out of a storybook, a knight that would remain stalwart in the face of the worst opposition.
Fourier couldn’t help but be conscious of Ferris. Though his friend was standing behind him, outside of Fourier’s line of sight, he could still hear the way the knight shifted his feet uneasily.
Felix Argyle had the title of ‘Blue’, and was the Kingdom’s finest healer. If any were to take the credit for Fourier’s recovery, it would be him. He was one of Fourier’s closest friends, and perhaps most importantly of all, a Demi-Human. Already Fourier could see several people silently throwing their disdainful looks at his friend.
But many knew him by his reputation, and for every look of disgust, there were two more with gratitude in their eyes.
Fourier did not expect to solve the discrimination against Demi-humans with only a few moves. But it was a start.
And not one that would be particularly hard on Ferris, as there was another man in their midst, one who drew the gazes of the people to an extent rivalling Fourier himself.
Reinhard van Astrea, the Sword Saint himself, was someone the people loved as much as they loved the royal line. He was famous around the world for his strength, and countless stories of his acts of heroism circulated through the realm. No one could serve as a better reassurance than him.
Fourier had not had the chance to talk to Reinhard since the curse had been broken. With most of the Royal Family gone, morale had fallen to the lowest Fourier could remember, and the Sword Saint had been dispatched on several missions to try and rectify it. Those generally consisted of bandit subjugations on the main roads, or clearing out mabeast infestations near the populated regions.
There was only so much that he could do, but Reinhard threw himself into it with gusto.
Fourier knew the knight must have been feeling terrible for his failure to reach the Pleiades Watchtower and contact the sage, but Reinhard didn’t let it show on his face. He never did.
With his loyal knights at his back, Fourier could face the crowd with confidence.
Many were members of the nobility, but Fourier could easily distinguish some members of the Church of the Divine Dragon, in their formal robes, and even some members of the general public.
Fourier could see the sadness on everyone’s faces. Many of them were even looking at Fourier with concern, as if afraid that he too would soon depart from the world.
It was painful.
Fourier knew that his family would have preferred a happier atmosphere for such a grim occasion, that they would have wanted the people to rejoice that one had lived, but with the church’s temporary prominence it would be best to play it safe.
“We are gathered here today to mourn the passing of my father, Randohal Lugunica, the forty-first king of Lugunica,” Fourier began, holding his voice steady so it wouldn’t tremble or crack with grief.
“My father and many in the Royal Family enjoyed an open relationship with our people and tried to take the time to visit them whenever possible. So when we all had to enter isolation several months ago, many found it suspicious,” Fourier continued, focusing on the sound of Ferris’s breathing, his eyes meeting Crusch’s, their mere presence granting him strength.
“Some may ask why we felt the need to keep it a secret, and it is because we didn’t know just how infectious such a disease could be. I believe it is to the credit of our subjects that they decided to have faith in us rather than demanding answers.”
Fourier found his eyes drifting skywards as rain poured on his face, at least with the need for rain, the Funeral had been pushed back a few days allowing him to regain more of his strength. His mind felt more clear than it had in months, which combined with his grief made it so that moments felt stretched.
“The disease that took my family spread rapidly, and it wasn’t long until every member was infected. Even I caught it. It was only thanks to the tireless work of our court healers that I stand before you today.”
Fourier swallowed as he began to tell his lies. The next part would hopefully help asway any doubts the culprit had.
“The largest reason I stand before you today was my dear friend and Royal Knight, Felix Argyle. While he was unable to defeat my illness alone, he was able to help me preserve my strength and survive. After even my father perished, all our healers were able to work together and focus on me, and with their help, I was able to survive and defeat the illness.”
The desire to have Ferris be the one recognized was his own, and his advisors had questioned the wisdom of drawing attention to Ferris when he was being trained to break curses. Was it perhaps possible that the perpetrator would seek to draw Ferris away from Fourier before acting if his role in the healing was played up?
The additional attention drawn to Ferris would also make his meetings with Roswaal more difficult to keep under wraps.
However, there were multiple reasons Fourier had decided to go through with it. Ferris was one of the few Demi-Humans who had reached as high a position as Royal Knight, and Fourier thought it would help to highlight such a role, especially going forward.
In addition, while it was possible that the perpetrator would view Ferris as an obstacle, Fourier thought it was likely that they would still strike at him if he ventured outside the safety of the palace, and the palace’s healers.
By playing up Ferris, it became more plausible that he might venture away from the capital with him by his side, along with his personal knight. It was a move that would without a doubt attract another attempt on his life—a move that they would have to consider making if the perpetrator didn’t attack earlier. They didn’t know how the curse user got into the palace, but they might have noticed the tightened security of the palace, and chosen to bide their time.
Well, it wasn’t a decision they needed to make yet. It would only be feasible after Ferris had mastered breaking curses. Fourier had faith that his friend would be able to master the skill quickly, but it would be best if he had plenty of time to practice with it before they made such a risky play.
In the wake of his announcement, he could see more eyes being drawn to Ferris, who bore the stares with a smile.
Too many gazes remained resentful, their eyes being drawn to Ferris’s bristling cat ears.
However, Fourier could also see that for some, disdain was replaced with respect. Respect for the young man who had helped save their king, and prevented the Royal Line from being extinguished.
“I am now the last member of the Royal Line,” Fourier continued, and Church officials in black robes began to move, each group of four carrying a finely crafted black coffin on their shoulders. The first was open, revealing Fourier’s father, King Randohal, his deathly pallor erased by makeup and magic, leaving him looking as if he were simply in a calm slumber.
Fourier remembered the times when he would launch himself at his father’s sleeping form, and couldn’t help but wish that the sleep of death could be broken as easily as his father’s slumber back then, and that he could go back to that simpler time.
“However, in times of trouble, we look to the past for guidance,” Fourier continued, not allowing his eyes to linger on his father’s body. “A few centuries ago, Lionel Lugunica, the thirty-seventh King, was faced with a similar issue. For he too was not the principal heir, and was faced with a Royal Family that had but a few members left.”
Fourier could see some whispering from the crowd as they looked to the six coffins behind his father’s, for unlike the former King’s, their coffins had the lids firmly in place.
Perhaps that detail would lead to speculation that there were other survivors that Fourier was covering up.
If only that were so.
No, those six were covered to disguise the two that had been desecrated. Fourier had not seen the state his brothers had been reduced to, nor did he want to. He did not think he’d be able to forgive Roswaal if he had, despite the miracle the Court Mage had worked.
“Yet he overcame such issues despite inheriting at an age barely older than I am now,” Fourier went on, refusing to allow himself to think too much on it. “And he served our Kingdom for over seventy years. In that time Lugunica flourished and became a stronger nation.”
Randohal’s casket reached the mausoleum, and four church officials in white robes heaved the doors open, the stone grinding as it shifted to reveal the darkness within.
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“I pledge now that I too will make Lugunica stronger and that I will not allow the Royal Family to die out!” Fourier pledged as one by one, his family entered that darkness, never to return.
Fourier turned to face the tomb, and bowed his head to them, letting his hair shade his eyes, grateful that the rain helped wash away the tears that slipped past.
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As the ceremony came to a close, the stifling air of formality began to ease up. Ferris still noticed a large number of eyes drifting to him, but now that he wasn’t standing up on the platform, he could hide amongst the crowd, which minimised the number that could actually make him out.
Of course, it didn’t help all that much, considering the company he was keeping.
Reinhard was rather distinctive, with his blazing red hair shifting slightly in the breeze and his general aura of exceptionalism.
He and Ferris were greeting and thanking those who had attended the funeral, but were—to put it unkindly—not worth Fourier’s time to talk to. They were lesser nobility, commoners who had no great influence, or civil officials of minor branches of the government.
But while they didn’t have the chance to talk to Fourier, not a single one seemed to care, considering that they got to exchange greetings with the Sword Saint himself. Most didn’t even mind when they were obliged to shake hands with Ferris too.
Some of them were even enthusiastic about it, sincerely thanking Ferris for his work in healing Fourier, clutching his hand in theirs. In one case, there was even tears.
“It’s so creepy,” Ferris whispered to Reinhard. “Ferri prefers the way the knights are. Can’t they have begrudging respect? Not… this.”
Reinhard smiled. “Yes, perhaps that would be more comfortable for you. But please bear with it. We don’t have anyone else capable of the things that you are.”
Ferris turned away at the praise. It was true that no one in the kingdom had the level of skill with Water Magic that Ferris possessed, thanks to his Divine Protection of Water.
His skill was such that he could surreptitiously check the condition of anyone he touched, with such subtlety that only a master of mana would be able to notice his intrusion. He had done so with every guest they had met over the course of the day.
That was the real reason both Reinhard and Ferris had been assigned to the job. If Ferris found anyone suspicious, he would need only say the word, and Reinhard would apprehend the target.
“But nothing came of it, in the end,” Ferris muttered. “Everyone was normal. Nyothing really stuck out about any of them.”
“I too was unable to detect anything,” Reinhard said.
Coming from him, it meant that none of his myriad Divine Protections had noticed any ill-intent from the attendees.
“Thus, it seems likely that our adversary chose to avoid this event. So don’t blame yourself. You can hardly find something that doesn’t exist.”
Ferris sighed, but didn’t disagree. Some part of him had held onto the vain hope that they would catch the assassin at the event, and prevent any further deaths. But the forces that wanted to end the royal line were crafty, and Ferris had begun to agree with Reinhard. They wouldn’t find anything among the guests.
He sighed again. “I suppose you’re right.”
Ferris couldn’t understand Reinhard sometimes. He knew for a fact that the Sword Saint had taken his inability to help the Royal Family hard, but unlike him, the man was able to easily suppress his emotions and keep going.
It made him feel small and petty, but after his repeated failures in learning about curses from Roswaal, a part of him had hoped that Reinhard would fail in other tasks as well.
Reinhard and Julius were his only other friends among the Royal Knights of Lugunica, and he didn’t want to see Julius right now. He should be happy that Fourier would be protected by someone he knew was capable and trustworthy, but all it did was make him worry about his own place by Fourier’s side.
He couldn’t even bring himself to hope something would go wrong, for Julius was protecting what was most precious to him and Crusch.
“Reinhard, hypothetically if you kept failing at a task again and again, what would you do?”
Reinhard glanced at him, mildly confused, but still smiling. “I would do my best. But if that wasn’t enough, I would have to rethink my options, as what happened when I tried to reach the Pleiades Watchtower.”
Ferris flinched. He hadn’t expected Reinhard to bring that up. But then, it was a rather insensitive question. When had Reinhard ever failed, except for that?
“Fourier doesn’t blame you,” he said quickly. “It was a stretch anyway. We don’t know if the Sage would have even been able to help.”
Reinhard shrugged. “It is impossible to say. Though my failure did not cost us the entire Royal Family, had I managed to reach the tower, the Sage may have been able to put us on the right path sooner. We might not have lost a single person.”
Ferris sank down, wracked by guilt. He hadn’t meant to bring up those types of thoughts, he had only wanted advice about…
“But that is in the past,” Reinhard continued. “The problem you face is currently more important. Unfortunately, I am unable to be of much assistance in the particulars. Magic is something that is beyond me. However, if you want my honest advice, I believe all you can do is practice. Margrave Mathers has faith that you will be able to learn the technique soon, and if anyone can be relied upon to judge your skill, it would be him.”
Ferris had to admit, that was a good point. He had been failing every attempt, but Roswaal had not been perturbed.
“These things take ti~me.”
Those were the words the Court Mage had said every time Ferris doubted his abilities, every time he worried that he would be unable to learn anything.
Perhaps he was right, and Ferris would learn what he needed before anything further befell Fourier.
But he was still worried.
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Fourier walked around the funeral, nodding at many of the faces he recognized. Now that the official service was over, the majority of the crowd had departed. If he was being entirely honest with himself, he wished that he could join them.
He hadn’t expected this funeral to mean so much to him. He’d had a small ceremony with Ferris and Crusch the day before where he had cried his eyes out, as he had known from the beginning that this funeral couldn’t be solely about his family.
Yet in the end, he’d been wrong, because when he had been making his speeches to his people, his eyes had been drawn not to the schemers he could sense were in attendance, but to the many people who had come solely out of respect for the Royal Family.
It made him feel even dirtier for having to lie to them, and even going around socialising felt like it was rubbing salt in his wounds.
The dreary weather above felt as if it fit his inner mood, and it was only the knowledge that he’d soon be talking to ambassadors that forced him to accept Julius’s offer. Together the two of them stayed perfectly dry, the man’s spirits deflecting the rain as they walked.
Despite his dark mood though, he knew that it wasn’t solely his appearance that he needed to manage, with how important these negotiations were, so with one final glance at Crusch to fortify his mood, he moved towards them with a smile crossing his lips.
At a glance, he could see that the Kararagi representative, a tall and spindly man, was trying to charm the other two nations' dignitaries. Gusteko’s, a pot-bellied man a little shorter than Fourier, was nodding politely, but the Vollachian didn’t even bother to feign interest.
As Fourier grew closer he noticed to his surprise that he recognized one of the three on sight. The royal family had acquired many paintings of foreign nobles and dignitaries so that they would know the faces of their potential enemies.
Some were difficult to obtain, but the man serving as ambassador was so famous that Lugunica had managed to procure several different depictions of him.
The Vollachian ambassador, Goz Raflon, stood tall and imposing. He had not donned the distinctive golden armour he was known for, but even in formal clothing, he still looked ready for battle. And how could he not? He had the build of a warrior, and his auburn hair seemed to blaze despite the dreariness of the day.
He was the fifth rank of Vollachia’s Divine Generals, and had earned the moniker of “Lion Knight”. Fourier couldn’t help but feel that there was a significance to that. Before the advent of the contract with the Divine Dragon, Lugunica was known as the Lion Kingdom, ruled by its Lion Kings.
But what the Emperor was implying with this assignment, Fourier couldn’t say. He had never met the man in person, and relied only on second-hand or third-hand accounts of him. The only thing he could say for certain was that the man was crafty, and there were hidden meanings in everything he did.
Was it an indication of respect? Or a warning, that without the contract, Lugunica would become a puppet of the Empire, just as the Lion Knight was?
For that reason, Fourier kept an eye on Goz as he approached.
While not the most powerful of the Nine Divine Generals, he was deeply involved in the imperial army, credited with giving it shape. A warrior was an odd choice for an ambassador to a funeral, and Fourier felt it would be best to keep his guard up.
He stepped right up to them, and all three directed their attention towards him and Julius.
“It’s an honour to meet you, Your Majesty,” the Kararagian ambassador said, shifting to address Fourier without losing a moment. “My name is Heitor Coelho, and on behalf of all of Kararagi, let me offer you our deepest sympathies for the passing of a man as grand as your father. Kararagi mourns with you, for your father was beloved by all.”
Heitor’s voice was perfectly sombre, fitting the atmosphere of a funeral.
“Although between you and me,” he continued, a small smile touching his lips, “I have no doubt that you will soon prove yourself as capable as your father was.”
To the man’s credit, Fourier couldn’t detect a single falsehood, and his smile looked warm and inviting.
Fourier smiled in turn, and made a mental note to never trust anything Heitor said until he had Crusch listen in first. Something about the man felt off, and Fourier trusted his intuition.
A quiet chuckle broke his train of thought, and all four of them turned to see Goz muffling a laugh.
“Pardon me, Your Highness,” he said, without the slightest trace of reverence in his tone. “A man such as myself is unused to interacting in such a refined manner.”
Fourier observed the reactions of the two beside him, Heitor seemed stunned by the disrespect and even Gusteko’s representative looked surprised. To so blatantly refuse to acknowledge him as King, even when he was the last remaining royal family, would surprise many.
Fourier could practically feel Julius tensing beside him, but he couldn’t turn away from the man in order to warn him. He heard a soft chink of metal, likely Julius had placed one hand on his sword, but didn’t seem like he was at risk of drawing it. No, of course, he wouldn’t. To threaten an ambassador would be a major breach of conduct..
Still, Fourier curled his fingers behind his back, singling to remain calm. He didn’t know all the hand gestures the knights used to communicate, but he knew enough to get his intentions across.
Given that Julius did not start berating the Divine General, the message must have gotten across.
Fourier supposed he should feel angry or slighted himself, but he hadn’t truly internalised his father’s title yet. Part of him even wished that he could go by his old title, at least for a while longer.
So it was with a vague sense of amusement that he arched an eyebrow at Goz, smile not fading.
“Goz Raflon, there is no need to take yourself so lightly,” he said. “A man with a rank of Divine General has undoubtedly interacted with your own Emperor, and if your behaviour is sufficient for him, I doubt I will be troubled by it.”
“Although,” he continued, hiding the slyness that threatened to infect his smile, “I can understand being overwhelmed at meeting one such as myself. There are few who can rival the grandeur of the kingdom.”
Fourier was honestly relieved when he saw anger fill Goz’s eyes at the indirect insult. It seemed the rumours were true. The fifth Divine General was fiercely loyal to the Emperor, to the extent that he could not abide by the smallest insult against him.
After Heitor, it felt refreshing to see someone so direct.
“I’m honoured that you recognize me, Your Highness,” Goz bit out, clearly restraining his anger. “I wouldn’t have thought that Lugunica would have time to observe Vollachia when all your royalty was ill.”
“Naturally, Lugunica takes care to keep up to date on the movements of our neighbours. I was receiving information even while I myself was ill, after all.”
The lie came out easily, and Goz seemed to buy it.
“I’m surprised that Vincent was able to spare a man of your talents for a job such as this,” Fourier continued. “Especially since from what you’ve said, it isn’t something you have experience with.”
Fourier could tell that Goz didn’t appreciate the implication that he was equal to Vincent, but he could also see as Goz focused and his face hardened. The man might be hot-headed, but this was still a man who had led armies in defence of his emperor.
Fourier thought it likely that the Emperor had ordered the man not to cause a scene at the funeral. Perhaps he had even been told to expect some degree of insults thrown about.
“Forgive me, Your Highness,” Goz said, “but I do not believe that you have the right to address my Emperor in such a way yet. After all, you refuse to even wear Lugunica’s crown.”
Fourier allowed a few moments to pass in silence, making his disapproval at the disrespect clear, before responding. “I haven’t been formally recognized yet, and to take the crown without it would be disrespectful,”
“Is it?” Goz asked, completely ignoring the subtle warning Fourier had given, a mocking smile appearing on his face. “Or perhaps the real reason is that you doubt your longevity as King. I was informed that you contracted the same illness as your family did, and barely managed to beat it back. Would it be so surprising for the disease to rebound and finish you off?”
This time, Fourier could hear Julius stiffen beside him, and he heard the rattle as the knight’s hand tightened around his blade.
Fourier was still taken back by the directness of the question, and it took him a moment to signal with his hand. A moment that took too long. It appeared Julius did not see him. The knight stepped forward, his posture still appearing relaxed, but Fourier knew the man well enough to tell he was as tense as a drawn bowstring.
He raised his yellow eyes to meet Goz’s, and said, “The Lugunica line has ruled over this country for thousands of years, and our Healers would never allow such a thing. Not after we’ve studied and defeated the disease once.”
Julius’s impromptu answer, while unnerving, had given Fourier time to formulate a response, so it was with a degree of gratitude that he spoke up.
“Believe me when I say Lugunica has long memories,” he said, taking control of the conversation again, “and in the unlikely event I perish, it won’t forget those who respected it.”
He paused and gave a nod to Julius.
“Nor will it forget those that did not.”
“A pretty speech,” Goz said, seeming far more amused now that he had the upper hand. “However, Vollachia has also been around for thousands of years, and I think that our own records must be better than your own. After all, it was Farsale Lugunica that established your contract with the Dragon, correct?” he asked. “Tell me, what would happen to such a contract, if the recipients perished, Spirit Knight?”
Julius glared back at the Divine General but before he could answer, Fourier spoke impulsively.
“Then my friends and loyal subjects would carry on without me, and continue to maintain Lugunica’s greatness.”
Both Julius and Goz stared at him, and for a moment Fourier doubted his answer.
If he died then they all knew that the current contract with the Dragon would end, and it was anybody’s guess if a new one could be formed. It would be a disaster that would weaken Lugunica and could easily spell a far more serious war with Vollachia, at a level unseen in centuries.
Logically they did still have a backup option in the form of their Sword Saint Reinhard, who was far beyond any other Sword Saint in history. But that wasn’t where he turned for his answer, it was his intuition that told him that even without him Lugunica would find a way to flourish.
So it was with a calm heart that he turned towards Goz and smiled.
“Contracts can be reformed, after all, and our people would be more than up to the task of handling any issues in the meantime.”
Turning towards the Gusteko representative, his smile felt stronger than ever.