Chapter 209

“…”

“…”

“The rumors… they were true after all…”

Thump.

I clamped my hand over his mouth once more. The surrounding soldiers cast bewildered glances at Louis and me, but I ignored them, pulling the Dauphin into a tight, feigned embrace.

“Ah, indeed,” I said, my voice projecting a calm authority. “The rumors that there are treasonous rebels daring to strike at His Majesty were truly accurate. You seem profoundly shaken by the shock.”

“No, that’s not what—”

“Deep breaths, Your Highness. Inhale, then exhale. My Imperial Father has often lectured me on the perils of hyperventilation brought on by extreme tension. Here, breathe into this silk pouch over your nose and mouth.”

“…”

Fortunately, the reputation of New World medicine had spread far and wide, so no one questioned my bizarre behavior. After effectively silencing Louis XIII, I leaned in and whispered directly into his ear.

“We shall speak again shortly.”

The boy’s eyes bulged, and his spine snapped straight as a rod. I offered him a few reassuring pats on the back before finally feeling safe enough to survey the room.

By now, a swarm of royal guards had completely cordoned us off. The field commanders, their faces etched with disbelief and horror at the breach of security, were busy clearing the assassins’ corpses. Eleanor had already departed to spearhead the King’s medical treatment, leaving only Louis, Oitotan, and myself standing like statues amidst the frantic commotion.

Oitotan, recovering his composure with unnerving speed, drained the remaining wine in his glass. “The security here is pathetic,” he grumbled loudly. “We are moving to new quarters.” His bluntness provided the perfect pretext for us to withdraw from the scene.

We finally managed to escape the blood-soaked banquet hall and return to our temporary residence. After scrubbing the gore from my skin, changing out of my shredded finery, and providing vague answers to the soldiers’ persistent questions, I realized the night had grown deep.

“…”

“…”

Oitotan and I sat in heavy silence, staring at one another. My own face was likely a mask of exhaustion, but the emotion etched on Oitotan’s features was unmistakable. I felt exactly the same.

I was fucked.

“What do we do?” Oitotan asked.

Though his question lacked a subject or object, its meaning was chillingly clear. I tried to summon every ounce of calm left in me. “I honestly don’t know.”

“…”

“…”

This was the first time since Elizabeth I. No, Elizabeth’s situation had been entirely different; she had committed to living her life out in America. This wasn’t some back-alley rumor started by a random commoner, nor was I in the controlled environment of my own territory. My regenerative ability had been exposed in the dead center of Europe.

To a Crown Prince, no less.

There was no way to bribe or threaten a future king into silence. A panorama of worst-case scenarios flickered through my mind, and for the first time in decades, I found myself without a clue on how to proceed.

“Hmph. I’ve taken the liberty of gathering some intelligence on the Dauphin,” Oitotan remarked.

“Well done, Oitotan,” I sighed, feeling a microscopic weight lift from my chest. “At least that’s something.” A seasoned diplomat’s worth truly was immeasurable in a crisis.

My knowledge of French history was embarrassingly thin. I had some educational comics back home, but they were heavily biased toward British and American history; the details on Louis XIII were nearly non-existent. Furthermore, since the timeline of Henri IV’s marriage and heirs had diverged, there was no guarantee that the “Dauphin Louis” standing before me would match the history books at all. I had to treat him as an entirely new entity.

“He is said to be physically quite frail,” Oitotan began. That much, at least, aligned with what I remembered. “He is also emotionally dependent on the Queen, a devout Catholic, which makes it highly likely he follows that faith rather than his father’s past Protestantism. The general consensus describes him as mentally soft, possessing a timid and gentle disposition.”

I recorded these points in Korean to ensure no prying eyes could decipher them: Sickly, weak-willed, devout, mother-dependent.

Is this information even accurate? I wondered. How reliable were the whispers gathered by a foreign diplomat who only visited France every few years? I couldn’t be sure, but it was the only intel I had to work with.

“Our objective is clear, Oitotan,” I said, nodding. “We must silence Louis. If he is as pious and weak-willed as they say, we might actually have an advantage.”

Just as we were finalizing our strategy, the sound of approaching footsteps echoed from the corridor. Judging by the weight and number of the strides, it was a high-born figure accompanied by a full retinue of guards.

“Go to the door,” I told Oitotan.

He pulled it open to reveal Louis, whose face was a mask of palpable tension.

***

“Your Highness, shall we enter with—”

“Stay outside,” Louis commanded, cutting off his guard.

He swallowed hard and signaled for the sentries to withdraw. The soldiers fanned out, securing every entrance and window with the iron-clad vigilance befitting an evening that had nearly seen a regicide. There were still whispers that remnants of the assassins might be lurking in the shadows.

“I have been waiting,” a voice rang out from within.

Louis stepped inside, only to find the two men looking disturbingly serene.

“Are you… alright?” Louis asked.

He looked first to Oitotan, who sat with his usual air of arrogant confidence. The diplomat rose slowly to offer a casual bow. “I am fine, Your Highness. My thanks for your concern.”

Before Louis could even respond, Oitotan sank back into his chair and began humming a tuneless melody, appearing utterly unburdened by the fact that he had nearly been slaughtered an hour ago. Louis wasn’t surprised; he knew Oitotan’s reputation.

His focus was entirely on the other man—or perhaps “entity” was a more appropriate term.

This man was also calm, but it was a different breed of tranquility altogether. Removing a single shovel of earth cannot topple a mountain; pouring out a bucket of water does not diminish the sea. To a being without end, a moment of pain or turmoil was likely nothing more than a passing shadow. From the perspective of the eternal, a human life is merely a speck of dust dancing in the light for a second before vanishing.

That was his stillness.

Unshakable.

“Crown Prince?” Louis whispered.

The heavy presence the man had been concealing finally surged forth. Louis felt a sudden, sharp sense of alienation, as if he were seeing the Prince for the first time. He offered a formal greeting, and the man responded with a slow nod.

“I believe you have already realized,” the man said.

Louis felt the air leave his lungs. The voice was a layering of sounds, meanings piling upon meanings.

“…That I am no ‘Crown Prince.’”

Louis stiffened as he heard the words echoed in every language he had ever studied. The man’s serene, expressionless mask shifted into a smile. Louis saw his own reflection trembling in the depths of those eyes.

“Y—Your name…”

“I have no name. I am no one.”

NEMO SUM.

Nemo.

In that moment, Louis grasped the true nature of the “name” that supposedly linked the Emperor and the Prince. With that cold, firm smile, the incomprehensible being gestured for Louis to take a seat. Louis sank into the chair, his legs feeling like lead.

“Crown Prince,” Louis whispered tentatively.

The entity nodded.

“Your Imperial Majesty.”

Another nod. Louis’s pupils began to quake.

Finally, he spoke the last title. “…The Nameless One.”

The man watched him in silence. The sheer pressure of that gaze forced Louis to clench his fists to keep from unraveling.

“Have rumors spread? It must be Spain,” the man mused. “But they are likely just unreliable socialite gossip, otherwise Spain would have used the information to denounce me openly. It’s probably some nonsense about the Emperor of the Covenant being a demon.”

Sitting in his chair, Louis looked at the man standing in the center of the room. His smile was immovable, his gaze razor-sharp. Louis couldn’t begin to guess how this being would act or what its true desires were.

Then, the man spoke. “It is true. I am His messenger, the Emperor of the Continental Covenant, and its Crown Prince.”

He made his declaration. “And I shall likely remain so for eternity.”

He leaned in closer. “And that is a truth that only you, in all of France, shall ever know.”

Once more, a chorus of languages echoed in Louis’s ears, a cacophony of sound that resolved into a singular, crushing meaning.

Seulement toi. Only thou. TU SOLUS.

Only you.

The sentences in French, Latin, Catalan, English, and Italian all carried the same weight. Even the friction between the different tongues only served to polish the core intent of his message. Louis was entirely submerged in that transcendent voice. Is this what the witnesses felt when the Holy Spirit descended upon the apostles?

The sheer presence of it—as if hundreds of voices were speaking directly to his soul—was overwhelming. Louis struggled, with agonizing effort, to maintain his grip on reality.

***

I watched Louis swallow hard, his fists trembling and his eyes blinking rapidly in a display of raw nerves.

So far, so good. I was controlling the tempo of the room. I felt a surge of inner triumph and exchanged a quick, knowing look with Oitotan. Thirty years of playing an “Angel” hadn’t gone to waste.

Living up to his reputation as a frail, pious, and soft-hearted prince, Louis was so overwhelmed by my aura and language cheat that he couldn’t even formulate a response. He simply stared at me until I finally took my seat.

“What you just said… you mean…”

“That is also true,” I interrupted, refusing to let him finish his thought. I had to keep the pressure on. “You must remain silent. Or have you already breathed a word of this to another?”

“N—No! Never! It is just… the fear of finally meeting the Emperor of the New World, who was once nothing but a ghost of a rumor.”

“…”

“For now,” Louis continued, his voice regaining a sliver of stability, “I have captured several individuals suspected of being accomplices to the assassins near Le Havre.”

“Already?”

“Yes. My father’s condition is still unstable, so I shall be taking command of the local forces for the time being.”

A flash of poorly concealed confidence flickered across Louis’s face. I didn’t point it out. Taking charge and stabilizing the entire region in a single day while your father is incapacitated? That was no small feat. I revised my mental evaluation of Louis upward; he seemed far more capable than the rumors suggested.

“Of course,” Louis added, “rumors that the Protestants were behind this commotion have already leaked, but otherwise, the situation is manageable.”

“Is that so? It sounds like things will become quite difficult.”

If rumors spread that Huguenots had tried to kill the King, it was a disaster for Henri. He had led the Protestant camp during the civil wars, and they had been his most loyal royalists ever since. Now, a handful of fanatics had shattered that dynamic. I could still see the madness in the assassins’ eyes, and the memory made the hair on the back of my neck stand up.

If the Catholic majority used this as a pretext to demand a purge of the Protestants, Henri would be cornered. Whether he sacrificed his own people or tried to protect them, his authority would be crippled.

“It was unavoidable,” Louis said, his expression turning somber but steady. “I had no choice but to order the soldiers to search for any Protestants in the vicinity. Covering up the full scope of an attempted regicide is simply beyond our capacity.”

“I see.”

After a few more exchanges, I had a decent grasp of the situation in Le Havre and the broader implications for France. Louis was clearly exhausted, and I decided it was time to end the encounter.

“You,” I said softly, “saw nothing.”

Louis’s gaze flickered. I stood up, looming over him to maintain my momentum.

“And you heard nothing.”

“…”

“I am told you are a man of deep Catholic faith. If you have heard the rumors, you know that in my land, no man is persecuted for his creed. I am not your enemy.” I turned to the window, looking out at the dark streets of Le Havre. Soldiers patrolled the squares, creating a suffocating atmosphere of martial law. The citizens hurried by with their heads bowed in terror. “The enemy of my Master is neither Catholic nor Protestant. The Lord does not make enemies of men.”

“…”

“Therefore, little lamb of the Lord.”

I stepped toward him and, using a letter opener from the desk, made a shallow cut across my palm. He watched in stunned silence as the blood welled up, then stopped, the skin knitting itself back together before his eyes.

Once I was certain I had his absolute, terrified attention, I whispered into his ear. “Remain silent about what the world is not yet meant to know.”

There. 

A weak-willed prince like him should be utterly cowed now.

“Ah… Crown Prince,” Louis stammered.

“What is it?”

“You speak as if you intend to depart soon… Could you not be persuaded to remain in France a while longer?” Louis’s voice was thick with anxiety. “If you leave now, the chaos will only intensify. Please, stay until my father is able to move freely again.”

“…”

Hmm. Staying longer feels risky. There’s no guarantee another attempt won’t happen. But looking at the prince, who was actually tearing up, it was hard to refuse. I gave a vague nod of agreement and quietly showed him out.

“Well,” Oitotan said once the door was closed. “I think that went well enough, don’t you?”

“It seems so.”

We’d survived the exposure. Now, all we could do was wait and see how the pieces fell.

***

Slam!

Louis threw the door shut and leaned against it, gasping for air. Once he confirmed he was alone, a look of pure, unadulterated ecstasy transformed his face. The weakness and anxiety that had dampened his eyes only minutes ago vanished instantly.

Louis de Bourbon, the Dauphin of France, pulled out a small notebook and began to write.

— Spread rumors that the assassination was a Protestant conspiracy. (Complete) 

— Create a pretext to purge the Duke of Sully. (In progress) 

— Prevent the Crown Prince from returning to the New World immediately. (Complete)

He read the entries over and over, a satisfied smile playing on his lips, before carefully tearing out the page and tossing it into the fireplace.

“My God,” he whispered, his voice cracking with a chilling, metallic laughter. “A real, immortal… Angel.”