“So, are we putting up the flowers or not?”
“I don’t think so. The mood is all wrong.”
“Wait, how long has it been since Sir Ian and the mages returned? Why is everyone changing their tune so fast?”
“Still, isn’t it better to have them? It’s a matter of courtesy, after all.”
The attendants who had been preparing the banquet stopped what they were doing and looked at each other awkwardly. They could feel the air, which had been heated up by the war hero’s return, rapidly growing cold. The night after the council meeting was supposed to have been filled with everyone getting drunk together, laughing and chattering about Bariel’s victory.
They shrugged, looking around at the half-hung floral decorations.
“The ones who fuss over courtesy are usually the first to find trouble,” one muttered. “This isn’t just some trivial matter—it’s about the imperial bloodline. We can’t just turn a blind eye to that. From His Highness the Crown Prince’s perspective, this is anything but ordinary.”
“I know, but didn’t His Highness visit the Ministry of Magic earlier? I heard he was just confirming that everything was fine.”
“You only heard half the story. He went there and stormed out, absolutely livid. And have you heard the whispers about Idgal? That synthetic substance from the last civil war? Apparently, they’re trying to connect Sir Ian to it!”
“What does that mean?”
“What do you think it means?” the other attendant hissed. “The Ministry of Magic is being torn apart.”
Chattering amongst themselves, they listlessly attached and then removed the same decorations. Soon, they heard the shuffle of footsteps from the corridor; officials were beginning to arrive for the council meeting.
Peeking through a crack in the door, they tried to gauge the atmosphere. There was no mistaking the tension. The mages from the Ministry carried themselves with a gravity that was a stark contrast to their triumphant arrival.
“Oh, look. It’s Sir Ian.”
Unlike the other officials who entered with grim expressions, Ian appeared relatively calm, an effect amplified by his pale skin and golden hair. The dozens of mages trailing him, however, scanned the room, their anxiety plain to see.
Akorella sidled up to Ian, licking her lips nervously as she whispered, “Sir Ian, are you certain you’ll be all right on your own?”
“How am I alone when all of you are here?”
“That’s true, but… Lord Romandro would be perfect for this. They’re going to pepper you with questions, and since we weren’t at the Ministry, we’re in the same boat as you.”
She was right; there were aspects of the situation that only Romandro, with his grasp of the Ministry’s administration, could have helped clarify. But Ian simply turned to face his mages.
“Don’t worry,” he said, his voice steady. “Focus only on what is certain. We are the heroes who brought victory to Bariel. They will have no choice but to treat you with the respect you’ve earned.”
At his words, the mages shot him sharp, worried glances. Weren’t they supposed to be worried about him? He was the one at the center of it all. As if noticing their collective gaze, Ian offered a faint smile before turning to walk ahead.
The council chamber was already half-full. As the Ministry of Magic contingent entered, all eyes fell upon them, and a hush descended on the room.
Swoosh.
Ian brazenly took the seat marked with his nameplate. His mages immediately fanned out, flanking him from behind like guards. After a moment of tense silence, a low murmur of conversation broke out.
“Sir Ian, I heard there was an issue with King Damon.”
“Yes. He is currently receiving treatment and will be unable to testify. Has an envoy arrived from Burgos yet?”
“No, not yet. It seems they are dealing with their own internal troubles.”
“There will be infighting among the nobles,” Ian noted. “King Damon paid a steep price to rally them.”
“Well then, let’s see… Would it work if we changed the order like this?”
“That’s fine with me.”
“Then we shall proceed that way. Sir Ian.”
“Yes, Prime Minister.”
The Prime Minister adjusted his spectacles and cleared his throat. Even that brief, work-related exchange made the tension in the air feel palpable. He leaned in and whispered to Ian, “His Highness seems deeply troubled. Did something happen at the Ministry of Magic?”
“…I suppose my shortcomings have caused His Highness some worry. Nothing more.”
“Sir Ian, about the rumors… we won’t be able to avoid the topic entirely. If you have a preferred way of handling it, please let me know. I will deflect what I can, within the bounds of not opposing His Highness’s will.”
Ian’s eyebrows arched in surprise. This was the same man who had led the palace faction in propping up the Crown Prince while keeping the Ministry of Magic in check. It seemed that with the Imperial Defense Department stabilized and its minister, Tweller, now loyal to Jin and Ian, the Prime Minister was looking to de-escalate the opposition.
“Don’t look so surprised. I just believe it is too early to pursue the truth. The people of the Bariel Empire are intoxicated with joy—how could the palace pour cold water on that?”
“I wasn’t aware the Prime Minister concerned himself with public opinion.”
“I have judged the timing to be inopportune,” the Prime Minister stated flatly.
Though Bariel itself had suffered little damage, people had died. He felt that if they could not fully savor a victory won through such sacrifice, its very meaning would fade.
“His Highness, Crown Prince Jin, enters!”
Creeeeak!
Thoom!
The announcement of Jin’s arrival echoed through the chamber. The Prime Minister glanced between Ian and his entourage before returning to his own seat to organize his documents.
Jin strode in, his expression hardened to stone and his robes billowing behind him. Everyone in the chamber rose and bowed.
Clap.
“Be seated. Prime Minister, you may begin.”
“Yes, Your Highness. First, we have an agenda item regarding the official name for the war between Clifford and Burgos. While the two nations have fought before, this was a great war involving Bariel, Ruswena, and even the northern minorities. It is only proper to give it a fitting name for the historical record.”
In Clifford’s annals, it would be the Cliffordian War; in Bariel’s, it would be their own. The Prime Minister and the officials wanted to establish the designation first.
“Hmm. We must hear from the Ministry of Magic, which was at the forefront of the conflict. Sir Ian, do you have an opinion?”
“I do not. Though the war has ended, the rift remains open, so the aftermath is far from over. It would be better to prioritize how future generations interpret these events.”
“The rift—how wide is it? Are there no signs of it closing soon?”
At the official’s question, the mages collectively turned their heads. Did the man think a cataclysmic tear in the earth would simply stitch itself shut like a common wound? Their expressions were dumbfounded.
“When the Ministry of Magic and I last confirmed its status, the activity was at a Level 3 reaction,” Ian explained. “Please refer to the attached materials for the rift classifications. Level 3 is defined by the Ministry as the stage when formless monsters—the Dust—begin to appear.”
Rustle, rustle.
A wave of turning pages swept the room. The concept had been established hundreds of years ago, and no one could be certain of its current validity.
Jin scratched his brow, his lips pressed into a thin line. He wanted to point that out himself, but doing so would play directly into Ian’s hands. Ian would undoubtedly argue that a new investigation was required to re-establish the standards, which would send him and Bariel’s mages straight back to Clifford.
You made a mistake, Sir Ian, Jin thought, glaring at the minister. Had he not known Ian’s true intentions, he might have been fooled, but Jin was not so easily manipulated.
Another official raised his hand. “Looking at the records, this standard was set down hundreds of years ago. Is it still valid?”
Who is this fool? Jin scowled and cut in before Ian could speak.
“I have been told that in the study of magic, hundreds of years is but a flash in the pan. Unlike other fields of knowledge, the veracity of magic deepens with age. Were you not aware of even that?”
“I-I apologize, Your Highness.”
Just as Ian was about to speak, Jin had intercepted the question for him.
Is the Crown Prince defending Sir Ian? The assembled officials exchanged bewildered glances. Given the tense atmosphere and the rampant rumors, they had expected a confrontation, not a defense.
“No, Your Highness.”
Ian remained silent for a beat before carefully objecting. The clear, resonant voice of the angry young prince had been music to his ears; Jin was making such a scene, all for Ian’s sake.
“The doubt is a valid one,” Ian continued. “While it is a standard passed down through the Ministry for centuries, there is no record of who first established it. To provide a more definitive answer, the Ministry of Magic must conduct its own investigation.”
“Sir Ian!”
“Your Highness,” Ian replied calmly, his tone a stark contrast to Jin’s outburst. “Have I said something improper?”
They were in the council chamber, debating an official agenda item before the court. Maintain your dignity, Ian’s placid expression seemed to say. Jin bit his lip, silenced. Behind Ian, the mages stirred, whispering among themselves at their leader’s declaration.
“The Ministry will conduct its own investigation? We’re going back to Clifford?”
“How are we even supposed to investigate the rift?”
“I don’t know. Sir Ian must have a plan.”
“Get a grip. We just got back. You think we can just turn around and go back to Clifford?”
“Shh! Quiet! All of you, shut your mouths.”
“Lady Akorella!”
Ian let the chatter wash over him and continued, “However, a rift investigation entails considerable danger. Every mage is a precious asset to Bariel, so I cannot proceed on my authority alone. I am sure the other departments understand. How could I force my subordinates into a death trap?”
“What… what exactly are you proposing, Sir Ian?” an official asked.
“I will accept volunteers. We will form an investigation team by recruiting those willing to confront the dangers of the rift.”
“Will anyone even volunteer? I know I wouldn’t.”
“If we cannot gather enough recruits,” Ian declared into the stunned silence, “then I will go myself.”
The chamber fell utterly still.
The officials’ eyes widened in astonishment. Jin dropped his head into his hand. The mages froze mid-whisper, staring blankly at the back of Ian’s head.
“Ah…”
“Why would Sir Ian go? Is he insane?”
“Akorella, restrain yourself.”
“No! Where in the world does a minister go on a field mission? Good grief! Who will run the Ministry if he’s gone?”
“Captain Akorella! Be quiet!”
Bang! Bang, bang!
The Prime Minister struck his gavel, but the sharp raps were not enough to silence the incensed Akorella. Other mages had to physically hold her back, their faces a mask of confusion.
“An investigation is a necessary duty,” Ian stated, as if it were the most reasonable thing in the world. “If there are no volunteers, then as their superior, I must go. Is that not the role of a leader?”
“No, that’s not right at all!”
“What do you mean, ‘not right,’ Akorella? If you speak out of turn again, I will have you removed.”
“This—this is—!” Akorella ground her teeth, keenly feeling Lord Romandro’s absence. To give Ian the frank, unvarnished advice he needed, no one was as effective as Romandro.
Ian continued, perusing his documents. “This is not yet confirmed. I intend to extend the proposal to the mages of Ruswena and the north as well. I will make my decision in a way that minimizes any potential loss to Bariel, so please do not be overly concerned.”
Wouldn’t Ian’s absence be the greatest loss of all? The mages felt a collective lump form in their throats as they stared at each other in dismay.
“Sir Ian,” one of the officials finally ventured, “while your dedication to your duty is truly exemplary, I cannot shake the feeling that this is somewhat… excessive. Is it possible there is another reason for this proposal?”
The official clearly suspected this was a political maneuver, a grand gesture to quell the ugly rumors that had taken root in the palace.
Ian’s eyebrows twitched, as if to say the observation was an astute one.