Shatima’s gaze was fixed on the edge of the sky, a sensation washing over her that everything she had ever believed was being denied. No matter how close they were to the gods, they were still human, yet here they were, bending the laws of nature to their will. It was astonishing, fearsome, and, in a way, wondrous.
The King of Clifford glanced at Shatima and held out his wine glass, an invitation to toast. Her angular cheekbones, the firm set of her mouth, and the multitude of colored dots painted to conceal her expression made it difficult to read her face, but the King could tell. Shatima was slowly being overcome with awe.
“Prime Minister Shatima, would you care for a drink?”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“It is a true shame the King of Hawan could not witness this spectacle. Could human language ever convey such a profound impression?”
Could one ever fathom the limits of these mages? Could one, by extension, ever gauge the future of Bariel? A light that never sets, and a darkness that must inevitably retreat. This sky before you is everything that Bariel represents, the very force you intend to stand against.
The King of Clifford’s words were a gentle, roundabout persuasion, and Shatima easily grasped his intent. He was trying to win her over, suggesting that Hawan’s future lay not with Burgos or the other nations, but here, with Bariel.
“Wow, look over here! The breeze is so light and refreshing. It feels just like the dawn.”
“It’s beautiful. It’s like watching the sunset and sunrise at the same time. Can you see the clouds drifting by? Over there!”
“Oh my, you’re right. Good heavens.”
“Magnificent, truly magnificent!”
The view from the wide-open balcony gave the onlookers a sense of certainty. The miracle they were experiencing was not an illusion, but reality.
Rustle.
Following that, tiny streams of light began to fall like a gentle rain, embroidering the space like a colossal chandelier and drawing gasps of admiration from the crowd.
The orchestra’s music changed, and imperial dancers appeared, signaling the official start of the banquet. Nobles took the hands of like-minded companions and began to turn on the dance floor, the clear clinking of glasses echoing from all corners.
Just as Shatima was about to enjoy another glass of wine in the refreshing breeze, a voice interrupted her.
“Pardon me.”
It was Ian. Dressed in a pristine uniform, he offered a formal Bariel salute. The fresh green of his eyes was gone, replaced by the sharp, golden eyes of a lion. He looked a bit more on edge than when she had seen him in the Ministry of Magic’s garden, likely due to the strain of maintaining four portals while simultaneously leading the mages in orchestrating the White Night. Even to a layman’s eye, it was clear he was accomplishing an impossible feat.
“The King of Astana will have his audience with His Highness, Crown Prince Jin, first. The King of Clifford will be next, followed by the Prime Minister of Hawan.”
“Oh, yes. I understand.”
“Please follow this mage.”
“I shall see you shortly,” Hasha said with a smile, to which Ian responded with a faint smile of his own, one that vanished as quickly as it appeared.
“I ask that you two please wait a moment. Should you have any discomfort, please do not hesitate to let us know, and I hope you will fully enjoy the empire’s festival.”
“Thank you. And congratulations.”
“Your congratulations should be directed to His Highness the Crown Prince, not to me.”
“Are you not also a part of this glory? So, when is the coronation?”
Although the inauguration festivities had begun, the moment that would be recorded in the history books was the coronation ceremony itself. Ian clicked his pocket watch open as if to say, Just you watch.
“As the boundary between day and night has vanished, it will be in one hundred hours from now.”
“Hahaha! Very well, very well. I understand.”
“Then, if you’ll excuse me.”
Ian stepped back, whispered instructions to the mages, and then disappeared from sight.
Perhaps ten minutes passed before a Hawan attendant approached Shatima to report. Astana’s audience was nearly finished, and it was time for a final inspection of their tribute gifts.
“Prime Minister. Everything has been transferred to the chests.”
“Have you completed the final check?”
“Yes. There are no issues.”
“…However, where is Eri?”
Erica was nowhere to be seen. At Shatima’s question, the attendant replied uncomfortably, “She said she was stepping out for a moment and has not returned.”
“…I see.”
Shatima’s jawline grew sharper. She knew Erica was no fool, but this kind of unilateral action was unacceptable. Having been part of the Imperial Investigation Team, she wouldn’t have gotten lost. With the King of Clifford watching her continuously, she couldn’t discuss it further.
“Goodness, we’re next. Noah.”
“Yes, Father.”
“Did you pack the grapes carefully? What if they’ve burst?”
“Don’t worry about that, just watch your step on the stairs.”
As the Astana delegation descended from the dais, the Clifford party began to move busily.
“Where is Sir Ian?”
“He is outside the banquet hall.”
“I have a message for the Ministry of Magic. Please guide me.”
“Yes, this way.”
The moment he stepped down, Hasha sought out Ian. He needed to share what they had discovered from the doll immediately. He wove through the nobles dancing spiritedly and exited the grand hall.
Tap, tap, tap.
The corridor near the grand banquet hall was quiet, in stark contrast to the noisy interior. Hasha came across a mage from the Ministry of Magic. After a brief word, the mage led him to an annex on the opposite side of the hall.
“Sir Ian. The King of Astana has requested a brief meeting.”
“Show him in.”
Creeak.
As the door opened, the first thing he saw was a group of golden-eyed mages sprawled across the sofas. They seemed to lack the energy to even stand at Hasha’s arrival, offering only a slight nod as a gesture of respect.
“What is it, Your Majesty King Hasha?”
“…Sir Ian. Are they all alright?”
Unlike the mages who could barely support themselves, Ian was sitting at a desk, reviewing a report. His face was considerably paler than it had been in the banquet hall, but other than that, he seemed fine. Ian glanced at the mages and shrugged.
“Well, it would be a lie to say they are all fine, but it would be more accurate to say they are enduring. I apologize that we cannot show you the proper courtesy, but as you can see, the circumstances are difficult.”
“Of course not, between us! I too was a comrade who roamed the battlefields with mages. Please, speak comfortably.”
“No. We are in the midst of an official event. With many watching and listening, I will observe what must be observed. Is this, by any chance, regarding the doll I requested you investigate earlier?”
“It is. Katimako.”
At Hasha’s call, Katimako stepped forward and placed the doll and the dried fairy on the table. The mages awkwardly shuffled or rolled off the sofas to make room.
Ian offered a handshake to the child-like Katimako without any change in his expression, thanks to Beric’s boisterous and detailed report earlier.
“A pleasure to meet you. I am Katimako.”
“I am Ian Hielo, Minister of the Ministry of Magic.”
“To get straight to the point, this is indeed a doll related to a curse. A doll made of human skin is one of the most traditional methods. Most use a part of the target’s body, typically something easily obtainable like hair. However—”
“That should be impossible.”
“Yes. We are speaking of His Highness, the Crown Prince of the Bariel Empire. If the silver hair in the doll belongs to His Highness, that in itself is a problem. It would mean there is a traitor within the Imperial Palace, very close to him.”
“Our investigation confirmed that all the materials, including the human skin, were of unidentifiable origin.”
“I expected as much. Because of this dried fairy.”
Thump.
Katimako placed the cloth-wrapped fairy corpse in front of Ian. The mages who had retreated crept forward again, craning their necks for a look. It wasn’t every day one got to see a fairy’s corpse.
“Have you ever heard of a Laromedia?”
“It is the first time I have heard the name.”
“I myself have only seen one a handful of times. They are known to inhabit the northern and southern polar regions of Gaia.”
Ian gestured to Romandro, an order to check the imperial archives for any information related to the Laromedia. Romandro quickly took out a notepad and began to write furiously. Katimako, considerate of him, continued slowly.
“The Laromedia are a species that cultivates and consumes a particular flower. I don’t know the exact mechanism, but it is said that ingesting it causes hallucinations, eventually leading to a psychotic reaction where one believes the hallucinations to be reality.”
“Hallucinations.”
“Yes. Because of that property, they were often used in propaganda in the past. The content of the puppet show will be important. If it was negative and malicious, we can surmise that the puppeteer was attempting to implant those ideas into an unspecified number of people.”
Ian and Romandro’s eyes met. The content of that show was so seditious and dangerous it could hardly be spoken aloud. It had dared to question the qualifications of Crown Prince Jin himself.
“Is it effective?”
“It is a dried corpse, so its effect is incomparably weaker than when it was alive. However, just as a light drizzle soaks one’s clothes, with enough repetition, it will undoubtedly have an effect.”
Ian pressed his fingers to his forehead for a moment. A faction plotting to overthrow the Imperial Palace was hiding within Bariel. And since they hadn’t caught the puppeteer, they didn’t even know if the culprit was a citizen or not.
Romandro gnawed on the end of his pen and lamented, “I should have grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and taught him a lesson! Goodness, honestly!”
“By any chance, has a Laromedia habitat ever been discovered near Bariel?”
“That I do not know. As I said, I have seen very few myself. From what I’ve heard, the most recent sighting was near Tuloon.”
Tuloon.
The moment he heard the name, a connection flashed through Ian’s mind. Rutherford, Burgos, and the underground god of Tuloon that wished for Bariel’s downfall.
Ian carefully wrapped the fairy corpse and handed it to Romandro with an order to store it safely.
“Understood. First, thank you for your help.”
“If there is anything else to add, I will report it as it comes. And feel free to ask any questions at any time.”
“Yes. How was your audience with His Highness?”
“He welcomed me so warmly, I did not know what to do with myself.”
“I am glad to hear it. Please, return to the banquet hall and enjoy the food and wine. We will also be finishing up here and heading back shortly.”
Hasha and Katimako glanced at the mages. They were barely standing; it was doubtful they could do much of anything. More importantly, what about the war?
“Will you be joining the battle later?”
“No. We will be there together. Everyone is carefully rationing and controlling their mana. The travel time from the capital to Burgos will also be a window for recovery, which we plan to actively utilize. The Ministry of Magic is also producing its own recovery potions. Astana has nothing to worry about.”
“I worry as a king, and as your friend.”
“I am grateful for the sentiment.”
Ian gave a slight smile, and Hasha patted his shoulder—a signal that he would be leaving. As the guests from Astana exited the waiting room, the legs of the few mages who were still standing finally gave out, and they all collapsed to the floor.
Thud.
“Oh man, I’m really going to die. Can’t you file this as a workplace injury? I feel like some financial compensation would make me feel a lot better.”
“Everyone, pull yourselves together and get out.”
“Sir Ian. Are you leaving already? Can’t we rest a little longer?”
“Yeah, just a little more! Everyone at the banquet is too busy eating and drinking to notice anyway.”
“It’s time for the shift change.”
“Ah, this is driving me crazy! Why does break time always feel so short?!”
“Because it is short, you idiot.”
Creeak.
Ian left the waiting room with Romandro and turned toward the banquet hall. In the distance, he saw a figure slowly approaching. A woman dressed in the attire of the Hawan delegation, her face veiled. She seemed to hesitate for a moment upon seeing Ian, but then walked naturally toward the entrance of the banquet hall. The distance between them slowly closed.
“Please, go ahead.”
“…”
Ian naturally held the door open for her. The woman simply nodded her head and hurried inside. Ian’s brow furrowed as he watched her go.
“Lord Romandro.”
“Hm?”
“Doesn’t her back look familiar?”
“I can’t really say. Why? Do you recognize her?”
Romandro stared after the woman, but he couldn’t place her at all.
With an unreadable expression, Ian followed her inside.