TYND 10

TL: Motokare

As they made their way back to their base, Ciseau Castle—located in the eastern side of the imperial palace—the PLEIN mages agitatedly expressed their dissatisfaction.

“I don’t understand. Tired?! He’ll check tomorrow because he’s tired?! Since when does rest take priority over this? Nothing’s more important than verifying the existence of a living magic stone!” 

“This is something that could potentially rewrite Araxys’s history, and that’s his reaction? It’s hard to believe someone so flippant is the emperor of the empire.”

“And that Chungnip! What a disappointment. He knows more about magic than any of them, he should’ve advised the emperor properly!”

The mages spewed out their criticism venomously and their leader, rather than cautioning restraint, poured fuel on the fire. 

“Leave them be. They’re simply fools who know nothing of magic. How could those ignorant fools who’ve never even set foot in the academy understand the importance of this matter?”

Zibiah was, after all, an empire of knights. 

Whether it was due to the founding emperor’s betrayal at the hands of a mage, or some deep-seated inferiority that had bled through the generations—born of the imperial bloodline’s inherent lack of magical talent—whatever the cause, the empire had always favoured the cultivation of knights over the nurturing of mages.

It wasn’t exactly impossible to understand. Magic, after all, was a power that could not be mastered, no matter the effort, unless one was born with it. Aura, on the other hand, was a force that could be honed through sheer determination and effort. For raising an army quickly, investing in physical and swordsmanship training made far more sense than gambling on mages. 

But everyone knew that Yolone Sirin was the empire’s—if not the alliance’s—greatest asset in the Human-Demon War. Even the feats performed by the legendary Aura Master, Theon Detre Falsen, paled in comparison to him. While magic was a risky investment, with high risks came high returns—something even the emperor must’ve come to realise by now.

“Even after witnessing Yolone Sirin’s power firsthand, he continues to act so foolishly; at this rate, the empire’s doomed.”

“That’s a dangerous thing to say.” Harrié cautioned half-heartedly, even as the subordinate’s words hovered on the edge of treason.

They’d already entered the soundproof barrier within Ciseau Castle, and unless one was a knight of Theon’s calibre, no one could hear their conversation from outside the barrier. 

“We must be all the more vigilant since the emperor’s so foolish. Givarche, Toran, Gamia, and Droight… they’ll be looking to exploit the empire’s weaknesses. In any case, the archduke will be leaving the capital in two days. The North’s a very long way, and even if the warp system’s restored, it won’t be easy to move freely. Until then, we’ll stay by the emperor’s side and enlighten him on the importance of magic.”

“Yes. Without that bastard, His Majesty’s just a young man who knows little of the world. What worries me is the archduke’s continuing care of that child. What if, out of pity for the child, he refuses to hand him over to us?”

“Don’t waste your energy on such concerns. Even a stone has more emotions than that man. His mind might register that the child’s pitiful, but his heart wouldn’t know what ‘pity’ means even if it bit him.”  

His subordinate’s eyes went wide as saucers. 

“Really? The way he’s rushing to go, I thought he was suffering from homesickness.” 

“The ones suffering from homesickness are the Black Lion Knights. He feels nothing of the sort for the north.” 

“But it’s his homeland…” 

The subordinate looked sceptical, but Harrié snorted. 

“While we and the others would return home every three to four years for a break, that man doggedly roamed the frontlines. He’d countless chances for a visit, but he turned them all down. What do you think was the reason?”

“Because he hates his homeland…?”

“Because the battlefield suits him better than home ever could. He knows where he belongs the best.” 

“That’s terrifying…”

“There’s a reason why he’s called the ‘Demon of Seará’. Now that the war’s over, I wonder how he’ll endure his boredom.” 

Harrié sneered mockingly at the emotionless northern lord. 

“Pity for Rothy aside, he could still desire the magic stone inside him, couldn’t he?”

“The North already possesses a mine that produces an endless supply of magic stones.”

“You mean the Great Northern Mine? I hear they pull magic stones out of that place as easily as dirt even though some people would never even find one in their lifetime.”

“Indeed. Just having that mine alone is enough to threaten the imperial power. If he were to monopolise the living magic stone as well, it’d be as good as declaring war on both us and the imperial family. Even if our weak-natured emperor might turn a blind eye, his aides won’t let it pass quietly. That man may be a knight, but he’s shrewd enough to understand this.”

“That makes sense…”

“Now you understand? Stop worrying about him taking the child and focus on preparing for the experiment. It’s only a matter of time before the child’s in our hands.”

“Yes, Master.”

Alone in his office after his subordinate left, Harrié sank deep into his chair. There was no certainty that the child was truly a case of successful implantation of a magic stone in a living being. But one thing was clear, Yolone Sirin had conducted experiments on that child. The signs of abuse covering the child’s body were proof enough.

It must’ve been terribly painful……

For an instant, those scarred green eyes flashed in his mind. Harrié hurriedly shook his head, banishing the image. 

I mustn’t think about such things.

He’d to focus solely on the magical advancement such a discovery would bring and the peace that’d follow. He needed to harden himself further. That was his duty as the leader of PLEIN. 

***

Rothy’s room had no windows. This was because Chloé Palace was originally built to house the lovers of the imperial family.  

Perhaps it was because the founding emperor originally hailed from the South, but the Zibiah imperial bloodline had always been notorious for its promiscuity. While members of the imperial family would, upon marriage, commit to a single spouse and take no mistresses, before marriage they lived in excess, often maintaining dozens of lovers at once—such was the way of the imperial family.

The previous emperor’s predecessor had gone as far as to construct an entire palace for all the imperial lovers to live together. The long war had emptied it of its occupants, making it the perfect hiding spot to shied Rothy away from others. 

Since it was a building designed to conceal its inhabitants, it had few windows and thicker walls than usual. But even these fortress-like rooms couldn’t muffle the celebrations of the past couple of days. 

“Long live His Majesty!”

“Glory to the Zibiah Empire!”

Boom! Boom! Boom! 

The cheers and fireworks outside might’ve piqued someone’s curiosity, but not Rothy. He simply buried himself beneath the covers, leaving the bed only during mealtimes. He’d resigned himself to his fate of being taken to PLEIN and had been in a despondent state since. Ultje felt sorry for Rothy, but he’d no say over his fate. The only thing he could do for the child was to teach him some basic etiquette. He’d no doubt that the child would be punished mercilessly by PLEIN if he showed any discourteous behaviour. 

“Master Rothy, the PLEIN mages will bring you along with them later this afternoon.” 

The blanket stirred slightly. 

“From now on, you must watch your language and address people by their titles properly. PLEIN mages hold the status equivalent to a count, so until you inherit Yolone Sirin’s ducal title, you must address them formally. You can continue speaking casually to servants like me, but you must speak respectfully with titled nobles like the archduke.” 

A fluffy white head peeked out from under the covers. 

“Even Theon too…? Why…?”

“Because it’s called manners. When His Grace arrives this afternoon, greet with ‘How do you do?’ and ask if he has eaten.” 

“Theon’s coming today…?”

“It’s not ‘Theon’, it’s ‘His Grace’.”

“Yeah… His Grace…”

“He’ll be here before the PLEIN mages.” 

Rothy’s expression brightened, if only for a moment. Ultje helped him wash up, then dressed him in fine clothes. With soft, snow-white curls, eyes green as jewels, and small, plump lips, clad in a white poet’s shirt and black trousers, he resembled the dolls noble children would play with. He was listless the whole time and simply let Ultje tend to him. 

Shortly after lunch, Theon arrived, with Chungnip and Zey in tow. 

“Wow-wow, Rothy. You’re wearing such nice clothes. They look great on you.” 

The chief steward felt a surge of pride at Chungnip’s compliment. 

“How do you do……”

Rothy bowed as Ultje had taught him, then asked:

“Your Grace… You eaten?”

Ultje pressed a hand to his forehead. Chungnip and Zey’s faces contorted as they tried to hold back their laughter. Even in such a situation, Theon remained straight-faced. 

“I have. Did you chew your food properly?”

Chungnip and Zey’s faces grew even stranger at Theon’s reply. It was surprising to see the normally stoic archduke engaging in small talk with a child. 

“Yeah…”

Rothy nodded, then flinched slightly. 

“Yes… I chewed it very thoroughly…”

When he adjusted his speech to be more respectful, Theon stared intently at Rothy. He opened his mouth as if to say something, then closed it again. Instead, he sat down in the chair Ultje had prepared, gesturing to Zey, who promptly uncovered the cage he’d been holding.

Screech! Screeech!

Twelve weasels, their claws bared, hissed menacingly within. 

“Are any of these your weasel?”

Chi-chi’s not here…”

Rothy shook his head, barely glancing at the cage, then added, 

“Nope……”