TYND 17

“Bro, I’m sorry to say this, but if recovery’s possible in just half a year, then ask the people to endure for six more months. I know they’ve probably been stretched thin all this time, and honestly, it kills me to say this as the emperor. But you’re telling me they can’t fvcking^[1] hold on for six more bloody months when they’ve already lasted three years?!”

Emperor Dierm’s polished tone slipped, his urgency evident as he paced back and forth like a restless, caged animal. Across from him, Theon Detre Falsen sat upright with the composed posture befitting a knight. He watched the agitated emperor for a moment before opening his mouth. 

“You’ve got enough magic stones. Right here in the palace.”

“What?”

“You don’t mean…Rothy?”

A flicker of realisation crossed the emperor’s blue eyes. He didn’t want to send the child to PLEIN, and had been looking for an excuse to keep him away. Using the North’s magic stone shortage as a pretext to dispatch Rothy was a clever solution.

But—

“That justification will work, of course. If we frame it as being for the North’s benefit, even PLEIN would’ve to accept that. But it’s just a temporary solution. After six months, he’ll still end up in their hands unless we come up with something stronger.”

“There’s another matter,” Theon interjected.

“I’m of marriageable age and I intend to marry.”

“What? Where the hell did that come from?” 

“My intended’s waiting outside.”

Emperor Dierm shot to his feet.

“Wait a minute. The flow of this conversation’s all over the place, like a horde of demons rushing in. How did we go from talking about Rothy to talking about your marriage?”

To him, Theon’s declaration felt like a storm of disjointed thoughts crashing together. Flustered, he hastily adjusted his attire, crossed his legs to appear composed, and cleared his throat. 

“Fine. Bring them in,” he said, voice clipped. 

Theon rose and opened the door himself. When the small boy stepped inside, Emperor Dierm’s jaw dropped. The captain of the Imperial Guard, standing nearby, even reached out instinctively, as though worried it might literally fall off. 

Theon extended his arm, and Rothy, hesitating slightly, placed his hand on it. Theon guided him to the chair he’d been sitting in, helped him sit, then positioned himself by the child’s side.  

Rothy, small and nervous, darted nervous glances at the emperor and Theon, visibly uncomfortable. But, as though recalling instructions given beforehand, shyly murmured, 

“I greet the Sun of the Empire…”

Emperor Dierm didn’t respond. He was too stunned. Theon, meanwhile, rested a steady hand on the back of Rothy’s chair, his expression unusually soft.

“Lean back,” he told the child.

“Sit comfortably.”

Rothy flicked his eyes between Theon and the emperor, hesitating before obeying, cautiously leaning against the chair’s backrest. 

Emperor Dierm had no intention of chastising the poor child for sitting without permission. He was too shocked to even register the impropriety. Theon, now wearing his usual impassive expression, reached into his coat again and pulled out another document. This one, unlike the territory report from earlier, was a single sheet of paper. 

The captain of the Imperial Guard handed it over to the emperor, who read the bold title stamped across the top: Marriage Agreement. Theon, noting the emperor’s widening eyes, explained in a dryly, 

“It so happens that Rothy’s sixteen, the minimum marriageable age. All necessary signatures are in place, and everything has been explained to him. Only the notary’s signature remains.”

“Ha… Bro, you’re really—…”

The emperor let out a long sigh, which quickly turned into a helpless laugh. What he really wanted to say was, ‘Bro, are you insane?’, but conscious of Rothy’s presence, he coughed awkwardly and adopted a more dignified tone. 

“You certainly are audacious.”

Theon’s lips twitched briefly, a fleeting smile as though he’d taken it as praise, before his expression reverted to its usual impassivity. 

“You want to make Rothy the Archduchess. That’s bloody insane and also… bloody brilliant.”

House Falsen was one of the three great founding houses of the Empire, renowned for its unwavering loyalty and service to the crown. Theon himself, celebrated for his lifelong dedication to maintaining peace in Araxys, was a towering figure of respect. Who’d dare oppose his marriage? 

While same-sex unions weren’t taboo in their society, the fact that Rothy was only sixteen would set tongues wagging. Criticism was inevitable—but it’d fall on Theon, not Rothy. 

Most importantly, the child would be safe. He was to be formally announced as the sole disciple of Yolone Sirin soon and would inherit Sirin’s ducal title—though the title was largely nominal. PLEIN would have no qualms about using this powerless titleholder as a test subject under the guise of advancing magical research. But even for them, relentless as they were, would hesitate to lay hands on Theon Detre Falsen’s spouse. Anyone seeking to approach Rothy would first have to contend with the full might of House Falsen. Rothy, for all intents and purposes, had just gained the Empire’s most formidable shield. 

“Very well,” the emperor said at last.

“I’ve no choice but to approve.”

He extended his hand, and the captain of the Imperial Guard placed a quill in his palm. The emperor brought the nib to the blank witness line and began to scribble his name—but paused midway through the first letter.

“Even if I agree, my advisers wouldn’t stand for it. Phillip, Ossonthay, and the others—they’ll harp endlessly about how the North already has an infinite supply of magic stones and will demand to know why you need another limitless source. And even if you swear not to exploit Rothy for his power, they’ll never believe you. How do you plan to convince them?” 

Theon answered as though he’d anticipated the question. 

“We’ll remit fifty percent of the mine’s revenue to the imperial treasury and ten percent of the extracted magic stones to PLEIN.” 

In other words, if they allowed Rothy to be quietly sent to the North, the Empire would gain significant revenue, and PLEIN would receive high-quality magic stones for their research. 

To Emperor Dierm, it seemed a fair trade. 

PLEIN would surely argue that the benefits of studying and experimenting on Rothy would far outweigh this compensation, but their protests didn’t matter. He’d already made up his mind. He would set Rothy free. He couldn’t allow the child’s life to be marred by endless experimentation—not while he remained emperor. Rothy would live as a mage, free to explore the world, his peculiar constitution intact and unexploited. 

“Very well. I’ll sign. But what’s the payment term?”

“A hundred years.”

“Make it longer, Bro. I’ll need more leverage to convince the central nobles.”

“Three hundred years.”

“Three hundred it is. Perfect.”

With a flourish, Emperor Dierm signed the document; Dierm Addir Halphaeus Zibiah. With that, the Emperor of the Zibiah Empire officially became the legal witness to their union. Theon carefully tucked the agreement into his coat, his face betraying no emotion, as though he hadn’t just committed to one of life’s most monumental decisions.

“When will the ceremony be held? Why not have it immediately when you return?”

“……”

“Why the glare? I know what you’re thinking, so stop glaring. You plan to annul the marriage once Rothy comes of age, don’t you? After he receives Yolone Sirin’s ducal title, he’ll still retain the rank of a duke even if you divorce him. You’re planning to help him become independent after the divorce, correct?”

Theon didn’t answer, but Emperor Dierm had already pieced it together: this marriage was essentially a guardianship contract. What’d initially seemed shocking now struck him as an elegant solution. This way, he could ease his guilt without compromising anything important. And most of all…

“I suppose I should prepare an extra glass of orange juice for Harrié. No, strawberry juice might be better.”

The thought of the PLEIN’s leader’s crestfallen expression brought a broad smile to the emperor’s face. 

“The journey will take at least a month. Be prepared for the journey.”

“It’s fine… I’ll walk diligently.”

“You won’t be walking. We’ll be taking a carriage.” 

“I’m good at getting on carriages! I’m good at getting on horses too… I’m really good at travelling…” 

“You’ve learnt horseback riding?” 

“What’s horseback riding?” 

“……”

As Theon and Rothy continued their peculiar exchange, Ultje stepped forward to fasten Rothy’s coat and fit a pair of fur-lined gloves onto his small hands. The carriage was equipped with a heating magitool, and Rothy’s naturally warm constitution would help, but this was the South. They were heading North and would be travelling through the heart of winter for a month. Preparations had to be meticulous. Ultje, a Northerner himself, knew well how poorly non-Northerners fared in the cold.  

“All set, Your Grace. He’s ready to board.” 

Theon stepped back to inspect Rothy from head to toe.

“He looks like he’s ready to roll.”

“I roll…?”

Rothy tilted his head, puzzled. Then, misunderstanding it as a cue, he raised his arms awkwardly and hunched over, preparing to roll across the floor. For a moment, the room froze. Ultje, Chungnip, Zey, and even Theon stared, wide-eyed, as Rothy seemed genuinely ready to tumble.  

But Theon reacted swiftly, extending an arm to stop him just in time. Rothy cocked his head in confusion, now leaning almost entirely against Theon’s firm arm, which was outstretched diagonally in front of him. Concerned about the boy’s precarious balance, Theon wrapped his other arm securely around Rothy’s back.

Screee!

A small weasel emerged from the hood of Rothy’s coat, standing stiffly on his shoulder and growling. 

“Chi-chi! No!” 

Rothy quickly gathered the weasel into his arms.

“Chi-chi’s scared of being touched. Even if you want to touch him… if you do it suddenly… It scares him… I’m sorry…”

“……”

Theon saw no need to clarify that he’d never intended to touch the weasel in the first place. 

Screeee! Screech!

The little creature, now nestled in Rothy’s arms, hissed again, its tiny body trembling as if issuing a fierce warning. Whether it was genuinely frightened was anyone’s guess. 

“I see. Let’s get on the carriage. As soon as we board, we’ll be off.”

“Yeah… I mean, yes.”

“It’s fine, you don’t have to be so polite with me.” 

Ultje’s eyes widened to the size of dinner plates, but Theon ignored him. Rothy, visibly relieved, lit up at being freed from the burden of speaking formally.