Chapter 2: The Curse Upon the Empire

“Welcome back, Your Highness.”

After receiving word of Mia’s arrival, Ludwig came to see her in the Whitemoon Palace. His expression was grave—unsurprising, considering it was at his urgent behest that she’d returned. The fact that he’d had to trouble her with his duties weighed heavily on his mind.

But I must. I have no choice. This problem might swell into a full-blown disaster. Insisting on tackling it myself would be nothing but prideful folly; I’d risk making things worse.

Upon entering the audience chamber, he came face-to-face with a somewhat weary-looking Mia. He grimaced. She must have eschewed rest to rush back as quickly as possible. The sight of her yawning as she tried to rub the sleep from her eyes pricked at his conscience like a sharp thorn.

I heard she’s been quite active at Saint-Noel. Her days must have been exhausting enough as is...

When word of her unprecedented candidacy in the election for student council president first reached him, he’d broken out in a cold sweat. The way it had developed, however, surpassed even his wildest imaginations. With the odds stacked against her and defeat seemingly certain, she’d emerged victorious in a jaw-dropping reversal that felt like it belonged more in the theater than reality. What had occurred behind the scenes to bring about such an astounding result was never revealed. Perhaps there had been dealings. An agreement of some sort. Judging by how Rafina had behaved afterward, the possibility of underhanded tactics such as coercion seemed slim. Whatever it was, there seemed to be mutual consent between the two candidates.

Many had voiced displeasure with the outcome of the election. They took issue with the fact that the winner had been decided without a vote. What victory, they argued, could be gained when swords had not been crossed? To them, that was no victory; it was simply a display of cowardice.

Ludwig, however, thought differently. There were tacticians who excelled at clinching victory on the battlefield, and there were strategists who forced the enemy to retreat before the fighting even began. There were statesmen who could place their nation in a position of such diplomatic superiority as to negate the need for open conflict entirely. The way he saw it, Mia had triumphed over Rafina on the strategic front, long before the actual battle of votes began. Now that he’d had some time to think about it, the reason she’d run in the election to begin with was clear as day.

Becoming the student council president of Saint-Noel will allow her to see how the school is actually run, suggesting a desire to learn about academic administration...

The knowledge gained there could then be put to use in Tearmoon’s first academy city. Vast as the continent was, there was currently only one place that could be referred to as such: Saint-Noel. If one was seeking a model—a template to reference—there could be no better choice. It all made perfect sense. Mia’s thinking was exceptionally rational, and there was a clear strand of logic joining all her actions. A strand of logic which, to his great dismay, he had to temporarily sever. It frustrated him to no end to get in her way, and he cursed his own inability and relative helplessness.

“Please accept my deepest apologies, Your Highness, for calling you back here like this... I see you’re quite weary.”

“No, it’s no problem.” She yawned again. “Father was most enthused last night and would not let me sleep until I’d recounted to him all the stories he hadn’t heard...”

He thought this a rather silly excuse but took it at face value, figuring she’d noticed his troubled expression and decided to inject some humor into the conversation. She yawned once more before looking at him with a slightly watery gaze.

“I didn’t think you’d come all this way just to greet me. I was going to go see you later, you know? I’m aware that you’re very busy.”

“Not as busy as Your Highness, I’m sure, and yet I still asked you to pause your studies at Saint-Noel and make the journey home. Traveling the distance from my office to here is the least I can do.”

He dropped to one knee and, his expression set in formal homage, bowed to her.

“I’m glad to see you in good health, Your Highness.”

“The same to you. It’s been a long time since we’ve seen each other face-to-face, hasn’t it?” Mia’s eyes drifted upward in reminiscence. Then she looked back at him, and spoke in a soft voice. “Now then, I believe there’s something you wished to speak to me about?”

He took a moment to contemplate his response. After a brief silence, he replied, “Before we discuss that issue, there are a few things I’d like to bring to your attention.”

It wasn’t easy to get her there in the flesh, so he might as well take this rare opportunity to report on the empire’s current situation and see if she had any guidance to offer. After all, this was the Great Sage of the Empire; he had no doubt she saw clearer and further than he ever could.

“First, I’d like to report to Your Highness on the food stockpiling carried out under your orders. At the moment, it is proceeding smoothly. By my estimates, we have amassed enough that even without a single grain of this year’s harvest, we can provide our people with the bare minimum of sustenance for a full year.”

It was, of course, still an estimate, owing to the lack of transparency with regard to the personal provisions of the various noble domains throughout the empire. They did provide periodic reports, but their veracity was unclear.

“Furthermore, if we include the quantities that will be purchased from Forkroad & Co., we seem well-positioned to safely weather even a very significant famine.”

“Hm... So it’s all going smoothly, I see.” Mia nodded as she read through the parchment handed to her.

“Also, with wheat fast approaching the time for ripening, I have determined that the total yield this year will be slightly less than before.”

“Less... By how much, exactly?”

“It’s a rough estimate at best, but I’ve received reports claiming a ten percent drop compared to last year.”

“Ten percent... Hm...”

She pressed a contemplative hand to her cheek. At a glance, it didn’t seem a highly troubling number—well within the margin that could be made up for by a better harvest the following year. Moreover, decreasing harvests weren’t a rare phenomenon for the empire. Looking down on farmers was, after all, something of a popular hobby amongst Tearmoon nobles.

The Tearmoon Empire was situated in a region historically known as the Fertile Crescent. Blessed with rich soil and a benign climate, it was perfect for agriculture. Once the seeds were sown, regular watering and the occasional weeding was all it took to see a bountiful yield. So fertile was the area that people had taken to calling it “the land of effortless harvest.”

Originally, the land was inhabited by indigenous people. They knew not the pains of famine and, absent the need for conflict, spent their days in peaceful coexistence with the world around them, working the soil and collecting its rewards.

Then came the invaders. They were a powerful tribe of hunters who roamed nearby. Thus, through weapon and muscle, the ancestors of the Tearmoon people subjugated the indigenous people and reduced them to serfs, thereby claiming the riches of the soil for themselves. That marked the beginning of the Tearmoon Empire.

The first emperor—chieftain of the tribe during their hunting days—pronounced superior those people like themselves who excelled at war and violence, and made them the nobles of the empire. Those who led lives of agricultural endeavor like the indigenous people were derided as cowards and debased as serfs. By doing so, the invaders justified their occupation of the land, providing a basis for their sovereignty.

This vile ideology proved both tenacious and pernicious, spreading from person to person and generation to generation until it took root in the very core of Tearmoon’s identity, becoming a latent bane that threatened the empire to this day. Its lingering corruption was still evident in the modern Tearmoon people—that is, the contemptuous and baseless belief that “farmers are just people who are too stupid to make a living doing anything else.”

Serfdom as a system had long since been abolished, and those who worked in agriculture no longer suffered direct institutional mistreatment. It was now recognized as a proper occupation, and farmers being oppressed for their line of work was thought a thing of the past. Blatant persecution was gone...which was exactly why the problem was severe. Possibly even worse than before.

If policies were broken, then the policies could be fixed. If their social standing was unjustly low, they could be granted titles. If they suffered violence, steps could be taken to curb it. But if the problem was less tangible—one that seemed to do no overt harm, and originated not from reason but emotion—then the solution would be far more elusive. Fixing systems was easy; fixing beliefs was much harder.

“I stay away. It feels like it’s not for me.”

“I don’t like it.”

“Don’t ask me why. I just know nothing good comes to those who do it.”

So said the Tearmoon people of farming.

Unconscious prejudice still controlled people from within, coloring their beliefs and influencing their actions without their knowing. There was no rational basis for their views, only the irrational biases cultivated through their culture. And it was these views that perpetually kept the Tearmoon Empire from increasing its degree of self-sufficiency.

Ludwig saw this problem. He’d studied it, battled it, and witnessed the depths of its hold on the empire. So tenacious was the belief, so destructive its effects, that there were times when he couldn’t help but feel a certain malice. It was as if this shapeless enemy he was fighting had a will of its own...and was determined to see the empire die by its hands.

During those times, when his mind was weary and his judgment pliant, he would think of the indigenous people his ancestors killed to conquer this land...and wonder if they had, with their dying breaths, unleashed a curse upon the empire, dooming it to a fate worse than their own. It seemed a fantastical thought utterly removed from reality, but for some reason, he could never bring himself to laugh it off. Especially when he considered that before Mia had tackled the problem, the empire had been walking on very thin ice in terms of its food supply and distribution.

He was pulled out of these thoughts by a muted remark.

“...So, it has come at last.”

“I’m...not sure what you mean. What has come?” He pushed at the bridge of his glasses before continuing in a cautious tone. “I was told that the cause of the reduced harvest appears to be poor weather...”

The empire couldn’t afford to lose all of its agricultural capacity, so official notices had been issued instructing nobles to keep the proportion of farmland in their domains above a certain threshold. There was also a growing awareness of the impending crisis among the nobles themselves, so it seemed safe to assume they were abiding by the directives.

“And if it’s just due to bad weather,” he continued, “then it’s quite possible we’ll see the numbers return to more normal levels next year.”

“No. Unfortunately, that won’t happen. This is almost certainly just the beginning. Next year, the harvest will be even worse,” she said, her voice infused with quiet conviction. She looked him in the eye, her gaze unnervingly steady. “If you deem it necessary, Ludwig, start distributing the wheat from our reserves. I trust your judgment.”

Ludwig thought himself a rationalist. As such, any unfounded concerns Mia professed were, in theory, deserving of his admonishment. The words reached his throat, but the look of absolute certainty on Mia’s face forced them back down. Instead, he replied with a silent nod.

“That concludes the preliminary reports I wished to make. Now, let us move on to the main issue at hand,” he said, his solemn tone unchanged. “It’s regarding the academy city project. I’m aware of how hard Your Highness labored to set it in motion, which is why it pains me to inform you that...at the current rate, I’m afraid the project will fail.”

“...Huh?” Mia blinked. “The project...will fail?”

The fog of sleep deprivation that had been clouding her mind—courtesy of all the quality father-daughter time she was made to take part in last night—vanished at the news.

W-Well, then again, I sort of figured it’d be something like that.

She wasn’t too alarmed though. Considering the contents of his urgent message and the changes to the Chronicles, she’d more or less seen this coming. With a heavy sigh, she recomposed herself and asked in a calm, deliberate tone, “And why exactly will it fail?”

Expecting the answer to be something along the lines of Viscount Berman meddling in their plans again, she was surprised when Ludwig’s response proved entirely different.

“Because we’re losing lecturers. One after another, they’re turning down the posts they’d agreed on. Lord Bachmann, whom we’d asked to be headmaster, has backed out of the arrangement. The theological authority, Lord Hillerbeck, has as well... The school can’t open if we don’t have lecturers.”

In order to help Mia realize her goal of establishing a new academy, Ludwig had made full use of his personal connections, gathering superior talent from far and wide. By using Mia’s name to its maximum potential, fundraising had gone very smoothly, and a steadily growing list of well-respected figures had been signing on as staff. Or at least, that was how things had been the last time he’d reported to her.

“And that’s not all,” he continued. “Even those who aren’t directly involved but had previously expressed support for the project have begun to change their tunes.”

“Wh-What is going on? How come they’re all turning their backs on us?” she asked, alarm pulling her out of her seat. She’d expected trouble, but not this much trouble.

Ludwig proceeded to detail the results of his recent investigation into the matter.

“It’s not entirely conclusive...but there seem to be signs that the Greenmoons are behind this.”

“Ah, Esmeralda’s people. Hm...”

She crossed her arms in thought.

I remember the Duke of Greenmoon being very similar to Father in how much he pampers Esmeralda... Which means if I go through her, I can probably get him to stop—

Her burgeoning plan was quickly shattered by his next revelation.

“Apparently, all of this is being done under Lady Esmeralda’s direct orders... Would you happen to know anything about this, Your Highness?”

“Under her direct orders?! What?!”

For a few seconds, her mouth hung open in pure shock. What followed was a period of angry gnashing of teeth.

“Hnnnnngh... What’s the big idea, Esmeralda? What did I ever do to you?” Mia muttered bitterly as the image of her haughty tea buddy appeared in her mind. Her sonorous laugh echoed painfully against the walls of Mia’s increasingly-aching head.

While Mia was bemoaning her friend’s terrible betrayal, said friend was lying in bed, slowly waking to a very late morning.

“Aaaaah...”

With a small yawn, Esmeralda looked around with sleep-blurred eyes at the familiar room. Her lips partly slightly, and a small whisper escaped.

“What a dreadful dream that was...”

Just remembering it gave her the chills. She saw in her dream...the fall of the Tearmoon Empire. Food shortage and bankruptcy, like two anvils, slammed down onto the back of the frail camel that was an empire already burdened by revolting minority tribes and a raging plague. Surrounded by ghastly scenes of an empire in the midst of collapse, Esmeralda watched with horror as the state of the world seemed to become undone, her mood and very sanity fraying with it. In her dream, she eventually decided she’d had enough and made her way to the Whitemoon Palace. The sight of its unchanged magnificence raised her spirits, and she felt a rush of pride at her noble identity.

“Ah... Tearmoon will be fine. How foolish I was. Our glorious empire is infallible.”

Feeling much better, she walked with breezy steps down the hallway, whereupon she came face-to-face with her dear friend, Mia Luna Tearmoon.

“My, Miss Mia, how do you do?”

Miss Mia was, in fact, not doing well. The air around the princess was thick with gloom. She also looked exceedingly tired. Esmeralda frowned.

My, that’s hardly the way a princess should carry herself.

After a furtive roll of her eyes, Esmeralda spoke again, choosing words she assumed would cheer her friend up.

“Oh, that reminds me. I’ve been thinking of hosting a tea party at home, and I’d love to have you there. It’ll be magnificent, and we’ll invite lots of guests. Then, with everyone there, we’ll all swear as proud Tearmoon nobles that we’ll devote ourselves to serving the interests of this great empire of ours. There’ll be lots of cake too. You love cake, right? Oh, I can barely wait. Doesn’t it sound absolutely wonderful?”

Her proposal drew a smile from Mia. It seemed a genuine one.

“That...does sound quite wonderful. I’ll be looking forward to it then, Miss Esmeralda.”

“So you should. Look forward to it as much as you like, because I guarantee you won’t be disappointed.”

Seeing that her friend’s expression had brightened, Esmeralda felt a faint sense of satisfaction.

“Honestly, Miss Mia,” she continued, “you worry too much... The glorious Tearmoon Empire won’t fall because of petty troubles like these. All this doom and gloom, it’s such nonsense. Just ignore the stupid mutts that keep barking about it.”

When that failed to elicit a response, she shook her head and shrugged, as though she were dealing with a particularly stubborn child. Then she swiveled on her heels and headed back home.

That night, she was woken by someone shaking her.

“Esmeralda... Hey, Esmeralda...”

What insolence it was, she thought through the haze of sleep, for someone to be shaking her awake. She was the Duke’s daughter. How dare this person. She opened her eyes, fully ready to give the witless offender a good berating, only to find a surprisingly familiar figure standing over her in the darkness.

“Huh? Father? What’s the matter? It’s the middle of the night, for goodness sake.”

“Ah, well, I admit this is rather sudden, but you see, Esmeralda... We’re going away. All of us. The Greenmoons are leaving the capital.”

“...Huh? We’re...what? What’s going on?”

“I’m sure you’ve heard about what’s going on out there. The empire is in a dangerous position. I got in touch with some of my friends who are abroad, and they offered to shelter us, so I figured I’d take them up on it.”

“...I’m not sure I completely understand, Father, but to me, that sounds a lot like fleeing. Are you telling me the Greenmoons—we proud Greenmoons—are going to run away with our tails in between our legs?” Anger colored her brow, and she lunged to her feet. “Absolutely not! We’re one of the Four! In what do we stake our pride if not our allegiance to His Majesty? Moreover, I made a personal promise to Her Highness. We’re going to have a tea—”

“Of course, of course. I also trust the empire will eventually recover. But we will need to help it to do so, and we won’t be of much use if our family is in ruins. We must therefore bide our time and gather our strength, so that we may return in greater force and drive out these mongrels.” He grabbed her arm as he spoke. “Now, get moving. There’s no time.”

“But— What about His Majesty? And what about Her Highness?!”

“They’ll be fine. I’m sure the other nobles will keep them safe and sound. In the meantime, we must cross the sea and start building ourselves up for the counterattack.”

“B-But I promised! Father! I promised her! She was so happy!”

“Bah! Enough! Move!”

“Ouch! Father, no! Let me go! I—”

Thus, the Duke of Greenmoon, along with his whole family, fled overseas. Esmeralda would, on multiple occasions thereafter, look for a way to return to Tearmoon, but alas, no such opportunity ever presented itself. Ultimately, her efforts all ended in vain, and her promise to host a tea party for Mia...would never be fulfilled.

“...What a dreadful dream. Dreadful and...bizarre. Why in the moons did I have such a dream, I wonder?”

Esmeralda got out of bed and stripped off her sweat-soaked nightgown. Seeing her skin bared, a young attendant girl nearby soundlessly stepped up and helped her change into Saint-Noel’s school uniform.

“You,” she said, addressing the girl, “tell me something. Are things proceeding as I requested back home?”

“Yes, milady. I’ve received a report from His Grace. Efforts to sabotage Her Highness’s academy city project are already underway.”

“I see. Splendid. I’m sure she’s quite upset right now... Oho ho.”

She tossed her long, voluminous hair back and smiled.

“Oh, Mia. It’s all your fault, you know? You were the one who didn’t take me seriously. None of this would have happened if you’d just treated me with the respect I deserve.”

Esmeralda Etoile Greenmoon, proud Etoiler and daughter of Duke Greenmoon, fancied herself a bosom buddy of Mia’s. She considered herself both friend and rival, so Mia’s recent and enduring failure to interact with her in any way, shape, or form had left her very, very unsatisfied. Whenever Mia showed up—if at all—to Esmeralda’s tea parties, she’d barely stay long enough to warm her seat, and she never invited Esmeralda to any tea parties of her own. It was all very, very unsatisfactory.

Esmeralda, you see, was very, very much a handful.