Part 2: The Capital Offensive

The Magician Who Rose From Failure — LNCrawler · All chapters

The question of why the bandits killed themselves played on Arcus’s mind. Apparently they had been hiding the poison inside their mouths and were already dead by the time Deet and his men went to question them. They were found in the barn with their bodies frozen mid-convulsion, their faces twisted into agonized grimaces. It was a horrific way to die. What Arcus didn’t understand was why they’d done it.

The administration of justice here was not as sophisticated as in the man’s world, but unless a wrongdoer’s crimes were especially heinous, they wouldn’t face a death sentence. The bandits hadn’t been facing any immediate punishment in the first place. They would be taken to an appropriate place first, and could even plan an escape if they had to. If they did something to atone for their crimes, they might even earn release.

They messed up and got caught. Full of despair for their future, they drank the poison and killed themselves. The narrative didn’t hold up.

Deet and Galanger seemed just as confused as Arcus. Deet was especially frustrated to have lost his leads, now forced to restart the investigation from square one. Because of that, Arcus was questioned again on what happened. It wasn’t that the redhead suspected them; he just wanted to gather as much information as he could. They even questioned Gilles separately, but they let him go almost immediately.

He was a strange man indeed, and his identity was shrouded in mystery. Arcus would have expected him to be detained, at least until Deet could get him to the county’s capital, but instead he was let go just like that. Arcus asked around and discovered that Gilles’s release was thanks to the mayor putting in a good word for him. Arcus asked the mayor about this as soon as they got up that morning.

“There are some in our village who suffer from an illness that can only be alleviated by a herb that doesn’t grow in these parts. Mr. Gilles supplied us with that herb.”

Arcus recalled a similar thing being said at the dinner the previous evening.

“And that’s why you put in a good word for him?”

“Yes. He sold it to us as an independent transaction at a very generous price, likely at a considerable loss. I thought it only right that I pay him back.”

“But why did he sell it to you that cheaply in the first place? He hasn’t got any roots in this place or anything, right?”

“He does not. In fact, yesterday was the first time he’d ever come here.”

Arcus wasn’t surprised to hear it. With a strong Imerian accent like Gilles’s, there was no way he came from these parts.

“I thought it odd too, and so I asked him. Mr. Gilles responded by saying that he is currently visiting several rural villages and communities like ours.”

“How come?”

A lucky, keen-eyed merchant might turn up rare or valuable items out in impoverished villages like these, but it wouldn’t be worth the cost. He couldn’t be turning a profit; on the contrary, it seemed like a good way to empty your coffers. Arcus couldn’t work out for the life of him why Gilles might be traveling in these parts. The mayor smiled kindly, as though he knew exactly what Arcus was thinking.

“Lord Arcus, there is more to dealing in goods than simply making a profit.”

“What do you mean?”

“In this world, there are those who are motivated by feelings rather than money.”

“Feelings and actions... The kinda stuff you can’t measure on a scale.”

“Can you not relate?”

“I can. I just find those stories strange, you know? The ones where someone seriously dedicates their life to being selfless, and not because of peer pressure or a sudden whim.”

“That is understandable. Many people are motivated purely by their own interests.”

Some people, when they had the means and mental space to do so, longed to make others happy and to hear the words “thank you.”

“Our gratitude for the existence of people like him knows no bounds,” explained the mayor.

Something from the man’s life came to Arcus’s mind then. A special report on an evening infotainment show about a traveling salesman who went to rural communities to sell to the older generation who weren’t mobile enough to go shopping on their own. Maybe Gilles was like that salesman. They weren’t doing the exact same thing, but both were thinking of those in rural places as they carried out their work.

A bevy of motivations existed for such an attitude, from simply wanting to help people to wanting to repay a debt of gratitude. It would explain why Gilles was willing to come to a village like this when it was plagued by danger.

Arcus scratched his head. “Ugh. I always feel like I can’t understand someone unless I know exactly what sort of background they come from.”

“That is only natural. That’s the sort of environment you were born into.”

“Nobility is such a pain...”

An amused smile lit up the mayor’s face.

“It’s like that tale from the Anci—well, that old story. You know: Dunweed?” Arcus said.

Dunweed was a character from the Ancient Chronicles. He was a traveler who always sold the necessities of life to the needful at a price they could bear. He was known for being utterly selfless, helping many and earning their gratitude in return. Commoners in this world often cited him when teaching their children about magnanimity.

“Mr. Gilles did tell me that story when he was supplying us with the herb yesterday, so perhaps it inspired him.” The mayor let out a small, troubled sigh. “I am well aware that putting in a good word for him might have been a little forward.”

Arcus paused. “I’d have to agree, yeah.”

“I just cannot believe that anybody who speaks so passionately about Dunweed could be a bad person. I expected that herb to be rather expensive, but when I asked him for the price...”

“Awh, don’t worry ’bout it! Just treat me to a good meal if y’please!”

“He was a huge help to our village. I just cannot believe that he is a bad sort.”

“I see where you’re coming from,” said Arcus.

“Thank you. As far as we are concerned, that man is Dunweed himself.”

“I gotta be careful, then. He might see me as someone who’s easy to rip off or something.”

“I’m sure that isn’t the case! Nobody would target someone with the power of Gown on their side!”

“I dunno. He’s been acting strange toward me the entire time I’ve been here.”

Even if Gilles treated the villagers politely, there always seemed to be an extra layer of meaning in his behaviors around Arcus. He was a Dunweed to the mayor, but to Arcus, he might have been a chivalrous thief—one who defied authority and allied himself with the common people. Maybe even one who snatched away the ill-gotten gains of the rich to share among the poor. That being said, none of Arcus’s gains were ill-gotten, and he hadn’t done anything wrong, so he would have liked to think he wouldn’t be a target.

While he tried to keep his train of thought light-hearted, he was still unable to draw any conclusions about Gilles. He found it too implausible to take the mayor’s words at face value, but nevertheless he chose to note the possibility that Gilles was not driven purely by profit.

Once his morning discussion with the mayor was over, Arcus started his repair of Deet’s Seal Arms, as the russet-haired boy had asked of him the previous night. He had already been paid for his work, and since he needed to get it done before Deet and his men were due to leave the village, he got up especially early.

The two Arms that needed repairing were his greatsword and his bracelet. The sword was broad and longer than either Arcus or Deet. Every inch of it was covered in seals—a fearsome weapon. The seals’ intricacy was at complete odds with the sword’s simple shape. The Artglyphs were carved in a similar manner to shorthand from the man’s world; each sigil twined and braided with the next, arabesque and calligraphy all in one. It was clear that this weapon had been engraved by a true master.

Arcus had come across several styles of seals in his time studying them. He had seen several Seal Tools at his favorite store, and sometimes devoted time to going through the catalogs he bought at the bookstore. Deet’s sword resembled nothing he’d ever seen before. Arcus deduced it must have been an ancient weapon.

There were seals to keep the blade sturdy and the edge keen, seals to guide the blade gracefully in the wielder’s hands; water-repellent seals, likely there to stop blood or oils clinging to the metal, popped up here and there in the design. The engraver had laid them out in a perfect pattern, each enmeshing with all the others without interference. Arcus doubted anyone was left alive in this world capable of such intricate work. Even Arcus, who was well-versed in the Ancient Chronicles, couldn’t make heads or tails of several of the symbols.

Arcus was just finishing his repair work when Deet woke. He had slept in quite a bit by this world’s standards, but that was likely due to how late he stayed up with the investigation, on top of being on patrol before that. He was still young, and by his first impression somewhat cheeky, but it was clear that he was devoted to his work.

Deet yawned and rubbed at his eyes as he stumbled drowsily to fetch a glass of water for himself and his assistant, Galanger. Only when he was more awake did he approach Arcus.

“Thanks so much for this. My sword suddenly stopped working the way I was used to a little while ago. It’s a relief to get it fixed up.”

“Oh yeah?”

“It wasn’t cutting as neatly, and it felt heavier. It wasn’t long after I got it either. I dunno what crazy stuff Mom did with it...”

“I don’t believe you’re one to talk,” said Galanger.

“H-Hey! I take good care of it!”

“Does ‘taking good care of it’ include forcing it into the ground the way you did the other day?”

“I didn’t have a choice! I take good care of it the best I can!” Deet protested before turning back to Arcus. “I’m just glad there was someone here who could take a look at it.”

“Mm hmm.” Galanger nodded his agreement.

“Now I’ll be able to slice clean through any bandits who get in our way easy!”

Deet may have had a sweet smile, but he clearly had an incredibly violent streak. In Arcus’s experience, military children tended to be a little calmer, but he supposed that sort of thing stemmed from family tradition.

Deet leaned forward to peer at Arcus’s work. “How’s it going? It looks way shinier now.”

“Yeah, I’m done with the work itself. I’m just checking it over to make sure I haven’t missed anything.”

“Huh! You did that so quick!” Deet remarked cheerfully.

“Here, hold it and see what you think.”

“Oooh!” With his bracelet around his arm, Deet lifted up the greatsword easily.

Arcus’s brain still had trouble processing the reality of a boy that small holding a sword that big, but at least he knew it meant his work was successful. “Well?” he prompted.

“This is incredible! Really incredible!” Deet laughed.

“Um—”

Deet was swinging the sword wildly around the room. It was a terrifying sight. The tip of the swords whooshed past the furniture in the room by no more than a hair’s breadth. One wrong move, and the mayor would have to redecorate.

And yet, Galanger made no move to stop his master. In fact, he was beaming at the boy. “How is it, Master?”

“Way better than before! Way better than when it was in good shape too! How’d you do this, Arcus? It’s incredible!”

Deet seemed to be feeling the difference just by holding it. Arcus recalled he had been complaining about the weight before, which would explain it. With his arm raised and holding the sword, he looked like an executioner waiting to enact his duty, and as the one standing across from him, Arcus had the distinct impression he’d done something worthy of the death penalty.

He put his hands up in front of him. “U-Um, watch where you’re swinging that thing, will you?”

“Hm? O-Oh. Sorry!” Deet stuck his tongue out sheepishly and leaned his sword back against the wall. Though he was close to seriously injuring Arcus, he looked more like a boy who’d been caught out mid-prank. Maybe swinging his sword around like that really wasn’t such a big deal to him. A shiver ran up Arcus’s spine.

“Anyway, I didn’t do much. I just fixed it up a bit.”

Galanger stepped up to the sword and scrutinized it. “The pattern seems more defined. I don’t think it was this clear even when I started working with the mistress.”

“It was probably even clearer when it was new. It must’ve been worn with use, and some of the seals disappeared completely without anyone around to fix them up properly.”

“Does that mean you’ve restored those parts?”

“I tried, but it’s not perfect. There were places even I couldn’t decipher.”

“Wow...” Galanger murmured.

“I don’t really get what you’re saying,” Deet said, “but I’ll be sure to bring it back to you when it needs another fix!”

“Sure, if you can’t find anyone else who can. If I keep studying, I might even be able to make it like new.”

“Like new? You mean, make it just like it was when it was originally made?” Galanger asked.

“Yeah. Might take a while though.”

“Seriously?! Then I’m definitely gonna ask you next time it goes weird! Thanks, Arcus!” Deet was practically jumping for joy now that he’d decided on an official seal master. “I’m gonna go test how well it cuts!”

“Don’t treat it too roughly, Master,” Galanger warned.

“Yeah, yeah!” Deet lifted the sword up onto his shoulder and raced outside.

Arcus sighed. Engraved bracelet or not, seeing him lifting that huge weapon was still impressive. “He’s a strong kid, huh?”

“It’s in his blood.”

“Oh. It’s one of those ‘natural talents,’ then.”

Galanger nodded. Arcus noticed he was looking at him strangely.

“What?”

“I was just thinking that rumors aren’t necessarily true.”

“Oh.”

“Thank you for helping with the master’s sword.” While the assistant had regarded Arcus with some suspicion before, there wasn’t a hint of it in his eyes now.

“It’s fine. You guys paid me for it.”

“Perhaps, but I still have dues of sentiment to pay.” Galanger turned to peer out of the window, his brow creased. “I wonder if the master will be all right. Now that his sword’s condition has improved, I’m worried he might push himself too much.”

Deet noticed he was being watched. “Hey! If you’re that worried, why don’t you come out here and see for yourself?”

Galanger sighed. “Yes, yes. Right away,” he mumbled, following his master’s steps outside.

Arcus looked out the window. Deet was swinging his sword around like before with a huge grin on his face. He must’ve been over the moon to finally get it fixed. He was charging around like a storm, and Arcus worried the waves of pressure trailing from his swings might uproot the village’s wooden houses, as though he were a big bad wolf blowing down the houses of innocent pigs. It was as though he hadn’t gotten out of bed mere moments ago.

“He sure is peppy,” Arcus murmured as one of his attendants appeared from thin air beside him.

“He is childlike befitting to his age. Unlike some people.”

“I’m ready to take that as an insult.”

“I was praising you. It makes the troubling duties of my job a whole lot easier to manage.”

“I’m not buyin’ it. You’re always grumbling about how I’m dragging you into trouble or causing weird ‘disturbances.’”

“If you are aware of that fact, then I would heartily suggest you take those comments into consideration.”

“Sorry, no can do. It’s a slippery slope-type deal.”

“Perhaps it might have been more prudent had you avoided that slope in the first place,” Noah remarked calmly.

Arcus shrugged. “Anyway, these new arrivals sure are strange, huh?”

“Indeed.”

Deet claimed that his troop’s goal was to investigate the bandits with an eye to quashing them. While Arcus found it strange that they were vague on the details of where they came from, he found it difficult to doubt their official ties to Rustinell. It wasn’t just their use of the territory’s military emblem, but the fact that the mayor recognized them immediately.

Even so, Arcus still had questions. Compared to who they claimed to be, they were too well-equipped and immaculately composed, and the villagers treated them with an unusual level of respect. Arcus had spoken to some of the others in the group and found they were just as plucky and willful as Deet and Galanger, something that seemed impossible for an ordinary military unit.

“Hey.” Arcus’s second attendant joined them.

“Good morning.”

“How’s the preparation going, Cazzy?” Arcus asked.

“We’re basically done. We’re ready to go whenever.” Cazzy jerked his chin in the direction of the door. He had been making the preparations for them to leave with their guide. “I also checked out that group that showed up. They got themselves a real solid formation. ’Snot just their stuff either. They got magicians in there and all.”

“How many?” said Noah. “Three?”

“Five. Two of ’em are with the vanguard and undercover. These guys aren’t messin’ around.”

“My, how curious.”

“Their formation ain’t like the ones we learn about in the Institute, but I reckon that’s ’cause of how powerful their vanguard is.”

Noah narrowed his eyes thoughtfully.

“So, what? They’re like this place’s best soldiers then?” Arcus asked.

“I don’t think so,” Cazzy replied.

“Huh?”

“Sure, they’re strong, but...I dunno how to put it...” Cazzy trailed off.

Once it was clear he didn’t know how to finish his sentence, Noah took over. “In my personal opinion, they are less a collection of soldiers, and more a collection of generals. I believe that these men who young Deet has brought with him are each powerful in their own right; both physically and socially speaking.”

“Huh?” Arcus blinked.

“That’s it. They’d probably be able to raze down that jumble of bandits no problem with that kinda strength,” Cazzy agreed.

A group of generals... In other words, a group of leaders. But somehow, that didn’t quite seem to describe what they were seeing here. It was likely more to do with their social position than what they actually did.

“Where did you get that idea from, Noah?”

“When that advisor introduced himself as Galanger.”

“Is he famous?”

“I believe he is one of Rustinell’s leading figures. Galanger Uiha, who presides over Azil. He is a fearless fighter famous for his many exploits in the fight against the Empire. There are others I recognize among them too. Clayton Baran, ruler of Gardalia. Skall Rosta, leader of Lowbell...”

Noah named these leaders of Rustinell territories one after the other.

“Huh? Wait! Hold up! Are you saying that Deet gathered up all these leaders to follow him?”

“It would appear so.”

“No way! That doesn’t make any sense! There’s supposed to be a chain of command, isn’t there?”

Rounding up bandits shouldn’t have been the work of such a powerful group of people. It was totally unfathomable.

“Different regions have different systems of command, formation styles, and so forth. It may well make sense.”

“How?”

“Like, say they care more about the region and its people than what they feel’s beneath ’em,” Cazzy chimed in. “Or I guess it’s more like they ain’t as snobby as the nobles ya get in this kingdom.”

It was then that Arcus realized something. House Rustinell was one of the regional monarchies under the kingdom’s rule. That didn’t just mean it was small, but also that it had an accepted royal family of its own. Just like Lainur, Rustinell would be split up into smaller territories with appointed lords to govern them.

If Noah and Cazzy’s explanation was correct, then the lords of Rustinell might be treated more as military commanders than nobles. They might have been using a similar practice to certain daimyo in the Sengoku period keeping their vassals and lords living nearer the royal family’s domain while their governors lived further out.

In that case, it would be possible for such a powerful group to gather like this and work together. Looking at it that way, one thing was clear.

“Does that mean Deet’s part of the royal family?”

“It would seem so, especially as I have heard the Rustinells have a son around his age.”

“And if he’s gonna be in charge of the whole of Rustinell, they’ll want him to establish a hierarchical relationship with all these important people sooner rather than later, I’m guessing.”

“In all likelihood.”

Arcus’ faint suspicions were confirmed. It explained how he could lead a group of men representing a wide range of social importance.

Cazzy glanced outside. “Does that make that thing Rustinell’s Guillotine?”

“Most likely. Its appearance certainly lives up to the stories I’ve heard.”

Arcus’s ears pricked at the curious word choice. “Guillotine? You mean an execution device?”

“No, we are referring to a famous weapon that has been passed down the Rustinell House for generations. The sword which you were repairing a small while ago.”

Arcus nearly choked on his own breath.

“I heard it lopped heads left and right in the fight against the Empire. And hey, I’m just some kid from the sticks, so ya know how famous it is when even I know ’bout it!” Cazzy cackled.

“I have heard it said that the blade was repurposed from an actual in-service guillotine,” Noah said.

“Well, that’s terrifying.” A shiver ran up Arcus’s spine as he suddenly realized the importance of the weapon he’d just been working on. It was no wonder Galanger started showing him respect after he repaired it successfully.

“But if Deet has it...”

“He must have inherited it from the head of the family, Louise Rustinell—known to some as the Headhunter Witch and Our Lady of the National Razor. The Gillis Empire fears her greatly, even now.”

“There’s a ’specially famous story of her stickin’ the heads she collected in battle on pikes and linin’ ’em up along the border after the Empire retreated.”

“It’s a wonder they don’t call her Louise the Impaler...”

She sounded wild, violent, and cruel. She certainly seemed to be more of a military ruler than a sophisticated noble, but such was the case with many of the higher-ranking figures in this world. Most regional monarchs like her relied on military force to govern their lands, so they behaved more like the powerful families they descended from than their more sophisticated counterparts. Skirmishes were common around Lainur, so the regional monarchs and martial nobles didn’t exactly have the time to sit around drinking tea in their Sunday best all day.

The second they had hold of a likely successor, that child would be sent out into battle as soon as possible; that was a common practice among these families. It was something that could only happen because of the innate individual power of magic.

“Hey, Arcus!” a voice called from outside. “We’re ready to go now!”

Arcus stuck his head out of the window. “We’ll be there in a sec!”

He, Noah, and Cazzy made their way outside.

Arcus and his companions had agreed to travel with Deet’s group to Rustinell’s capital. Their guide came with them too, making Arcus’s group four. Deet had left some of his men to patrol the area around the village, and so was left with around two thirds of them now. Their dubious plus one had chosen to tag along as well.

Before they left, all of the villagers came to see them off. They gave their thanks for Arcus’s work on their Seal Tools and his group’s help minimizing damage to the village. That didn’t surprise Arcus. What surprised him was that every last member of the village had gathered in the plaza. Many chanted his name like a prayer, and he suspected that might have had something to do with their witnessing Tribe. They asked him to come visit again should he be in the area, and the mayor and his wife promised him another fish pie if he did so. After promising he’d come back one day, Arcus left with Deet and his men.

While before their guide had kept them entertained on the road, this time it was Deet who did most of the talking. The endless questions he posed made it sound like he didn’t meet many people living in the royal capital, and when he was done, Gilles wasted no time in taking over. At least in Gilles’s case, he mostly shared stories of his travels, so there were no questions to tire out Arcus’s brain.

The moment Deet wandered away, Gilles sidled up to Arcus as though to share a secret. He asked him what he wanted with that silver—whether he was just going to use it for seals or something else—and other questions of that nature. His questions were prying and unrelenting. Arcus remained committed to dodging them, telling Gilles he only needed the material for seals, but he was endlessly curious about what the merchant might be thinking. First there had been the comparison to Dunweed, and now these shamelessly brazen questions. Arcus still couldn’t get a good read on Gilles’s character.

The group took a long detour from the usual route. They traversed low mountains and skirted rivers, and it was only when the sun was setting again that they made it to their destination.

Like many others in the kingdom, Rustinell’s capital was a round fortress city, and the most prosperous settlement in the area. Barracks lay scattered around outside the city walls. Unlike Lainur’s capital, the river ran outside this city, disappearing far, far into the west. The city sat atop a slight plateau, lending it an illusion of even greater scale.

The group entered through the gates and into the busy city. The main street was illuminated by Sol Glasses, but they were not as prevalent as in Lainur’s capital. Because of the abundance of silver in the area, there were several silver decorative pieces around, as well as shops which incorporated silver themes in their names.

Gilles left them as soon they entered, claiming he was off to make a few transactions. Arcus and the others left Deet too, and after finding somewhere to stay, headed to the restaurant to take a break. Tomorrow they would have an audience with Rustinell’s leader, Louise Rustinell. They would have announced their arrival to her immediately, but Deet and his men were going to do that for them while giving their report on what had happened. Galanger assured them as much when they separated.

After finishing a satisfying meal, Arcus sat back in his chair and sighed.

“Is it just me, or has wheat gotten more expensive?”

“I heard the crops were bad this year. Salt’s gone up too.”

“Oh yeah, you’re right. Wonder what’s going on.”

“Who knows? I’m sure Lady Louise’ll do something about it at some point though.”

“Yeah.”

Arcus couldn’t help but overhear the other customers’ conversation. They didn’t seem too concerned about the rising prices they spoke of, instead raising a hearty toast to Lady Louise. Their deep trust in their leader allowed them to keep their spirits high.

The rumors Arcus had heard from the village mayor about the mounting costs of basic staples had proven true.

“Noah, what d’you think about the wheat and salt prices?”

“Are you referring to those patrons’ conversation? I believe those particular items are rising in price simply because everything else is.”

“I know this is kinda extreme, but isn’t this the sorta stuff that means there’s a war on the horizon?”

If the expression on his face was anything to go by, Cazzy was completely unimpressed. “It’s always somethin’ depressin’ with ya, ain’t it?”

“But listen. Wheat and salt prices are usually pretty stable, right? Once they start rising, the state tends to intervene before it gets too bad.”

There was no end to the effort put in to keep the cost of public essentials stable. The state wouldn’t turn a blind eye if somebody was trying to manipulate the market to massively inflate their value. That value had direct implications for the region’s profits, and there were laws preventing merchants from trying to interfere with that. The only reasons this would happen were crop failure or interference from another region.

“Ya got a point for sure. Just wonderin’ if there’re any peaceful thoughts in there is all.”

“Stop messing up my hair!”

“I would not be concerned about war,” Noah said. “If the kingdom was preparing for war on the Empire, these price changes would affect the entire country, not just the western region. Nor are there any hostile leaders around this area who are powerful enough to consider such a conflict.”

“Good point. I dunno who’d be going to war around here...”

A war needed two players, and Arcus failed to think of a second, making his hypothesis impossible. Even then, it was just too strange. He’d heard the harvest was good this year, so why were those prices rising, and in such a concentrated area too?

“Might be there’s some numbskull merchant somewhere in the area buyin’ it all up. Happens sometimes.”

“If so, the state’ll probably deal with them soon.” Arcus took a sip of his tea. He probably wouldn’t be thinking so deeply into this if he didn’t have the pages of so many books stored in his memory.

“O-Oh! Master Arcus!” A voice called to him from behind.

Arcus turned to see a stout man dressed in the usual merchant’s garb: Pilocolo.

“It’s you...”

“Please forgive me for disturbing you! It’s just that I caught sight of you, and I wanted to apologize for leaving the village without saying anything.” Pilocolo bowed his head deeply.

From the timing, he must have headed straight here after leaving the village. His manner was just as humble as ever.

“I’m just glad you’re safe,” said Arcus. “I heard your cargo got stolen in the village though.”

“Yes, it did. All of it, in that moment when the gate was broken down during the attack.”

“And the silver?”

“Yes...” Pilocolo replied lamely. “I did hear about the increased bandit activity in the area, and I took precautions, but they took advantage when I was distracted helping the villagers.”

His cargo had been stolen because he had prioritized the villagers’ safety.

“So I hurried here as quickly as I could to report to Her Ladyship!”

“How did she react?”

Pilocolo had been acting under his ruler’s orders. Allowing that cargo to be stolen from under his nose was definite grounds for punishment.

“I-It wasn’t so bad. I was fined and scolded, but my punishment was surprisingly light. Her Ladyship feels a responsibility for being unable to suppress the bandits in the first place, you see.”

“Right.”

She sounded sympathetic. It was likely she had to punish him in some way—hence the fine—but she hadn’t gone so far as to lock him up or anything so severe.

“What are you gonna do now then?” Arcus asked.

“Me? Oh, well...”

“Have you got other work lined up?”

“Er...”

Arcus had only intended to make some more small talk, but Pilocolo was being strangely evasive—suspiciously so, in fact. Arcus frowned at him in confusion, at which point he finally gave an answer.

“I can’t take on more work, because I’m to head for the Nadar region.”

“Nadar?”

“Y-Yes.”

Nadar shared a border with Rustinell, so traveling there wasn’t exactly a grand undertaking; you just needed to follow the river to get there. Any cargo could be transported by boat.

I wasn’t expecting to hear “Nadar” again though... It’s coming up a ton lately.

“Was that another order from Rustinell’s leader?” Arcus asked.

“No, it’s something else.”

“You’re transporting more stuff?”

“Y-Yes, yes! That’s right!”

Pilocolo had behaved strangely ever since this topic came up. He ummed and ahhed, and the conversation wasn’t progressing smoothly or logically at all. Pilocolo had greeted Arcus completely naturally, suggesting it was this topic in particular that was the problem. It reminded Arcus of a child who’d been caught misbehaving, and was trying to come up with an excuse on the fly. He decided to try and pursue the matter further, but Pilocolo spoke before he could ask.

“I-If you’ll excuse me...”

“H-Hey, wait!” Arcus called, but Pilocolo ignored him and hurried out of the restaurant. He watched him go and sighed. “How come I always get the weird ones?”

“That remark is even more profound considering from whom it is coming.”

“Ya got that right!”

“I was talking about you two as well, y’know!” Arcus paused. “That guy sure has a lotta work lined up though.”

“Izzat so weird?”

Arcus frowned. “No, but think of it like this. He just messed up one job, and now he’s already got something in a different territory? If it was me, I’d consider canceling my request for him.”

“It is likely that Mr. Pilocolo is a well-known merchant in both Rustinell and Nadar. It might not be so strange for him to have so much work traveling between the two.”

“It’s probably just that he was goin’ to Rustinell, or comin’ back to Rustinell, whatever, so he picked up some work in Nadar before he went.”

Noah nodded in agreement, and Arcus had to admit they had a point. The river connecting the two territories made it easy. He could transport cargo along it one way, accept a job at his destination for the way back, and then do the reverse. This was a world where communication wasn’t as simple a matter as picking up a telephone. Accepting work further in advance made good business sense.

In advance...

“In advance?” Arcus murmured. The word stuck out to him for some reason.

Pilocolo accepted a job in advance. His cargo was stolen. He left immediately. Eido didn’t behave like a typical bandit. The bandits acted irrationally both in retreating and killing themselves. The name “Nadar” kept coming up over and over.

All of a sudden, these seemingly random pieces of information started to connect together.

“So they were in cahoots!” Arcus sat bolt upright in his wooden seat.

He and his companions were still in the large restaurant where they had taken their dinner. The puzzle pieces in his mind had aligned all at once to form that answer. He reviewed his thoughts again one by one to evaluate whether he’d come to the correct conclusion.

Cazzy shot him a suspicious frown after his outburst. “What’sa matter now?”

“Pilocolo and the bandits. They were working together!”

“Th-They... Huh?!”

“Master Arcus...”

His attendants looked like they were struggling to believe him.

“I’m pretty sure about this. The bandits, Pilocolo, and Eido too.”

While Pilocolo and Eido hadn’t acted explicitly as though they were co-conspirators, Arcus couldn’t think of another explanation no matter how hard he tried. His conclusion was based chiefly on the behavior of Eido and his bandit crew.

First, they attacked a village in the dead of night—a diversion. Then, they broke through both the southern and northern gates. There was nothing wrong with the plan so far; in fact, it was a rather solid one. The problem was what came next.

Once the gates were down, they simply wasted time before retreating. That would have been around the time they snatched Pilocolo’s cargo. The village had money, goods, women—all sorts of prime targets, but they never showed an ounce of interest in them. As long as they didn’t mind a few losses, they could have charged the gates and overwhelmed the village’s defenses.

After destroying the gates, they could have set things alight. That would’ve forced the villagers to focus on putting the fires out on top of defending themselves. Then they could have taken advantage of the chaos to loot to their hearts’ content. Their decision to retreat was made far too early.

With all that opportunity available to them, why did they only steal the silver and nothing else? Bandits were far greedier creatures than that. Their entire existence revolved around disregard for others; self-control should have been beyond them. They acted in the moment only to fulfill their own desires, even at the cost of their companions. Their behavior made no sense, unless...

Unless the silver was their sole target in the first place.

“If we assume Pilocolo and Eido were working together, everything falls into place.”

“Hold up. Ya goin’ a mile a minute. Mind startin’ over for us?”

“I quite agree. While I do not ask that you simplify the facts, I would appreciate it were you to begin your explanation from the beginning.”

“Right, sorry. Let’s see...”

“You said that everything falls into place. Everything about what?”

They were asking him for a full explanation, free of any supposition. They had been with him long enough now to know that his ideas were more than jokes or the naive musings of a child.

“I’m talking about the attack on the village,” Arcus began. “I’m almost certain that Eido and Pilocolo planned it together.”

Arcus started to explain where he got the idea from.

“Why’s that gotta mean they were workin’ together?” Cazzy interjected. “I mean, who’s to say it wasn’t coincidence?”

“Sure, it could’ve been, except when you think about how the bandits transported the silver. There were several carts of it. How are your run-of-the-mill bandits supposed to carry all that?”

“Mr. Pilocolo was in possession of several horse-drawn carts to carry his load. Surely, the bandits could have taken those horses too.” Noah paused. “No, that would be rather difficult.”

“Even if they were prepared for takin’ home a ton of stuff, I don’t think they could’ve managed all that silver,” Cazzy agreed.

Silver was heavy, even after refinement. On top of the carts and horses Pilocolo had at his disposal, a lot of manpower would be needed to handle it all.

“There’d be no way they could carry something so heavy and unwieldy away without knowing it was there in advance and preparing for it. It’d slow their getaway massively too, so normally it shouldn’t even be a contender for stuff to steal. Not only that, but the trade of silver is closely tracked.”

These were criminals who made their homes in the wilderness: the kind of people who needed to live on the move, carrying nothing but absolute necessities. If they hadn’t been targeting the silver, they must at least have known it was there in advance. Arcus knew that alone wasn’t enough to prove they were working with Pilocolo—without one final piece.

“The most important clue in all of this is Pilocolo’s behavior,” said Arcus. “He made no attempt to retrieve his silver. Instead, he headed right to the capital to report its theft.”

“That is rather unnatural behavior,” Noah said.

“He had guards with him—that would’ve been plenty of fighting power. Eido wasn’t with the bandits who took the silver, so taking it back should’ve been possible. The very least they could’ve done was chase after them, but they gave up without even trying.”

“Hey, yeah. Also, they were carryin’ that stuff for the rulers here. Most people’d be trippin’ over themselves to get it back.”

“Right? Pilocolo never intended to get the silver back. He came right here to make his excuses. That’s the only explanation that makes sense, right?”

There was always the possibility that Pilocolo was so shaken by the theft that he wasn’t thinking straight, but Arcus found that hard to believe. Anyone with common sense would’ve jumped to get the cargo back, and that should have included Pilocolo. He, however, made straight for the capital. It was nothing short of baffling.

“When the bandits were in the village, he led them to his cargo while he helped the villagers evacuate. That’s the only way the process of breaking the gates, stealing the silver, and retreating could have happened so quickly and smoothly.”

“And that is why you believe they were working together, is it?”

“Pilocolo had the means to get ahold of that silver legally. Eido and the bandits had the means to transport it. They had everything they needed to pull this off.”

If the silver went missing for no apparent reason, Pilocolo would look suspicious, but if he made it look like it was stolen, he could get away with it. He had been scolded and fined for the loss, but that was a light sentence compared to being found out, and the fine would only be worth a fraction of what he’d pocketed. If he was lucky, he might even be tasked with transporting silver again.

“What about that Gilles guy, then?” Cazzy asked.

“I don’t think he’s involved. He was with us the whole time since the bandits showed up, and Deet and his men kept a close eye on him after that. There wouldn’t be any advantage in him sticking to us so closely either, and he didn’t do anything to interfere with our investigation in the end.”

“Since he never had the chance to do anything of significance, he is automatically innocent?”

“So he’s got nothin’ to do with it, huh?” Cazzy frowned. “Okay, but why did these guys want that silver so bad in the first place? There’s gotta be easier ways of gettin’ it. Like buyin’ it.”

“Hm...”

Cazzy had a point: it was quite a complex scheme for something that, while expensive, should have been within a merchant like Pilocolo’s budget. He could have turned a tidy profit off of a stock of legitimate wholesale silver. The stuff was an inelastic good—even at its inflated price, he could have counted on selling out. The only conclusion was that Pilocolo didn’t want it for trading purposes, and there had to be a reason to go to such cloak-and-dagger measures to get it.

Somebody needed silver, and they couldn’t let anybody else find out about it. Arcus found it difficult to believe that it was Pilocolo himself. He was a merchant; he shouldn’t need it that badly. So who did need it?

Arcus could think of somebody. Somebody whose name kept coming up in unexpected places.

“The rest of my idea is all based on a ton of supposition instead of any circumstantial evidence. Ready?”

Noah and Cazzy nodded.

“I think Count Nadar might be connected to all of this.”

“Nadar... You are referring to Count Porque Nadar, are you not?”

“Why d’ya think that then?”

“His name keeps coming up. Those rumors about him buying up silver, and what Deet said about the prince investigating him. And then Pilocolo mentioned him just now. Plus, his territory is right next to Rustinell.”

Even if Arcus had no solid proof, the frequency with which he heard that name was cause to suspect something.

“The Guild’s investigation suggests there’s some truth to the rumors he was buying up silver. For whatever reason, it’s clear Count Nadar wanted silver. What isn’t entirely clear is whether he still wants it.”

“Ya think he might?”

“Yeah. But he was buying up so much before that it caused a ton of rumors, right? Enough to trigger an investigation. That means he can’t be seen placing orders anymore. So he came up with a plan. He gathered himself a merchant and some bandits, then tasked them with obtaining and transporting some silver for him. Have them get the silver legally... If that silver disappeared without a trace, that’d be suspicious, but if he can pin it on a third party, he could hide where that silver was actually going.”

“Yeah. If he couldn’t buy it, I guess his only option was stealin’ it.”

“That explains why the captured bandits killed themselves too. They were protecting the high-ranking noble who backed them. It’s the same kinda thing spies do—dead men tell no tales and all that. Either that, or...”

“Eido disposed of them.”

“Yeah. I wouldn’t be surprised if he had a contact inside the village already.”

“You believe, then, that those bandits were not bandits, but Count Nadar’s subordinates.”

Arcus was most convinced by the idea that they drank poison to avoid their master being found out, but it remained to be seen whether they were Nadar’s men or not. At the very least, there had to be something big behind the scenes, or they wouldn’t have needed to die.

“That’s why there’s been a shortage of silver, even though production’s remained constant, huh?”

“It’s not just Rustinell. There’ve been robberies all around the silver mines in the area. And that was why the capital’s men have been struggling to work out where all the silver’s going!”

“Gotcha. I’m bettin’ the leaders around here don’t wanna admit to the capital they keep gettin’ their silver stolen either.”

“Yeah. They’re being lax about reporting the incidents and fudging the numbers, hoping they can just solve the problem themselves somehow. That’s what Deet and his men are investigating, though I dunno if they suspect Nadar or not.”

“They sure looked like they were pullin’ out all the stops.”

In this world, social status and ability tended to go hand-in-hand. Gathering the highest of the gentry into a fighting force and giving them both authority over others and a degree of autonomy would make for a team capable of solving most problems. All that team really needed to do was to get the silver back to stabilize the supply, and the price would fall naturally. That would tie matters up, and there wouldn’t be any need for the authorities to go out of their way to report their failings.

That, of course, would also explain why the investigation was having trouble. The crown still didn’t know where the silver had gone, and they would never need to, just as long as the bandits were captured. Those in power would then be none the wiser as to what happened to the silver, and therefore they’d struggle to find out what was really going on behind the scenes. It was a sneaky way to manipulate the gaps in the state’s red tape and the relationship between the regional monarchs here and the crown.

Assuming Arcus’s deductions were true, Nadar must have had some very cunning men on his side. If so, he may have been hoarding even more silver than Arcus imagined. What was he planning to do with it? The most likely explanation was that he wanted to expand his military’s armament.

But the silver was produced in this very spot. Normally you’d be more hungry for resources you didn’t already have easy access to.

Arcus’s eyes widened as he suddenly recalled something he’d said before to Sue. It was about building a good relationship with other territories to gather information from them. Trading goods was a part of that. But what if it all went too far?

“I think Count Nadar might be selling his silver to the Empire under the table.”

If Nadar had an illegal trade deal with the Empire that included the sale of silver, everything would make sense. If the Empire kept demanding more and more, then he needed some way of obtaining the silver outside of his usual means.

Silver was a strategic resource as essential as oil was in the man’s world, and a similar source of trouble. The Empire was currently at war with two separate countries, so it was only natural they’d want a lot of it.

“That is quite possible,” Noah said.

“Yeah...” Cazzy said.

“I’m probably overthinking it, though,” Arcus admitted, leaning back in his chair to give his brain a rest.

No matter how much logical sense his thoughts made, he lacked conclusive proof, and a lot of it was mere speculation. It was too rash to decide that Pilocolo was working with the bandits, and that Count Nadar was pulling the strings. It was probably the man’s influence; he loved to read, but Arcus knew that reading too deeply into things would just cause biases in his thinking. So he decided to dismiss the line of thought for now.

Noah, however, was smiling. “I think it’s all rather fascinating, myself.”

“Really?”

“Put into those words, I cannot deny the possibility that what you say is true. In fact, I believe that it is quite probable.”

“You’ve got a darker mind than your face gives away. Remember that time when ya said we should start a fire to escape the tower? Never heard a noble say stuff like that.” Cazzy cackled.

“I’m sorry if that’s a bad thing,” Arcus sighed.

“This butler fella’s right, though. What yer sayin’ is pretty fascinatin’ stuff!” A familiar voice pitched in from out of nowhere.

It was only now that Arcus realized the strange man from Imeria was sitting right next to them, his feet up on the table as he rocked in his chair.

“Gilles.”

He was fiddling with a copper coin, looking like he had been sitting there long enough to find the most comfortable pose he could take.

“Wh-When did you...?”

“The heck did ya come from?!”

Noah leapt up from his seat and stood forward, ready to protect Arcus if need be. Cazzy reached for their gear.

“This is just one of my many talents. Don’t worry y’selves. I don’t wanna cause any trouble in this here establishment, either, so y’two can calm down. I just came to speak to Arcus.” Gilles set down the sword he had on the floor and raised both hands, only continuing once he was sure Cazzy and Noah weren’t about to attack him. “So y’think Count Nadar’s sendin’ silver into the Empire? Y’don’t think it’s a bit much to be implicatin’ the count himself? I know it’s easy to assume the nobles are the bad guys, but still...”

“You might be right. There might be some other noble or leader or powerful merchant involved instead. Either way, silver’s easy to trace. It’s not something most thieves would go after, so if it’s been stolen, it means it’s going to somebody powerful enough to cover their tracks. Plus...”

“Plus?”

“The prince is already investigating Nadar. That means there’s reason to suspect him.”

“S’pose so. So y’think Count Nadar’s either sellin’ it on to the Empire, or traffickin’ it in?”

“Yeah. That way no one’ll be able to track it within the kingdom. The traces disappear the second it enters the Empire.”

“Y’thought this through good, huh?” Gilles nodded. “Anyway, what are your plans now, Arcus?”

“My plans?”

“Pilocolo’s been all friendly with those bandits, right? Don’t that make y’wanna punish ’em, seein’ as they’re havin’ their way with society and whatnot?”

“I mean, I don’t see what I can do about that.” Arcus sighed. Gilles had a very active imagination. Even if his deductions were true, it wasn’t like he had the power to stop any of it. Not only was it totally out of his jurisdiction, but it was still nothing more than speculation. There were already people whose job it was to deal with this sort of thing.

“Lemme ask y’somethin’, Arcus. Whaddya think Count Nadar’s gonna do if it comes out that he really was sellin’ silver to the Empire?”

“Well, first he’ll wanna protect himself, right? If he’s the kind to pull that sort of stuff in the first place, he’ll be looking to get his sentence lowered, so he’ll come up with some kinda excuse or something, I guess.”

“I reckon the same. And the prince is comin’ down to sniff around himself, right? What if the count can’t make no excuses? What then?”

“He’ll...”

Arcus paused to think. Trafficking strategic resources to an enemy nation was nothing short of treason, and Nadar would be punished for sure. He would more than likely be sentenced to death. With the prince on his tail, the count must have been feeling the pinch right now. Would he allow them to take him quietly?

“Would he...attack the prince, maybe?”

“Ooh, interestin’. And then what?”

“Maybe he’d take the prince’s head and bring it to the Empire as a gift...”

“Now that’s creepy! I didn’t know y’had those kinda thoughts in that head of yours, Arcus.”

Arcus only spoke absentmindedly as the possibilities passed through his mind, but Gilles seemed very much on board with his ideas. He looked up suddenly to see the merchant grinning at him from ear to ear. Arcus barely had time to register where this was all going when Gilles posed yet another question.

“And then what? What’d happen next, Arcus?” The tone in Gilles’s voice suggested this was the most significant question of all.

“Well, maybe Count Nadar would get caught and questioned about the prince’s death, or maybe not. But the kingdom would be bound to try and destroy him. That’s why Count Nadar would buy up all the wheat and salt, to prepare for a war, and...” Arcus’s eyes widened.

“Oh, my...”

“Seriously...”

“To prepare. That’s the keyword.” Gilles snickered. “I’m gonna ask again now, Arcus. What are your plans now?”

“I can’t just pretend it’s got nothing to do with me after all that. That’s way too dangerous.”

“Yup.”

Arcus sighed.

“Don’t glare at me like that. I just helped y’get your thoughts together, didn’t I?”

He was right; without this conversation, it might have taken Arcus much longer to figure out what was going on behind the scenes. It made Arcus even more curious about who Gilles really was, and it put him doubly on his guard.

Just like that, the merchant stood up. “I wanna tell ya somethin’ interestin’ as thanks for a decent conversation, Arcus.”

“Something interesting?”

“Pilocolo’s at a warehouse in the north of the city right now. And he’s with some folk who look awful familiar.”

Arcus’s eyebrows shot up, and Gilles’s suspicious smile deepened. “Interestin’, right?”

“How long have you suspected Pilocolo?”

“From the start. But I knew for sure when I saw his transport permit. It was fake. Well-made, though. And I didn’t know anythin’ ’bout the bandits till later.”

Arcus couldn’t help wondering how much of that claim was true. It was possible it was Pilocolo’s destination which alerted Gilles to his untrustworthiness.

Seeing that Arcus still seemed cautious, Gilles lowered his voice. “This is the only time you can get your evidence, right?”

“Why?”

“Well, Pilocolo’s got a problem right now. He’s gotta get that silver he took to the count.”

It would take considerable effort to haul such heavy and unwieldy cargo. There had to be something here in the capital more suited to the task than carts.

“That ‘new stuff’ he said he was transporting, and his ‘next job’... If he uses the river...”

“Uh huh. That’d be the easiest, safest, and most natural way for him to get it moved, right?”

Most traffic on the river passed through a warehouse district in the north of the capital. If Pilocolo was still in the city, then it was possible the silver was too. And if that was the case, now might be the only time to uncover his crimes.

What should we do?

“Now, this is just my gut talkin’, but didn’t y’reckon that Eido fella was kinda different from those bandits?”

“Yeah. He didn’t seem like a bandit at all to me.”

“It’s more than that—like he was actin’ separately from that group that crashed through the gates. I got the sense he was just usin’ ’em. Like fodder or somethin’, y’know.”

“You think maybe both Pilocolo and Eido were leading the bandits together?”

“I can’t be sure. He seemed sorta...independent, like there was somethin’ different about him, even compared to Pilocolo.”

“Different how?”

“Say Pilocolo’s someone’s tamed pet. Eido looked more like a fella who couldn’t be tamed. Didn’t y’get the same sorta feelin’ off of him? Like he wasn’t the type to be easily controlled by nobody. Not the type to answer to nobody. It was like he was only helpin’ out ’cause it benefited him in some way too.”

“You think?”

“I mean, why else would he promise you none of the villagers was gonna be harmed, like he’s got a personal code he wanted to stick to no matter what? It was like that code was his master, and no person could replace it.”

Arcus thought back to the fight. He could see where Gilles was coming from.

“Those’re just my thoughts,” Gilles said, “but if they’re wrong, I don’t think they’re far off from the truth.”

“Eido...”

“Y’mentioned he helped some fella out on the road, right? I know it’s tough to sympathize with your enemy, but it pays to understand ’em before y’put ’em down. Y’can’t ask ’em important questions when they’re gone, no matter how much y’regret missin’ your chance.”

“You might be onto something there...”

With that, Gilles turned toward the entrance. “Try not to die, okay? I’ll be cheerin’ ya on from the shadows.” He waved a hand over his shoulder before walking off.

Gilles spoke as though he already knew what Arcus would decide to do. Arcus kept his eyes on him as he left. Gilles suddenly caught himself mid-stride and clapped his hands.

“Oh, right! I forgot to mention somethin’ really important!”

“What’s that?”

“Remember how I wanted to be sellin’ your Seal Tools and stuff? Mind thinkin’ it over properly? Next time we meet, I’ll have some real swell stuff for you.”

That again?

“Okay. Come see me again when you’ve got time,” said Arcus.

“Nice! Love you, Arcus!”

“D-Don’t touch me! It’s creepy!”

It was as though the mystery surrounding the merchant had dissipated the moment he turned around to embrace Arcus. Arcus shooed him away, terrified at the way he puckered his lips, even if it was in jest. That was enough to get the merchant to leave this time, though he made a show of running away.

He’s way too weird.

It wouldn’t hurt to be cautious around him given his behavior. Still, for better or worse, Arcus had the feeling it would be necessary to maintain ties.

“Master Arcus,” Noah began. “What are we to do now?”

“I’m technically nobility—or at least, I get paid by the state. That means I have a duty to act.”

“Ya don’t think that guy was just spoutin’ nonsense?”

“I can’t think of a reason for him to trick us. And if he was trying to manipulate us, there’d be easier ways to do it. He could’ve stuck to using the silver shortage against me without bringing Pilocolo or Eido into it,” Arcus reasoned. “Noah, Cazzy. I want you two to go check out the warehouse district to the north now. I’ll grab some backup, and then I’ll be on my way too.”

“Huh? Who is this ‘backup’?” Cazzy asked.

“Deet and his men.”

“Ooh.”

“That is wise thinking. Their presence may well be necessary.”

This may have been an emergency, but they were deep in Rustinell territory. Arcus couldn’t just do what he pleased without permission; he needed Deet on his side first. And if Eido was still hanging around, they’d need more fighting power than just the three of them.

Arcus exchanged a nod with his attendants before they moved out.

After splitting off from Noah and Cazzy outside the restaurant, Arcus hurried down the streets to see Deet and his men. Deet had told Arcus where they’d be when they’d split up, so he arrived quickly and without needing to ask too many people for the way.

“We’ll be at the military station all day today, so come by if you need us. We’ll help you out with whatever.”

“The master will have his hands full with writing out plans and paperwork for dealing with the bandits.”

“Can’t someone else do it?”

“No. This is your responsibility, Master.”

“Well, I can’t do it! I gotta go report to Mom!”

“I shall take care of that, so you may go ahead and focus on your paperwork.”

“Nooo! You’re so mean, Galanger!”

With his one means of escape blocked off by Galanger, Deet had sunk into the depths of despair. Forcing a child of his age to read through pages and pages of documents crammed with letters was nothing short of cruel. Even if reading and comprehending was his only task, it wouldn’t be long before he developed a headache. If the work was simple, perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad, but Arcus would wager there was a lot of difficult and technical language in those papers. He felt sorry for Deet, but no matter how much compassion Arcus felt for him and no matter how gloomy the look on his face, he couldn’t escape the clutches of the minor lords who dragged him away that afternoon.

It was just a little before sunset, so Arcus figured Deet must have been done around now. The city bell announcing twilight had just started chiming. Arcus corrected himself; if Deet was drawing up and sorting his own reports and documents, he might still be at it even now.

Arcus arrived at the station and announced himself to the gatekeepers, who appeared to recognize his name straight away. Deet must have warned them Arcus might show up. He had brought his letter from the king just in case, but in the end it’d proven pointless. The gatekeepers went to tell Deet of his arrival, and it wasn’t long until one of the local minor lords who Arcus had seen with Deet before appeared.

Arcus felt it was a little over-the-top to send a lord to see him when he was just a kid himself and the matter was trivial, but perhaps that was just how they did things here in Rustinell.

It could be they didn’t have enough lower-ranking personnel here, so they resorted to using lords as messengers, but Arcus suspected it was the opposite: by having a lord pass on the message like a common handmaid, Deet was showing just how much power he had. Personally, Arcus could think of more effective ways to flaunt one’s power, but then he had experience of a world where honor and titles didn’t mean nearly as much as they did here.

The lord spoke briefly with the gatekeepers. While they seemed nervous in his presence, they weren’t speaking overly formally with him either. Rather than speaking to someone with absolute power over them, it was like they were speaking to a manager in their office. Once they were done, they exchanged a simple nod before the lord came to fetch Arcus and show him to a workroom.

The first thing he noticed was Deet slumped over the desk, apparently physically suffocating under the weight of his paperwork. His face was pale and shading here and there into violet, to the point that Arcus found himself suspecting cyanosis. Arcus pictured Deet’s soul escaping his body in a plume of ectoplasm. In all fairness, the paperwork didn’t seem that substantial, but Arcus was keenly reminded of why he hated the idea of children around his age being forced through such work. Even if this world was a meritocracy, he wished they had some child labor laws to go along with it. First, they needed child welfare centers. The labor unions could come after that.

Deet sprang back to life the moment he noticed Arcus. He jumped over his desk in a single leap and flung his arms around Arcus. “Arcus! I’m so glad you’re here! Thank you! Thank you! Thanks so much!”

“Uh...” Arcus could only produce a confused croak as Deet’s movements sent a flurry of papers flying into the air. He was acting as though one of the Twin Phantoms had appeared to save him from his plight. Arcus felt like a fireman who’d just saved a woman’s kitten from a burning building.

Galanger, who appeared to have been supervising Deet as he worked, sighed. “Master, please don’t tell me your threats of dying earlier were just a ruse?”

“Th-They weren’t! I was seriously about to die! My thoughts were all mushing together and my consciousness was fading!”

“Are you sure you weren’t just falling asleep?”

“No! I was dying!”

“It really is about time you started getting used to this kind of work.”

“I prefer using my body to using my brain!”

With how energetic Deet was, Arcus could well believe it. Deet darted behind Arcus to glare back at Galanger.

“Even you can’t do this kinda work, can you, Arcus?” he asked, making it sound more like a statement than a question.

Arcus had only harsh truths to share. “Actually, I’ve been doing three times as much as this recently.”

“See?! This much isn’t norm—huh?!”

“I’m saying I do paperwork too.”

“Wait, really? And three times this much? Huh? What?!”

“Yeah.”

In Arcus’s case, his paperwork concerned the aethometer and its production. He was able to gain some time back after sharing his tempered aether technique, which started not long after the production increase. He naively thought he could use that extra time as he pleased, but instead it was filled with extra paperwork. Those documents included test reports, data from inspections, permission requests to use the device in a certain field, and so forth.

Since Arcus couldn’t carry out that paperwork at the Raytheft residence, he borrowed one of Craib’s rooms. Between the weekly load of new red tape and the reports he had to write up before their deadlines, he was left with as little free time as before.

No child his age should have to do so much work, and it was only increasing. Arcus sighed as he thought of it, reminding himself to make good on his plan to eventually divide the labor.

Deet stood speechless before him.

“You see, Master?” Galanger said. “Others have it even worse than you. Now get back to it.”

“No! It doesn’t make any sense! Something weird’s going on here!”

“You know, I think it’s about time you started speaking more suitably, considering your status,” said Galanger.

“Why? It’s easier speaking like this!”

While Deet hadn’t confirmed who he was to Arcus, his place on the social ladder could not be doubted. He was Rustinell’s son, and the minor lords stood below him. While Arcus himself was a noble’s son, his father wasn’t a very high-ranking one. He and Deet shouldn’t have been conversing as casually as they did.

“But Master—”

“Okay, then I order you to let me speak however I want and you speak how you want! Now you can’t do anything about it! Right?”

“Please, be reasonable...” The exasperation was clear on Galanger’s face as he looked at Deet, even if his master’s suggestion would make things easier for him as well.

From the way he spoke, an onlooker may well come to the conclusion that Deet didn’t understand his own social status. The position of Rustinell’s son counted for a lot, even across the entire kingdom. Deet outranked even Charlotte, who was daughter to a count—Arcus should have been addressing him much more politely.

“No! I’ll speak properly when it matters, but I can speak how I want here!” Deet insisted.

“This is your workplace. You should be treating it as a formal environment, especially when you are working.”

“Wrong! This is my private room!”

“I’m sure not even our visitor here could believe such an outrageous lie.”

Deet was as immaturely stubborn as ever.

Eventually, Galanger relented. “Please speak with my master in accordance to his wishes.”

“Okay. But I should be talking to you, and people like you, with more respect,” Arcus pointed out, mainly to Deet.

“If that is how you feel...”

“It is, sir.”

“Oh?”

With that, the conversation finally seemed to be coming to an end—until Deet brazenly opened his mouth to stop the matter being settled.

“‘Sir’? Don’t like it.”

“You do realize I hold a certain status myself, don’t you, Master?” Galanger pointed out with a smile. Despite how they argued, they seemed to be on good terms, and the discussion finally ended there.

“Can I move on to the main topic now?” Arcus asked, eager not to waste any more time.

“Is it about the thing with my mom tomorrow? Galanger already told her.”

“I did. Her Ladyship will see you, and I have made sure your visit will be kept confidential. There is no need to worry.”

“Thank you. But I’m actually here for something else.”

“What?” asked Deet.

“We think we know where those bandits are right now.”

“Really?! Tell us, tell us!” Deet asked eagerly, clearly hungry for any clue he could get his hands on.

“Are you sure?” Galanger asked. “This is a little sudden...”

“We can’t guarantee anything, but we’re very confident,” Arcus said.

Galanger called a number of important personnel into the room. When everyone was gathered, Arcus spoke about what he learned and figured out in the restaurant. He made sure to mention Gilles’s part in the development of his theories.

“That does all seem very logical,” Galanger remarked once he was done. “So the bandits managed to escape because they had a co-conspirator...”

“We think so. They knew precisely where their target would be, and were therefore able to make the preparations to carry the silver out.”

“I have to admit, I’m curious about the identity of that Imerian merchant. Didn’t you think to capture him?”

“Uh...”

Arcus hadn’t thought of that. His head was too full of the new revelations and the threat to the prince.

Maybe that wasn’t all though...

Gilles had shared useful information with them. Arcus couldn’t call him an enemy, but neither could he call him an ally. That label stopped Arcus from even considering capture, but he could see that from Deet’s perspective, they would want to question him again.

“I didn’t think of it. It was careless of me and I apologize.”

Deet stepped in front of Arcus protectively. “It’s not like we treated that guy with enough suspicion either, Galanger. If you wanna blame Arcus, we need to take responsibility too. Besides, if he tried to capture some merchant out here in our territory, he would probably just get in trouble.”

Deet turned to smile at Arcus. Arcus had to admit he was a good speaker, but that was likely because he had experience rattling off excuses like this.

“True. Maybe it was wrong of me to say anything.”

“Doesn’t matter anyway, ’cause we don’t have time to talk about this now. We gotta go after this Pilocolo guy,” said Deet. He turned to Arcus. “You were gonna go collect evidence now, right?”

“Yes. I hope you don’t mind, but I sent Noah and Cazzy up to the warehouse already.”

“That’s fine. It’s good you did, actually.”

Arcus needed to be careful not to overstep the mark and do anything that would make Deet and his men lose face. Keeping an eye on the bandits and Pilocolo in case they changed course, however, was a necessity. After this, he could just leave the rest for Deet to deal with.

“What are your thoughts, Master?”

“We’re going to stop ’em, of course! We can’t just let them trample around here like they own the place!”

“Remember that this merchant might be entirely innocent.”

“Hold on, Galanger! Are you saying you don’t trust Arcus?”

“Not at all. I’m just suggesting he might be mistaken.”

“If he’s not, the prince might be in trouble. We gotta at least check this out, especially since this is our turf. We gotta do something!”

“You may be right. We are sorely lacking information in any case, so it might be best to take action.”

The other minor lords voiced their agreement. Even if Arcus was wrong, they wouldn’t suffer for taking that risk here—they were too powerful. It was a simple matter for them to crush those who abused their privileges, and even if they were wrong, this wasn’t the kind of world where a lowly merchant could accuse the authorities of overreacting and be listened to.

But if Arcus was right and they did nothing, they had a problem. The prince was currently on his way out of Rustinell. Even if he was attacked after leaving the territory, there wasn’t much protecting Rustinell from suspicion, and that would be the worst possible outcome for these lords. At the very least, they were obliged to track down Pilocolo and investigate his cargo.

As the discussion wore on, one of the lords who’d temporarily left his seat returned with a document, which he passed to Deet.

“Here is a list of all the cargo that has entered the capital today.”

He sure moved quickly.

Deet opened up the document to make sure everyone could see it.

“There’s our merchant’s name,” one of the lords said.

“What does it say about his cargo?” asked another.

“It’s described as ‘general cargo.’ He does seem to have a lot of it, though.”

“I think we really ought to look into this.”

With that, Deet started to give his orders, and everyone moved out. The soldiers were already prepared to get to work and quickly separated themselves into troops. Galanger organized them further, directing each one to a separate position. The group that would be charging in was led by Deet. It consisted of several lords and some of the more physically powerful soldiers. Meanwhile, other groups, led by lords, were sent to seal the gates and the river.

Arcus followed Deet’s group to the warehouse district. Night had already fallen and work had finished in the area, leaving it almost devoid of human activity. Sol Glasses lit the path, likely to deter would-be criminals, so it wasn’t hard to navigate despite the darkness. Uniform buildings set with huge doors lined the path, and carts and wagons had been left out here and there alongside them. The nearby river sent a cool wind through the air. If Arcus had to guess by feeling alone, this stretch was two or three degrees colder than other parts of the city.

As Arcus approached the entrance, Noah and Cazzy appeared from the shadow of a wall. They must have deduced that their master would come from this direction.

“Deet and his troop are with me. Did you manage everything I asked?”

“We did.” Noah nodded, his countenance as calm as ever.

“So you found Pilocolo and the bandits?”

“Yes. Cazzy informed me that ne’er-do-wells tend to take their work seriously, so we searched for people who looked busy. It was unexpectedly simple to track them down.”

“Whoa. Way to go, Cazzy.”

“Indeed.”

“I’m not as useless as I look, huh?” Cazzy cackled.

Trust Cazzy to know how a bad guy’s mind works...

“We have confirmed Mr. Pilocolo entering and leaving that building over there several times,” Noah said.

“He’s got a ton of stuff with him. I’m thinkin’ he’s tryin’ to get it all loaded up during the night so he can leave soon as the sun’s up.”

Arcus checked the report the minor lord had brought in. The amounts Cazzy spoke of looked like they matched the cargo that Pilocolo brought down the river this morning.

“Are the bandits who attacked the village in there?” Deet asked Noah.

“Yes, we are almost certain they are. While their attire is different, I have seen several faces I recognize.”

“There doesn’t seem to be any doubt,” said Galanger. “To think they’re carrying out their evil deeds right under our noses...”

It sounded like this warehouse district had been a blind spot for Deet and his troops.

“Did you see Eido at all?” Arcus asked the question that was pressing on his mind.

“No. Nor anybody resembling him.”

“He could be holed up inside there though,” Cazzy pointed out. “Safer to assume he is.”

“I dunno. I think he might not be here at all,” said Arcus.

“Why is that?” Noah asked.

“Gilles told us in no uncertain terms that Pilocolo was here, but he never said Eido was. He only mentioned Pilocolo and some familiar men. He knew Eido’s name, so he should’ve mentioned him by name—and straight away too.”

“That don’t sound like very strong reasonin’ to me,” Cazzy said.

“There’s something else. If I’m right about this, then there’s no doubt.” Arcus held up Gown’s lantern.

Within the last two to three days, the lantern had been behaving strangely from time to time. It rattled just before they met Eido and when the bandits attacked, as if it was trying to tell Arcus something. More specifically, Arcus guessed it meant to warn him when danger loomed ahead, and that the more violently it shook, the more dire the threat.

“What’s that, Arcus?” Deet asked.

“It’s a little present someone gave me. If my thinking’s correct...”

Arcus held up the lantern in the warehouse’s direction. It began to shake, though not as violently as before.

“Is it doing that by itself?”

“Yeah. But it shook way more the last two times, which means whoever’s in that warehouse isn’t too much of a threat.”

“I do recall the lantern reacting in a similar manner before those bandits attacked,” Noah remarked.

“That gift Gown gave ya wasn’t just for show then?” Cazzy cackled.

“Are you telling us that the magician you referred to isn’t with the group?” Galanger asked.

“Yes. He shouldn’t be with them,” Arcus replied. “Deet. What do you want us to do?”

All Arcus had intended to do was to lead Deet to Pilocolo. Their only objective in Rustinell was to obtain silver, and Arcus was cautious about stepping on anybody’s toes or getting involved in matters they had no right to be involved in. Leaving Deet and his men to take care of things here would probably be their best course of action. More than that, it probably wouldn’t reflect well on Deet to allow his mother’s guests from another territory to face a dangerous situation—but Deet’s answer surprised him.

“You’re here now. Could you help us out? You’re the one who found them, Arcus, so if you walk away now, you’ll barely get any credit for it.”

“I’m not really bothered about that...”

It seemed an odd point to bring up. Arcus had no connections to Rustinell whatsoever. However concerned Deet was about “credit” where it was due his underlings, he wasn’t obliged to worry about it when it came to this group of outsiders. Arcus would even go so far as to call it a foolish thing to say. He glanced up at Galanger to see his reaction; he was pinching the bridge of his nose.

“It is a tradition here in Rustinell to recognize those who have done our county a great service. It is gravely forbidden to take credit from others.”

“Yeah, what he said. You gotta recognize those who get results. Besides Arcus, don’t you wanna see this through to the end?”

“I guess...”

“It’s decided, then! Gather round, everyone! We’re going in!”

At Deet’s command, the armed soldiers began to rush the warehouse. Arcus and his attendants followed, bursting in after them.

Rivel Coast of the Empire’s southern field army let out an exhausted sigh as he carried out his work.

What did I do to deserve this?

He groaned and grumbled unconsciously under his breath; he wouldn’t have if he could at least tolerate his assigned position, but he’d been tasked with cataloging inventory—one of the simplest, most menial tasks out there. Anyone could tally up and classify cargo.

Rivel had graduated from the Empire’s military academy with outstanding results, been placed straight into the army’s elite course, and officially joined as a company officer. Everyone had high hopes for his future and expected him to join the highest ranks one day.

But now here he was, counting boxes in a warehouse. He’d only started his new duties three days ago, and he’d never expected to be told he was being transferred south to Lainur—far from a lively place to be in these current times. Then he was told to blend in with the locals and work as they did like some sort of spy.

Didn’t they see my grades?! I should be right in the heart of the army or out on a battlefield somewhere testing my mettle!

After graduation, most soldiers either went on to further study or were sent north in command of their first company to join the fight against inferior empires. Rivel was instead sent right into an enemy kingdom.

His task was both to observe and assist with the plan to seize silver from Lainur, for which the Empire had an ally in one of the kingdom’s counts. In other words, he was nothing more than the assistant to a cat burglar.

Much of Rivel’s education had been preparation for managing a fighting force. None of that looked like it would be of any use here. No matter how you cut it, this was not where an elite soldier belonged.

This is all those imbeciles’ fault! All of it!

Rivel dwelt on the classmates who had graduated with him. His relationship with them went well beyond simple antipathy: they saw everything he did as an attack against them, and their only talents lay in harassing him. It didn’t matter how well Rivel did in school; they never accepted him, instead choosing to bully him over his personal appearance. He knew that one of them must have sabotaged things so he would be assigned here, doubtlessly borne out of jealousy for his outstanding achievement. Most likely they had slandered him to a lecturer or a high-ranking officer in the force.

They were all spoiled, incompetent hacks who only found their way into the brass because of their lineage. Their parents had simply applied a little pressure to get them in.

It was the only explanation that made sense. Why else would a talented man like Rivel be made to carry out such demeaning work in a place like this?

The Empire was a meritocracy. Those who lacked talent were treated with disdain, while those who had it could rise to a respectable post no matter how lowly their lineage. If the opposite was happening, it meant some worthless lowlife was pulling strings behind the scenes.

There was no doubt in Rivel’s mind that someone had set him up.

It’s the only explanation that makes sense!

Rivel resumed his grumbling. This went on for some time until he felt calmer, at which point he looked to the side. Documents and permits, as well as instructions from the count, sat piled haphazardly atop a wooden crate. Deeper inside the warehouse was the load of stolen silver. It was covered with a simple cloth, as though there was no need to be inconspicuous about it at all. No one had been punished for their slipshod methods; most of the people involved were confident that this hiding spot wouldn’t be found.

Rivel himself didn’t know why they had chosen Rustinell’s capital city, a place ruled by the infamous Louise Rustinell, as a temporary store for the silver. Perhaps it was because of the river’s convenience for moving cargo, or perhaps it was the tendency for people to overlook what was happening right under their noses. As a military academy graduate, however, Rivel knew that storing the silver here was asking for trouble. If there was a good reason why it had to happen here, that was another matter, but Rivel knew that wasn’t the case. He found it incredibly difficult to understand why the silver and even the count’s instructions had to be kept here of all places.

It might not have amounted to anything more than the fact that this spot was the most convenient to receive the silver. The instructions were to be burnt after a certain period of time, but that hardly mattered when the incriminating silver was right there. If it was discovered, they’d all be arrested on the spot.

An operation like this called for minimum possible risk. Rivel tried to reason with the men here to do just that, but they hadn’t listened to him—possibly out of laziness, possibly because they didn’t have the foresight to even consider that they might get caught. They just followed their instructions mindlessly.

Imbeciles, the whole lot of them...

They were all like this: quick to look down on others and thus dismiss their every opinion out of hand. Their orders took precedence over all else and pushed out any semblance of intelligent thought. The leader of this pack of buffoons was a merchant named Pilocolo.

“G-Get to work please, everyone!”

His tone lacked even an ounce of confidence; it was painfully obvious how uncomfortable he was giving orders. The men working here were posing as merchants, so he must have been picked for his familiarity with the profession. For his part, Pilocolo seemed totally unsuited to such unsophisticated work.

“The hell are you talkin’ about?! Y’know we lost some of our own in the attack yesterday, right? Or does your memory only go back three seconds?!”

That was precisely why these men had no qualms speaking to him like that.

“Y-Yes! I know, but...I didn’t think they had any magicians on their side, so...”

“That kid was fixin’ up seals, you moron! Of course he was a magician!” the bandit shouted.

“Eek! P-Please, forgive me!” Pilocolo shrank back like an injured animal.

The bandits had lost many men in the previous night’s attack. They had learned later that a group of magicians from the kingdom had been staying in the village who were happy using the full extent of their powers to protect it. Apparently, most of the group that attacked the southern gate was defeated and subsequently captured. Those captured were killed with strychnine in order to keep their mouths shut.

The bandit shouting at Pilocolo was the group’s leader, hired at the same time the merchant was. He was a typical small-time villain, the type to suck up to the strong and push around the weak. It was likely that personality that won him his career. Pilocolo was weak-willed, so the bandit took every chance he could to take his anger out on him. If Pilocolo had any sort of backbone, he might have been able to suppress this kind of disrespect, but instead he took the abuse every time he made even a tiny mistake. Count Nadar had made an error of judgment choosing him for a leadership role.

Rivel could already see the merchant breaking if he continued to work in this environment, and yet nobody was taking any steps to improve things. It was, simply put, foolish. Rivel found himself incredulous that other people could really be that stupid.

“Hey, Empire grunt.” A voice called out from beside Rivel.

Rivel despised being referred to as a grunt, but he swallowed his anger and turned to see who had addressed him. This slim man had been sent personally by Count Nadar. He was lying lackadaisically atop one of the wooden crates like it was his personal throne. His body was covered with too many piercings for it to be called stylish, and half of his face was covered with a tattoo of a fearsome beast. If he’d had a woman waiting on him by his side, he might have given the impression that he was some big shot from the underworld, but Rivel wasn’t confident in that evaluation.

Everyone around them was bustling about while he lounged around. Nobody called him out for this, however; he was a magician.

“What?” Rivel asked warily.

The man sneered. “You done checking the cargo yet, huh? No? What, you haven’t learned to pick up the pace? Ugh. You’re a total waste of space.”

The magician made no attempt to keep his voice low as he ridiculed Rivel. It was like he was warning everyone else not to follow Rivel’s example. Rivel opened his mouth to defend himself, but the magician, who was better with his words, got in first.

“Y’know, I feel bad for guys like you who can’t do nothing. Too dumb to learn stuff no matter where you go, and you’ll always be treated like trash as long as you live.”

“I-I am not—”

“I gotta be right, or you wouldn’t get kicked out to a place like this. Oh, but wait. You’re one of the Empire’s elite soldiers, right? Sorry, forgot about that.”

“Grgh!”

“It’s pitiful, really. No matter what you do, you’ll never amount to nothing.” His sneer was filled with loathing.

Rivel knew he wasn’t working slowly enough to deserve being called “dumb.” He was sure this was a normal pace for anybody taking on work with which they were unaccustomed. This magician just liked to rile him up over every little thing, and had done so ever since Rivel’s arrival here. He probably liked to show contempt for people like Rivel in order to boost his self-esteem. Picking on an elite soldier after his fall from grace must have filled him with satisfaction.

Rivel could hear scornful laughter all around him as the other men joined in with the magician. While Rivel was distracted by them, the magician kicked down the papers he’d just piled up.

“Ah...”

The papers flew through the air and scattered over the floor. They were so neatly put together, and now they’d have to be sorted all over again.

“Oh, sorry!” exclaimed the magician, sounding anything but. “I didn’t see those there. I’m so sorry, Snivel.”

Rivel said nothing. Anybody could see he’d done it on purpose.

“What, you mad at me now? Hm? If you’re mad, why not tell me about it, huh?” the magician said.

Rivel couldn’t let himself be riled up. If he did, the magician would only ramp up his efforts. He’d endured more than his fair share of bullying at school. If he reacted, it would never end.

The magician clicked his tongue in disappointment at Rivel’s lack of reaction. “When you’re done with that stuff, move on to this pile too.”

“You’re not my superior. Why don’t you do it, since you clearly don’t have anything better to do?”

“Huh? What’d you say?” The magician shot to his feet and glared at Rivel. Rivel suspected that wheels were already turning in his skull, assembling the syntax of some spell that would bring him to heel.

“I-I’m from the Empire! Is your boss really going to be pleased once he hears you’ve made a mockery of one of the Empire’s people?”

The magician scowled and clicked his tongue again. Even people like this wouldn’t want Count Nadar to think badly of them because he heard they hurt an Imperial officer.

“Laze around and contribute nothing if you want,” Rivel continued, “but I hope you know what you’re doing. Once we’re back in Nadar, the orders are that we are to attack Lainur’s prince from behind.”

“Huh? What, you think I don’t know that? I’m fighting right at the front—unlike you.”

“I’m just glad you understand.”

“That all you wanna say about it? Pathetic. You coulda come up with a smarter way to change the subject.”

Rivel didn’t respond.

“And now you’re not saying anything?! Guess it doesn’t matter; I’ll forgive you, since I’m in such a good mood. Can’t wait till I get to give the prince his dirt nap!” The magician’s lip curled cruelly like the shadow of a beast hungry for blood. “I can see it already. The prince and everyone around him, destroyed by my magic.”

“Aren’t you a citizen of Lainur?” Rivel asked. “Why are you so keen to attack your own prince?”

“Obvious, isn’t it? I wanna give back to this kingdom that’s spent so long treating me like dirt when I’m one of the most powerful magicians out there!”

“Give back?” Rivel echoed.

“Yeah. I’ve been using magic since I was a kid. Never met another who could outmatch me. But just because I didn’t go to their precious Institute, this country’s officials treat me the same as any other ‘unlicensed’ magician!”

“That’s your reason for attacking the prince?”

“That prince is the kid of the greatest magician in our land. What better target for my revenge could there be?” The magician smiled like a classic fairy-tale villain, and again Rivel kept silent.

He could see the deep loathing set in that disturbing smile. All this talk of unrecognized talent... It hardly seemed like something to get so resentful over. Rivel doubted this man was talented at all; otherwise there’d be no need for him to disgrace himself by getting in with the count.

“Got a problem?” asked the magician.

“No.”

“Tch. People without talent... All they’re good for is huddling up in the corner and staying out of our way.”

All this magician did was throw insults at Rivel and encourage others to do the same behind his back. He was clearly emotionally unstable.

Rivel found himself wondering again why he was being forced to work with such unpleasant people. They were obsessed with their own short-term desires and self-preservation, not even trying to look at the bigger picture. They were at the pinnacle of foolishness. Even worse were those who managed to get hustled by these imbeciles. This county’s garrison had no idea they were dealing with a corrupt count. They only assumed the transporters of the silver were attacked in the mountains, where they were now patrolling for bandits.

Foolish, foolish, foolish. No, foolish was too weak of a word for it.

“Rustinell’s leaders probably still don’t realize the silver’s gone. And then there’s the prince, running headfirst into danger...” Rivel started grumbling again, as had become his habit, before realizing he shouldn’t be speaking aloud and clapping a hand to his mouth.

“A careless mouth breeds trouble.”

So went the proverb in the Empire. If you voiced your disdain for others, something was bound to happen which would prove you wrong. This world and all that came to pass in it was dictated by the Elder Tongue. Every tongue had evolved from that origin, and each word spoken held some small degree of power—enough to influence matters with a poke here and a nudge there.

The military valued that philosophy a great deal. It was customary never to speak lightly of the opponent, or say anything that might breed bad luck, even if you held such thoughts in your head. While Rivel saw that as nothing more than superstition, he agreed with the notion that underestimating your opponent could lead to real trouble—so he kept his mouth shut.

“R-Rustinell soldiers! Outside!” a voice suddenly called.

“What?! At this time of night?”

“Why?!”

“They’re armed and everything!”

A cold shiver ran down Rivel’s spine. Had he caused this with his careless words?

One of the bandits grabbed Pilocolo. “This your fault? You do somethin’ stupid, you old bastard?!”

“N-No, I don’t think...” Pilocolo began, but he’d been making blunder after blunder since yesterday. Even he couldn’t deny the possibility he messed up again. If only he had been able to take better command of these men, there wouldn’t be this much discord between them. Pilocolo began giving orders. “We have to buy some time. Everybody get to the hidden room!”

Before anyone could follow those orders, the warehouse entrance was forced open, and the troops flooded inside.

Those muscular soldiers were led by a boy with russet hair and a greatsword. Some of them matched the descriptions passed on to Rivel and the others before they were assigned here—minor lords who held territory here in Rustinell, trusted retainers of Louise Rustinell, and well-known for their fierce fighting prowess. Rustinell didn’t govern in the same way as other territories; each lord doubled as a commander of their territory to be called into action at any time. It was an old system kept from before Rustinell’s rise to power, when it was still small. It was a policy that made efficient use of the territory’s powerful people, most of which boasted a high status or impressive lineage, and the exact opposite to the Empire’s reformed system of multiple chains of command that the sheer size of their army necessitated.

Rivel had learned all about efficient military systems at the military academy; to him, Rustinell’s methods seemed terribly outdated.

Nevertheless, their soldiers were here now, and it was a terrifying sight to see them bursting into the warehouse with the power of a hundred men, even though they were much fewer than that. Some were plump and balding, some wielded swords and wore fine clothing, some were tanned like rough river bandits, some were overwhelmingly large, and some just looked indescribably unique, but each shared the same overwhelming and intimidating air. Rivel had the sense that any one of them could have come alone and single-handedly defeated the entire bandit crew.

Rivel hurried to hide behind a nearby wooden crate. His academy education was all about leading men. While he’d had basic weapons training, it was far from his specialty. He peered out from behind the crate to witness the man standing beside the red-haired boy shouting.

“We are Rustinell’s troops! We are here on a special investigation! Everybody down on the floor! Anybody who fails to cooperate will be deemed a rebel!”

An investigation?!

Rivel hadn’t heard of any other warehouse being investigated. Why did they pick this one specifically?

Everyone around him fell totally silent, too shocked to follow the lord’s orders. At this rate, it would only be a matter of time before the troop worked out just what was going on here.

Pilocolo stepped forward. “My name is Pilocolo; I am making use of this warehouse. Firstly, I’d like to thank you for all the hard work you do. Without your protection, there is no way we’d be able to devote ourselves to what we do in peace, day in and day out.” Pilocolo bowed his head deeply and appreciatively.

“Be quiet and do as you’re told.”

“Yes, well, it’s just that I hadn’t heard anything about any sort of investigation.”

“This is a special investigation. Get on the floor. Now.”

“Oh. Oh, gracious me... I don’t think I can...”

It sounded like Pilocolo was trying to find some way to leave without a fuss, while the soldier was trying to keep him in place so he wouldn’t have to resort to violent measures. Now that Rivel looked, he noticed a bribe set aside for this sort of situation. He shouldn’t have expected anything else from a cringing, unblooded merchant.

Pilocolo continued to praise and thank the soldiers, trying to turn the conversation in his favor. As he wittered on, the line of soldiers parted, revealing a group of three who weren’t dressed like any soldiers Rivel had ever seen. At the head was a young boy with silver hair. He must have been a noble; those behind him, his attendants.

Pilocolo’s face drained of color the instant he saw that group. “Y-You...”

“We meet again. I never imagined you were in league with the bandits,” the silver-haired boy said, in a tone suggesting he knew exactly what was going on here.

“I-I just can’t understand what’s going on here...”

“You can’t seriously be trying to play dumb now. You and the bandits who attacked the village were working together so you could fake your silver getting stolen.”

“U-Um, listen, Master Arcus. I think you might be mistaken. I don’t have anything to do with those bandits from last night...”

“Huh? Mistaken, am I? That’s weird. Some of these guys are definitely the same ones from last night. That guy there, and the one standing next to that strut. Oh, and that guy face-down on the floor there.”

“I-I can explain...”

“Besides, didn’t you tell us all about it earlier? It didn’t sound like you were lying then.”

Suddenly it was like the air exploded.

“You bastard! You piece of shit merchant! This is all your fault!”

“N-No! You must stay back!” Pilocolo protested.

“Shut your mouth! We’re done for now anyway!”

An exasperated sigh fell from Rivel’s lips. What an idiot. He might as well have outright confessed, and Pilocolo’s attempt at covering up for him was no use at all.

A smug grin rose to the boy’s face. “Hey. We met yesterday, right?”

“You’re that brat, ain’t you?”

“You wanna know what that merchant told us in the restaurant before? He said he was going to Nadar for work.”

“What?!”

A murmur spread through the bandits, and they all turned their glares to Pilocolo at once. Their short temper had pushed them to play right into the silver-haired boy’s hands. He hadn’t even mentioned the crux of this whole scheme. All he’d done was made an implication. The bandits were so frightened of an attack that they jumped to the conclusion that their foe knew everything—likely on account of the losses they took the night before thanks to Pilocolo.

One thing was for sure: that boy truly believed Pilocolo was with these bandits, as proven with the copious confidence he made the claim with and the fact these men burst in so brazenly. The question was how he’d found out.

“Eido’s not here after all, huh?” the boy said.

“Hmph. He’ll be in Nadar already,” the bandit scoffed.

“So he wasn’t working with you?”

“Who’d wanna work with that greasy weirdo? Tch.”

“How dare you guys treat our Rustinell like your playground!” An angry shout cut through the air. It was the red-haired boy. The next second, a silver streak flashed through the air, leaving a flickering afterimage. A head appeared on the floor as if out of nowhere, blood squirting from its neck and splattering across the warehouse floor. It was the head of the bandit who’d shouted at Pilocolo. Only now did Rivel realize the boy had swung his sword. It was huge; it would have been cumbersome even for an adult.

A shaky voice rose from the crowd. “The Guillotine of Rustinell...”

It was a legendary weapon here in the western reach of Lainur: the ancestral blade of House Rustinell and its most steadfast executioner, whose grim shadow hung over the Empire’s designs on the kingdom. It was a masterpiece; it had parted the heads from generations of Imperial soldiers’ shoulders. Most of all, it was proof that the russet-haired boy standing there was heir to Rustinell’s throne.

The boy and his soldiers moved as one. The bandits and Pilocolo’s guards took up their weapons, ready to fight back. The silver-haired boy opened his mouth and muttered something in the Elder Tongue.

He must be a magician...

Rivel wondered—was this boy one of the travelers he’d heard about who’d helped capture several of the bandits? He seemed far too young, but there he was, chanting an incantation.

“Misty Haze.”

Artglyphs rose into the air and burst into a spray, enveloping the warehouse in mist. It happened so quickly that no one had time to hold their breath. It soon became apparent that the mist wasn’t harmful when inhaled. Had this boy just cast a spell which did nothing more than make it misty? If so, why? The bandits were watching the mist warily; suddenly, a derisive laughter filled the air.

“Hey, kid! That sorta trick might impress your pals, but it’s not gonna do nothing against us!” the voice scoffed.

It was the magician in the count’s employ. He must have heard the kid’s spell and understood its effects from that, but even then the silver-haired boy looked unshaken.

“Really?”

“Really. You didn’t use a single offensive word in the incantation! You just threw some mist in the air!”

It was just as Rivel suspected. There was no need to be scared of the mist. The bandits straightened up, reassured by the allied magician’s words, and prepared to attack the Rustinell soldiers again. The magician opened his mouth before they could move.

“Understanding the path of darkness, clad in the whorl of...”

Once his incantation was done, a gust swept through the warehouse. It was unclear whether the Artglyphs summoned that wind or created it themselves. Everyone grabbed at their loose ornamentation as the wind threatened to whip it away. The count’s magician remained totally unfazed, apparently unaffected by the wind swirling around him.

Eventually the spell seemed ready to launch as the wind gathered around the magician like a cloak. In an instant, it delivered him face-to-face with the russet-haired boy.

The boy roared, and a glimmer of light played across his sword’s surface as his grip shifted, but the magician struck back—along with the wind.

“Aargh!”

“Master!”

The boy managed to jump back at the very last second, avoiding the attack. As far as Rivel could see, the boy moved far too lightly considering the weight of his sword, but there wasn’t time for such analysis now. The spot on the stone floor he had stood seconds before was crushed to pieces.

“Whoa! You dodge good for a little kid! Nice job!”

“Sh-Shut up, idiot!”

“Get behind me, Master!” One of the lords ushered the boy to shelter behind him.

The others advanced to attack the magician without hesitation. It was clear what they were doing; the most standard way to defeat a magician was to deny them their magic. Naturally, the magician knew this too.

“Wind. Corps. Party. Collide. Smash. Void. Rend. Wind, create an iron wheel!”

“Highwind Wheel-Blade.”

As he chanted his incantation, the magician pointed his finger in the air. Artglyphs surrounded it and formed a whistling whirlwind. Before the soldiers had time to get away, it took the shape of a huge chakram before rushing toward them.

Along with its short incantation, the spell was quick to manifest. As a weapon made of wind, its movements were just as fast. That speed caught the soldiers off-guard, and they stumbled to jump clear, fearing for their lives. The wheel spun up into the air after passing them and came back the other way, bringing the dust it had swept up with it as it attacked the soldiers from behind.

The soldiers did all they could to dodge it on its return flight too.

The magician gave a deep belly laugh. “That’s it! Dance for me!”

It was like he said; the soldiers almost looked like they were dancing as they ducked and weaved out of the weapon’s reach, and the magician looked very much amused.

Perhaps he wasn’t being big-headed after all, and he really did have talent. With several more casts of the spell, conjuring yet more chakrams, he kept the soldiers locked tightly down. They were running about, trying to avoid being slashed to pieces by the wind.

“A wicked spirit’s hand to slow the ship. You are one who floats through the skies. May the enemy of this world’s seafarers appear!”

“I call upon the frigid night air. Cool the wind. Wind, be frozen. Crush that which blows against you.”

Two new spells battered against the sharp wheels of wind, their Artglyphs drawing up into them. Suddenly, a freezing chill rose up from the floor, and the next second, the chakrams disappeared.

The incantations had come from two men in morning coats. One was a man whose cool features were so beautiful he was almost feminine, and the other was a man who looked just as dastardly as the magician they faced. The minor lords blessed them for intervening.

“Thank you! That could’ve ended very badly!”

“It is our pleasure. Please stand back if you would,” one warned.

“Gotta fight magic with magic!” said the other, cackling.

The soldiers followed the beautiful butler’s advice and retreated behind the both of them. It was true; magicians were best suited to fighting each other.

The count’s magician’s eyes widened in disbelief. “You got magicians too, huh?”

“Indeed.”

“What, you missed us castin’ them spells just now?”

“That must make you part of the group who wreaked havoc in the village last night.”

“I can attest that I was personally uninvolved in ‘wreaking havoc,’ as you put it.”

“I might’ve done a little to, uh, set the stage, I guess!”

The silver-haired boy stepped forward while the less refined one was consumed with laughter. Both the magician and the bandits around him frowned in confusion.

“Noah, Cazzy, could you go back up Deet and the others?”

“Are you quite sure?”

“Yeah. I’ll take care of this guy.”

“Whatever, but if somethin’ happens, don’t think I ain’t leapin’ in to stop ya gettin’ killed.”

The boy nodded and took another step forward.

“Arcus!”

“Deet. Just leave this to me?”

“You sure?”

“Yup. I’ll show you the best magic you’ve ever seen!”

The russet-haired boy’s eyes lit up with excitement at his promise. The count’s magician looked exasperated that a boy of his age would be bragging in a situation like this.

“Huh? What, you think you can take me alone? All you know how to do is put some mist in the air!”

“I can. And I’ll only need one spell to do it. My servants won’t have to come in and save me either.”

“I’m impressed you still know how to bark after the greased lightning I just showed you. I don’t mind admitting you’re brave if that’s what you want.”

“‘Greased lightning’? It got shut down in no time at all. Why are you so proud of it?” The boy frowned.

“Wh—”

“Okay, I’ll accept that it’s fast, but I wouldn’t call it powerful. A spell’s power is all about...strengthening... No, I’d have to see... Hmm...” The boy fell into thought and started muttering to himself. He seemed to be taking the magician’s words to heart, but he reacted with impatience, clearly irritated by the boy’s behavior.

“You makin’ a fool of me, little brat?”

“I’m just paying you back in kind.” The boy stuck out his tongue. This time, however, the magician didn’t play ball. His anger had turned to deathly calm.

“Wind. Corps. Party. Collide. Smash. Void. Rend. Wind, create an iron wheel!”

“Highwind Wheel-Blade.”

The wind whipped up into a spinning wheel once more, which the magician launched right at the boy. It spun over the stone floor at the perfect angle to split him stem to stern, kicking up white dust from where the wheel tore the floor to pieces. The boy jumped out of the way only seconds before it looked like he would be hit.

“Y-You’re fast...” the boy said, breathless.

“Ha ha! My magic’s the fastest there is! I’m gonna cut you clean in two and make you regret challengin’ me! I’ll kill you all! You, those soldiers, and the prince!”

The kid stared at him. “You’re from the kingdom, aren’t you?”

“And?! Doesn’t matter who they are; I’m gonna tear apart everyone who dares make a fool of me!” the magician cried maniacally.

“Right...” The kid’s voice suddenly dropped a tone.

The magician began to chant again.

“Raging wind! Cascading landslide! Splintering rock! Gather into a current, shatter in the surging winds, and fall!”

“Stone Storm Well.”

Knots of rippling wind formed in midair, coiling with such force and speed that they shimmered like heat haze. They surged toward the silver-haired boy as one, but he stepped clear of them as if he already knew the nature of the spell just from its incantation. Even then, the speed at which he acted was impressive. The spell was fast, and yet the boy dodged it without even a hint of fear in his eyes. Even as his enemy, Rivel had to admit he was struck with admiration.

“Tch. Again?” the magician grumbled.

“You’re not gonna hit me with spells like that! But feel free to keep trying!”

“Graaaaaaaaagh!”

Neither the Rustinell lords nor the bandits moved an inch as the two magicians faced off, fearing they might get caught up in the exchange. As fellow magicians, the boy’s servants were in a better place to act, but they just carried on watching as per their master’s orders.

Another coil of wind flew past the boy. At that moment he swung his fist. The count’s magician stood some distance away, and yet, without chanting any sort of incantation—

“Gah!”

The magician clutched at his stomach and stumbled, doubling over as though he’d been struck in the guts. It would have been a perfect opportunity to attack, but the boy didn’t take it.

“Wh-What did you—” the magician spluttered a second later, confusion coloring his words.

He didn’t know what the boy had done either. The boy, meanwhile, continued to stand there in silence.

Why doesn’t he take this chance to finish him off?!

“Why’re you just standing there?!” the magician raged between coughs.

“I don’t need to do anything else. I told you it’d only take one spell to defeat you, remember?”

“Wh—”

“Go on, launch another attack. Don’t you wanna show off your super-fast magic?”

“Y-Y-You snotty li’l brat! You asked for this!” The magician threw his head back and roared.

He started chanting again, his face bright red. His stance was the exact same as before; he was pointing toward the ceiling to summon another wheel.

Rivel couldn’t understand why the boy was goading him to cast another spell. Rivel doubted the boy could outspeed him.

His magic is so fast, nobody could ever match it. Wait... Could it be...?

A realization sparked in Rivel’s mind. This boy had provoked the magician over and over, stirring up and chipping away at his inflated sense of pride. In other words...

“Wind. Corps. Party. Collide. Smash. Void. Rend. Wind—”

Artglyphs gathered and revolved at the tip of the magician’s index finger. They glowed silver, whistling fiercely. Those characters called forth the wind, forming a silvery ring as the spell neared completion.

A smile came to the magician’s face. He was confident that this was the spell that would cut that boy’s body in two. The boy could start chanting his own spell now, but he wouldn’t finish it in time. The magician’s confidence was the very reason it didn’t cross his mind that magic superior to his existed.

He was the kind of man you could lead along for miles with the right provocation. Once you knew which spell he would use, all you needed to do was to use a faster one, and you could defeat him. That had been the silver-haired boy’s aim in getting him to cast this spell.

The next second, Rivel’s reasoning was proven sound. He didn’t even have time to shout at the magician to stop. The boy began his incantation right after the magician had started his.

“Infinitesimal. Join. Focus. Burst gently.”

Artglyphs surrounded his opponent in a magic circle, disrupting the formation of the magician’s own glyphs. They burst apart into silver light, and their fragments scattered.

“Wh—What’s with this spell?!”

“This is the spell that’s gonna blow you away!” the boy said.

“D-Don’t be stupid! There’s no spell faster than—”

The magician didn’t have time to finish his complaint. The silver-haired boy closed his open right fist. The magic circle contracted sharply around the magician’s body. The next second, an ear-piercing crash and sparking flames burst forth.

“Nnrgh...”

The impact was so powerful that Rivel couldn’t catch sight of what was happening. He was too focused on holding his own against the wind and the wave of heat that followed. He heard the boy’s voice among the noise.

“It’s easy to create a fast-acting spell with a quick activation time if you just string a bunch of words together. But those words won’t necessarily gel if you disregard their context, which makes it easier for your opponent to disrupt your spell—just like this.”

That was the weakness in the magician’s spells. The afterimages crowding Rivel’s vision started to fade, allowing him to make sense of his surroundings. Crushed iron. Splintered wooden crates. Smashed glass in the windows. There should have been a man standing in the center—but there wasn’t.

All that was left were the tiny charred fragments that used to make up his body, left clinging to the surroundings.

That spell had incinerated him. He wasn’t even graced with an opportunity to scream in his final moments. The stench of soot filled the air, and dust fluttered down from above. There were others lying unmoving on the floor who had been caught up in the blast.

Rivel could only let out a whimper of terror. Even if this was a man who had bullied him constantly, it was terrifying to think somebody he had spoken to not hours before had died so atrociously before his very eyes. Shock dulled his mind and rusted his thoughts. It wasn’t just him. He heard his allies crying out in terror.

“H-He just disappeared! No... No way!”

Some fell to the floor where they stood. Some trembled and made inhuman noises. Some tried to stagger backward before falling over spectacularly. Pilocolo, weak-willed as he was, had wet himself. The majority of the bandits were in no state to fight anymore.

“Whoa! What was that?!” The russet-haired boy’s eyes were wide with astonishment and admiration and devoid of any fear of his ally’s magic. The next words out of his mouth were even more terrifying. “Do it again! I wanna see it again!”

The silver-haired boy brushed him away with an awkward smile before turning back to the bandits, eyeing them carefully.

Rivel had observed some of the magicians’ practice during his time at the military academy. They simply decided on a limited number of offensive spells and would shoot them at the designated target all at once: Burning Laughter, Earth-Piercing Needle, Muddy Insanity...

They refined those limited spells to use in battle, and lined up in a perfect formation when casting them. In Rivel’s experience, that was how magicians fought, and he believed his fellow students and teachers were of the same opinion.

He had just been proven wrong. This wasn’t like the Empire’s magic—highly regulated and limited in its use to a select few situations. These techniques were developed and refined by individuals with their own goals in mind.

These were the kingdom’s magicians.

Rivel shuddered violently. It wasn’t a chill that ran up his spine; it was a frost that enveloped his heart and spread out from the core of his body until it ran along every inch of his skin. He could be thrown out naked in the snow of the north and still not feel cold like it.

The beautiful butler stepped forward to praise the silver-haired boy. “That was most impressive. You carried out your plan perfectly.”

“He got riled up when I needed him to; that’s all. It helped that he was a hothead.”

“He had skills for sure, but his prose was crappy. They wouldn’t have let him in the Institute with spells like that.”

“I quite agree. It is among one of the first lessons the students of the Institute are taught that simply collating words without thought will lower the efficacy of one’s spell; the more so the longer one makes it.”

The sinister-looking one turned to the boy. “That spell’s still way too spooky, ’specially in a place like this.”

“That’s why I started with Misty Haze to act as a buffer.”

“Which means ya planned all this from the start. You’re way too scary, Master!”

“I gotta use that spell to get used to it,” the boy pointed out.

“Yeah, ya don’t want people dodgin’ it left, right, and center like before. That don’t make it less violent though!”

“I cannot help but yearn for the Master Arcus I used to know whose face would light up at the sight of even the simplest spells.”

“Hey! I’m still right here!”

The three spoke casually, as if the horrific events of the past few minutes hadn’t happened. It sounded like this sort of thing was part of their everyday life. Their lack of concern stood out among the bandits and even the Rustinell soldiers, who were stiff with terror.

Eventually, the silver-haired boy’s face darkened, and he took a step forward. The bandits took a step back. The boy glared at them. He had a sweet face, one that would be fawned over by anybody under normal circumstances. By appearance alone, he lacked even an ounce of threat—but the frost in his eyes at that moment bred raw terror. The bandits cowered.

“If you try to fight back, I’ll destroy you with dorfster just like I did that magician!”

Those were the final words he needed to say. Those who still had the will to fight were now frightened and faltering. The Rustinell lords did not miss their chance.

“Arrest them all! Now!” the red-haired boy ordered.

The soldiers moved out and restrained the bandits one by one, even going so far as to gag them so they couldn’t poison themselves. There was no way for them to escape this time and no clear means to destroy the evidence.

Dammit! Why?! Why did they send me here?!

The usual complaints filled Rivel’s head as he pulled a seal-engraved lighter from inside his jacket. Setting everything alight was the only option left. The flames would consume all traces of their crime and create the chaos he needed to escape.

The lighter didn’t work. Rivel knew he was using it correctly, but there were no flames; not even a spark.

Why?! Why now of all times?!

Panic flared up inside him—panic that, after everything that happened, he couldn’t suppress. There had to be others thinking along the same lines as him.

“Fire! Someone start a fire!” he cried out.

“I-It’s humid...” came the response.

“So?! Use Seal Tools! What on earth are you doing?!”

“I’m telling you it won’t light! It’s too humid!”

“H-Humid... Wait...”

It was then that Rivel recalled the first spell that silver-haired boy had cast. That mist, which the count’s magician dismissed as a party trick. Its purpose wasn’t just to weaken his own spell; it was to stop the bandits from starting a fire.

Did he foresee that we might try to burn the evidence? Would a kid as young as him even be capable of thinking so far ahead?!

Not only had he known how to manipulate the magician, he’d even thought about what the bandits would try after that. It would be obvious to any adult that they’d want to burn the evidence, but to a kid who barely looked more than ten?!

“I found it! The silver! And that’s not all...” one of the soldiers yelled.

He was right—silver wasn’t the only thing they’d been planning to transport. There were forged crests of other territories, permits, and other documentation in there—and the document containing their instructions.

The soldiers started to cheer. They’d found the evidence and rendered the culprits powerless. Rivel knew he couldn’t talk himself out of this anymore. It was just as he thought; this was a stupid place to carry out the scheme. This was all the fault of those imbeciles for not listening to him.

“It’s... It’s over...”

The count’s betrayal would be exposed by Rustinell. As for Rivel, he wasn’t prepared to let things end here for himself. He had to run away somehow. His capture would alert the kingdom to the Empire’s involvement; that alone wasn’t enough to make him want to poison himself.

He’d only just graduated from the academy after years of hard work. He had a bright future ahead of him. There was no way he could die here. He had to do something.