3
It was a time of crisis for the Dragonfriend Kingdom of Lugunica. The ordeal had come upon them quietly but implacably; it was a crucible that would decide whether the nation endured or would be destroyed.
The beginning had come roughly four months before, with a plague that ravaged the Royal Palace. The contagion spread with fearsome speed and malice, striking down everyone who shared even a drop of blood with the Lugunica Royal Family. This left the kingdom without its king—indeed, without any royal heir. To this day, the throne continued to sit vacant.
At such a juncture, diplomacy with the Holy Volakian Empire proved to be especially important. For Lugunica, caught in these unprecedented straits, Volakia’s actions would likely determine the kingdom’s future existence.
“Hmm. Still, it’s not a question of politics, but of the kingdom’s mode of survival,” murmured an old man, who stroked his long, white beard. “Our inability to reply forcefully to the empire’s request can only be considered a sign of our own powerlessness.”
The speaker was dressed in fine clothing and had a warm face. His appearance was especially notable due to his intelligent eyes and unmistakable facial hair: He was Miklotov MacMahon, one of the wisest men in Lugunica. If the Council of Elders was the head of the kingdom, Miklotov was the master of the council. At the moment, that made him the most important person in the nation.
Julius, sitting across from Miklotov, shook his head. “No, sir, I don’t agree. The Council of Elders and all its members have done their utmost for this kingdom.”
“And yet it hasn’t been enough. That is all there is to it.” The giant next to Miklotov dismissed Julius’s attempt at consolation. His cutting words were mostly a rebuke meant for himself rather than anyone else. And he might have been speaking the truth. After all, he, too, was a member of the council.
Bordeaux Zergev had once been among the kingdom’s most celebrated warriors. Despite his many years, he remained uncommonly hale and was known for his stern opinions of both himself and others. Sitting beside each other, Bordeaux and Miklotov gave the impression of a great tree towering over an elderly plant. But they both radiated the same authority and caused Julius’s stomach to tighten. These two sages were the object of this mission; they were the men Julius, Reinhard, and Ferris had been ordered to protect. They were special envoys whose role in diplomatic talks with the empire could not have been more vital.
“ ” Reminded once again of the gravity of his assignment, Julius straightened up, as befitted the atmosphere in the cabin. After all, he was riding in the same dragon carriage as two members of the Council of Elders. The coach was specially made to transport those of importance. Even so, it would be charitable to call the ride comfortable. He was traveling with two of the most important people in the nation, and Julius was indeed appropriately nervous. However…
“Hmmmm? Julius, whatsa matter? Feelin’ a little sick? Want some healing?”
“Not likely. This carriage benefits from the wind repel blessing, and besides, Julius is one of the best Dragon Riders in the royal guard. Don’t think you need to worry about him.”
“You two are never any fun.”
Julius’s companions sat on either side of him, chattering away as if nothing was unusual.
These three members of the royal guard were sitting across from two members of the Council of Elders. There was no way of knowing exactly what Ferris and Reinhard were really thinking, but their attitudes didn’t seem like an act. They each had far more experience than Julius did when it came to dealing with such esteemed figures.
Ferris was a knight in Duchess Karsten’s service, while Reinhard hailed from the family of the Sword Saints and had been inducted into the royal guard at the age of fourteen. To say their lives had been different from Julius’s would be an understatement.
“And suddenly, you’re smiling, Julius; what’s up?” Ferris asked.
“Nothing at all.” Julius shrugged. “Your blasé attitude might just be my salvation. I couldn’t help thinking I’m a bit pathetic, getting wound up with nerves and worry.”
“Huh, news to me. So that means you’re capable of feeling worried?” Ferris said lightly.
“Hmph,” Bordeaux said, crossing his beefy arms. “Worry. A weak word. I guess the guards aren’t what they used to be.” His gaze settled on the knight’s saber that Julius carried. “A slim weapon for a slim boy. You think that’s enough to safeguard an indispensable dignitary? Let me make one thing very clear: What becomes of me is of little importance, but if anything happens to Master Miklotov, there’ll be hell to pay.”
“ ”
“Don’t even have the guts to speak up for yourself? There was a time I’d have laid you out flat for an attitude like that.”
Julius simply endured Bordeaux’s tongue-lashing in silence. It wasn’t that he was overawed by the man’s position. Rather, the words had a certain truth to them. It had been a mistake to voice his concerns in front of the very men he was charged with protecting, causing them to question if they were truly safe. It would only have compounded the problem if he tried to make excuses, but above all…
“A knight of the royal guard speaks not with his words, but with his actions. Captain Marcus taught us that.”
The response came not from Julius, who remained silent, but from Reinhard. Marcus had drilled that maxim into his subordinates. And no one stayed truer to this principle than Marcus Gildark himself.
“Marcus, eh? …Razaac’s whelp has really made his way in the world.”
“Ho-ho-ho! Perhaps we should leave it at that, Master Bordeaux.” Miklotov creased his bushy eyebrows and laughed. Then his wrinkled face assumed a thoughtful expression, and he ran a hand across his beard. “We requested Captain Marcus himself to choose the personnel for this mission. I’m given to understand we have with us the pick of the royal guard.”
“You honor us,” Julius said modestly, bowing. Reinhard and Ferris likewise inclining their heads.
“Ferri thinks meowby he’s a little too idealistic,” Ferris commented under his breath.
“That’s one of Julius’s better qualities,” Reinhard replied, equally quietly. He cast a glance at the cat-boy. “It’s something I’d like to learn from him.”
Julius Juukulius was known by the nickname The Finest of Knights, a sobriquet that reflected both how greatly his skills were valued as well as a fitting appreciation of his service record. The bearer of the title might have been too modest to admit it, however.
“Mm. You can see the Crystal Palace now.” Miklotov acknowledged the young knights’ bows with a smile, then glanced out the window. They followed his gaze to discover a great building rising into the sky, directly in the dragon carriage’s path.
The Crystal Palace, the imperial castle of Volakia, was situated in the empire’s capital of Lupghana. Magic stones had been used in the construction of the walls, citadels, and everything else that made the castle a castle. It was a beautiful and imposing building, a symbol of both the empire’s rich magic-stone mines and its immense power.
Julius emitted an admiring sigh after seeing this building, every bit as grand as the rumors, with his own eyes for the first time. “Holy moly!” Ferris exclaimed from beside him. “I’ve heard the stories, but that castle is in bad taste…”
Julius took a sharp breath. “Ferris, I can’t accept that as your first reaction to seeing this building. Every inch of that castle has been carefully measured out and fashioned with the utmost care—surely, even you can see that?”
“Aw, there it is. Ferri just hates these weird fixations of yours, Julius.” Ferris put his ears back to indicate he was not interested in talking anymore. Julius winked an eye at him, provoking a hearty “Ho-ho-ho” from Miklotov.
“It may be elaborate, but it’s also remarkably functional,” the elder said. “The empire is home to some truly accomplished sculptors of magic stone. The Crystal Palace is not merely beautiful but also offers the emperor virtually impregnable defenses.”
“I’ve heard that at times of need, a single stone from the Crystal Palace can amplify magic to thousands of times its usual power… Is it true?” asked the purple-haired man.
“I wonder about that myself. If we have the chance, shall we ask His Majesty personally?”
Miklotov’s lighthearted remark caused Julius to repent of his own childishness. Curiosity had gotten the better of him. That wasn’t going to increase Bordeaux’s confidence.
“I think it’s true for sure that they have amazing magic-stone sculptors. I mean—you know?” Ferris, seemingly oblivious to Julius’s internal turmoil, turned a pointed glance on Reinhard. The other young man half smiled and opened the collar of his uniform.
An unfamiliar metal choker hung against his pale skin. It had been made with some special technique and was set with a magic crystal that glowed faintly.
“A choker,” Ferris remarked. “Now that says Volakian Empire to me.”
“I don’t know how normal this would be in the empire either,” Reinhard said, touching a hand to the accessory in question. One thing was for certain: He wasn’t wearing it out of choice. It was a restraint Reinhard was compelled to wear on this journey.
“A Collar of Submission, right? How is it? Does it really work on you, Reinhard?”
“It makes me feel sort of lethargic. I can’t tell exactly how limited my power is, but I suppose you could say it works insofar as I clearly can’t use my full abilities.”
This made Julius realize how nervous the empire actually was about Reinhard. The Collar of Submission, which Reinhard had been forced to wear, was less an item that limited the wearer’s abilities than one that curtailed his freedom. It practically bordered on slavery. Frankly, to demand that someone invited as a special envoy should wear such a thing was considered wholly unreasonable.
“The way I heard it, whether I wear this collar might change the whole course of relations between our countries.”
“…It truly pains me that you were forced to cede your freedom in this way,” Julius said. “And I applaud your decision.”
“Act as solemn as mew want,” Ferris broke in. “It’s still a collar.” He shrugged dramatically. In the same breath, though, he continued, “But look at this. Two members of the Council of Elders and the Sword Saint… This couldn’t secretly be some plot by the empire to undermine Lugunica, could it? Do they want to assassinate Reinhard or something?”
“But that would unquestionably mean war, and the Dragon would not stand idly by… Or so I would like to think, but at the moment, I’m not so sure.”
“Yeah. We can’t count on the Holy Dragon. Only thing we can rely on is our own strength! So listen up, Reinhard: Make sure you take down the whole empire before they get you. All by yourself.”
“Defense is a knight’s watchword, Ferris. If they attack first, that’s one thing, but I can’t go around slicing things up over a vague sense of unease.” Reinhard flashed a thin smile.
“Y’know, the scary thing is that you didn’t say you couldn’t destroy them…” Ferris hugged his narrow shoulders and shivered. Julius listened to the conversation and braced himself for another scolding from Bordeaux.
“Knights of the Royal Guard should—”
But the old man was interrupted by a chuckling Miklotov. “Mm, going to reprimand them, are you? Back when you were a knight yourself, I remember you being even more daring.”
Bordeaux adopted a sour look and fell silent. He turned to gaze out the window, the approaching Crystal Palace reflected in his eyes. “The Sword Saint, ‘The Finest,’ and ‘The Blue’… True enough, it reminds me of all the trouble we had back then.”
But nobody heard what he mumbled to himself; his words were swept away with the quickly passing scenery.
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