Shinwa Densetsu no Eiyuu no Isekaitan - Volume 2 - Chapter 1

Chapter 1: To the Capital

The thirteenth day of the seventh month of Imperial Year 1023

That day, as it did every day, Berg Fortress baked in the sweltering prairie heat. A girl’s voice rang through the central tower, cutting through the muggy air like the chime of a bell.

“Hiro! Where are you?”

Her name was Celia Estrella Elizabeth von Grantz, the sixth princess of the Grantzian Empire. Even as she stalked through the fortress like a mother searching for a wayward child, she carried herself with a serene grace that compelled the gaze. Her crimson hair shimmered with ardent fire, while her shapely features would bring a sigh of admiration to anyone’s lips.

“Hiro!”

Yet it was not her appearance that was most striking, but the flame-red sword on her hip. Its name was Lævateinn, and it was a Spiritblade—one of five legendary weapons fashioned by the first emperor, founder of the Grantzian Empire, and the one that he had loved the best.

“Where in the world have you run off to?!”

She had only recently taken over as commander of Berg Fortress, so the complex was still a maze to her. Tracking someone down through its labyrinthine corridors was an arduous task. She clenched her fists in frustration as she walked, scrunching the ornate letter in her hands into a crumpled wad.

“Hmph.” She pouted. “But he’s always on the third floor...”

The third floor of the central tower was mostly used as a storage space for books, tools, lumber, and the like. The white wolf named Cerberus presently claimed it as her den, and she had taken to snarling at any soldiers who intruded unannounced.

“Maybe I should check his room again?”

No sooner had the words left her lips than a door opened at the far end of the dingy corridor. Out padded Cerberus, de facto mistress of the third floor. A black-haired, black-eyed boy followed behind her, his soft features at odds with his forbidding eyepatch—the very boy that Liz had been looking for.

“Hiro!” she cried, raising a hand to catch his attention.

He drew closer. “What’s the hurry?”

“I’ve been searching for you everywhere! It’s urgent!”

“Sorry. I was in the library. I needed to look something up.” Hiro glanced back at the room behind him, where the fortress’s historical records lined the walls.

“Oh, really?” Liz planted her hands on her hips. “I’m glad you’re getting yourself an education, but you could at least tell me where to find you.”

Ever since Hiro had suffered a violent fit brought on by his malfunctioning vision, Liz had developed something of an overprotective streak. He couldn’t blame her for fussing over him after witnessing his attack, but her concern could be a little overbearing.

“Got it. I’ll be more careful in future,” he said. “Anyway, what’s up?”

“Oh, right! Look, I got a reply to my letter of complaint.” She thrust out her hand.

Hiro narrowed his eyes at the wad of paper in her grip. “Is that it? It looks pretty scrunched up.”

“It’s come straight from Father himself. See? There’s the imperial signature.”

Hiro took the crumpled paper and unfolded it with a foreboding crinkling. “Did the horse carry it here in its teeth?”

“I didn’t mean for it to end up like that!” Liz protested. “I just got so caught up in looking for you, I forgot I was carrying it, and, well...sorry.”

She clapped her hands together in apology. With those doey eyes gazing hesitantly up at him, Hiro lost the will to be angry. It was said that beauty was its own blessing, and now he thought he understood what that meant.

“I guess it’s fine. As long as I can still tell what it says.”

He lowered his gaze to the letter and began to read.

My most beloved daughter has apprised me of your circumstances, including your notable contributions in battle against the Duchy of Lichtein. Yet before I congratulate you on your accomplishments, I must first address a more pressing issue: that of your heritage. I understand that you claim to be descended from His Majesty the Second Emperor. Determining Prince Stovell’s punishment requires that this claim be verified. In view of your intimate involvement in this matter, I hereby request your immediate presence in the imperial capital.

Signed,

Emperor Greiheit, Forty-Eighth Emperor of the Grantzian Empire

“He says he wants me to come to the capital,” Hiro announced.

On the one hand, a visit to the capital would provide a valuable opportunity for Hiro to introduce himself to Grantzian high society, not to mention the emperor himself. On the other, there was no telling what dangers might lie in wait for him at court. He would have to tread extremely carefully.

“Really? That’s great! Come on, we’ll need to pack!” Liz tugged at his arm, grinning widely.

“I’m not sure you’re invited,” Hiro said. “The letter doesn’t say anything about you coming.”

Aside from anything else, Liz’s attendance would turn his visit into an imperial family affair. Hiro doubted that her enemies would move as openly against her in the presence of the emperor as they had in the past, but even so, it would be safer for her to remain in Berg Fortress.

“What? Boo.” Liz puffed out her cheeks indignantly.

Hiro felt his resolve waver for a moment, but he hardened his heart. “The area around the fortress still isn’t secure. What are the soldiers supposed to do if something happens and you aren’t there to command? Besides, we’re up to our ears in paperwork. Someone needs to fill it out, and half of it needs your signature.”

Liz kept pouting. “Tris can do it.”

“Tris is... Well, not to be rude, but he’s a soldier, not a bureaucrat. I’m not sure I’d trust him with matters of state.”

“I’m a soldier too.”

“Point taken, but at least you’d do a better job than him. Come on, you can handle a few signatures.”

Bureaucracy was hardly Hiro’s forte either. Berg Fortress was in dire need of a capable civil tribune. Few officials would be pleased to see themselves assigned to a border fortress, but it would still be worth petitioning the emperor about it if he got the chance.

“All right, then.” Liz looked up at him with her best puppy-dog eyes. “But if I do a really good job and I get done really quickly, can I join you? Please?”

Hiro found himself nodding almost on instinct. “Fine. I guess there won’t be much to keep you here anyway, if you get it all out of the way.”

Liz’s act dropped instantly as she bounced away in glee. “All right, it’s a deal! Those documents aren’t going to know what hit them!”

“If you say so, but I’m warning you, there are a lot of—”

Hiro’s warning came too late. Liz was already streaking away at astounding speed.

“I’ll have to get her a souvenir from the capital,” he said to himself. “That should be enough to get back in her good books. Well, that and an apology.”

Leaving at night might be prudent. It would be inconvenient if Liz caught wind of his departure.

Hiro returned to his room to prepare for his impending trip.

The evening sun had slipped below the horizon when Hiro made his move, and the rest of the fortress had long been abed but for the night watch. First, he snuck down to the ground floor of the tower, then crept along the corridor, holding his breath, until he reached the door to the study. A quick peek through the open door revealed Liz slumped over the desk, fast asleep amid stacks of papers. He smiled to himself in relief, but at that moment...

“What are you up to, you scoundrel?”

A voice rang out behind him. He wheeled around, backing away in shock. There stood an old soldier with a lantern in his hand. As Hiro watched, the surprise on the man’s face condensed into rage.

“Well, now. A knave with designs on Her Highness’s virtue, eh?! I’ll show you what for!”

“That’s not what I was— I mean, ssh! You’ll wake her up!”

The man was Tris von Tarmier, a third class military tribune and one of Liz’s closest retainers. His anger dissipated as his lantern’s light fell on Hiro’s face. “Oh, it’s you, whelp. What’s got you sneaking about so late?”

“Well, about that...” Fearing that if he hesitated, Tris would interpret it as evidence of impure motives, Hiro offered a brief explanation.

“So that’s the way of it.” Tris nodded once Hiro was done. “You wanted to ascertain that Her Highness was asleep so you could leave in secrecy.”

“I mean, I can’t exactly take her with me,” Hiro said.

“Aye, true enough. I’d not want her to leave the fortress either. Still, you’re a royal now, are you not? With the second emperor’s blood? I’d say you’re entitled to an escort, if you want one.”

“I don’t think that would be a good idea. Most of the nobles at the royal court don’t know what to make of me yet, the emperor included. The last thing I want is to come on too strong.”

Until the emperor acknowledged his claim, Hiro commanded less authority than a common peasant. It would be sensible to be discreet. If he was ever to bring Liz’s dream to fruition, his allies would need to outnumber his enemies. It would not do to sour relations before he had even begun.

“Bah,” Tris spat. “Too cautious by half, if you ask me. One look at your hair and eyes should be all the proof anyone needs, black as they are.”

“Those wouldn’t be hard to fake,” Hiro pointed out. If it came down to it, he could produce Excalibur, but that was truly a last resort. It was highly likely that First Prince Stovell would be present during his audience with the emperor. Unsheathing the Heavenly Sovereign in the emperor’s presence would allow the prince to raise an uproar about Hiro being an assassin and draw steel. The result would be the worst-case scenario: Stovell celebrated as a hero for defending the emperor and Liz executed for treason. Hiro was bound for the imperial palace now. In that swirling cauldron of desires and ambitions, there was no such thing as too cautious.

“I should be off,” he said. “Time’s pressing.”

“Aye, so it is. Am I to take it you won’t need an escort, then?”

“I won’t,” Hiro said.

“Then how do you mean to get there?” The old soldier scratched his chin. “As I recall, you never learned to ride.”

“I was planning to head to Linkus on foot and meet with Kiork.” From there, he could catch a stagecoach to take him to the imperial capital.

Tris hummed in thought. “Aye, might be it’s worth a shot.”

“What is?”

“This way, whelp. I’ve a gift for you.” Tris turned his back and strode away. Hiro followed apprehensively. Together they wound their way through the fort. Eventually, they arrived at the stables—or so Hiro thought, before Tris led him past them to an empty plot of land where a sturdy metal cage rested.

“This fine fellow’s what I wanted to show you.” The old soldier gave the cage a thump. Something inside squirmed, emitting a strange cry.

“What is it?” Hiro asked.

Tris flashed him a wicked grin. “This, lad... This is a swiftdrake.”

＊

As the sun rose on a cloud-flecked sky, Berg Fortress began to wake. The morning found Tris seated in the officer’s mess hall after seeing Hiro off, grumbling to himself. The old soldier’s well-muscled build spoke of might easily equal to his younger contemporaries, but now, with his brows knotted in consternation, he looked far from the fearsome taskmaster his subordinates knew.

“Blast that whelp!” he suddenly cried. The breakfasting soldiers nearby spun around to stare at him, but he was too preoccupied by his woes to notice.

Liz wandered up to his table, so pale and lifeless that she might have been a ghost. “He abandoned me... Hiro abandoned me...” she repeated to herself as she took the seat opposite him.

To see the girl he thought of as a daughter in such a state, Tris could not help but set his own troubles aside. “Whatever’s the matter, Your Highness?” he asked.

“Hiro’s gone,” she said.

“Is that so?”

“He must have gone to see Uncle. If he can’t ride, he has to be traveling by stagecoach.”

Horses were well-practiced at sensing human emotions. They mocked those they disliked and took pleasure in unseating those who showed hesitation, but time and affection could transform them into faithful companions. Hiro’s problem was not with his technique; he sat a horse with a natural ease. It was that his mounts refused to heed him. Without fail, every single one bucked him off and bolted.

“Aye, speaking of riding...” Seeing as it related both to horses and to Hiro, Tris decided it was time to broach the topic. “Have you ever ridden a swiftdrake, Your Highness?”

“A swiftdrake? Of course not. You do know they’re descended from actual dragons, don’t you? They’d never let a human on their backs. Only a handful of beastfolk ever get to ride one, and they speak dragon.”

All of what Liz said was true, and yet Hiro had done just that, right before Tris’s eyes. In fact, not only had the swiftdrake allowed the boy onto its back, it had actually lowered its head to make it easier for him.

“Come to think of it, don’t we have one in the fortress?” Liz asked. “I’m sure I remember hearing that there was one terrorizing the local towns. Didn’t we capture it?”

“Aye, we did. Until the whelp rode off on it.”

“Hah! Oh, Tris, you’re too funny.”

“That’s no jest, Your Highness. I saw it with my own eyes. The boy hopped on the beast’s back and rode off before dawn, easy as you please! I swear it’s true!” Tris finished his rant, then froze, realizing that he had misstepped.

“Oh, really? It sounds like you have some explaining to do.” Liz’s mouth was smiling, but her eyes were cold. The blood drained from Tris’s face.

“Mercy, Your Highness, I beg you!”

He barely even had time to plead before his scream echoed through the mess hall.

＊

The fourteenth day of the seventh month of Imperial Year 1023

The sun hung in a cloudless azure sky, showering its rays mercilessly down onto the fertile earth. Across the grasslands, heavy with the scent of verdant greenery, a shadow raced. Its low-slung figure was smaller than a horse, but far faster, with powerful legs that propelled it onward at monstrous speed. Riding on its back, dressed in his black uniform, was Hiro.

It’s just like Tris said! Even a novice can ride one! And it’s so fast!

The wind skimmed past his cheeks, sending flower petals dancing in his wake. It felt as though he had become one with the natural world.

His mount was a gift from Tris—some kind of creature called a swiftdrake. Supposedly, they were native not to Soleil but the Shaitan Islands to the east. They had spread to Soleil three hundred years ago, when some enterprising adventurer brought several back to the mainland from a voyage overseas. The cargo had escaped into the wilds, where they had multiplied and thrived.

“Take me right on up to Kiork’s mansion!”

With his mood much improved from the ride, Hiro commanded his steed through the streets of Linkus. Although dawn had barely broken, the main thoroughfare was already bustling with pedestrians and early rising market stalls. Now that the threat of war had passed, the town was regaining its former vibrancy.

Hiro pulled up at the mansion, leaped down from the swiftdrake, and trotted up to the figure by the gate.

“Well met, Lord Hiro,” the middle-aged man greeted him. “I hope your journey was not too taxing.”

“Kurt, isn’t it? It’s been a while.”

Kurt von Tarmier served Margrave Kiork both as his aide and as the chief butler of his household. He had been the first to welcome Liz’s company when they had first arrived in Linkus.

“Quite so. Please, follow me. You and the margrave have much to discuss, and it would not do to keep him waiting.”

Von Tarmier ushered Hiro through the doors to the first floor parlor, a square room with spotless white walls. A window on the western wall commanded a view of Linkus’s affluent northern quarter. Hiro took a seat on a plush, L-shaped sofa in the center of the room. Opposite him, across the table, sat Kiork.

“So, it’s a stagecoach to the capital you’re after?” Kiork said after Hiro had finished his explanation. He took a sip of the coffee his maid had placed on the table and relaxed into his customary half-smile. “I could certainly arrange that. When do you intend to depart?”

“Today, if I can,” Hiro replied. “Would that be possible?”

“You’re in quite a hurry. Would there be any harm in going tomorrow?”

“I’d rather not. His Majesty didn’t give me a time limit, but I don’t want to keep him waiting.”

Kiork nodded. “There’s certainly sense in that.” He smiled, then softly clapped his hands. “Kurt, fetch me a pen and parchment.”

“At once, milord.” Von Tarmier bowed and silently exited the room.

Kiork watched his butler leave, then turned back to Hiro and began to rifle through his pockets. “Now, then. Even by express, it’ll be five days’ travel to the capital. I could hardly ask you to do it on an empty stomach, nor would I if I could.” He produced a plain brown pouch, which he set on the table. “This should cover the cost of any provisions.”

“I couldn’t possibly...” Hiro protested. Tris had already furnished him with eight silver dratzes for the journey—a modest sum, but more than enough to last him to the imperial capital. Kiork’s pouch clearly contained far more.

He tried to refuse, but Kiork cut him off with a raised hand. “Please, I insist. I daresay I owe you my life several times over, and more importantly, so does my niece. I don’t imagine for a moment that this repays my debt, but I hope you will consider it a show of good faith.”

The margrave’s half-smile never slipped, but Hiro could sense that he wouldn’t be denied. Better to accept the man’s kindness or they would be arguing all day.

“In that case, I’m very grateful,” he said.

“Besides,” Kiork continued, “if your star is rising, I’d be wise to get on your good side while I have the chance.”

It was a shockingly ungentlemanly admission. Hiro smiled awkwardly. “I’ll try not to let you down.”

Kiork chuckled. “I look forward to it.”

Von Tarmier returned with a pen, a bottle of ink, and a sheaf of parchment, which he laid before Kiork. The margrave drew up a letter with a practiced hand.

“Give this to the station clerk,” he said, passing the parchment to Hiro. He kept it unfurled, as the ink was still wet. “They will ready their fastest carriage—although be warned that what you gain in speed, you may lose in comfort.”

The roads made for stagecoaches were mostly owned by the state, so they were referred to as the imperial roads. In addition to receiving regular repairs, they boasted periodic rest stops where merchants sold food and water. A regular rotation of patrols stationed out of nearby forts kept monsters and bandits at bay, so they were regarded by the people as a safe mode of travel.

“Oh, and you needn’t worry for your mount,” Kiork added. “I will ensure the beast is well cared for.”

A part of Hiro had wanted to travel all the way to the capital on the swiftdrake’s back, but he had ultimately decided against it. A stagecoach would at least ensure that he got where he was going. Atop a swiftdrake, he ran a very real risk of getting lost.

“Thank you,” he said. “I’ll be back soon.”

Kiork saw him out. Once the doors had closed behind him, Hiro headed for the station. The sun beat down on him harshly, seeking to burn, but a soothing breeze mitigated the heat with its gentle caress.

He passed between the white walls of the margrave’s gate, descended the hill, and entered the well-to-do northern quarter. Past inns and taverns he strolled, before turning a corner at a bar packed with townsfolk celebrating the recent victory over Lichtein. There, the streets opened up into a green paddock surrounded by a high fence. Several dozen horses, specially bred for pulling stagecoaches, grazed inside it. A short distance away was the station, a large log building with a red-painted roof. He entered and presented Kiork’s parchment to the clerk. Before long, a seven-horse carriage drew up before him.

Well, then—onward to the imperial capital. It was still called the royal capital when I left. I wonder how much it’s changed.

With anticipation burning in his chest, Hiro stepped inside the stagecoach.

＊

On the same day that Hiro departed for the imperial capital, something strange was afoot far to the south, on the southernmost coast of the Duchy of Lichtein.

Fisherfolk flocked to the port city of Ilnis for its plentiful variety of catches, but that was not its only claim to fame. This was a town steeped in blood and rust, where slavers docked from around the world with their cargo of flesh. Some distance from the port, where a veritable fleet of slave ships pitched in the tide, was a stretch of beach where the fisherfolk moored their dinghies. A shelter stood on the rocky shore. Although intended for returning fisherfolk to rest their legs, it was currently occupied by six sellswords clutching wicked blades.

“The duke’s a bloody fool, is what he is,” one of the men scoffed. “Goes and picks a fight with the empire, and he loses two of his sons into the bargain!”

“Aye, and the imperials’ll come looking for blood soon enough,” another replied. “I don’t fancy our chances, not even all the way down here.”

“As I hear it, it’ll be us going to them. The duke’s trying again, spouting some bollocks about getting revenge for his boy. They say he’s so desperate, he’s taking on every man who’ll fit a uniform.”

“Oy! What do I bloody pay you for?!” a voice rang out.

The sellswords turned as one toward a portly slave merchant dressed in fine silks. Sweat dripped from his body as he huffed across the sands. Ahead of him was a young girl running for all she was worth.

The sellswords shrugged in resignation and sighed as one. Such sights were not unusual in the Duchy of Lichtein. Whether captives bought in from foreign shores or Lichtein natives stripped of their citizenship, slaves often tried to run from their slavers before they were sold. This girl was yet another in a long tradition.

“That’s my cargo getting away! Stop her, you layabouts!”

Five of the sellswords turned to the sixth. “What do we do, chief?”

The man stood up from his resting place in the shade. “It’s the fat ponce who puts coin in our pockets.” He gestured with a thrust of his chin. “Bring her in.”

The sellswords set out down the beach at a comfortable clip. They overtook the sweating slaver in short order and soon caught up to the girl.

She came to a halt surrounded by burly soldiers, her face a mask of terror. “Please... Please, let me go,” she whispered.

“Sorry, girly. Gotta make a living.”

“A few more years on her, she’d be a real looker. Shame she’ll never get that old.”

Slave girls rarely survived to become adults. They usually succumbed to their brutal living conditions before they could—not that it earned them any mercy. Slaves were property in the Duchy of Lichtein. When one wore out, their masters would simply buy another.

The slave merchant finally caught up to them, huffing. “Waste my time, will you, brat?!” he wheezed. He seized a handful of the girl’s hair and flung her to the ground, eliciting a cry of pain, then planted a foot on her head and ground her face into the sun-scorched sand. She thrashed desperately, trying to get away from the heat, but there was no escape for her with his ample bulk pinning her down.

“Pull that again and I’ll slit your throat, you hear me? Eh?!”

“That’ll do, boss,” one of the sellswords ventured. “You’ll kill the poor girl.”

The slaver turned to him with a cruel grin. “And what if I do? It’s none of your business how I treat my property.”

“As you like, then.” The man scowled in distaste, but he said nothing more.

The leader of the sellswords sidled up, stifling a yawn. “Seems you’ve caught the little lady.”

“Eventually!” The slaver pulled a face. “Once you laggards got around to doing your bloody jobs instead of—”

“Now, now, don’t be like that. All’s well that ends well, eh?” The chief sellsword gave a mocking grin. “Right. Ought to be off, I reckon. It’s too blasted hot here.” He swung around—and his jaw dropped as he saw an enormous figure looming over him.

“Now, who in the world are you?”

The newcomer stood taller than anybody else present. The chief sellsword shrank back, reflexively drawing his sword.

<“Hmm. Scrawny arms, narrow shoulders... You must be a human.”>

“That some kind of foreign tongue? I don’t have a bloody clue what you just said.”

<“I have found my way to Soleil, then.”>

The large man brushed his hair from his eyes with an irritable hand. The violet crystal embedded in his forehead gleamed as it caught the sunlight.

<“The common tongue here is...Grantzian, I believe.”>

“Oy, big guy. I’m talking to you.”

“Apologies,” the man rumbled in heavily accented Grantzian. “Do you understand me now?”

“You an imperial?” the chief sellsword asked.

The large man frowned. “Do I look like I belong to one of your human empires?”

The chief sellsword looked the man over for a moment, then his jaw suddenly tightened with comprehension. “Bugger me, it can’t be...”

The man’s lilac skin and muscular build would have told the tale by themselves, but the violet crystal embedded in his forehead left no room for doubt. Only one race in Aletia matched those characteristics.

“You’re a zlosta?!”

The man grinned. “Well deduced, human.”

“A zlosta?!” the slave merchant cried in surprise. “If that’s true, he’s worth a fortune! Seize him, you louts! I’ll pay you triple!”

One thousand years ago, the zlosta—or the fiendkin, as they were colloquially known—had swept across the land in a riot of conquest. The humans, dwarves, álfar, and beastfolk had stood against them as a coalition known as the Fourfold Alliance. After a long and bitter struggle, the alliance succeeded in destroying the zlosta homeland, but it had failed to eradicate the race entirely. Most of the remaining zlosta crossed the ocean to the Ambition archipelago south of Soleil, fleeing persecution. As far as anybody knew, there they remained, although the raging seas that isolated the islands from the rest of Aletia made it impossible to know for certain. Not all zlosta had made the crossing, however. Some had refused exile and remained behind in Soleil.

“The empire keeps what’s left of them on a tight leash nowadays. They only come up on the markets once in a blue moon, and it’s always some scrawny wretch with barely a trace of real zlosta blood left in them. This one, though...pure as you please. The coin from him will set me up for a dozen lifetimes!”

To the northeast of the Grantzian Empire was a nation called the Kingdom of Lebering. Long ago it had been founded as a haven for persecuted zlosta, but the empire had since annexed it under the guise of making it a protectorate.

“Seems to me you’re offering us a raw deal, boss,” the chief sellsword said. “We might be looking at a pureblood zlosta here, from the look of him. Make it five times and we can— Guh?!”

Before he could finish, a gout of crimson exploded from his body. Blood gushed from the gaping wound in his torso. His innards sprayed across the sand with a sickening splat.

“Bah. Wherever I go, it’s all the same. Slaves this, coin that, as though you could ever put me in chains. You don’t even understand the fight you’ve chosen.” The zlosta heaved an exasperated sigh, clutching a bloodstained greatsword in his hands.

“Chief!”

“You’ll pay for that, you bastard!”

The remaining sellswords readied their weapons and charged.

The zlosta snorted. “It’s always the weakest curs that bark the loudest.”

He sent three of them flying with a single easy swing, painting the beach with their viscera. The remaining two saw what happened to their comrades, glanced at each other, then turned tail and ran.

“Oy! Get back here!” the slaver cried. “What about your reward?!”

“It’s not worth my life!” one called back.

“You dare call yourselves mercenaries?!”

“Fear not. They shall not escape,” the zlosta intoned. He dropped to one knee and slammed the palm of his hand into the ground. Farther up the beach, the sand erupted beneath the fleeing sellswords, tangling their legs and sending them sprawling.

“What the—?!”

“Something’s got my leg!”

A dust cloud rose up in front of them. For a moment it hung in the air, then a greatsword clove through it to sever their heads. Gore spattered across the sand.

“Just as feeble as the rest of their kind,” the zlosta said, stepping over their bodies. He slung his sword onto his back and strode toward the slave merchant. “And now that that is settled, only one question remains. What am I to do with you?”

“Now, don’t be hasty!” the man sniveled. “Yes, that’s right... Why don’t you work for me? We could be partners! I’ll pay you ten times what I— Mmph!”

The zlosta’s hand closed over the slave merchant’s unsightly face and lifted him off the ground. The slave girl lay unconscious beneath the man’s dangling feet, her face bright red. The zlosta’s gaze lingered on her for a second. When he looked back up at the slaver, his eyes were cold.

“Death is the only cure for fools like you.”

The slaver screamed. Blood squirted from every orifice—his eyes, nostrils, mouth, ears. Some of it splattered across the zlosta’s face, but the gargantuan man only watched impassively. Once the deed was done, he tossed the limp corpse aside.

“A new beginning is in order, it seems,” he whispered to himself, kneeling next to the fallen child. He tenderly brushed her inflamed cheek before gathering her in his hands.

“I have already died once. Let’s see how far a dead man’s strength can carry him.”

He set off along the beach with the girl cradled in his arms, bound for he knew not where.

＊

In the Spirit King’s sanctum in Baum, ruled by the álf known as the archpriestess

In the verdant heart of the forest lay a deep blue spring flecked with wisps of mist. This was the heart of the Spirit King’s sanctum, the Baptismal Sanctuary—a sacred place that only the archpriestess was permitted to enter. The álfen woman stood waist-deep in the water. Her eyes slowly opened. In their depths, closer to turquoise than the aquamarine of the pool, miniature lights burst and faded.

“Is this zlosta’s arrival your will?” she whispered.

Her gaze fell on the sphere of light hovering before her, situated between two enormous statues. It gave her no answer. It never did.

“Then I shall assist as best I can.”

A ripple spread through the spring as she rose to the bank. Droplets of water trickled down her clavicle to vanish between her ample breasts. Her sheer shawl clung wetly to her skin, accentuating her sculpted curves. She reached for the kimono lying on the bank, slipped it over her shoulders, and set off into the forest. Through lush woods she hurried, until she arrived at a familiar passage. For a while she wended her way in silence through white-walled corridors. At last, she came to a spacious hall where the temple’s knight-priestesses awaited.

“Bring me ink, a pen, and a sheaf of paper,” she commanded.

The knight-priestesses tensed at the anger in her voice.

“At once, Your Grace,” one said. She signaled to her squire.

“Right away!” the squire piped up before vanishing down the corridor.

The captain of the knight-priestesses stepped forward hesitantly. “Your Grace, your clothes...”

“I fear this is too important to wait,” the archpriestess replied.

“You have seen something?”

“Indeed. I must inform the emperor with all haste.”

The squire returned at top speed, clutching a selection of writing implements. “Here, Your Grace!” she managed between wheezes.

“Thank you kindly,” the archpriestess said, giving the girl an encouraging smile.

The captain was less impressed. “Show some manners in the presence of the archpriestess!” she barked, planting her hands on her hips. “You’ll learn your etiquette someday or you’ll stay a squire for life!”

“Apologies...mistress...”

“She gave no offense,” the archpriestess said. “Leave her be. Let her rest.”

She cast a searching gaze around the chamber. The knight-priestesses inferred her meaning and fetched her a wooden chair. She placed the sheet of white paper on it and began to write.

“Take this to the Knights of the Spirits, with the instruction to convey it to the imperial capital immediately,” she said, her eyes never lifting from the page. “Is that understood?”

She bit her thumb and, after checking that she had drawn blood, pressed it to the letter. A change came over the paper as the scarlet bead seeped into it. It began to glow with a faint light, before rolling up of its own accord. She handed the scroll to the knight-priestess at her shoulder. The knight excused herself and took off down the corridor.

“I have done all I can,” the archpriestess whispered as she watched the woman go. “The rest depends on you, Lord Schwartz.”

＊＊＊

The seventeenth day of the seventh month of Imperial Year 1023

The five-day journey to the imperial capital was far from luxurious. Kiork had commissioned a stagecoach that prioritized speed over any and all comfort, to the point that every bump in the road would propel its unfortunate passenger’s head into the roof. It was, in a word, miserable. Accordingly, Hiro woke on the fifth and final day to excruciating pain.

“Urgh... I’m not gonna miss this. I don’t think I slept a wink...”

He sat upright, massaging his aching body. Expelling a heavy sigh, he looked around the carriage. Its sparse furnishings were horrendously uncomfortable, but at least it had enough space for him to lie stretched out. An expanse of grassland rolled past outside the window on the right.

As he watched with bleary eyes, the front window opened inward. “Awake in there, young man?” the coachman asked, peering through. Hiro raised a hand in reply.

“Best make ready to disembark. We’ll be arriving soon.”

The stagecoach rattled as the window snapped shut again. Hiro slid his legs down from the seat and began gathering his belongings.

The express stagecoach did not terminate directly at the capital, but at a station one sel—or three kilometers—away. After they pulled in, Hiro thanked the coachman and exited the carriage. His jaw dropped at the sheer volume of people. The station was packed with people of all stripes: nobles and commonfolk, sellswords and adventurers.

“I guess that’s what you get in the biggest city in the land,” he said to himself. “I thought the Linkus station was busy, but this is something else.”

Hiro made his way out of the packed station. The scent of newgrown leaves tickled his nostrils as he stepped outside, carried on a pleasant breeze. A stagecoach service nearby offered passage to the capital, but he decided to walk instead. He had a pressing matter to attend to, and he could only do so on foot.

I’m being followed.

He couldn’t risk allowing his pursuers to attack him in the open. Innocent people might get caught in the cross fire. He slipped down a shallow footpath by the roadside and counted the hostile presences that followed him.

Three...six...eight of them.

Amateurs, most likely, given how easily he had sensed them, but it would be premature to make assumptions.

Guess I should make the first move.

He could wait for them to spring their trap, but the scuffle could attract nearby guards, and without any documents to prove who he was, he might end up being taken away for questioning. Even if he could verify his identity, the guards might very well be in on the plot, in which case they might detain him for who knew how long. He didn’t have that kind of time to waste.

Now...who first?

Hiro pinpointed the location of his closest pursuer, then suddenly spun toward them. Space split apart at his fingertips, depositing the handle of a dagger into his grip. As the man reeled back in shock, Hiro slipped behind him to press the point of his newly manifested spirit weapon into his back.

“Struggle and I’ll kill you,” he whispered into the man’s ear. “Now, tell your friends to back off, nice and easy.”

“All right! All right! Just spare my life!”

The man cast a desperate glance at a rocky outcrop, where one of his comrades—a man with a scar on his cheek—was posing as a traveler. The scar-faced man raised his arms and waved them over his head. Hiro felt the presences around him recede. He pushed his captive forward, prompting him to walk.

“I’m going to ask you some questions now,” he said. “Answer them or don’t, it’s your call. I’m happy to see if your friends talk any better.” He slid the dagger’s point down the man’s back, opening a tear in his grimy clothes.

The blood drained from the man’s face. “Let me live and I’ll tell you anything you want!” he whimpered. Hiro’s threat had been an empty one, but the man folded almost immediately. Hiro noted that his legs were trembling.

Amateurs. I knew it.

“Who hired you?” he asked.

“I don’t know who he was, I swear it,” the man said. “He dropped a fat lot of coin in my hand and told me to rough you up. That’s all I know.”

“Really?” Hiro’s eyebrows arched. “And how did this man approach you?”

“I’d just got done in the fields for the day when he showed up out of nowhere. A real odd one he was too.”

“Odd? In what way?”

“Kept his hood pulled low so I couldn’t see his face. The only reason I can say he’s a man is on account of the voice.”

Hiro flipped the dagger around in his grip. He pressed the pommel into the man’s back, prodding him to continue.

“Pick a fight with you and get the guards to take you in. That was all he wanted. I turned him down at first, but then the blighter dropped two golden grantzes into my hand. Couldn’t say no after that.”

So he was nobody, just a gullible fool lured by the promise of gold. His fellow would-be footpads had probably all been hired from the same village.

“I’m not proud of it, but no man of my station would’ve turned that down. You wouldn’t kill me for that, would you?”

Hiro sensed no lie in the man’s words. Pressing the matter further was unlikely to bear any fruit.

“You’re free to go,” he said, “but make any funny moves, and I won’t be asking any more questions. I never want to see your face again. If I do, anywhere, anytime, I’ll cut you down on the spot. Is that clear?”

“Crystal,” the man said, nodding feverishly. “You’ve seen the last of me, I swear.”

He turned tail and ran, leaving the footpath to cut straight through the grasslands. He never looked back. A handful of other figures—probably his accomplices—stumbled in his wake. Hiro watched them flee until they were out of sight, then set out once more for the capital.

That certainly is the last I’ve seen of them. I’m sure their employer will take care of that.

Such a generous reward for such an easy job could only mean one thing: failure would not be tolerated. Though the running figures did not know it, they had just signed their own death warrants.

The real question is why he used peasants to do his dirty work.

If this cloaked man had intended to waylay Hiro, why had he not turned to professionals? At the very least, hiring trained fighters would have guaranteed enough of a scuffle to draw the attention of the guards.

Well, I can worry about that later. It’s been a long time since I last visited the royal—the imperial capital, I guess it’s called now. I might as well enjoy myself.

Casting speculation from his mind for the time being, Hiro came to a stop and took in the city before him. A stately gate rose austerely over the road ahead. Enormous battlements rose into the sky above it, looming over him with an unblinking gaze. A deep moat, drawn from the River Kendel to the north, hugged the foot of the walls, its depths teeming with aquatic creatures. A drawbridge spanned the water, thronged by travelers from both directions. Hiro merged with the crowd and let it carry him across the bridge. After an inspection at the gate, he passed through the portal and emerged inside the city.

“Whoa...” he breathed.

A stunning sight greeted him on the other side. A wide boulevard paved with large flagstones extended from the gate deep into the heart of the city. On either side, at regular intervals, rose statues tall enough to touch the sky—the likenesses of the Twelve Divines, painstakingly rendered in bronze. The eyes of the gods surveyed the boulevard from on high, as though welcoming new arrivals. Covered stalls, packed with customers, lined up shoulder to shoulder at their feet. The cries of merchants and hawkers filled the air.

“The buildings weren’t anywhere near this tall last time I was here,” Hiro mused. “Not to mention how much busier it’s gotten.”

He set off down the boulevard. As he glanced around, taking in the sights, he spied a group of people with bottles in their hands, day-drinking in front of a liquor stall. Their drunken cries rang in the midday air.

“Faerzen’s no more, and good riddance! Bring me another bottle! Today, we celebrate!”

“Better to drink to the sixth princess for putting the desert wolves in their place!”

“And not alone, as I hear it told! Word is, Schwartz’s heir himself fought by her side!”

Passing beneath the gazes of the Divines, Hiro came to the other end of the boulevard. The street opened into a park, where a magnificent fountain cast a jet of water high into the air. The font lent the scene a solemn mystique, made elegant by the ever-present trickling of water and the sparkling of the spray in the sun.

People of all kinds filled the plaza: a couple with their children, a passed-out drunk, a student poring over a book. The air here was serene, very different from the hustle and bustle of the gatefront streets, but the people wore much the same smiles on their faces. No doubt the entire nation was basking in its recent victories over Faerzen and Lichtein.

A voice came from behind Hiro’s back. “Lord Hiro, I see. What an unexpected pleasure.”

Hiro turned to find Laurence Alfred von Spitz, Aura’s handsome young aide. “Likewise,” he replied. “What are you doing here? I thought you were headed back west.”

“I should be asking you the very same thing. What brings you to the capital?”

“A summons from His Majesty.”

“Ah, I should have known. It was only to be expected.”

“So? What about you?”

“His Majesty requested my commander’s presence before we returned to the west,” von Spitz said with a sigh. “Hence, here I am.”

“The emperor wants to see Aura?”

“Higher up the chain, I fear. Third Prince Brutahl.”

Von Spitz set off walking, so Hiro fell in behind him.

“His Majesty was not best pleased to learn that the prince was using the Third Legion’s finest as his own private army, especially while he himself was away on campaign. I imagine my commander is explaining himself as we speak.”

“He shouldn’t have tried to capture Liz, then,” Hiro said. “He only has himself to blame.”

“By happy accident, his scheming did bring us together to fend off Lichtein. That may lighten his sentence somewhat.” Von Spitz paused. “The real question is what will become of First Prince Stovell. Now, that has the whole palace in uproar. Every noble in the court is whispering about either his attempt on the sixth princess’s life or how he assaulted Emperor Schwartz’s heir.”

“Huh,” Hiro said.

“Well, he still has Mjölnir, not to mention the support of House Krone. It’s a fine line His Majesty will have to walk, sentencing the man with the largest faction at court. I don’t envy his decision one bit.” Von Spitz glanced at Hiro and shook his head in exasperation. “And now Emperor Schwartz’s heir himself is here in the capital, adding yet more fuel to the fire.” He turned his eyes to the sky and stared into the middle distance. The silence stretched on uncomfortably.

Hiro gave an awkward smile. “So where are we going?”

“Somewhere quite singular. I could tell you if you like, but I expect you’ll enjoy the surprise.”

By then, the pair had made their way to the eastern boulevard. While its central counterpart had been lined with statues and stalls, here the roadside was packed with smithies, weapon shops, and stores selling a variety of practical wares. Adventurers and sellswords steadily increased in proportion among the passersby, lending the streets an unsavory air.

As Hiro looked around in fascination, von Spitz turned into a narrow gap between a guardhouse and an inn. Hiro followed him into a dingy alleyway. For a while they walked in gloom, until they emerged into the light again to find themselves standing in front of a timeworn temple.

“As you see, my lady precedes us.”

Von Spitz gestured beneath the shade of the trees. Indeed, there sat Aura. Her right arm, broken in battle against Lichtein, hung in a sling, but she flipped dexterously through a book with her left hand. A group of soldiers stood nearby, clad in forbidding black armor, cutting an odd sight with their arms piled high with candies. A gaggle of children surrounded them, clamoring for the treats in their hands.

“War orphans,” von Spitz explained. “The Temple of the Spirits strives to take care of those who have nobody else.”

“So that’s why there are so many of them,” Hiro said. “Why is the temple so far out of the way?”

Worship of the Spirit King was common in Soleil and particularly prevalent in the Grantzian Empire. Temples for the spirits surely saw no end of supplicants, so why was this one built somewhere so obscure?

“The spirits prefer it here,” von Spitz said.

Hiro immediately understood what he meant. This place was an oasis of greenery, isolated from the hustle and bustle of civilization outside. Grass covered the ground, dotted with red and white flowers swaying in the breeze. Bathed in the sun’s rays, the temple’s gentle radiance seemed to cleanse the soul.

“The rest of the eastern quarter has become a rather seedy place in recent times—something of a haunt for adventurers, sellswords, and the like. Efforts were made to resist the changes, but they bore little fruit.”

“I bet,” Hiro said. “Now they’ve settled down, you can’t exactly clear them out again.” It was difficult to remove anything once it had put down roots, and any attempt would face enormous resistance.

“Quite so. Instead, we erected a guardhouse to ensure the children’s safety. I believe you passed it on the way in.” Von Spitz paused. “The Knights of the Royal Black man it presently. Its previous commander was...lacking in diligence, shall we say. Lady Aura felt that the eastern quarter would be better served by her taking a more direct role in maintaining the peace.” There was more than a hint of pride in his voice.

Aura seemed to notice them then. She stood up from her spot in the shade and walked toward them.

“You’re the last person I expected to see.”

Hiro raised a hand. “Hey. It’s been...well, not all that long, I guess.”

She gave a small nod. “I sent a letter, but only yesterday. That can’t be why you’re here.”

“The emperor sent me a summons.” Hiro shrugged his hempen bag off his shoulder, laid it on the ground, and rifled through it, before producing a scrunched-up piece of paper. “Here.”

Aura blinked. “This is a summons?”

Hiro couldn’t blame her for her confusion. The letter had been in poor shape when Liz first handed it to him, and five days in his pack had done little to improve its condition.

Aura cast her eyes over the paper and nodded. “So that’s how things are. I see. How did you mean to get into the palace?”

“I hoped my hair and my eyes would be enough.”

“They won’t be. All the court factions are at each other’s throats right now. The guards won’t give you the time of day.”

“Then I’ll just show them the letter.”

“Nobody would believe this was an imperial letter.” Aura passed the crumpled paper back to Hiro. “Luckily for you. Most people live their entire lives without ever seeing one. These are supposed to be treated with respect. If the guards did believe you, they’d have you executed.”

Hiro smiled sheepishly. “Fair point.”

“There’s nothing for it. I’ll accompany you.”

“What?”

“If I’m with you, they’ll let you through.”

“I mean, I appreciate it, but...” Hiro glanced behind her, where a group of children were assembling. Behind that, her Knights of the Royal Black—the pride of the Third Legion—lay defeated beneath a wave of small bodies.

“Where are you going, Miss Aura?” A girl with a lisp tugged at Aura’s sleeve.

Aura patted her head and smiled. “To the palace. Sir Spitz will play with you while I’m away.”

Hiro could have sworn von Spitz’s eyes momentarily bulged, but if Aura noticed it, she didn’t show it. “This way,” she said, and set off.

“My lady!” von Spitz cried. “I’m not equipped to take care of— Gyaaah!” With youthful boisterousness, the children surged forward and toppled him. Within moments, he had vanished from sight. “Unhand me, you ruffians!” came a shout from beneath the pile. “I am a noble, not your plaything!”

“I’m Schwartz the fop-slayer!” one of the children cried.

“Then I’m General Rey!”

“Fine, but I get to be Emperor Artheus!”

“Stop that! Get off! Stop prodding me!” von Spitz cried, but his protests fell on deaf ears.

With the beleaguered viscount’s screams ringing behind them, Hiro and Aura returned to the fountain plaza and turned north along the central boulevard.

Aura turned to him as they walked. “When the people look up at the imperial palace, they see a paradise where the chosen few live in splendor, but that’s only one of its faces. The other is a cesspit of jealousy and ambition. Never forget that. Never let your guard down. Is that clear?”

“It is,” Hiro said.

“Many people will approach you. Trust none of them. Don’t let them flatter you into serving their interests. Be careful of women most of all. Even emperors have met their downfall that way.”

“You’re not worried for me, are you?” Hiro said.

Aura’s tongue seemed sharper than usual today. He wondered if that might be the reason, but he only earned himself a fierce glare for his trouble.

“Shut up and listen,” Aura snapped.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Remember, His Majesty only summoned you, not me. When it comes down to it, I won’t be there to help you.”

“I’ll be fine. Maybe my etiquette could use a bit of brushing up, but I’ve got a feeling things will work out.”

“I can only hope so.” With that, Aura fell silent.

They crested a gentle hill and came to an enormous wrought iron gate. It stood at five times Hiro’s height, looming over them with a solemn presence. Spiked protrusions jutted up from the top like spears.

One of the sentries recognized Aura and hastened up to them. “Welcome, Brigadier General von Bunadala. What is your business today?”

Aura gestured to Hiro. “His Majesty the Emperor has commanded me to escort this individual to the palace.”

The sentry looked Hiro up and down with an appraising eye. “I fear I’ve heard no such thing. Apologies, but I cannot let you pass.”

Hiro frowned. That was not possible. The emperor had personally written his summons; surely the guards had received instructions to allow him in at the gate. Some third party must have conspired to ensure that they never received those orders, or perhaps this sentry in particular was in somebody else’s employ.

“Tell me your name and affiliation,” Aura said.

The guard looked taken aback. “My lady?”

“If you presume to doubt the word of Third Prince Brutahl’s chief strategist, there will be consequences.”

The threat was clear. Let us pass or lose your job.

“My lady...” The sentry grimaced, debating furiously with himself. A bead of sweat trickled down his cheek. After a long moment, he bowed his head and relented. “You may pass.”

The man looked so defeated that Hiro almost felt sorry for him, but Aura was already stalking indignantly through the gate, so he hurried after her. On the other side lay a grand estate patrolled by a small squadron of soldiers. Conscious of the guards’ distrustful gazes, Hiro advanced along the broad central avenue. Rose gardens lined the road on either side. Ahead of him, a large fountain marked a crossroads.

To the west was a residential district where the more powerful nobles had their manors, while the east hosted the barracks and training grounds of the Knights of the Golden Lion, the pride of the First Legion. Straight ahead to the north was the imperial palace of Venezyne, the beating heart of the Grantzian Empire. As Aura pointed each landmark out, she suddenly stepped up close to him.

“That sentry was in the employ of House Krone,” she whispered. “Be careful of them. They’re supporters of the first prince.”

Hiro gave a small nod of reply.

“Have you heard about the death of the head of House Kelheit?”

He had. Three months prior, the head of House Kelheit—the great house with dominion over the eastern nobles—had passed away, leaving his widow matriarch of the household. His official cause of death was a riding accident, but there had been ample evidence to suggest foul play.

“House Krone is the most likely culprit. I can’t prove it, but they’re plotting to pressure Countess von Kelheit into marriage and take over the house. If they’re bold enough to do that, they wouldn’t hesitate to slip poison into your dinner.”

“Understood. I’ll be careful.”

As he thanked Aura for her advice, they came at last to the doors of the palace proper. Hiro’s breath caught in his throat, not at the edifice’s beauty, but at its familiarity. From beneath a thousand years of additions and renovations, the ghost of the old royal palace stared down at him. Something akin to homesickness rose in his chest.

It’s like coming back home after a long holiday.

The royal palace had been the first place he had visited after arriving in Aletia. There, he had sworn his oath of brotherhood with Artheus. There, he had met the companions with whom he would bring peace to the battle-scarred lands of Soleil. There, once his war was won and his empire stood tall, he had bid this world farewell. It was where everything had begun, and where everything had ended.

Whatever’s waiting past these doors, I won’t let it stop me, he vowed.

This would mark the beginning of a new story. A new legend. With his chest dancing in anticipation, Hiro strode through the portal.

Upon entering the palace, they had to pass through a full-body inspection, conducted by a guard in Hiro’s case and a female official in Aura’s. Once they had received the all-clear, Aura turned to Hiro.

“We have an escort,” she said.

Sure enough, behind her, Hiro spied an older gentleman approaching them.

“I am glad to see that you have safely arrived in the capital,” the man said with a bow. “I am told that you have traveled far. I am Byzan Graeci von Scharm, chancellor to the empire.” He raised his head to reveal an affable smile. “Am I to understand that you are Lord Hiro?”

Hiro started. “Yes, Hiro Oguro. That’s me.”

“And it is you who claims to be descended from His Majesty, Emperor Schwartz?”

“That’s right.”

“Then I am afraid I must ask you to prove your heritage. Would you be so kind as to follow me?”

Chancellor Graeci turned and headed deeper into the palace. Hiro and Aura fell in behind him. The right wall of the corridor was occupied by windows, rounded at the top, stretching the full length of the passage in a lavish display of wealth and power. Paintings on the roof extolled the glory of the Spirit King and the Twelve Divines. Among them, a black-clad swordsman who might have been Hiro faced down a horde of enemies.

Chancellor Graeci’s voice resonated before them as they walked. “Many have professed to descend from the second emperor over the years. Every last one proved a fraud. Even now, we see no end of pretenders hoping to try their luck. I hope you will not hold it against me if I remain skeptical of your identity. Lady Celia Estrella clearly sees something in you, but frankly, I expect nothing more than another opportunist.”

No doubt the man had seen countless false claims. Hiro could hardly blame him for growing cynical.

“It is only natural that a military nation such as ours should hold its god of war in the highest regard. I, too, count myself among Mars’s faithful. I cannot express how disgusted I would be to find yet another scoundrel had falsely claimed his bloodline. I daresay my very guts would boil with rage.” Chancellor Graeci stopped before a closed door and turned to face them. “I pray that you are no such scoundrel. For Lady Celia Estrella’s sake, if nothing else.”

The chancellor inserted a key into the lock and turned it. Hiro and Aura followed him through into a room with white walls that struggled to compensate for the lack of windows. A black overcoat hung from a large clothing stand in the center. Aside from that, the room was bare.

Chancellor Graeci strode to the clothing stand and motioned for Hiro to join him.

“To date, over two thousand people have claimed to possess the blood of the War God. Every last one perished the moment they donned this garment.” Carefully, reverently, he lifted the overcoat from the stand and spread it wide. “This is the Black Camellia, which once adorned the shoulders of Mars himself. The spirit within chooses her master, much as the Spiritblade Sovereigns do. Her curse will strike down any other who dares to wear her...unless their bloodline carries the Spirit King’s blessing. That is how you will prove your claim. Are you ready to proceed?”

Hiro nodded.

It’s been too long, old friend.

This overcoat had been his constant companion across countless battlefields. He felt no fear as he reached out to take her. He even felt a fond smile spread across his face. Yet as his fingers closed around the fabric, the Black Camellia slipped from Chancellor Graeci’s arms and flopped to the floor. A frown creased the chancellor’s brow. There had been no wind, and Hiro could see that he had not dropped the garment intentionally.

Oh boy. She’s mad at me.

The entity housed within the black garb was unusually willful and tempestuous, even by the standards of the five great spirits. It was little surprise that she was angry with him, especially when he had left her to gather dust for a thousand years.

I’m sorry I left you alone for so long.

He stooped to pick up the fallen overcoat, but it slid away from his grasp and flapped up into the air. Chancellor Graeci’s eyes widened, while Aura’s gaze narrowed intently. Hiro hesitated. Apparently, this relationship was going to take more mending than he thought.

At that moment, the dark cloth swelled, entwining itself around his limbs. It pulled him in and swallowed him whole in the blink of an eye. Where Hiro had been, now only a globule of darkness remained, pulsating in a manner unpleasantly reminiscent of chewing. The process happened so fast that Aura and the chancellor could only stare.

“As I thought,” the chancellor sighed. “Another pretender.” The man made no attempt to conceal his disappointment. No doubt he had witnessed the same sight many times before. Yet before his eyes, the darkness began to stir. Slowly, it unfurled like a bud in bloom.

Astonishment washed over Chancellor Graeci’s face. “Remarkable...”

Hiro stood there once more, seemingly unperturbed. His school uniform was gone, transformed. Now he wore a black military uniform cut in the old imperial fashion, with an overcoat jacket of deepest sable layered on top. Twin dragons entwined along the ridges of his shoulders, their golden trim striking against the black.

This was garb invested with the grace of the spirits. A relic of the War God himself, possessed of mystique and dignity in equal measure. Here in the empire, they called it the Black Camellia, but in a far-flung land, it went by another name:

Regalía.

“I dared not hope...” Chancellor Graeci collected himself and sank to one knee in a vassal’s bow. “Please forgive my earlier discourtesy. To lay eyes upon a true scion of His Majesty the Second Emperor is an honor beyond words.”

Hiro laughed uneasily. “Please, you don’t need to bow. I’m not the man himself, just someone lucky enough to have his blood.”

In fact, Hiro was very much the man himself, but Chancellor Graeci might well faint if he learned that. Regardless, it was uncomfortable to have a man easily three times his age treating him with such reverence. He glanced at Aura for help but received only an enraptured stare. Evidently, he was getting no assistance from that quarter.

He looked back at Chancellor Graeci, whose head was still bowed. “Is that everything, then?”

“Not yet, I fear. You must next journey to Frieden.” The chancellor inhaled and exhaled several times, then continued. “‘Those who claim the blood of Schwartz shall be put to the proof at Frieden. They whose claim is true shall be furnished with a suitable title. May the Spirit King’s curse fall upon any who defy these words.’ You are familiar with Emperor Artheus’s last will and testament, I presume?”

Hiro nodded.

The chancellor stood and headed for the door. “Ideally, you should have visited the Spirit King’s sanctum first, but we could hardly allow just anyone to meet with the archpriestess. Should any harm befall her on our account, we would earn the outrage of the entire continent. Instead, we have taken to first testing claimants with the Black Camellia, for our own good as much as hers.” He gestured for Hiro to follow him into the corridor. “A test that you have passed. Next, you must ride for Frieden, where the archpriestess will—”

The chancellor halted. A guard was rushing toward them.

“Lord von Scharm!” the man shouted. “A Knight of the Spirits arrived but moments ago bearing a letter for the emperor! She claims it’s from the archpriestess herself!”

“For His Majesty himself? This is urgent indeed. I will be there presently. See that the envoy is shown through.”

“Yes, my lord!” The guard gave a bow and hurried back the way he had come.

The chancellor turned to Hiro. “My humblest apologies, my lord. It seems I must attend to a pressing matter. Might I ask you to wait a while until I return?”

“I don’t mind, but where do you want me to wait? Here?”

“Gracious me, no. The Chamber of Nobles should suffice.” The chancellor’s gaze fell upon a nearby maid. “You there! Show Lord Hiro to—”

“I’ll show him,” Aura cut him off.

“Very well, Lady Aura will guide you. I will return forthwith.”

Chancellor Graeci departed at a brisk clip. Hiro watched him until he was out of sight, then he and Aura set off for their own destination.

“Letters from the archpriestess are rare,” Aura said. “Ones for the emperor, even rarer.”

“Really?”

“Usually, she relays the Spirit King’s revelations to the chancellor. If this one is addressed to the emperor, it must be important.”

“So that’s why Graeci looked so worried.”

“He’ll take it straight to the throne room. The survival of the empire might depend on it.”

Aura came to a set of double doors. She pushed them open with a comfortable motion and took a seat on a sofa inside. Hiro sat down opposite her.

“I wonder how long he’ll take,” he mused aloud.

“Not too long, I don’t think. But it depends on the letter.”

Hiro shrugged. “I guess all we can do is hope it’s nothing serious.” Looking around the room, a thought struck him. “You know, the Chamber of Nobles sure is empty.”

“It’s meant for nobles who don’t own mansions on the palace grounds, but few people use it. Many minor nobles have homes in the city. Most of the rest prefer to pass the time in an inn.”

“Do you have a mansion in the palace?”

“Only on paper. I don’t use it. I sleep in the guardhouse when I visit the capital.”

They traded small talk for perhaps twenty minutes before the doors opened again. It was not Chancellor Graeci who entered, but a senior official.

“Please excuse me, Lord Hiro, but your presence is requested in the throne room.”

“I thought the princes’ hearings were happening,” Aura said. “Are they over already?”

The official nodded. “They have concluded without incident. I have been instructed to ensure that Lord Hiro is present when His Majesty issues his verdict.”

“May I join him?”

“Lord von Scharm has advised me that you may attend if you wish, but you are to enter through the rear door. Lord Hiro is to enter through the front.”

“All right,” Hiro said, rising from the sofa. “I guess we shouldn’t keep them waiting.”

“No. We shouldn’t.” Aura stood up too, following his lead.

“Please, this way.”

With the official hurrying them onward, Hiro and Aura left the chamber behind.