V
The Third City of Bay Grand, the United City-States of Sutherland
Julius Lira Fifth, a tall, young man with a gentle brightness in his eyes, passed by windows revealing a sky covered by a thin sheet of cloud as he walked down a long corridor on his way to the highest floor of Rizen Castle. At last, a door of agate with a dynamic swirl of flowers etched into its surface came into view before him. The guards flanking the door gave a two-handed salute, which Julius returned, before turning and gently rapping on the door.
“I wasn’t expecting you to get here nearly this soon,” came a mellifluous voice from the other side of the door, not sounding especially concerned. Stifling a grimace, Julius opened the door to where Marshal Lion von Elfriede, master of the Third City, stood gazing out the window at the rooftops below. Without a word, he went over to stand at Lion’s side and for a time, they took in the view together.
“And?” Lion broke the silence first. “What did you think?”
Julius did not ask him what he meant. “There’s no doubt that something highly unusual has occurred within the Asvelt Empire. On the surface, at least, we had established friendly relations, after all.”
“How are the other city lords taking the news?”
“Suffice it to say that it is just as your lordship imagines.”
Pulling out a chair for himself, Lion sat down. He placed his elbow on the table, resting his cheek on his knuckles, then let out a soft snort of laughter.
The shocking news that Ramza the Good himself had ceded his imperial throne had taken Sutherland by storm. Succeeding the man who had earned that epithet was his former chancellor, Darmés. Julius had met Darmés once, at the signing of the nonaggression pact that had required them to cut off the supply of food to the Kingdom of Fernest. He had seemed shrewd, but a shadowy air hung about his figure, and the impression Julius had come away with was one of inscrutability.
This secret treaty had come from none other than Darmés himself. Of course, this meant he was breaching an agreement of his own creation. It would have made sense if said breach had come after the empire had conquered Fernest, but the kingdom remained as stalwart as ever—indeed, they’d received word that the Royal Army was in the middle of a large-scale counter operation against the empire. This alone was enough to strongly suggest that the empire’s dominance was beginning to fray. That they had, in spite of this, not only unilaterally violated the treaty, but also demanded Sutherland’s unconditional vassalage, had understandably left Julius entirely baffled.
Julius poured all this out to Lion, who, gazing at the golden scales that rested on his worktable, said, “There’s no need to complicate matters so. The emperor stepped down, policies changed. Happens all the time.”
“It does, but always on the precondition that the previous emperor has died.”
Lion gave an emphatic nod, as though to say that this had been just his point. “Exactly. Ramza the Good is still alive. I’ve never even heard a rumor of him getting ill. It’s only natural to suspect something happened behind the scenes.”
“But even a Satori’s powers aren’t enough to work out what that ‘something’ is?” Julius asked earnestly, referencing the mind reading monsters of folklore to which Lion was often compared.
In response, Lion burst out laughing. Lion had never once freely shown joy in public. The daughters of their most illustrious families, it was said, spent their days engaged in invisible, cutthroat machinations to try and draw a real smile from him.
I might find myself the subject of a few grudges if they were to see Lord Lion now, Julius thought idly.
Lion meanwhile leaned back deeply into his chair, nodding amusedly to himself. “How much more approachable you’d be to the ladyfolk, if you only let that side of you take center stage a bit more. As it is, you won’t be able to complain when groundless rumors start to spring up.”
“Coming from you, my lord, that sounds rather like the pot calling the kettle black...” As he spoke, Julius took one of the documents he held clasped under his arm and handed it to Lion. Lion took it, flashing Julius a sultry look as he did so, then quickly scanned the contents.
“Good grief,” he said, half exasperated. “A summons from the old boy already.”
The “old boy” in question was Shaola Gendall, lord of the First City of Bukh Haar. It was set out in the Charter of the Sutherland Thirteen that the Council of the Thirteen Stars had to be convened when deciding matters of national import. Sutherland had originally been founded through the union of thirteen small nations, and there was ostensibly no hierarchy between the cities. As such, it had become customary for Shaola, as the eldest of them, to convene the Council of the Thirteen Stars. By a preexisting decision, it would be hosted in the Seventh City that lay in the very center of Sutherland.
Lion returned the document with a cursory gesture, apparently no longer interested.
“You must have guessed the council would meet, with things as they are,” Julius said reproachfully. “And before you get any ideas, my lord, I would ask that you refrain from weaseling out of it by naming me as your representative. To be frank, it’s nothing but trouble for me.”
Lion had always had a tendency to foist anything he found tiresome onto Julius, but lately he had stopped holding back. On matters that did not merit the presence of the lord of the city, Julius of course held his tongue, but upon seeing plain as day that Lion meant to entrust him with a task that concerned the fate of their nation, Julius had jumped in to silence him.
Lion made a show of shrugging, letting out a little sigh through his nose. “You beat me to the punch. I can but obey your wishes, General Julius. I suppose there’s something to be said for knowing how the others are thinking at the moment, even if I already know full well what conclusion they’ll arrive at.”
“I agree completely, my lord.”
“Plus, it’ll be amusing to see how Her Royal Highness is faring after the Death God wiped the floor with her. You must be curious too, Julius.”
“I can’t tell you how it pains me to disappoint you, my lord, but such perversity does not interest me.”
Cassandra sm Sherry, who ruled the Twelfth City of Northern Perscilla, had taken the withdrawal of the imperial army from Fernest as an opportunity to mount an invasion with a force of forty thousand. The Northern Perscillans had ended up in a fierce clash with an army led by the girl they called the “Death God.” The result: a spectacular defeat in which they had lost four for every five of their soldiers. The memories were still fresh in everyone’s minds.
Cassandra, fearing a counterinvasion from the Death God, had appealed for reinforcements, but neither Lion nor any of the other lords had acquiesced. Sutherland still claimed a stance of absolute neutrality and nonintervention, even if for some time this had been in name only. It was the obvious outcome; there was no logic or sense—to say nothing of mercy—that could have persuaded any of them to extend a hand to Cassandra after she had broken their rule of her own volition. Even so, Cassandra had been relentless in her petitions, which had eventually garnered her one supporter: Cassael bell Stainz, ruler of the Seventh City of Crimson Liber.
Cassandra had of course leaped at the offer with the air of a drowning woman being thrown a line, but the Bat, as Cassael was unflatteringly called behind his back, had apparently demanded an outrageous sum of gold in exchange. The army of Crimson Liber had been dispatched to Northern Perscilla, in the end, so Cassandra, however reluctantly, must have swallowed her pride and agreed to the terms. Yet, as though in mockery of her fears, no counterinvasion from the Death God had ever come. Given the state the Royal Army was in, the likelihood of such an invasion had always been vanishingly low. That Cassandra’s fears had been without merit could hardly have come as a surprise to the battlewise Cassael. Even if one couldn’t produce so much as a drop of sympathy for Cassandra in the plight she had brought upon herself, the way Cassael had brazenly preyed on her weakness to extort a fortune out of her had been truly devious.
Lion stroked his face with its features like a masterpiece of fine art, then crossed his long, slender legs. “Sorry, Julius, but I’m taking you with me. I’ll only end up bored if I go alone.”
“I am only too happy to accept the appointment to accompany you, my lord marshal.” Julius, who had come meaning to agree to just this, put his hands to his chest in a deferential salute. Lion rolled his eyes at him.
“Bootlicker. Now—”
“Rest assured, my lord, I have already sent out the Wolfpack.”
To ensure they acquired accurate information, he had dispatched Lion’s personal intelligence agents to the imperial capital of Olsted. In principle, no one was allowed to mobilize the Wolfpack without permission; that privilege belonged to Julius alone.
“Are you sure you won’t go as my representative?” Lion asked.
“You’ll forgive the disrespect, Lord Lion, but I am not going to enable you in shirking your duty.”
“Hey, come on. That’s not it...”
“I am also conscious that there is no shadow without the light.”
Lion’s face turned hard. “You walk proud under the sun, Julius. I never ordered you to be my shadow. But then, I’ve known since we were children that you don’t listen.” He finished with a half smile, then added, “But three days from now, that’s pretty sudden.”
“Lord Shaola must be in a great hurry.”
“I doubt hurrying is going to do us any good here.” Lion slowly spun his chair around to look out once more across the city.
Julius followed his gaze. Mist had settled, entirely obscuring the lay of the town, but the bustle of life going on below conveyed itself all the same. Lion’s capable administration had brought prosperity to the city of Bay Grand.
Lord Lion said as much himself, but it’s predictable how the council will decide to act. Open war with the empire is likely inevitable. Who knows what their new emperor Darmés is scheming, but aside from the Twelfth City, our armies have taken no losses. Moreover, with the empire on the wane, it’s not as though we lack for options.
In the depths of Julius’s gentle eyes, a martial flame sprang quietly to life. Already, those eyes were looking ahead to the battle against the empire.
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