――Rebellion fires are spreading across the Volakia Empire, and the atmosphere grows increasingly tense with each passing day.

　It has been just over nine years since Vincent Volakia ascended to the throne as Emperor, but the current state of unrest in the nation has never been this pungent, and public sentiment is greatly disturbed.

　The history of the Volakia Empire is, after all, a history of war.

　Even if an unprecedentedly peaceful era were to arrive, conflicts occurring in areas beyond the capital’s perception couldn’t be fully prevented. Therefore, not all citizens felt at ease.

　However, even so, the people living in the Imperial Capital Rupugana enjoyed a certain degree of tranquility.

　In the Imperial Capital, the Emperor’s seat, it is said that conflicts do not occur. This was a source of relief regarding the authority of Emperor Vincent Volakia—but that was a story of the past.

　The assassination attempt on the Emperor two years ago took place right within the Imperial Capital itself. The Emperor was wounded and his life endangered, and the perpetrators were none other than the “Nine Divine Generals.”

　Since that event, people have learned that true peace would never come to the empire. They learned and, with that knowledge, held onto hope.

　Emperor Vincent’s demeanor, unwavering even against the rebellion of the “Nine Divine Generals,” exemplified how invincible the Volakia Empire could become amidst chaos.

“—However, the people’s sense of relief and expectations have recently been in great flux.”

Reports suggest cracks have begun to form in the great premises established in the empire.

A message bearing uncomfortable truths could lead to immediate death if one were to disregard it. It is no surprise to have those in attendance hesitate; nevertheless, the report resounded boldly in the throne room.

The civil and military officials gathered in the Crystal Palace—the heart of the Volakia Empire—are all soldiers at their core, even if their roles differ. Even they cannot avoid hesitation, for to be regarded as weak here means a direct path to death.

None of them fear death itself. What they fear is a meaningless death.

They dread dying without dignity as warriors of the Volakia.

Thus, the officers respect the report brought forth by the white-haired elder statesman, Chancellor Belstet Fondalfon, and they await Vincent’s response.

“――――”

The throne, enveloping his slender body, symbolizes authority inherited since the reign of the first Volakia Emperor.

Behind the throne flies the national flag, emblazoned with a wolf crest pierced by a sword, staring down bravely upon the soldiers. With the sword-wolf at his back, Vincent stands dignified.

Leaning comfortably against the throne, Vincent radiates no martial presence.

In fact, no one has heard rumors of this profoundly clever Emperor excelling in martial arts. No one has ever seen him wield a sword, nor has anyone witnessed him indulging in hunting.

An Emperor occupies the throne and is expected to govern the entire empire.

Even in an empire that values strength, a martial prowess is not demanded of its supreme leader. The true sword of the Emperor is a peerless warrior that he commands.

Yet—

“――”

Many soldiers are overwhelmed by the silence from their seated Emperor.

If they were to duel, there should be no reason for them to lose, and the distance to the throne could be closed in mere seconds. Under the premise that it is natural for the strong to oppress the weak, there shouldn’t be an ounce of fear from the soldiers towards this Emperor.

Yet, the distance remains, and the unfathomable presence of the Emperor is unmovable.

“People’s sense of relief, is it?”

Suddenly breaking the silence, the Emperor’s lips utter words.

For an instant, the tension lingering in the throne room eases; however, it thickens, tightening the hearts of the soldiers instead.

Vincent narrows his elongated black eyes, gazing at Chancellor Belstet, who continues to bow respectfully, palms together in subservience.

“Since when did our Emperor begin to gauge the moods of the populace?”

“…I understand your Excellency’s sentiment. However, it is a fact that worries regarding your rule are rising among the populace. If left unattended, this poisoned blood will spread across the entire empire.”

“Are you suggesting I should shed this poisoned blood?”

“Forgive me, but even an Emperor ruling over the land risks losing his life at the end of a blade. To hesitate over losing a hand or a foot while allowing a head to fall is misguided, wouldn’t you agree?”

“――――”

“Of course, it is best if we can contain things before it comes to losing fingers, ears, or fingernails.”

With a respectful bow at the end of his statement, Belstet expresses his opinion plainly.

Such candid, unfiltered speech sends chills among the soldiers. Yet at the same time, they are able to marvel at having their unspoken words voiced for them.

Belstet’s sentiments are the collective opinion of the soldiers regarding the rebellion spreading through the empire.

Those who have long been complacent under Vincent’s rule raise their voices, adding fuel to the flames of rebellion as they ride the coattails of the first to speak out.

If one such individual is worthy enough to rise as a formidable enemy, what about those who follow in their disgrace?

To fight, win, and claim victory are fundamental principles of the empire’s citizens.

The citizens must be strong, yet too many have distorted that ambition, taking advantage of it. Only by casting these pretenders aside can the true spirit of the empire’s strength be embodied.

However, Vincent has refrained from taking proactive measures against these rebellions, instead relying solely on the defensive capabilities of local garrisons. That said—

“Merely dispatching generals to snuff out the buds of rebellion will not lead to a fundamental resolution.”

“—You’ve quite a way with words, Belstet. To gather the assembled soldiers to confront me, you almost resemble the leader of the rebellion yourself.”

“Now, now. I have no intention of fomenting rebellion or displacing Your Excellency from the throne.”

“Hmph.”

Vincent snorts softly, dismissing Belstet’s rebuttal.

Nonetheless, it is understandable why Vincent makes such remarks. After all, for some time, Belstet’s words have echoed the sentiments of the soldiers.

Including the point about sending a single general to suppress rebellion being insufficient.

Leaving aside the sharp exchanges that have been red with blood—

“Your Excellency, this rebellion is…”

“I have taken your advice to heart. However—”

“――――”

“—I have my own thoughts as well.”

With a wink, Vincent’s gaze sweeps over Belstet and the assembled soldiers, smashing any budding mistrust of the Emperor.

When summoned and gathered in this throne room, the soldiers initially had their thoughts regarding Vincent’s passive stance towards this rebellion.

In fact, while Belstet was the one to voice their concerns, each soldier shared the same sentiments, which magnified upon hearing the suggestion.

That growing sense of discontent, akin to rebellion, is quelled.

Like a raging fire doused by wind and water, the flames diminish, weaken, and extinguish.

And—

“Do you doubt my words?”

The Emperor, possessing profound wisdom, poses the question, leaving Belstet taken aback.

What emotions linger in those thinly slitted eyes, veiled from others? No one present can say for sure.

The only certainty is one thing.

““—We absolutely do not!””

The soldiers echo in unison, responding boldly to the Emperor’s inquiry.

Pounding their feet, the military officers draw their swords and hold them aloft. The civil officers align their palms and fists before their chests, each performing the utmost courtesy appropriate to their stations, responding unequivocally to the Emperor.

Vincent Volakia’s thoughts remain a riddle to all.

However, if one were to ask whether they dismiss the unknown as untrustworthy, the answer is a resounding no.

If trust requires both words and deeds, Vincent has demonstrated his accomplishments.

Starting with the “Selection Ceremony” to ascend to the throne, and then the impressive governance characterized by a lack of disorder.

The Emperor, who has shown his capabilities, has also articulated the words essential to trustworthiness.

— Do you question my words?

“This response to the rebellion is also stemming from my considerations. Do I need to explain every detail from one to ten for you to follow my lead?”

““—We absolutely do not!””

“Then, before you listen for any more words, act upon what must be done. I have no intentions of bestowing the mantle of office upon those incapable of fulfilling their duties.”

The Emperor’s statements are cold and razor-sharp, and that is why they resonate closely with the soldiers.

Vincent’s gaze and voice possess the innate power to manipulate the souls of others. His warmth can be as fiery as it is icy, and at this moment, it kindles the soldiers’ hearts.

Those feelings of anxiety and doubt have clouded their gazes.

Yet, they have received no tangible responses to their concerns. Nonetheless, those murky eyes have cleared—because their Emperor has affirmed that he is maneuvering with great foresight.

That alone allows numerous imperial soldiers to fight with confidence in victory.

“Could I trouble you to share a glimpse of your inner thoughts with me and the soldiers?”

“For what purpose? If I were to reveal my plans, it would introduce flaws. What I might gain instead is your peace of mind or that of the soldiers, fraught with trepidation about what lies ahead?”

Comparing their worth seems irrelevant, Vincent retorts with a bleak tone directed at Belstet.

However, the soldiers support Vincent’s response. The feeling that Belstet’s words were a voice for them, just a moment ago, has completely evaporated.

Rather, they find themselves feeling anger and irritation at Belstet’s suggestions. Vincent has clarified that he has his own plans. Isn’t that enough?

“There may be discontent. I do not intend to provide explanations solely based on the empire’s authority.”

Fixing his gaze on the silent Belstet, Vincent continues.

The Emperor’s voice as he tries to explain his reasoning elicits inner shakes of the heads from many soldiers. Further explanations are unnecessary. Yet, the Emperor persists.

“But, as I mentioned before, I shall not divulge my plans. In return, there is but one word I shall extend to you.”

“Your Excellency…”

“The citizens of the empire must be strong.”

“――――”

“—I shall provide a battlefield befitting the existence of that sword-wolf.”

With a deep nod, Vincent promised this not only to Belstet but also to the soldiers behind him.

Moments later, a fiery passion ignites throughout the soldiers. The fervor clings to them like a wild flame, equal to the rebellion’s fire spreading across the empire.

If the rebellion is a blaze of doubt toward the Emperor, then the fire igniting within the soldiers is a flame of trust toward him.

“――――”

As the soldiers steadily grow more heated, Vincent and Belstet exchange silent glances.

The Emperor and the Chancellor, both placed at the pinnacle of the empire due to their wisdom, are unable to decipher the intent behind the exchanged glances.

Belstet, for his part, refrains from uttering even further words that might offend the Emperor’s sentiments.

Instead—

“—Your Excellency, if you would allow, I have one more thing to inquire.”

“Do you persist with questions and doubts? Unlike before, those backing you do not seem inclined to side with you.”

“The decision to voice my concerns should not depend on the presence of allies; it is the way of a Chancellor.”

“Clever tongue. Speak your mind.”

Vincent gestures with a slight chin lift.

At this, Belstet prefaces, “Very well,” and continues.

“That is—”

“—The black-haired ‘Prince’.”

“――――”

“The one being heralded by the rebellious factions as their banner. A boy with black hair and eyes, rumored to be your unacknowledged son, Your Excellency.”

Belstet’s act is akin to tossing a blazing fire stone into the air, leaving the previously oblivious soldiers at a loss for words.

The rumors in question had reached the soldiers’ ears; dismissing them would be a lie, but they had possessed neither the courage nor motive to verify the validity of said claims.

Now, with Belstet directly confronting this point, the soldiers who had previously felt resentment flip the script in hopeful anticipation.

Now, the entire nation is keenly focused on the presence of the “Prince.”

How does Vincent perceive him? What does he hear? How will he speak of it?

After a brief silence, Vincent calls out, “Belstet.”

And then—

“Do not be swayed by baseless rumors. I have no child. If you are so inclined, secure the origins of those rumors and bring forward this so-called heir. I’ll indulge in the amusement of keeping him as a jester.”

With that, the black-haired Emperor uttered in a brutally frank manner, even sporting a cruel smile.

△▼△▼△▼△

“—Truly, the ‘Prince’ is not your child, is he?”

The same question posed mere moments before, in the presence of a larger crowd now whispering through the air.

However, the emotional weight behind the voice now bears a subtle shift, increasing its heaviness. It is a genuine inquiry steeped in consequential stakes for the one who asks.

This place is not the throne room or Crystal Palace but the Chancellor’s residence within the Imperial Capital.

Though they share the burden of governance for the Empire, a palpable tension always lingers between Vincent and Belstet, such that the outside world would deem the two adversaries at heart.

From that stance, very few could believe their eyes if they witnessed this clandestine meeting:

Vincent Volakia, secretly visiting Belstet Fondalfon’s residence, both now seated face to face in one room.

“――――”

With narrowed black eyes, Vincent fixes his gaze on Belstet, maintaining a choking silence that seems more a means to corner his counterpart rather than merely a ponderous thought.

He is a man well-versed in the effects of silence and pause.

In truth, even though he labeled the matter a “life-and-death issue,” unwarranted concern and agitation have not crept into Belstet for having posed this inquiry.

Indeed, there is no trace of self-preservation in him. That quality alone is what he must watch for closely.

“Of course.”

“――――”

“My answer remains unchanged. I have no heir. All of this is mere nonsense.”

“As I have conveyed before, discussions held here will not leak outside. Not even to General Roswaal, who would least suspect.”

Maintaining a lengthy silence, Vincent finally responds to Belstet.

The “Tea Room,” set up in Belstet’s residence, stands as a small fortress meticulously arranged for clandestine talks. This unique chamber, boasting rare magical barriers and mysterious enchantments, supposedly cost enough to buy an entire city.

“Rest assured, I am receiving the necessary stipend. After my demise, I trust it will be effectively utilized.”

“Do you believe a tea room suits the likes of the Crystal Palace?”

“Names and decor are inconsequential; you are welcome to redecorate however you wish. What matters is the function… here, there is no need for pretense.”

Instead of drawing meaning into his words, Belstet lays them bare, stripping away the facade.

In response to his words, Vincent squints one eye. It’s not a moment of contemplation; he has an answer already decided. This is merely another interval meant to allow for silence.

He knows full well that this tactic does not affect the elderly figure sitting before him, yet he refuses to hold back.

He is resolutely committed to his stance. He has been told time and again that such ease should come to someone with long-standing ties; but that’s just how he is.

“There’s no reason for me to heed your words. My relationship with you is strictly one of coinciding interests. Do not misconstrue that.”

“I see. In that case, I would much prefer you to thoroughly dispel any doubts I may have.”

“――――”

“Again I ask: The Emperor does not have a child.”

“──. My answer has not changed.”

With repetition, Vincent responds to his repeated inquiry. Upon hearing this, Belstet replies curtly, “So be it,” allowing neither disappointment nor relief to seep into his expression.

Given Belstet’s objectives, Vincent understood how he might perceive the ramifications of his words, yet Vincent couldn’t help but follow with a requisite question.

“If I had a child, what would you do?”

“If your Excellency had a child, it implies you still possess the intent to fulfill your duties as Emperor. I would promptly secure the child and usher you back to the throne.”

“Ha. What becomes of me then?”

“You know full well how traitors meet their demise, do you not?”

Belstet maintains a composed demeanor, responding in accordance with expected propriety.

In fact, witnessing such complete selflessness in his service to the Empire is refreshing. With not a twinge of discomfort visible, that absence only emphasizes an underlying abnormality.

Regardless of Belstet’s reflections—

“—The rumor of the ‘Prince’ likely stems from the individual evading pursuit.”

“Are you suggesting that the rebellion is merely fuelled by conjecture? You hold the privilege of staying silent even from your companions, including General Cecilis.”

“Impossible.”

“It is unlikely that you are privy to every detail your Excellency possesses.”

“—Impossible.”

Belstet stubbornly dismantles doubt while Vincent shakes his head.

These proclamations bear no tinge of wishful thinking or conjecture; there exists no uncertainty, and he states them as a reaffirmation.

Regardless of their veracity, Vincent Volakia has no child.

To prevent even the faintest hint of such speculation or possibility from remaining, that man has taken painstaking measures. Not once in his life has he found himself engaging with a woman in bed.

He carries within him an unwavering will, vowing not to shut either eye in public.

Thus—

“—Vincent Volakia has no child. Your actions are justified.”

“Justified? If that is how you define it, I should seize the throne with my own hands. Given my inability to do so, it cannot be justified. To begin with—”

“――――”

“With these old, weary arms, I am in no condition to protect the empire’s authority.”

An oddly fervent obsession seeps through Belstet’s calm tone.

Many act upon conviction—believing their actions righteous. Otherwise, they bog down and fail to justify their reality.

Just how many people can press on through awareness of their own mistakes without faltering? How can they achieve their intended results relentlessly?

And—

“――――”

—And what is waiting down the path forged through persistent mistake?

“If my doubts are allayed, then my duties remain unchanged.”

While Vincent’s thoughts range far, Belstet’s calm voice interrupts.

He likely never harbored expectations regarding the existence of a “Prince.” At most, if he heard from his closest aides that such a possibility did not exist, he could push his doubts aside.

Thus, Belstet’s interests and conversation quickly pivot.

“Now, as for dealing with the traitors who point their blades at you—”

“Is the conversation we had in the throne room insufficient?”

“While I played the role of the soldiers’ advocate, it is imperative that I retain my position distinct from that of those who utterly trust in your insight and authority. I have already dispatched Generals Arakia and Madelin to crush the budding rebellion, yet that alone will not suffice.”

“――――”

Propped up with his chin resting on his hand, Vincent silently listens to Belstet’s report.

In reality, Belstet’s behavior in the throne room was not premised upon prior agreement. Nevertheless, it can be asserted that he chose the optimal course considering the state of the empire and Vincent’s authority.

Thus, he diverted the soldiers’ grievances and doubts. On the other hand, Belstet is well aware of the truth that Vincent merely occupies a hollow throne, and so his authority does not hold sway over their reactions.

“Under normal circumstances, the abilities of General Chisha and General Goz would be required. Given the difficulty in mobilizing either, what say you to recalling General Grooby?”

“—The movements in the northwest seem suspicious. Whether it’s Kararagi or some other scheme afoot, there is no option to pull that faction away from the border just yet.”

Originally, the duty of the generals encompasses both domestic security and external deterrence.

This situation was wrought from the cohesion of Vincent and Belstet, but jeopardizing the empire’s foundation is utterly contradictory to their aims—therefore, selfish ploys will end only in suffocation.

Deploying Grooby Gamuret remains critical for the defense of the empire.

“What about General Roswaal?”

“I would prefer to avoid carelessly sending him away from the Imperial Capital and inadvertently allowing contact with the rebel forces. Keeping him stationed in the capital, for pivotal endeavors, is paramount—at least with his current willingness.”

“Considering the treatment of the singular arm lost during the Magic City incident, it should not be too challenging to devise a reason to keep Roswaal in the capital. Should that come to pass, what shall we do with Moguro?”

“That man possesses a role only he can fulfill.”

With a thoughtful tap of his toes against the floor, Vincent dismisses Belstet’s suggestions one after the other.

Each of the Nine Divine Generals has been assigned indispensable roles and are stationed appropriately. But there is one General who escapes such categorization.

“General Cecilis is still an unknown factor, I assume?”

“Forcing him to discern between friend and foe is no easy task. His beliefs fluctuate based on principles and ideologies, thus I removed him from the equation.”

They have a lengthy history together. However, Vincent has never felt he truly grasped Cecilis.

It is likely that only Cecilis himself is capable of understanding his motives. Though his sword-skill may be undeniable, there is no room for permitting any undefined entities to linger.

It is a woeful tale for Cecilis, who yearns for the spotlight.

“In any case, his return is improbable. Besides, being troublesome when used and unable to be controlled is unnecessary chaos. Most likely, the rebels view matters similarly.”

“——If he cannot return to the board, then I have no objections either. So shall we consider the daring ‘Prince’ posing as your child, alongside the fervent rebels? And then will the power with which we launch a counter-offensive be—”

“Arakia, Roswaal Dunkelken, and Madelin Eshault.”

“――――”

“If deemed insufficient, also include Chisha Gold and Moguro Hagane.”

With the single word “insufficient,” Belstet loses his composure, murmuring, “Surely, you jest.”

It raises questions of how to take what has been said, but gathering all five of the Nine Divine Generals to oppose enemies is a staggering feat. The remaining two Generals—Kafma Ilurukusu and others—also possess considerable strength, presenting a fine foundation for combat.

Therefore—

“—We shall confront the rebels at the Imperial Capital Rupugana.”

“The rebels may alter their tactics once their numbers swell.”

“Utilizing the black-haired ‘Prince’ to gather strength while displaying a false front? They will find it impractical to present claims regarding an existence that doesn’t exist; aligning their ranks will prove impossible. While it may amplify the rebellion’s intensity in the short term, the flaws will compound in the mid-to-long term.”

The rebels who raised their voices at this opportunity have placed the phantasm of a non-existent Prince as their figurehead.

Even if the rebel forces all converge upon the Imperial Capital, there exists no possibility for them to coordinate. Yet, it must be said that Vincent Volakia is anything but oblivious to this fact.

Just considering that, a sense of uncertainty still lingers. Moreover, speaking of uncertainty—

“—A decisive confrontation in the Imperial Capital? Ever since the founding of the Holy Volakia Empire, it is likely to beckon a horde of rebels, akin to the ‘Headman’s Guillotine’ of Magritza.”

“Belstet.”

“Your Excellency?”

“You seem quite amused.”

Vincent’s assertion catches Belstet off guard, though he manages a puzzled “Huh?” and brushes his fingers gently against his cheek, finally recognizing the emotion.

Gradually, a glimmer of delight unfurls within him, and he begins to ponder its nature.

“I am deeply sorry. I find myself at a loss; how could I allow such feelings to surface?”

“No need for apologies. What causes you to laugh?”

“Laugh? Rather, I simply thought… as expected.”

“As expected?”

“I thought, without question, that the Volakia Empire finds its essence in the midst of turmoil.”

This claim would likely amuse individuals outside the empire, for they’d find it preposterous coming from an elder.

However, for anyone who considers themselves a part of the Volakia Empire, it embodies a sentiment that almost every man, woman, and child carries deep within. This revelation doesn’t render Belstet unique.

—Only, of course, it’s rare to hear such sentiments voiced from someone of his stature.

“It is precisely this.”

“There are visions of the future that every individual draws. Your Excellency… no, you too must feel the same?”

“――――”

Within the Tea Room—though the possibility of detection is thin—Belstet has indeed spoken more than usual.

Such uncharacteristically verbose musings denote evidence that even one like him possesses human blood. If that is to be taken at face value, then perhaps it implies that I possess something apart from such blood.

Why?

“—You speak too freely, Belstet. Who do you take me for?”

The quiet response harbors neither the anticipated excitement nor sorrow; they are not part of his fabric.

“`

 

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