118. Everyone's Plans

"Kunter, how is your body?"

"I am deeply grateful for your concern, Your Majesty. Thanks to you, I was able to return without crossing the River Styx."

Kunter, risen from his sickbed, paid his respects to the emperor with thanks and apologies. His own carelessness in failing to recognize Libio had brought harm to him—it was no small fault.

"Your Majesty, I have come to truly realize it this time. I am not the vessel for the emperor."

Kunter knelt, his fingertips trembling without cease. It was the lingering aftereffects of the recent incident.

"What would you have done?"

"For the future of the empire, please dethrone me. Sending me into exile in a foreign land would be the best course of action."

"So be it."

The defeated Kunter bowed his head deeply. With this, he was officially dethroned and eliminated from the succession battle.

He no longer had the face to look upon the secretaries, knights, servants, chief physician, and all the retainers of First Star Palace who had followed him until now.

"Kunter."

The emperor signaled a servant to bring forth a bottle of liquor.

"Take the cup."

At this final gift from him, Kunter's chest swelled with emotion.

I entered the briefing room with Hugo's team. Chloe and Palkenhain were there as well.

Hugo projected data onto the crystal orb and began his report in a deep, resonant voice.

"To cut to the conclusion: the curse borne by Princess Asella is of the highest grade."

"Highest grade! To be precise, isn't it the product of 7th Hierarchy black magic?"

"It was described as something Camilla poured everything into creating. It seems she paid a considerable price."

Hugo presented his evidence for the judgment. It was irrefutable, solid data—worthy of a research paper.

"The effect is soul erosion. Casting requires three elements: the caster, the medium, and the target. Once cast, it operates independently of the caster's life, death, or mana status."

"So the medium is the power source. That's the great witch's soul?"

"Yes. This curse transmits the medium soul's traits to the target's soul, ultimately fusing them. Mana, magical power, divine power, specific emotions or ideologies—all of it."

"My god. In a way, isn't it resurrection?"

Palkenhain gaped in shock. It was a cruel effect that sacrificed the target's body and soul to manifest the medium soul.

"Slightly different. The two souls clash upon mixing, so neither remains intact—they inevitably drive the host mad."

"A spell only a black magician would dream up..."

"That's why black magic is called magic. Compared to miracle-working spells, black magic offers no reason to use them when you factor in the costs."

I added for Chloe's benefit. Seymour had once called black magic a downgrade of true magic.

"The medium—the great witch's soul—isn't in pristine condition either. It was simplified for the ritual formula."

"What does simplified mean?"

"Compressed to this size for injection into a human body. Unnecessary memories or humanity were excised. The caster left only the parts needed for their purpose."

"Rage and hatred to spread black magic, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠a thirst for destruction—something like that."

I laid it out flatly. The team's mood sank visibly.

"And Camilla's been stimulating it, so it's expanding."

"Yes. Either fusion or rampage— one of the two will happen soon."

"Why so tense, everyone? That's why we're here. We'll perform surgery. What's the limit?"

"From our observations, about three months... around year's end, I think."

"We'll schedule the surgery before the year ends. Next, the procedure."

I stood and pointed at the MRI data with a pointer.

"The curse's location—judging by size and position—is the gallbladder."

In simple terms, the gallbladder. It's attached beside the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠duct from the liver to the small intestine. Asella's occasional abdominal pain was likely similar to acute cholecystitis. It happens when a small stone forms in the gallbladder.

When the stone randomly blocks the duct, excruciating pain hits. When it rolls back inside, the pain vanishes as if by magic, allowing normal life indefinitely. The curse remnants probably block the duct sporadically. The pain was severe enough to rival childbirth at worst.

Abdominal pain is always hard to pinpoint without tests—based on symptoms alone, it's tough to distinguish from appendicitis, lymphadenitis, cholecystitis, and more.

"You can live without a gallbladder; it's just inconvenient, not essential. We'll do a cholecystectomy. The difficulty is low. Laparoscopic means four small incisions, and done. What about that?"

"Production's stalled due to rare materials needed. Consult the dwarf artisans."

"Got it. The issue is removal. What happens when we cut it out?"

"Since it's the great witch's soul, worst case, it'll unleash a barrage of magic."

"Right? The princess will be under general anesthesia in the OR. Imagine 5th or 6th Hierarchy spells exploding and wrecking the heart-lung machine."

"Eek! Please stop with the scary stories."

Chloe clutched the chart in terror.

"In His Majesty's previous surgery, the amulet you lent us controlled the high-grade curse to some extent."

"True, it stayed dormant until ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠initial removal. If we can control it perfectly until extraction, it'll be much like His Majesty's case."

The problem was this was highest-grade, not high-grade. The current amulet would be useless.

I opened my status window.

'Combine it with the Stormstone of Eternity, for sure.'

It becomes a mythic artifact, capable of manipulating even highest-grade curses.

'The Stormstone of Eternity—that's the legendary artifact held by the Thunder Tribe chief among the barbarians.'

Three months given. I had to acquire the Stormstone within that time.

'Barbarian territory is the north.'

The Thunder Tribe, unlike the Rock Tribe, were relatively reasonable, but time was short. Negotiation would be ideal, but I'd need military pressure as backup.

The issue, though...

'Asella won't let me go off to the boonies.'

She'd barely allowed the mock battle recently. No way she'd grant a long expedition, let alone fighting barbarians—she'd lock me up again. Even if permitted, she'd insist on coming along like before.

Asella needed rest now. Using magic raised mana rampage risk. No support from Moonlight Palace.

First, contact the main family for mobilization prep. Knights and adventurers, as much as possible.

'Only I know what the artifact looks like, so I can't not go.'

Fortunately, the Thunder Tribe chief was someone I'd negotiated with a few times in the future— we had some rapport. Things might go smoothly.

"Surgery as soon as we have countermeasures for the highest-grade curse. Everyone, prepare in the meantime."

The doctors responded vigorously and dispersed.

After afternoon rounds, Asella insisted strongly, so we went for a walk in Moonlight Palace's inner courtyard. Sunlight exposure was important, so I permitted it.

Asella, tossing the frisbee to Max, looked quite pleased, but still dissatisfied.

"I want to use magic."

"Absolutely not. Prohibition until I fix you."

Even now, Asella's curse grew bit by bit, devouring her. I flipped through the chart and explained.

"I've found the method. It won't take long. You remember the precautions exactly?"

"No outings, no strenuous activity, no magic, no anger, no destruction. Boring."

"Emergency meds?"

"Yellow's the usual painkiller. If it's too bad for that, one red. Blue's the sleeping pill."

"Correct. Only one at a time, and no two reds in a row. To prevent accidents, you won't be able to take them alone."

"Why bother? You can manage it."

"I might be asleep."

"In an emergency for your lord, a chief physician should wake up."

"Haha. Fair point."

It was just a reminder for when I wasn't around. Asella was smart; she'd handle it.

Max chased the flung frisbee, tail wagging wildly, but missed and tumbled to the ground. Asella muttered "idiot" at him, winked one eye, and pretended to aim a spell with her hand.

"You really love magic."

"Of course. Ah, frustrating! Young master, you're not banning me because you hate going out with me, right?"

"Nah, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠as if I'd be that scheming."

"You're not? No, nothing. Anyway, good. I needed prep time too."

A commoner outing, a casual neighborhood stroll—nothing major. Probably making a cafe list.

A brief silence passed with the autumn breeze between us. This was the third autumn with Asella. The fourth winter would come too. Whether we'd overcome it was up to me.

"Young master. I heard about the treatment you did on His Majesty—from the nurse."

It was supposed to be confidential. Chloe must've cracked under Asella's pressure.

"Planning to cut into me too?"

Asella's calm demeanor showed she accepted surgery. She'd been the first to experience my medicine firsthand, even witnessing surgical results.

Time to discuss it openly—for her benefit.

"Won't open your whole belly. Just make incisions."

"Hm."

Asella turned her head sharply to look at me. Her long golden hair soared into the sky then settled slowly. Her small lips moved, her voice drifting with the wind.

"Ras. If you heal me, I'll acknowledge that merit—and then."

Like the haughty princess she was.

"I'll fulfill our contract."