Her Majesty's Most Honourable Privy Council

The sun never sets on the empire’s monarch, who resided in the palace. The seventy-one-year-old queen asked her two subjects, “The Northern Covenant Syndicate… is that how it is read?”

“That is correct, Your Majesty. This is information obtained directly by Your Majesty’s subjects from Russia, and it has been cross-verified by MI6.”

The queen stared silently at the female subject who had answered first. She was the prime minister who had somehow managed to overcome the chaos of her fifth term’s early days and seized power once again.

“Then there is no room for disagreement. Of all places, why did these people have to settle in London?”

In essence, the remark carried the hidden meaning of ‘Where exactly have you been and what have you been doing all this time?’ Though the two had maintained a sovereign-minister relationship for nearly twenty years, it was a well-known fact that the relationship between Elizabeth II and Margaret Thatcher was far from amicable.

If one twisted the words further, the prime minister was well aware that they also concealed the implication, ‘Weren’t you too busy cracking down on Labour supporters in Liverpool and Manchester to notice?’

Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher responded as if rebuking the bearded old gentleman standing beside her. “Indeed. If the Marquis of Dunhaven here had paid a little more attention, the situation might have improved somewhat.”

“I say! What kind of impertinent nonsense is this in front of Her Majesty!”

The Marquis of Dunhaven, Minister of the UK Authority of Artifacts and Arcane Affairs—commonly known as the British Ministry of Magic—bellowed in outrage.

However, the Iron Lady Margaret Thatcher was not the sort of person to bow her head to a senile old man who had long outlived his natural lifespan by borrowing the power of artifacts to maintain his youth.

“Marquis, isn’t that the truth? If it wasn’t the Ministry of Magic that tacitly condoned and even aided this organization—the Northern Covenant Syndicate—in establishing itself in London, then who else could it have been?”

“…”

“Even if you didn’t know, that is incompetence! Had you not been so complacent, we could have uprooted this unknown criminal organization in advance!”

What irritated the Marquis of Dunhaven even more was that the prime minister was not entirely wrong. He muttered as if reminiscing about the past. Though the volume suggested it was less a soliloquy and more something he wanted them all to hear.

“Ah—! How I miss Lord Churchill on a day like today! To think that the empire’s dignity has fallen so low in merely half a century!”

“Lord Ashford! Though we are only three, this is still a Privy Council meeting of Her Majesty! Refrain from such speech!”

Look at him, still unable to forget the Second World War. Moreover, during Churchill’s tenure, he had not even been a member of the cabinet—merely a personal acquaintance. Thatcher, unusually, called the marquis by his proper name and rebuked him sharply.

The elderly queen, who had somehow become the youngest member of the Privy Council, shook her head slowly, clearly conveying the nuance that they should calm themselves.

Though her monarch had subtly urged them to stop bickering, Thatcher still found the mages’ sense of superiority deeply distasteful. She herself was over seventy, so she could hardly claim to be young, yet even now, on the cusp of the twenty-first century, this old relic born in the nineteenth century still ruled the Ministry of Magic with what amounted to dictatorship.

It was fortunate the Ministry of Magic was an organization hidden from ordinary citizens; otherwise, it would not have been strange for him to have been dragged down long ago. Thatcher herself had been born to an ordinary middle-class family, devoted her utmost effort, and ultimately seized the office of prime minister. To maintain that power, she had demonstrated the might of Great Britain to Argentina and China alike, successfully defending the Falklands and Hong Kong.

There had been side effects—living costs had clearly and consistently risen well above average. Yet now that most colonies had gained independence, the fact that the empire still remained an empire was entirely thanks to such achievements.

While she devoted herself so completely to the nation, those who had simply been lucky enough to be born mages were parachuted into the Ministry of Magic. She sometimes felt like exposing them all and bringing them down, but the cunning mages had chosen instead to make her their accomplice.

Thatcher’s gaze shifted subtly to the ring on her finger. It was an artifact taken from Germany when the Allies toppled the Nazis, she recalled. It was not on the level of the life-prolonging artifacts the Marquis of Dunhaven wore in abundance, but it was more than enough to allow a woman in her seventies to devote herself energetically to state affairs.

If even she—who had reached the pinnacle of secular power—possessed such an item, then true mages were hoarding even greater artifacts. Yet she could not simply raid the treasuries of the mage families and confiscate them for the British Museum or the national coffers. It was a vexing situation.

Seeming to notice that the prime minister’s gaze had turned toward the ring, the marquis suddenly added as if the thought had just occurred to him. Having been warned by the queen, he had abandoned his sarcastic tone and now spoke with proper courtesy.

“Now that I think of it, didn’t you purchase an artifact from Russia several months ago, Prime Minister? It was originally discovered in Germany, but a Russian agency had claimed it first, so I heard you were prepared to pay a premium.”

To the marquis and other mages—especially those in high office—the nation called the Soviet Union was something they could barely bring themselves to call a country at all. Their deep-rooted hatred of reds ran even deeper ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠than the prime minister’s. Therefore, to them, “Soviet” meant Russia, and “Germany” referred solely to West Germany. Those who called themselves the German Democratic Republic were nothing more than puppets occupying the eastern part of Germany. The same applied to those occupying the northern part of the Korean peninsula and the vicinity of Hokkaido.

Thatcher replied, “I suspect that the ‘Russian agency’ in question is none other than this very organization. The circumstances make it almost certain.”

“Oh? In that case…”

The marquis narrowed his eyes at the new information. He had known of the organization’s existence and the involvement of mages, but he had not realized they were deeply connected to artifacts as well.

“Yes. It is highly likely that it was an independent action by the organization, taken without the approval of the Soviet… that is, the Russian government.”

“A simple deviation, then?”

“The red government would not have known that the buyer was the prime minister—at the time, I was merely a candidate for parliament—but they would surely have confirmed that the artifact was intended to be sold to the British side.”

So they had dared to touch an artifact without permission. Each artifact was a weapon capable of matching a hundred men; anyone who walked the path of magic would know what consequences awaited those who laid hands on them without authorization.

The marquis naturally asked the question that came to mind. “Then, Prime Minister, do you believe the reason this organization came to London was simply because they incurred the displeasure of the Party? Because they tried to sell an artifact to a free-world nation without permission?”

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

“I am now almost certain of it. What reinforces that conviction is that they have stopped contacting us entirely. It is a blessing that we had not paid them a large advance.”

The Privy Council meeting of only three people continued. The marquis and the prime minister did most of the talking, while the queen merely listened.

The prime minister asked, “So it is confirmed that this organization possesses a mage—moreover, one presumed to be exceptionally skilled?”

“That is the conclusion of the Ministry of Magic for now. Both you, Prime Minister, and Her Majesty will remember the tunnel accident that occurred on Friday the thirteenth.”

Remember? Of course she remembered. Thatcher had visited the scene herself. Such a catastrophe could not have been caused by poor road conditions alone. The forensic team’s analysis suggested that some kind of explosion had occurred near the center of the tunnel. However, no traces of a large quantity of explosives having burned were found.

A thorough search of the surrounding area revealed that a week’s worth of CCTV footage from North Greenwich station—located not far from the incident site—had vanished both before and after the event. Furthermore, an underground passage connecting the station to the tunnel had been discovered. It had therefore become self-evident that the perpetrator had used this route to carry out the attack.

But that was as far as it went. The witnesses claimed to remember nothing, and the only remaining evidence was the fact that evidence had disappeared.

It was at this point that the Ministry of Magic had stepped forward with confidence. If ordinary scientific investigation could not verify the cause, then magic must have been involved—the natural conclusion of the process of elimination.

Sure enough, the mages had detected traces of magic flickering at the presumed epicenter. However, they had not been able to identify the perpetrator. It seemed the culprit had anticipated that magical traces would remain and be observed.

The mages had described it as “displaying a refined beauty that could almost be called artistic.” Of course, to Margaret Thatcher, who was not a mage, it was merely an expression she accepted without understanding.

During this time, one newly joined talent in the Ministry of Magic had begun to stand out. A twenty-four-year-old young woman who had just graduated from Oxford. Her name was Delis Bloomfeld.

Thatcher was also well aware of the Bloomfeld family’s tragedy. After all, the commissioner of the Metropolitan Police had died in what amounted to a terrorist attack in the middle of the capital in broad daylight.

She had heard that in extreme situations, humans could occasionally awaken to magic. Just how desperate must she have been to awaken to the path of magic, realize the existence of the Ministry of Magic, and immediately volunteer for it despite knowing little about that world?

Most mages did head to the Ministry of Magic, but from Thatcher’s perspective, someone with that level of intellect and education had many other paths available. The prime minister felt a twinge of pity for the new Ministry of Magic talent who must be buried in heavy workloads, and slowly nodded in response to the marquis’s question.

“The Blackwall Tunnel pile-up. I remember it well. I heard the newly joined talent played a significant role.”

The marquis did not deny it. It was true that the investigation had made great progress thanks to her.

“Ah, if you are referring to Miss Bloomfeld, then yes. Since the incident was deeply connected to her family’s death, she threw herself into it with great zeal.”

Both the prime minister and the marquis had initially suspected the IRA in the early stages of the incident. After all, an Irish-descended officer had been found at the scene holding one of the pistols commonly used by those “Ginger bastards,” having apparently committed suicide.

Exactly how he had endured the pain of having parts of his body torn off to shoot his former colleagues and then turn the gun on himself remained a mystery. While everyone was confused by these contradictory pieces of evidence, the newly arrived Delis Bloomfeld had offered a radical opinion.

‘Couldn’t this be a trap? A scheme to divert the direction of the investigation?’

‘What do you mean, ignore one side of contradictory evidence? We must approach this differently from ordinary criminal investigations. The perpetrator could have ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠fabricated evidence.’

‘If one of the two is evidence intentionally placed by the culprit, we should exclude each in turn and set the direction of the investigation. There is no need to consider both at once.’

Such opinions had been presented one after another, and the sporadic opposition that had arisen due to the radical investigative direction soon disappeared. Instead of turning the investigation toward Ireland, they had focused their resources on Victor Malenkov, who had gone missing amid the chaos, and clear progress had been made. The only criticism had been verbal—“Aren’t you ignoring the opposing evidence too much?”

“To summarize… it appears to be a power struggle between the Soviet homeland and an organization that has been driven out.”

At the prime minister’s murmured conclusion, the Marquis of Dunhaven stroked his beard and replied, “For a mere criminal organization, they should have quietly allowed themselves to be eradicated. Why did they have to cause such a farce in London of all places…”

The continued meeting also revealed that this unidentified organization was responsible for the murder of the five Cambridge spies who had been exposed as communists. Thus, the secretive Privy Council meeting—without any other cabinet members present—reached the following conclusion.

“Is it not a case of barbarians slaying barbarians?”

“Pardon? What do you mean…?”

Pavel, who had been standing beside me in attendance, tilted his head in confusion.

“In your ancestors’ homeland, they used to create four-character phrases with Chinese characters, didn’t they? From the perspective of this country’s rulers, both we and the materialists in Moscow are nothing but primitive savages, aren’t we?”

Barbarian or barbarian—it was all the same. Pavel nodded as if he finally understood.

I turned away from Pavel and shifted my gaze toward the western window. A few days ago, in Buckingham Palace—located a mere ten kilometers west of our safehouse in Greenwich—a Privy Council meeting must have taken place where only the prime minister and the Minister of Magic had an audience with the queen.

We had destroyed the tunnel to the point that it could not be used for the time being and had even openly carried out a kidnapping. It was not something that would end at the level of “something is going on.” Moreover, since this was the Cold War era, Britain would naturally have sent spies into the Soviet Union. Combining the information obtained from that side, it would not be strange if the organization’s name and its former background in Kaliningrad had been revealed in full transparency.

Therefore, we would give them the bones and take the flesh. A creeping plague centered on Delis, who had successfully embedded herself in the Ministry of Magic. By the time they realized it, it would already be too late. Once it had devoured every last piece of flesh, the organization would have grown so large that the bones we were currently offering would seem trivial.

For that future, I was more than willing to play the role of a barbarian watchdog hunting down red spies. The key was to make them misjudge the organization’s size and underestimate it. The reward for the precarious tightrope walk we were performing now was the entire nation of Britain. For that reward, placing the organization—and even my own life—on the scale was more than worthwhile.

I slowly turned my nodding head back toward Pavel.

“How are the preparations coming along? Before their wariness rises any further, I would like to secure at least one more national artifact.”

“Everyone is working day and night, but they say it will take a long time. The number of exhibits is enormous, and selecting those that appear to have magical effects among them is no small task. You already know that, don’t you?”

“I know. That is precisely why I am so impatient. As a mage, how infuriating is it to have a national artifact right before your eyes and be unable to do anything but stare at it?”

I had steadily guided him along the proper path of magic all this time, so I had thought he would understand my feelings at least a little. Just as I was about to feel arbitrarily disappointed, thinking he was not as desperate as I was, Pavel said something rather unexpected.

“Lord Bronsky wished until the end of his life that you would never become entangled in dangerous matters, my lady. From my perspective, I cannot help but worry.”

“What…?”

“Since arriving in London, every action you have taken has been extremely perilous. That is a fact, is it not?”

Hah. How absurd. To think that someone weaker than me was worrying about me. I asked in a sulky tone, “Am I not stronger than you?”

“That is one thing, and this is another. To me, you will always be a child, my lady.”

Even as I was rendered speechless, I tried to scold him but stopped. Instead, I let out a small laugh and ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠replied.

“Sigh… What more can I say? You must be the one suffering more. I understand.”

Pavel and the others who had been my father’s close aides—and had naturally become mine—must have felt as if they had been sitting on a bed of thorns all this time. They had hoped I would not become entangled in dangerous matters, yet they had no choice but to acknowledge that the most powerful mage in the organization—me—had to step forward personally to stabilize it.

The one who experienced this contradictory conflict and turmoil most intensely every single day was undoubtedly Pavel, who was in charge of my protection.

However, the option of me not stepping forward did not exist. It was not a problem that could be solved immediately. To resolve the growing concerns of my close aides in the future, I would have no choice but to arm myself with even more national artifacts and further enhance my personal combat strength.

Only by doing so could the overall survivability of the organization be raised. The one who walked the path of magic first had to lead the entire organization with outstanding leadership.

I turned my eyes to the document containing the next plan for that path. It was a list of national artifacts I needed to target first. As I reached out and flipped the page, a large set of characters caught my eye.