Chapter 39
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 39
Chapter Title: Conspiracy
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In the eastern part of the continent lay the Magic Kingdom. At its heart, the top floor of the Sage's Tower pierced the clouds, standing shoulder to shoulder with the stars.
Outside the thin glass panes, cold night winds howled, shattering the starlight into fragments. But inside the tower, maintained at a constant temperature and humidity by magic, an unearthly stillness prevailed, as if time itself had frozen.
The air carried the musty scent of ancient parchment, the sharp tang rising from magical reagents, and the acrid smoke of burning candle wicks.
The tower's master, the elderly Elder Sage King Eldric, sat before a massive ebony desk.
His face bore the full passage of time.
Deep wrinkles crisscrossed it like a parched riverbed, while heavy eyelids half-veiled his gray eyes.
His long white beard reached his withered chest, and his knuckles were gnarled from arthritis.
It was the look of an elder whose wisdom shone through. Yet within that frail shell burned the arrogance and ambition of the continent's greatest mage.
Before him lay a vast blueprint of a magic circle etched with intricate geometric patterns. Magic circles hidden across the kingdom.
'National Magic Enslavement.'
A faint smile brushed Eldric's lips.
The forbidden incantation to which he had devoted his life.
With but his word, every citizen of the Magic Kingdom would lose their will, becoming eternal living slaves serving the king. A form of magical enslavement.
And then, he would devour the continent piece by piece. Each conquest birthing new magic slaves.
But his finger hovered motionless in the air.
"Compulsory Convocation."
He murmured lowly.
The imperial family's absolute authority. The ancient oath wrung from the continent's kings by the founding emperor. That vow of ancient magic—from some distant ancestor he couldn't recall—remained binding even after nearly a millennium.
If the emperor commanded a convocation via the crystal orb in the Oath Room, every king on the continent had to halt their affairs and attend before him.
It was an soul-imprinted oath laced with ancient magic beyond even his comprehension.
And successive tower masters, kings of the Magic Kingdom, had naturally been ensnared by it.
Does that ancient magic weave itself into the mana circuits of tower masters...?
In any case, activating the enslavement magic circle demanded days of intense focus.
But if the emperor called a convocation mid-ritual?
The incantation would falter, mana backflowing. Answering in that unstable state would doom the enslavement—and the backlash might shatter his very soul.
'Batanias.'
Eldric furrowed his brow.
The empire's last direct heir. Word had it he was dethroned and imprisoned, yet as long as he lived, the Oath Room could activate anytime.
Rumors even claimed he had entered and exited it several times post-dethronement.
Even that foolish, inept lecher—imperial blood in his veins meant the orb would heed his voice.
"Is this old man's worry overblown?"
He stroked his beard with a bony hand.
Batanias was dethroned. Fresh intel placed him exiled to the Black Forest.
No access to the Oath Room, near or far. Theoretically safe.
But Eldric was a century-old sage. His instincts screamed warnings.
Variables strike from the unforeseen. Who knew if that mad emperor might snap his chains and storm the palace for the orb?
Or if Duke Karls might wield him as a leash.
Even success wouldn't save him—he'd sit in council, enduring Batanias while death loomed.
Duke Karls would deliver meals, sneering piously.
And his magic faltered against high resistance. The vice tower master... that genius witch...
Dragged out before 100% control? Catastrophic blunder.
Knock knock.
A faint tap pierced the silence from the window crevice.
Eldric turned. Beyond the glass, amid inky darkness, a black owl perched, wings folded.
A small leather tube dangled from its ankle.
He crooked a finger. The window slid open; the owl glided in, alighting softly on the desk.
"Whose herald are you?"
He untied the tube. Inside: a single rolled parchment note.
No sender, no seal. Yet it reeked of deep, viscous shadow.
Eldric's eyes narrowed. He unrolled it.
[We have a plan. One to realize your grand ambition.]
Provocative from the start.
[But first, a condition. Eliminate him.]
No need to ask who 'him' was. Batanias. The dethroned emperor. The thorn in his throat.
Eldric crushed the note. Paper crackled in his fist.
"Ha... Black Forest..."
He peered out. Faintly, a black sea shimmered.
Deep in the cave, phosphorescent stones' blue glow flickered erratically, etching deep shadows on the old man's wrinkled face.
Gripping his staff with both hands, the old man gazed down at the black-armored man who had emerged from the gloom.
As he heard the report, the old man's eyes curved slyly, holding the unyielding depth of an ancient tree weathered by storms—and a grandfatherly warmth.
"What business does Argent's daughter have?"
His voice rumbled low and heavy, echoing off cave walls.
"We're not sure exactly, but she seems to be searching for the emperor."
The black-armored man bowed, a trace of bafflement in his tone.
An intruder breaching the forest boundary. Normally dispatched or routed unseen—but direct blood of the Argent house.
Another oath-bound guardian line. Even the Abyss Watchers tread carefully.
"Heard the emperor tangled with her and came off worse. Revenge, maybe?"
The old man stroked his goatee, muttering. His memories of Emperor Batanias weren't kind.
Incompetent, lust-addled, ignoring governance. Lusted after loyal Duke Karls' sister—lost his throne for it.
Such a woman seeking him out? Vengeance? Or ulterior motive?
The man stayed silent. Unknown to him too.
The old man tapped his staff on stone. Dull thuds shattered quiet.
He closed his eyes in thought, then opened them. A peculiar smile bloomed.
Far from his interrogator's glare at Sia—like a grandfather eyeing grandkids' antics.
"Let her through for now."
"Pardon?"
The man looked up. Unexpected.
"An emperor needs heirs, eh? Heh heh heh."
The old man chuckled brightly, small. Echoes warped eerily in the cave.
"The true imperial line teeters. No heirs means the seal ends. Playboy or not, he's childless. Young noblewoman walks in healthy and willing—no call to bar her."
His eyes flashed. He needed soil for seeds. If not a killer, Argent's daughter or any—bloodline mattered.
"And if she means him harm?"
The man ventured. Vengeful blade-wielder possible.
"Intervene then. Till that, observe. Argents honor-bound. Warred over shame, settled for confinement. Come to slay now? Young man, young woman in deep woods—sparks inevitable. What heat they kindle, time tells."
He swung his staff, shooing.
"Go. Clear the path. Shadow her unseen—no meddling."
"Understood."
The man dissolved into dark.
Alone, the old man eyed the glowstone. Blue light conjured Lilia's phantom.
Imagining icy, proud her facing the emperor—he chortled anew.
"This'll get interesting. Or... I should sneak out for a drink. Heh heh heh."
The Black Forest entrance arched like giants' weave of dense trees. Lilia dismounted, tethering her horse.
It snorted, retreating—scenting beasts. She soothed its neck, then entered.
Cold, damp air engulfed her.
Hood deep, right hand on sword hilt. Beloved blade's chill seeped through glove.
Tension coiled her frame. Ancient texts' '00 Army.' If real, ambushed somewhere.
'Careful.'
She stepped silent. Rotting leaves, thick moss devoured prints.
But odd. Too quiet.
No beast swarms as rumored—the fringe eerily mute.
No birds, no bugs. Like 'Silence' over all. Nothing barred her.
'Trap?'
She halted, scanning. Misty haze crept 'twixt ebony trunks.
Vision curtailed. Mana surged—senses expanded.
Nothing.
No malice, no stir. Forest welcoming, path unfolding—like illusion.
'Impossible.'
Suspicion firm, alert sharper, she delved. Narrow trail snaked 'twixt boles.
Recent passage. Wheel ruts—Roselia's carriage, days old.
She tracked.
An hour on, trees thinned—clearing sunlit ahead. Weathered stone outpost.
Black Forest Surveillance Base.
Hid treeward, watched. Chimney smoke—life sign.
'Batanias.'
Lip bit raw. Inside: empire's shame, her scar. Family secret holder?
Breath held, she crept. Then—
"Whoa, hand slipped."
Male groan. Frivolous laugh. Lilia ear-doubted. Exiled emperor merry?
Soundsource: stream rear-building, forest-link.
Batanias and guard knight Adella Stahl.
Commoner-to-knight phenom.
Batanias snickered, lunged—groped woman's waist, bosom.
"!"
Lilia inhaled sharp.
Adella unyielding. Hand on his shoulder, leaning natural.
"Lord Batanias. Not this. Release. Eyes about."
Refusal voiced—tone lacked. Cheeks bloomed rose.
"Who sees? Forest ours alone."
Batanias grinned sly, kneaded breast.
Lilia gaped, mind blanked white.
00 Army? Secrets? Plots?
Foolish drivel. Woods' perverse lovers only.
Country-ruiner exiled, dallying guard.
'Insane.'
Curse slipped unwitting. Tension ebbed, knees buckled. Hilt-grip slack-trembled.
What madness this?
"Who's there?"
Sudden—Adella Stahl, elite knight, charged.