A Wish Upon the Guillotine
"Simon."
On the way to the grand ballroom, Lorraine approached him and spoke quietly.
"Do you know about the tradition of the ball?"
"......?"
Simon clearly had no idea. Princess Molly clapped her hands together and jumped in.
"If you don't mind, I'd be happy to explain it myself!"
The tradition originated when the old Talhern Empire conquered the Kingdom of Dresden and held a ball in their palace. The ball had been held to comfort the soldiers who had suffered through the war, and by all accounts, it was outrageously debauched.
At the center of the ballroom, in particular, an enormous guillotine had been erected, and the King of Dresden — dressed in nothing but rags — was dragged before it.
It was the highlight of the entire event.
The Emperor of Talhern personally operated the guillotine and spoke.
"Speak one last wish."
The Emperor, of course, had no intention whatsoever of granting it. It was a form of entertainment, nothing more.
Several royal prisoners had already met their ends here, and the sight of those so-called noble bloodlines wetting themselves and begging for their lives was simply delightful.
The Emperor would laugh heartily as he carried out the executions, and it made fine spectacle for the banquet guests.
At the same time, the Emperor meant to teach the people of Dresden a lesson: the ones you worshipped were, in truth, this pathetic. Your conquest by us was inevitable.
But the King of Dresden was different.
He climbed onto the guillotine himself and placed his own neck upon the block.
"See that my people eat three meals a day."
And then he pulled the lever himself.
The Emperor was genuinely moved by the sight. He banned the rampant looting and crime sweeping through the capital of Langestin, ended the exploitative policies of the conquering empire, extended relief programs to the occupied nation, and even granted the kingdom partial autonomy.
Afterward, the royals who had all been fated to lose their heads that day survived the banquet, and their bloodlines endure to this very day.
And so, to honor a king who sacrificed himself for his people, the royal family held a ball every year on the anniversary of Langestin's fall.
On that occasion, the royals who carried the king's blood would grant each guest of the ball one "wish."
Granted, the wishes were never excessive, never related to money or property, never disrespectful.
"Sir Ronan, I worry for your health. As of this very hour, you are forbidden from smoking."
That was about the extent of it.
The unspoken rule was that both the wisher and the wish-granter had to enjoy themselves. That was why so many people attended the ball without hesitation.
So that's the story behind it.
Now that he knew the history, Simon saw the ball in a whole new light. At first he'd assumed it was some extravagant networking gala for the royals to flaunt their connections and wealth, but it was actually a long-standing event rooted in historical fact.
Above all, he thought it was remarkable — their nation had fallen to an empire and their king had been executed, a wound that surely cut deep to this day, yet they had refined that pain into a tradition and turned it into celebration.
I wonder what wish the princess will make. I'm curious.
Before long, the three of them arrived at the doors of the ballroom.
Princess Molly spoke.
"I'll enter last. Please, the three of you go in first."
"Yes, ma'am."
As Simon stood eyeing the doors nervously, Serne quietly sidled up beside him. Then she extended a slender hand toward him.
......Why does she want to hold hands again?
When Simon simply stood there, Serne gave him a knowing smile and wiggled her fingers.
"My arm hurts, Simon~"
The reason Serne had bothered to grace this tiresome ball with her presence was that she wanted Simon's name and the Ivory Tower's spoken together before a large crowd. She'd been aiming for a paired entrance with Simon from the very start.
Of course, Lorraine was never going to let that happen.
She wedged herself between the two of them and seized Serne by the arm.
"Go on ahead, Simon."
Simon nodded his thanks and quickly made his way toward the doors. Serne tried to follow, but Lorraine's ironclad defense held her back.
"What is this?! Let go of me!"
"Couples enter together. Students enter one at a time, so stop whining."
"Don't tell me what to do!"
Lorraine's only goal was to thwart Serne's scheme. But having watched that odious Serne labor so desperately to recruit Simon for the Ivory Tower, her thinking had shifted somewhat.
I want Simon to stay on and work at Kizen with me, even after he graduates.
She would ultimately have to respect Simon's decision two years from now — but that didn't mean Kizen, the elite of the elite, had to just stand by with its hands behind its back. She was confident Simon would grow into the kind of talent Kizen would one day need, so she resolved to be more proactive.
Simon, to the Ivory Tower.
Simon, to Kizen.
While the two girls each envisioned a different future for him, Simon walked on alone ahead of them and pushed open the doors of the ballroom.
Whoaaaa......!
Everything gleamed and glittered in every direction. He had never seen a ballroom this vast, this opulent.
The hall rose from the first floor to the third, its center open all the way through so that guests on the upper levels could gaze down at the ones below. Each floor offered food with a different theme, and there was a wide open floor for dancing as well.
Just then, the head butler, holding an amplified crystal orb, called out in a ringing voice.
"Entering now — Sir Simon Polentia, current Special Admission No. 1 of Kizen, of the Baldwin Kingdom!"
Applause rippled through the crowd from every corner. Murmured voices carried the word "Kizen."
And immediately after, the doors burst open once more.
"Entering now — Sir Serne Aindark, official heir of the Ivory Tower and Special Admission No. 2 of Kizen!"
At last, following right on Simon's heels, Serne swept in, her radiant ivory hair flowing behind her. Annoyed as she was at not being announced alongside him, she wore a composed smile and casually looped her arm through his, waving to the crowd.
"Entering now — Dame Lorraine Archbold, daughter of Nephthys, the Death Witch."
This time, even among the composed high nobility, gasps of shock broke out. Lorraine — who almost never appeared at official functions — had arrived in a black dress.
"Nephthys's daughter is here too!"
"The scale of this event has grown. The royal family must have spared no expense this year."
The appearance of three Kizen students was unprecedented. Nobles from the upper floors began descending to pay their respects.
Several people around them struck up conversation or requested dances, but the three only smiled politely, declining to engage too warmly. They were on a mission at the moment, and this ballroom was the mission site.
"Entering now — Her Highness, Princess Molly!"
At last, the royal of the hour — the true star of the ball — made her entrance.
Every noble in attendance rose from their seats to applaud. Molly, in a white dress, offered a graceful bow.
"I extend my deepest gratitude to all the distinguished guests who have graced us with your presence tonight."
After greeting the nobles, she walked slowly toward the center of the hall.
It was then that Simon realized what stood at the very heart of the ballroom.
That's the guillotine from the history lesson!
He hadn't even recognized it at first.
And no wonder — the blade had been removed, and it was lavishly decorated with climbing vines, ribbons, even ornate lighting.
Princess Molly ascended the guillotine platform and rang a small bell. A clear, elegant chime rang out.
"I wish to express my sincere thanks to the students who took the time to visit despite their busy lives at Kizen — all because of my selfish request — and so, I now make my wish."
Her voice rang out, bright and clear.
"The three of you are bound by your guard duty, but for tonight only, I hope you'll roam freely as guests of this ball, enjoy yourselves, and rest your weary bones. Will my honored guests permit it?"
The nobles laughed merrily and raised their glasses. Molly raised hers as well, and Simon, Serne, and Lorraine each took their cue and lifted a glass from a nearby table.
"To the prosperity of the kingdom!"
"To the kingdom!"
As everyone drained their glasses, Molly rang the bell once more. Applause poured in from all sides.
She used her wish on our behalf.
There was no reason to refuse a wish like that. It meant they wouldn't have to endure any sneering about guardsmen attending a ball to have fun, and since the order came from the client themselves, Kizen couldn't raise a single objection either.
While Simon was thinking all this, Molly's gaze had quietly drifted toward him.
The truth is, I wanted to wish for something else.
She had wanted to wish that Simon would graduate and come to the Kingdom of Dresden. And if that couldn't be, she'd wanted to wish that she too might open her Core and become a necromancer.
But those were personal desires, and they weren't the kind of wish one could make under the tradition of the ball.
Little by little, the mood of the ball reached full bloom.
Thanks to Molly's wish, the three of them were now free to mingle with the guests, sample the food, and enjoy conversation.
"I'm Simon Polentia."
"I've seen your exploits firsthand, young man. My own son is a first-year over on Roc Island himself."
Everyone invited to a royal ball was someone extraordinary, and there was nothing to lose in making a good impression.
Simon spoke with one person after another, broadening his horizons with each exchange.
Lorraine, never one for party atmospheres, slipped away early, and Serne conversed only with a small cluster of people around her. They were running a complete blockade against anyone else trying to approach her — and as it turned out, they were simply repeating the same words to her over and over.
Just as the party was nearing its peak—
KRUMMMMMBLE!
A crack of thunder split the sky, and the ballroom's lights went out.
Guests cried out in surprise and began to murmur. As the once-bright festivities settled into stillness, the sound of pouring rain hissed down from outside.
Rain?
Simon looked out the window to see thick sheets of rain coming down in torrents.
"The servants have gone to check the mana generators and the magic circuits. Please wait just a moment!"
With the light gone from the old castle, an eerie gloom seemed to hang over everything. The guests stopped dancing and quietly took seats nearby, chatting in hushed tones.
Simon, whose legs ached, sat down as well — and Serne, appearing out of nowhere, latched onto his arm and pressed herself against it.
"I'm scared~"
A chill crawled up his arm for some reason, and Simon replied calmly.
"I'm more scared of you."
"That's so mean!"
Lorraine, who had stepped out onto the terrace at some point, returned and rejoined them at Simon's side.
She was surveying their surroundings with those ruby eyes. In the darkness, her irises glowed an even deeper crimson.
"Is something wrong, Simon?"
"Seems there's some trouble with the lighting."
Lorraine nodded indifferently, took a seat, and sipped her wine.
Splash. Splash.
Then, from the direction of the entrance, came the sound of waterlogged military boots. With the ballroom now silent, each squelching step echoing up the corridor carried with terrible clarity.
KRUMMMMMMMBLE!
Another bolt of lightning slammed down, and the guests flinched.
Before anyone realized it, every guest on the first floor had turned their eyes toward the entrance — toward that squelching sound.
BANG!
The doors flew open.
Drip. Drip.
A man appeared, soaked from head to toe.
He wore what looked like cast-off rags, his cheeks hollowed, eyes glazed and unfocused as a convulsive laughter rattled through his trembling shoulders. His breath reeked of alcohol, and one eye had gone slack.
"My, everyone looks happy tonight. Ehh heh heh heh heh."
Clap. Clap. Clap.
The drenched man clapped three times. Then he swept the room with a frigid gaze.
"I'm not."
KWARRRRRRRUMBLE!
Lightning flashed, illuminating the room for a fleeting instant before darkness swallowed it again. Those who had glimpsed the man's face in that moment shrieked and clapped their hands over their mouths.
He was none other than the third prince cast out of Kizen — the man who had been a second-year student and the president of the Noble club.
Prince Andre.
"But my, my. Someone I never expected to see here."
He looked toward Simon and curled his lips into a grin.
"Simon Polentia."