Suppressing the Fire
“…Of course. My father could not be doing better.”
Emperor Royan recovered his composure with a speed that would have fooled anyone but Duke Randert. Without so much as a tremor in his bearing, he clinked glasses and took a sip of champagne.
“I'm glad to hear it. When you return home, do give him my regards.”
Duke Randert smiled the same smile as ever as he drank.
He had the power to do so.
It had been the same when they first faced each other at the armistice negotiations over a decade ago. Right up until his father's humiliating defeat at the Battle of Lennox, Royan had regarded his father as his supreme idol — the bravest, mightiest warrior on the continent.
And the man standing before him was the very one who had shattered all of it. The one who had appeared out of nowhere and turned the entire course of the war on its head.
Back then, Royan hadn't even had the leisure to rage at that first meeting. He had to save the collapsing nation in his father's stead.
“…Why did you do it, back then?”
“Do what, exactly?”
At the Emperor's abrupt question, the Duke suddenly smirked.
“Why you spared my life. No — why you left my father and our homeland alive at all.”
“…Must I answer that?”
“I should like to hear it.”
It was a pointless question at this late date, and yet Royan had always wondered why the Duke had made that decision. Had the war been pressed on past the armistice, the Polska Empire would hardly have escaped unscathed either — but victory had been well within reach. Why, in that very moment, had such clemency been granted to them? He wanted to know.
“My answer may prove discourteous, Your Majesty.”
“If anyone in this world could presume to be discourteous to me, it would be Duke Randert and no one else.”
“Do you truly think so?”
“I do. So answer. Now that you've said that, I find myself all the more curious what you'll actually say.”
Duke Randert could feel energies rising and falling along the edge of his keen senses. It had been there from the moment Emperor Royan and his retinue appeared at the reception. Outwardly calm, but they were visibly straining to hold it in. He could even make out their quickened breathing.
There's nothing to gain from provoking them further, but at this point they'll need to be pressed back down.
Only then will they refrain from any foolishness.
Setting down his champagne glass, Duke Randert met Emperor Royan's gaze head-on.
“It was a time when the whole continent longed for the war's end. Far too many had bled and died. The armistice merely answered that wish — nothing more. However…”
“……?”
“If you insist on an answer — because I could do so at any time.”
“At any time…?”
“Yes. If I so willed it, it would not have been a difficult feat.”
In other words: the Dwyer Empire could be brought to ruin whenever he pleased, and so he had let them be.
“…Ha, ha! Is that so?”
Emperor Royan's lips twisted at a strange angle — a side effect of trying to force a smile. The hand holding his glass trembled faintly as well. It felt as though one more ounce of grip would shatter the glass outright.
He was not the only one who felt insulted. A murderous aura detonated from the guards standing behind Emperor Royan. In an instant, the air across the entire hall stretched taut, the tension suffocating.
Even those who had been holding their breath and watching the two men could tell, without hearing a single word. The atmosphere turned on a dime, and it was like standing on a battlefield.
Not bad.
Among the Emperor's guards, an unusually tall man with long hair caught the Duke's eye. A rare presence emanated from him — a level that would not fall far behind Barachel in his prime.
And when, exactly, had it happened?
The Full Moon Knights, who had been scattered throughout the hall, had arrayed themselves behind Duke Randert. Their bearing and expressions were as immaculate as pressed dress uniforms, as though waiting for one thing only: the Duke's command.
The Duke surveyed the hall. The great majority were cowering at the unforeseen turn of events.
No helping it, then.
To commit such an outrage — here in his own capital, and as an official delegation, no less. As a high commander sworn to protect the Empire, he could not simply look the other way.
As if to make sure everyone was watching, Duke Randert leveled his gaze at Emperor Royan and rolled the floor beneath one planted foot.
BOOM!
CRACK—
And that wasn't all. An unseen force radiated out in every direction from the Duke. The murderous intent and fury pouring from the Dwyer delegation was swept away all at once, and in a single heartbeat the air of the banquet hall was transformed.
The tremor subsided just as quickly. There was a slight crack in the floor where the Duke had stamped, but nothing else had changed. Not so much as a shard of glass had been produced.
“Shall we have another drink?”
No one could open their mouth. No one dared step forward. Only Duke Randert, as if nothing at all had happened, poured wine into a fresh glass.
Everyone present witnessed, in full clarity, exactly what the Duke wished to show them. It was a warning: that no one would be permitted to misbehave here.
Many belatedly came to understand the true terror of Duke Randert. Perhaps the day would come when they would boast of having been present at a single fragment of the tales of his valor that would one day spread across the continent.
“I would advise against any further back-and-forth about the past. Old stories are best left as old stories, don't you think?”
Duke Randert handed the filled glass to Emperor Royan.
“I hope you see the rest of your schedule through safely, and return home unharmed.”
Emperor Royan said nothing. At first he had burned with rage at the humiliation; now he was simply crushed flat beneath the man's might.
It wasn't as though he hadn't known — and yet he found himself cowering anew. With a single act, the man had stripped away his will to fight. A bitter, poisonous sense of defeat pressed down on him.
“Then, if you'll excuse me — I'm a busy man.”
Duke Randert did not forget courtesy to the very last. The moment he turned away, the assembled Full Moon Knights dispersed back to their original posts as though nothing had ever happened.
The wedding reception that should have been joyful and festive had been wrecked — but it would most certainly become a story bandied about for years to come.
Chapter 2: Suppressing the Fire
Bayul stared at Spinel for a long while, utterly dumbfounded.
He had no idea what any of this was. All he'd done was touch a gem that had emerged from the spirit stone. Then, the moment a strange feeling washed over him, a pillar of flame had erupted in a burst of brilliant light, and the girl's entire appearance had transformed.
And now she was suddenly greeting him in reverent honorifics. If not for the same earrings, he never would have guessed this was Spinel at all.
“…Spinel.”
“Yes, my King. Command me as you wish.”
Her speech had changed — not overnight, but in a single instant — and Bayul couldn't adapt to it at all. Perhaps that was why he set about confirming it all over again.
“Is it really you, Spinel? You're definitely a fire spirit, but… I honestly have no idea what any of this is…”
“I completely understand your shock, my King. I am indeed the fire spirit whom you named Spinel.”
Spinel answered with a gentle smile. Her appearance and manner of speaking had changed, but it occurred to him in a flash that her love of smiling hadn't changed one bit.
“You said earlier that you'd become an Intermediate Spirit… what does that mean, exactly?”
It was Shame who asked. He had risen from beneath the earth around the time talk of the spirit stone began. Watching the whole affair in silence, he posed the question to Spinel on behalf of the stunned Bayul.
“We are all going to grow from now on. I simply happened to be the first.”
“All of us are going to grow?”
“Why?”
Innocent and Tempesta piled in with questions of their own. Spirits who, despite being spirits, knew next to nothing about spirits — they found this situation every bit as fascinating.
“Because that is how it was arranged, of course.”
“…Arranged?”
“Yes, my King. It is through you that we shall grow.”
“How? Do I have to find earrings too?”
“It came out of the spirit stone, didn't it? So do we just need more spirit stones?”
“…And who exactly did this arranging?”
Amid the din of Innocent and Tempesta, Bayul asked once more. And Spinel gave an astonishing answer.
“The Spirit Kings of the past, my King.”
“The Spirit Kings of the past?”
“Yes, my King. Their power has been passed down to you.”
“Wh-what are you talking about? What power was passed down to me?”
“The power of the Spirit Kings of the past.”
“Why do you keep saying Spirit Kings — plural?”
“Because you have inherited the power of all of them, my King.”
Despite Spinel's calm explanation, Bayul couldn't make heads or tails of it. He'd only ever known that he had the makings of a Spirit User — what power, exactly, had he inherited? Through what channel was he supposedly receiving it? His head abruptly began to ache.
“My King, I know you must be terribly confused right now, but please hear me out to the very end—”
“Young Master Bayul! Young Master Bayul!”
Then it came. A voice calling for him like a madman from outside the building, carried over the roar of the flames.
“Gah!”
All he had to do was tell Spinel to withdraw the fire — but if the flames died down all at once, that was certain to raise suspicion in its own right.
Ugh, this is genuinely exhausting.
Bayul sighed and looked outside. Already a crowd of people was hopping about in a frenzy of worry. Among them, Ian was straining with everything he had to force his way inside. But even the great Ian would find overcoming a spirit's flames a tall order indeed.
From outside, the fire must have blocked any view of the interior — yet perhaps thanks to Spinel, every last detail showed itself to Bayul with perfect clarity.
Brother Derek.
Among those swarming the blaze was Derek, too. His face wore an expression of shock, but for some reason he couldn't quite shake the feeling that it was feigned.
Hm?
And there was another strange one. While everyone else scrambled about hauling water and desperately trying to put out the fire, Death and his two brothers stood with their arms crossed, spectating — all three of them at once, as if by prior agreement.
Why…?
And at that very moment, Bayul's eyes met Death's. Those black eyes — as though he could see everything happening inside — pierced straight through the flames and looked directly at Bayul.
