Imperial Domain
Imperial Domain
The Kallus Empire.
The ruler of this, the largest nation on the Northern Continent, was, paradoxically, the smallest girl among those who held their own lands on the continent.
Though she was still merely a girl, her gentle impression, rare platinum-blonde hair, and blue eyes made her a beauty who could already command the people's support through appearance alone.
And the girl knew that well.
So the girl, Ileina of Ma'kel, lay in a bath scented with fragrant oil, blinking softly as she let the handmaidens wash her.
The oil, pressed from all manner of flowers, exuded a subtle yet alluring scent, and every stroke of the handmaidens' hands over her submerged body left the fragrance clinging even more thickly.
A scent that could fairly be called seductive.
The girl, catching the odor that stung her nostrils, lifted a hand slightly to halt the handmaidens.
When those gentle hands that had been washing the Emperor's body stopped, the girl rose from the bath.
'...Did I overdo it?'
For a moment, the girl considered that.
Of course, this was a meeting she had been looking forward to. Truth be told, it was only natural to look forward to it.
Aslan was, for her, a person little different from a savior. He was the one who had opened another path for her when only the worst fate awaited her.
He had made it possible for her to become Emperor when, at best, she would have been offered to the Warrior Monks or married off into some powerful noble house.
He had even planted fighting spirit within her. Being such a person, it was never strange that she would take an interest in him.
If there was a problem, it was that her interest was excessive.
The girl wondered if she was paying him too much attention.
'Was the oil too much?'
At the sidelong glance she cast toward the bath, the handmaidens hurriedly emptied it.
Steam rose from the draining water, and because of the scattered oil, a faint, pleasant fragrance hung in the air.
'No, I do use oil often enough...'
Though she didn't use it that frequently, the young Emperor excused herself with that thought and waited for the handmaidens to dry her body.
When handmaidens brought dry, high-quality cloth and patted and wiped her down, the Emperor silently let them tend to her.
In any case, the young Emperor was inwardly excited at the prospect of finally meeting Aslan.
Though the returning dispatch rider had conveyed Aslan's words, saying he had something to discuss regarding the future of the alliance, Ileina didn't much mind.
Whatever the reason, it made no difference to the fact that they would meet.
After the handmaidens who had dried her withdrew and others brought her clothes, the Emperor let her ladies-in-waiting dress her.
A blue silk dress that suited her fair skin and blue eyes, covered with natural patterns embroidered in gold thread.
As she donned the dress, the girl thought.
It wasn't as though she had any particular purpose or ulterior motive.
No matter how things turned out, Aslan was not only the savior who had rescued her from a cowardly fate, but also a prominent hero.
A peerless hero whom the age had its eyes upon, whom even the evil gods could not divert their gaze from.
A hero acknowledged even by the proud Belus Alpen, the Master of Combat, the Priest Slayer—so the girl thought it only natural to bring such a hero into her fold.
If her beauty could play its proper role in winning him over, she thought such efforts were hardly a big deal.
Of course, she also had personal desires.
She wanted to show him how she had changed from the weak self who had refused to fight back then, and to receive his quiet acknowledgment.
A calm recognition after that would be enough for her.
The girl let her lips curve into a soft smile, and even as she put on the accessories the handmaidens brought, she couldn't bring herself to erase that smile.
'Whatever else, he'll at least say I'm pretty.'
With a gentle smile, the girl finally finished her preparations, inspected her appearance, and turned her head toward the head handmaiden standing behind her.
"Your Majesty, the honored guests have arrived."
"...Have they?"
Ileina answered while suppressing the corners of her lips from lifting, and the head handmaiden bowed deeply.
"Tell them that I shall await them in the audience chamber."
Ileina gave the order while forcibly suppressing her elation, then headed straight for the audience chamber where the throne sat.
It was in that very audience chamber that Aslan had killed her half-brother, the previous Emperor, and his soldiers and Warrior Monks.
Since that place was the starting point where her fate had changed, the mere fact of seeing Aslan again there gave the girl a quiet sense of satisfaction.
'Indeed, how satisfying. The Empire is mine.'
Sitting on the throne, the girl realized that the cool feel of the throne against her soft bottom, and even its discomfort, had become familiar.
The silence of the audience chamber had grown familiar, and even receiving nobles in it every day felt like part of her daily routine.
Though what would happen today was outside that routine, the young Emperor could accept even that gladly.
As the young Emperor maintained her dignity while enjoying the discomfort of the throne that had become a part of her life, the great doors of the audience chamber finally opened.
First to enter was a figure familiar to her eyes: the elderly knight, Reynold.
He bowed deeply in greeting, then spoke.
"Your Majesty, I have brought the guest."
"Let them enter."
Expectation rose on the Emperor's face, and when the old knight gave a nod, the great doors opened again, revealing a motley group beyond them.
The group that followed the old knight across the audience chamber was distinctive.
A very tall dragon-kin, a white-haired woman, and a noble-looking woman with a spear strapped to her back.
Not to mention the girl who had been with Aslan when he helped Ileina before, and a barefoot girl who, at a glance, appeared to be an elf.
According to Aslan's report, that diverse group consisted of masters.
The Emperor looked impressed by the diversity and the depth she sensed, then slightly frowned.
Because Aslan was not among them.
When the young Emperor's face twisted with puzzlement, the old knight, as if expecting it, stopped the group with a calm, expressionless look.
"Where has Aslan gone?"
The question came with a puzzled expression and a lowered voice. At that, Rumel, the only human noble in the group, stepped forward.
"Your Majesty, it is an honor to meet you. I am..."
"That is enough. I merely asked where Aslan has gone. Answer."
Rumel, perhaps taken aback by that, stiffened her expression for a moment, then hesitated before answering.
"Sir Aslan... well, that is..."
The Emperor's gaze fixed on Rumel, silently watching as if to pierce through her.
Feeling that gaze on the crown of her head, Rumel opened and closed her mouth several times.
Soon, with a troubled expression, Rumel opened her mouth.
"He said he thought he saw... his late wife. He has taken his leave."
A late wife.
Emperor Ileina paused for a moment at those words.
'A late wife?'
An answer completely different from what she had expected—a completely different context.
The young Emperor did not know which part to react to first.
Whether to react to the fact that he was widowed, to the fact that he had had a wife, or to focus on the fact that he was not here regardless.
She had no idea at all.
Ignorance brought silence, and silence settled as stillness, making the uncomfortable air of the audience chamber even more stifling.
In that awkward stillness, when Tiyamal made a sound by scratching his scales, Ileina opened her mouth.
"...He had a wife?"
It was not a very considered remark.
*
Everything seemed to be going smoothly—starting with the matter of the city of Asan.
The engineers brought by Sir Reynold and Baron Dvork were to handle the city's reconstruction and governance, respectively, which meant Asan would be rebuilt quickly without Aslan needing to pay it much mind.
Since managing or rebuilding Asan was never Aslan's task to begin with, once Baron Dvork and the engineers had taken their places and begun the work, he felt relieved and immediately followed Reynold to Velus Ma'kel.
As the distance between Velus Ma'kel and Asan was not far, the journey itself did not take long.
What came afterward was not very difficult either. If anything, it was simple—far easier than fighting priests or high priests.
Gathering allies, declaring his purpose, preparing to form a grand, continent-spanning alliance in earnest, while also preparing to bring the Northern Empire, hanging at the southwestern tip of the Northern Continent, into the fold.
That was Aslan's plan.
Everything was going well.
It had to be going well.
There was nothing to cause unease.
Yet somehow, Aslan could not shake off a feeling of unease.
In the land of sorrow and death, that barren underworld, he had heard that his wife was alive.
He had heard that his wife had not died.
And yet he had learned that she had never once appeared before him.
That could only be suspicious, and so Aslan grew uneasy.
The god she had last served was the Twilight Flock, the very one who had cast Aslan into this Geladrion.
Considering that it had been reaching out its hand directly toward Aslan of late, Rowena ought to have shown herself far earlier.
But she hadn't.
So Aslan entered Velus Ma'kel with his nerves on a sharper edge than usual, walking and surveying his surroundings with his one remaining eye.
And in the midst of that, he saw her.
A woman clad in a form-fitting silk dress, the black dress she liked to wear, embroidered with dark red patterns like flowing blood.
Beneath that dress were the contours of a body so familiar he could have traced them even with his eyes shut, as if they would catch at his fingertips.
She wore a veil over her face, so he could not see it properly.
But the hair flowing long beneath the veil was vividly black.
That black hair, which still frequently appeared in his dreams, was even more vivid than what he saw in them.
So Aslan made some rough excuse and immediately bolted after her.
Hoping, desperately, that it was an illusion.
While a part of him hoped it wasn't.
He pursued her blindly.
Through every alley he sprinted, only the woman's shadow and the hem of her dress flickering past; Aslan quickened his pace, vaulting over walls, kicking off them, leaping.
After a long chase of running and leaping, Aslan arrived at an empty alley tucked between buildings, devoid of any presence.
Only upon reaching that place did Aslan realize he had seen wrong.
Relief and self-reproach washed over him at once, and he slumped down, sliding against the wall until he sat.
What leaked between his labored breaths was mental exhaustion. As that weariness turned into a sigh, Aslan hung his head low.
He hadn't even accomplished half of what he needed to do, yet he was already in such a state—he felt pathetic.
Dashing out on a momentary impulse and leaving the audience with the Emperor behind seemed foolish.
The thought that the Emperor must be greatly displeased by now was an extra sting.
As he sat slumped, sighing with those thoughts, Aslan lifted his head and said,
"I should head back..."
With those words as a signal, Aslan wobbled to his feet.
'...But then, even if she's alive, coming to find me wouldn't be reasonable. Rowena would know I'd kill her. Not showing herself all this time and then suddenly appearing? That makes no sense.'
So what he saw must have been a mistake or an illusion. Aslan got up and started to leave the alley, then stopped abruptly.
Because of a sensation spreading beneath his foot.
Though it was a sensation felt through his boot, it stirred many thoughts.
It was even in an extremely unexpected location—as if knowing where Aslan would sit, it lay precisely where he had first stepped after rising.
His teal eyes trembled faintly, and suppressing the instinct to avoid confirming, Aslan bent down. Reaching toward the ground, he picked up the object his boot sole had been pressing on.
It was a familiar object.
First, the mana flowing through it was familiar. If mana had a color, it could be called wine-red, or perhaps violet.
The way it flowed was flexible yet passionate, like a snake crawling.
Next, the craftsmanship was familiar.
The thread left on the left side, like a habit from sewing. Rubbing that thread with his thumb, Aslan felt a regrettable horror at the fact that it was in precisely the same spot.
It was a feeling as though a long needle called memory was stabbing and raking through his brain.
Staggering, Aslan leaned against the wall and stared blankly at the object.
It was a talisman.
A magical charm made of metal or cloth.
A charm that wished for an individual's protection and blessing, and a catalyst with magical use.
And this was no ordinary talisman.
This was Rowena's talisman.
A charm she had often made to protect Aslan.
With the sensation as though his missing left eye were throbbing, Aslan pressed his left temple and recalled the words Rowena always said when handing him a talisman.
'I love you forever.'
Forever.
It was a truly dreadful word.