Part 2, Chapter 24
Part 2, Chapter 24
Translation: godsn
The princess before him still appeared pale and fragile.
Yet Gallo couldn't shake the strange feeling that he was facing his own master.
While Gallo was reminded of someone as he looked at Medeia, coincidentally, she too was thinking of the same person.
Her emerald eyes scanned past Gallo's shoulders—behind him, around him, across the entire banquet hall.
"...I understand His Highness's intentions perfectly. In return, I'll send Zeta to serve as our liaison. Please remember that Passad will always be at your service whenever needed."
Medeia gave a slight nod.
"...Understood. However—"
"Yes, Your Highness?"
Medeia paused abruptly.
"Do you have something to ask?"
Because she had just realized she'd been unconsciously searching for a familiar white mask.
"Then farewell, Medeia."
The infamous mercenary captain of the arms dealer, the very person who had taken the Tears of Dawn, the true leader of Passad—Acares.
How absurd. To call it familiar, as if she still remembered, as if she hadn't forgotten.
"...It's nothing. Thank you for gracing this occasion today, Sir."
"The gratitude is mine. Please forgive my presumptuous words for troubling Your Highness's thoughts."
Gallo spoke amiably yet courteously before taking his leave.
Medeia gave another slight nod.
Sigh. A faint, soundless breath escaped her lips, carrying unspoken regret.
And so she failed to notice.
The golden gaze that had never left her side since who-knows-when.
Even after today's celebratory banquet at the Detached Palace, few sought out Iason and his retinue.
Most who should have come to them had flocked instead to the First Prince's side.
"Duke Nova of Serses, at your service. I've long desired an audience with Your Highness—to think we'd meet in such a distant place—"
"Your Highness the First Prince, where might you be residing? Our Republic of Les would be honored to host—"
"How dare these lowly creatures disregard the Emperor's decree!"
Watching those scrambling to curry favor with the First Prince, Iason nearly burst a blood vessel.
Yet he couldn't exactly grab them by the scruff of their necks and drag them before him, much as he wanted to.
"Your Grace the Grand Duke. Rather than anger, you'd do better to consider your next move. His Highness the First Prince is... unconventional. Without countermeasures, by the time today's report reaches His Majesty, it may already be too late."
The head attendant offered this advice with a serene yet indifferent expression.
The look of a perfect bystander.
As if testing Iason—watching to see how far he'd struggle before reporting every detail to his master, the Emperor.
In truth, that stony face had only shown a crack when the First Prince appeared at the banquet.
"I know that perfectly well without your telling me!"
"Then this humble servant shall take his leave."
Utterly unfazed by Iason's outburst, the attendant bowed and departed.
Iason couldn't help but grimace. With the Emperor's watchdogs before him and the First Prince blocking his every move behind, he was trapped.
His chest felt stifled, as if crushed beneath a boulder.
"......"
Meanwhile, Claudio's faction stood in the banquet hall like scarecrows stuffed with straw.
That this entire mess originated from House Claudio had already faded from people's minds.
The Claudios were that insignificant, and the series of bizarre phenomena had made one thing abundantly clear to all attendees—the goddess clearly didn't favor them.
With even their own countrymen in Valdina despising them, foreigners had no reason to offer protection.
Samon frowned, his face hardening.
'Far from helping us, the Saintess has only tangled things further.'
Now even the Claudio name had become practically unspeakable.
In the end, they had to return empty-handed, with nothing to show for their efforts.
Not a single soul came to see off the departing House of Claudio as they left the banquet hall.
Region B of the Elamuz Strait.
Samon spoke to Iason, who was standing beside him with a deeply furrowed brow.
"Your Grace, what should we do? His Majesty explicitly ordered us to return to Valdina, but the situation has become quite complicated."
"Why are you asking me? Since when have you and I been on the same side?"
Iason snapped back irritably. But Samon didn't back down either.
"Are you suggesting, Your Grace, that you can handle the First Prince alone? Or do I need to remind you once more that it is our House of Claudio who has been funding His Highness after he lost his territory?"
Iason let out a derisive snort.
"That money from smuggling, you mean? How proud you must be to boast that the blood of Valdina running through your veins has been reduced to filthy patronage."
The two men glared at each other.
Though Iason and the Claudios had reunited for mutual gain, they were always ready to cut ties at a moment's notice.
But for now, their circumstances were too precarious—they had no choice but to cling to whatever allies they could, however unreliable.
"Your Grace, please calm yourself. Samon was merely suggesting that we need to cooperate for now. Samon, you too must show proper respect to His Grace."
With Joaquin, Samon's father, absent, Count Laju stepped in to mediate.
Having survived for decades in the Empire as a foreigner, the Count was not one to wear his emotions as openly as Samon.
"But Your Grace, Samon isn't entirely wrong. With the First Prince appearing out of nowhere, even the members of the diplomatic mission will waver between you and His Highness."
"......"
"We must proceed independently of the First Prince entirely. To do that—"
"Enough. Both of you, leave for today."
Iason cut off Laju's words, pressing his fingers to his temples.
His head ached. He had been reinstated as the Emperor's hound to suppress Cesare.
But he had never expected to face Cesare again so soon.
"Your Grace, you must not trust them. They've been harboring other ambitions for far too long. You should cast them aside quickly."
Once the three had left, an aide who had been listening from the adjacent room offered his counsel.
"I know. I'm merely using them for the time being. So that no one notices who my true allies are."
Iason's gaze flickered toward the pendant resting on the side table—a means of communication with his hidden benefactors.
"How did you know in advance when, where, and how the Monster Wave would occur?"
"Must I really say it aloud? You've already guessed who we are, haven't you, Your Grace?"
"......"
"Since neither of us has spoken it outright, perhaps it's best we keep pretending ignorance."
Those who meddle in divine affairs without being gods themselves.
Those who lurk in the shadows, sowing chaos across the continent and challenging the gods.
Iason knew what they were called in this land.
'Black mages...'
Every nation on the continent strictly forbade black magic.
For there was a prophecy that the dark arts, born from the Primordial Darkness, would once again plunge the world into turmoil.
And Iason couldn't help but wonder—was this not the very time foretold?
Black mages were running rampant, stirring up Waves even in the mighty Kazen Empire, approaching royalty with impunity, yet no one suspected their existence.
If the day came when they emerged from the shadows, how many screams would echo across the continent?
At the very least, the current peace would be no more.
Iason bit his lip. He turned away from the flicker of his own conscience.
'But the throne will be mine. No matter how the world changes, I will remain as the Emperor of Kazen.'
They were the only ones who could make him, a man stripped of wealth and influence, into an emperor.
"We need only wait for the right moment."
Iason murmured under his breath.