En Route to the Papal Domain
In his overtures to Isaac on the way to the Pope's Domain, the First Prince tried various tactics. He had a precise grasp of the Goethe family's situation: their worsening finances, deteriorating relations with vassals, and how Botmer was exploiting the cracks to incite war and escalate it into civil strife.
But when it came to Isaac, he was utterly blind. As a result, the First Prince's inducements were superficial. Offers of royal positions, marriage to a royal woman, additional lands, promotions in title, and so on.
"You turned all that down?" Carlson asked.
"Sweet deals, sure, but nothing that really grabbed me. Those were just bonuses anyway." Isaac replied, downing his ale.
The core of the First Prince's pitch to sway Isaac was protection. Artificial circles. The five stages of magical advancement. Both upended conventional views of magic and threatened the privileges of mage families. Especially the ancient language, which was passed down exclusively to maintain class distinctions.
Yet Isaac claimed an era would come when magic could be wielded without it. A statement that would have branded him a heretic if tied to religion, and a hint to mage families that their vested interests might vanish.
They wouldn't let him be.
"I can't wrap my head around it. If you're right, even the magic-using royals would push back. Why would His Highness protect you? Is he that serious about magic?" Wrinkles creased Carlson's brow.
He knew kingdom politics better than Bessimer, but he had no real interest in noble games. He just crammed in what he needed to know.
"Serious about magic. That would've been amusing. Of course not."
"Then what?"
"Curious?"
"Yeah."
Carlson narrowed his eyes at Isaac's playful tone—a gesture saying don't mess around.
"His Highness thinks I'm a genius."
"…."
Carlson glared at Isaac. Isaac chuckled.
"A genius is a double-edged sword in power games. If they resist, chaos ensues. If they serve, there's no better tool."
"I can't follow your twisted talk."
"His Highness believes my theories will spark massive change. He wants to use that to shove aside the pro-empire faction and empire-born mages, rebuilding the kingdom's magical academia under a new order."
"With you—the key to that change—under his control."
"Exactly. Just an extension of political maneuvering. If I teamed up with the assembly faction, it'd give him even more headaches."
In the corner of the inn's first floor, Isaac fielded Carlson's questions. Mostly about kingdom politics. Carlson was a model student. He'd have made a decent mage, too—sharp curiosity, quick on the uptake. Though that curiosity stemmed from his ties to Botmer.
"Then why not join His Highness? Don't you have any other options? The Second Prince is a madman."
Carlson lowered his voice further. Evening crowds filled the inn, grabbing seats for dinner.
"Not time to slip on the leash yet." Isaac swirled his ale. The remnants sloshed at the bottom.
The First Prince was said to be cool-headed and meticulous. Rumors swirled that the recent assassination attempt on him was a self-staged ploy. It painted the Second Prince not just as a lunatic but a cold-blooded kin-slayer, stirring uproar even among assembly and pro-empire factions.
In contrast, the First Prince stayed composed despite the attempt, highlighting his fairness and virtue.
But he wasn't ruthless enough to kill his own brother when needed. He'd passed up chances multiple times. The result? The Bloody Succession.
During the First Prince's coronation, the Second Prince's faction massacred the king, the First Prince, and royalists in one stroke.
"This I hate, that I hate. How can I pledge loyalty?"
To Isaac, who rejected the oath, the First Prince tried threats and bribes. But Isaac's answer remained refusal. Frustrated, the First Prince asked why. And Isaac replied.
"Kill the Second Prince."
That ended the talk. The First Prince gave no answer, just handed over a laurel-ringed band and promised to talk later.
"Gives me a headache."
"I'm the one thinking. Why's your head hurting?"
"Dunno. Maybe 'cause I'm no genius like some. Gotta head to Binvelt early tomorrow, so I'm off to bed."
Carlson shook his head and stood. Isaac sipped ale even after he left.
Enet, tension released after the academy, coughed from accumulated fatigue. Raphael hadn't returned from the cathedral.
"One plants a blade in shadows, one paves a path in blood—"
"Golden crown, bloodied crown, rusted crown."
"To whom falls tomorrow's poisoned cup?"
⟨ Bard's Lament ⟩
The inn stayed packed. Dinner gave way to drinks, bards taking turns singing. Mostly fables weaving recent royal scandals, some about lovers.
"Drums echo from across the river."
"We see the same sky, chase different stars."
"Will you be there if I cross? Will I find you amid the flames?"
"Eternal vows scatter in bloodwinds."
"We point blades at each other's throats—"
⟨ Republic Revolution Ballad ⟩
The mournful melody lingered, silencing even the rowdy crowd.
Song based on the Republic Revolution. Lovers from opposing camps, probably.
Some shed tears, but Isaac felt little. His mind was on Goethe alone.
If he defended the kingdom, it'd be because it benefited Goethe. Vice versa.
Thus, he wavered on how to approach the cardinal he'd meet soon. How far to aid him? What impact on Goethe?
"Hearing worldly love songs always strangely brings my Lord to mind."
"You're back."
Raphael sat beside Isaac, lost in thought. His ever-present black cloak hid full armor; the chair groaned under his weight, sagging slightly.
"Your Lord—God, you mean?"
"Yes, my one true Lord. As trials temper lovers' bonds, His tests forge my faith like steel. Innkeep!"
Raphael downed the ale the owner brought. Emptying the mug, he stared blankly, weary.
"Bishop Alquin's come to. Could head to the Pope's Domain tomorrow if we push."
"Good news."
"And Gaspar the scribe hanged himself."
"…Regrettable."
"His faith only went that far. Innkeep!"
Raphael drained three more mugs. "The church denied his funeral. Even the faithful shunned him. Deserved. He fell to Botmer's temptations, betrayed the Holy See, then defied His will with suicide."
"What of the body?"
"Asked the gravedigger to bury him as a pauper. Innkeep!"
Raphael's voice cracked with pain. Seven mugs down, face flushed beet-red.
"Foolish weakling. May He take his soul. But forgiveness? Doubtful."
Isaac let Raphael vent without prying. Only deep into the night did he share interrogation results.
"Just as you said, Baron. The attackers were the Akanlaufer mercenary band and Viscount Buechtner's crew. Botmer's orders."
"Viscount Buechtner?"
"Family revolt. Second son took over."
"So Beltran's the head now?"
"Yeah. Seems Botmer blackmailed him. With most Goethe vassals already Botmer's, Buechtner's key men were too."
Raphael nodded, head lolling from drink.
"Confirmed with the bodies. From steward to inner knights—all Buechtner men. Mages were Akanlaufer."
Raphael detailed the interrogations and findings. Save Beltran rising to head, it matched Isaac's predictions.
"Testimony from me, Beltran, and Bishop Alquin should prove Botmer's atrocities."
"If no more attacks en route to the Pope's Domain."
"Don't worry. Requested extra Holy Knights from the church."
"Good."
Isaac nodded. Wolf King's legacy kept him sober. Four mugs in, ale tasted only bitter.
Guests thinned; only two tables left.
"Time to head up." As Isaac rose, Raphael's heavy hand pinned his shoulder.
"Baron. Care to explain?"
"Explain what?"
"Questioned your mage, got nothing."
"Enet?"
"Yeah, girl by that name. That light magic. Claims ignorance, terrified and shaking."
"And?"
"Important. What you call light magic… resembles holy power. You grabbed her wrist when she cast. Baptized? Stigmata?"
"…."
"Holy power's rare. Used on church orders to purge beasts. High clergy's power strips their evil."
"…I see."
Isaac scratched his head. Regrettably, Raphael's "holy power" was just light magic.
Beasts had vision and hearing dozens to hundreds times sharper than humans. Blinding light and noise was devastating. Light magic was a papal secret, packaged as holy power.
Isaac felt the gap between his foreknowledge and reality. In the future, "holy power" devolved to useful battlefield magitech.
No way to explain to Raphael. Better minimal misunderstanding.
"…Enet hides it, but she's devout. Inspires me often. Well."
Isaac crossed himself and slipped away.
Next day, five white-canvased carriages arrived. Fifteen silver-armored Holy Knights lined up before the inn.
The escort to guide Isaac's party to the Pope's Domain.