Round Table Meeting (2)
“Lord Manrmursk Byeon Gyeongbaek and Suhwa Romanov have arrived!”
Soldiers clad in gleaming plate armor flung open the doors, revealing a lavishly decorated chamber. It felt utterly unlike the castle's exterior, which seemed untouched by human hands for ages—as if a noble gala had raged here just yesterday.
“Living in a place that snows all year must've frozen your feet solid, huh? You gotta time your entrance right.”
A vulgar jeer, completely at odds with the refined atmosphere, flew straight at Suhwa and Manrmursk Byeon Gyeongbaek.
“Ah~ must've taken a while with that little bell-ringer tagging along. Have some fun in the carriage, did ya? Whew, the smell's wafting all the way here.”
Krahahaha!
A man with a wild black beard laughed uproariously. With every heaving breath, the iron trinkets on his coat jingled along.
“I was wondering where that fishy stench was coming from... Since when do smugglers get seats at the Elector Princes' Round Table?”
“What'd you say? You calling me, Francis Fraia, lord of the Split Archipelago, a smuggler!?”
Bam! Clang-clang-clang—
Golden teeth flashed between lips twisted in what might've been laughter or rage. The man, who looked massive even sitting, rose like a hulking boulder materializing before their eyes.
Is that real gold?
As that trivial question tickled Suhwa's mind, a soft voice interjected.
“Enough from both of you. Time that's already passed can't be rewound, not even with billions in mana.”
Nyaong~
A woman in a seamless white mask. In stark contrast, a pitch-black cat—or rather, a shadowy mass in feline form—let out a mewl.
“Ooh... wise words indeed, Lady. Of course, of course. Just greeting an old pal I haven't seen in ages.”
“Greeting my ass.”
Francis plopped back into his seat, grinning with blatant fondness. Suhwa, who had been itching to inspect those gold teeth up close, settled beside Manrmursk Byeon Gyeongbaek with a pang of regret.
“Suhwa?”
Someone here knows me?
Time seemed to grind to a halt.
Nobles among nobles. Those who clutched the empire's true power. The Elector Princes.
For someone at this Round Table of Elector Princes to know Suhwa?
Impossible. My existence was top secret, even within the family.
Suhwa was a bastard son. The product of the duke's one-night whim, with even his mother's identity a mystery. A noble house's shameful secret they wouldn't want aired—yet for some reason, Suhwa's father had taken him into the territory.
Those who knew of Suhwa? The duke and duchess, maybe two or three others at most.
So... if someone here knew him, then...
“You're Suhwa, right?”
The frozen moment shattered limply.
“Pardon?”
A deflated sound, like a snapped rubber band, slipped from Suhwa's lips.
“Pardon? I was wondering where the academy's top grad vanished to after graduation, and here you are in Manrmursk?”
“Excuse me, but you've got the wrong—... Muyul Ihyeon?”
“Whoa, drawing a line already just 'cause you graduated top? Making me feel jilted after all this time.”
The young man seated across from Suhwa—a denizen of Sukan—waved casually with a friendly grin. Muyul Ihyeon.
Dong~ Dong~ Dong~
“With Lord Manrmursk Byeon Gyeongbaek as the final arrival, all Elector Princes who signaled attendance have entered. I hereby declare the Round Table Meeting open.”
The herald who had announced Suhwa's arrival rang the massive bell before withdrawing. As doors heavy enough for a castle's main gate slammed shut, the chamber felt utterly severed from the outside world.
“Ugh! That thing hurts my ears every time... Do they have to ring it?”
“It's an ancient tradition we must uphold. Oh, guess a landlubber who chugs seawater wouldn't get it?”
“Wh-what!?”
Nyaong!
The black cat emerging from the woman's shadow yowled sharply.
“Ahem... be grateful to the Lady.”
The woman inclined her head slightly toward the sullen Francis as he slouched into his seat, then spoke.
“The reason I summoned you Elector Princes today... you can all guess, but recently, 'someone' has made certain demands of us Elector Princes and key nobles.”
“The specifics may vary, but I believe they all point to the same thing.”
“A check on noble power—especially us Elector Princes—and a strengthening of imperial authority.”
Garung.
The shadow cat rumbled contentedly, as if pleased with the wrap-up.
“Hmph! Whatever that figurehead emperor stirs up on land means squat once he hits the sea.”
“Is that so? What demands did the emperor make of you, Duke Fraia?”
“Something about taking in some land beasts, I think...”
“If I may be so bold, do you have the capacity in your mainland territories to care for such creatures?”
Francis Fraia, lord of the Split Archipelago and grand smuggler. True to his fish-stinking moniker, Fraia consisted of a smattering of mainland and myriad islands. He had some land holdings, sure—but nowhere near enough for the horses and griffins the emperor was dumping on him.
“Th-that's...”
“I'm not scolding you, Duke Fraia. Forgive me if I've offended.”
“No, no! Offended? My heart's pounding like a fresh-caught bluefin!”
With a pristine smile, the woman continued.
“Moribwe, Sukan, Manrmursk, and other major nobles face much the same.”
“Sea territories like Fraia get land beasts; magic-focused Moribwe gets cold weapons; cavalry powerhouse Sukan gets magic artifacts.”
Before her final words, her gaze flicked toward Byeon Gyeongbaek.
“And border guardian Manrmursk—bearing heavy duties—had all of the above stripped away: mercenaries and tinkerers... pardon, mercenaries and war mages forcibly relocated, wasn't it?”
Kyung! Kyung!
The feline shadow had become a snarling hound. Its face a mere silhouette, it was impossible to tell whom it menaced.
“Even as emperor, he can't strong-arm nobles—us Elector Princes—like this.”
“Hear, hear!”
The black beard and gold teeth bobbed enthusiastically.
“But it might just be my view... So I've gathered us to hear your thoughts and discuss our response.”
A thoroughly defensive stance. This is what I think... what about you? Mages were sensitive to the slightest variable, after all. And Moribwe was the empire's forge of magic.
“Ooh... such wisdom, Lady. No need for more questions! Fraia's waves will always crash toward you.”
She merely smiled faintly at the blatant courtship that raised his hackles, her mask unmoved.
“Ooh...! The empty one defying providence shall summon a storm of blood!”
“...?”
“Patriarch?”
“You worm! I'll cut that bud right here! My spear—where's my spear!?”
The old man who had sat mouse-quiet beside Muyul Ihyeon suddenly bellowed—at Suhwa.
Crash!
He didn't stop at shouting, lunging over the Round Table before collapsing limply.
“Gr-Grand Duke, Your Highness! Are you alright?”
“Steward, take Father to the lounge at once!”
“Y-yes!”
“Ooh... ancestors of the great Khan! Look upon Sukan...”
Clunk!
As the sudden storm over the Round Table stormed out the door, a heavy silence descended.
Grand Duke. Seated beside Muyul Ihyeon. If Suhwa's guess was right, that was Sukan's Grand Duke, Yayuldaesok Taiji.
They say he's a noble among nobles, brimming with valor and wisdom... but that display...
Milky, fogged eyes. In the glare he'd fixed on Suhwa, there was no Suhwa at all—just empty pupils chasing phantoms from another time.
Dementia?
An unforeseen variable. Sukan's public heir was eldest son Muyul Ilsan, but Yayuldaesok had two more: academy classmate Muyul Ihyeon, who recognized Suhwa, and the youngest, born late in life.
If Sukan's Grand Duke was like that, a succession struggle was imminent—and certain.
While I shake Sachsen, Sukan itself needs to threaten them... but infighting would just ease Sachsen's worries.
Damn it, what now...
Clap! Clap! Clap!
Whether sensing Suhwa's turmoil or not, Manrmursk Byeon Gyeongbaek clapped delightedly.
“Doubt we can continue right now... How about a short recess?”
All around the Round Table nodded in agreement.
Lady Moribwe stood by the window as if to catch the breeze, her ring glinting sharply.
Hoo!
Smoke scraped from the lungs dispersed into the air. Muyul Ihyeon, looking a decade older than minutes ago, smirked around his cigarette.
“Not gonna ask anything?”
Suhwa, fiddling with an unlit smoke, replied.
“If you'd answer, you'd spill without asking. Otherwise, what's the point?”
“What the hell, man.”
His words were rough, but the considerate gesture didn't seem to grate.
“Thought you'd stick around the academy forever—when'd you head back to your lands?”
“Month or two after you graduated and left? Got a letter from my baby bro. What to do with Father... the patriarch... in that state? Had to go.”
“Didn't you say your older brother's there?”
“What can Gold Horse do? Wasn't even s'posed to be me at this Round Table, y'know? Kid's probably holed up in some salon, drowning in booze right now.”
Recalling his wastrel brother soured his mood; even the dialect he avoided at the academy slipped out.
Another butt piled in the fancy ashtray. As Muyul Ihyeon fished out fresh regret, Suhwa struck a match and held it out.
“What're you... What, you doin'? Why not smoke? Don't tell me you're quitting or some nonsense—out with ya.”
“Resting, man, resting. Take care of your health before it's too late, or you'll regret it. Remember that poli-sci prof? The chain-smoker who hacked and wheezed after three words.”
“Yeah, that guy was on borrowed time if he didn't quit.”
Muyul Ihyeon lit Suhwa's cigarette too, grinning in satisfaction. Amid flickering snake-tongue smoke, old memories bloomed and faded.
“What'm I s'posed to do, Suhwa?”
“...”
“Useless drunkard's stinking up the top spot, and down here's a kid who can't ride straight staring at me.”
“...”
“Fuckin' hell...”
No answer would suffice, so Suhwa stayed silent.
And in that silence, a certain plan began to form in Suhwa's mind.
One he couldn't voice to this academy classmate...