The Emperor's Wrath
"Haa…"
"Your Majesty, is something troubling you?"
Eberhardt Waldstein.
Eberhardt, Emperor of the Empire, let out a deep sigh.
"It's nothing."
"Please speak freely. I know full well that if it truly were nothing, you would not wear such an expression."
"Ahem. Moments like these make Us regret how thoroughly Gregory understands Us."
Eberhardt grumbled for no good reason.
The Emperor's chief aide, Gregory Howard, was an elderly man. He had personally witnessed every stage of Eberhardt's life — from the moment he was born as Crown Prince through his growth into the Emperor he was now. Gregory was the one person Eberhardt trusted above all others.
"We were merely disappointed that the rain has kept Us from going hunting. Compared to the weighty affairs of the Empire, a canceled hunting trip is a trivial matter indeed."
"Your Majesty, please do not say such things. Resting properly is every bit as important as working diligently. Being disappointed when a hunting plan falls through is only natural. You must be quite disheartened that something you looked forward to has gone awry."
Receiving his aide Gregory's consolation, Eberhardt gazed out the window.
Shaaaa…
A fierce rain was pouring down, soaking the buildings and trees. Hunting in weather like this was out of the question.
"It was a hunting plan We had finally managed to arrange after months…"
Emperor Eberhardt's favorite pastime was hunting animals. That moment of holding one's breath and pouring every ounce of concentration into the bowstring. That fleeting instant when every pressure and every worry could be cast aside. He loved the thrill of an arrow leaving his hand and striking true.
"We want to go hunting…"
The Empire's Capital had grown far too developed. The areas near the Capital swarmed with people, and any worthwhile game had long since fled elsewhere. The truly prime hunting grounds lay far away, where human traces were scarce. One had to travel a considerable distance before reaching those choice hunting grounds where all manner of wild animals roamed free.
Ordinarily, the press of imperial affairs left no time to visit such places. So every few months, he would arrange an expedition, travel to a prime hunting ground, enjoy the hunt, and return.
"Haa… Our hunting plans have already been canceled eight times. How can this be!"
As if by some uncanny design, a violent rain would fall on every single day he was scheduled to depart for a hunt. As a result, the hunting plans had been canceled eight times in a row. Because these were expedition plans, a single cancellation did not simply push the schedule back a few days — the entire plan vanished altogether. Being Emperor was far too busy a post for leisurely hunting.
"The heavens are simply being fickle. There is little to be done about it, is there not?"
"Is it not the prophets' very job to predict that fickleness? Just what are those so-called prophets doing!"
Eberhardt's aimless fury turned upon the imperial prophets.
"Gregory. We have a question."
"Yes, Your Majesty. I am listening with full attention."
"It is the imperial prophets who set the dates for Our hunts, is it not?"
"That is correct."
"And We clearly requested that they choose a fair, clear day."
"Yes. You commanded them to arrange the plans for weather ideal for hunting."
It was the imperial prophets who determined the Emperor's hunting dates. Beyond hunting days, they also set the dates for a great many of the Empire's various ceremonies and events.
"Then why is it that rain falls every time Our hunting day arrives?"
"Th-that is…"
"Eight times in a row. We can scarcely even remember when We last went hunting! Even tossing a gold coin, the same face coming up eight times consecutively is rare. One cannot help but suspect some intent behind such a thing."
His stress-relieving hobby had been canceled more than eight times. His patience had long since hit rock bottom.
"Gregory. Are We wrong?"
"Your Majesty's words are entirely just, but even prophets cannot predict every whim of the heavens, can they?"
"Then for what purpose do those people even exist!"
The more he spoke, the hotter his temper grew. The irritation that had been building in his chest began to surge upward.
"If they deliberately aimed for rainy days, that is treason. If they simply did not know the rain was coming, that is incompetence!"
Eberhardt arrived at that conclusion. If they had intentionally set the hunting days for rainy weather, they had defied the Emperor's command. If they had set the days without knowing rain was coming, it was proof of their incompetence.
"Is it even conceivable that so-called imperial prophets cannot predict something as simple as the weather!"
Of course, the weather was hardly something one could call "simple." Whether rain would fall or drought would strike in the future was a matter of grave importance, tied to the rise and fall of the nation itself. Eberhardt knew perfectly well how important the weather was, and how difficult it was to predict the heavens — and yet.
"At this point, it is no different from simply tossing a gold coin to make a prediction!"
Eight consecutive cancellations had crossed the line.
"We feel half a mind to dismiss every last one of the imperial prophets."
"Y-Your Majesty. If you suddenly take such action, the backlash will be considerable."
"Yes, We suppose so. They are nobles, after all, for whatever that is worth. Step on them and they will squirm."
Every imperial prophet came from a noble house. Just as noble families maintained their power through intermarriage, they sent their children to become prophets and thus drew them into the imperial sphere of influence. It was one of the means by which the Imperial Family governed the nobility. No matter how incompetent the prophets might be, they could not simply be cast out on a whim.
As Eberhardt stared endlessly at the rain pouring beyond the window, a thought suddenly crossed his mind.
"Gregory. We have had a splendid idea."
"A splendid idea, Your Majesty…?"
"Would it not be excellent to hold a tournament to find the greatest prophet in the Empire?"
"A t-tournament, you say?"
"Indeed. And We shall include every last imperial prophet among the participants."
Hold a tournament and pit the prophets' skills against one another. That way, the incompetent frauds could be sorted from the genuinely capable prophets.
"The incompetent prophets who are eliminated in the early rounds can be cut from the Imperial Court, and they will have no grounds to complain."
"With a clear justification, the nobles' resistance will also diminish. A most wise decision, Your Majesty."
Through the tournament, he could secure a justification for dismissing the incompetent imperial prophets. At the same time, it was an opportunity to discover genuinely talented prophets. Eberhardt was satisfied with his plan.
"Let Us hold the tournament."
"Your Majesty. What of the eligibility requirements?"
"Eligibility…"
Being a noble did not mean one was skilled at prophecy. He had already learned that lesson firsthand from the imperial prophets.
"Birth and status are irrelevant. Anyone who has confidence in their prophetic abilities may participate."
"Yes. I shall begin preparations at once."
"We leave it to you."
Gregory immediately set about preparing the tournament in accordance with the Emperor's command.
A tournament to determine the greatest prophet in the Empire was to be held. The news struck a perfect chord with bored nobles, merchants hunting for a big score, and wandering poets in search of amusement. Word of the tournament spread faster than a galloping horse. It raced past the Imperial Palace and the Capital, through the nearby mid-sized towns, and eventually reached every last corner of the countryside villages.
"Teacher Rix, have you heard the news? They're holding a tournament to choose the greatest prophet in the Empire."
"…What?"
"Why don't you enter, Teacher? The way I see it, if it's you, the championship is as good as yours!"
While I was helping the villagers, I heard something strange.
A tournament to choose a prophet? Why would they suddenly do something like that?
I had no idea what the Emperor was thinking.
"I don't particularly feel like entering."
"What? If I were you, Teacher Rix, I'd enter without a second thought! They say His Majesty the Emperor personally declared that the prize is anything the winner desires!"
"That is quite an extravagant prize."
Sylvia had been the same way. Did well-off nobles just love throwing around blank checks?
"Teacher Rix! Please enter!"
"Haha. I'll think about it."
It would be nice if I could get shaman tools as the championship prize, but…
There's no need to go borrowing the Emperor's power for that.
It wasn't as though the tools had to be made of diamond or gold. I could obtain them just fine without winning any tournament.
There was no reason not to enter, but neither was there any particular motivation to do so. I figured it had nothing to do with me and tried to ignore it, but…
"Teacher! Are you going to enter the tournament? What?! You're not? How could you!"
"Teacher Rix, have you heard about the tournament? Ah, you already have. Then, about entering…"
Every villager I ran into brought up the tournament.
"If big bro enters the tournament, he'll definitely win!"
"Oppa! You don't even have to play with us — just please enter the tournament!"
Eventually even the village children talked about nothing but the prophet tournament. Wherever I went, whoever I spoke with, the conversation turned to the tournament.
They all just want me to make something of myself, I suppose.
The villagers seemed to feel guilty that they couldn't offer me any proper compensation. They even seemed to have gotten it into their heads that by not entering the tournament, I was somehow being held back by them.
There was no reason to enter the tournament. But then again, there was no reason not to, either.
Looks like I have no choice.
I decided to enter the tournament.
I borrowed a horse, rode to a nearby town, and met the person in charge of tournament registration.
"I'd like to register for the prophet tournament."
"And your name?"
"Rix."
"What would you like as your championship prize? We're collecting this information in advance to facilitate prize distribution in the event of a win."
The championship prize, huh.
Any number of things flitted through my mind, but none of them were things I needed the Emperor's power to obtain. Entering the tournament in the first place could already count as self-interest, so I could hardly go coveting material wealth on top of that. There was a world of difference between accepting fortune that came your way and actively seeking it out.
"Nothing."
"…Pardon? What did you say?"
"There's nothing I want as a championship prize."
The clerk stared at me for a moment with the expression of someone looking at a lunatic, then lowered his head and continued with his work.
"Registration complete. The tournament schedule is posted on that wall over there. Next, please."
An enormous line stretched out behind me. With the lifeless eyes of a dead fish, the clerk processed applications like a machine.