All According to Plan (2)

It had been over half a day since he’d clung desperately to that belief. That he would be dragged into this godforsaken pit and forced to fight those repulsive things until he stopped breathing. Yet the chains came off in an instant.

The crushing weight vanished. Nathan blinked. He didn’t even know whether he should feel joy or confusion. And then—

“Who… are you?”

The one called Somnus offered no reply. Instead, the figure strode steadily from the very back row of seats all the way up to the stage. Then it seized Nathan by the scruff of the neck the moment he shook off the chains and stood.

“Ouch—hey, wait! Who the hell are you?!”

The wrist wrapped in fine silk was slender, yet the grip was like a blacksmith’s vise. Of course, Nathan could have broken free if he truly wanted to. He had nearly snatched the hand and twisted it on reflex when a sudden premonition made him glance back at the observers’ seats.

All the long-eared bastards wore expressions of utter shock. They had puffed up their collars like rival peacocks, but now their faces had gone deathly pale. It was almost comical. Among them, however, one figure stood out as especially unsettling.

He couldn’t possibly miss her.

The woman who had been strangling him with pressure just moments ago. The Grand Arena Owner wrapped in a black veil—Santra.

Only now did he realize she had been sitting beside Aspen the entire time. The sparse lighting in the courtroom had been focused on him, leaving her hidden in shadow. But her aura was anything but ordinary. Though her expression was hidden by the veil, her rage was unmistakable. She had risen to her feet, fingers digging so hard into the back of the seat in front of her that the wood seemed ready to splinter.

In that fleeting instant of observation, Nathan didn’t miss the look of defeat on the Grand Arena Owner’s face. He quickly averted his eyes, pretending not to notice, and obediently let Somnus drag him along.

Whether I like it or not, I’m already in the palm of an elf’s hand. Might as well roll the dice.

It couldn’t possibly be worse than fighting to the death a hundred times.

But just as Somnus and Nathan were about to leave through the door, the guards blocked their path.

“Um… Lord Somnus.”

“Could you… wait just a moment? We’ve received a report that there’s a problem with the exit procedures—”

It was obvious the guard was grasping at straws, forced to speak because he had nothing better to say. Someone had clearly ordered them to detain the pair at all costs. In one guard’s hand, an electrified baton crackled with current.

Nathan flinched reflexively at the sight. The memory it stirred was far from pleasant.

Somnus turned its head toward the offending guard.

When Somnus’s finger pointed at the baton, the guard hastily lowered its output.

“N-no, of course not.”

Their eyes never met. The steel box Somnus wore had no eyeholes. That only made it more unnerving. There was no way to tell where it was looking or how it was seeing anything.

A strange light flickered from the edges of the cube.

“Lord Somnus, that’s not what I—”

The guard shot Nathan a nervous glare. Nathan had a rough idea what was going on. A powerful figure wanted the Sapiens dead, so the guards had probably been ordered to make sure the human never walked out alive. But in this unexpected situation, they likely had no idea whether they should still follow those orders.

Somnus’s eerily long fingers tapped the guard’s face.

The terrified guard stammered out a respectful answer. Of course everyone in the East knew exactly who this was.

The owner of Galarhorn, the magitech enterprise. In the Heavens, where power structures and every industry had been completely filled for over a thousand years, any new player who entered the arena of competition was bound to face vicious checks and restraints. This was especially true for a company dealing in cutting-edge technology like Galarhorn.

For a small fish to survive and grow into a predator, three conditions were essential: an irreplaceable position, eyes that could read the board, and the ruthlessness to ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠sweep obstacles aside without hesitation. Without those three, survival was impossible.

And conversely, those same qualities proved just how dangerous the person before them truly was.

The coldness of the modulated mechanical voice made the guards’ legs go weak.

“He is the defendant. His race is Sapiens. The Winter Kingdom of the North has sent a letter demanding strict punishment—”

The finger tapped the guard’s other cheek. A little harder this time. The long earlobe of the targeted guard began to tremble violently.

In the East of the Heavens, where corporations stood shoulder to shoulder, if you soiled the clothes of an old, established businessman, you’d get beaten half to death and suffer all kinds of humiliation. But if you touched a younger entrepreneur, you could disappear from this world entirely. Sometimes over something far smaller than muddy water.

Emerging powers like Somnus inevitably acted even more brutally than their predecessors.

“That may be true in name! But do you understand what you’re doing right now?!”

An elf who had shot up from the spectator seats bellowed. When one of the most respected businessmen took their side, a flicker of courage returned to the pale faces of the guards.

The guards, who had been straightening up and gripping their batons again, once more faltered and stepped aside. A low growl echoed from the darkened ceiling.

The predator’s growl from the ceiling continued until the very last guard lowered his baton.

Somnus’s bodyguard, whose notoriety rivaled Somnus’s own, was not an Eleim. In fact, it was more accurate to say no one knew its true identity. Because no one had ever properly seen its form.

Whenever another noble or corporate head picked a fight with Somnus, the bodyguard would drag the opponent’s escort into the darkness and vanish. The other guards would rather be disciplined or fired than die that way. Having done all they could, the guards slowly scattered.

Somnus dragged Nathan through the door and out. The courtroom fell into silence, as if a storm had passed. Someone who clearly didn’t read the room muttered gloomily. In the quiet, the words rang out with painful clarity.

“The Winter King isn’t going to like this at all.”

As if that explained anything. Nathan made a face behind the figure walking ahead. Now that the decision had been made, he was starting to have doubts. Was it really okay to follow this box-headed weirdo?

Because the person hid their face, Nathan kept seeing the ominous image of Santra in her black veil overlapping with it. But every time he hesitated, a monstrous growl rose from the darkness behind him like a warning. Nathan resigned himself and decided to keep following.

The box-headed figure went on bragging for a long time. A magnificent enterprise that had created things unprecedented in the Heavens—manufacturing, communications, medicine, the works. Nathan secretly rolled his eyes. Again, as if that explained anything.

Nathan used every ounce of ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠willpower to suppress his terrible social skills. Don’t talk back. Don’t argue. Don’t shout ‘I don’t fucking understand, you lunatic.’

As if in reply, the monster behind them let out a low rumble. Nathan suddenly realized the sound felt familiar. He looked back.

The creature that had been following stopped only when it reached him, bumping its head lightly against his stomach. A smooth, cockroach-like head. Ruby-like eyes gleaming on either side.

“…Sweetie?”

Somnus solemnly grasped its own head. The metallic surface of the box glinted under the corridor lights. The entrepreneur struggled to pull their head out of the heavy helmet with a grunt. The fluorescent light circling the edges of the cube flickered out like a dying bulb, revealing a face that was biting its lip to hold back laughter.

Along with it came a refreshing, petal-like shade of short hair.

“I told you I had a plan.”

“…Bennie?”

The Fourth Prince of the Northern Kingdom of Ingr, Morsoph, swallowed hard for the first time in a long while. He clasped his hands together with tremendous force.

The descendants of the Winter King did not feel cold. Therefore, this ceaseless trembling did not come from the chill of the frozen lands.

“We still do not know the exact identity of that insolent person called Somnus. It is certain that noble blood flows in their veins, but their other personal details are still under investigation—”

“Siiiiiiileeeeent.”

The booming reply that cut him off crashed against the ice walls surrounding the thousand-year fortress like a monster and echoed like a tidal wave. Caught in the sound, Morsoph staggered as if struck in the head.

Like his other siblings, Morsoph was not ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠particularly close to his blood relatives. But there were a few things every member of the family agreed on. For example, that nothing in their lives was more terrifying than their father, the Winter King.

But it seemed that slogan would need revising today.

There was something more frightening than their father.

Their father, whimpering like a baby.

Behind the throne carved from a mountain of ice, the king crouched ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠with his back turned, weeping.

“Siiiiiiileeeeent—!”

His senility is getting worse.

At some point, everyone stops crying like a baby in swaddling clothes. They realize that throwing tantrums without dignity is only acceptable when one is still a lump of flesh whose vocal cords haven’t fully developed. But occasionally, tragedy strikes someone who forgets that truth.

Though the Eleim enjoy eternal youth thanks to the blessing of the Heavenly Gods, some unlucky souls suffer from the curse of mental regression. When he was young, Morsoph had believed such sorrow only visited the weak. But his mighty father was proving otherwise. No one was exempt from the possibility of misfortune.

“Your Majesty, please calm yourself. The Protector Lord has just reported that we may be able to negotiate for custody of the Sapiens—”

“Kill Maaaaiaaaaa—!”

The eight-meter-tall bluish giant stamped his feet and screamed. He pounded the floor carved from a glacier with his fists and kicked the walls formed from crevasses. It was a truly mythic disgrace. The roar tore at eardrums while shards of ice flew everywhere.

This time, Morsoph truly collapsed to his knees. The father who had always been an unpredictable tyrant by nature had clearly been possessed by a new kind of madness after hundreds of years. Serving him was by no means a happy task.

“You must be wondering why I’m so obsessed with that bastard, Morsoph.”

The voice suddenly became clear. A small spark of hope rose within Morsoph. Please let it be a temporary symptom. Or perhaps his father was merely acting, enjoying his son’s bewilderment.

“Do you know of the Nodin ritual of Beseni? The ghost that devours royalty. That thing has come to claim my karma. Do you not understand?”

I don’t understand, Father. I can’t make sense of a single word.

The prince gave up. The one who must not go mad had gone mad. Morsoph had a terrible premonition that the entire Heavens would pay the price. And he soon learned he was right.

Only a few seconds after that thought.

“Throw the spear. The trembling spear. Now.”

Morsoph despaired. There was no precedent. No—there was precedent, but it had never led to this kind of outcome. It was already common for the royal grandchildren of Ingr to die outside the kingdom. Yet the Winter King had never shown such profound interest before. To him, his children were not objects of affection but tools and toys.

There had been many times when the corporations of the East had arrogantly ignored the king’s demands. They essentially told him to come crush them himself if he dared. Ever since the great war of the Heavens in the distant past, no one had attempted to cross the boundaries dividing the east, west, south, and north to fight.

Of course, such challenges usually ended with humiliating apologies from the eastern corporations. There was no need to expend the effort of sending armies across the border for retribution. The difference in power between the noble royal house and mere merchants was obvious.

It had always been that way.

So why did it have to be different this time? Why was that Sapiens the exception?

“Your Majesty, please reconsider. There are many other ways. I will immediately dispatch assassins after that Sapiens—”

The Fourth Prince was crushed and vanished with a thunderous roar. The Winter King, Grendel Ingr, now stood before the throne, pressing both fists down on the spot where his son had been. The Winter King kneaded the deeply dented ice slab as if it were clay. When the house-sized fists finally lifted, sticky paste and chunks of flesh dripped from beneath the shadows of his hands.

“Now.”

A thick command mixed with sobs. The Fifth Prince and retainers who had been standing behind the Fourth Prince prostrated themselves, shouted their loyalty, and quickly fled the audience chamber.

Left alone in the vast hall, the Winter King stared up at the ceiling of the fortress.

“What did you ride up from that distant ground, you specter? Have you finally come to take the throat I failed to cut back then?”

Eyes that had turned a cloudy, ruined milk-white over fifteen centuries. What those eyes saw was not the ceiling. It was a past that existed long before the long history of the Heavens had even begun. A past when the eyes of the man named Grendel had still been dreamlike, azure blue.

“You’re late. I am no longer the little child who trembled while covered in the muddy water of the ground, Beseni. Come.”

The long silence was over. Now it was time for the Heavens to shake once more, and greatly.

“The king rules. Forever.”