“I want to see the Emperor.”

Before the grand doors carved from fine redwood—wide enough for two carriages to pass through side by side—Celicia stood with her gaze fixed coldly on the two knights barring her way, repeating,

“I want to see the Emperor.”

The knights were tall and clad in heavy armor, not a single trace of life visible from head to toe. They stood motionless like statues, their eyes empty and devoid of emotion behind the slits of their visors.

Celicia waited in silence.

From time to time, palace maids would hurry past her, bowing quickly before continuing on. Patrols had clearly doubled, if not tripled—the moment one squad turned a corner, another followed behind. The corridors of the palace were so tightly guarded there wasn’t a single blind spot left.

The entire palace was tense, solemn—like a war was about to break out. Everyone was on edge.

And yet, the Empire of Leopold’s enemies were supposed to be far away—across the distant borders, in the demon lands.

“Giddyup! Ha-ha, giddyup—”

Laughter echoed from outside the window.

Celicia lowered her gaze. In the palace gardens, a handsome man in his twenties was riding on a servant’s back, waving a blunt blade in hand like a child playing knight, charging at a flowing fountain.

Dozens of maids and guards surrounded him nervously, terrified he might trip or fall, but the man’s unshaven face wore a bright, innocent grin.

—That was her eldest brother, Crown Prince Albert Leopold. A fool born with a mental disability.

The only person in the palace still capable of untroubled joy.

“His Majesty says: let her in.”

The knight responded at last. The crossed halberds before the grand door lifted. The doors opened silently.

Inside the ornate chamber, a stern-looking middle-aged man stood with his hands behind his back, gazing out over sunlit Belrand from the high balcony.

Aldrich III—the true ruler of the nation.

“Father,”

Celicia entered the room and curtsied respectfully, lifting her skirts. The grand chamber had not a single attendant, making it feel vast and cold. Behind her, the doors closed without a sound.

Aldrich III didn’t respond. He continued to gaze outward.

The palace stood at the heart of Belrand, on elevated ground, offering a view of nearly half the city.

Beyond the shimmering Glein River lay the low, shadow-covered clusters of homes—Lower City.

On the palace’s side, the buildings were arranged like manicured gardens, brimming with artistic elegance—Upper City, forever bathed in sunlight.

Aldrich III liked to look at the city from here. Some scenery could only be truly appreciated with one’s own eyes.

This city, from this vantage point, resembled a great tree basking in the sun—its branches, and its shadow.

The more lush the tree, the larger the shadow it cast.

And for a tree, excessive foliage wasn’t always a good thing.

“It’s gotten chilly,” he murmured suddenly, as if seeing something new.

“Autumn’s arrived,” Celicia replied after a pause. “Father, don’t forget to dress warmly.”

“I thought you didn’t care much about what happens here.”

“The fire’s at our doorstep. How could I not care?”

Celicia gave a self-deprecating laugh and cut to the chase.

“So, Father—who is our enemy?”

“Enemy? Hah. ‘Enemy’ is the wrong word. What we face this time... isn’t human.”

Aldrich III finally turned around to look at his daughter—his expression as cold and indifferent as hers, those ice-blue eyes an even deeper abyss.

Yet behind that coldness was a flicker of approval.

“Since you’re here, come with me to today’s council meeting. In the blink of an eye, you’ve grown up. It’s time you saw how the world really works.”

“Council meeting...”

Celicia repeated the words, her clear eyes dimming slightly. She glanced around the cold, opulent room.

“Father... is Brother Andrew not here?”

Andrew Leopold—her second brother. If this were a political council, he should be the one standing by the Emperor’s side.

“He went to the countryside estate to escape the heat.”

“In autumn?”

“He said his heat sensitivity’s acting up again. Might not return until winter. Well, he’s always been that way since he was a child. I can’t be too harsh on him, can I?

“Especially since... he’s my only son now.”

Aldrich III stepped down from the balcony, poured himself a glass of red wine. The ruby on his finger glimmered just like the wine in the glass.

Celicia’s gaze grew more skeptical.

“Would you like some? Wine from the Hill Vineyards.”

“No, thank you, Father. I don’t drink.”

“Ah, that’s right. I almost forgot—you’re not allowed to.”

As if recalling something amusing, a rare smile touched Aldrich’s stern lips.

He took a small sip and set the glass down. Then he turned and put on his ceremonial robe—white ermine overtop the Empire’s finest silk, embroidered with gold thread and inlaid with gems. He struggled to fasten its complex clasps and fur-tail ornamentation—normally the work of several maids.

“Damn it. I told those tailors to make this simpler. They listen even less than nobles. One day I’ll have their heads.”

“...Shall I help, Father?”

“I’m not that senile yet.”

It took him twenty full minutes to dress. He finally stepped toward the exit, grabbing what looked like the Emperor’s scepter—then casually picked up the sword beside it.

He hung the sword at his waist, hidden beneath the flowing cloak-like robe.

“Come. It’s nearly time.”

The doors opened silently again. The knights outside knelt in salute.

A maid approached with a copper basin of hot water and a towel.

“Your Majesty, please cleanse your hands.”

Aldrich nodded slightly. He had mild mysophobia and washed his hands often.

He stretched out his hands toward the basin.

But just before his fingers touched the water—he paused.

In the reflection of the steaming basin, his cold gaze flicked ever so slightly.

With a hint of mockery.

His pinky twitched.

Celicia’s silver-white hair was suddenly tousled by a gust of wind.

The wide hallway stirred.

A biting chill rode the breeze.

Pop.

A soft sound—like a bubble popping—rang out.

Blood sprayed.

A small shadow, hidden behind a knight, suddenly moved, darting in front of Aldrich III and driving a dagger—

—into the maid’s torso.

Only then did panic and terror begin to appear on her face. Her hand trembled, dropping the dagger she’d hidden in the towel.

An assassin?

Celicia finally understood, conjured cold air in her hand—but it failed.

The palace was sealed by an anti-magic curse. No spell, no divine blessing could activate here.

Which meant even the most skilled assassin could only rely on crude methods: a knife, a plunge.

—But that was also incredibly stupid.

The dagger had struck true, hitting a vital point—but the maid didn’t die immediately. She staggered up, terror vanishing from her face, replaced by fanaticism and madness.

“Long live the Moon!”

She lunged again at Aldrich—barehanded.

“Long live the Moon!”

Boom!

A thunderous roar shook the hall.

A massive halberd tore through the air, its weight exceeding a thousand pounds, but in the knight’s hands, it moved like a child’s toy. It carved a perfect arc and cleaved the maid clean in two.

Viscera and blood splattered everywhere.

The small figure raised a transparent shield—catching every drop, protecting both the Emperor and Celicia.

The patrol swiftly closed in, ensuring no further danger could unfold.

But the stench of blood still spread.

Aldrich III remained emotionless, watching the half-body that still crawled toward him—trying, perhaps, to drag him into hell.

“I recognize you. One of the maids who dresses me daily.”

“Guh... guh... The Moon... is coming...”

The maid’s eyes gleamed with venom. Though her life was fading, her lips twisted into a crazed grin.

“The Divine Kingdom... will cleanse all... and I... shall live forever... in the light of the Moon... forever... haha... forever...”

“No point talking to you, then.”

Aldrich’s fingers moved slightly.

Whump.

The halberd fell again, crushing the body into pulp.

The guards moved swiftly, clearing the remains, wiping blood, scrubbing the floors—so practiced it seemed rehearsed.

Within a minute, a fresh red carpet was laid over the pristine floor.

The knight stood like a statue again behind the Emperor. The small figure bowed—and like ink in water, vanished into shadow.

As if nothing had ever happened.

Only a faint scent of blood lingered.

“A Moon cultist?”

Celicia’s voice remained cool, but even she failed to notice the disbelief in her tone.

“They infiltrated the palace?”

“Blind faith is the hardest thing in this world to snuff out, isn’t it? That’s why I hate those fanatics.”

Aldrich washed his hands again in a new basin. The maid holding it trembled as if it weighed a thousand pounds, struggling not to spill the water.

“But... why?”

The morning’s events replayed in Celicia’s mind. Many strange details now made sense.

But new questions arose.

“You’re wondering—if the cultists had people planted so close to me, why use them now for a reckless assassination? Why not wait for a more critical moment?”

“Yes,” Celicia nodded.

Logically, the only ones ◆ Nоvеlіgһt ◆ (Only on Nоvеlіgһt) cultists could brainwash in a place like the palace would be the lowest ranks—maids and guards.

But even such people, used right, could turn the tide at the right moment.

Certainly better than charging in with a knife like a fool.

“That’s because... time’s running out.”

A mocking smile curled Aldrich’s lips. His gaze drifted toward the horizon, as if seeing something far away.

“Like a cornered beast—when all hope is lost, every hair on its body must stand on end, don’t you think?”

...

...

Throne Hall.

Soft light filtered from the crystal chandelier, illuminating the vast and majestic hall.

Massive bronze columns, engraved with epic tales and ancestral legends, supported a vaulted dome that loomed like the firmament itself. Within this solemn, sacred space, anyone would instinctively feel their own insignificance.

Especially now—when this throne room, capable of holding nearly a thousand people, held only two.

Celicia’s cold gaze swept over the empty chamber. A hint of puzzlement flickered in her eyes.

Wasn’t this supposed to be a council? Where was everyone?

“Put your hand on my shoulder.”

Aldrich III sat slouched on his throne, propping up his chin lazily.

Celicia obeyed. She extended one pale hand and rested it lightly on his shoulder.

And then she heard it.

The sound of Aldrich knocking on the throne’s armrest. A crisp sound—like striking polished jade.

But in the blink of an eye, that sound became enormous.

As though a hundred pipe organs from the Belrand Royal Concert Hall had been played at once. Layer upon layer of sound crashed together, fusing into one cataclysmic, mournful chord—like the dirge of a world at its end.

In that overwhelming resonance, Celicia’s consciousness suddenly blurred.

It was as if an invisible hand had seized her soul and dragged it into an endless abyss.

What... is this...?

The sensation of falling vanished as suddenly as it came.

When Celicia regained her senses, she was still standing beside the Emperor’s throne.

It felt like nothing more than a fleeting nightmare.

But when she looked up—everything had changed.

The bronze columns were now mottled gray, rotten, and carved with twisted, grotesque demons. The shattered ceiling flickered with ghostly gloom. Above the dome, thick gray fog rolled in like an upside-down sea.

It looked like the throne hall—but this was not the solemn, luxurious place she knew.

This was its mirror image. Cold, terrifying, like the reflection of a glorious cathedral seen through the eyes of the damned.

Her gaze dropped.

The hall was no longer empty.

A massive round table had appeared before Aldrich III’s throne.

Surrounding it were stone chairs—and in those chairs sat cloaked figures shrouded in mist.

On the tall backs of the chairs were engraved strange characters—ancient and austere. Far less ornate than the golden throne, yet exuding a weight of their own.

To sit as equals with Aldrich III—there could be no ordinary nobles here.

That much was certain.

Celicia had countless questions. But she realized she couldn’t speak. It was as if a silence curse had been placed on her.

Am I... just an observer?

Accepting this, Celicia calmed herself and watched quietly.

...

...

“Your Majesty.”

As Aldrich III appeared, the cloaked figures rose and placed hands to their chests in salute.

But the gesture stopped there.

It wasn’t loyalty to the crown they expressed—but respect for the man himself.

“Is everyone here?” Aldrich’s lazy gaze swept around the table. He tapped the throne armrest with his finger.

“Since you’re all here, drop the disguises. This isn’t some cultist meetup—we all know each other. No need to hide behind masks.”

“Oh? It’s not?”

A surprised voice echoed from the far end of the round table.

“I thought we were summoned here by some great god, to do something epic together.”

The mist at the last seat cleared—

—revealing a pink bear.

Yes, a literal pink bear, squirming uncomfortably on the hard stone seat.

A furry paw emerged from its snout, holding a cigar. It tapped the ash expertly, then scratched its rear.

“A shame. I already thought of a title for myself. How about... The Fool? Kinda has that mysterious badass vibe, right?”

“I think The Clown suits you better.”

A cold, mocking voice came from the seat closest to Aldrich’s right.

“Who said that?!”

The pink bear slammed the table and roared in fury.

But when he saw the figure sitting in that chair—an old man slowly revealing his features—his rage died instantly.

His pink fur visibly paled.

“C-Canterbury... Archbishop Canterbury?! Y-You came too?”

The pink bear nervously wrung his paws and forced a sycophantic smile.

“Of course I came,” the old man replied gently. He wore a simple white cleric’s robe and smiled with benevolence—but his eyes were icy.

“Mr. Pink Bear, I’ve received reports that you embezzled the sacred sword of the Life Church, defiled a saintess, and distributed blasphemous materials. I wonder if...”

“No! Never! Absolutely false!”

The pink bear slapped the table in outrage.

“Who spread these lies?! I’m an upstanding believer of the Life Goddess—loyal, devoted! I’d never do such things!

“Swallow a holy sword? Steal saintess pinups? Never! I swear on—on my whole family—!”

“Enough.”

Aldrich III rubbed his brow, visibly losing patience.

A rare flash of fury entered his tone.

“Who let this idiot in here?”

“My apologies, Your Majesty.”

Professor Prang rose from the left, looking awkward.

“He claimed he was acting dean of Saint Maria Academy and qualified to attend. He clung to the door.”

“Get him out.”

Aldrich paused.

“Throw him down below.”

“Wh-What do you mean, below?!”

The bear froze in terror. Before he could protest further, Professor Prang’s expression twisted into a snarl. He flipped the bear over and dragged him by the leg toward the exit.

“Wait! No! You can’t do this to me!”

Claw marks scratched the floor as the bear thrashed.

“I can’t go down there! I’ve got beef with the Moon! I killed tons of her followers—she’ll have it out for me!

“If you throw me down now—at least wait till later—!

“I bled for Leopold! I sweat for Saint Maria! You can’t do this! I want to see Aldrich! I raised you! I’ve still got pictures of your bare baby butt—ahhhh!”

With a final shriek, the bear vanished.

The hall fell quiet again.

Professor Prang returned to his seat with a flicker—and the meeting resumed.

Aldrich looked to his right. Most of the figures seated there were old.

He sighed.

“Some of you are so old I barely recognize you anymore. Let’s start with introductions.”

“If it pleases Your Majesty.”

The first to rise was the elderly man beside him—the benevolent-looking one in white.

“Life Church. Grand Cathedral of Belrand. Archbishop Canterbury Enger.”

He nodded warmly to everyone. And every figure he looked at rose respectfully.

As one of the five High Thrones of the Life Church—and its highest authority in the Empire—Canterbury commanded respect both in title and power.

“Origin Tower. Dodge Slore.”

The next man wore a mage’s robe. His introduction was brief—but no one dared look down on him.

The Origin Tower was the continent’s greatest magical institution.

And the name Dodge alone was synonymous with summoning magic. A living legend.

He bowed to the room, then looked at Prang.

“I heard Mentor Meladomir has awakened.”

Removing his pointed mage’s hat, he asked politely,

“Might I have the honor of a visit?”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Dodge.”

Prang removed his own hat with a wry smile.

“She specifically instructed me before I came: she’s not receiving guests for now.”

“...A pity.”

Dodge nodded, disappointed, and sat back down.

...

“Stone Cauldron Society. Adrien Shandel.”

...

“Adventurers’ Guild, Belrand Chapter President—Adolf Lovis.”

...

“Sanetsu United Trade Alliance...”

One after another, names were spoken. Each carried enough weight to shake the world outside.

Even Celicia, with her self-control, couldn’t stay calm.

Because these names didn’t just represent individuals—but the powers that ruled the continent.

The Origin Tower, home to the most powerful mages.

The Stone Cauldron Society, unrivaled in alchemical lore.

The Adventurers’ Guild, with branches in every region.

The United Trade Alliance, a multinational economic titan.

Even excluding the Life Church as a special case, these groups could decide the fate of small nations.

If these were the guests on the right—

Then the left...

Celicia recognized most of them immediately, which only unsettled her more.

“Now that our guests have introduced themselves, it’s time for you hosts to do the same,” Aldrich said, glancing left.

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

The round table was turned halfway, so the left began with Professor Prang.

“Saint Maria Academy. Professor of Magic. Prang Ronir.”

“Headmistress of Saint Maria Academy. Acting Director of Imperial Special Disaster Response. Hatherway Field.”

“Imperial Royal Military Academy—Head.”

“Imperial Intelligence Bureau—Acting Agent.”

“Imperial Army Command—Interim Representative.”

“Imperial Royal Knights—Commander.”

“Imperial...”

“Silent Bureau... First Swordbearer.”

The final voice was that of a near-skeletal old man, covered in liver spots. He didn’t even rise.

He looked ready to step into the grave.

But the moment he spoke, every person present turned toward him with gravity—burning his face into memory.

A hundred years ago, the Empire—fed up with the Life Church meddling in internal affairs under the guise of fighting Evil Gods—secretly formed a new department: the Silent Bureau.

The man known as the Swordbearer was its founder.

Under his hand, the Bureau replaced the Church’s Inquisition, eradicating cults and Evil God plots with ruthless, efficient precision.

They became the Empire’s most feared black ops force.

Rumors said they’d slap even a cultist’s dog, smash their eggs, and dig up worms just to slice them in half—merciless to the extreme.

“You’re still alive.”

Archbishop Canterbury sighed, staring at his ancient rival.

“I thought you’d died long ago.”

“Heh. ‘The wicked live long’—guess that’s me.”

“But your men aren’t so sturdy.”

Canterbury sneered.

“I heard one of your Bureau’s branches got wiped out by cultists. And someone... what was her name? Anna Kaplin? Got abducted?”

He tsked.

“If she’s connected to an Evil God, the damage could be catastrophic.

“Your Majesty—why not let the Church redeploy its Inquisition to Belrand? Give us one day—we’ll bring Anna Kaplin back.

“Though we can’t promise she’ll be intact.”

......

Aldrich gave no reply.

He reclined on the throne, chin resting on his hand, eyes narrowed as he watched the old man.

As if waiting.

“For an explanation.”

“...Anna Kaplin may indeed be involved in an Evil God’s scheme.”

The old man opened his murky eyes and spoke flatly.

“And yes, she was kidnapped—at great cost.”

“Hmm?”

Canterbury blinked. He’d only meant to jab at an old foe, but this admission came too easily.

Had the Silent Bureau truly decayed?

“But—”

The old man suddenly turned away from Canterbury and looked directly at Aldrich.

His voice cold and firm.

“Anna Kaplin... has never once left the Silent Bureau’s control, Your Majesty. Not even once.”