CHAPTER 75…………………..
Kyle’s patience was gradually wearing thin.
“Ha, Yankeller….”
That low, disdainful voice made Yankeller’s temper flare instantly.
“I don’t know why we have to keep having this conversation, but since you asked, I’ll answer. Yankeller, I pulled Everett out of the flames. Isn’t that reason enough for me to be here?”
Yankeller Penaio, that’s enough now.
Kyle’s emerald eyes, blazing red, seemed to say.
“Um….”
Sensing the tension in the room, Daisy hesitated before quietly speaking.
“I need to give the young lady her medicine.”
“Bring it here. I’ll do it.”
Kyle carefully slipped his hand behind Everett’s back, gently raising her upper body to hold her in his arms.
Yankeller, unwilling to let his surging jealousy show, shot up from his seat.
If he stayed and kept watching them, he felt he and Kyle would reach a point of no return.
Without even hearing Daisy’s polite farewell, he left the mansion stiff-faced.
He lingered at the entrance for a moment, then turned away—not toward the temple, but in the opposite direction.
“An explosion? A fire? What nonsense is this? Why would there be an explosion in the plaza!”
With Kyle absent, the emperor was cheerfully chatting with the saint.
“That faint popping sound, Your Majesty? I thought it was fireworks the people set off in celebration of the banquet,” said Angelus.
The emperor nodded, saying he thought the same.
Seeing them laugh and exchange jokes, the noble who had rushed in with the urgent news grimaced.
“Your Majesty, the plaza is in flames. You must cancel the banquet and immediately dispatch the imperial fire brigade and knights.”
“The knights must remain to guard the palace, so that won’t do. But since there’s a fire, the brigade should go. Really, such a fuss over a few shops burning.”
No sooner had a servant announced that other nobles sought an audience than they came pouring into the drawing room.
“Your Majesty, they say the fire in the plaza is spreading rapidly.”
Most of these nobles ran shops in the plaza.
A fire threatening one of their largest sources of income was a dire matter.
But their mass intrusion only worsened the emperor’s mood.
Slamming down his glass with a loud clink, he shouted:
“What is the meaning of this behavior? You barge in so rudely, even knowing I am in the middle of an important conversation with the saint!”
“Your Majesty!”
If they backed down now, even their remaining shops might be lost to the flames.
Though their hearts raced with urgency, the nobles bowed their heads lower still.
For them, putting out the fire and canceling the banquet had to come first.
“The banquet will soon begin. If I cancel it now, what face would I have left?”
The total destruction of the plaza or the wails of his people were of no concern to the emperor.
His only thought was to marry off Kyle and drive him into the temple.
And in that moment, the emperor wasn’t the only one indifferent to the fire.
Sitting beside him, Saint Angelus struggled to maintain a calm demeanor. One eyebrow and the corner of her lips twitched nervously.
Explosions and a fire… Don’t tell me that bastard Hugo caused this? I only told him to get rid of the tarot cards and mess up the shop….
She knew Hugo wasn’t the type to act without orders or escalate things on his own, but unease gnawed at her.
“Your Majesty, please cancel the banquet and focus on fire suppression. Any further delay, and even the remainder of the plaza will be lost.”
Only with the emperor’s command could the countless knights stationed at the palace be deployed to fight the fire.
As the nobles’ entreaties continued, the emperor’s face flushed crimson with rage.
Standing quietly outside the open door, Alfred let out a low, bitter laugh.
“Lord Kiyor.”
With two loud explosions, gray smoke began to cover the sky.
The excessive number of knights lingering in the palace only fueled small disturbances here and there.
Meanwhile, the actual palace security had grown even more lax.
From the beginning, under Kyle’s orders, Alfred had avoided assigning the enemy knights to palace guard duty.
Instead, he stationed them near the library, ready to depart at any moment.
Accompanied by a few knights, Alfred wandered the palace as though on patrol.
It was a ruse, meant to give the impression that the enemy knights were guarding the palace.
Just as he returned from his rounds, Ventus quietly approached him.
“Take a look at this.”
He handed over a handkerchief bearing Bartmann’s crest—Kyle’s handkerchief.
“The coachman who brought this said the young master was in the building where the first explosion occurred.”
“Kyle? Was he injured?”
“No. He’s unharmed, but it seems a young lady was gravely injured and lost consciousness.”
“A young lady… Where’s the coachman now?”
“On Kyle’s orders, he went to report to the palace fire brigade after delivering this to you, Lord Kiyor.”
“Ventus, go straight to the brigade. Without the emperor’s order, they won’t move. The coachman might get into trouble, so go and assist him.”
“Understood. I’ll report back and bring him here.”
Once Ventus departed, Alfred unfolded the handkerchief—and his eyes went wide.
On the pure white cloth, written in red rune script—
“Blood….”
But what shocked him was not that it was written in blood, but what Kyle had conveyed.
The hurried, scrawled letters bore the weight of Kyle’s urgency.
Another bomb will go off in the plaza. Deploy the knights immediately and root out the culprit. Arrest anyone remotely suspicious without hesitation.
“Another explosion?”
The blasts hadn’t been powerful, but the ensuing fires were the real danger.
Most of the plaza’s shops were old wooden buildings, and even with a fire brigade, it wasn’t nearly enough.
If Kyle was right, the plaza’s total destruction was only a matter of time.
Worse, crowds were gathering to help extinguish the flames.
If another explosion struck nearby, casualties would be inevitable.
Shoving the handkerchief into his pocket, Alfred dashed off toward where the enemy knights were stationed.
It was said that madness flowed in Bartmann blood.
The Lion King, Ruber Sow Bartmann, who had unified the continent and founded the empire, had it.
Every emperor after him, to varying degrees, had shown signs of mania.
But Alfred thought no one surpassed the current emperor standing before him.
This isn’t madness—it’s sheer lunacy. He has no thought for politics, no care for the people. He’s just a man obsessed with clinging to the throne.
The emperor, unmoved by constant pleas, seemed unwilling to yield.
The only man who could sway him was Duke Bacard, but he was absent from the palace.
Alfred had only stopped by to gauge the emperor’s mindset before heading to Kyle.
I shouldn’t have bothered coming at all.
As soon as he had Kyle’s command, Alfred dispatched the enemy knights to the plaza.
To guard against the emperor’s possible interference, he ordered them to shed their uniforms and disguise themselves as commoners.
The knights scoured every corner of the plaza with speed.
Anyone even slightly suspicious was seized and locked up.
But it was only a stopgap measure to prevent further blasts.
As for the fire, only the palace could truly suppress it.
Outwardly, the banquet still seemed calm, but in truth, it was already as good as over.
Cutting through the rapidly changing air of the capital, Alfred prayed.
That whatever happened, at least Kyle might be spared.
That was his one and only wish.
A young Yankeller prostrated himself at the feet of the High Priest.
“Father, please! I’ll never study magic again. Please, I beg you!”
Dozens of books and magical tools, thrown into the fire, burned furiously.
Too dangerous to retrieve them, the boy could only sob, watching as the flames consumed everything.
Just hours earlier, the High Priest had discovered that he had been secretly studying magic even after entering the temple.
Dragged by the scruff of his neck, Yankeller had been hauled into the High Priest’s private garden, off-limits to ordinary priests.
On his knees, he pressed his forehead hard against the man’s feet.
“Father, please….”
The notebooks he had filled, the books he had struggled to obtain, the magical tools created through countless trials and errors—
Yankeller’s entire magical history was turning to ash in an instant.
The High Priest’s face was resolute, as though determined to erase all traces of magic.
He hurled the last book in his hand into the flames with deliberate force.
“Nooo!”
Unable to endure the anguish, the young Yankeller screamed in despair.
“Yankeller Penaio. You are the only son of our house and bear the grave duty of inheriting the High Priesthood.”
The High Priest continued, as though deaf to his son’s cries.
“What would people say if they knew you were consumed by this base magic? The son of the High Priest, servant of the goddess Anish….”
He looked down at the sobbing boy with contempt.
“Clicking his tongue—tsk, tsk. That the Penaio family harbors such a disgrace.”
But Yankeller believed.
That if he became skilled enough, he would be acknowledged.
That if he served the temple well, he would be permitted to study magic.
Biting his lip until it bled at the sound of his father’s scorn, Yankeller turned his gaze to the ashes of his books and tools.
And he vowed.
Father, this is the end. I will no longer crave your recognition.
His eyes burned hotter than the flames before him.
