CHAPTER 19….
The High Priest’s Angry Prophecy
When I said I would clear out the Queen’s Palace lounge and use it as a training ground, Chief Attendant Colin’s expression turned strange.
“A training ground, Your Highness…?”
“I’ll be doing simple sword practice. If I can learn spear techniques later, all the better.”
“Do you… know how to handle a sword, Your Majesty?”
Seeing Colin daring to doubt the Queen’s words, I raised an eyebrow.
“Why? Do women in Fritan not use swords?”
“N-no, that’s not it. It’s just that I couldn’t imagine Your Majesty holding one…”
Colin quickly bowed his head.
“I will have the lounge converted into a training ground immediately. If Your Majesty needs anything else, please say the word.”
As I gave him some instructions about what I wanted prepared, a report arrived—saying that the heat-preserving magic stones, previously installed in the Queen’s Palace, had been safely returned to the royal warehouse.
The once-empty warehouse was now more than two-thirds full again. Knowing that those precious magic stones—rarer than diamonds—had been conserved eased my mind somewhat.
And just like that, another hectic day passed.
“Your Majesty, please grant me an audience at once!”
The Emperor of Haren, who had just fallen asleep beside his ninth consort, was awakened by the sudden commotion. His consort woke as well, frowning, and summoned her maid.
“What’s all this noise?”
“It is… the High Priest, Harris. He is making a scene outside, demanding to see His Majesty immediately.”
Hearing the cause, the Emperor scowled.
“Has the priest’s seclusion fasting already ended?”
“Yes, sire. An hour ago, his four-month vow was completed.”
“Ha! And the moment it ended, he came running here.”
The Emperor rose from bed with a displeased expression.
“You’re going now?”
The consort asked in surprise, but the Emperor, draping a robe over his nightclothes, left the chamber grim-faced.
Outside, the white-haired High Priest Harris was quarreling with the guards. The moment he saw the Emperor, he glared fiercely and shouted:
“Did you truly send Yurahel’s daughter to the North?”
“Let’s speak somewhere private.”
Though Harris’s eyes burned with resentment, he followed the Emperor into his private study. The heavy doors closed firmly behind them.
“Answer me. What have you done with Yurahel’s child?”
The High Priest’s voice rang with fury. The Emperor lifted his gaze to meet it.
After four months of fasting, surviving only on water and salt, Harris was gaunt, his cheeks hollowed. His hair and beard were long, tangled, and unkempt.
But his eyes gleamed more sharply and savagely than anyone else’s in the world.
“The King of Fritan cut off Grand Duke Jake’s arm and sent it to me. Since then I’ve been plagued by nightmares—night after night I dreamed he severed my head. For the sake of peaceful sleep, I sent the girl away. It was worth it.”
“For the sake of your sleep, you should have severed Jake’s head and sent it to the Fritan king instead!”
The High Priest’s face twisted in fury as he shouted.
“And who’s to say the king’s wrath would have been soothed by Jake’s head?”
The Emperor flared back, angered himself—for it wasn’t as if he’d wanted to send her.
“Do you think I liked it? I had been planning to bring in a lovely twelfth consort. Sending that girl away hardly pleased me.”
“Ha!”
“I had to survive first. Whether the Empire’s glory blossoms after my death or not—what does that matter to me?”
“Is that truly something an Emperor should say?”
“Why not?” The Emperor sneered.
“Does that so-called divine power even exist? She’s twenty and hasn’t manifested it yet. Better her pretty face save my life than waste it waiting on miracles, don’t you think?”
“Have you forgotten why Yurahel ended up that way?”
The High Priest’s roar shook with outrage.
Yurahel—no priestess had ever possessed such foresight and healing power.
But because of the Emperor’s greed for a concubine, she had been sent into danger, cast out of the temple, and met a miserable end.
And her daughter, Lea, grew up wretchedly under the watch of the Emperor’s hound, Marquis Uzcal—who cared only for gold.
In truth, the High Priest and the High Priestess had planned to smuggle Yurahel’s daughter to the Holy Empire, far from the Emperor’s reach, once the fasting seclusion ended.
But now, she had been sold to that war-mad blood fiend—while Harris was powerless in seclusion!
Clearly, this had been done to silence his opposition.
Then Harris’s breath grew ragged, his eyes rolling back until only the whites showed. It was the sign—an oracle, or the awakening of his foresight.
“Foolish Emperor of Haren. Yurahel’s seal has broken—the divine power within Lea has begun to awaken.”
“Wh-what?”
“Haren Empire has lost its light, and for that loss it shall decline. The Kingdom of Fritan has gained wings. And the Emperor of Haren marches with his own feet toward the tip of the Fritan king’s spear.”
Bang!
The furious Emperor hurled a paperweight—it struck the High Priest’s forehead, drawing blood as he staggered.
“Watch your tongue if you value your life. Or I’ll rip it out.”
The Emperor seized the wavering priest by the collar, growling low.
“High Priest Harris, agent of the Goddess. Surely you realized one thing in those four long months of prayer—life comes only once, for all men.”
He flung Harris down and stormed from the chamber. His shadow knights carried the still-tranced priest back to the temple.
And there, Harris was confined to his quarters.
“Will, you’re putting your emotions into your hands, aren’t you…?”
“Does it hurt? Then I’ll be gentler.”
Despite his words, William’s massive hands kneaded Miclock’s bare shoulders harder and harder.
Miclock lay face-down on a cot inside the temporary tent, shirt off, as William expertly massaged his tense back and shoulders.
Though William still harbored some resentment over the scarf incident, he knew tight muscles could hinder tomorrow’s battle—so his strength pressed in all the more.
Relations between William and Ralph were still strained, but both men carried out their duties well enough.
Beside the bed stood Ralph, vice-commander of the Special Knights, and Joseph, commander of the reinforcements who had joined them ten days ago.
It had already been a month since Miclock and Fritan’s knights wiped out the Maon tribe. Word must have spread among the monsters and demons along the border—for they had gone into hiding.
Instead of open clashes, ambushes grew more frequent. Just that morning, an unexpected assault had caused some losses.
This shift was unwelcome to Miclock, who was eager to finish the campaign and return home.
“Still no word from the scouts?” Miclock asked, not lifting his head from William’s hands.
“No, sire. The further south we go, the deeper they hide. Time is on their side, not ours.”
“Then perhaps we should strengthen the guard around Your Highness. Another ambush like this morning could be dangerous.”
Ralph suggested, but Miclock shook his head.
“I can protect myself well enough. Use that time to kill more monsters.”
“When thousands swarm all at once, not even you can withstand it, sire. Sheer numbers will overwhelm anyone!”
William muttered grimly, pressing harder into Miclock’s shoulders.
Just then, commotion outside preceded the entrance of Ralph’s twin brother, Freddy.
“Prince Miclock, a letter has arrived from the Queen.”
“Oh?”
Miclock started to rise, but William’s strong arm pressed him back down.
“Will, it’s a letter.”
“Listen while lying down. If your shoulders don’t loosen, you won’t even lift your sword later. Order Freddy to read it aloud.”
At William’s stubborn insistence, Miclock lay back down.
“Very well. Read it.”
Freddy cleared his throat. “Ahem… ‘My beloved Mi—’”
“Ugh!”
At the very first line, Freddy’s voice cracked. His body twisted as if something were crawling over him.
The other knights struggled not to burst out laughing.
“Can’t you read properly?”
“S-sorry! I’ll start again.”
My beloved Mic, it’s already been a month since you left. You are safe, aren’t you? I’m doing well. Though I’m still not quite used to Fritan’s autumn—it feels like the dead of winter.
“Ahh, I knew it. I should have ordered more magic stones for heating. This is all your fault, Will!”
Miclock glared fiercely at William, who averted his eyes. Freddy quickly hurried on.
But don’t even think of putting more magic stones in the palace—unless you mean to roast me alive.
“Ahem.”
“You heard her?”
This time William met Miclock’s eyes proudly.
I told you before I cleared out the lounge to make a training hall, right? Lately, Millie and I practice swordsmanship there every morning. Once I grow stronger, I’ll handle Fritan’s cold much better.
“Hm… how adorable you must look, swinging a sword.”
Eyes closed, still under William’s hands, Miclock muttered with a smile—forgetting the knights standing around him.
They were all stunned by what had slipped from his lips.
I’ve also taken a new tutor—the Duchess Emily Zenon. Three times a week I learn Fritan’s history, culture, and the ins-and-outs of noble society. It’s the most practical study I could ask for.
“Court intrigue? In a small noble society like Fritan’s, does that even exist?”
Miclock asked doubtfully. Ralph answered:
“Even three noble ladies will create a hierarchy. Fritan has fewer than thirty houses, but within them rivalries and power plays certainly exist.”
William quietly added as he smoothed oil onto Miclock’s back:
“My mother too—before her marriage, she suffered much from being shunned in high society.”
“Countess Giles? Who would trouble that gentle lady, and why?”
“Before she wed, my mother was called the Butterfly of Fritan’s salons. Many young noblemen courted her, and so she became the thorn in the side of other ladies.”
William glanced at Ralph and Freddy.
“Especially Baroness Soron, I hear, tormented her cruelly.”
At his words, the twins’ expressions clouded. They clearly knew of their mother’s youthful misdeeds. Ralph muttered awkwardly:
“She was young and foolish then. She regrets it now—and later apologized sincerely to the Countess.”
“Yes. She said if she’d known Lady Giles was courting the Count, she’d never have acted so.” Freddy added foolishly. Ralph shot him a sharp glare.
When the Butterfly of Fritan declared her marriage to the kingdom’s most homely man, Count Giles, the entire realm had been thrown into uproar.
Some clueless young lords even claimed she must have been blackmailed—but, astonishingly, theirs was true love.
That William inherited none of his mother’s beauty but was the spitting image of his father was a mystery of genetics.
“Ha… women’s world is too complicated. Be careful not to get tangled up in it. Next!”
Miclock urged him to read on. But Freddy fell silent, the letter in hand.
“Well? What is it?”
“It’s just that…” Freddy glanced at Ralph, unable to continue.
