[Assistant] In the royal assembly hall, Crusch Karsten had found herself unable to think anything for a very, very long time. For several days now the powerful and noble of the realm, along with the Council of Elders, the organization that essentially acted as the kingdom’s brain, had been discussing what to do about the turmoil that faced their nation. Crusch was getting awfully sick of the meetings she was obliged to attend as duchess. They had been talking for so long that she knew even the smallest details of every attending noble’s face. They had to deal with rituals where the king’s presence was expected, while trying to prevent any word of the current situation reaching the world’s three major powers. They had to take care of all the duties each member of the royal family would normally have attended to, all while trying to figure out what to do about a disease whose origins remained obscure. And on top of all that, each of the nobles had the usual business of their domains to contend with. It led to a level of confusion and exhaustion that few of them could remember experiencing before. But now, a month after all this had started, the royal family’s condition finally seemed not to be getting any worse. This was what they had just begun to discuss when—

[User] "First Prince Zabinel is dead, you say…?” The tearful report brought by the spell caster from the Royal Academy of Healing was more than enough to throw the room back into near panic. First Prince Zabinel Lugunica had been the first of the confirmed cases of illness in the royal castle. Hence the condition afflicting him might have been the quickest to act…

[Assistant] “This is all too sudden! How can this be? How can His Highness have gotten so ill?”

[User] “It’s impossible! I met with him only yesterday, and he… He gave no sign of being so close to the end…” Those who had been especially close to Zabinel mourned the sudden news of his passing. But they weren’t the only ones left agape at the report. Everyone in the room was shocked. One person had now died from the disease that afflicted the entire royal family. And still no one knew the cause or how to treat it.

[Assistant] “Highness…” Crusch, too, felt a pang at the news. She was usually so careful to stand up straight, but now she felt she might break in half with the anxiety tearing at her innards.


[User] She could only think of Fourier, lying in his sickbed and offering his weak smile when she came to see him.

[Assistant] "We must consider the possibility that His Majesty, too, will leave us.”

[User] Even as she chewed her lip, Crusch heard a raspy voice. She looked up to find that everyone who had heard had focused on the center of the room, where Miklotov, the representative of the Council of Elders, stood.

[Assistant] “Sir Miklotov, a poor jest! His Majesty? Leave us?”

[User] “Mm. The inevitable cannot be avoided, no matter how diligently we look away from reality. We cannot afford to be optimists right now. Or else we will not be able to fulfill the duties of the most precious seat in our nation. Am I wrong?”

[Assistant] “Ngh…”

[User] “We see now how quickly the condition may turn—and that means that even tomorrow, we could find ourselves facing the worst. When it happens, it will shake the kingdom, and our role is to support the nation during that time. We must not turn our backs on the people.” Miklotov’s pointed pronouncement put to rest those who thought he was being disrespectful.

[Assistant] Thus, Crusch was the first to put aside her personal feelings and speak on the sage’s behalf. "Sir Miklotov is right. If anything should happen to His Majesty, the kingdom won’t disappear. It will fall to us to do something about it.” Crusch was one of only a few present of ducal rank, but she had relatively little experience and hadn’t established herself yet. Still, her speaking up helped the rest of the nobles start to feel the same way.

[User] “I’m grateful for your endorsement."

[Assistant] “Naturally, I still hope and pray that His Highness and His Highness’s family will come safely through this trial. Please don’t misunderstand me on that point.” He moved that the assembly begin discussing what to do with the kingdom in the event that they had no king—and last of all, he shot a meaningful glance at Crusch. Perhaps he was expressing his gratitude for her being the first to support him.

[User] But she didn’t see it; she had already collapsed into her seat. With things the way they were, she wouldn’t be able to drop in on Fourier. She had become so constrained by her noble duties that she didn’t even have time to see him. She couldn’t let this precious, limited time go to waste. That was what she told herself even as her duty compelled her to remain at the meeting.


[Assistant] 3 “…Crusch, is that you?” Crusch was somewhat surprised to see Fourier open his eyes as he sensed her entering his room. She had tried to walk as quietly as possible so as not to disturb his sleep. Not only could he tell someone was there, but he had even known who it was.

[User] “You surprise me, Your Highness.


[User] "I have the sense there’s nothing I can hide from you."

[Assistant] "And…perhaps there isn’t. That’s simply how well we know each other. Even with my eyes closed, even in the depths of sleep, I know it’s you… It’s been some time. Have you been well?"

[User] "I’ve been terribly busy, but my health is fine. Your color looks good today, Your Highness. That’s a relief." Crusch sat in a chair by the bed and studied Fourier’s face. Her last visit had been only a few days earlier, yet he seemed even thinner now. And Fourier had never been the beefiest person around. He was through burning fat; now his body was consuming itself. His cheekbones stood out slightly. It was impossible not to see how the disease was ravaging him.

[Assistant] “Crusch…I want to…feel your touch.”

[User] “Yes, Your Highness. With your permission.” She gently reached under the sheets and took Fourier’s trembling hand. His fingers had always been slim, but now they were despairingly frail. She rubbed the palm of his hand and interlaced her fingers with his.

[Assistant] “Ah. The touch of your fingers is pleasant," he said. “A woman’s hand.”

[User] "Your Highness’s hand feels rather thin, for a man. One would never think you had practiced so long with the sword."

[Assistant] "The sword… Yes, the sword… I suppose I’m the only one who could possibly best you. Though I’ve neglected my training for many days now."

[User] "Your Highness would surely recover from a few days of rest before long. Though they do say that it takes three days of work to make up for one missed."

[Assistant] "Are you telling me to work three times as long as I’ve rested…? Merciless!" And then, like so often before, he fell into a fit of coughing. Crusch hurriedly turned him on his side and rubbed his back gently until it passed. His breathing was so harsh, and his back seemed so small.

[User] “Ah, yes, what about…? What about the Argyles? And Ferris? Is everything going well?”

[Assistant] Feeling saved by the change of subject, Crusch nodded and said, “Yes. Thanks to Your Highness’s good offices. I’m glad to say what occurred at the Argyle estate hasn’t gone beyond the few of us. The deaths of Ferris’s mother and father are being called an accident. So Ferris—”

[User] “Can safely inherit the Argyle name. Good. That’s good. He may say he doesn’t want it, but he can’t throw away everything he was born to. He mustn’t.”

[Assistant] “Do you think he’ll be able to accept it?”

[User] “Of course—he is my friend, and your knight, after all!” Fourier half turned to her and smiled, showing his teeth. He almost coughed again, but he forced it down into his throat. It caused his eyes to water, but he kept smiling. Seeing it, Crusch found herself unable to form any words. But she mustered all the strength she had to smile back.


[User] “Mm… I knew…your smile was…beautiful.”

[Assistant] "The third prince passed away last night. That’s the seventh person…”

[User] “—” Grieved, Ferris left the king’s sickroom after another day of trying various curative magics to no effect.

[Assistant] “His Highness… If anything happens to His Highness…”

[User] “Ferris, the makeup worked beautifully. Crusch thought my color was good… Ha-ha, we sure pulled the wool over her eyes. She’s so trusting.”


[User] Fourier had begged Ferris not to let him look bad in front of Crusch when she came to visit. Ferris was painfully aware that this had nothing to do with Fourier’s pride but instead his consideration for Crusch. Ferris said nothing.

[Assistant] Fourier spoke as if he could read the boy’s mind. “Nothing…troubling you with the knights, Ferris? Don’t forget to lean on your friend… Yes, on Julius. You try to take on too much by yourself sometimes.”

[User] There were times these days when Ferris wasn’t sure who was comforting whom on these visits. “My… My friends. You, Your Highness… You’re my only friend. Aren’t you? So when you aren’t feeling strong, I end up…by myself.”

[Assistant] “Certainly…not. Don’t worry, Ferris. You’re kind, and at heart you are strong. Everyone loves you…and will befriend you, as I have. I may have been your first friend, but you needn’t let me be your last. Remember this: Don’t force yourself to be alone.”

[User] “Your Highness…” Why was he talking like this, like this was the end? It wasn’t the end. And how could he seem so attuned to what Ferris was feeling? Fourier’s words had held real power lately. Not worldly power, but the piercing power of truth. It made Ferris afraid. “Your Highness…! Your Highness, if anything happens to you…I’ll…”

[Assistant] “Bring me back to life? Please, don’t say such things.”

[User] “—” Fourier had read him like a book. He was lying on his bed and couldn’t have seen the tome in Ferris’s hand. Yet he had guessed exactly what Ferris had in mind and refused it.

[Assistant] “I am me, you understand. My life began when I began, and it should end when I end. For it to go on after I end—that isn’t right.”

[User] “But…but why? Is it so strange that I want you to live? That I want someone who’s so important to me to be alive?” Only as Ferris voiced the words did he realize they were exactly the same as those his father had babbled beside the corpse of his mother. If not word for word, then at the very least the spirit was identical.

[Assistant] “Don’t lament, Ferris. Your heart is precious. Be proud of your abilities… You have the kindest power in all the world. Count not the wounds you couldn’t heal, but the things you were able to save. Don’t try to look back all the time while you’re walking forward… I won’t allow it.”

[User] “Your Highness…”

[Assistant] Slowly, so slowly, Fourier sat up in his bed. He had wasted away so much that he could no longer stand under his own power, but he wanted Ferris to see the spark of life burn within him. The scarlet eyes regained some measure of their former strength. “And anyway,” he went on, “I may yet best this thing. I’m… Yes. I’m your friend, and the fourth prince of the Kingdom of Lugunica. I even defeated Crusch in a sword battle.


[User] "A little illness should be a…walk in the park.” Fourier raised his hand and gave Ferris a gentle tap on the forehead. His touch was so light, but his finger was warm. “Don’t abandon your duty as a member of the royal guard… It was I who had you assigned as Crusch’s knight. Don’t betray the vow we made to each other. The promise we made…as friends.” Drawing long breaths, Fourier smiled again and lay back down on his bed. “I’ve grown tired with all this talking. But I was able to smile with you for the first time in a long time. That’s good.”

[Assistant] Ferris hadn’t smiled. All he had done in front of Fourier that day was weep. But Fourier never spoke wrong. What he said sometimes sounded mistaken, but always turned out to be true.

[User] “It was fun, Ferris.”

[Assistant] So Ferris did everything he could to work his frozen cheeks into a smile. "Right. This was fun, wasn’t it, Your Highness?”


[User] The day was clear, but a breeze put a chill in the air. “Crusch…I’d like to go outside for a while. Could you lend me your hand?”

[Assistant] “Of course, Your Highness. If you’ll excuse me…”

[User] “Oh! Carrying me yourself? Ha-ha! You are indeed a strong woman. I’m surprised again.” In the courtyard garden of Lugunica’s royal castle, a profusion of seasonal flowers bloomed. But in the bustle and anxiety of the past several months, the colorful flora had found themselves rather lonely.

[Assistant] “Well, it’s nice without a crowd. All the better to appreciate the blossoms—you can see them so much more clearly. Don’t you think?”

[User] “So you can. Your Highness is always so good at finding the bright side of things.”

[Assistant] “I am, aren’t I? I know quite a few good sides of you and Ferris, as well. In that, at least, I won’t be bested by Meckart.”

[User] Crusch knelt in one corner of the garden, letting Fourier rest his head on her knees as the breeze drifted over them both. Fourier half closed his eyes sleepily, the garden floating in his fuzzy vision. “You and I used to come here when we were young to view the flowers. Do you remember, Crusch?”

[Assistant] “I remember. I would accompany my father to the castle, and when I got bored, I would always come here…and you would always meet me. It was comforting to my childish heart.”

[User] “The first time I saw you…”

[Assistant] “I’ll never forget it. You came tumbling out of the sky! I was shocked.” Their conversation about the past began to blossom. Crusch smiled as she remembered, but Fourier shook his head gently.

[User] “You’re mistaken, actually. The first time I saw you was before that… I caught sight of you in this garden, from a distance. You were examining a young bud.”

[Assistant] “…I didn’t know. How embarrassing.”

[User] “Hardly. I was taken with you immediately. My heart beat faster, my cheeks got hot, and all I could do was stand there and look at you. After that, I would always look for you… Truth be told, our meeting was no mere chance. Heh-heh. I’ll bet you were surprised.”

[Assistant] “Yes, very much so.” Fourier’s eyes crinkled, and his teeth showed as he laughed. Crusch ran her fingers gently through the golden hair that rested on her knees, patted the pale cheeks tenderly.

[User] “On the subject of surprising you, allow me to confess the awesome plans I have for the future…”

[Assistant] “Yes, Your Highness. Please, surprise me again. Please tell me.”

[User] “Very well. Listen closely. I… I intended to make you my queen.”

[User] “I would make you my queen, and Ferris would be our knight. And then—then three of us could always be together. It would be cause for contentment like no other. What do you think of that?”

[Assistant] “You… You certainly do know how to surprise me…” Crusch found her voice catching, discovered she couldn’t look at him.


[User] Fourier, the gentle smile still on his face, listened closely to the note of joy in her voice. "We’ve…been through quite a lot, haven’t we? I so desperately wanted your attention… Heh! It led me to put you and Ferris to a great deal of trouble.”

[Assistant] “…Your Highness. It was never a burden to do what you…”

[User] “Tell me, Crusch… How did I do?”

[Assistant] “Your Highness?”

[User] “Was I able…to be a Lion King worthy of your devotion…?”

[Assistant] “—” They’d made a promise, once. They’d sworn by the pieces of the days they’d filled with laughter. Crusch’s breathing grew strained at Fourier’s question.

[User] “Your devotion was…precious. Something I cherished. Don’t… Don’t ever forget that.” Fourier smiled as if he were somehow proud of himself and raised his hand. He brushed Crusch’s cheek, touching the hot tears that flowed down it, and traced his fingers along the line of her lips. “Crusch.”

[Assistant] “Yes, Your Highness.”

[User] “I…lo…”

[Assistant] “—” There came a gust, a cold wind that tugged at Fourier’s and Crusch’s hair.

[User] “Your Highness?”

[User] “Your Highness, are you tired?”

[User] “Your Highness, I know how you’ve worked and struggled. Please, rest peacefully.”

[User] “One last thing…” The breeze continued to blow. But with her blurring vision, Crusch didn’t see it, not even with her blessing. There, in the garden, Crusch held Fourier close and whispered. “I wish I could have seen the future you dreamed of…”


[Assistant] “—But we cannot sit around looking sad forever.” Miklotov was the first to cut through the thick atmosphere. The old sage looked each of the downcast nobles in the face, trying to rouse them.

[User] “…That’s right. This isn’t the time. His Departed Majesty would be sorry to see us this way.”

[Assistant] There was a chorus of agreement. The sentiment spread, and Crusch found she had no choice but to look up and force herself to smile.

[User] She pictured his smiling face, remembered how he had always tried to look on the bright side. "The royal bloodline has ended. We have lost our pact with the dragon."


[User] "There can be no greater tragedy for the Dragonfriend Kingdom of Lugunica.” With those words, the image in her mind shattered.

[Assistant] Crusch looked up, doubting her own ears, while someone in front of her clutched his head.

[User] “How can the entire royal family be gone? What will the dragon do? If we lose our pact, it will be a catastrophe for our nation. What with our relations with the Empire and the Holy Kingdom being as poor as they are right now…!”

[Assistant] What is he talking about…?

[User] “There’s also the issue of the preserved dragon’s blood. There is always the possibility that its return will be sought. To guard against this, we may see fit to go ahead and use it…”

[Assistant] What are any of you talking about…? Crusch stared blankly as she listened to the grim-faced attendees deliberate.

[User] With mounting disgust, it dawned on Crusch: None of these people were really unhappy that the royal line had ended. What they were worried about was the implications of it—whether the dragon would abandon them. They were terrified of being turned out from the cradle of the dragon’s blessings. The death of the king, the end of the royal family—these were secondary considerations. To them, Fourier’s death is hardly a footnote.

[Assistant] That way of living, above all others, repulsed Crusch. She could hardly bear it as it cast a dark shadow over her heart.

[User] “There is a matter I must share with you all.” The words cut through the furor of the assembly, and all eyes turned to the speaker. It was Baron Lyp Bariel.

[Assistant] When Lyp had sufficient attention from the crowd, he made his announcement in a shaking voice. “—There is a new inscription on the Dragon Tablet. The dragon has already revealed the fate of the kingdom.”

[User] This caused a fresh uproar in the assembly hall.


[User] Lyp begins to read the inscription in a hurried tone. "It says: ‘Upon this, the end of the royal house, the kingdom shall find five candidates chosen by the Dragon Jewels, and with a new shrine maiden, the pact shall be made anew."

[Assistant] "The Dragon Tablet is telling us to choose a new king…? But how are we to find these five candidates?!"

[User] "There are insignias," Lyp replied hotly, "jewels passed down by the royal house of Lugunica, which point to their pact with the dragon. The insignias bear those jewels, which will shine when held by one who is qualified as a candidate!"

[Assistant] At a gesture from Lyp, a cart was wheeled into the circular assembly room. Atop the cart were shimmering gemstones, the insignias of the Kingdom of Lugunica that bore the Dragon Jewels. "If it recognizes you as a loyal retainer who can truly lead the kingdom, the insignia shall choose you. Does the Dragon Tablet speak false? Let each of you be tested in turn."

[User] One of Lyp’s assistants went among the people seated in the hall, putting the insignia before each of them. Some broke out in a cold sweat as they looked down upon it. Others gulped. If it were to glow in their hand, the path to the kingship would open. The insignia was set in front of Crusch, as well.

[Assistant] "The dragon? Who cares about…?" Crusch whispered, not letting the words out of her mouth as she grasped the insignia. She held it out in her palm for all to see.

[User] "—Oh, my…" This came from Miklotov, whose normally placid face bore an unusual look of surprise.


[User] "—So it seems even I, inept as I am, can do something for our kingdom." She felt no shock. Her heart was too calm for that.

[Assistant] As this registered with her, Crusch raised her head and closed her eyes. —And in the darkness, she thought she saw Fourier’s last smile.


[User] "—Lady Crusch." Standing before the flowers, she looked so fragile that he had hesitated to call out.

[Assistant] He felt the pain of his own powerlessness as keenly as if a blade were digging into his chest. If only he could run to her, embrace her shoulders, and cast some magic spell that would heal her heart.

[User] "Ferris, is that you? Well done, finding me here." She spoke without looking back at Ferris, who bit his lip at his feelings of helplessness.

[Assistant] Ferris watched her hair blow as he said, "I heard about the Dragon Tablet. They said you’re one of the candidates to become the next king, Lady Crusch."

[User] "Yes, so it seems. The dragon appears to have looked favorably on me."

[Assistant] "What can I do for you, Lady Crusch? I don’t know what to do…" He didn’t want to cause her any additional trouble, but he couldn’t keep a quaver out of his voice. Tears blurred his vision, and he wanted to run from the garden.

[User] "Ferris, look at me." Crusch’s voice made him jump. He heard footsteps, and then two feet entered his downcast view.

[Assistant] He raised his head and found himself looking straight at Crusch. The magic in her amber eyes captivated him.

[User] "Ferris, let me vow to you before anyone else—I do wish to become king."

[Assistant] "Lady…Crusch…" Ferris caught his breath at her unhesitating declaration.

[User] Ferris could not say anything further, but Crusch glanced around them and said, "The first time I met His Highness, it was in this garden.


[User] “We often talked here and looked at the flowers together.” She spoke gently; her eyes showed that she was remembering something long past.

[Assistant] Ferris didn’t need to ask who it was she was remembering.

[User] “In time, His Highness began to call at our mansion. I never told you, did I? Until I met His Highness, I always tied my hair back. Now I merely use a ribbon to keep it neat.”

[Assistant] “I never knew. Why did you stop tying it up?”

[User] “His Highness told me to be faithful to myself. So that was what I did. I chose the ribbon I gave to you, but…it began with His Highness.”

[Assistant] Ferris unconsciously touched the white ribbon Crusch had given him, which he still wore in his hair.

[User] She shared one memory after another with him, things he hadn’t known—but one by one, they became memories he and Crusch shared. A bond so beautiful and so lively that he couldn’t stop the flood of tears, or the ocean of smiles. “Ferris, the time that we…that His Highness and you and I shared together…is something I cherish.”

[Assistant] From the day Crusch had led Ferris from the Argyle mansion and first made him human, he had always been with her, and his circle soon expanded to include Fourier as well. A great deal of his life was made up of the two of them. “But the existence of the dragon undermines that precious time of ours,” she went on. “For many, His Highness existed only as a way of continuing the pact. They don’t mourn his death, not really.”

[User] Ferris stiffened; fire danced in Crusch’s eyes. What had she seen? What had happened during that time when Ferris couldn’t be with her?

[Assistant] “But he did exist, enough to carve himself into my heart and yours. Fourier Lugunica well and truly lived.” With her right hand she touched her chest, and with her left hand, his. It was just a brush of her fingers, but Ferris thought the heat in them might burn his whole body. The fire of her resolve would swallow up every extraneous thought. “The man who was my Lion King did live. I shall never allow anyone to say he didn’t.”

[User] The pact with the dragon embracing the kingdom had protected the people for a very long time. But it had made their hearts weak, so much so that they were willing to ignore the death of this kind boy who had been loved by everyone he met. People’s hearts had grown so frail that Fourier’s death was all but forgotten in the face of the pact with the dragon. “His death belongs to him. My Lion King is within me even now. I still dream the dream my king had—I alone can achieve it.” No one else saw how twisted the life of the kingdom had become.


[User] Everyone toadied to the dragon, begged favors from it, relied on its help, and in the process they had all forgotten how to walk on their own. "No ruler but me will try to correct this, for nobody remembers those who sought to be true kings. So it falls to us to do it.”

[Assistant] “Lady Crusch,” Ferris whispered.

[User] Crusch held out to him a dagger she’d taken from her belt. He took it and found that it was inscribed with the symbol of the Lion King. This was a precious heirloom of the House of Karsten. “His Highness had a dream—of you, and me, and him, the three of us, building the future together.”

[Assistant] “The three of us… Me, with His Highness, and you, Lady Crusch…?” Faced with the striking weight of the dagger in his hand, Ferris finally realized what he had to do alongside Crusch and His Highness, to help in their resolution. Now, he had only Crusch. She was everything.

[User] “His Highness loved this place,” Crusch said somberly, “and it’s where he spent his last moments. So I swear to him here: I will make you my knight.” At that, Ferris knelt wordlessly and offered up the dagger. Crusch took it and drew it, touching Ferris first on the left shoulder, then on the right, with the flat of the blade. Then she gave the knife back to him, completing the ritual of vassalage. No one knew a knighthood had been bestowed there that day—except one, or perhaps two, Lion Kings who were present. And it was a beginning, and for the two of them, it was also the continuation of the dream of their Lion King. Crusch glanced back over her shoulder. “We’re going, Ferris. To reclaim our kingdom from the dragon and make His Highness’s dream come true.”

[Assistant] “Yes, Lady Crusch. Lead me, and I’ll follow. We’ll find where His Highness’s dream takes us.” There was no hesitation as he joined her. The first of the candidates for king, the one most strongly bound to her attendant, walked proudly away. The only ones watching were the flowers in that garden where everything had begun. Bobbing gently in the breeze, a single bud waited tranquilly for the right moment to bloom.


[User] "Mm… Mmm…" The emerging voice had yet to deepen with age. It had a neutral timbre, not obviously masculine or feminine, and its owner looked every bit as innocent as they sounded, exuding a certain unsavory attraction. Murmuring and tossing gently on the bed was a lovely young man. His pink hair was disheveled from sleeping, and his skin was as white as milk.

[Assistant] "Ahhh…" Schult sat up on the white sheets and yawned, rubbing his eyes. They were as red as rubies, which only enhanced his beauty.

[User] "Gah, I’m still thin as a rail." He stopped rubbing his eyes as his consciousness caught up with reality and instead started pouting as he plucked at his upper arms.

[Assistant] "Master Al said that pain is a sign that something is wrong. He also said that I should rest until the pain goes away."


[User] "Schult, you’re awake?"

[Assistant] "Oh!" Schult jumped, turning on the bed; someone else was in the room with him.


[User] To Schult, she looked like she could have been the work of the most skilled painter in the world; he could almost swear that she was glowing, radiant. "Good morning, Lady Priscilla."

[Assistant] "Mm. You look as lovely as ever this morning, Schult. And I praise how it felt to hold you last night."

[User] "Th-thank you, milady." Schult said, enchanted.

[Assistant] The woman—Priscilla—nodded generously.

[User] Schult found the approving words immensely gratifying and yet embarrassing; it was a complicated feeling. He understood that his role was to handle odd jobs for Priscilla and to serve as her bed warmer—but he often wished he could repay his enormous debt to her in a more substantial way. That was both how he truly felt as well as his deepest wish. "Staaaare."

[Assistant] "What’s this? You seem to be looking at me especially closely this morning. Is something the matter?"

[User] "N-nothing, Lady Priscilla. You’re still the most beautiful person in the world! And I’m so happy to be able to serve you! But…"

[Assistant] "But what?"

[User] "I wish I could be of more use to you, Lady Priscilla, but I haven’t the strength. I wish I could swing a sword like Master Al…" As he spoke, Schult was reminded of the listless, floppy feeling of his own arms. He didn’t have to be as strong as Priscilla’s knight, Al, or even her private forces, the Redmongers. His only wish was to protect her from even one of the threats and challenges she faced on a regular basis. "When the moment comes, Lady Priscilla, I’ll be your shield… Oh, but my body is so small. You could hold me up in front of you to shield yourself from— Ow! Yow!"

[Assistant] "That is enough frivolous blathering. I will decide how I use my possessions. When did you become so high-and-mighty to think you could give me orders?" Priscilla, who had stood up almost without Schult realizing it, managed to stroke and tug on his ear at the same time.

[User] Leaning against her palm, Schult said, "I c-certainly didn’t mean to…" He looked this way and that. "Ngh… But if I can’t be your shield, then how might I serve you, milady? Oh, I know! I can cling to you and be your armor!"

[Assistant] "This is not a matter of what piece of my equipment you can replace. Schult, I neither expect nor need you to be my sword, nor my shield. The best thing you can do is to continue serving as my pillow."

[User] "Just your pillow, milady…?" His head drooped; her words were merciless. It was painful to hear so clearly that the person he owed everything didn’t consider him one of her warriors, even if he had realized it long ago. His flimsy arms were to blame. Or maybe it was his sticklike legs.

[Assistant] "Hmm." Priscilla watched Schult grimly appraise his own body, then crossed her arms, emphasizing her generous chest.


[User] "If you cannot simply continue serving as my pillow, I would rather you read a book than swing a sword. Yes, that would be much more to my benefit.”

[Assistant] “A book, milady? So if I read a book, I can become your shield? !”

[User] “No, you cannot. Don’t forget your place.”

[Assistant] “Sorry, milady…” As the hopeful light that briefly shone in his eyes went out, Schult was quick to regret his overenthusiastic assumption.

[User] Priscilla flashed him an amused look, then indicated the room with a wave of her arm. "There are times when knowledge can do more to save your life than a shield or sword."

[Assistant] “Wha?”

[User] “It’s a maxim, attributed to some ancient sage. I’m more or less in agreement with it, but I think it’s still one step short of the truth.”

[Assistant] “Meaning, uhh…” What Priscilla said was difficult for Schult to understand, and he struggled to follow her line of thinking.

[User] “Knowledge is the omnipotent staff. A sword or a shield—what use are they when you have no need of them? Can a sword make your fields more fertile? Can a shield heal a sick man? Can either of them enrich your life? They can do none of these things. Knowledge, and knowledge alone, is like a staff that you can lean on in every circumstance. As for me, I stand and walk under my own power. Naturally, that is not to say I never stumble.”

[Assistant] “B-but it hurts when you fall…”

[User] “Yes, it is far from pleasant. You may be injured. You may bleed. However…”

[Assistant] “Oh! If you have a staff, you won’t fall!” Schult cried as he raised his hand, finally grasping Priscilla’s meaning.

[User] Priscilla let her expression soften in apparent satisfaction and patted Schult’s head again. Gently this time, charmed by his understanding. "That is why you should set yourself to reading books—if you wish to be not my sword nor my shield nor my pillow, but my staff."

[Assistant] “Y-yes, milady…! Oh, but…I don’t know how to read…”

[User] “Ask Al to teach you. He has too much time on his hands, besides."


[User] And despite all appearances to the contrary, he’s quite a talented teacher. If he can’t manage to put letters into your head, I’ll simply cut off his other arm.”

[Assistant] “A very grave responsibility! I’ll try my hardest to learn—for Master Al’s sake!” Schult sat up straighter, spurred by the thought of how awful Al’s life would be without either of his arms. Just as Priscilla nodded in acknowledgment, Schult’s gaze happened to fall on one book in particular. It was the volume that now sat on the chair Priscilla had occupied until a moment before. It had a red cover worked with gold. Schult remembered seeing this one before. Only he, who served as Priscilla’s pillow every night, knew that it was her favorite book, the one she read without fail upon waking every single morning.

[User] “Lady Priscilla, what book is that?”

[Assistant] “…That one? That is not a book for reading. Rather, it’s…full of reminders, let us say. I doubt it would interest you even if you could read it.”

[User] “‘Reminders,’ milady?” Schult tilted his head, not entirely sure what that could mean.

[Assistant] In response, Priscilla took the book in hand, running her fingers along the cover. “Were you to read it, I doubt anything in it would benefit you. What a reader seeks from a book varies from person to person. Simply feeling the heart leap at a dramatic story is one of the pleasures of reading.”

[User] “—? But your staff, Lady Priscilla…”

[Assistant] “Even I do not read only to learn. Hmm…” Priscilla sat in her chair once more, then opened the book across her knees and scanned the contents. “You amuse me. Schult, I shall read to you for a few minutes.”

[User] “You read to me, Lady Priscilla? Oh! I can’t wait!”

[Assistant] “Heh. Your guileless reactions continue to charm me. In any case… Yes, let’s see…” Priscilla looked at Schult, who sat bolt upright on the bed, and then she began to speak. Schult, grasping this undreamed-of chance, listened raptly. The voice that filled his ears seemed soft and billowy, like a tender song. Her story began as it seemed every story must:

[User] “Once upon a time, in a certain place, there lived a lovely, sweet, beautiful young woman…”


[User] Once she reached the centermost seat of a long table bedecked with a white cloth, one of the servants pulled out a chair for her, and the preparation for her meal began. A cart full of eating utensils was wheeled in to supply the girl’s place setting.

[Assistant] As the dishes were being readied, the girl rather abruptly turned to the servant standing at her side. "What are my plans for today?"

[User] The servant bowed with utmost respect. "Milady’s room is prepared for your studies once you’ve finished dining. Also, Master Vincent requests that you have lunch with him."

[Assistant] "My studies, hmm? I hope this meal isn’t as bland and uninteresting as those lessons. But you say my elder brother is here; that’s good news. I’ve been waiting to avenge the humiliation of my earlier loss at shatranj." Where the servant spoke quietly and humbly, the girl was haughty.

[User] She nodded, approving of the carefully observed decorum. "Very well." And faced forward once more.

[Assistant] The servant made no remark on her condescending attitude but took a single step backward, still bowing, and rejoined the line of attendants.

[User] "If you’ll permit me, milady."

[Assistant] "Mm."

[User] One of the servants stepped forward and, after humbly asking for permission, delicately picked up a spoon. She took a spoonful of the soup and brought it not to the girl’s mouth, but to her own.

[Assistant] "How wearisome…" The words formed on her lips but barely left them; no one knew she had spoken but her.

[User] "" She took a spoonful of soup and brought to her mouth. The way she immediately went back for another mouthful was, perhaps, an expression of her desire to get this dreary meal out of the way as quickly as possible. Well, so long as she observed proper dining etiquette, no one here could or would object no matter how fast she ate.


[User] “Hrk…” A strangled noise escaped the girl’s lips, and the spoon fell from her hand. Instead of her eating utensil, she grabbed at the tablecloth, pulling it toward herself and sending the dishes and silverware everywhere.

[Assistant] “Kah— Ghhh—” With her other hand, she clutched at her throat, gasping. Her red eyes shot open, their natural crimson color now made even more brilliant by the tears of blood that rolled down her cheeks. Blood likewise flowed from her nose and mouth. The servants around her were aghast at the unimaginable scene, yet all they could do was watch.

[User] The food taster stood in silent stupefaction and was bleeding from her head just like the young woman. “I d…did it.” She rasped, managing to smile despite what must have been supreme agony. Then she collapsed, knees first, and the fact that she didn’t even bother to throw out her hands as she tumbled to the floor was proof that she was already dead. She’d ingested the same poison as the young lady, yet had managed to fight the effects long enough to convince her the food was safe. She’d held on to make sure her plan worked—truly, she had done everything an assassin could do. Her tenacity had come at the cost of her life, but it had paid off.

[Assistant] “M—th—” The girl’s chair toppled over, and she fell hard. To the bitter end, her arms and legs spasmed as if clinging to life, but eventually, even her twitching stopped, and silence descended upon the dining hall.


[User] Two bodies, the assassin and her target, lay next to each other on the floor. It was as if time had stopped; the corpses weren’t going anywhere, of course, but the remaining servants were terrified of making even a single wrong move. If any of them made a sound, time might start moving again, and then this might all be their fault. Such was the strange but overwhelming certainty that gripped the servants and kept them from acting.

[Assistant] “What, what? Is the assassin dead, too?” The girl who appeared in the doorway of the dining hall regarded the two bodies with something close to boredom. At her appearance and her question, the faces in the room became masks of astonishment. For the girl was identical to their mistress, the one who was now dead of poison. No—not quite identical.

[User] The girl crossed her arms and looked down at her collapsed doppelgänger. She certainly bore a striking resemblance to the dead child, but when they were side by side, it was possible to detect certain differences in the finer details of their faces.


[User] If the dead girl was the masterwork of an accomplished artist, then the one looking down at her was the very essence of that same beauty the artist had aimed for but could never achieve within the confines of this mortal realm. As they stood there, mouths agape, the servants began to understand. This was the terrible nature of true beauty.

[Assistant] “Lady Prisca,” said one of the nearby servants.

[User] Hearing them, the girl—Prisca—turned and cocked her head. Her hair blazed orange like the sun, and her eyes were almond-shaped and as red as set rubies. Confronted with the real thing, it suddenly seemed impossible that anyone could confuse her with a lesser. She was simply made differently.

[Assistant] “Th-thank goodness you’re safe…”

[User] “Hmph. Your sentiment doesn’t even qualify as trite. Do you imagine I could ever have been laid low by such insipid means? It’s not cheap, though, to find such a capable body double.” She glared at the servant, who kept her head bowed, and then walked over to the double. A body double—someone who looked sufficiently like a person of importance to stand in their place and do dangerous things for them. Wherever plots and plans were afoot, body doubles were standard tools of the trade, and they knew very well that they performed their duties with their lives on the line. Even so, Prisca didn’t specifically wish for her double to die in agony. Considering that they had, of course, chosen a young woman who looked very much like her, it was difficult to not find the scene disquieting.

[Assistant] “So there is someone who wished to make me wear a death mask like this,” she mused.

[User] As the girl, just eleven or twelve, contemplated the still bodies, the servants stood and quaked. Who could mock them for it, call it cowardice? Certainly no one who had seen the girl—so young and so fair, with a profile so cruel and eyes so very red.

[Assistant] “Chief Attendant. Come.”

[User] “Y-yes, ma’am!” Prisca beckoned to a woman who stepped forward on behalf of all the attendants. Fear was written on her face and in the trembling of her shoulders, fear of a child at least twenty years her junior. This earned her a “Hmph” and a look from Prisca.

[Assistant] She motioned the woman to listen. "You are the one who decided who would serve in the household today, are you not?”

[User] “That’s…correct, milady. Therefore, please let all responsibility for this oversight fall on me.”

[Assistant] “Fool. To what purpose do you think I entrusted you with that job?”

[User] “What purpose, milady?” The attendant’s eyes widened at the question; she had clearly been expecting a dressing down at the very least.

[Assistant] Prisca smirked at the woman’s confusion. A hideously cruel smile, a terrible sight to behold on the lips of one so young. And yet it could almost have been called alluring.


[User] Still smiling, “If I appoint someone incompetent to look after my safety, certain people even stupider than you will regard it as the perfect opportunity to make me a corpse, bringing them out of the woodwork. A perfect chance to get rid of them all at once.”

[Assistant] And indeed, no sooner had Prisca spoken than the bewildered chief attendant caught her breath as every other servant pulled out a knife, a dagger, or some other weapon from the folds of their clothes. Regarding them with her crimson eyes, Prisca made her choice almost instantaneously. She grabbed the chief attendant by the lapels and shoved her against the nearest dagger. The woman cried out as the blade tore into her flesh, but she stopped shouting almost immediately, her eyes rolling back in her head—an obvious sign the blade had been coated in some sort of quick-acting poison. While the chief attendant was in the process of dying, Prisca leaped backward, landing on top of the table, which was still set with food. She pulled the white cloth from under her own feet and flung it over the heads of the encroaching servants—or rather, assassins.


[User] Wordlessly, the assassins sliced through the cloth; it had only delayed them but for an instant. But that brief moment of blindness was precisely what Prisca had sought. “Ghhh—!” A table knife had lodged itself in the throat of the closest killer, propelled by Prisca’s delicate foot. It tore through skin, and the next kick plunged it deeper. Even with his throat pierced, even with a fatal wound, the man raised his dagger in a shaking hand. But Prisca leaped again, closing the distance to grab his arm and drive his knife into the chest of another assassin. Even getting grazed by a weapon bearing such a potent toxin would be enough to induce unconsciousness. Having it plunged directly into one’s heart meant certain and immediate death.

[Assistant] “She’s just one girl!” Cried one of the assassins, infuriated at their dismal attempts on her life.

[User] “And yet I’m clearly too much for you to handle. Trash like you were never going to be worth more effort than this.” Prisca chuckled mockingly. Then she spun the nearest chair around, using it to strip the dagger from her opponent. It clattered across the floor, and the assassin watched it go—until Prisca drove her fingers into his eyes and stole his sight. Blinded, he fell to the floor, only for Prisca’s foot to find his neck. She’d managed to set this group of adults on their heels with the sheer tenacity of her assault, but although it wasn’t a large group, they still handily outnumbered her, and they were regaining their composure and beginning to close on her again. Prisca had another disadvantage: All she had to work with was a tablecloth and some silverware—nothing resembling a real weapon. Except…

[Assistant] “I’m getting rather tired of having to sully my own hands with such bothersome work.” Prisca said.


[User] She looked at her enemies with actual boredom, as if this dire situation meant nothing to her. The look in her red eyes was enough to make the assassins stop in their tracks.

[Assistant] "You must all be complete fools. Do you truly believe after seeing through your little ambush that I would come here alone?" Her words seeped into them like a poison.

[User] The assassins who had come for Prisca’s life, fourteen of them, were all simultaneously incinerated. That included those who had died in Prisca’s counterattack. The flames burned green, and Prisca clapped her hands at what truly seemed like a phantasmal spectacle of lives being consumed in fire.

[Assistant] "Ha, quite a fine display. The beauty of fire never wavers. Not even when the fuel is the lives of stooges like these. I grant you my praise." Prisca said as she gazed at the still-smoldering assassins.

[User] "It’s an honor. The highest honor." The voice that answered came from a small figure who had interposed herself between Prisca and her aggressors. Outwardly, she looked to be about Prisca’s age, perhaps in her early teens. On her head were the large ears characteristic of the dog-people, and in her hand, she held what appeared to be a twig—and a rather unimpressive one at that, considering it looked like something she’d simply picked off the ground somewhere. Her young body was slender, her pale skin covered with a minimum of clothing in a way that seemed oddly provocative. Her short hair was silver, except for one distinctive lock of her bangs where there was a shock of red.


[User] She looked at the burning assassins, then turned to Prisca with eyes that showed scant emotion and said, “Disposal complete. I’m glad you’re sa— Burp.”

[Assistant] “Hold on. Did you just burp at me?”

[User] “Excuse me?” She shook her head. “No. I did not— Burp.”

[Assistant] “Fool. You did—that’s what it’s called.” Prisca lightly smacked the other girl with an open palm.

[User] “Ow.” The girl said flatly. Then she touched her own ears and said, “Lady Prisca. How did I do?”

[Assistant] “A pointless question, but as I said, I praise you. There’s not a scratch on me. And the way you took care of that lot was a sight to see.”

[User] “It is all thanks to the spirits.” The girl took her hand off her ears, looking somewhat shy. A pale light began to float in her open palm—a spirit. It had no corporeal form of its own, but enough mana could give it a temporary one. This was a lesser spirit, an entity with minimal strength and will. There were some spirits that could communicate with living beings, form contracts with them to offer their powers and assistance. This girl likewise relied on spirits for her abilities. But she did not make contracts with them. “Gulp.” Without hesitation, she tossed the lesser spirit in her hand into her mouth and chewed.

[Assistant] Prisca began to smile. “A unique sight, no matter how many times I see it: a spirit eater having a meal.”

[User] “Burp.”

[Assistant] Prisca crossed her arms but shrugged at the burping girl. This girl’s special ability was not making contracts with spirits, but gaining their powers by consuming them. A unique ability to usurp the capacities of others. Obviously, not just anyone could obtain the power of spirits by eating them. It was a sign of very, very unusual qualities, and that was why Prisca valued this girl so highly. “Arakiya, you’ve done well to heed my orders.”

[User] “…Because you spoke them, Lady Prisca.” Having said the name of the girl, Arakiya, Prisca walked over the ashes of the incinerated assassins, approaching the one body that had not been burned. Her double, whose face looked so much like her own—except the way it was currently contorted in a mask of agony. Prisca crouched beside the corpse, closed its eyes, and endeavored to shift the expression to something more peaceful. “Your face was mistaken for mine at least this one time,” she said. “You deserve not to be seen like this.”


[Assistant] “That girl… Who was she?” Arakiya asked.

[User] “Someone who was of use to me. Her life held that much value, I suppose. I’ll have her returned to her family, who will be suitably compensated. A reward befitting one who successfully took my place.” As Prisca stood up, it was plain to see from her expression that her interest in the body double was already fading.


[User] She looked now around the room, then up to the ceiling, and then she muttered, “Perhaps I’ll let my brother deal with the cleanup.”

[Assistant] Vincent indicated the awful scene in the dining room and flashed a smile that was equal parts amusement and sadism. "And just as you were supposed to be entertaining guests, this happens. I see my little sister remains as indefatigable as ever.”

[User] “Indefatigable, indeed. When there are too many flies flitting around, you brush them away, crush them, or burn them. I only did what anyone would do. No one can nor should criticize me for it. And besides…”

[Assistant] “And besides, what makes me so conceited as to think I have the right—is that it?”

[User] “And besides, my elder brother is no exception.”

[Assistant] Vincent winked at his little sister as he recrossed his long legs and looked at the girl beside her. “Very well. I don’t intend to pry, but have you any idea where the killers originated from this time?”

[User] “None. Sloppy as their methods were, someone took great care to ensure that the source of this spark would not be found. As much as I hate to admit it, I don’t believe I can follow the trail any further. Why, Brother—do you have any ideas?”

[Assistant] Vincent offered a cruel smile in response.


[User] "Sadly, I can only say that there’s any number of reasons why either of us might be targeted by assassins." Prisca wasn’t disappointed by his answer; she hadn’t held out much hope in the first place.

[Assistant] "Of course." They were in the parlor of Prisca’s mansion, one room that hadn’t sustained any damage. Prisca had chosen this place to receive her brother and his entourage, leaving the dining room in its disheveled state.

[User] Vincent hadn’t so much as flinched upon learning that a substantial number of people had just died in his sister’s home; he, like Prisca, was more than used to this sort of thing. They had each been the target of such attempts on their lives since their youngest days. Among her many stepsiblings, Prisca judged that only Vincent could be as bold as she when it came to these happenings. That said, Vincent wasn’t particularly interested to know that a sister seven years younger than him thought highly of him.

[Assistant] "As for the mansion, let me handle things. If I lost a little sister who’d survived so much for some silly, asinine reason, it would be…a lonely thing."

[User] "Lonely! Very admirable, I’m sure. But I admit, I’m willing to be grateful to receive the largesse of a beloved older brother’s fondness."

[Assistant] "You know how some little girls are lovable? You’re not."

[User] "And here I felt beloved was the greatest expression of affection that I could muster." Prisca held up a cup of black tea that she’d steeped herself—her one gesture in the direction of genuine hospitality—and lied as easily as she breathed.

[Assistant] Vincent sneered a bit, knowing perfectly well that the claim of love went no further than Prisca’s lips; he took the proffered cup of tea, sipped, and let out a breath. Brother and sister were here doing what they always did: baiting each other and probing at the same time. Despite what seemed on the surface like a rather prickly exchange, Prisca and Vincent were actually quite fond of each other. Indeed, the very fact that Vincent took a sip of the tea without hesitation was, in its own way, proof of that.


[User] "Excellency! Your Excellency! I’ve completed a quick patrol of the area." The parlor door burst open to reveal a distinctly diminutive but unmistakably self-possessed young man. Slim of build and about the same age as Prisca and Arakiya, his blue hair was tied behind his head. His features were notably androgynous; indeed, he was so pretty that he could almost be mistaken for a young woman, but his behavior and body language was distinctly boyish, making it difficult for anyone to confuse him for a girl. The boy bounded toward them, finally resting against the backrest of the sofa where Vincent had taken a seat.

[Assistant] "Goodness gracious, Excellency, you do know how to run people into the ground." Then he leaned over Vincent’s shoulder.


[User] "And for a job that’s so boring. It’s a boring job! It’s not that I mind being worked like a dog, but don’t you think I could be better used doing other things?”

[Assistant] “If so, jabbering is not one of them. An animal does not lecture his master. You don’t merely work like a dog; you are my dog, and I think you’d best remember it.”

[User] “But every dog is supposed to have his day, right, Excellency? Likewise, everyone has a place to best display their performance—a stage! I must stand upon a stage that suits me, a place packed full of what makes me me! Life is too short.” Vincent sighed at the young man, who seemed to have a comeback for every remark.

[Assistant] The young man pursed his lips, but when he noticed Prisca right in front of him, he exclaimed, “Oh! Well, look at this lovely young lady. What beautiful eyes you have. Seeing myself reflected in those rubies, I can’t help thinking I look rather manly—wouldn’t you say?”

[User] “Keeping your jester at your side is your prerogative, Brother, but I can’t abide his yammering. It’s not to my taste.” Prisca leaned her arm on an armrest and rested her chin on her hand. “Jester? Is there one here…?”

[Assistant] Her comments seemed to be lost on the young man, who immediately began scanning the room. “Jester, jester, jester—I don’t see any. Wait—perhaps you meant to say puppy? There’s certainly one of those dozing right by your side.”

[User] “Puppy? Me?” Arakiya tilted her head and pointed at herself, apparently feeling ambushed by the change of topic.

[Assistant] “Of course—do you see any other? Your floppy ears are adorable, little puppy. But don’t you think you’re a mite…exposed? Even for one who likes to draw some attention? You’re going to attract the wrong type of person going around dressed like that.”

[User] “Exposed… Too exposed… Puppy…” Arakiya looked at Prisca for her cue on how to deal with the boy and his oh-so-quick banter.

[Assistant] “Brother.”

[User] “Hmm?”

[Assistant] “I suggest you find yourself a new clown.” No sooner had she spoken than Arakiya disappeared. In less than the space of an eyeblink, she was on the ceiling of the parlor. She kicked off, flinging herself down at the heads of Vincent and the young man. “Arf, arf.” Her outstretched hand began to glow blue, a flame forming to consume the boy.

[User] “My my, how short-tempered. But I must say I don’t disapprove of your reaction. Indeed, I like it very much.” The boy had his sword in his hand—when had he drawn it?—and with it, he met Arakiya’s palm, completely deflecting the surprise attack. He wielded a unique weapon called a katana, which was found in Kararagi, the capital city of the great nation to the west. He wielded it nimbly, expertly avoiding Arakiya’s killing blow. What’s more, he’d drawn a second sword that he now held up to Arakiya’s neck.


[User] So much as a twitch of the boy’s blade, and Arakiya’s head would be on the floor; the young man’s sword skill was honed and clean. The fact that his spirit as a warrior hadn’t been perceptible before, hidden like a blade in a sheath, was a clear indication of his ability.

[Assistant] “I found him on a battlefield. Scavenging abandoned weapons.”

[User] “Just couldn’t seem to find what I wanted. I’d hoped to make my name fighting, then buy a nice sword with the money I earned, but His Excellency took a shine to me.” The young man took his blade away from Arakiya’s neck with a deft move and sheathed both his swords in a pair of scabbards at his hip. “Oh, feel free to come at me again. Shall we see if I can dodge you without physically stopping the attack this time? It might make me look even more amazing than I already do, and— Eeeyowowow!”

[Assistant] “Enough. Don’t let it go to your head. I don’t intend to make an enemy of Prisca. Not yet.” Vincent pulled forcefully on the young man’s ear before he had a chance to get even more carried away. Then he dragged the young man forward by his ear, saying, “Introduce yourself. It couldn’t hurt if she remembers you.”

[User] “Most pleased to make your acquaintance, ma’am. My name is Cecils Segmund, confidant of Master Vincent Abelks here, destined to one day make my name known as the strongest in the empire—as the shining star of this very world!”

[Assistant] At this exceedingly assured self-introduction, Prisca’s eyes widened slightly for the first time. Then she parted her pink lips, and said, “Ha! Listen, you smug braggart. The worst thing about you is that there isn’t one solitary lie in all you’ve said!”

[User] “Well, I don’t suppose there’s any special reason for me to lie. Ahem, Mistress…Prisca, was it? Your puppy is no slouch, either. Even if she isn’t a match for me.”

[Assistant] “This man… I hate him.” Said drawn in by the guffawing Cecils. She puffed out her cheeks indignantly, but Prisca beckoned her over; Arakiya came and rested against her knees as Prisca patted her head.

[User] Still stroking Arakiya’s head, Prisca said, “So, Brother, you won’t ‘yet’ make an enemy of me?”

[Assistant] “Ah, my sharp-eared sister. Yes, that’s exactly what I said.”

[User] “I know that you, like me, use your words precisely. It’s obvious enough why you would deliberately say something like that. You’re referring to…”

[Assistant] “You always were a quick one, Sister.” Vincent let his face relax into a smile that could almost have passed for pleasant. Arakiya and Cecils, neither quite sure what the siblings were talking about, could only watch in befuddlement.

[User] Unlike the retiring Arakiya, however, Cecils showed no hesitation in asking, “Referring to what? The both of you seem to know what that means—does it have something to do with today’s visit?”

[Assistant] In answer to Cecils’s question, Vincent stood.


[User] “So you’ve figured it out…or I suppose, in your case, merely guessed. Yes, of course it bears upon this visit. You know we do not have the liberty to simply drop in on each other for a friendly chat.” Taller than the younger women in the room, Vincent gazed down at his little sister.

[Assistant] Her crimson eyes met his black ones. “It will begin?” she asked.

[User] “Yes, it shall. The Rite of Imperial Selection. Prisca, you must make preparations to go to the capital city.” Vincent stopped for a moment, but then resumed speaking. He said, “Our father… The emperor, honor be upon his name, is going to die.”


[User] “I must admit, it’s quite an impressive sight to see all us siblings gathered in one place.” Prisca remarked as she looked around, checking who was present.

[Assistant] “True.” Vincent replied. Half brothers and half sisters sat side by side, tipping back glasses of alcohol. Prisca and Vincent between them could hardly have counted the number of their siblings on their fingers. Prisca’s brothers and sisters numbered no fewer than sixty-six—although, if only counting those who were still alive, the number immediately dropped to thirty-one.

[User] She had eighteen brothers and thirteen sisters, and all of them (all thirty-two, including Prisca) were the blood children of Dreizen Volakia. The Volakian Empire was a melting pot of many peoples, and the emperor chose the strongest from each part of the empire, without regard to what group they belonged to, and took them as his brides, producing many offspring. Dreizen had only sixty-seven possible heirs—hence why he was frequently derided as a seedless boy-emperor. Such mockery was only natural when his forebears regularly sired a hundred or two hundred children as a matter of course.

[Assistant] “Not that it makes things any easier for those of us he did father.” Prisca remarked, who was one of them. “With more than sixty brothers and sisters, it’s hard to remember which name goes with which face.


[User] The situation was so bad that there were some siblings Prisca had never even met, people with whom she shared no bond other than a nominal connection of blood. Why should she ever love such people? And perhaps more to the point, why should she ever hold back against them?

[Assistant] Vincent’s talk of mutual advantage—now, that was a bond that couldn’t be denied.

[User] "Ohhh, look who it is. Prisca, and not looking very impressed."

[Assistant] Prisca said nothing.

[User] "My word! No greeting when it’s been so long? You’re going to make your dear older sister cry." The young woman who identified herself as Prisca’s older sibling spoke in a voice that practically dripped with honey; Prisca regarded her coldly.

[Assistant] "Begone, Lamia. Listening to that drawl of yours makes me sick to my stomach. I find the sound of your voice far more dangerous than a poisoned dagger."

[User] "Cold, cruel, and sharp-tongued. What our dear Vincent sees in you, I’ll never know. Care to enlighten me, Brother?"

[Assistant] "I like the saucy ones."

[User] Prisca’s words went beyond cold—they were barbed, practically deadly—but Lamia showed no sign of backing down.

[Assistant] She smiled graciously, though making no effort to hide the venom in her voice. As if to underline the point, she said, "Oh, yes." She smiled very carefully. "I hear you were attacked by your servants—and in your manor to boot? How positively awful. I pity to think that you can’t relax in your own home."

[User] "So the bitch feels compelled to howl." Prisca glared, knowing just how sly Lamia could be.

[Assistant] Lamia looked downright pleased with Prisca’s reaction. "I love the face you’re making right now, Prisca. The face of a sorry little child who doesn’t know anything." She reached out and yanked Prisca’s lips upward into a false smile. Then as if she had instantaneously lost all interest in her little sister, she sidled up to Vincent instead. "I can’t help wondering, why call us all to this annex today? Why not the Crystal Palace? Don’t you think it’s rather odd—and with all the flitting rumors of Father’s failing health?"

[User] "There’s a significance to it, I have no doubt.


[User] "I wish I could say it’s good to see you’ve all come." Dreizen let out a long sigh and cast his eyes over the hall.

[Assistant] "But I notice a few who have chosen not to kneel to me."

[User] "Might I ask what you think you’re doing? Our father—His Excellency the Emperor—is present. You insolent—!"

[Assistant] "Insolent? Don’t make me laugh. If you and I are both true members of the royal family of Volakia, it should be self-evident which of us is right. And it isn’t the brainless idiot who only knows how to stand on ceremony." Prisca replied, merciless.

[User] "Wha—? !"

[Assistant] "Older brother? Oh, yes, of course. I’m sorry—there’s so many of you, and I’ve been blessed with so few siblings whose names and faces are worth remembering. I’d completely forgotten that you were one of my brothers."

[User] "!" Unable to bear the humiliation, the older brother in question jumped to his feet, his face flushing furiously. He looked ready to lunge at his much younger sister right then and there.

[Assistant] "Stop." But they were interrupted by Dreizen, who simply said,

[User] "Hngh… But, Father…"

[Assistant] "Disrespect to me, you say?"


[User] "If she’s doing it for show, it doesn’t even rise to the level of stupidity. But I do not reprove her for failing to kneel before me. In fact, I prefer this.” With these words, the emperor halted a fight between his children—but not in favor of the elder brother. Rather, he permitted Prisca’s behavior.

[Assistant] Dreizen brought his bony hands together, looked at Prisca, and said, “Prisca. Why is it that you do not kneel to me?”

[User] "Surely, you don’t need me to spell it out. It’s because I saw nothing worth kneeling to. You’ve grown old, Father. You hardly look like someone who belongs at the apogee of an empire whose first teaching to its subjects is: Be strong.”

[Assistant] “Bwa-ha!” Thus castigated by a girl of scarcely more than ten years, the emperor didn’t become enraged, but rather, he laughed aloud. With his crimson eyes, he briefly scanned the others who had joined Prisca in not kneeling. “” None of them denied the truth of what Prisca had said. To a greater or lesser extent, all of them agreed with her. In their eyes, the current emperor was not worth kneeling to. “And that is what makes you members of the Volakian Royal Family. That is what makes you my children!”

[User] “Father…!”

[Assistant] “Rommel, a moment ago, you spoke of insolence. Insolence! What value is there in such trappings?” Dreizen paused, then said, “Rommel… Would you like to try yourself?”

[User] “Try myself…?” The man called Rommel knit his brow at the emperor’s words. Thereupon, the emperor reached out his hand into the air and gave a great, powerful wave of his arm. The space directly in front of Rommel warped and twisted, the hilt of a sword abruptly appearing from the rift. “” Rommel stared at it, wide-eyed. The others in the room inhaled sharply. The hilt that had appeared was just that beautiful. The scabbard and sword it held were decorated with such loveliness that some exclaimed without meaning to.

[Assistant] “The Bright Sword, Volakia.”

[User] “The blade handed down from generation to generation through the Volakian Royal Family…,” Rommel mumbled, looking as if he was flushed with heat. He took his father at his word; his face as stiff with excitement as it was with fear, Rommel swallowed and stepped forward. “S-such a tremendous responsibility is also a great honor, Your Majesty…” Rommel was practically shaking with joy, but Dreizen didn’t answer him. With every eye in the room watching him expectantly, Rommel steeled himself, then reached out for the scabbard that floated in midair. The Bright Sword, which bore the name of its empire, had existed since the founding of the nation. As its name suggested, only the Volakian emperors were permitted to wield it—even Prisca had never seen it with her own eyes before. Nor had she seen firsthand what it meant that only the emperor could wield the blade.


[User] "Huh?" Rommel said stupidly as he grasped the hilt of the sword and attempted to draw it out.

[Assistant] "!" And well he might, for the moment he did so, the hand that touched the sword burst into flame, which quickly became a conflagration that consumed him in the space of an instant. Rommel couldn’t even cry out as the flames engulfed him. He could not even speak, for his throat and lungs were the first things to be burned away. He perished without so much as a death rattle. Rommel fell upon the carpet, seared, dead before he even had a chance to writhe in agony. He was so badly blackened, it was impossible to tell whether his corpse had fallen on its back or its front.

[User] "Ugh. He stinks.” Several siblings looked like they might be sick as the stomach-turning stench of roasted human flesh began to rise, but Lamia, her brow furrowed, summed it up succinctly.

[Assistant] Only the emperor is permitted to touch it. That much is clear.” As for Prisca, who had recently witnessed her entire entourage burned to ashes, the scene was surprising but not repulsive. Even then, her surprise wasn’t directed toward Rommel’s death, but rather at its source: the Bright Sword.

[User] Vincent offered this murmured assessment.

[Assistant] "Silence." Dreizen said, cutting off the expression of astonishment at Rommel’s death. The aged emperor looked around the great hall, turning a penetrating gaze on each of his children.

[User] "Wh-what’s going on?" asked one of the others in a timorous voice, having noticed the same thing. Namely, the space in front of each of them was warping and twisting, and a red sword hilt had emerged before them. It happened in front of Prisca, and it happened in front of Vincent and Lamia as well. Was this some sort of joke? From thin air had appeared thirty-one Bright Swords, exactly as many as the number of siblings in the room (now that Rommel was dead).

[Assistant] “We will now begin the Rite of Imperial Selection." Dreizen announced. He made no acknowledgment of the staggering scene and spoke with only his own unamplified voice. Suddenly, he was no longer the withered tree, the elderly ruler, the guttering flame not worth kneeling to. His eyes open wide now, Dreizen looked like a raging fire. "The Bright Sword chooses its own master.


[User] "Being chosen by the sword is the first requirement for any who hope to assume the imperial throne.”

[Assistant] No one made a sound. "Your destiny stands before you in the form of the sword. Now! Draw it forth. It is the fate from which there is no escape.” As he spoke, the emperor—or rather, the former emperor—Dreizen Volakia stood, and the hilt of a sword appeared above him as well. He reached up and grasped it firmly—and in that instant, his body was wreathed in flames.

[User] It was the sign that the sword itself was finished with the previous emperor and now sought a new owner. With the end of Dreizen Volakia, the throne now sat open. This, the destruction of the old ruler, was the sign that the contest had begun. The Rite of Imperial Selection, by which the emperors of Volakia had been chosen for generations.

[Assistant] “Prisca.” While everyone else stood transfixed by the sight of their father’s incineration, Vincent said.

[User] Prisca turned at his call, his black eyes meeting her crimson ones. An understanding was established between brother and sister. And then without hesitation, Prisca reached out for the sword in front of her…

[Assistant] “This world bends itself to suit me.” The sword allowed itself to be drawn into her hand. The Rite of Imperial Selection, which would determine the next ruler of the Volakian Empire, had begun. The relentless, remorseless shedding of blood among the imperial siblings had started.


[User] The Volakian emperor, Dreizen Volakia, was dead. That fact, and the beginning of the Rite of Imperial Selection, filtered into the empire surprisingly quietly. It was hard to argue that in his twilight years, Dreizen had been a very fitting ruler for the Volakian Empire, but at least, his final moments—consumed by a howling flame in front of all his children—had been suitably proud. The emperor’s death meant that there would be a span of time during which the throne sat empty, but the citizenry were used to these lacunae in leadership while the succession was determined, and neither the sovereign’s demise nor the vacancy of the throne particularly upset them. After offering up a silent prayer in mourning for the deceased ruler, the interest of the empire’s people turned toward who would be victorious in the Rite, the dispute for the succession. They went through the names of the emperor’s various children, chatting and laughing as they discussed who would be the next sovereign. Those participating in the Rite were the very ones who had witnessed the emperor’s immolation and who had then passed the first hurdle to becoming the next emperor: grasping the Bright Sword to see if they were worthy. Speaking of which—

[Assistant] “So eleven people survived drawing the Bright Sword.


[User] “I’m not sure whether to consider that a great many or a great few, however.” Prisca leaned on the armrest of her seat and sighed. The Rite of Imperial Selection had begun, and the battle to determine the next emperor was already underway. Naturally, Prisca was among those who had drawn the sword and survived. Upon the annihilation of the emperor—which was to say, after the crisping of Prisca’s foolish older brother Rommel—thirty of Prisca’s siblings had remained. Not all of them had chosen to attempt to draw the Bright Sword, however, and ultimately, the number of people who could potentially claim the imperial throne had dropped to eleven. Meaning Prisca had ten enemies, ten rivals for the imperial seat. "Enemies—it’s almost funny, suddenly finding myself in a death match with brothers and sisters whose existence I was hardly aware of until yesterday.” Prisca perched her shapely chin on one finger, her posture rather extreme. Eleven candidates for the throne. All the others had either refused to draw the sword, fearing their own fiery destruction, or were fools who had met that same blazing fate when they overestimated themselves and mindlessly tried their hand at something they were not qualified for. Neither cowards nor the dead warranted Prisca’s concern. Thus, her only real enemies were the other ten contenders for the succession—and of course, Vincent Abelks was among their number. All the siblings could at least agree that at present, he was both the greatest threat and the biggest obstacle to the succession of any of the others. And so…

[Assistant] “An alliance?”

[User] Prisca is silent as she considers Lamia's proposal

[Assistant] “Good heavens, does it sound so strange to you? I should think that in a situation like this, joining forces would be the first thing you would think of. Well… Maybe not you, Prisca. You’ve never exactly been the cooperative type.” Lamia Godwin, her lips rouged scarlet, smiled, but it only made her look like a venomous flower. Prisca’s half sister was another of the children who had survived the drawing of the Bright Sword—and she was also among those Prisca despised most in the world. Lamia must have felt a similar hatred for Prisca. They had spent every day until this moment hating each other so intensely that it had seemed one might well kill the other long before the Rite gave them an excuse. Hence, Prisca could only smirk when Lamia visited her mansion—and came bearing a suggestion like this—immediately upon the beginning of the succession dispute. While Prisca considered the proposal, Lamia, sitting on the sofa, let her eyes wander around the empty parlor.

[User] “This house does feel a little lonely, doesn’t it? Not nearly enough servants… I know how much you like showing off. It’s a little pathetic somehow to think you live your private life in such meager circumstances.”

[Assistant] “I’m afraid you’ve caught me just after I uprooted each and every useless servant I had.


[User] "Some she-devil planted a whole troop of fools in my home, and I’m afraid good replacements have proven hard to find.”

[Assistant] “A she-devil? Oh my. That must have been terrible for you.” Lamia smiled innocently and checked her fingernails as she offered a banal bit of sympathy.

[User] Prisca didn’t pursue the matter at this moment. She had no proof, whereas she was sure Lamia was more than prepared to talk her way out of the matter. Prisca’s victory this day would have to consist of making sure those preparations went to waste. Anyway, she had more important matters at hand.

[Assistant] “Yes, Prisca? Whatever’s the matter?”

[User] “Nothing. I simply never imagined that, servants or no, I would ever be entertaining you in my house.”

[Assistant] “Goodness, I’d almost think you don’t like me. Well, I know you don’t like me. Neither of us likes the other.” The obligations of hospitality held no meaning. After all, Lamia didn’t so much as take a sip of the tea Prisca had offered her. This went double when the person you were entertaining was a blood relation—such was the way of the Volakian Royal Family. To do otherwise was to evince a great deal of trust in one’s host—or else to demonstrate that one had absolutely no enmity toward that person. Otherwise, it would be unimaginable. Ultimately, neither of these conditions could be hoped for between Prisca and Lamia. But it was precisely because of their relationship, in which only blood could wash away blood, that Lamia’s suggestion was worth considering.

[User] “What do you say? Will you think about your dear older sister’s idea?”

[Assistant] “Fair enough. At the very least, I offer you this much praise: It is an unexpected move. I never thought the first person to approach me for an alliance would be you. I was sure—”

[User] “That I would immediately take advantage of the excuse I finally had to kill you? Ooh, you do know how to push a person’s buttons, Prisca. Surely, you don’t think I would do something so reckless, do you?” Lamia perched her chin on her hands in imitation of Prisca and smiled cruelly. Mimicking the other person’s behavior was one way of establishing a rapport in conversation. It wouldn’t work on Prisca, naturally, but Lamia didn’t shift positions as she went on to say, “Of course, I’d be lying if I said it hadn’t occurred to me to crush you first. But even I know how to use my head, you know. My lovely, perfectly coiffed head.”

[Assistant] Prisca didn’t respond.

[User] “Say I impulsively destroyed you—what then? What happens after that? Only an idiot acts without thinking about the consequences. Like our brothers and sisters who didn’t take up the challenge of the Bright Sword."


[User] To mock the dead, and dead relatives at that—Prisca winced. It wasn’t due to anger at Lamia’s remark. She was just irritated that, for once, she completely agreed with her sister. Indeed, thus far, Prisca was in total agreement with Lamia. She shared her disdain for their more cowardly siblings, as well as those who had been incinerated when they tried to take up the sword. And she, too, had briefly considered immediately making her first move of the Rite against her most hated sister. Most hated, of course, not so much because the two didn’t get along, but because Prisca had judged Lamia to be one of her most dangerous enemies. She had no doubt that Lamia was among those whom she would want to eliminate most swiftly. There was, however, another, even more deadly foe. Namely…

[Assistant] “Our beloved brother, Vincent Abelks.”

[User] “You never cease to be the most unpleasant woman…”

[Assistant] “I think I’ll take that as a compliment.” Lamia smiled triumphantly, having all but read Prisca’s mind.

[User] Prisca felt the bile rise in her throat when she saw the barely concealed viciousness that rested deep in Lamia’s eyes. At least it appeared that she was not the only one struggling to endure the humiliation of talking to the sister she hated most without letting it turn into an outright duel to the death.

[Assistant] “The only way to stand a chance against our brother Vincent is to work together. And as long as I have to work with someone, I see no point in choosing chaff and trash. If you’re going to take poison, who would pick anything but the strongest poison? And besides, I somehow suspect you agree with my assessment.”

[User] “And that’s why you come to me with talk of alliances? Exactly the sort of underhanded scheme you would come up with.”

[Assistant] “Underhanded? I’m hurt. I wish you would say sly.”

[User] “Sly—indeed. The perfect word for a vixen like you. I don’t object.”

[Assistant] Lamia laughed, emitting a sound like a tinkling bell; it was the laughter of someone who was sure that even here, her back was not against the wall. Sure, because her Pruning Force would ensure that Prisca could do no violence to her. It was her private army, recognized as the strongest among all the retinues in Volakia. It wasn’t as if the Pruning Force was surrounding Prisca’s mansion at that moment, of course—but its very existence posed a threat to her. She and Lamia might be speaking in solitude, just the two of them, and this might be Prisca’s home—but the sisters were certainly not on equal footing. Lamia might look defenseless, but she was anything but, and she knew it.


[User] “Prisca, I think highly of you. I haven’t the slightest interest in House Benedict. Only you personally.”

[Assistant] Prisca said nothing.

[User] “So I decided to make you my friend before you became my enemy. Sure, we might have to kill each other before this is over, but that’s all the more reason to play nice now…”

[Assistant] “You’re suggesting you’ll protect me so that I won’t snap like a delicate branch? Awfully conceited of you, I’d say.”

[User] “I’m sorry to hear it bothers you so much. But do you even have the option of saying no?” As she spoke, Lamia spread her arms, making her chest—far more generous than one would have expected for her sixteen years—bounce. Then she looked Prisca straight in the eye and said, “I’ve been preparing for a long time. Getting ready for this very day. Judging by the age of our now-dearly-departed emperor, I knew it would have to come soon. A few years sooner than I expected, perhaps, but within tolerances. I don’t expect any trouble from anyone else, unprepared and thoughtless as they are. Except…”

[Assistant] “Except what?”

[User] “Except who. You and Vincent are different. Everyone knows Vincent is a threat. But you, Prisca—you’re a threat, even if you don’t look like one.”

[Assistant] Prisca said nothing.

[User] “I know you’re dangerous. The question is, how dangerous? In what way? If you don’t know an animal is venomous until the moment you reach out and it bites you, it’s too late. And so…”

[Assistant] Prisca said nothing.

[User] “So you mean to keep me close and observe me?”

[Assistant] “Surely, one sister is allowed to bounce another on her knee?” Lamia uncrossed and recrossed her legs, which were hidden by her skirt, before stroking her own thigh invitingly. She gave a thin smile, the look of a woman who understood that her beauty was one more weapon she could use to bewilder those around her.

[User] Lamia looked at her and nodded in satisfaction. “I never thought I’d have a chance to say this to you—but you don’t need to decide right away. Take as long as you need to reach a favorable answer and then tell me.” Smirking in the knowledge that Prisca couldn’t reject her proposal immediately, Lamia stood up slowly. Then almost languorously, she turned her back on Prisca, as if inviting her to cut her down then and there— No, it was more like she was emphasizing the fact that Prisca wouldn’t, couldn’t rise to the bait.


[User] “Ah yes, I’ll be back for my answer… I’m sure you know when.”

[Assistant] “When you’re done pruning, no doubt.”

[User] “Heh-heh. That’s right!” Lamia turned only her head to glance back at Prisca, and then her beautiful, malevolent visage exited the parlor, letting the door close noisily.

[Assistant] “Damned vixen.” Prisca muttered as she watched Lamia leave, not bothering to escort her even out of the room. Lamia knew Prisca’s mansion well enough anyway; she didn’t need a guide. And with the Pruning Force waiting for her outside, there was nothing in the empire that could have stopped her.


[User] Prisca was alone in the room—until a new voice spoke.

[Assistant] “Princess. Is this all right?” The voice belonged to a silver-haired girl who slipped out from Prisca’s shadow—Arakiya. As Prisca’s attendant and the sole person she could count on in battle, Arakiya alone had been present at the meeting, watching from the shadows. It had been overkill; there had never been any real chance that Lamia would attack Prisca under those circumstances. In fact, Lamia had probably known she was there.

[User] “There’s no all right about it whatsoever. I have nothing to gain by striking now. Much as it nettles me to say it.”

[Assistant] “You could have had her head.”

[User] “Yes, but think: What would we have lost in exchange? I’m sure you would have taken off her head, had I not insisted that you refrain from doing so.”

[Assistant] “—I hate her. She makes fun of you, Lady Prisca.” Arakiya stubbornly held on, like a child; Prisca put her hand on her chin, pleased with the way Arakiya’s eyes glinted with hostility. The way she wore her heart on her sleeve and the devotion she showed Prisca made her seem like a pet. That adorable side of hers was one of the reasons Prisca kept her around. Unfortunately, the trade-off seemed to be that she wasn’t always the quickest thinker…

[User] “And comparing myself and our older brother—what a bit of cruelty. In any case, I know you will obey the strictures I’ve given you. So long as you do, then you should grow strong and healthy.”

[Assistant] “? Yes. I will. I understand.” She didn’t sound like she really understood, but Prisca knew she would try her hardest. That was enough.

[User] “As for that scheming woman, let her think I’m dancing to her tune for a while. Don’t do anything rash, Arakiya.”

[Assistant] “” Arakiya didn’t say anything.

[User] “Arakiya, answer me.” Uneasy that there was no response, Prisca knit her brow.

[Assistant] Arakiya finally touched the lock of red hair at her forehead. "I wasn’t helpful. Are you mad?”

[User] “What do you mean?”

[Assistant] “I lost. To Master Vincent’s blue-hair.”

[User] “Oh, that.” Prisca remembered: The source of Arakiya’s insecurity was her defeat by the young blue-haired swordsman Vincent had brought along to the mansion the other day. Arakiya rarely fixated on anything other than Prisca, an attitude she justified with her special qualities as a spirit eater and her fighting prowess.


[User] "Fool."

[Assistant] Prisca flicked Arakiya on her drooping forehead, causing tears to brim in her eyes. Prisca found the sight rather endearing, but she repeated "Fool" once again.

[User] "I am neither stupid nor mad enough to hold on to tools that are of no use to me. Remember that, Arakiya: It is not your place to denigrate my tools."

[Assistant] "Even…myself?"

[User] "Do you believe that you are your own?"

[Assistant] That drew a wide-eyed look from Arakiya, who quickly shook her head. Her ears flopped with the motion, almost as if she was wagging her tail. And indeed, the tail on her behind was wagging energetically, so perhaps she was feeling better.

[User] "Then, Lady Prisca, what is…pruning?"

[Assistant] "Pruning means to allow plants or trees to grow by cutting away unnecessary leaves and branches. In a word, it’s a chore that will have to be done to seize control of the Rite of Imperial Selection. I have no intention of involving myself in such trifles, but…"

[User] "Yes, Lady? What is it?"

[Assistant] "I think it’s the first thing Lamia will do. That’s just how vulgar she is."


[User] Every child born to the Volakian Royal Family had the Rite in the back of their minds. True camaraderie among these siblings was rare. Getting too close to any of them ran the risk of developing attachments—and that could hamper their ability to coldly go about the business of murdering them when the time came. Thus, the children tended to keep their distance or otherwise hate one another openly. “But even that is groupthink. Don’t you agree, Lamia?” Bartroi turned toward his visitor—his younger sister Lamia, with her beautiful red eyes.

[Assistant] “Oh, yes.” She said with a thin smile. “Bartroi, my dear brother, I do so admire how you think. Whenever did you start having these ideas?”

[User] “During the time I’ve had to think—naturally, there’s been enough of it. This accursed ritual has been around for ages. And when you grab a rusted chain with your bare hand, you risk cutting yourself.” In other words, careful preparation was crucial. Bartroi clenched his fist demonstratively.

[Assistant] Lamia nodded, acting deeply impressed.

[User] Bartroi’s hand, however, had not grasped the Bright Sword, as hers had, on the day Dreizen had died. Bartroi had declined to participate in the Rite of Imperial Selection. Nine others had joined in him in electing not to reach for the sword—everyone else accepted the test, and ten of them had burned to death, leaving only eleven to contest the succession. Including Rommel, who had died before any of them, eleven siblings had lost their lives that day. And quite frankly, Bartroi wished to keep further sacrifices to a minimum. “That, Lamia, is why I made my agreement with you.”

[Assistant] “That when I ascend the throne, you and the others who chose not to participate in the Rite will be under my protection. I know.”

[User] “Yes, exactly.” Bartroi nodded. “And that’s why I convinced the other nine to come around.” Ten of the siblings, including Bartroi—the dropouts—had surrendered their right to participate in the Rite of Imperial Selection before it had even begun. Ultimately, those Bartroi hadn’t persuaded had challenged the sword and lost their lives to the flames. That said, his work was not in vain. Ten people who would otherwise have burned had been saved from being annihilated by the sword. Once again, as a rule, the siblings of the Volakian Royal Family were not close to one another. Bartroi, however, endeavored to be an exception. He engaged proactively with his brothers and sisters, creating relationships that made them feel safe coming to him with their problems or asking for advice. It was all in anticipation of the Rite of Imperial Selection. “But if I may ask, why choose me? I’m just a little girl among all our siblings, if I may say so myself.”

[Assistant] “That should be obvious. Because you were the one who inspired these thoughts in me, Lamia.”

[User] “I was?”

[Assistant] “Indeed. I believed you of all people would understand me.


[User] You asked when you were little—you wondered if there wasn’t some way that this could end without siblings having to harm one another." At the time, Bartroi, still young, had been seeking something that might possibly be done—and these words, spoken by his little sister like a passing dream, had hit him like a revelation. He had contemplated them ever after, followed them to where he stood today. "The Rite began as you predicted, but you don’t seem to be getting any closer to victory. I and our other nine siblings will work with you. Then maybe…"

[Assistant] "Then maybe we can overcome our brother Vincent? Is that what you’re thinking?"

[User] "That’s right." Bartroi nodded, although his throat went dry at the mention of Vincent’s name. Vincent Abelks was one of Bartroi’s half brothers. But his greatness, his strength of personality was tremendous, and for better or worse, it didn’t feel much like they were related. The young man stood at the top in every realm of knowledge and strategy. Fearsomely clear-eyed, Vincent had restored the fortunes of House Abelks, once fallen to among the least of the noble families of Volakia, raising himself to the rank of high count entirely through his own talent and skill. By all rights, Vincent appeared closest to the imperial throne. Thus, it would have made sense for Bartroi to approach him with his offer of cooperation. "Except that I highly doubt I can expect any familial sympathy from Vincent."

[Assistant] "And it’s so much harder, isn’t it? Negotiating with someone who can get what he wants without your help."

[User] "You truly are insightful, Lamia."

[Assistant] "Hee-hee. Don’t worry, I’m not angry. After all, this just means that when you couldn’t go to Vincent, the next person you thought of was me. That’s not such a bad feeling."

[User] Bartroi smiled slightly at the way Lamia’s pride and self-regard slipped through in her remark. And she was absolutely right, of course. After Vincent, Lamia seemed most likely to emerge victorious. That wasn’t to say that the other ten candidates weren’t all perfectly qualified, but in Bartroi’s opinion, it was Lamia who had the best chance of besting Vincent. Her, and another of my little sisters—but she’s no more sympathetic than Vincent is. "She may be young, but she has everything she needs to be ruler of Volakia…" If the Rite had begun perhaps five years later, that young woman might very well have been a prime contender in the imperial succession. But it was simply not to be. And so Bartroi had approached Lamia with his proposition.

[Assistant] "All right, my dear brother, let’s talk about what comes next."

[User] "Mm, yes, pardon me. I was lost in thought. What comes next. Yes, that’s important." Bartroi would have to communicate to the other nine refusers what they were going to do after this. At the moment, none of them had any idea whom he was working with.


[User] The plan he and Lamia were hatching could shatter the Rite of Imperial Selection, the most important ritual in all Volakia—there was no telling where information might leak from. He couldn’t be too careful. The day was near at hand, though, when all his travails would be rewarded. She will keep her promise, he told himself. "I know it was to save our siblings, but I do regret obliging you to challenge yourself with the Bright Sword. That day, if—”

[Assistant] "If I’d burned, too, it would have been quite the problem, wouldn’t it?"

[User] "There are no truer words! Ahem, not that this is any laughing matter." Bartroi shook his head, chastising himself for the sardonic smile that had crossed his face. Trying to relieve the persistent dryness in his throat, he refilled his empty cup with more wine. Maybe it was the sense of accomplishment at having fulfilled his great mission that made the drink seem to go to his head so quickly. Or maybe he just wanted to try to blind himself to the fact that even as they spoke, people to whom they were connected by blood were openly killing one another. He drank some more, swallowing noisily. "By the way, Bartroi. There’s something I’ve been thinking about, just in passing."

[Assistant] "Oh? What’s that?"

[User] "You know how they say that humans can perform tremendous displays of strength when gripped by rage or desperation?"

[Assistant] "Rage…or desperation?" Bartroi looked at Lamia from his place on the sofa, not sure what had brought on this subject.

[User] His sister sat stone-still, except that she held up two fingers and nodded. "Yes, exactly. These nine siblings that you’ve brought me, Bartroi… Well, they know the situation they’re in. I’m sure they’ll all cooperate with me out of desperation. But do you think some of them might be frightened as well?"

[Assistant] "Well, it’s true that they’re hardly a group of born fighters."

[User] "And yet we must band together if we’re going to achieve our objective. They need anger. Fury powerful enough to overcome their terror. Such as…"

[Assistant] "Such…such as what…?" Lamia’s honeyed voice sounded oddly distant to Bartroi. His head felt so heavy, and the world around him seemed…insubstantial. His head bobbed forward. His throat was so dry. He needed another drink. That had to be it. He poured more wine, more and more, until the glass overflowed. Finally, it fell over, and the drink began to dye the carpet scarlet…

[User] "Well, for example, what if the dear, sweet elder brother all of them were counting on lost his life to a cruel trap?" He couldn’t even hear Lamia’s voice anymore. So dry. His throat was so dry. He wanted more wine. Yes… The wine Lamia had given him as a gift. "The wine…"

[Assistant] Lamia looked down at Bartroi, who had followed his glass in toppling to the wine-stained carpet. Her older brother had already stopped breathing; he didn’t so much as twitch.


[User] On a whim, she flexed her fingers and took her own glass, from which she had not drunk a drop, and poured the contents over Bartroi’s head.

[Assistant] "Gracious, I must say I’m surprised. To think, he hadn’t taken a single measure to protect himself."

[User] Lamia flung the empty glass on the ground and then smirked at her brother’s corpse, her red eyes narrowing. "All these years you spent preparing…only to die a dog’s death. You truly were a stooge, Brother."

[Assistant] "Although to be fair, all ten of them would probably have been burned alive had they dared to grasp the Bright Sword."

[User] "And that’s why you’re dead now, dear Brother."

[Assistant] "Your Excellency, we’ve safely overpowered them," a man said in a rasp as Lamia continued to stare down at her dead brother.


[User] He appeared in the reception room… "Beautiful work, Belstetz. I presume you didn’t have any problems?"

[Assistant] "None at all."


[User] "As Your Excellency indicated, Master Bartroi kept the bare minimum of personnel here at his mansion."

[Assistant] "Hmm. Interesting. Imagine, we were blood relatives, yet it never occurred to him to protect himself.”