章節 5: The Imperial Palace

"Your Imperial Majesty, today is the Princess of Soklova's cortège," announced Nikolaus Wilson, the Emperor's aide. A man in his late 50s, he bore the weight of countless documents etched on his tired face. His permanently arched back reflected the sacrifices made during years of diligent service.

Emperor Thornton Harlande was seated in a grand chair, a powerful presence in the lavish setting. He dressed in rich robes that mirrored the grandeur of his kingdom. His dark hair had silver streaks, highlighting the wisdom in his sharp, weary eyes. Despite his heavy responsibilities, his posture remained perfect, a reflection of the disciplined rule he upheld.

"Her constitution was always fragile," the Emperor commented as he continued reading the documents in his hand. "I suppose that palace now stands vacant. We must find a purpose for it."

"Your Imperial Majesty, there is still one remaining occupant," Nikolaus informed him. "The Princess of Ásjáheimr."

The Emperor ceased reading and fixed his gaze on Nikolaus. "The child is still there? Katarina had begged for a royal pass to smuggle her away," he said.

"Yes, she is still in the palace. It seems she used the pass to go outside briefly but returned," Nikolaus explained.

"Hmm... Katarina must not have been pleased," the Emperor remarked, returning his attention to the papers.

Their conversation was interrupted by a knock on the door. "Your Imperial Majesty, Grand Commander Caym Fairburne wishes to meet you," the guard outside announced.

The Emperor raised his brow as he gaze at the door. "Let him in," he said.

Caym Fairburne entered the room, clad in dark armor that emphasized his imposing figure. His purposeful stride caused his dark hair to cascade, and the amber depths of his eyes stayed focused on the floor—an unspoken demonstration of deep respect for the Emperor. He saluted with his right hand across his chest and bowed, saying, "Your Imperial Majesty, it is a profound honor to be in your presence today."

"Rise," the Emperor commanded, motioning his hand. "How is your investigation progressing, Grand Commander?"

"We've made progress tracking the origins of most weapons and expect to finish within a month," Caym reported. "However, there's no breakthrough in figuring out who's behind the mysterious messages to Count Braille. The brushes used appear common in the market. Although our scholars found symbols from the ancient Logarian language in the messages, they couldn't decipher them completely."

Weariness crept into the Emperor's eyes as he pondered the perplexing situation, his brow furrowing with concern. "So, a mere Count possessed knowledge that even our most learned scholars couldn't unravel?" He sighed, shaking his head in frustration. "We cannot even extract answers from a cold corpse."

Count Braille had taken his own life with a concealed poisoned needle during the transport, which made things even more complicated. The fact that the Count, a noble of relatively modest stature, had connections to the Logarian language raised troubling questions. Perhaps he couldn't personally read or write it, but the mere existence of Logarian communication in their midst posed a significant enigma.

Sylvania, which used to be a small kingdom, became an empire after its thirteenth king, Edward Harlande, took over Logaria. Although Sylvania praised the First Emperor as a hero, the Logarians hated him because he brutally killed their royalty. Men were beheaded, and women and children were burned alive. All literature from Logaria was annihilated, and anyone brave enough to bring up the kingdom encountered harsh persecution.

"Keep this info secret," said the Emperor in a serious tone. "These people want to create problems in our empire. The south is already having a hard time because of the drought. If people hear a hint of the Logarians coming back, they would rally behind the rebellion in an instant."

"Understood, Your Imperial Majesty," Caym acknowledged.

The discussion with the Emperor concluded swiftly. Caym turned to leave the Rose Palace, where he was promptly intercepted by his Lieutenant, Hector Tassis.

"Greetings, Grand Commander. We've captured the merchant who often visited Count Braille's mansion," Hector whispered. "But he got seriously injured during the chase. He's getting medical care and is stable, but he hasn't regained consciousness yet."

"How did he get hurt?" Caym inquired.

Hector tilted his head, chin in hand. "Sir Ivan said the man used a crossbow and fired before they could approach. He was surprisingly nimble," he said.

"Where is he now?" Caym asked.

"We've brought him to the Imperial Dungeon."

At the core of the empire, the Imperial Palace sprawled as a vast royal complex, divided into six distinct areas.

The Rose Palace stood proudly in the central area. Beneath its domes and spires, the Emperor, Empress, and their children resided. The Grand Ballroom, adorned with gold and precious chandeliers, served as the palace's beating heart, where the nobility gathered for celebrations.

To the north, the Imperial Garden stretched wide. A statue of Yanessa, the Goddess of the Sun, Moon, and Stars, watched over the labyrinthine maze garden—a sanctuary for romantic strolls among the aristocrats.

In the east, three palaces—Peony, Orchid, and Lotus—housed the extended family of the Emperor and Empress. Each palace boasted its unique charm, complete with enchanting gardens that bloomed with the fragrance of exotic flowers. In the Lotus Palace, the Empress Dowager held her court, her wisdom a beacon guiding the dynasty.

The west of the palace complex was a realm of tranquility. Towering trees cast cool shadows over the temple, a hallowed place where prayers mingled with incense. Nearby stood the Grand Library, a repository of knowledge where scholars and seekers delved into the annals of wisdom. Amidst this peaceful oasis, the royal stables bustled with life, the steeds of the royal family tended with care.

To the southwest lay the knights' barracks and training grounds, where the clashing of swords and the shouts of training echoed through the air. It is also the location of the Imperial Dungeon, a fortified underground facility designed for detaining prisoners.

In the southeast, the haunting Lily Palace stood—a place of both dread and intrigue. Behind its guarded walls, royal captives reside.

Upon nearing the southwest gate, Caym and Hector's attention was suddenly diverted by a disturbance nearby.

"Heavens! How many times must I repeat? You are too old for the long journey. Just sit there and the princess will be safely escorted." The words came from Mr. Dwight, the caretaker of the Lily Palace.

"Mr. Dwight, I beg you," the servant pleaded, her hands clasped together. "I am willing to pay and I am fit enough for the journey! I split firewood and wash clothes everyday!"

The official sighed in annoyance. "I really can't, Mrs. Tara. That is a very veryyy difficult request. Whatever happens to you will just slow down the journey," he said.

The nearby knights noticed Caym and Hector. They promptly greeted them with a salute. "Greetings, Grand Commander Fairburne. Greetings, Knight Lieutenant Tassis," they said in unison. The official and the servant ceased their quarrel and bowed respectfully to the two.

"What is happening here?" Hector asked, raising his brow.

The official, who had appeared composed until now, suddenly fidgeted nervously. "Grand Commander, Lieutenant, we are about to start the procession for the Princess of Soklova. Two squads are already designated to escort the coffin. The late princess's maidservant insists on joining, but the arrangements are set. Adding one more person is challenging. We also doubt her fitness for the month-long journey. She—"

"Grand Commander! I've been Princess Katarina's maidservant for four decades," the servant said, kneeling to the ground, her voice trembling. "I beg of you. Please, let me serve my master for the last time. I promise not to be a burden! I can cook and look after the soldiers on the journey. Although I am old, I am strong and active."

The official sighed in fear, his brows furrowed. "How could she have the courage to speak to the Commander of the Grand Order that way?" he thought, starting to regret not calling the guards upon her.

Suddenly, a woman ran into view, clutching her gown with hands as fragile as porcelain. Her hair was concealed beneath a delicate scarf, her face covered by a veil.

Caym furrowed his brows, recalling the peculiar scene he had witnessed at the stationery store.

The woman paused for a second, seemingly catching her breath. With a graceful descent, she knelt beside the servant, bowing her head to the ground. "Greetings, Grand Commander. I, Ingrid, Princess of Ásjáheimr, wish for you to listen to the plea of this humble servant," she said, her voice slightly strained.

"What an impulsive action," Caym thought, raising his brow. His armor clinked as he lowered himself to one knee.

With a deep and rugged voice, he spoke, "Please arise, Your Highness. The ground is not meant for your touch. And you need not kneel for any knight."

His cold gaze subtly swept over the knights who were still standing, including the surprised Hector. In an instant, they understood his unspoken command, and their movements synchronized with precision as they, too, sank to their knees.

The synchronized action was so abrupt that even the official and the nearby servants felt compelled to follow suit, confused by the unexpected display.

The woman raised her head, meeting Caym's gaze — surprising him with their gentle shade of blue.