Chapter 1 - Hey, How About Relying On My Little Sister?
Future generations would be taught this incident had come upon them like an early summer.
They wouldn’t be far off the mark: The Kingdom of Natra had been seared by fanned flames long before the first signs of summer appeared.
The source was a major incident involving the Kingdoms of Natra and Cavarin.
It all began when Crown Prince Wein Salema Arbalest was invited to attend the Festival of the Spirit in Cavarin to celebrate the religion of Levetia, the church with the largest following in the west side of the continent. That happened to coincide with the Gathering of the Chosen, a ceremonial meeting held by the most influential figures of the faith.
It was the biggest event of the year, drawing eyes across the continent to the kingdom. But in the middle of it all, Ordalasse, the king of Cavarin and one of the Holy Elite, had been murdered in cold blood.
It was totally unprecedented for a ruler hosting an international conference to be assassinated in his own country. And as if that wasn’t a bolt from the blue, General Levert had the gall to accuse Wein of the crime after being granted temporary authority over the grieving nation.
The people of Natra were thunderstruck—and then burst into fits of rage! After all, Wein was beloved in their kingdom, known for standing out from all the rulers of the state’s long history for governing with benevolence and integrity. The accusation did not sit well with them.
Once Wein managed to escape the capital of Cavarin, he firmly stood his ground and insisted that the charge was false. By joining forces with the Remnant Army of Marden, former foe of Natra and most recently an enemy of Cavarin, they managed to push back General Levert’s forces.
And once Cavarin had been freed from Levert’s rule, all parties had finally reconciled. With its territory returned to the people, Marden had declared vassalage to Natra.
Nothing could curb the tide of fervor in Natra after news of this historic victory spread like wildfire.
“His Highness is neck and neck with—No, he surpasses King Salema himself!”
“Indeed. With him as our ruler, we’ve basically been promised a golden era for the next hundred years!”
“That’s absolutely correct! A million soldiers would pale in comparison to His Highness.”
“To His Highness!”
“To the next hundred years!”
“““Cheers!”””
The two-hundred-year old Kingdom of Natra had finally expanded their territory, leaving its people with dancing feet and pounding hearts.
Hence…
“Hooow in the world did this happen?!”
In his private office, the crown prince, praised by the masses as someone with more potential than their great founder, shrieked until his voice was raw—Wein Salema Arbalest.
“Impressive, really. Everyone is singing your praises,” pointed out his aide, Ninym Ralei, with her striking white hair and red eyes. She sounded positively exhausted. “The ‘founder reborn,’” she parodied. “The ‘top strategist on the continent.’ The ‘wisest ruler in the world.’ …You know, some people have really gotten ahead of themselves, calling you a god-king.”
Ninym shrugged. And you haven’t even ascended to the throne, her shoulders seemed to say.
“Your popularity really spiked after the war last year with Marden, but that was nothing compared to this,” she added. “In all honesty, there’s no way to stop it from blowing up out of proportion.”
The people were so fired up, any attempt to douse their fervor would simply turn to steam.
Under normal circumstances, most heirs to the throne would be pleased to have a high reputation.
“No! This wasn’t in the plan! Why did Marden swear allegiance to us?!”
Unfortunately for him, Wein had a situation on his hands that was anything but normal.
After all, even though he’d managed to hoist the blame of the assassination on General Levert for “political reasons,” Wein was the one who had murdered King Ordalasse. There had to be few among the Holy Elite who instinctively knew he was the true killer, though none could produce any solid proof.
Now that Wein had assassinated a member of the Holy Elite and made a mess of the Gathering of the Chosen, there was a high chance the organization would make trouble for him—and by extension, his homeland of Natra. But he had included the possibility in his calculations, and he had fully intended to revive Marden as an independent nation after driving out Cavarin forces with the Remnant Army. That way, Marden would serve as a buffer between his people and the rest of the West, protecting Natra from the mess they had instigated. In other words, the strategy was very…well…you know.
However, while Wein was busy pursuing his own agenda, Marden had moved forward on its own.
At the way things were going, it was obvious that Natra was going to take advantage of Marden. But without help from Natra, they wouldn’t be able to rebuild their reclaimed land. Caught in this political quandary, Princess Zenovia decided as the representative of Marden that they would swear allegiance to Natra.
As Wein turned his attention to recovering from the war, Zenovia laid down the groundwork to gain the acceptance of Natra’s finest and then brought this to Wein with aplomb.
“She got us. She really did.”
“You’re telling me!”
It was a surprise attack. The vassals of the kingdom were tickled pink about expanding their nation’s territory in one fell swoop. There was no way Wein could voice his opposition.
“Damn you, Zeno. When we first met, she was all timid, but now she’s showing how shrewd she can be…!”
“I wonder where she got that from.”
“I can’t possibly imagine. There must have been a real crook hanging around her.”
“Take a look in the mirror.”
“Whoa, get a load of that sexy hunk!”
“Weird. Must have been a fun house mirror.”
“…Not even that can rob him of his hotness!”
“You never know when to give it up.” Ninym flashed him a wry smile. “Joking aside, what’s the plan?”
“All we can do is ride this damn thing out,” Wein answered with a sigh. “As soon as Marden swore fealty, their people became ours. As a nation of immigrants, we’ll undermine our foundational values if we ignore their plight. Based on geography alone, Marden is going to take the brunt of the oncoming attacks. We’ve got no choice but to aid them.”
“Add that to our expenses.”
“We’ll also have to adjust the domestic balance of power. Ugh… What am I gonna do with Marden…?”
The Kingdom of Natra was a feudal state, a hodgepodge of lords. If their collective power as a nation could be quantified as one hundred points, the royal family of Arbalest held half of them. The remaining points belonged to the subordinate feudal lords within the nation. Though the royal family could order them to act in certain ways, the Arbalests did not wield that power themselves. To utilize the kingdom’s full power, they needed to be on good terms with the other lords.
If any single lord was in control of ten points, that would amount to a full tenth of the nation’s collective power and be equivalent to a fifth of the Arbalests’. That would be enough to secure their place as high nobility, meaning even the royal family couldn’t afford to slight them.
Naturally, the royals would want to carefully orchestrate marriages between the noble families. The unthinkable would happen if a chance union gave birth to a lord who could rival the king. From the perspective of the royal family, the nobility were most convenient when they remained as harmless as bleating sheep.
Wein felt no differently. In order to keep the nobility in their place, he had vigilantly maintained an equilibrium between him and his nobles.
Then Marden came along. They were originally a feudal nation of a comparable size. Natra had helped them win back the land they had lost to Cavarin, which led Marden to swear fealty to Wein’s kingdom.
The issue here was that Marden had power. A lot of it.
Of course, it wasn’t as though their stolen land had come back to them in one piece. In the peace treaty with Cavarin, Marden had lost a chunk of its territory, while some other regions had become part of Natra. But even then, they had thirty points of power in this analogy, which meant they could compete directly with the Arbalest family. For Wein, it was as though a boar had bolted through the sheep pen that contained his meticulously groomed lords.
“If we continue to treat Marden as a foreign entity, they’ll get totally crushed, which is exactly what they want to avoid. Hence their plan to immediately join our side,” Wein explained.
The quick and easy way to become part of the nation would be to marry into the royal family or high nobility. Blood relations were paramount in this society.
“But even if they had all the power in the world, I imagine the old nobility will refuse to allow marriage between the royal family and new vassals who were outsiders until very recently,” Ninym brought up.
And Natra was one of the oldest nations on the continent. There were quite a few noble families who were proud of supporting the enduring kingdom for much of its life. Even though these individual households posed less threat than Marden, their collective opposition would be hard to ignore.
“And as a member of the royal family, I want to appease all parties.”
He was damned if he did and damned if he didn’t. This was the issue at hand.
“If Princess Zenovia were a boy, you could have considered marrying off Princess Falanya. But they’re both girls, which makes this impossible,” Ninym added.
“Maybe she is a boy,” Wein suggested hopefully.
“Why don’t you ask her next time? I bet you’ll get a faceful.”
Nix that. That would definitely hurt, Wein thought.
“Let’s put the matter on hold for now. We can think about it again after we’ve talked it over with Zeno and the nobles.”
“Understood,” Ninym responded. “Next, we need to decide what to do with the territories of the lords who led the rebellion. And then prepare our defenses against foreign incursion. Plus, we need to incorporate the culture, customs, and way of life that the people of Marden have brought with them, now that they’re part of us. And then we’ll need to smooth things over between the army and General Hagal, since he was just following our orders. Et cetera, et cetera. What do you want to start with?”
“First, let me cry from overwork.”
“Hmm, tears of joy? As your vassal, I’m honored. And to continue…”
“You mean there’s more?!” Wein shrieked.
As prince regent, Wein already had an extremely packed schedule from the get-go, but after the size of the realm grew even larger, his work literally never ended. A day off existed only in the realm of fantasy.
“…Hey, what’s this?”
Ninym had handed him a sealed letter, not a stack of documents.
“An invitation. To a party.”
“During the busiest time of my life? From who?” Wein demanded, ripping open the letter.
His eyes widened when he read its contents.
Across from him, Ninym grinned sweetly.
“—From Her Highness, Princess Lowellmina.”
The state of Systio was one of the provinces in the Earthworld Empire, nestled in the center of the continent. Its location made it an ideal point to circulate goods, though it was most famous for the city of Mealtars.
The continent of Varno was split into east and west sections by the Giant’s Backbone. There were highways in the north, south, and central regions that allowed passage between the two sides. Mealtars was positioned on that central artery.
It was a crucial location from a military and commercial standpoint. Mealtars was lauded as an especially good town for business, and the town lived up to this reputation.
This soiree was going to be held in that very city.
“…So this is the drink that’s been all the rage in Mealtars,” observed the second-born princess of the Earthworld Empire, Lowellmina.
Her eyes followed the liquid as it was poured into the cup. She frowned.
“Yes. Made from beans harvested in the southwestern region of the continent. The beans are roasted and then their essence extracted,” replied an older man sitting across from her.
Lowellmina glanced at him and then back at the cup of black water, trying to gather the courage to drink it.
She took a sip.
“…It’s bitter.”
“Which is what makes the people come back for more.” The man shrugged when he saw her scrunch her nose. “But if it’s too much for your palate, you mustn’t force yourself to finish it.”
“I don’t mind. I’m finally in Mealtars. I want to immerse myself in another culture,” Lowellmina explained, taking another sip. If the masses thought this was good, you could really develop a palate for anything. “That aside, Mayor Cosimo, it seems you’ve heard back from a great number of our invitees.”
“Yes. With the date approaching, the important attendees have already arrived in the city. This is proof the Empire still has clout,” replied the man, Cosimo, running his fingers through his beard.
As Lowellmina had mentioned, he was the mayor of Mealtars.
“And our three guests of honor?” she asked.
“Patiently waiting for the event without any signs of disagreement. You were right, Your Highness. It was wise to place them in separate guesthouses.”
“My biggest concern was that they would ruin everything before the party. If giving them space will lessen the chances of that, I’ll do whatever it takes to make it happen.” Lowellmina faintly smiled. “It looks like we can safely commence…our summit with all the Imperial children.”
The Summit of the Imperial Children. It necessitated the gathering of the three Imperial princes and Lowellmina, who all held the right to inherit the throne of the Earthworld Empire. This discussion to sort out their inheritance would essentially decide the future of the Empire in its entirety.
“However, Your Highness, we’ve only finished meeting the prerequisites for this auspicious meeting. If we cannot resolve matters in an amicable way, we will not be able to quell chaos in the Empire.”
“I know. But this is not something I can do by myself.”
The guests of honor were the three Imperial princes. If their torrent of thoughts didn’t all converge, the meeting would end in a disaster. Lowellmina couldn’t guarantee the likelihood of them coming to an agreement with any confidence.
“Nonsense,” Cosimo reassured, mistaking her reply as a sign of anxiety. “You were the one who helped the Empire avoid civil war and persuaded the Imperial princes to participate in this meeting. As a vassal of the Empire, I urge you to wield that power once more and bring a peaceful resolution to the Summit of the Imperial Children.”
His voice dripped with sorrow, as if speaking for all the people of the Empire.
However, Lowellmina had noticed something else: While he presented himself as a loyal subject, there was an unmistakably sharp glint in his eyes.
Of course. This was Mealtars. A merchant city. A battlefield where having one more copper coin than an opponent was a real advantage, where each new day meant more wheeling and dealing. And this was the man who was in charge of this city, which meant he was bound to be a challenge.
“But of course. For the Empire and its citizens, I intend to try my hardest,” Lowellmina mustered a harmless reply with a smile.
If she made a careless remark here, it might come back to bite her later.
At that moment, someone knocked on the door. It was a woman—Fyshe Blundell, Lowellmina’s aide.
“Pardon me. Princess Lowellmina, a delegation has just arrived from Natra.”
“I heard they might be late, but they’re right on time. Where are they now?”
“At the manor that has been prepared for them. They said they will come here to greet you after they have changed into more formal wear.”
There were other guests invited to the summit besides the Imperial princes. The Natra delegation was one of them.
“Hmm. The rumored prince has made an appearance, too, huh.” This piqued Cosimo’s attention.
After trouncing Marden the previous year, Natra had followed that up with a victory in the recent war against Cavarin, steadily advancing their interests on multiple fronts. As a merchant who was always on the lookout for an opportunity, Cosimo wanted to know more about this key figure who hailed from the country making such historic progress.
“I think I remember you were discussing a potential marriage with the crown prince.”
“Yes. But that has been shelved with this internal mess.”
“In that case, this meeting might just end with a celebration for deciding on the next emperor and your engagement.”
“That would please me.”
Lowellmina and Cosimo exchanged small smiles before the mayor stood up.
“Well then, I hope you will pardon me for the day. I wish to greet the prince if the opportunity arises. Please introduce me when the time comes.”
“Yes, of course.”
Cosimo bowed and left the room.
Lowellmina waited until he was far away before draining the rest of her cup.
“Hffff—” She let out an exhausted sigh.
“Excellent work, Princess Lowellmina.”
“I’m beat. I really need to keep my guard up around that mayor.” Lowellmina collapsed on the desk.
Fyshe continued speaking beside her. “Lord Cosimo has been the mayor for many years. And as a merchant, he will naturally be enthusiastic about any potential leads for business.”
“Which is exactly why he’s been very helpful. He’s done us a big favor, getting this meeting together,” Lowellmina admitted. “Doesn’t make him any less of a pain,” she grumbled under her breath when she heard something outside.
“It seems that our guests from Natra have arrived,” Fyshe observed, looking out the window.
Lowellmina jumped to her feet. “I should go out to meet them.”
“Are you sure that is the right move? If you personally greet them, there may be accusations that you show too much favoritism toward their small country.”
“But we were the ones who extended the invitation, and they’re important visitors from an ally nation. If we do not welcome them, we will signal that we fail to observe proper manners in the Empire. And if I personally greet them, I can cement our close relationship. Am I wrong?”
“My apologies. It took me too long to fully understand your foresight.” Fyshe nodded formally.
Lowellmina smiled. “Well, I admit the primary reason is to gaze upon Wein’s unhappy face.”
“……”
“Hee-hee. Oh, I can’t wait. Everyone will think I have ties with Natra as long as he comes to me. But as an invitee, there’s no way for him to not greet me. I can practically see Wein’s face screw up in pain.”
“If you can already envision it in your head, perhaps there is no reason to go out of your way to meet him.”
“I’m starting to forget all the details of his face, and I could use a refresher.”
“I see.”
Fyshe had recently begun to understand her mistress’s true nature. She offered no more. If Fyshe averted her eyes from all the smaller details, Lowellmina was a wonderful master.
“Shall we?”
Lowellmina and Fyshe left the room and headed for the foyer. They arrived just as the delegation of Natra was filing in.
“Thank you for making the long journey to Mealtars,” Lowellmina greeted as she approached. “From all of the Earthworld Empire, I wish to welcome—”
That was when Lowellmina’s eyes registered a certain figure at the center of the group.
“…Each? One? Of? You?” Lowellmina managed to finish.
After all, Wein was not the one standing before her. It was a young girl about two heads shorter.
“I would like to extend my gratitude to you for the invitation.”
Lowellmina blinked back in shock as the young girl bowed her head.
“My name is Falanya Elk Arbalest. I have come to greet Your Highness in the stead of my older brother, Wein.”
Future historians would readily admit the wit of Prince Wein Salema Arbalest, even if they were his toughest critics in the world.
But at this moment in time, his reputation was still up in the air. The West would claim the Holy Elite possessed the greatest minds on the continent, the East would turn toward the Imperial children, and the South would raise its notable candidates.
But in the North, there was another slumbering beast whose name would be known by all future historians.
Falanya Elk Arbalest.
Until this moment, she had been known only as Wein’s younger sister. But that would all change as she stepped to the forefront of history.
This was the event that would start it all: the Summit of the Imperial Children.
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