21
On the same day, at the same time. In the Crystal Palace, in the imperial capital of Lupghana.
“Fine work, you apes.”
At the somber pronouncement, those kneeling slowly looked up. Bowed respectfully on the red carpet were soldiers without peer in the empire: the Nine Divine Generals. Some were massive, and others had bestial features or looked otherwise inhuman, but all of them bowed to one man in this world: the seventy-seventh emperor of the Holy Volakian Empire, Vincent Volakia.
“ ”
Vincent sat on the throne in all his glory, resting his chin on his hands. In his right hand was a metal collar, set with a magic crystal in the center. It was the so-called Collar of Submission, used for binding. It was just one of the metia that could be found not just in the empire, but around the world. But this collar had an added value that made it unique among all metia: It had been around the neck of the Sword Saint.
“Mogro Hagane.” Dangling the collar from his fingers, Vincent called one of the Nine forth. In response, a Steelfolk, their body resembling an amalgam of metal and ore, looked up at the emperor. Vincent nodded. Then he turned his gaze to the ceiling of the great room—no, to the entire Crystal Palace. “I grant there were some surprises along the way, but I believe you had the chance to trade blows with the Sword Saint. How many do you think you could take?”
“Two hits. Maybe. Three.” The voice could be heard all over the room, almost as though the Crystal Palace itself were pronouncing the answer. No one present reacted to the sound’s apparent point of origin, though. That did not mean they weren’t surprised—only that it was not the voice that surprised them, but rather, what it had said.
“Three hits…? That’s some bullshit. What kinda weapon’s that guy usin’?”
“We knew he would be beyond anything we had ever faced. That’s exactly why we were able to prepare our trump card. But even so…”
“I think, dangerous. That man, a threat. Eliminate. Priority should be—eliminate.”
One general was impressed, another hesitant, and still another concerned. The voices belonged to Groovy, Goz, and Mogro, respectively. In each of their minds stood the obvious, indisputable, and deadly facts about Reinhard van Astrea. Each saw the question of how to deal with the Sword Saint as the most important issue facing them—
“Good heavens, I simply have to wonder if he’s really as bad as all that.”
This objection came from none of the three who had just spoken their minds. Its source was a man dressed in white from the top of his head to the soles of his feet. It was a shade of alabaster so pale, it looked as if all other color had simply drained away.
He was the only one present who had not encountered the delegation from Lugunica face-to-face. No—that was not quite right. He had encountered them—just not with this current face.
“Exactly what do you mean, Chisha Gold? Are you trying to imply that all of us together could misjudge the threat an enemy poses? If so, then the blame lies partly with you, as well.”
“Perish the thought. However, as to whether it would be right for me to accept any blame…”
“Don’t play dumb. To act as His Majesty’s body double in times of peace, only to refuse when it’s most necessary of all—your insolence is unbelievable… Imagine if something had happened to the sovereign!”
“Such a thing is beyond imagining. Unless you are professing a lack of faith in His Majesty’s discernment and wisdom.”
The man in white—Chisha Gold—ended up locking eyes with the increasingly irate Goz. For sheer size, there was no comparison, but they were almost the same in height. Now as they both knelt, they could conduct this staring contest from only inches apart.
“Enough. You sound like two dogs at a bone. It was my decision. If you have an objection, voice it to me personally.”
The standoff was ended by the very person who had inspired it: the emperor himself. Goz snapped his head back down respectfully. “Your Majesty!” he exclaimed. “If this plan was indeed of your own design, then it has my full support! I, Goz Ralphone, shall stake my very life on—”
“That’s enough of your twittering. Shut your mouth.”
“ ”
Ordered silent for the third time that day, Goz ceased speaking, but an audible grinding of teeth could be heard. Once Vincent was satisfied, Chisha addressed him. “Your Majesty, allow me to tender my profound appreciation. However, I myself was most terrified, may I say. I never considered that the loss of your arm might be part of the act. Had I but known…”
“You would have reconsidered trading places with me as my body double?”
“…Most likely. Not to say I’m in any hurry to get my own arm blown off,” Chisha replied diffidently, putting a hand to his chin.
Vincent made a sound in his throat. By the time the generals realized it was the emperor’s laughter, he had already continued to speak. “As I said, it was a necessary price. Without it, peace with the kingdom could not have been bought. In any event, there seems every chance that feral beast-boy would have noticed the difference between you and I.”
“And for that reason, Your Majesty, you gambled with your life?”
“Hence, why I told the man not to aim for the heart or the head. It seems that was enough.”
“As you say, Your Majesty.” Chisha put a hand to his own chest, bowing his head deeply. With that, the exchange between the emperor and his body double was concluded.
“Hey, Your Majesty, I gotta ask… If ya didn’t even tell Chisha here, does that mean you’re the only one who knew everything that was goin’ on? Mogro and I didn’t hear shit about what was gonna happen…”
“You and Mogro knew twenty percent. The contemptible Chisha, fifty. The silent Goz there, ten percent. And as for that blustering, undisciplined, disrespectful thing, zero.”
“Cecils, commotion. Even now.” An uncharacteristic word of sympathy came from Mogro. The strongest man in the empire had not even been summoned to this audience. The Blue Lightning of Volakia had been entirely ignorant of anything that was going on. Though, it was not because the emperor didn’t trust him.
“That thing has his own way of life. Faced with the right enemy, he will give his all and then some. I seek nothing more than that of him.”
“Hey, hey, if the whole point was for him to win, then—”
“He lost once. It will not happen again. Under any other circumstances, I would not even furnish him with a second chance to be defeated.” Vincent, his chin still in his hands, pulled his lips back. The predatory grin told Groovy and Mogro everything. Even Cecils’s defeat had been foreseen by the emperor.
Volakia’s strongest fighter, who had never known anything but victory, had tasted loss in his battle with the Sword Saint from the Kingdom of Lugunica. Such an experience would forge Cecils Segmund into a swordsman the equal of Reinhard van Astrea.
“The collar… The rebellion… The defeat of my strongest…” If all this had truly been within the purview of the emperor’s plans, then words failed at the profundity of his thinking. But even in the face of all this, why? Why risk his own life? “All simply to improve the chance of success.”
He had ruthlessly treated his own life as one of the cards he held in his hand. That was Vincent Volakia’s strength; indeed, it was the very ideal of the Volakian emperor.
“ ”
Vincent blinked an eye at his servants, who trembled with awe at the man. Emperor Vincent only ever closed one eye at a time. Without at least one open to watch at every moment, who knew when someone might come to claim his life? That was what it meant to be at the apex of this empire. And as he sat there, exercising a caution that was now second nature to him, Vincent pondered. He thought about the question Groovy had asked, and the deliberately misleading answer he had given.
The demi-human general had asked if anyone had known everything. The emperor had not responded with the whole truth. And why not?
“Fine work, Balleroy Temeglyph.” To the warrior who had honored his trust to the end, taking all the blame upon himself, the emperor uttered words of praise inaudible to anyone else. He even felt the slightest twinge of regret that Balleroy’s fervent wish had not been fulfilled. How good it would have been if all had gone precisely according to his calculations, as the Divine Generals cowering before him believed. It brought a smile to Vincent’s face, a smile no one saw.
Magic words once spoken by a master of the “world” whom Vincent had known: “This world is made to favor you. Hmm.”
<END>
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