At the Winter Palace in Robrus, I had exchanged various words with Zerov, yet the substance of it all had been utterly hollow. Even so, Zerov, whose face all but gleamed with self-satisfaction, kept nodding contentedly and repeating only the words, "I shall convey this."

"I shall convey every bit of today's discussion to the Premier. He will certainly find it of interest."

Thus, diplomacy is merely diplomacy, and politics is merely politics. What matters is the person. In the end, Zerov is nothing more than Premier Varmil's loyal lapdog.

"I certainly hope so as well."

There is no need to fear the future that will soon arrive. The Premier will undoubtedly make a rational decision. He will accept the deception of non-aggression.

That is precisely why, on this incoherent chessboard, the advantage lies with me.

Because I knew the course of history. Because I had already witnessed Ezenheim's designs firsthand.

"The result will likely be delivered to you after another night's rest, before your return to the Empire."

Then Zerov's face took on a puzzled expression.

"What is that aircraft you arrived in? It looked like a military transport."

This, too, was a question I had anticipated.

"Yes. It is indeed a Canilan state-of-the-art military transport aircraft. Shall I gift you one?"

"...Are you serious?"

Zerov's face suddenly lit up with interest.

"Of course. It's a gift I would be glad to give, in fact. Would the same model I flew in on suffice?"

Goodwill that can be bought with money is the easiest kind. Besides, this transport is an older model anyway.

"In that case. We shall not refuse. Hahaha."

With those words from Zerov, the meeting ended. There was one regret. I had not come face to face with the General Secretary. I already held some degree of certainty that he was Ezenheim, but the conviction I would have felt in his presence was another matter entirely.

In any case.

Back at the hotel, I sat by the window and spread out the Eastern newspapers. Most of it was criticism of the Empire, which I found rather amusing.

Knock, knock─

A knock suddenly sounded at the door.

I opened it. Yelena stood quietly before me. She smiled faintly and held out a single document.

"It's the caviar supply contract."

"...That was rather quick. Come in."

I let her in readily.

"I hear you had quite a lengthy conversation with Commissar Zerov."

Yelena broached the subject the moment she sat down on the sofa. It seemed that was her true purpose.

"Yes. We discussed the bright future of the Empire and Robrus, briefly."

I answered indifferently while scanning the contract. The numerical terms were quite reasonable.

As expected of a legitimate house of the Eastern Alliance, with no trace of nouveau-riche vulgarity to be found anywhere.

"Very well. May I sign right away?"

"As you please."

Yelena gazed at my fingertips as I signed and spoke quietly.

"The next time we meet, we may perhaps be enemies."

Without pausing my pen, I replied indifferently.

"You never know."

I handed the document back to Yelena. She looked out the penthouse window.

Sleet drifting down through the air. Bathed in moonlight, the scene shimmered gray, looking as though it might crumble at any moment.

"Truly arduous and cruel times lie ahead."

Gazing at the blizzard beyond the window, Yelena muttered bitterly.

"...Perhaps they are necessary. If it is for the purification of the continent."

Purification. I have no choice but to use such a word. For this continent, this world, has been contaminated by Ezenheim.

"Ha. Purification..."

But Yelena's expression hardened.

"It seems I cannot divide the value of human lives as conveniently as you do, Sir Knight."

"......."

Rather than answering, I quietly lifted my teacup, and Yelena rose from her seat.

"Then I shall take my leave."

She does not yet know the true form of the hell that is coming. But will her "righteous" convictions hold even when she faces the malice of that Subspecies in the flesh?

"Be careful, Commissar Yelena."

Over the rim of my teacup, I looked straight into her blue eyes and gave the warning. She left without so much as a reply.

* * *

The Empire. The top floor of the Sentinel Knight Order.

[ Sentinel Deputy Knight Commander Chiron von Graf ]

Chiron gazed at the nameplate sitting on his oak desk with rapturous eyes. He picked up a cloth and brushed the surface of the plate.

As if there might be dust on it, swish, swish.

Swish. Swish.

Swish. Swish.

Carefully, so as not to leave a scratch, scrubbing obsessively, his hand paused at a certain moment.

"...Ah."

It had not been dust but part of the engraved pattern. Chiron let out a hollow laugh.

"Haa."

With a satisfied expression, he sank into the chair, closed his eyes, and drew a deep breath from the depths of his lungs.

His assessment of himself, having seized this position over the course of the day...

“...Perfect.”

Anton had been ousted, and Knight Commander Alberich was an old man merely awaiting retirement. Before long, the seat of Knight Commander would be his.

"Hahaha."

Chiron laughed.

'This joy is wholly my own. Some people prattle on about how emptiness washes over them once they achieve a long-desired dream, but that's just how it is for the morons. Not for me.'

"Kuhahaha!"

'Only joy.'

'There's no need to share this ecstasy with anyone. No need to shout it to the world. I shall simply savor this triumph with every fiber of my being!'

"Kuhahahaha! Hahahahaha────!"

He roared with laughter loud enough to make the spacious office ring.

"Phe⁠⁠⁠‌‍⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌‍⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌‌‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌⁠⁠‌‌‌w!"

After unleashing it all, Chiron calmed his ragged breathing and regained his composure.

Truth be told, the atmosphere inside the Sentinel Knight Order these days was not nearly as bright as his own mood.

That was because the rifts between the factions had deepened further since Anton's downfall.

And on top of that...

"......."

Chiron picked up the official document bearing a red seal, placed neatly to one side of his desk.

────[ Imperial Edict ]────

Establishment of the Standing Minister Post and Guidelines for Sentinel Knight Order Cooperation.

For the purpose of strengthening the military and public security capabilities of the Empire, the post of "Standing Minister" is hereby newly established, to coordinate the regular army's budget, all matters of personnel authority, and police forces.

Whereas the forthcoming Standing Minister shall enhance the transparency and efficiency of the regular army and the knight orders.......

───────

Chiron's eyes narrowed coldly.

The bastards at the Imperial Palace were finally making a move to restrict Sentinel's authority.

.......

Nearly every top-secret document and every confidential historical record produced within the Empire was permanently stored in the Imperial Palace's Archives, and in particular in its deepest underground chamber, the Forbidden Archives.

A barrier forbidding outsiders' entry was maintained there at all times. Therefore, to gain entry one had to be an Imperial Royal oneself, or at the very least possess authority on par with the Emperor's closest confidants.

Creeeak─

And yet "someone" threw open the door of that Forbidden Archives with perfect composure. Because that "someone" possessed that level of authority.

Thus, "someone", having carefully tucked a single record book into her bosom, slipped out and began walking down the marble corridor of the Imperial Palace, when─

"Huh? What's this."

Reutern II abruptly appeared.

"Oho~ perfect timing, running into you here!"

To him as he came bustling over in an over-the-top show of delight──

The Emperor's eyes and ears, "Agentes" Sonnet Kandel, gave only a slight nod.

"Hey. Hey. Have you heard the rumor? That slimy bastard Kentz Bertem, ya know~ word is he's about to be appointed to some high position, what was it, Standing Minister? C'mon, does that make any kind of sense to a reasonable person?"

"......."

"I mean, a guy who got overshadowed by his brother, treated like leftovers even by his own house, suddenly a Minister?! The bureaucrats must've all popped pills together, right? Complete morons~ Oh, and another thing......."

His complaint-laced whining dragged on for quite a while.

"First off, the bastard's face alone is a problem. Am I wrong? He looks like a frog. Frog-faced people should never hold high office. They oughta make a law about it, those morons. Frogs shall not hold high office......."

Watching him with her own two eyes, Sonnet simply could not fathom it.

This idiotic visage was truly the product of a thoroughly calculated performance? The great actor Reutern?

"If you have that many complaints, petition Parliament about it."

"...Why would I? I'd have to be crazy to do somet⁠⁠⁠‌‍⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌‍⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌‌‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌⁠⁠‌‌‌hing that exhausting."

At that instant, Reutern II's expression stiffened slightly, ever so faintly. Sonnet did not miss that fleeting change.

Unmistakably, a coldness foreign to the dullard-like manner of just moments before had flickered across his face.

"I'm super busy studying tactics and strategy, you know. Studying to be a Commander."

At Reutern II's words, Sonnet inclined her head in a slight bow.

"Yes. I wish you every success in becoming a fine Commander. Take care."

And just like that, she passed him by. She could not afford to continue the conversation any further. For the corridors of the Imperial Palace were dangerous.

'Surely, there had to be someone eavesdropping on our conversation.'

.......

"Hm. So Reutern II said all that......."

As Sonnet had anticipated, the content of their chat had been relayed to Grossman.

"Yes, Chief of Staff. He reportedly launched into a string of insults over the rumored appointment of Kentz Bertem as Standing Minister."

"Of course he did. The two of them have been at each other's throats from th⁠⁠⁠‌‍⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌‍⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌‌‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌⁠⁠‌‌‌e very start."

Grossman sank into thought as he smoked his cigar. Reutern II's political prowess had already been proven by the ouster of Julius.

However, to openly oppose this ministerial appointment as well would be an enormous political risk even for a royal of the Imperial Palace.

The establishment of a ministerial post itself was a prerogative exclusive to the imperial house. Therefore, if he raised the banner of rebellion carelessly, he would only be met with backlash.

And yet, despite all that, the movements of this man called Reutern were utterly impossible to predict.

"He seems to be pointlessly currying favor with the nobles... Keep a thorough watch on his every move. Tighten the twenty-four-hour surveillance around what insanity he might pull next behind our backs. Report without omission on every person he meets and every scheme he hatches."

A royal's sphere of activity was ultimately confined to the Imperial Palace. The countless eyes and ears of the palace would watch him closely.

"Yes. Understood."

Once his aide had gone, Grossman settled into quiet stillness.

At his feet, a shadow flickered like smoldering embers.

Slithhhhher.......

Before long, the darkness peeled away from him and seeped into the many shadows of the Imperial Palace.

Kurt Grossman. Having left his own house to become the Emperor's Chief of Staff, he had not seized this position on the strength of politics and lineage alone.

Unlike the cowards of the Imperial Palace, Grossman did not fear Sebestian.

At the foundation of that confidence lay, beyond question, a reason that justified it.

* * *

The military airport in Robrus.

"That paper. Do not lose it."

Zerov, who had come to see me off, said this as he gestured toward the paper in my hand. It was the draft of the Secret Pact, bearing the General Secretary's signature.

"Is it not the 'beginning of a promise' we have made, a very important and costly one at that?"

A deception where each of us stood ready to sever the other's neck at a moment's notice.

And yet, a single sheet of paper that both of us needed.

"Yes. I shall."

I smiled f⁠⁠⁠‌‍⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌‍⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌‌‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌⁠⁠‌‌‌aintly and nodded.

"My gift will likely be delivered sometime next week. I look forward to meeting you again, Commissar Zerov."

"Hahaha. Yes, Knight. Next time, let us cast aside these cumbersome uniforms and meet somewhere more comfortable and pleasant, sharing a toast wherever we may be."

I answered his clinging flattery with a nod of the head and boarded the transport.

Vrrrrrrrroom──!

By the time I arrived in the Empire, it was late at night.

It felt like returning home.

At last, I thought, I can finally get some rest. But.

"Sir Maximilian."

The moment I stepped off onto the runway, a man in a suit approached silently and spoke these words.

"From here on, we shall escort you."

He even discreetly showed me an Imperial Royal seal.

"...Let's go."

I got into his car. The vehicle swept out of the airport in an instant and pulled up at a certain location.

In front of a shabby, dilapidated building that looked like an abandoned warehouse.

"This is the place."

The man carefully opened a creaking, rusted door. In the middle of a narrow, dust-covered room, someone sat quietly.

Hidden in shadow beneath a plain robe pulled down low, and yet bearing an aloof and chilling dignity that nothing could ever conceal.

It was Princess Justine.

"Maximilian. How went the diplomacy?"

Justine asked. After saluting with proper formality, I handed her the paper.

"This is the intent I have brought back."

She pulled her hood halfway back. After briefly scanning the contents of the paper, she murmured coldly.

"......You have done it flawlessly. Father, too, shall be most pleased."

Her voice was too ice-cold to be called praise, but neither of us took offense at such things.

"Are the Eastern dogs having troubles of their own within? For them to go so far as to produce a document bearing the General Secretary's signature."

"I do not know the precise particulars, but it seemed they, too, required time to settle their internal affairs and consolidate power."

"Consolidate power......."

The Princess stroked her chin and put the question back to me.

"And does our Empire not need to do the same?"

There was an edge to her words. I held my silence for a moment, then broached the subject.

"......Rumors that Varmil, General Secretary of the Eastern Alliance, is Ezenheim are openly circulating among their upper echelons."

In that instant, Justine's brow trembled terribly. For a fleeting moment, an intense contempt and revulsion filled her face.

She was a woman who treated every Subspecies on the continent like vermin.

"I do not believe that rumor is wholly baseless. Even if, on the off chance, he is not Ezenheim, the General Secretary's father was a lowly merchant who hauled fish guts up from the docks to sell, and his mother was a nameless maid."

Ezenheim cannot possess the station of "legitimate nobility". This is because the lineage of those who appeared out of nowhere at some point in time spans a mere few centuries.

It is why Ezenheim is so peculiarly fixated on finance. Only by purchasing a lineage with money, by whatever means, can they elevate their own kind.

"For a bloodline so low and rootless to reign at the summit of the Eastern Alliance, a reshuffling of power is absolutely necessary. However."

I looked at the Princess.

"The Empire is already rallied around His Majesty and Your Highness. It is taking on a form more befitting an Empire than at any time before."

The Princess seemed to weigh my words in silence for a moment before twisting her lips into a faint smirk. She let out a quiet breath.

"......Yes. Those words ring true. The Eastern dogs are indeed a disgusting, beastly lot, without roots of any kind."

The Princess slowly rose from her seat.

"Maximilian. There have been a great many peculiar aspects to your conduct, as reported to me from various quarters. To speak frankly, I was most displeased when you made an exception for that Subspecies Yaken. However, the reasoning itself I could understand to a degree. A hunting hound can be beaten to death after the hunt is done, and it will not be too late then."

The Princess's cold fingers brushed lightly against the collar of my uniform.

"Henceforth, everything you see, hear, and do shall be reported to me first."

She drew something from her bosom and pressed it to my chest.

"This matter was conveyed to you through Grossman this time, but that man is hardly trustworthy. No, I have no wish to trust him. He is one who nurses tens of thousands of serpents within him."

A Mana Parchment, with blue mana faintly rippling across it. The Princess spoke.

"If you have something to say, use that. If there is to be a meeting, hold it here."

This place, which looked like some half-demolished hideout, I surveyed once more in detail. A current more mysterious than magic was detectable.

According to the analysis of my Virus—

"I⁠⁠⁠‌‍⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌‍⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌‌‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌⁠⁠‌‌‌t's an Arcane."

The Princess let out a small laugh.

"Yes. A connection of spaces. It is an Arcane your father gifted to mine. If I open the wardrobe in my chambers, it leads straight here."

A venue more perfect for a clandestine meeting could not be found anywhere.

"Maximilian."

I looked up at her. She peered down at me and placed a hand on my shoulder.

“Become my vassal.”

Justine still lacks a proper foundation. The imperial house is not yet wholly hers. She will only become a confirmed Crown Princess once the Emperor grants his permission.

For the sake of the future, she will want vassals sworn to serve her alone.

"As your father once did."

For my part, it felt as though I had passed her test.

No, perhaps the real testing was only just beginning.

"......."

As an imperialist, could the side of me that "feigns" the loyal retainer be conveyed convincingly to Justine?

Humanity's greatest enemy lies outside, but perhaps my greatest enemy lies within.

The Emperor has transferred his trust in Sebestian wholesale to me, his son, but Princess Justine is not so soft a person.

"Yes."

Even so, I lowered my head and paid my respects.

"I shall devote my whole heart and every ounce of my strength."

Princess Justine was someone with whom I was well matched. At the very least, the grain of our great ambitions runs in the same directions.

But.......

Within my chest, a darkness that even I cannot comprehend writhes.

Perhaps, it is because I am not Sebestian.