hermitscave

Chapter 482 - Year-End Review

"Has everyone understood that? Anyone need another explanation?" Corco asked, as if to imply that anyone with a question was an idiot.

"Please spare us, master. We have all understood," a tired Fadelio whined. "You plan to use cultivation as an incentive to prevent an accumulation of private power through the use of an inheritance tax."

Maybe, Corco thought, his explanation had been a bit too thorough after all? No, that was impossible. How else would Fadelio have been able to summarize his plan so succinctly? Not to mention, his officials would be able to endure a slightly longer presentation from their king, right? Those were so much fun after all.

After their return to Saniya, the king and queen had been briefed on the current state of affairs, as well as all new developments during their absence. Only days later, Corco had to face this year's year-end review. By this time, the King of the South was already in full control of his lands again.

With great pride, he looked across the old-familiar table, into the eyes of his collected privy council. Unlike last year, when their meeting had happened too late and only in an improvised manner, the participants were now well-established. Since the country's intelligence service was meant to stay out of politics, there was no longer a representative of the ghost warriors present this time. Instead, every ministry had sent a representative, as had either branch of the military.

There was Fadelio of course, the prime minister in charge of coordinating all the ministries and drafting the kingdom's new laws. Lord Makipura had been rewarded for his continued loyalty by handing him the Ministry of Agriculture. Lord Huaman had been similarly rewarded with the Ministry of Infrastructure. After he had taken charge of the army's logistics throughout the war, the old lord of Vallunaraju had become quite familiar with the country's infrastructure system, so he was perfectly capable of taking over this job.

Though of course, that also meant that Lord Huaman was forced to travel around the country these days, to complete the construction of roads and beacon towers in the new territories. Thus, he had been forced to send one of his assistants to this meeting, just as the Ministry of Finance had done. After all, Brym was still busy selling his bonds to the lords of eastern Medala.

Apart from these two absentees, everyone else was present: Doctor Itzali in charge of the Ministry of Health, and Asiro the former blacksmith in charge of the Ministry of Industry. Even Scolo and Atau had come as the heads of the army and navy respectively, even though one of them was still busy reforming the army, and the other was still fighting a war in the western waters.

By now, Corco himself only still held three of his ministries directly: The Ministry of Education was of course still the responsibility of the man who had personally taught most of the kingdom's officials, and the Ministries of the Interior and Foreign Affairs had so far been too important to leave in the hands of any one person.

Recently, Corco had planned to leave foreign affairs to Tama, who was smart, a good talker, and had an appropriate status to represent the kingdom in his stead. However, after their meeting earlier in the day, the king had developed serious doubts about her suitability. She just seemed too stubborn — and far too cold-hearted — for the post. Thus, he would have to continue holding the position himself for now.

"King Corco?"

Fadelio's question made Corco realize that he had been staring into nothingness again, while his ministers had patiently waited for him to continue. He took a deep breath to steady his mood. Rather than worry about the future, he would focus on the immediate issues of the kingdom at hand. Thus, he pushed his concerns about Tama to the back of his mind, and got back on track.

"Right," his hands patted on his armrests, in an attempt to hide his embarrassment. "Since everyone's understood the plans, are there any reservations? Is there any critique? Any jokes, maybe?" he asked again, and leaned back in his chair to stare down the members of his council.

Of course, his question — as well as the pause which followed — were no more than formalities. No one in this room would criticize the king's plans, at least not this very moment.

Even if they had fully understood the somewhat novel and complex idea Corco had for restructuring their tax code, there hadn't been any time to digest the details or implications. No one would openly contradict the miracle king based on any half-baked concerns, not without some time to mull them over for a while. Thus, the king could quickly move on to the next topic, just as he had planned.

"All right then," Corco concluded after a short pause. "In that case, the inheritance tax plan will be entered into review."

At this point, not even the powerful king of the south could just decide on a policy and have it enter into effect immediately. Such an approach ran completely counter to Corco's perfectionist — and idealist — nature, so he had formalized the legislative process over the past years.

Just like any other piece of legislation coming out of Rapra Castle, the inheritance tax plan would also be sent to the new Review and Statistics Department, which would come up with theoretical models and then make small-scale tests in parts of the kingdom to test the viability of the new legislation. Only when such tests showed no problems would the new plan be written into law. Of course, the department would also fill out many details on the law's implementation and consider edge cases which had otherwise been overlooked.

While their work was in progress, the department had the power to delay the law's promulgation until all of their questions were answered. Though of course, the king had the power to supersede such delays, in case the department was deliberately making trouble.

"Very well, master," Fadelio simply replied, and took the basic draft Corco had been working on during their return journey.

Over the past year, the prime minister had been busy dealing with the establishment of the Review and Statistics department, on top of his regular duties. Even after its establishment, the work inside the department had taken up most of his time these days. Still, it was important for Corco to formalize their legislature before he made any crucial mistakes out of arrogance, so he could only let his attendant suffer from overwork, even more than before. At least the king would join him in his suffering.

"I know it was a bit sudden to shove this idea in before the start of the review meeting, but I just wanted to get this out of the way, before I forget about it again. It's been spooking around my brain all vacation," Corco explained, before he added in his head: And of course I also wanted to reestablish some kind of initiative.

After all, the King of the South — Saniya's supreme leader — had left his seat of power unoccupied for several months. Who knew how many in this room had forgotten about the king's authority during this time? How many of them had begun to brew unrealistic thoughts? Now however, the king had reappeared and immediately decided on a massive new law on a whim, as if it was nothing. Yet none of the ministers dared say anything in response to such a sudden order out of nowhere. After such a move, they would all remember the power relationships in the kingdom.

Of course Corco wanted to trust them all, but after the events of the last war, such trust was harder and harder to come by. Not to mention, the only true way to guarantee loyalty was to give no one an excuse for treason.

Since the respective positions of everyone in the room were now reestablished, the king sat up in his seat to show his majesty. Once more, he looked over the collected top officials of the kingdom, as a regal silence filled the room. Finally, Corco spoke up again, to break the tension as if it had never existed.

"So, since my thing's over with, let's start the year end review proper. Which department will go first?" he asked flippantly.

Unsurprisingly, none of the officials mirrored his levity. Instead, they all looked first at each other, and then at prime minister Fadelio, who doubled as the king's attendant and usually was the one to give structure to these meetings.

"I believe it would be reasonable to start with a recount and update of last year's unresolved issues," he said, which immediately reminded Corco of last year's meeting.

"Oh yeah, so how is our takeover of the new territories going?"

Although he asked in the same, casual tone as before, he was actually quite eager for answers. After all, the sooner they managed to take over those new territories, the faster they could stabilize their leading position in the country. Only once they had full control of the southern kingdom could they begin to deal with the two northern kingdoms as well.

So far, only about four of the roughly twenty million people of Medala were living in the southern kingdom, which meant that 80% of Medala's population was still living under the inauspicious rule of his brothers. He wasn't willing to let them suffer forever. Thus, cleaning up the new territories quickly was of vital importance to pacify their home front and increase their national power. Luckily, Fadelio's next words brought almost immediate relief to the king's worried mind.

"Over the course of the year, the takeover progressed more quickly than our estimates assumed," he said, and checked his notes as he spoke, as usual. "There are two major factors which caused such a change: First, and most simply, we did not properly factor the passing of time into our calculations. Without their lords around, those local warriors can only keep up their resistance for so long. Eventually, some ran out of money, and some ran out of warriors willing to sacrifice themselves as fake bandits to slow us down. Others eventually just lost hope without their lord's support. Ultimately, all of them came to some arrangement with our newly sent officials to secure their futures."

Fadelio paused for a moment and looked around the room, before he continued.

"In addition, it was only a matter of time until our officials became familiar with the new environment, which allowed them to gain control of the new territories. Lying to our officials about the size and distribution of local villages worked well in the first year, but since then, our officials traveled around the various territories to familiarize themselves with the local estates by themselves. We have also sent additional people to draw accurate maps of the areas. As a result, lying has become a lot less effective, since our people can simply cross-reference their own materials. The locals can't claim to have a bad harvest when our officials can see the wheat harvest for themselves and make their own estimates. Though of course, apart from the matter of time, the final reason for the increased speed of our assimilation are the policies we enacted last year, which have shown an effect in stabilizing these regions. The bicycles in particular were a great help."

"Yeah, I checked out their training progress. It's pretty good," Corco interjected, while trying to suppress a grin at the thought of their training methods.

"Since we equipped our messengers with the first batch of bicycles, our information exchanges with the new territories have sped up dramatically, which has allowed us to react more quickly to the fake bandit teams. Through our swift response, we even managed to catch two of them off guard before they could disappear into the mountains," Fadelio continued in the same matter-of-factly tone as before, seemingly unwilling to engage in Corco's fun, or unaware of the attempt. "Uncovering their true identities allowed us to act against two of the estates directly. Since we now have solid proof of the conspiracies played by the local warrior groups, we managed to clean up many high-ranking warriors in those places. In response, local officials in other estates have become more cautious in opposing us. Furthermore, a decent number of soldiers is already capable of using the new tools. Within this year, we will have enough men trained on bicycle usage to send out organized response teams together with the messengers. At that point, we expect all remaining bandit resistance to our rule to die down almost immediately. Within this year, we should be able to properly pacify the new territories. By then, we can begin with the real work: Finishing the infrastructure projects like roads and beacon towers to connect the new regions to Saniya, building schools to start the education reforms in those regions, resettling all displaced people, and beginning the long work of registering all citizens within the new and enlarged territory. Here is a corresponding report on the plans of the Ministry of Infrastructure."

Again, Corco received one of those now familiar files, and with it, even more work. While the king was still lamenting the dreaded return of his daily administrative tasks, Fadelio had already moved on to the next issue.

"Though even after we have pacified these regions, the work of reorganizing the new territories might be delayed by several years," the minister continued. "This is mostly due to our chronic lack of bureaucrats. However, more and more new students graduate from our schools every year, ready to fill our offices and support us in our efforts. Within three years at the latest, we can expect to fully integrate the new territories into the kingdom's central structure and start benefiting from them, both in terms of taxes as well as in military recruitment."

Although Fadelio tried his best to tamper expectations towards the end of his speech, Corco still couldn't help grin from ear to ear.

"Isn't that great?" he asked with a laugh. "I'm only gone for a few weeks and you guys have already solved one of our biggest issues. Maybe I should go on vacation more often."

"Please don't," a distraught Fadelio replied in a dreary voice, something Corco absolutely couldn't understand. Wasn't this a time to celebrate? Once they had control over their new territories, they could finally begin their plans to take over the north. The prospect alone should have excited even his always stern friend, right?

Maybe Fadelio was just overwhelmed by all the work and thus couldn't focus on their bright future, Corco thought. Rather, hadn't this prime minister asked about dating tips from him before he had left on his vacation? Whatever happened with that story? A curious king stared at his friend, but Fadelio's stony face didn't reveal any secrets, as always.

Although Corco had just remembered some juicy gossip, he would have to suppress his curiosity for now. They were still in a meeting, and he had already wasted too much of everyone's time. Not to mention, his boring, cagey friend would certainly not talk about his dating life during the meeting. Still, Corco gleefully made a mental note to prod his attendant for all the details later.

"Well, it certainly sounds like we don't need to invest any more thought into the new territories, right?" the king concluded instead.

"That is correct," Fadelio confirmed. This time, even he sounded proud of their achievements. "Unless there is a new development, there is no need to worry about the takeover of the new territories any longer. The course has been set. Our officials simply have to follow it to the end."

Hermit's Notes: The best news: I've recovered all my data! Which means you'll just be getting a bunch of chapters from now on. One a day, almost all throughout January!

Chapter 481 - New Armies

Soon after Corco's return to Saniya, his spirits were lifted, almost by accident. Although the king had only come to this military training yard to check on the progress of his troops — and of course to catch up on the developments he had missed during his vacation — the image in front of Corco was far too spectacular for him to stay glum. No one could possibly be unhappy in the face of such magnificence.

Before the king's eyes, an entire company of Saniya's finest men — the legendary army which had annihilated a coalition of southern lords, Arcavians and Ichilia troops — labored to circle the training course, all of them mounted on bicycles, equipped with only the finest training wheels to maximize the effect of their practice.

Every once in a while, one of them would overestimate his balance and fall over anyways, wheels be damned. During the months away, Corco had already forgotten about the training wheels he had suggested for his army's training, but now that he saw it, it was even better than he had imagined.

"Truly, this is the sight of progress," the king said with one hand on his hip.

He enjoyed his view from his position underneath a fir tree by the field, where he had found cover from the light morning drizzle. Next to him stood the man responsible for the spectacular image on the field. Yet despite his great achievement — and despite the amusing sight right before him — his head was bowed down, as he needlessly ingratiated himself to his king in response to the praise he himself had received.

"Yes, King Corcopaca, we have been progressing well," Nabo — Egidius' disciple and the man Corco had saddled with bicycle training duties — said. "This is already the second batch of soldiers we have trained on the new two-wheelers. The first batch consisted mostly of messengers, but this second batch represents a proper military platoon, which will be able to operate completely independently once their training is completed." For a second, Nabo paused and peeked at Corco's smiling face, before he lowered his head again and continued in an even humbler, more cautious tone: "Thus, as this is a military matter, a commoner such as myself might not be the most suitable to continue the training."

"Sounds like you're doing a great job though," Corco argued back. He could tell that this guy was trying to escape from his responsibilities, but he wouldn't let him get away that easily. Who else would train his new bicycle troops?

So instead of fulfilling Nabo's wish, the king offered some compensation to pacify the young craftsman: "I'll make sure you're properly repaid for your work. Whatever you want, just ask and you will get it. Within reason, of course."

However, in response to Corco's friendly wink, Nabo looked more and more uncomfortable. He wasn't even facing his king anymore, and instead had turned towards the training field. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the craftsman once again turned towards his king, this time accompanied by a whinier tone.

"Please, honored king of miracles. Would it be possible to find someone else to take over this work?" he begged directly.

When Corco looked over, he even saw tears in his eyes. Did this guy hate the training that much, or was he just a good actor? Either way, the king wouldn't be so easily swayed by the appeal.

"Why? I mean, I even left you my secret weapon." Corco pretended to be casual, and pointed at the army of training wheels out on the yard.

"Of course, great king, and this servant is endlessly thankful for such grace." Again, Nabo hesitated and looked away before he continued. "However, would not the originator of this great invention be far more suitable to teach these great soldiers? After all, as the elites of southern Medala, they are not likely to listen to a mere commoner's words."

"No one has complained about your training yet, as far as I know," Corco countered. "Instead, they have learned well so far, haven't they?"

"Indeed they have, yet on top of the teaching, not only does this humble servant need to oversee the construction of the bicycles, there are many more responsibilities awaiting this poor soul as well."

"How could those responsibilities be more important than your teaching duties?" Corco pretended to be baffled. Somehow, he began to enjoy the craftsman's awkward attempts to escape his responsibilities. The king had always hated this kind of grovely behavior anyways. Maybe if Nabo just made his request directly, Corco would have been more open to it.

"Of course there is nothing more important than teaching the shields of the kingdom. The great king already emphasized the importance of this task to his humble servant," Nabo continued to squirm. "Still, master has asked this humble servant to support him in some of his work, as he is busy with his duties at the university. Thus, this servant wishes to be relieved of the training, at least partially, to fulfill his commitment to his master."

Finally, you're getting a bit clever, Corco thought as he stared hard at Nabo, who still had his head bowed down to hide his face. Apparently, this craftsman wanted to make use of his master Egidius' name to escape his teaching duties. Obviously, the former apprentice knew of Corco's close relationship with the genius clock maker, and hoped for leniency.

However, the king wouldn't offer any, nor could he. After all, if Nabo didn't teach these soldiers, then Corco would be forced to do it himself, and he certainly didn't want to waste any of his own time either. Not to mention, this apprentice had inherited very little of his master's endearing directness. His diplomatic flattery made him seem nothing like the smart clock maker, and more like a seasoned politician, a trait Corco didn't intend to encourage.

Just as he was brewing a more firm rejection in his head, Fadelio stepped forward during the lull in their conversation.

"King Corco, not to impose," he said. "However, the scheduled time for the meeting with the ghost messenger has arrived. Apparently, they are waiting with important news."

Perfect support from Fadelio, as always.

Corco really wanted to hug his friend for the timely excuse. With acted sadness, he turned towards Nabo.

"In that case, we'll have to cut our conversation short. It sounds like I can't relieve you for now, unfortunately," he said, and turned to leave.

"But-" a distraught Nabo began. Yet just in time, Corco came up with an idea, so he turned around again and interrupted the craftsman.

"Right, how about this then?" he asked, and stroked his chin in an attempt to suppress a smile. "If you manage to train one of the soldiers so well that they can take over your teaching duties, wouldn't you be relieved as well?"

"But-" Nabo tried again, yet Corco just patted him on the shoulder and added: "Work hard."

Before Nabo could come up with any more excuses, the king quickly left the yard, leaving behind only the lonely and distraught figure of a crafty politician, an image good enough for a famous painting, if only someone had still been there to see it.

______________________

After enjoying his inspection of the bicycle training, Corco returned to his duties. In the days since his return, he had met officials from various departments one on one to get reports about the most recent events in and around his kingdom. For today, Tama — representing his ghost warriors — had requested a meeting in Rapra Castle's inner garden.

"Alright, so apparently, this was important?" Corco asked, as he sat down across from Tama inside a picturesque pavilion.

"Yes, it was. Else, I would have never asked for a meeting so soon after your return."

As always, Tama's choice of words was more modern, much unlike her mother's. Yet Corco couldn't help but feel that she was quite formal as well, as if eager to establish a certain distance. Though he didn't really mind. After all, the days when she had had a crush on her king now lay in the past. Surely, she wanted to avoid any misunderstandings after her engagement with Atau.

In fact, when he had first heard about their meeting place, Corco had been concerned. Meeting inside a pavilion in the inner garden was too romantic a setting for ordinary business. He had even brought Fadelio along to wait in the distance as a witness, in case anything weird happened.

But now that he saw Tama so serious, he was more willing to believe that she had picked the place out of a professional spy's habit. This kind of spot was perfect for an intelligence meeting after all: Private, safe, and with good visibility all around, which made it impossible for others to sneak up and listen in on them.

While he still couldn't quite shake the strange feeling at the choice of a woman who had pursued him until recently, he would much rather believe in her professionalism than overthink things.

"Fine then. What's the news?" Corco asked, and pushed all irrelevant thoughts to the side. He had come here for an intelligence briefing after all, not to act out a korean drama. So long as Tama stayed professional, he would do the same.

"In the north, all remaining unrest settled down completely as soon as Minister Brymstock crossed the Sallqata Mountains. Amautu has given up on his attempts to centralize the country for now. The lords were quite brazen in their response for a while, but now their backing has left, so they have calmed down as well. In short, the status quo in the north has been restored," she began, while holding out a file towards Corco. "However, our worries about the northern armies are still the same, just like our worries about Terminus. The northerners are training troops too quickly, and what they train is too strong. We'll suffer a lot in a direct confrontation with them. This is even more the case in intelligence warfare. We simply cannot afford to trade expert personnel with them when theirs is disposable. Though their threat remains, there has been some progress in uncovering their secrets, which accounts for the bulk of the information in this report. Through insider information, we have learned that the members of Terminus are all former warriors, who have broken the laws of the kingdom or failed in their missions."

"Right. So as punishment, those warriors are being forcefully retrained into Terminus members," Corco interrupted to make a long story short.

"You don't look surprised," Tama pointed out. "You didn't already read the full report, did you? You weren't that quick a reader before."

Rather than address the strangely familiar remark, Corco went back to skimming the file as he replied.

"Me and Maci didn't just go on a cruise, you know? We checked our kingdom's own cultivation research, to find an answer to the very same issue the ghosts had: Why are Amautu's warriors so strong, and why is their cultivation so fast? In their experiments, our experts also managed to induce some extreme improvements in our cultivators, just the same as the northerners." When Corco looked up, he realized from Tama's look of vapid boredom that his words had been too vague. "Anyways, the point is, we have found a method to quickly and greatly increase the power of our warriors, and we suspect it's the same method Amautu's people are using."

"That's great!" Tama shouted, her previous boredom disintegrated under her newly-found enthusiasm. "If we can just copy their methods, our troubles would be gone. Without their advantage in warrior training, the northern kingdom would no longer be a threat."

"Not an option," Corco replied dryly and shook his head.

"But why?" Tama whined like a little kid. "You said you found their training methods, right?"

"We did," the king returned in the same, dry tone as before. He certainly wouldn't be swayed by Tama's fake mood swings. It was an old trick. "It's pretty simple, even. Just modify those old cultivation techniques a little, and their effects can be intensified further. But there's a limit to that kind of growth, and it's not really the techniques that are the issue anyways. The main problem is — apparently — a mental block. Basically, the mind won't allow modification of your body past a certain point, probably some evolutionary development to protect its own existence. But intoxication of various kinds, like the use of drugs — as well as mental suggestion — can break through this limitation. Various methods have shown differing levels of success. But overall, many of the test subjects in a number of experiments have shown vastly improved physical ability, far beyond ordinary warriors, and a training speed that's impossible to achieve under other circumstances."

"So why not make use of it if we've had such results?" Tama tilted her head cutely to act confused, another gesture ripe for ignoring.

"Because the side-effects are not worth the advantages," Corco revealed. "There's a reason that mental block exists, you know? As a result of overburdening their bodies, test subjects suffered all kinds of horrible injuries during the experiments. The drugs and other mental stimulation made that even worse, since they were numb to the pain which was meant to warn them of damage. Sore muscles are the least serious problem we've encountered in that regard. Some people even tore their ligaments and broke their bones from simple movements, just because their bodies couldn't handle the forces they produced. Plus, I suspect that increased hormone levels were an important part of the sped up muscle growth. As a result, many of them were emotionally unstable, so they needed even more medication to function, or their behavior would become extreme and unpredictable. Those are hardly desirable traits for an army, even less so for spies."

"But that would explain the simple and direct approach from Terminus members," Tama added, after a realization.

"Right. It gets worse though," Corco continued, thinking back to the early reports about Terminus. "We don't know if it's the drugs or the hormones, or the constant overexertion of their bodies, but it seems like those Terminus warriors were also aging rapidly."

"Yes that was part of the reports," Tama admitted in a pensive voice, before her face lit up. "However, even weakened, old, and crippled, their strength is still superior to an ordinary warrior."

The spy's excited words made Corco frown. Could he have misjudged Tama's character? Who would get excited about the use of crippled and injured soldiers?

"Are you telling me we should copy those northern methods and apply them to our own people?" an incredulous Corco asked, yet Tama's calm response disappointed him.

"Of course," she said. "Why would we possibly leave our enemies with such a powerful advantage, when we could be using it ourselves?"

In response, Corco's voice finally turned tense.

"Because we're not monsters, maybe," he almost shouted, before he caught himself. Getting angry wouldn't do him any good here. Yet in response to the king's stern rebuke, Tama only frowned.

"You look unconvinced," he pointed out, now once again in control of his emotions. However, Tama only continued to frown, and didn't respond at all.

Let's just try a different angle, a disappointed Corco thought.

"Look, even if we copy the northern tricks, we won't win this war by exploiting our people like this," he began his explanation. "Obvious moral concerns put aside - and why would we? - I don't want to end up in a bio-engineering arms race. If we follow up and start exploiting our warriors to strengthen them, maybe Amautu will be forced to use even more extreme methods. In that case, will we follow along again? How many times should we do that? How many of our people, how many of our traditions, and how much of our humanity should we destroy in the pursuit of victory? And even if we win, what kind of place will be left once we finally defeat Amautu this way? I don't want to rule over a deserted island, or peninsula. Those Chutwa foreigners don't have to care what happens to the Yaku people. But unlike them, I can't recklessly expend our men like firewood."

This time, Corco was sure that his arguments were convincing. He had even delivered them in a rousing speech and all. Even so, Tama once again just stared at him. Clearly, she disagreed with his conclusions. Yet just as clearly, she also didn't want to openly contradict her king.

Honestly, her response disappointed Corco, as had their entire exchange so far. Not long ago, Tama hadn't been such a cold and indifferent person. Maybe leaving her in charge of the local ghost forces had been the wrong choice. Maybe he had harmed her somehow, forced her to become unfeeling to cope with the horrors she dealt with in her work every day. Or maybe he was meddling too much, and overthinking things, as usual. Either way, the thought just made him uncomfortable, as did the frowning face of the young woman in front of him.

"If you're still not convinced, I can also tell you that I already have different plans for the cultivation resources in this country, ones which will benefit us more than simply copying Amautu's slave legion," he finally said, and took the report as he stood up. "Just be patient until the budgetary review at the end of the year. You'll know after that."

Thus, the king did not waste another second in this calming, romantic place. Staying here still made him as uncomfortable as it had when he had arrived, yet the reason for his discomfort had changed completely. When he left, he didn't wait for a response, and never looked back.

Hermit's Notes: So, here it is, the first of the long-finished chapters. That's the good news.

However, in the process of setting up my PC I realized that one of my old hard drives got fried, and it's the one with all my writing on it. That's the bad news.

However, I had backups. That's the good news.

However, those were made a while ago, and I still lost like half the new chapters. Now, I have only eight or so left. That's the bad news.

However, since I've written it before, writing it again should go much faster.

For now, I'll post a new chapter a day. In the meantime, I'll try to recover the data off my old hard drive, while at the same time rewriting the lost chapters by hand. We'll see far I get before I run out of buffer. In total, I had maybe 18 chapters done in advance? I should be getting somewhat close before I run out of room.

Oh, also, while I still have about half the advanced chapters left, I lost all of the progress I made on Book 1. That one's a gut punch, since it was way more work than the regular chapters. Might get delayed again, but that's nothing new by now.

Untitled Spain Novel Chapter 1 - Future Plans Disrupted

Hermit's Notes: My PC arrived this evening. But setting the thing up will take a while. That means I will start posting EnEm chapters again from tomorrow onwards.

In the meantime, here is the setup for some spain-based kingdom building/adventure/spy novel I have been thinking about. Names and places aren't entirely final, I think.

And yes, all of these are kingdom building. A while back, I made a looong list with good alt history ideas, then narrowed it down to my favorite three and started writing a bit of each to see which one I would like best. Anyways, this is the result. Enjoy.





A young man, almost still a boy, sank down a shoulder-high brick wall against his back. Just then, another bullet whizzed above his head and added another hole to the white plaster on the opposite wall.

“Hey, Hernán? Do you think this is it?” the young man asked and pulled his rough felt cap deeper into his face, which hid his indifferent expression.

"What do you mean, Santi?" The young man named Hernándo asked back, his face as stoic as his companion’s.

"I mean, now that we're done with school." Santiago’s gaze lost focus, as if he was trying to grasp the illusory strings on his eyeballs. "What do we do now?"

“Same as our folks, I reckon.” Hernándo shrugged. “Ramòn has been teaching me how they make fake antiques look old. I’ll probably do that for now.”

At least you have something you want to do, and even a brother to teach you, a bitter Santiago thought. Though he wouldn't say anything so petty to his friend, of course.

“Sounds fun,” he claimed instead. “Still, don't you think there's... something more out there?"

"Like real antiques?" Hernán a leaked, just in time for another bullet to hit their cover.

“No, I mean somewhere without bullet holes."

"Now that you say it." Hernán turned his head to the direction of the shootout. Though of cours, he made sure to remain within cover at all times. "Hey! Are you about done over there!?"

“We're trying to get home!” Santi added.

For a second, it seemed like nothing had changed and bullets were still flying, but then a voice answered.

“Wait, aren't you…” one of the combatants mumbled, barely audible above the firefight, before he screamed at his deadly enemy across the road. “Hey, stop shooting, pura! There's children here!"

"Sorry." His foe replies sheepishly. All of a sudden, quiet had returned to the street.

"Aren't you tykes supposed to be in school still? What are you doing here this early?" The first shooter asked, though he remained in cover. Of course, Santi also knew better than to show his face in such a tense situation. Still, it was better to be casual with these low-level killers. This way, they couldn't feel offended or provoked by some random slight.

“Today was graduation. The teachers let us out early,” Santi thus explained.

“Congratulations.” the shooter shouted back.

“Thanks.” Santi waited for a few seconds, before he added, “Now can we get through?”

“Sure. Go ahead.” The voice said, before another added: Yeah, get a move on!”

Finally, Santi and Hernán could leave their cover. Tense steps carried them through the crossfire in between the uneasy truce. Just as Santi was about to leave the danger zone, as the tension began to leave his body one last comment from the shooter made his shoulders stiffen once more.

“And welcome to the family,” he spoke the ominous words lightly. To him, it must have been nothing more than a friendly greeting. Yet to Santiago, it was akin to a curse, a final judgment which had determined the rest of his life.

As the two friends walked through the mottled streets of Palos de la Frontera, a mottled harbor town in southern Spain, which was known for nothing but the fact that Columbus had been here 4 centuries ago, Hernán was chattering about his brother’s business, with a palpable excitement for the future. Yet Santi remained silent until they separated at his house.

Without a word, he went inside, and sneaked through the ground floor foyer to avoid his family. Only once he had reached his room did he sink down on the chair by the open window with a heavy sigh. Even he himself couldn't quite express why he was so unhappy. His family's life was much better than that of most people in town. His father was considered an important man, wealthy and respected. Maybe it wasn't so bad to follow in his father's footsteps after all.

Still, he always felt hemmed in, as if his life could be so much more. There was a whole world out there, just waiting to be discovered, if only he got the chance.

Alas, he had no money to travel and he had already learned whatever the local school could teach him. If he wanted to know more, he was already out of options. With wistful eyes, he stared at the world map hung up above his bed, like he had done countless times before.

In his mind he had gone on adventures for as long as he could remember. In reality, whatever adventure he could go on would have to happen right here, in Palos de la Frontera.

Another sigh escaped his lips, hopeless and impotent like so many before it. Yet like a spell, this one summoned the answer to his prayers. Out of thin air, a square piece of metal materialized with an unceremonious ‘plopp’ and landed on the bed.

Confused by the unspectacular, unprompted, yet clearly supernatural display, Santi walked to the bed and picked up the strange object which had come from nowhere. It really was just a silver-gray rectangle, made out of some kind of smooth resin and cool to the touch. When he turned it around, he found that most of the other side was covered in a shiny black surface, like polished obsidian.

Fascinated by this supernatural event, he weighed the feather-light apparition in his hands, when he inadvertently pressed a protrusion on the side. The sudden, bright lights shocked him, though he was more fascinated by the words which had appeared on the obsidian. Now no longer black, it instead shone in an otherworldly, blindingly white glow.

"E-reader?" He asked himself in confusion. "What does that mean?"

Curious, Santiago touched his fingers on the object which would change his life forever, and with it, the very course of history.

Carolus Rex Chapter 2 - Karl's Diary

Untitled Page


By the grace of God, I have returned, though more lost than ever. Once more I live. I thought that I would never return to see my parents.

The dreams at night have made things clear for me: I have been returned, and with the tools to change my fate. If there truly is a Lord above, and He cares for His children, then surely He must be Swedish.


27th of June, Anno Domini 1685, Tre Kronor Castle, Stockholm, Kingdom of Sweden.

Today is my third birthday, which means it has been four years since my death and return, though only one since my revelation. After a year of both excellence and piety, I managed to persuade queen mother to hand me my own paper and ink, privately, only for myself. However, reaching this point has been an ordeal, and one of my own making.

As soon as I had my first dream at the age of two, too much had changed for my young mind. Not only did I gain access to the knowledge my own dream-self had amassed over the years, and with it knowledge far beyond my time, I also acquired my dream- self's memories, and with them knowledge of the days to come.

Such a drastic change had been too much for a toddler to handle. When I saw the faces of my parents that day, knowledge of their tragic fates overwhelmed me.

The crying tantrum would have been understandable for a boy my age, if undignified for the crown prince of Sweden. However, attempting to advise mother on her health and father on politics had been poorly thought out. As I know what the future holds, I wished to fight my fate with every fiber of my being. Yet it only scared mother and made father suspicious.

An exorcism could be avoided, for we are not brute catholics, yet it still took a year of quiet obedience until I was allowed this journal. As it turns out, the wheels of history reverse not on command.

Beyond these few slivers of paper and specks of ink right before me, nothing has changed. Father is still father, stern but playful. He disapproved of my new writing aspirations. As a real man, one should be out and about, hunting and the like, just like him. Luckily, mother managed to remind him that three year olds make for lousy hunting companions. Though mother is also still mother, kind and silly and quietly suffering.

However, this is no time to give up. If nothing else, this journal alone is proof enough that changes can be made, just not by a suspicious boy of three. For now, I have thus decided to strive for continued excellence, until father and mother approve of me as not only their son, but also a man to be trusted. To change my future, and theirs, I will need to grow up soon.

I shall use this part of the journal to catalogue my progress, and another to write down important information from my dreams.


7th of October, 1685

Mother has given birth to my third, younger brother, Fredrik. She has not handled the birth well and looks as pale as her sheets. Again, we all seem cursed to repeat our old paths. This year, before I received my journal, brother Gustav died in April. Child fever, the doctors said. Brother Ulrik died in June, only fifty days apart. Ulriksdal Palace shall never house its intended owner.

Once again, I will do my best to avoid emotional attachment to my newest brother, for he as well is destined to not be long of this world. It will be another heavy blow to mother, who is already weakened from the constant births.

As father and mother seem unable to control their baser instincts, I have told them of ways to ease mother's birth. If they are so determined to have more children, it should not be at the expense of mother’s health.

Further, I have also explained precautions in handling my newborn siblings, to save or at least prolong their lives. However, no one will listen to a young child over experienced doctors, even though the methods of the doctors are ridiculous. In the end, my attempts to save my brothers have gained me only a vicious talking-to, and a grounding. Worse, all my hard work as a good son has been made moot.

From now on, I shall ignore what cannot be changed, and focus only on my studies. My brothers seem cursed to die ignorant of the world. Only fifteen days left until brother Fredrik shall perish.


22nd of October, 1685

Brother died today. Everything has returned to its natural path. Rather, it appears nothing has ever left said path. I managed to gain permanet access to the library today, since I have done well in my physical studies. I do not believe it will change anything.


There is nothing else to report.



14th of January, 1686

I have gained my first ally. My older sister Vige has begun to show interest in me since a few weeks ago. It appears children are more open to fantastical tales than adults. In fascination of my strangeness, she has begun to copy my strict training regimen.

Maybe with this alone, her fate can be improved. If nothing else, she should be happier if she could rely on her own abilities to prove herself, rather than having to lean on unreliable men all her life. Not to mention, her companionship eases my mind during the grueling training. However, I fear more than ever that what I do is mere child's play as well, that all of it is futile.

Maybe God is not Swedish after all. Maybe the devil is a Dane.


8th of April, 1686

Mother is pregnant again. Despite the loss of three sons in a year, my parents still ignored God’s guidance and failed to control their urges. Mother has been blessed with fertility, and cursed with frailty. Every year, she bears another child, and every year, her constitution weakens.

I have decided to spend more time with mother. If I stay near her, I may yet influence her habits and strengthen her health, like I have done with sister. Shall I fail, at least mother would not be so alone in her final years.


15th of May, 1686

Against the advice of the doctors, mother has begun to follow me in some light movements around the inner yard. Moderate exercise should support her weakened body, and mother's smile seemed a bit fuller than before. Today, the sun shines brighter than ever over our frosty world.


26th of June, 1686, Drottningholm, Lovön.

Maybe out of jealousy due to my recent closeness with mother, father insisted that I join him on his hunting trip. Mother did not object for once, though it seemed she was eager to do so. We traveled to Drottningholm Palace, where father likes to govern during summer.

The hunting trip itself was largely unremarkable. Father was as usual, braggadocios and self-assured like a boy half his age. Due to my own immaturity, I carried no rifle and rode no horse. Instead, I simply sat back and made sounds of wonder in response to father’s deeds and stories. Once more, I am reminded that there is no greater bliss than to see one’s family happy.

However, in the evening, as I was fortunate to experience the splendor of the newly rebuilt Drottningholm, I learned the real reason for our trip. For the first time since the start of my dreams, I was to meet grandmother, whom even father calls the Queen.

Grandmother is scary.

Behind her superficial kindness sit stern, probing eyes. I was presented like a new horse to a prospective buyer, and was also treated as such. Though her eerie eyes scanned me without pause, I could still see the wrinkles around them curve in kindness.

Grandmother spoke to me all evening, and asked many probing questions about politics, religion, and the strange rumors surrounding my person. Through my dreams, I am somewhat aware of grandmother’s habits, and it seems my answers were sufficient. Grandmother seemed warmer as the evening progressed. With some luck, I may have found a new ally, someone far more powerful this time.

It was also decided that my studies were to begin officially. Grandmother will send a teacher in the coming days.


1st of July, 1686, Tre Kronor

My new teacher is my old teacher. Bishop Erik Benzelius once again has been tasked with my education, just like in my first life. However, he has been given his diocese a year sooner this time. Once again, he received the honors just before he began to teach me.

I cannot help but suspect foul play from father or grandmother, an attempt to increase my teacher’s authority by gilding his status.

His curriculum is as expected. Benzelius will train me in religious and moral matters, and maybe in dialectics. He may neglect most other subjects. Of course, such arrangements suit me just fine. I have long made my own study plan, fortified with knowledge of the future. I shall rely on the bishop in matters of God, and on myself in matters of mortals.


9th of July, 1686

Today, mother brought me along for an excursion outside the castle. In her own words, being cooped up with only books and teachers would do me no good. They are rich words from a woman with such a sedentary lifestyle. However, I did not complain or talk back. After all, mother did bring me to her sponsored orphanage in central Stockholm today. Indeed, I relish the chance to see mother's operations.

Mother has always been the kindest soul. Her loneliness from father's frequent trips has led her to project this kindness onto others. At first, it was only a few orphaned children in the streets of Stockholm. Through accumulation over the years, the charitable work has grown so much that it now requires organization.

In this humble orphanage, and in several other places throughout Sweden, Mother and dozens of her servants and courtiers are in charge of thousands of poor in various circumstances.

The trip to mother's orphanage has opened my eyes. To mother's delight, I sat and told stories to the children my age, or even older, who accepted my tales without question. As I thought, children are the easiest to influence.


21st of July, 1686, Uppsala Palace, Uppsala

I have been had.

Since my teacher was the same as in my last life, I did not give it any thought. As a result, I failed to realize the political plot which had formed around me.

As a priest, Benzelius focuses his teachings on religion. That much has been in line with grandmother's wishes, who educated father in the same manner: Focus on his religious and athletic education, while ignoring the rest. That much hadn’t been a problem. Father had also turned out fine after all.

The problem was that mother hadn’t been so much as informed, much less consulted, in regards to her son’s education. Thus, as a form of protest, she decided to interrupt my education with a trip to the orphanage. Though in response, the bishop spent more time on my lessons, and I was no longer allowed to leave the castle. This slight has been too much for mother.

I understand that this is a grander issue, and my education is merely the spark which ignited the flames of conflict. Now, the conflict between mother and grandmother has been fully revealed, yet it runs much deeper than just my studies.

Mother is the queen, yet grandmother is eager to retain her strong position in court. Mother wishes to spare the victims of the Reduction, yet grandmother was its initiator. Worst of all, grandmother hails from Gottrop, and mother from Denmark.

For the sin of being born in the wrong place, mother has been made to suffer ever since her coronation. Thus, I understand mother's decision to take me and Vige with her to Uppsala, in protest. We left without informing father and arrived this noon. Here, we shall await father's apology to mother, and an end to the pointless power struggle.


24th of July, 1686

In a shocking turn, father and grandmother have decided to travel the country, rather than pursue mother in penance. As mother has been in a poor mood, I have begun to tell her uplifting stories. Their success has been mixed.


26th of June, 1686

Still no news from father. However, I have now taken to teaching mother how to count cards at Blackjack, as well as winning strategies for other games of chance. As grandmother often forces mother to participate in her gambling nights, against mother’s will, the lessons have greatly lifted her mood. It feels like we are preparing for battle.


9th of August, 1686

Father and grandmother have finally arrived in Uppsala. Their attempts to appease mother with empty phrases have been misjudged. Their attempts to guilt me into convincing mother ‘for the sake of her own health’ will not work either.

Father and grandmother should show some sincerity soon, or this may become an issue of national importance. Luckily, I know from my dreams that father loves mother dearly, and that grandmother values family above all else. Only, father will not put his wife above grandmother in her presence, and grandmother would not want to appear weak in front of father.

Surely, we will be able to resolve the conflict in time. All that is needed is some separation between the old queen and the current king.


15th of August, 1686

Father and grandmother left without result, as expected. However, both had several long talks with mother in private. Based on mother's mood, it seems our self-imposed exile will not last much longer.


3rd of September, 1686

Grandmother arrived today, by herself. We shall see what happens.


4th of September, 1686

We are getting ready for our return. Mother and grandmother spent a long time talking, and grandmother also asked about my progress while in Uppsala. More importantly however, I could hear them exchange bets and money all day. Maybe grandmother was intimidated by mother's new-found gambling skills or maybe they have come to some kind of compromise, but our exile appears to be over.


5th of September, 1686

Mother informed me of the new agreement. It appears as if things will return to normal. Bishop Benzelius will remain as my teacher, but mother will be allowed to take me to her possessions as well, and the number of lessons will be reduced again. It feels like an uneasy peace.


22nd of September, 1686, Tre Kronor Castle

Due to mother's advancing pregnancy and constant poor health, many things are inconvenient for her to handle by herself.

As a result, many of mother's charities are administered by her courtiers. After much convincing, mother has agreed to leave the affairs of several orphanages to me. My firm stance in the last conflict should have been a great boon in this regard.

Mother has always possessed a charitable and kind soul, one which has attracted many to her side. I shall enhance her virtues with my own purpose and determination. The combination will surely result in many great things.

Already, I have handed in a detailed curriculum of my own making, one to be taught to every orphan. The young people under mother's wing shall learn to provide for themselves. More importantly, the most excellent among them shall enjoy wisdom far beyond our times. They will become my arms and my eyes, and the bedrock upon which we shall rebuild the Kingdom of Sweden.


23rd of September, 1686

Today, one of mother's chambermaid has complained to mother about the curriculum, calling it unreasonable and even unchristian. However, I have already convinced mother that her wards will have a better future if they learn useful skills. I also had my syllabus approved by my teacher, Bishop Benzelius, in advance.

Though of course I had to convince the man. While teacher is pious, he lacks in ingenuity what he has in fear of God. The bishop struggles to teach me, since much of my knowledge is so advanced, even on religious matters.

His concerns shine through in his actions. Rather than insist on imparting inadequate knowledge, he aims to teach his inadequate pupil the rightousness of any God-fearing Lutheran. I am eternally grateful that he has striven to guide me on the right path, rather than simply call all with different thoughts heretics, like the Catholics would, aunt Karoline be damned.

Instead, teacher has seen my talents and now covers my actions, provided he remains convinced of my moral virtuousness.

Either way, with teacher's support and mother's blessing, no obstacles shall remain for the implementation of the new curriculum.


30th of September, 1686

I have officially taken control of three orphanages under my care.

Through unannounced inspections, my mind has been drawn to the issue of the cursed curriculum once more, though the source of my troubles is unusual. Mother's own servants, maids and courtiers have proven a real obstacle in the implementation of my plans. They fail to follow my orders. Worse, some would call my demands unreasonable.

Some may simply consider me a child and pretend to play games with me, without harming the smooth operations of the charities. However, I suspect others to have more nefarious reasons to deny me true administrative power. Through this incident I have discovered that mother's side has been infected with insects. Her kindness has drawn them like wasps to sugar. Before mother gives birth and returns to her work, I shall aim to smoke them all out.


3rd of October, 1686

Work on mother's books has only just begun, yet the hive has already been stirred. Since the servants have failed to prevent my taking of control, they seem bent on preventing my readings of the orphanages’ financial reports. Although they treat me like a child whenever it behooves them, they are clearly scared of my abilities.

At first they tried to placate me with faked and incomplete documents, then claimed to have lost the originals upon my probes. When threatened with severe punishment for their tardiness, they finally relented and handed me the real documents. Now, I can finally get to work. Soon, we will know what these people have to hide.


4th of October, 1686

The wasps still have not given up. Father has returned early from his troop inspection, no doubt alarmed by their call. Him and mother had an argument over my education. They rarely fight, so they are not used to it. Father argued that I should focus on my studies rather than play around with the queen’s court. Mother argued that father is away too often, so he cannot accurately judge my abilities.

In the end, I was the one who ended their fight. I argued that administering the orphanages on my own would be good practice for the future. Handling a few servants is easy after all, much easier than handling the millions of citizens under father’s care. I also laid out a detailed plan for administration to show my competence. It is good that common practice in these times is to treat children like small adults, or my behavior would have drawn far more suspicion.

In the end, father agreed, but he insisted that I keep up with my studies, and that I follow him on his work as well. I suspect grandmother might also get involved in my education in the future. Times might get busier, but there are many things that have to be done, and I am used to hardships. First, let's take a look at those books.


12th of November, 1686

Work has been progressing slowly, since my commitments have increased. Taking over mother's work and following father to learn how to be a king and how to hunt has already been enough effort, but I have to teach sister as well. Luckily, Vige is as bright as I remembered from my dreams, so rather than a burden, I have seen it as a welcome distraction.

Even so, working on my own has been too slow, yet there is no one else I can trust with this work. Today however, in a twist of good fortune, grandmother has sent a few of her servants to support my review of the orphanage books. I understand that this is yet another political move, aimed at weakening the influence of mother's court by branding them as corrupt. However, I am no longer ignorant. I shall make good use of them so long as our interests align.


22nd of December, 1686

Work is done, just in time for Christmas. As expected, there were many bad christians among my mother's court, who took advantage of her generosity. Many have taken money intended for charity to finance their own lavish lifestyles. Some of them are part of mother's inner circle.

Rather than tell mother, I plan to deal with them myself. With Christmas coming up, mother would forgive all their sins, but I believe that sinners should be punished. I intend to wait for a while, as mother is about to give birth again. I will not burden her until she has recovered her health. I had to threaten grandmother’s people so they would keep their silence for now. As I have split up their work, none of them have the full picture. I hope their silence holds until I am ready.


28th of December, 1686

Brother Karl Gustav was born yesterday. If nothing changes, he shall die on the 18th of February. Mother looks weakened, yet no weaker than she did last time. Maybe, my efforts are taking hold at last. But hope is a dangerous drug. I shall remain cautious in my optimism.


8th of January, 1687

The new year has come and gone, and mother has recovered well. Finally, it is time to burn the hive. I shall show no mercy to these sinners. None who have stolen from the kingdom shall be spared.


9th of January, 1687, morning

An uncomfortable dream forces me to reconsider my plans. It appears I would continue handle crimes in a similarly uncompromising manner many times in the future. Often, this would lead to problems. No man is without sin, after all. I will take this dream as God’s guidance and plan the cleanup of mother's people more carefully.


16th of January, 1687

The dirty deed has been done. The worst offenders have been punished. This includes two of mother's confidantes.

Lady Anna Maria Clodt has been the worst, corrupt to the core, vain and greedy for power. She was also the one who instructed the maids to obstruct my efforts and tattle to father, according to testimony from the servants. After consulting with mother, the lady will have to pay some compensation to mother's estate, and shall be removed from court permanently. Luckily, she was never closest to mother in the first place, so the impact on mother's mood was limited.

Lady Sophia Amalia Marschalk has been suspicious as well, but there has been little concrete evidence. Thus, she will be spared beyond a minor fine, much to mother’s delight. On top of that, several lower servants will also be removed, with some of them to face corporal punishment.

In contrast to the worst offenders, the most honest of the servants have been rewarded. The rest, I will let off with a light warning for now. This seems to be a more effective method of leading people, at least that is what my dreams tell me.


18th of January, 1687

Father, and by extension grandmother, have been unhappy with my lenient ruling. However, I have been entrusted with authority in this case, so my decision shall be final.

In response to their nagging, I have argued that teacher Benzelius has been lacking in many aspects. I shall take a second teacher, Doctor Urban Hjärne, who is one of mother's confidantes and a great master of the natural sciences. Grandmother once told me that politics aims to achieve a balance of interests. I plan to do just that.


22nd of January

The punishment method of the orphanage staff has shown shocking results. The servants left over show more loyalty, and the ones who were rewarded are more firm in supervising the others. Finally, my curriculum has been implemented smoothly.
For the first time, I feel like I have truly changed something in this world. There may be hope yet.


19th of February

Brother is weak, but yet he lives! Every day of life gives more hope, yet I fear to lose my caution in the process. I shall continue to pray for his survival.


21st of February, 1687

Brother died today, three days later than expected. Mother is crying. I shall not be deterred. Things have already begun to change, if only in increments. With enough stubborn effort, I shall turn these pebbles of change into an avalanche.


24th of February, 1687

The winter has been particularly cold this year, which reminds me of events yet to come. A catastrophe is about to arrive, yet none but me are aware. To prevent a disaster from befalling us all, I have sent out one of mother's more trustworthy people, to find the flower that shall save Sweden.

Hermit's Notes:

My PC still hasn't arrived, so here is another chapter from my phone. These chapters are a lot less finished than I remembered, so they take more effort to make postable.

This one was a bit unusual, but from the next chapter, the novel would slow down and have a more orthodox style. Though since the next chapter is barely started yet, I won't be posting more of this, at least for a while. If my PC doesn't show up tomorrow, I'll post chapter 1 of something else.

Also, I apologize to all Danes reading this.

Carolus Rex Chapter 1 - A Sudden Death

Charlie still remembered the day he died.

He had stood in the trench, the soles of his boots grabbed by the inescapable mud. At the thought of his many problems, most without solution, his brows furrowed. Yet, he remained optimistic. There was no other choice, for too many people depended on his success.

That morning, he had still been in the little chapel at the barracks, and prayed to God for a path beyond his plight. More than anything, he hoped to end all foes and pacify the lands before he had to leave them to his sister. In the end, he had decided to solve his problems one at a time, until God would end his suffering.

With renewed energy, he had inspected the progress in the trenches all day, with no regard for his burning legs, nor his noble status.

Yet once more, his efforts would not be rewarded, as the last of his luck had run out that very moment. A hit to his temple had thrown him to the ground. The suction sound of the boots as they were releases by the earth had been the last thing he had remembered.

That had been three centuries ago, not that he remembered any of the time in between.

"Charlie! Hey, Charlie! Rexy!"

"What is it?" An annoyed Charlie looked up at the face of his coworker and long-time friend. He hated when others called him ‘Rexy’. Though it was his own fault they did, so he had no right to Complain. Thus, he accepted his fate as usual and returned only a stoic stare.

Though his friend was his friend, of course. He would know that Charlie wasn’t happy with his nickname.

"Sorry, Charlie,” he thus apologized for the address, “but you never answer otherwise.”

"You're right. I should have listened. I apologize,” Charlie admitted. Yet his friend looked unhappy with his gracious answer.

“Polite as always,” he said, and showed a troubled smile.

“I was just... Thinking about things,” an awkward Charlie explained. He himself knew best that his behavior had been strange these past few years, yet going into detail would only calreate friction. That much had been proven long ago. Thus, he simply decided to brush past it. At least in that regard, his friend agreed with him.

“Also as always,” he simply commented and moves on. “Anyways, wanna hang out after work? The guys are going to that new bar to hang out.”

“What?” Charlie was confused again, until his eye caught the time display in the corner of his computer screen. “Wait, we’re off work already?”

A confused Charlie was looking for a window in their dystopian open space office. Only now did he realize that the artificial shine of the office lighting had masked the darkness outside.

“Yeah, time to go home,” his friend commented, before he asked: “Got a lot done today?”

“You know me, I work as much as I'm paid,” Charlie returned, half in jest and half in earnest.

“At least in that regard, you're reasonable,” the friend replied with a smile. His previous worry seemed to have disappeared. Yet just as Charlie thought he had successfully switched topics, his friend added: “So, are you in on our bar dive?”

Damn.

Charlie had really hoped that he wouldn't ask that again.

"Ah, he started awkwardly, "Ah, sorry, I still have something to do today."

"And Rexy does it once again.” In an overly dramatic gesture, the office worker threw his hands in the air, before he bowed deeply. “Very well your majesty. Your servants will stay among themselves and will not bother your leisure time."

Charlie searched his colleague's face to find out if he was annoyed or trying to make a joke, but he really couldn't tell. In the end, he just had to say something before the silence became too awkward.

"Maybe some other day," he finally repeated the pale excuse he had repeated many times before. Halfway through his excuse he had already turned around to clean up his work space.

“Anyways, see you Monday,” he heard an exasperated voice from behind.

After a mumbled "yeah," Charlie kept busy with nothing, until he heard the sound of his friend’s footsteps disappear into the distance. A muffled sigh sighed the end of Charlie’s day, as he made his way to the elevator, alone.

As usual, he thought.

It wasn't like he didn't want to hang out with his colleagues, and it wasn't that he didn't know how his distant character made his workplace experience worse. Most sorry he felt for his friend, who always tried to include him, yet always hit a brick wall. However, he didn't have a choice. This was simply something he was compelled to do.

Thus, he took his car and made his way into the city center by himself. This would be another lonely night of hard work. If only he had never had those dreams, or at least if he hadn't acted on them. The, everything would have been different.

Though of course, the dreams were oh so tempting. In his real life, he was a mere pawn, one of many cogs in a machine, fated to turn and turn and then give out after a government mandated number of years, or however long his cardiovascular system would play along.

But in his dreams! Oh, in his dreams he was a great man, one great enough to change the course of history. And although the life in his dreams was tragic and short, it still felt like a life worth living.
Compared to his drone-like job, which he was pretty sure was redundant anyways, in this giant, industrialized machine, he would much rather help the self in the dreams achieve his goals, even if it was no more than a fantasy. Thus, just like he had done on so many days since the dreams had started, he entered the library.

Not many people still entered places like this, even at the best of times, let alone on a Friday evening. Still, it was an excellent place to deepen his research. Often, there would also be people here to help him find what he needed. Human contact was healthy, at least Charlie thought so. Online research only got one so far, that was something he had already learned in college, though back then the dreams hadn't started yet.

Today, the library was even quieter than usual. He didn't even see anyone at the front desk. Still, the lights were on and the front was unlocked, so he simply walked in. He had been here so many times that he didn't need the help anyway. Rather, he was glad to have some quiet time for himself, enough to clear his head and order his thoughts.

As Charlie strode through the rows of bookshelves, he remembered the first time he had dreamed of the past. He remembered how profoundly these dreams had impacted him, particularly the man in their center.

Though, to be fair, he still wasn't entirely sure if the man in the dream wasn't just Charlie himself. In the dreams, he was the strange man, rather than a passive observer. It was so lifelike every time, as if they were his own feelings, his own thoughts. At first he had been afraid, but by now he had accepted these peculiarities as natural.

As he sank more into the repeating dreams, they began to influence his real life. First, he had done some cursory research and discovered that his dream-self had indeed been a real person, sla famous king who had lived some three hundred years ago.

Though as his research progressed, a creepy feeling began to set in. His dreams contained accurate historical details that he had never known before. After all, he had never been a history buff. Even so, an extensive search in disbelief had confirmed every single detail, no matter how minute. Though of course, there were always many things that weren't in the books at all.

Familiar steps led Charlie back to the library’s history section, where he had spent countless hours on his research. He wasn't always in this section, of course. Sometimes he was in engineering, politics, economics or just about any other section. Sometimes he wasn't at the library at all. Instead, he'd spend his limited time and even more limited money to learn all kinds of practical skills. He would join tours of old steel plants to find out how they worked, or sit in on various courses at the local university.

At first, Charlie had thought that he could influence the dreams in this way. If only he knew more, his dream-self could do better and prevent his tragic fate this time around.

Later however, he had realized that nothing helped. Even though he felt in full control during the dreams, he was never more than an observer. No matter how much he knew the future course, or ways to change it, in the end, he could change nothing. And yet, he still felt compelled to continue his studies. If nothing else, it was a decent hobby of constant self-improvement. And at least, he could always fantasize about the history that could have been.
Thus, every weekend, he would learn something new, something that was at best helpful on a quiz show in modern times, but would have been life-changing in the year 1702.

However, that wasn't his goal today. By now, he had amassed so much knowledge that he had begun to run out of new topics. Even more, his self-imposed social isolation had put him in a bad mood, so he really wasn't in the mood for any more research on old medical or farming methods. He himself didn't know why he had invested so much time in a fantasy.
At this point, he knew enough already anyways. If he could ever influence his dreams, then changing their outcome would be a breeze. Instead of more work, today’s goal was mere nostalgia, to calm his confused mind.

Finally, he came to the goal of today’s trip, the first book he had ever checked out here. It had been pretty easy to find, even at first. After all, Charlie's name was the same as his dream-self’s.

Later, he had even found that they were distant relatives, though of course he was no direct descendant. That much was impossible, as the dream-self died young and childless.

Still, being related tohis dream-self had been a huge shock. As he had sunk deeper and deeper into his dreams, he had lost his sense of self a bit. That was when he had first believed to be the ancient king’s reincarnation. Even now, he stillbsometimes thought so. It was an explanation as good as any other for his inexplicable dreams.

Though telling others about his theory was an obvious fool’s move. At the time, he wanted to show how special he was, how non-ordinary, so he had lost his caution a bit. In the end l, it had only earned him, malicious comments, rumors about his mental health, and the Rexy nickname, of course.

Yet, even though Charlie should hate his dream-self for the deterioration of his everyday life, he did not. Anyone else would have found it strange, but Charlie never really questioned his closeness to a dead, swedish monarch. After all the dreams, they felt so close, like two halves of the same being. In the face of his dream’s great tragedies, a lonely evening was nothing. Rather than annoyance over his isolation, he was more concerned by the sight in front of him.

What joker didn't put the book back the right way? he thought. The old biography about himself was still on the right shelf, yet someone had put it two rows too high, and left it hanging precariously over the edge.
With furrowed brows, Charlie stretched up to the book before it could fall and take damage. Once more, he never questioned that he didn't reach for the step-ladder behind him when his hands couldn't quite reach. Instead, he climbed up on the shelf until he hung off it like a novice rock climber. At least he finally got a finger on the book. Yet that would prove the last of his luck.

A smile turned into panic as the shelf began to shift under the uneven weight. Before he could react, the hapless dreamer was buried under a hill of paper and steel. As he landed, the sharp edge of a shelf hit Charlie's left temple and ended his life in an instant. When the panicked librarian returned from her coffee break minutes later, a single book lay atop the bloody pile, it's name readable to any witness of the crime. Yet no one would ever know its connection to the one buried underneath, nor his obsession with the man whose name the book shared:

Carolus Rex.

Author's Notes: Yes, this is supposed to be an alt history kingdom builder from the perspective of Sweden, circa 1700. I'm frankly shocked that no one has done this yet, it feels like a perfect setup. Anyways, this is the setup for the story.

Please excuse any mistakes, since I'm unused to editing on a phone.

A belated merry Christmas, and a happy new year in advance. Also: An update.

Tl;dr: Still alive, will post random stuff the next few days, then new EnEm chapters from Tuesday or Wednesday. Book to be published Jan or Feb.

Hello. Here I am, once more. Far too late with updates, once more.

Yes, I'm still alive, and yes, the reasons why I didn't post for so long were stupid, as usual.

Here goes: So I was writing the next mini- arc for the current book, and realized that it was trash, so rewrote everything a bunch of times. At the same time, I finally got the to-be-published Book 1 of enlightened empire read by a professional editor, who spotted far too many problems, so I completely rewrote the first half of that one too.

Anyways, I thought I could power through the work without distractions and post a bunch at once, but then the work got more and more (since I also tend to be more busy in summer in my actual job), and the usual anxiety set in.

I was planning to start posting chapters again around Christmas (since I'm mostly done with everything now), but then my PC broke just in time. For now, I just have my phone, so no access to the new chapters.

And since delivery of my new PC is delayed until after new year's as well, I decided to just post like this for now.

So, here's the plan: For the next few days, I'll post some unpublished stuff off of my phone, mostly the first few chapters of unreleased novel ideas, which I may or may not continue. By Tuesday or Wednesday, I'll hopefully have my PC, so I can post new EnEm chapters then, and I'll then publish book 1 within a month or so.

Since navigating this site on a phone is a nightmare, I'll start working through comments and messages by Wednesday as well.

Once again, I'm sorry for all the delays, and I thank you for sticking around.

Cheers and Happy New Year,

S.H.

Chapter 480 - Uses for the Research

"I burnt it," a motionless Corco said, as he stared at the blackened vegetables.

"They're not too bad. The base ingredients are good, so a bit of char isn't a big deal," Sumaci argued back, and shoveled some more food into her mouth with gusto.

"I burnt it, and the fish is dry as well," Corco added this time.

"If you don't want it, you can give your portion to me," Sumaci teased him.

"I burnt it, the fish is dry, and I'm hungry," Corco said, as he finally started eating. As he ate and fooled around with Maci, suddenly, the food didn't taste so bad anymore. Maybe, he thought, he had been too harsh with himself. Maybe it was time to admit that his ideal cultivator society wasn't coming any time soon. It wasn't like there were no alternatives anyways, so he didn't have to focus so much on his plan A.

"You know, now that I think about it, even if the results here never improve, we can still get plenty of use out of cultivation. We just need to be smart in how we use it," Corco said during a lull in the conversation. In response, Sumaci pulled an exaggerated, unhappy face.

"Are we still talking about that?"

"Don't worry, I'm no longer obsessed with the CRISPR idea. I think I can accept now that my ideal world probably won't happen, at least not when it comes to cultivation. I just know too little in that regard," he droned on. "Rather, I have long had a series of alternate plans to use cultivation techniques in case the CRISPR idea falls flat. We may as well focus on those, until we get more fruitful results in the research."

"Oh, anything interesting?" Rather than complain some more, Sumaci leaned forward in interest, pretend or otherwise.

"I'm sure you'll think so, no doubt," a confident Corco replied with a smile. After all, this was a topic Sumaci herself had shown interest in before. "Remember when you asked me about ways to prevent accumulation of wealth and power in the hands of a few families over the course of generations?"

After the quick reminder, Sumaci immediately put the pieces in front of her together.

"You think cultivation is a solution?" she surmised, though with a confused look, much to the king's delight.

"The best, in fact," he exaggerated. "If you take something away from people, even if it's something they don't own and don't deserve, they will always be unhappy, especially if they think it was theirs to begin with."

"That's esoteric," a baffled Sumaci just said after a few seconds of silence. Maybe Corco really had been a bit too vague this time, in hopes that his smart wife would just connect the dots. This way, he could have skipped a lengthy explanation. Forced to explain the boring basics, the teacher cleared his throat in embarrassment, before he dove in head-first. He enjoyed long-winded speeches anyways, even if this one would be a bit dry.

"In short, I want to take back the money those rich families don't need. Without the central government, those very wealthy families wouldn't even exist in the first place," Corco established first. "The only way they can make more money than they can reasonably spend — so much that it allows them to essentially buy the government piece by piece — is if they exploit the systems put in place by the government, and take advantage of the public goods freely provided by the government. You know, they rely on things like security, so they don't have to hire private forces and don't have to worry about anyone stealing their things after they've exploited them. Of course, they are also the biggest beneficiaries of improved infrastructure, especially if we're talking about those merchant families.

"However, they would have no gratitude or even conscience for the benefits the government has provided for them," Corco expanded his idea. "It's basic human psychology that we overestimate our own contribution to things, especially to our own success. So they'll think that all their money is the result of their own work alone, and they would be unwilling to hand over any of it. Others — the common people to be precise — might also see the success of the very wealthy and think that they can achieve the same. Under the instigation of the rich — who have the money to spread their opinions around — even the commoners might be lured to side against their government, and against their own interests, based on the false assumption that one day, they might also benefit from looser laws for the very wealthy. In that case, my plan to take their money would be difficult to realize, at least not without provoking an all-out civil war."

"Didn't you say 'in short'? That wasn't short at all," Sumaci complained, though only with a smirk on her lips. Meanwhile, Corco was taking a sip of water to moisten his throat, ignored the complaint, and pushed on. If he retorted to every quip, they would never get done here.

"Anyways, I was planning to introduce an inheritance tax to solve the accumulation problem. Nothing proportional though. Poor families don't have to pay a single copper in case of death. However, if someone's personal wealth exceeds a certain limit, their family members are basically allowed to keep enough of it to comfortably feed, clothe and educate a generation or two of their offspring. Anything beyond that goes to the government. This system still rewards hard work, up to a point, and it also prevents future generations of rich families from slacking off. Best of all, it prevents, or at least slows down, the accumulation of wealth, and thus the stagnation of society. To prevent any dumb loopholes the rich families could exploit, the cutoff point for the inheritance tax will be a solid number, and all the private wealth of the deceased will be counted towards it. There will be no exceptions, like art and such. I've thought about other ideas, like linking any property directly to a single person by law, which would prevent tricks like private family funds. Still thinking about the details."

"There will always be loopholes. You were the one to teach me that," Sumaci argued back and adjusted herself in her seat, ready for an intense debate. "For example, what if a rich merchant writes a will in which all his wealth is evenly distributed among his one hundred closest relatives and aides, with just enough beneficiaries for everyone to avoid having to pay any of your inheritance tax?"

Usually, Sumaci's interjections were quite sharp. This time however, she had clearly missed the mark.

"Wouldn't that be perfect?" a smug Corco asked back. "I don't want to make money from this tax, I just want to discourage the amassing of wealth in the hands of a few people and/or families. If they want to voluntarily spread their own wealth around like that, then I'm all for it."

Faced with her husband's confidence and boldness, Sumaci looked shocked, much to Corco's pleasure. It wasn't often that he managed to make his wife speechless these days. While Sumaci was still searching for her words in the face of an unexpected turn, Corco was ready to deliver a knockout blow.

"It really isn't possible to remove all the loopholes, but that's no problem at all. We just need to open the loopholes in our desired direction, and then those big families will act in the interests of the country, even if they don't want to."

Confident in his plans, Corco leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs. Though of course, all of his ideas were floating clouds if he couldn't push through his laws without compromise.

"But you're worried that there will be resistance to your plans, right? Is that where the cultivation comes in?" Sumaci still tried hard to understand, though Corco still wasn't quite finished with his setup.

"If such a system can be established, we'll solve the problem of amassing wealth, or at least we'll delay the phenomenon for long enough that it will never be relevant for us, even if we live as long as that great-grandfather of mine." Corco took another quick water break for emphasis, before he continued. "But if I just take away the money — which they believe to be theirs — without giving anything in return, there will be considerable backlash. I can minimize that by introducing the laws now, when there's not that many rich families yet after we got rid of the old social system. Still, it's only prudent to expect some push back eventually, and I don't want to use force against my own people."

"Yes, that's why you built the police force and heavily relied on the ghosts, to use less force against your own people."

Corco chose to ignore Sumaci's snide remark. Instead, he finally presented his conclusion, the culmination of his thoughts and core of his plan.

"So I thought: Why not use cultivation as a compensation for those who have amassed great wealth in their lifetimes? I mean, what does someone who's rich and old really want? Power, health and long life, nothing else. Cultivation can give them all three. A strong, healthy body which can extend their lifespan, that's what they get in return for their obedience."

"So if the rich obediently hand over their wealth, you let them cultivate?" Sumaci summed up, still looking shocked at the bold idea. Though Corco didn't really see what was so special about his plans. In Medala's past, cultivation had been used by the lords as a tool to guarantee the loyalty of their subjects. He wasn't doing anything revolutionary here, he was just applying the old tactics of his family to this new society. All that had changed was that the cultivators were no longer warriors, and that they were no longer required to fight for him.

"That's right, I'll let them have one of those precious, limited cultivation spots. Or instead — if they are no longer in the physical condition to cultivate due to age — then after their death, if the family obediently accepts the inheritance tax, maybe I can let a number of their descendants become cultivators instead. We could even base the number of cultivator descendants on the total wealth that's been retrieved by society through the inheritance tax, which would disincentivize them from hiding away money. In the same vein, we could allow them to hand over their wealth early, so that they can still enjoy the benefits of cultivation themselves and stave off certain death. It's a pretty neat solution to the problem, I think. It still gives those rich a reason to work hard, and it feels less like the country is just arbitrarily stealing from them. Instead, we can frame it more like they're paying for the privilege of cultivation. Rich people love privileges, and they don't mind paying for them. Trust me."

"Well, to me this just seems like an elaborate scam to take everyone's money," Sumaci said, sticking to her snide theme from earlier.

"That's harsh." Corco pretended to be hurt for half a second by covering his heart, before he moved on with the same confidence as before. "In the first place, they don't have to give their money to me. So long as they give it away at all, we can always talk. As I've said before, I don't really care about getting the money, so long as it doesn't all stay together in one place after they're dead."

"But if you're spreading out the wealth so much, wouldn't you be raising a new class of nobility then, and a much larger one than the old warrior class? I thought you hated the class system." Sumaci's question was quite sharp this time, but Corco still had no reason to lose his composure.

"The formation of social classes is basically inevitable. Those will naturally form in any society, just because humans are humans. Though this class in particular is designed from the start to be harmless," he argued. "Basically, everyone in the upper class will have a very similar amount of wealth, the upper limit of what the inheritance tax will allow them to have. They will have enough to never worry about money again, at least not for generations. But they will never have enough to get tempted into abusing their wealth for power, never enough to start bribing government officials on a grand scale."

"If this works out, it would completely rearrange the class system," Sumaci realized. "People achieve their classes no longer through birth, or through the grace of their lord, but only through the grace of their king, and their own efforts. Beyond that, all are equal, and none strong enough to influence the king's word."

After she had seen it laid out in full, Sumaci was finally on board with his plans as well, much to Corco's delight.

"That's right," he said, enthusiastic to expand the idea further. "At first, I thought about some other rewards for obedience with the inheritance tax, since I didn't want to waste so many of our cultivation spots on this. Like for example, allowing a number of descendants free, guaranteed access to our new university, or guaranteeing the safety, health, and standard of living for the family within 100 years. In the end, what we give them doesn't really matter. All that matters is that it's something they want, and that we make it all seem like a transaction. They lose something, money, but they also gain something in return, something they can only get from me, whether that be cultivation techniques or security for their family. Though ultimately, cultivation is the best option, something truly only I can give them in our country. So now that it seems like our research in other directions is stuck, we might as well use the freed up spots for this."

"Didn't you ever consider using cultivation to reward other groups as well?" Sumaci asked in a flash of inspiration, though in terms of future planning, Corco was of course far ahead of her.

"Of course," he shot back immediately. "I mean, we're already planning to give out cultivation techniques to distinguished soldiers to improve their performance. I've also thought about important scientists with longer lifespans and better memories. Even with the limitations the research has uncovered, there's still plenty of applications for cultivation. All we have to do is develop the right techniques for every occasion, to make sure we can keep the most useful members of our society happy and loyal."

"In that case, why don't we expand our cultivation research again?" Sumaci suggested. "It won't speed up the important results, but once the results start to come in, they'll come en masse, all at once. The cultivation research has been rather cheap as well, at least compared to all of our other mega projects. So spending a bit more on it shouldn't be impossible."

Of course, Corco understood Sumaci's tempting suggestion. However, if he could just increase their research budget for better results, he would have done so a long time ago.

"If only it were that easy." Faced with another unsolvable problem, Corco had to sigh once again. "Even with all the islands around Puscanacra added to our experiments, we still don't have enough land to properly isolate all our research. I mean, now we know that cultivation is influenced by the air — or some kind of aether, or the like — which means that we have even more reason to use islands. We need to run these experiments far apart, to make sure there is no interference between unrelated experiments."

As Corco spoke, he stood up, and got ready to clean up their plate. In their enthusiasm, they had somehow managed to finish the entirety of their blackened dinner. However, when he reached over for Sumaci's plate, he looked into his wife's face and realized that his words must have hit a wrong nerve somewhere.

All evening, Sumaci had been optimistic and positive, trying her best to pull him up, out of his depression. Yet now, she stared through the window, out into the darkening evening, out towards the distant sea. Without a word, Corco put down his empty plate and sat next to his wife, waiting for her to speak.

"If only the Verdant Isles were free, if only this war was over, then we could use as many islands as we want," she finally said.

It was hardly surprising that she was worried about her native home. While they were enjoying their days on vacation, Maci's home was still suffering under a seemingly endless war. Maybe, Corco realized, he had taken his wife's positive attitude for granted all this time. Most likely, she herself was struggling just as much as he was. More than anything, she clearly needed his support now just as much as he had received hers before.

"Don't worry too much," he said, as he enveloped her small frame. "Those colored kings are long exhausted. We just need to stay patient, and soon enough, we'll be able to travel the Verdant Isles just like we've traveled the Narrow Sea."

"You know, I really just want to go home now, back to Saniya," Sumaci said, her tiny voice disappearing into the crook of his elbow.

Clearly, both of them had been more and more high-strung these days. This was something Corco himself had only truly realized today. All the time off had only given him time to worry about useless things, while he felt guilty about neglecting his work at the same time. Most likely, Maci was feeling the same way, or even more strongly, since her duties should see her organizing the war effort back in Rasacopa. Thus, any more vacation — originally designed to relax them — would only be detrimental for their health.

"You're right," he thus said, and kissed the crown of his wife's head. "It's time we go home."

As Corco's eyes followed his wife's out into the dark night, snow began to fall, and he realized that winter had come before he had realized.

It was high time for them to return anyways. Even with all the setbacks, he had much to report back home, and the end of the year was approaching. With it, another year-end review was upon him as well. Without his notice, the work had already piled up into a mountain, though Corco welcomed it with open arms. Maybe the routine back home would prove a relaxing break from all the vacationing. At least Corco hoped so.

Hermit's Notes: That's it for now with cultivation. Next time, we catch back up with the happenings in the southern kingdom, have a summary for the year, and then move on to the third mini-arc of this book.

Chapter 479 - Limits of the Research

After Corco and Sumaci had retreated from their veranda, they came to their dining room. Although the entire building had been built at break-neck pace to accommodate the erratic travel schedule of the two leaders, southern Medala's workers had plenty of experience with quick construction by now. In this case, only a few walls had to be pulled up anyways. The royal fleet would carry all the furniture, including a kitchen, fully equipped with anything a lover of food might need.

Still in a low mood, Corco stoked the flames of the stove and began prepping some fish, which had been freshly caught by the divers in the afternoon. Maybe, he thought, if he could hold and taste the results of their efforts, they wouldn't feel quite so superfluous anymore. Clearly, Sumaci could follow his thought, and once again tried her best to cheer him up.

"You know, now that I think about it, we still learned a lot of useful things," she tried to argue, as she removed the scales from the fish. "At least we now have a decent idea how Amautu managed to train his warriors so well. Wasn't that the goal of this journey in the first place?"

Truly, they had gone on this trip in response to Amautu's powerful warriors and assassins, and just as Sumaci said, they had found a possible explanation for their strength. Even the speed of their cultivation could be explained. Thus, the goals of their trip had been fully completed. Any other thoughts of a genetic revolution of society had purely been Corco's wishful thinking. However, the reminder didn't make the king feel any better. Rather, he had done his best to not think about their conclusions about Amautu either.

"If our guess is actually true, then it's pretty horrifying," Corco said, as he heated up the oil over the flame. "I don't want to believe my brother is this far gone that he'd do something so crazy, so... inhuman."

Of course, Corco had no idea what kind of man Amautu was right now. The last time they had met had been years ago in Arguna. In Corco's worst fears, the young king who had a somewhat romanticized idea of the Chutwa scholars and their philosophy of the Way had since been completely brainwashed by his teacher and fellow disciples, and was now little more than an obedient puppet, willing to sacrifice anything in pursuit of Chutwa's great cause.

"He might just be desperate," Sumaci argued, before adding a wink and a joke. "I mean, he's up against us, right?"

Of course, Maci would know what he was worried about. After all, he had spoken about his fears more than once. Not only would Corco regret seeing his brother reduced to a puppet, his clever, younger brother a mere shadow of himself. Even more so, the King of the South dreaded to see the lives of his people in the hands of unscrupulous villains. As outsiders, the scholars could do anything to achieve their goals, no matter the damage to Medala's people. In the face of such possibilities, even his wife's attempts at levity achieved nothing.

"Yeah," a depressed Corco just replied with a forced smile. For a while, both of them just focused on their cooking in silence. While Corco was still trapped in his own thoughts, swirling in endless circles of futility, he was thankful to be interrupted by Sumaci again.

"Hey, didn't they send us the reports of the plant experiments earlier? What did it say?"

When she asked, she was already seated in their eating area, sat on her chair backwards with her chin rested on the backrest as she watched Corco stir frying the vegetables.

"That one isn't looking optimistic either. Apparently, there was no significant effect," Corco glanced over to his wife, before he focused on the fish grilling over open flames. He'd have to be careful to take it off soon if he didn't want the fish to end up dry. Although handling multiple dishes at once like this was stressful, he was thankful that he didn't have too much time to think about other things while he worked.

After all, the report about the plant experiments had truly been terrible news. Their plant research had been initiated based on the greatest discovery of their research team so far, even greater than their conjectures about Amautu's warrior army.

In earlier experiments, they had attempted to let warriors cultivate not for themselves, but for others. In the experimental setup, warriors would cultivate, but focus not on improving their own bodies, but those of others instead. Some cultivators would try to change, commoners, some would try with warriors, some subject pairs would be strangers and others family members. The results had been astonishing.

The one experiment Corco hadn't shown any faith in beforehand had proven fruitful. At close distances, cultivating in another's stead was truly possible. Results were better if the cultivatee was a family member, and effects were minimal unless the cultivatees exerted themselves in conjecture to the cultivation practice they were subjected to.

In short: Influencing other living beings through cultivation was possible! As a result of this sensational discovery, two more experiments were set up: One to test the effects of cultivation on animals, and another to test the effect on plants. They had received the results of the plant experiments from a nearby island this morning, which had shown that — so far — none of the plants had shown any reaction to their attempts, much to Corco's disappointment.

"I should have known," Sumaci commented. "No wonder you've been so down all day."

"If we can't manipulate plants, then we can forget about genetic modification," Corco simply summarized.

He had explained many times before just how important this step was to his plans. Though usually, he sounded excited when he spoke about this part, not as indifferent as he did right now.

As he chucked the vegetables through the air in an attempt to look competent and stylish, he sighed at the logical conclusion of their failed experiment. "If we want new, better breeds of our plants, we'll still have to do things the slow, old-fashioned way."

After all, he couldn't ask the plants to cultivate for pest resistance themselves, could he?

"But at least the animals showed promise, right?" Sumaci tried to cheer him up. They had received the results of the animal tests a day earlier, so she had skimmed through the file herself. However, Corco could only sigh again in the face of her optimism.

"Kind of," he said as he checked the fish again. "I mean, yeah, animal manipulation has proven possible, but I guess you didn't read the entire thing in detail." He interrupted his work and waited for Sumaci to shake her head before he continued. "So far, none of the changes induced in the animals have been carried into the next generation. They haven't tested larger animals with longer pregnancy cycles, but there's no reason to believe that anything will change."

Faced with the grim reality, Corco didn't think or do anything for a second, as he just stared into empty space. Only the sizzle of the hot oil right in front of him brought him back to reality.

"To be honest, I got too excited when I made my big CRISPR plans," he admitted, as he worked hard to save his stir fry from his own neglect. "This is something we should have expected long ago. I mean, warrior children don't actually inherit the superhuman strength of their parents. Otherwise, they wouldn't have to cultivate from square one every generation again. We shouldn't even have bothered with these test. The results were obvious from the start."

"Maybe cultivation only takes effect slowly and gradually. I mean, warriors are a lot larger and stronger than ordinary people. It might take a few generations of repeated effort to show results." Sumaci tried to stay optimistic. In the face of his wife's unwavering support, even the downtrodden Corco had to smile.

"Maybe. Or maybe the larger size of warriors is just the result of selective breeding, or maybe the children of warriors just have better food and are trained from childhood," Corco easily listed two more likely explanations for the average size of Medala's warriors, before he admitted the truth: "Honestly, this is quite frustrating."

"Well, I still insist that it's too early to give up on the inheritance of genetic traits. We should keep the experiments running for a few generations at least, just in case," Sumaci insisted. Meanwhile, Corco silently added some salt and spices to their meal, only half-listening as his wife tried again to salvage his mood.

"Even if cultivation doesn't affect the next generation, and even if there are no cultivation techniques anywhere in the world which do so, that doesn't mean that intergenerational mutation is entirely impossible," she continued. "If no such techniques exist yet, all we need to do is develop them."

All of a sudden, Corco forgot all about the food right in front of him. The excited king stared at his wife as he frantically thought about the possibilities he had so far overlooked.

"That's right!" he shouted, and began to pace back and forth in front of the stove. "Maybe there is some way to change the dna in the sperm or ovaries or something? If we can achieve that much, traits have to be passed on to the next generation, surely. Our cultivators definitely need to learn more about the process of human reproduction first, especially Eclestius. Maybe if he can properly visualize the process of combining dna, he can really develop a technique which will make it possible to inherit traits modified by cultivation across generations."

"See, it's not all doom and gloom," Sumaci commented. With a smile on her face, she jumped from the chair and came towards Corco. "If we stay focused, our investment is sure to pay off some day. No one else has ever looked at cultivation to this extent, and with such rigor. Surely, our efforts will soon bear fruit."

"That's right," Corco said, still deep in thought. As he put his arm around his wife, they slowly walked towards the kitchen table. "Though our biggest problem is how slow these cultivation experiments are to set up. Every time we want to test something with a fresh batch of people, they need to learn the cultivation technique, and then practice it until we see any visible results. That process alone can take a year or longer. It's really no wonder we haven't achieved much so far. Like this, the number of tests we can run is just way too few, even with all our investment and manpower."

"In that case, maybe we can shorten the cultivation time itself?" Sumaci suggested. "Wouldn't it be possible to redevelop our basic cultivation techniques first, to make learning them faster, and make their effects show sooner? I'm imagining a really basic technique with weak effects, just enough to make it viable for testing. If we can develop something like that first, we'll save time on every single test after that."

In response to Sumaci's out of the box idea, Corco shook his head. He himself had already thought about something like that before.

"No, a technique like that would take ages to develop as well. I mean, consider this: Even if Eclestius can somehow come up with something this demanding immediately, we would still have to extensively test the technique before we can use it. First, we'd have to test if this new technique is safe to cultivate, in the short and in the long term. After that, we'd still have to find out whether or not a specialized technique like that could alter the results of other tests, or if it is even viable to use in experiments in the first place. To do that, we'd have to test the new technique against some old techniques, of course, which just means we'd have to wait for another year anyways. It's not a bad idea in the long run, but for now, it won't be a great help, I think."

While Corco explained, Sumaci didn't look discouraged at all. Instead, she seemed to be thinking hard, until her face lit up like the sun.

"Then why do we let all the test subjects cultivate at all?" she asked. "We've already found out that cultivators can train for others, right? So wherever applicable, we could just use dedicated, experienced cultivators, who could use various techniques to prep the test subjects for all kinds of experiments."

In shock, Corco stopped in front of the kitchen table and stared at his clever student. This was such an obvious solution, why had he never thought about it himself? Obviously, this wouldn't work for every single experiment, but at this point, any improvement to their sluggish pace felt like a miracle. Excited, Corco hugged his dearest Maci, forgetting the world around him. Only his wife's voice — devoid of any of his own passion — once again brought him back to reality.

"Hey, do you smell anything burnt?"

In panic, Corco finally remembered his duties, and rushed back to the stove, to save their dinner from the inevitable damnation of the flames.

Hermit's Notes: This all turned out exceedingly long, mostly because it's a summary of some of the ideas I've had about cultivation over the last hundreds of chapters. This is all the cut content I never really managed to put anywhere, so it's a bit much, and a bit disorganized. I hope it all makes sense and isn't too overwhelming.

Chapter 478 - Results of the Research

Out in the green waters of the Verduic Sea, a diver broke through the surface and clung onto a readied flotation device made of cork. Deep, desperate breaths returned life-giving air into his lungs, and from there into his blood stream.

Although the man's actions looked desperate, this was all just part of his daily routine. Every day, the people on this island would dive down into the water, stay as long and deep as they could, and then reemerge as late as possible. Again and again they would repeat this life-threatening procedure, while others coldly marked off their performances from a distance.

Today, only one thing was different from the usual routine: On the distant shore, on the veranda of a newly built holiday home, two additional audience members were watching the proceedings while lazing on their recliners.

"Stop! How long was that?" Corco put down the spyglass he had used to watch the divers and turned to ask Sumaci, who was playing around with a fancy pocket watch.

Though Egidius had called it a 'pocket watch', Saniya's precision manufacturing still wasn't quite good enough to make any truly pocket-sized mechanisms. So far, the watch was barely small enough to be held in one hand, and would maybe fit into one of those massive, old-fashioned pockets inside the long sleeves of a robe. Still, this kind of size already represented an impressive achievement, especially since this model in particular even came with a stopwatch function, on Corco's urging.

"14 minutes, 30 seconds," Sumaci read off after she had pressed in the little stopwatch timer. "Although we already saw it yesterday, it's still a shocking result. Their performance matches the best pearl divers of the Verdant Isles."

"And after only a year of proper training, compared to generations of evolution and training from childhood. It's certainly not bad," Corco commented without much enthusiasm in his voice. As they continued to watch one diver after another rise from the ocean, the king reflected on their journey so far, which he considered a resounding disappointment. Maybe such a result had been inevitable. In his excitement, his expectations had simply been far too high.

Ever since they had left the Lonely Island of his Uncle Eclestius, they had spent their days traveling around the islands surrounding southern Medala, at least the ones controlled by the Kingdom of the South. After years of effort, most of these islands housed some kind of cultivation research by this point. Every time the research teams occupied an island, it was completely transformed, with all kinds of experimental setups on the inside of the island, and heightened security along its edges. The deep water cistern in the center of this island, designed for diving training, was a good example of this.

In fact, they had begun to run out of islands until Corco's cousin Mayu had started his pointless rebellion. Ever since Saniya's central government had taken control over Puscanacra, they had also gained full control over the island chain around the bay, which had solved their problem in regards to space. At the very least, it had delayed their issues.

After all, there was a near endless number of experiments to run, most of them in isolation, for reasons of secrecy and scientific rigor. On their journey so far, the King and Queen of the South had watched people cultivate to gain muscle mass, gain more flexible joints, improve their concentration and gain an improved memory, and train their senses to the point of night vision and high- and low-frequency hearing. In one experiment, the test subjects had even grown in height, though the process was apparently very uncomfortable for the participants.

On this island, a series of cultivation techniques and accompanying exercises had been designed to test the effects of cultivation on the respiratory and circulatory systems. Since diving had been considered the most useful method to stress both, they had even trained a group of exceptional divers in the process, sort of as a nice little bonus. As the project continued, the divers had been separated from the main group to start their own side project, an attempt to cultivate super-human diving and swimming capabilities for use in naval warfare and shore reconnaissance.

So far, the results had certainly been incredible. Not only were these people able to dive deep into the ocean, up to an astonishing 90 meters, they had also improved their eyes to be more resilient to salt water, which allowed them to keep them open underwater more easily. On top of that, two subjects had even formed thin films of skin between their fingers and toes, proving that the cultivation of webbed feet for fast swimming was an entirely attainable goal. Even the risk of diving sickness were tremendously reduced in the subjects. However, to achieve anything truly remarkable, there was still plenty of work left to be done.

"While it might not be bad, but it's not something we can't also do with normal training," Corco finally concluded after a prolonged silence between the two.

"That much is true. Why would we waste our energy cultivating these divers here, when we could recruit the ready-made article elsewhere?" Sumaci agreed. Her happy face showed how glad she was to see the talents of her people recognized. However, Corco was far less optimistic than his wife about the Verdant Folk.

"I know the pearl divers of the Verdant Isles have similar capabilities, but that's a tiny tribe spread across a handful of small islands," he argued. "Their numbers are, ultimately, limited. Not to mention, it took them who knows how many generations to select out the genetic traits to become good divers, and it still takes them decades of effort to train up to this kind of level. It's just not realistic to employ them on our ships on a large scale. For that, there's too few of them, and training more would be too time-consuming, and too costly. In comparison, these results were achieved in a short three years, and almost any healthy young man could be transformed into an expert diver with the right cultivation technique. No special talent required."

"Sure, that might be true. However." In preparation for a major argument, Sumaci righted herself on her recliner and turned towards her husband. "You are forgetting that these cultivated divers over there come with a hidden cost as well."

When Corco saw the aggressive glint in her eyes, he knew that his wife had spotted a crucial weakness in his diver cultivation plan, one he himself had noticed a while back.

"You mean the limitation on the total number of cultivators?" he asked with a sigh. In contrast to his own low mood, Sumaci looked as happy as she looked smug.

"That's right," she gloated. "If the research results we've received are correct, then the amount of cultivators we can support on our territory is, ultimately, limited. For every diver we train through cultivation, there will be one less warrior, or elite spy available. Do you really want to waste those limited cultivation spots on something you could just replace with talented commoners?

"Well, at least they still have their webbed feet. That's something your pearl divers can't do. Maybe these cultivators could be used as part of some kind of special force, crossing rivers to support an advancing army," Corco tried to console himself, although he should have known better.

Still, he couldn't just let Sumaci win the argument like this. At the very least, he had to prove to himself that their efforts here weren't completely in vain. As he had watched their lack of progress in various fields over the past weeks, Corco had become more and more despondent. It had begun to have affect his attitude as well. Yet as expected, his ruthless wife didn't allow him to console himself with convenient lies. Instead, she once again forced him to confront reality straight on.

"Those webbed feet are a hindrance everywhere outside the water, and their effect can be easily replicated with the right equipment. You yourself showed me the designs for flippers, remember?" she pointed out.

Of course Corco knew all of that himself. Only, he had been desperate to find any positive of this research, which seemed so promising at first glance, yet proved completely useless in the end. Maybe this was what real research was like, research without guidance from his otherworldly knowledge. Most of their progress would be sluggish, and most of their experiments would yield either no, or only extremely limited results. Thus, in response to his wife's question, Corco could only sigh again and admit defeat. However, Sumaci still wasn't done twisting the knife.

"I just don't think this is a very fruitful direction of research," she added, before picking up a marked folder from atop the short table between them. "This report says that attempts to let the cultivators breathe water or grow gills have also failed so far."

"Yeah, it does," Corco had to admit again, though he was still stubbornly trying to argue. "But maybe growing gills isn't entirely impossible. Maybe it takes more time, or it's hard to do, and we haven't been lucky with the talent of the test subjects so far."

He couldn't just give up on this project like this, not when he could see actual, impressive results right in front of him. In fact, Corco felt trapped in an endless deja-vu. He would arrive at an island, get excited by the immediate results presented by the researchers, then read the detailed reports and end up disappointed by reality. No matter where they went, no matter what direction the research had taken, the story was always the same.

Again, Sumaci opened her mouth to argue some more. However, at the last moment, she hesitated. Maybe she had seen how frustrated their lack of progress had made her husband. Suddenly, all the glee from winning the argument drained from her face.

"It's also possible that your Uncle Eclestius doesn't know enough about gills to actually design a technique which grows them," she tried to console him instead, and squeezed Corco's shoulder. "Once he knows more — and has more experience with designing new techniques — there is still a chance that something like growing gills could be possible. Not only that. The current cultivation technique, could also simply get refined further, enough to make the divers useful. Or we could just break through the number limitations of cultivation after some more research."

As she came up with more and more hopeful wishes to cheer up her husband, Sumaci became more and more animated. In comparison, Corco couldn't find the positives in his wife's endless suggestions. To him, they only confirmed their biggest problems.

"There's still too much we don't know," he said. "So many question marks."

After one more sigh, Corco looked down at the reports on the table, before he glanced over his personal notes, which lay forgotten in his lap. Since the start of their journey, the king had aimed to organize his loose thoughts on cultivation based on what he saw on the islands. His goal had been to gain a more comprehensive picture of how cultivation functioned. However, his notes were filled with nothing but question marks in the end. For every issue he resolved, ten more questions popped up. Even most of the 'resolved' problems were little more than educated guesses, with copious amounts of 'tbd' sprinkled in.

After a long silence, in which a confused Corco stared at his useless notes and a worried Sumaci stared at her husband, the king finally spoke up again.

"At this rate, I wonder if we'll ever find any meaningful answers here. It seems like the deeper we dig, the less we know. This whole operation might just a giant waste of money."

"You're worrying too much again," Sumaci complained in a gentle tone. "I thought we wanted to enjoy the journey."

"You're right," Corco said, yet he still continued to sit and stare at his own writings, until the letters lost all meaning and returned to the chaotic collection of lines and circles they were.

"We should go back inside. There's not much left to see anyways," Sumaci added, and grabbed Corco's arm to pull her husband back up on his feet.

Only now did the king realize that the sky had started to turn red. In the distance, all the flotation devices of the experiment had disappeared, as had the test subjects and the researchers. Unsure how long he had been sitting there, Corco finally took a deep breath and silently scolded himself, eager to pull himself together. Maci was clearly worried about him. He couldn't just let himself go like this, and he couldn't let her worry all the time. Thus, he showed a smile he considered confident and got up on his own two feet.

"You're right," he said. "So long as we keep digging, we will always end up finding more and more answers to our questions. "We should worry about anything else tomorrow."

Thus, as Sumaci returned his fake smile, the king and queen ended their inspection for the day in a somber atmosphere, so different from how they had started their journey.

Hermit's Notes: Hello. Since I'll be off the entire weekend until Monday, I'll be posting all three chapters for the week today. Since I proofread them way too late (I'm quite tired), there might be some mistakes. I'll go over them again once I get back home. Have a nice weekend!

Chapter 477 - Research Results (Part 2)

"Let's get to the interesting parts then," Corco said. "Group One just confirmed that people can cultivate. So what about Group Two? That's where the magic should have happened, right?"

In response, Joren returned to his folders and replied in the same impassive voice as before.

"At twice the population density, Group Two was still able to cultivate at speeds comparable to group one. After we had increased the density to about 2.8 times that of group one, their cultivation progress began to decrease rapidly. At almost five times the density, cultivation became entirely impossible, even for seasoned cultivators. Afterwards, all test subjects were taken to a sparser environment, where they were once again able to cultivate immediately. Further, once the number of test subjects on Experimental Site Three had been reduced, all test subjects there were once again able to cultivate normally."

"So there is some natural limit to the number of cultivators in one place," Corco concluded.

"Seems like that answers your basic question on all-cultivator societies," Sumaci added, a bit hastily. As always, it was Corco's job to reign in his overexcited student.

"It's a start," he tempered expectations. After all, they still had far too little information to draw such strong conclusions. For now, what they needed most was more data. Thus, the king turned towards his head researcher to get just that. "What about groups two and four?" he asked to get the full picture.

"The lone test subject of Group Two cultivated normally, at a speed slightly slower than the average of Group One," Joren replied. "It appears as if a single person will not cultivate faster than many within the same space, which means cultivation in a smaller group is only helpful up to a point. As for Group Four, they have so far failed to cultivate at all."

"So cultivating at sea is either impossible, or very slow," Corco concluded.

"I could have told you that, without any time-consuming research," Sumaci said, with the smugness of a straight-a student. "That's something the Yaku of the Verdant Isles have known for generations."

"But it wasn't backed by proper data," Corco argued back.

For a moment, the two stared at each other, locked in an argument without words. Although Sumaci was stubborn, and insistent on her home's superiority in this regard, she would know as well as anyone else in the room that her anecdotal evidence was no good. At best, it could serve for the formulation of hypotheses to be tested further. Thus, after a few seconds of silent conflict — in which Sumaci glared and Corco showed a confident smile — the queen finally looked away with the most haughty head spin she had in her repertoire.

Once the conflict between husband and wife had concluded, Corco once again turned to Joren.

"Anything else?" he asked, eager for any further information. So far, they had only heard about four of the seventeen test groups. Surely, the others had achieved great results as well.

"Yes, indeed," Joren confirmed his suspicions. "After the basic tests let us understand some basic environmental requirements for cultivation, groups one to three were further divided, to test which parts of the classic cultivation techniques are necessary, sufficient, or helpful. To that effect, we taught cultivation, but without the use of mantras, cultivation without the use of proper breathing techniques, and cultivation without the addition of physical exertion or herbal concoctions for support. There were some other attempts as well. For example, we let one group only use mantras in a language they did not understand, to see if an understanding of the words is necessary for a noticeable effect on the cultivation speed."

"Now we're getting into the good stuff. What were the results?" Corco leaned forward in anticipation.

This was the most important part of their research, at least the most important part of the research conducted here around the Lonely Island. If they could understand which parts of the cultivation techniques contributed to the overall effect in which ways, they would be able to begin improving the old techniques in a targeted manner.

"The results were quite enlightening," Joren lead. "After taking away one — — presumably essential — requirement for each cultivation technique, every single technique still functioned. However, all test subjects showed significantly reduced efficiency in their performance. Furthermore, the test subjects who did not exert themselves physically — as well as those who did not use mantras during cultivation — saw a deviation in the intended effect of their techniques, as if their improvements were less focused on their intended targets. Those who used mantras in foreign languages showed the same results. To conclude, mantras and physical exercises seem to focus the effort of the cultivator in a specific direction — like greater endurance or strength — while the breathing technique seems to amplify the effect. For now, it appears as if every part of the old cultivation techniques seem to contribute to cultivation in a meaningful way."

"Something I predicted from the start, of course," Eclestius chimed in before an excited Corco could say anything. "The ancestors may not have known everything, but they were no idiots, much unlike what some here seem to think."

As he spoke, he stared straight at Joren, as if anyone hadn't already understood who he considered the idiot in the room. In response, the archivist turned towards his colleague again, this time with his whole body.

"To make progress we need to-"

"Not waste any more of my time," Eclestius interrupted an argument they must have had countless times already. "How much of my energy have I wasted on redesigning ancient cultivation techniques in meaningless ways, all in the name of so-called progress, for little return?"

"Well, right now, both of you are wasting my time more than anything," Corco cut off the exchange before they could derail the conversation even further. "I mean, isn't this exactly the reason I appointed you as my head researcher?"

After all, Eclestius hadn't received his position as a reward alone. While he didn't understand much about modern scientific methodology, no Medalan outside of the Ancestral Hall was more suited to modify existing cultivation techniques for the purpose of research. After the disguised compliment, Eclestius huffed some excuse and finally stopped arguing.

Meanwhile, as the king was wrangling with his unruly subordinates, his wife just sat on the sidelines, ate some grapes, and watched the carnage unfold with a gleeful smile on her face.

What happened to her plan to disrupt the presentation with tricky questions? Maybe it's just more fun to sit back and watch them tear into each other.

Left without support, Corco suppressed a sigh, before he attempted to refocus their efforts once more.

"So is that it in terms of results? What else have you done with your time here?" he asked Joren again. As if he had only waited for the opportunity, the previously curt researcher almost jumped out of his seat as he explained his plans to Corco.

"We have more experiments planned, for example an experimental setup to determine if breathing the right type of air makes a difference for cultivation. However, the oxygen masks I have requested for this experiment are supposedly 'not feasible to produce at acceptable cost', even though I sent perfectly reasonable blue prints with my request."

"Okay, that sounds promising," Corco said in a noncommittal manner. If the request had been rejected by one of his ministries, there probably was a good reason for it. "Have you sent a detailed report to Saniya?" he thus probed further.

After all, if he hadn't sent a proper report through the proper channels, that alone would be enough of a reason for rejection. However, things weren't quite so simple, at least not according to Joren.

"Of course." He glanced over to Eclestius, before he continued. "However, I suspect the daughter of our Lord Eclestius here has spent her days in Rapra Castle in endless attempts to block all of my proposals, in fear that I may achieve a major breakthrough and upstage her father's precious ancestors."

"Listen, you-"

Once again, the two of them began to quarrel over perceived former slights. Maybe sticking these two onto a deserted island together hadn't been the greatest idea in hindsight. Still, this was getting ridiculous. Didn't these people have any sense of time and place? Even if they didn't, at least they should have some respect for their king's time. The more he thought, the angrier Corco got. Just as the king was about to explode into one of his classic rants, the support he had expected ages ago finally arrived.

"I'm sorry, but is this it?" Sumaci's lazy voice interrupted the conflict. At once, everyone focused on the unexpected interruption. Maybe in their anger, the two head researchers had already forgotten about their queen's existence.

"This is all very fascinating, but you have not really discovered anything major, have you?" Sumaci criticized. "I mean, your mutually assured incompetence aside, shouldn't you have managed to get farther after three years of research? The stuff you've found is all foundational. I understand that these things are important, but that should be the start of your research, not your end point, right? We didn't come here for a lecture on theory, but to find something we can use to bolster the power of the kingdom. Haven't you done any more concrete experiments, like attempting to change the mantras in order to strengthen the effects of certain cultivation techniques?"

At once, the two adversaries turned towards their queen in unison. Faced with her lazy derision, both of them suddenly seemed united like never before, as if their previous conflict had never existed.

"Of course we have," Eclestius argued. "After all, this is the very reason I have been appointed as head of this project. Only a master of cultivation — such as an elder member of House Pluritac — could even attempt to change the ancient formulas in any meaningful and targeted manner."

"And only a genius researcher could make sense of all the data and adequately interpret the results of the experiments," Joren added. As if he had practiced it, he hesitated for a second, before he pretended to look frustrated. At least Corco was quite sure he was acting, since he wasn't very good at it.

"Unfortunately, while we have achieved more substantial results with other experiments, those results cannot currently be accessed by us," Eclestius finally said, with an equally frustrated appearance. His acting wasn't much better. "Thus, they also cannot be presented to King Corcopaca and Queen Sumaci."

"And why can't you access them?" Corco asked, although he already knew where this conversation was going. After all, the two of them had clearly practiced this very speech long in advance. It would be a shame to not let them perform.

"Since all research happens on separate islands, it has become hard to control every experiment, and to collate all the results," Joren explained as if he had only waited for the opportunity. "This problem is further exacerbated by the high level of security surrounding the cultivation research project. Every single paper exchanged between islands needs outside approval, which has been a nightmare, frankly."

"That is one issue we can agree on." Eclestius nodded. "With all the foreign interference, work across islands has become almost impossible."

This was pretty much exactly what Corco had expected. The two were apparently unhappy with the safety features the ghost warriors put around this top-secret project, and wanted to use this poor excuse to scam more freedom and authority out of their king.

No doubt, they still had more than enough data ready from the other experiments on other islands, but they wouldn't present any of it until Corco had agreed to their terms. At that point, they could simply call the data 'outdated' and pretend like they had never tried to blackmail their king with the results of their research. However, in this case, the two of them had grossly miscalculated. As far as Corco was concerned, their lack of cooperation was exactly what he wanted.

"Right," he looked back and forth between his nervous looking researchers, as a grin slowly formed on his face. "Since you can't tell us any more about the rest of the research, it seems like we'll have to visit more of these islands to see it all for ourselves."

"Oh no, sounds like we will have to extend our vacation," Sumaci added in a dramatic tone of pure fatalism. She even covered her eyes with the back of her hand, like a true lady with the vapors.

"What a shame," Corco added quickly, to interrupt the two researchers who wanted to interject. "Though in order to support our two head researchers here, it needs to be done. In the name of science."

"Yes, we would love to go back home and return to our duties immediately, but unfortunately, we will have to continue our cruise, for science."

At this point, Sumaci and Corco were openly laughing as they made up nonsense one after another. Meanwhile, Eclestius — who had understood what was happening —held back Joren, who still wanted to argue.

After all, the king and queen had found an excuse to be lazy. If the two of them were to disrupt their plans, neither of them would benefit. Thus stuck without the support they had envisioned, the two quarrel-embroiled researchers soon had to watch their monarchs leave the Lonely Island, to further extend their vacation in the waters of Medala.

Hermit's Notes: Since these chapters here feel quite dry, and slow paced, I'll probably do more of a summary for the rest of the research results in this arc. There's only one or two chapters left anyways.

Chapter 476 - Research Results (Part 1)

Joren, one of two head researchers of Corco's cultivation research project, looked, in many regards, quite similar to Eclestius. Both men were carefully groomed, both looked like scholars, and both had default stoic expressions plastered on their faces. To Corco, it was a mystery how two people could look so similar yet get along so poorly. As expected, Joren's first words after entering the room were already enough to make Eclestius frown.

"Hello, boss! It's been too long!"

His intimacy stemmed in part from the fact that he had known Corco for years — ever since their days at the Fastgrade Merchant Company — and he simply had kept using Corco's old title from back then. The other part of the unreasonable greeting, of course, stemmed from the fact that Joren was simply bad with people.

Since he was a socially awkward weirdo, Corco thought he was perfect for some long-duration research on an isolated island. Not to mention, Joren had always been particularly keen on the methodology lessons other researchers routinely avoided, ever since his old days as the archivist of the Fastgrade merchants.

While ignoring the confused and angry looks from his wife and his uncle respectively, Corco motioned towards a seat at the table, which Joren gladly took. In the process, he shoved aside refreshments and cups, to occupy the entire space with a number of well-organized files instead.

He's even color-coded them, a bemused Corco noticed. A true archivist indeed.

"I'm sure you discovered something interesting," Corco repeated, more hopeful than before in the face of so much data. "So how about we skip introductions and you just tell us what I've spent so much tax revenue on?"

"If by 'interesting', the king assumes basic and unhelpful, then surely we have discovered much," Eclestius commented.

"I'd like to refute such a claim." Joren replied in a dry, matter-of-factly voice, before he turned towards Corco with an enthusiastic smile. "We have made great strides in foundational research on the topic of cultivation. There have been some fascinating results recently."

"Then please, go ahead and present your findings." Corco motioned the archivist to continue, yet his opening was already all wrong.

"Of course. In our first base study, the results-" he began as he picked up a rust-red folder, but he didn't get very far.

"Stop," Corco interrupted the researcher, before he prompted: "Start by introducing the experimental setup first. Some of the people here haven't heard about it yet."

Although Corco motioned towards his wife, he himself was in dire need of a refresher as well. It had been years since he had helped design the early tests for the cultivation research. Since then, he had been busy with one crisis after another. As a result, he had barely found the time to read the reports, much less carefully interpret them. As a result, he would be hopelessly lost without a short rerun, though he wasn't willing to admit it.

Since Corco's little lie wasn't exposed, the researcher offered a sour look to Sumaci, as if she was wasting his time. Although Corco felt guilty for pushing all the blame onto her, his best student and favorite human just grinned back at the researcher, without trying to explain herself at all.

After all, she wasn't some uneducated girl, as this reclusive researcher seemed to assume. Most likely, she thought that showing him up with tricky question would be funnier than exposing her own background right away, so she stayed quiet for the moment.

Thus, after a short but intense stare-down, an awkward Joren looked away and picked up a folder in light yellow, before he began to explain.

"First of all, the overall goal of this series of research projects has been to understand cultivation, that is, the mechanisms which guide and underlie the process we understand as cultivation. First, since there are amateurs present, we should begin with a definition of cultivation to establish a baseline of knowledge."

Again, Joren stared at Sumaci out of the corner of his eye, and again, Corco had to interrupt him.

"No, stop," the frustrated king said. "No need to go that far back. Just start with the setup."

By now at the latest, Sumaci could have told him off, but she seemed to enjoy wasting the man's time much more than clearing up the misunderstanding. Though in the process, she was also wasting everyone else's time. Not to mention that the archivist's deadpan face showed no signs of annoyance at all. In the end, only the king's nerves were being worn down.

"Of course," he just said, and skipped about a third of the yellow folder's contents. "First off, we received a total of 1057 test subjects for these experiments, and split them into 17 total groups of different sizes. Their exact distribution can be referenced in the reports. These groups were then sent to different islands in the Narrow Sea and along Medala's coast line to participate in individual experimental setups. The basic hypotheses to be tested-"

"Wait, test subjects? Humans?" Finally, Sumaci interrupted the speech, though now at an inopportune time, when Joren was just getting started.

"Of course," the archivist replied with the same dry derision as before. "We have yet to teach a pig how to cultivate."

"And where did you get those human subjects from?" the Queen probed further. While the two researchers at the table looked confused at Sumaci's strange concerns, Corco knew exactly what she was worried about. After all, he was the one who had told her horror stories about human experimentation because he thought it would be funny.

"Most have been volunteers," he explained, but his wife only returned a silent, critical stare.

"It's true," he insisted. "At first, most of the test subjects were criminals, who participated to have their sentences reduced. But some commoner groups in Saniya complained, or so I've heard. I wasn't all that involved in the process, though apparently they made quite the fuss."

"Why would they complain?" Sumaci asked, now as visibly confused as the researchers. "Were some of the criminals their relatives?"

"They complained because the greatest honor they could know would be a bestowal of cultivation techniques, thus elevating them into a higher class of human," Eclestius explained before Corco could, with harsher words and a more arrogant tone than the king would have ever chosen.

"Basically, the act of cultivation is attached with lots of prestige," Corco added in a less virulent tone. "So, many people were happy to participate in potentially long and dangerous experiments, so long as there was a chance that they might become cultivators — and thus warriors — by the end of it. They didn't want to leave a chance like that to criminals, thus the complaints."

"All those commoners from the south say they disdain those 'rotten nobles' of higher class, yet they jump at the first chance to be one themselves." As he spoke, Eclestius looked over to Joren, who was looking on in growing impatience.

"Society," Corco simply commented, as if anyone would understand the reference. While there was clearly a story of class struggle hidden behind the relationship of the two head researchers, the archivist seemed entirely uninterested in the topic, and just wanted too continue his presentation.

Thus, he snorted and asked his king in a rude tone: "Should I simply come back later?"

"No, please continue," Corco said, happy to avoid complicated topics. He had come here to learn exciting new facts about cultivation, not as a marriage counselor.

"Of those 17 groups, four were used to test the basic requirements for cultivation first," Joren picked up the previous topic, as if none of the previous discussion had existed. "On this island itself — titled Experimental Environment One — we handled the control group — Group One — a total of 25 cultivators. The total number of people per square kilometer is roughly equivalent to the number of cultivators per square kilometer present in Medala proper. All of them were taught standard cultivation methods and instructed to cultivate them normally. On another island — Experimental Environment Two — we only allowed a single person to cultivate, to see if their cultivation speed would improve in a sparser environment, or if it would slow down in the absence of other humans. Finally, Experimental Environment Three housed twice the number of people per square kilometer as Experimental Environment One. As our tests in Experimental Environment Three progressed, we slowly increased the amount of cultivators on the island, and noted any changes. Finally, there was a fourth Experimental Environment, a ship at high seas which first anchored in the deep sea while the subjects cultivated, and then moved about as they did so."

"So what are the results?" Corco asked, before anyone else could derail the conversation again.

"Group One has shown no abnormality. Everyone in the group was able to cultivate, which confirms my hypothesis that the presence of non-cultivators is not necessary for cultivation."

"Or maybe it only works for a while, but eventually cultivation still becomes impossible without non-cultivators around. It might just take some time for the final results to show," Sumaci interrupted at the first sign of weakness from the archivist.

"I mean, that's true," Corco agreed. Confirmation was a strong word in this context.

"I tell him all the time: Don't jump to conclusions," Eclestius added, clearly eager to add some slander towards his fellow researcher.

"The conclusions are, of course, temporary, and under further review," Joren admitted. Clearly, he had gotten too excited when faced with numbers and graphs. "At the very least, my hypothesis that the presence of non-cultivators is not a requirement for cultivation has so far withstood our attempts at falsification."

"So there is a good chance that all-cultivator societies are possible," Sumaci concluded, this time out of genuine interest, rather than sheer spite. After all, this was a question she herself had brought up on their way here.

"In principle, yes." Joren nodded as he pointed towards a piece of paper. "Here, I have written a short treatise on the subject. Based on our current knowledge, all-cultivator societies should be possible, at least in low-density populations. In addition, Group One contained people of different social classes, genders and races."

"So what did you find?" Now that the important answers to many of his questions were right before him, Corco was getting more and more tense. What if there was a difference in performance between classes? Wouldn't his entire concept for an equal medalan society need an overhaul? Luckily, Joren responded in the way Corco had hoped.

"Every test subject in Group One has managed to cultivate without any significant difference in performance," he said. "It can be assumed that race, gender, and social class have no impact on cultivation ability."

Just as Corco was happy that his plans for a society of equals remained possible, Eclestius spoke up and ruined all his plans.

"The lower classes were slower," he bluntly stated. In response, Joren finally turned towards Eclestius, for the first time since he had entered the room.

"However, when taking into account their unfamiliarity with the act of cultivation, their lower levels of fitness and lower levels of education-"

"They were slower," Eclestius interrupted his fellow researcher again. While Joren was still searching for words, the exiled prince turned towards his nephew to complain about his colleague. "I thought this commoner was here to make sure we follow these scientific methods. He only seems interested in his own opinions."

Once again dragged into the internal conflicts between his subordinates, Corco had to sigh and hold his face in his hand.

"Please stay objective, Joren," he bluntly cautioned. "We're here for facts, not opinions."

For a second, the archivist looked like he wanted to argue some more, but the king's stare finally let him understand reality.

"Of course," he said, though with a voice tinged in unhappiness. "Either way, it could be proven that all classes are able to cultivate, though at different speeds. It remains to be seen whether or not this difference is hereditary in nature, or caused by other factors."

"What other factors could there possibly be? The class system exists for a reason," Eclestius argued. This time however, Joren had his arguments ready as well.

"The warrior test subjects are simply more familiar with the concept of cultivation than their commoner counterparts," he insisted. "They also have better language ability due to their higher level of education, and they are generally healthier and stronger, due to their rich upbringing. Of course the warriors would be faster cultivators."

"Excuses, nothing more," Eclestius shouted back. "If the commoners are that great, then why-"

"Uncle, please. Decorum," an exhausted Corco reminded. This time, it was Eclestius' turn to huff and keep quiet. Meanwhile, Joren had pulled out another piece of paper from his endless supply of folders.

"Here, I have made some rough calculations, although some of the numbers had to be estimated. If I exclude the influence of education and experience, I could detect no statistical difference between commoners and nobles when it comes to cultivation. Here are the numbers."

As he spoke, Joren handed a piece of paper to Corco. While the king looked at the mess of numbers and graphs — which were most likely filled with assumptions and questionable statistical trickery — Sumaci was already thinking further ahead.

"If that's true, it would be our first revolution, right?" the queen said excitedly, in reference to the king's previous claims that cultivation could bring them a great revolution.

"That's right," Corco confirmed, though he was unwilling to go any deeper into the topic.

All they had for now were some unconfirmed results and some doctored numbers from a researcher who clearly had an agenda. Thus, he preferred to move on, instead of idly imagining a future which might not correspond to reality. Finally, they were about to get to the interesting part.

Chapter 475 - Return

A ship's bow lightly dinged against the pier on a small island in the middle of the Narrow Sea. For decades, only an old, decrepit ferry had landed here, to supply the locals with the necessities for survival. Back then, the island hadn't even had a pier in the first place. This time, the visitor weren't coming on an old ferry, and they hadn't come to bring supplies either. In fact, much more than just the pier had changed ever since Corco had last arrived here on the Lonely Island all those years ago.

"So this is where your cultivation research happens?" Sumaci asked, and looked around the island's beautiful landscape, most of it untouched by human hands due to the sparse population. "Why this place in particular?"

They talked as they walked along the paved dirt road up the island and towards the main building, the seat of the island's lord, and Corco's leading expert in cultivation research.

Of course, they were accompanied by their usual horde of guards. Even though this island in particular was considered a high security area and had no inhabitants beyond servants of the southern king, Corco had long given up on reigning in these overprotective nuisances. They could follow him wherever they wanted, so long as they didn't limit his movements. Until they did, he would simply choose to ignore them.

"For our research, we needed a place which was sufficiently isolated, to run our experiments under more controlled conditions," he explained to Sumaci, while doing his best to ignore the two dozen people who were marching behind him in lock-step. "Bonus points if it's a place that's easy to defend, and hard to infiltrate. I mean, we don't want our new discoveries on cultivation stolen by enemy forces, right? When you consider all those categories, the Lost Islands around Medala are a perfect choice."

'Lost Islands' was a collective term for many small islands all along Medala's coastline, though not all islands off the coast were included. Only those which housed an exiled member of House Pluritac were considered 'lost'.

Whenever a new emperor climbed the Silver Throne in Arguna's Moonlight Zigurrat, other members of the imperial family who had fought the ascension — mostly other imperial princes with their own ambitions towards the throne — would be sent into exile here, to prevent any further internal struggles from weakening Medala, or the authority of House Pluritac.

Once the exiled princes turned seventy, they would be allowed to leave their islands and join the Ancestral Hall, a deal which was meant to keep them quiet and the empire stable. Usually, these islands had no inhabitants other than the exiles, their families, and a handful of servants. In order to guarantee security, as well as discourage any ambitious lords from seeking out these exiled princes for a coup, the islands would be stricken from any official maps for the duration of the exile, thus the term 'Lost Islands'.

"Wait, the Lost Islands?" a shocked Sumaci asked. "But that means this island has an owner already, right? One of the former princes would be living here, wouldn't he?"

Sumaci waited for Corco's confirmation before she continued. "Isn't the exiled prince technically the lord of this land? What happened to him after you began your research?"

Of course, Corco could have answered all her questions on the long way here already, but he thought it would be more exciting — and more fun — to retain some mystery in their relationship. As expected, the conversation was shaping up to be suitably dramatic for the occasion

"Oh, he's still here," Corco said in a mysterious, low voice, while trying hard to suppress a grin.

"And the island's owner has no problem with you running those experiments here?" Sumaci asked, as if she was still oblivious. Although she had to have figured out the whole story by now, she was playing along with her husband's whims splendidly, as always. Thus prompted into a punchline, the husband laughed his most flamboyant laugh and unveiled the secret.

"Of course not, he's the one leading the experiments after all."

__________________________

Not long after, the king and queen of southern Medala met with the lord of the Lonely Island: Eclestius Caelestis Pluritac, brother of Medala's last emperor Titu, and exiled prince of the imperial family.

"Uncle!" Corco shouted as soon as he saw the exiled prince, as if they were old friends. Most of it was for show, of course, and not only because they were practically strangers.

Although Eclestius looked no older than Corco, the king just couldn't develop any feelings of intimacy towards this uncle of his. Not only had Corco been betrayed by his family members more than once in the past, Eclestius in particular just had to look like the spitting image of Amautu, of all people. It really didn't endear him to his king and nephew. Still, appearances had to be upheld, so Corco played the loving nephew, while Eclestius played the king's loyal servant.

"Yes, unfortunately we were not informed when exactly the royal delegation would arrive, and there was a storm yesterday as well. Our people had to retreat inside, and so could not welcome their king directly at the port, against all our wishes," the Amautu-lookalike explained. Since Corco's exact schedule was not made known due to safety concerns, even the excuses were reasonable. Moreover, the exiled prince also motioned over to a table he had set with all kinds of delicacies. "Let me make it up to you with a welcome appropriate for a king."

As Corco looked over the tables, he realized that much of it were foods common in Saniya's castle. A lot of it was imported, or difficult to prepare. Clearly, this uncle of his had taken great pains to please his king. They had even brought out some ice cream.

"Ah, this is certainly a gesture I appreciate." Corco sat down and bit into a fresh peach, while trying his hardest to not think how much of his research funds had been wasted on this attempt at making him happy. "To be honest, I could never really relax on my way here, since I've been anticipating the results work too much. So I really just want to hear about your research right away, if that's possible."

Rather than focus on the wasted money, Corco would much rather see where the rest of it had been spent, and whether or not the people here had done their jobs properly in the first place. Luckily, Eclestius didn't look nervous when he was reminded of his duties, which meant that they had left enough of their funds untouched to fulfill their orders.

Or he's just a really good actor, Corco added in his head.

"Of course. I have already ordered Master Joren to bring the detailed reports here as soon as possible," Eclestius said, before he finally turned to Sumaci, just in time. Any longer and his disregard would have been considered rude towards his queen.

"And what about Queen Sumaci?" he asked Sumaci, who had already sat down next to Corco and had begun eating, despite the earlier lack of a greeting. "Would it be necessary for the queen to refresh herself elsewhere? This lord can send for his lady, to keep the queen company while this lord and King Corcopaca handle the boring, work-related matters."

When faced with the prince's old-fashioned treatment, the queen of the Verdant Isles barely looked at him and just kept eating. Not even her smile dimmed, not even a little bit.

"Ah, no thank you, I am just as excited about the research as my husband is," she simply explained, while barely looking up.

However, the lord looked at her in derision and said: "Is that so?" in a cold tone which expressed how little he appreciated her presence here.

Maybe her careless behavior — suitable for the pirate queen she was — would have been considered free-spirited and confident had they come from Corco. Coming from a woman however, such actions were unacceptable in the conservative Medala. That was especially true for someone like Eclestius, who had been stuck on an island for forty years and hadn't experienced any of the social changes his old home had gone through in recent years.

Although the exiled prince's attitude was understandable, it certainly wasn't excusable. Just when Corco wanted to remind his uncle of his mistake — and his place — Sumaci had already struck first.

"I do have a question though," she said. While her smile was still unbroken, she was now staring straight at Eclestius. "Why would an exiled prince be given the important task of cultivation research? Isn't it more appropriate to give it to someone more trustworthy, or more competent? What do you think, Lord Eclestius? Do you believe yourself suitable for your role?"

Sumaci's sharp words certainly hadn't come unprovoked. Not to mention, while she spoke so righteously, she openly ate a meal paid with money which had been designated for research. When faced with the results of his corruption, what could the exiled prince possibly say in response? Predictably, his face paled and flushed alternately, trying to keep composure in the face of provocation. Before Eclestius could explode and make their visit needlessly complicated, Corco decided to step in as a mediator.

"Come on, Maci, don't be rude. Lord Eclestius is my uncle. Who would I trust if not my family?" he asked. Though his voice was insincere, it still conveyed his attitude. While he wouldn't support corruption, they weren't here to clean up dissidents.

"Based on recent events, I would not trust the Pluritac family with much," Eclestius replied with a sad smile. Not only was he talking bad about his family, he was also devaluing his own position, in an attempt to step back and offer his apologies. It was an old-fashioned way of doing things, no longer used in Corco's modern Medala, but the king still understood the old rituals he had learned as a child.

"Well, that's not untrue," he simply brushed over the issue, before he sat up and added: "Anyways, we apologize."

"Yes, I was rude," Sumaci added, quick on the uptake as always. "I should not have questioned Lord Eclestius' qualifications."

"Not at all. It is a question I had to ask myself many times," Eclestius added some more self-derision, again an attempt to get closer to the royal pair and to make up for his previous rudeness. However, Corco had heard similar arguments from just about every member of his government when he had first made Eclestius his head researcher, so the topic only served to annoy him.

"I'm not sure why everyone is so surprised by this appointment," he complained, before he explained his thought process. "I mean, Uncle Eclestius is an expert on cultivation. He knows the family cultivation techniques as well as me, or even better. Not only does he know the imperial cultivation technique, he also knows all techniques of the family vassals. That gives him some of the most thorough insights into the subject among anyone on the Twin Isles. Plus, he hasn't had much to do here recently, no offense," he added at the end towards the exiled prince, to make sure he hadn't offended his host. However, Eclestius just shook his head.

"Please do not feel concerned," he said, so Corco was free to continue.

"Anyways, with all that time on hand, you must have spent a lot of it on cultivation. You've no doubt gained some unique insights into various techniques in the process. Not to mention, I did promise you a position at my court. I couldn't get you off the island, so I had to give you something in return."

When Corco had made his promise to appoint Eclestius to his royal council in return for allowing the southern army to cross the Narrow Sea, fulfilling his end of the bargain had been entirely impossible. After all, his reputation among the other two kingdoms — and among the elders of the Ancestral Hall — had still been particularly poor back then. At the time, had he committed another break in tradition like releasing an exiled prince without permission, his political enemies would have had even more excuses to attack him.

Although for political reasons, Corco hadn't been able to free the exiled prince so far, he still hadn't forgotten his promise. If nothing else, the Lonely Island of Uncle Eclestius had received much better treatment ever since Saniya had become responsible for its supplies.

As the head of Saniya's cultivation research, Eclestus had also received sufficient power and responsibility to keep him happy for a while. Not to mention, this method would also keep him stuck here, and under control, until Corco could guarantee his loyalty. Though of course, Eclestius wasn't the only exiled Pluritac who had become part of Corco's government, and his appointment on the island wasn't the only safeguard against his defection either.

"On the topic of the king's court, how are the king's servants? Are they all well?" Eclestius asked cautiously, while keeping Corco in full view. Meanwhile, the careless king just started eating, while openly saying what his uncle only dared to allude to in hints.

"If you're asking about Caecilia, she's doing very well. I hear my people put great trust in her, and she's taken over a considerable role within the ministry."

Eclestius' daughter Caecilia di Pluritac had been the first to greet Corco back when he had first arrived on the island. As part of their deal, the girl had been integrated into Corco's bureaucratic system. Though of course, she and her young son also doubled as a hostage in case Eclestius ever thought about sharing their cultivation research with Pacha or Amautu.

"Yes, Caecilia has always been in charge of finances on the island." Eclestius sighed. "To be frank, we are all a bit lost without her."

"You really taught her well," Corco said, while deliberately ignoring the exile's plea to see his daughter again. At the current rate, they would meet soon enough anyways, but this wasn't a decision he wanted to make without a prior threat assessment from the ghost warriors.

"Thank you," a terse Eclestius replied this time. Since he seemed to be in a bad mood, Corco decided to throw the man a bone.

"And from what I've heard, you've done a great job with your own work, just like your daughter," he said. "At this rate, I will soon have to take you off the island and appoint you to even greater tasks."

"If King Corcopaca truly believes so, then I do not understand why it was necessary to put some lowly foreigner servant next to me and supervise my work," Eclestius complained out of the blue, rather than accept Corco's diplomatic words.

Maybe in this specific matter, he was speaking from the heart, Corco thought. He probably had long been looking for an excuse to vent about his fellow head researcher.

"So things haven't been going well then?" the king concluded in an easy-going tone. He didn't really care if the two people in charge of research were friends, so long as they got the job done.

"We've mostly kept to ourselves. We each do our duties, and avoid conflict," Eclestius reassured Corco, though his sour face told the king that his uncle also had far less charitable things to say about his colleague.

"Well, that's good," Corco said, ignoring the silent complaint once more. "Anyways, it's not like I don't trust you, but there's just a way the people of the southern kingdom do things. The people I've taught understand that way, but you yourself cannot, which is why I couldn't let you lead the research alone."

Although Corco wanted to leave it at that, Eclestius didn't reply. Instead, he was just staring at the king, waiting for a better answer. In desperation, the king turned to his faithful wife. Yet even here, he only encountered a devious twinkle in her eye, and not one word of support.

Thus, the king steeled his heart and explained further, even though he found it tedious. Since they were still waiting for the written reports, they didn't have anything better to do anyways.

"First off, Joren is one of my personal students, which means he knows the way we write down data and keep books. Not only that, he is also my former archivist, and the man who set up the Medalan Imperial Archives in Saniya. We need to keep the documentation of this research consistent with the rest of our documents. Otherwise, we'll eventually end up with several competing systems in the government and just confuse everyone. I mean, no offense uncle, but you don't even know the New Yakua script."

New Yakua was a writing system which Corco had invented to simplify the old Yakua characters. The goal had been to make them easier to learn for the broader public. Of course, most old nobles disdained from learning such new fashion aimed at commoners. Though to Corco's surprise, his uncle shook his head.

"No, the new script could be learned fast enough, same as Rapra Castle's method for bookkeeping. I have mastered both years ago."

Much to Corco's astonishment, it seemed like his uncle was quite open to new things, and also far more motivated than he had thought.

"But still, you didn't know them when we started the research here, right?" he argued, not unreasonably.

"That much is true," Eclestius had to admit. Satisfied with the exiled prince's softening attitude, Corco righted his posture and continued.

"I didn't pick Joren to partner up with you just because of the bookkeeping methods either. Methodology itself was a factor as well. In the southern kingdom, we've been working under a new system called 'empirical science'. Every government program has to adhere to this system. We approach our cultivation research in an empirical fashion as well, or at least that's the goal. To do that, I needed someone here who had some experience with empirical methods already. Since you've seen Joren work with empirical methods over the last few years, I'm sure you're now familiar with them by now."

"Indeed I am," Eclestius replied. "The methods are cumbersome, and give slow results."

"But they also give precise results," Corco emphasized. He wouldn't accept any detractions against empiricism, not in his house... even though it wasn't his house at all. Instead of listening to any more slander, he finally wanted to get to some real results, if only a taste until the reports arrived.

"Even if progress has been slow, I'm sure you've discovered many interesting things by now," he tried again to spark some enthusiasm, yet once again, his stuffy uncle shook his head.

"There has been nothing remarkable," he claimed. "Certainly nothing which could compete with the majesty of the World's Embrace."

Without any evidence to the contrary, Corco couldn't judge if they really hadn't found anything, or if his uncle was just biased towards their old family cultivation technique. Although he really hoped for the latter, for now, the king could only sigh.

"Sounds like we'll have to see it with our own eyes then," he just said, and leaned back in preparation for a long and uncomfortable wait.

Yet as if on queue, a knock on the door from one of Corco's guards indicated the arrival of the second lead researcher on the southern kingdom's cultivation project, and the long-awaited reports with him.

Hermit's Notes: The return of an old character, this time all the way from chapter 170. I always wanted to include him and his research in earlier arcs, but it never really fit anywhere, so I guess you're getting three chapters of Eclestius now instead.

Two more chapters today, since I wrote the entire research part as one chapter and split it up later.

Short little Update

Hello, all.

Since the next chapters require quite a bit of preparatory work to get right (since the details of cultivation will be crucially important for future arcs), I'll be spending the rest of the week collecting and organizing all my notes, and putting together a proper outline. In the meantime, I've also been working on Book 0 after a while again, and been making pretty good progress.

As a result, there won't be a new chapter until next week (though of course, I'll still unlock 3 new chapters this week like always).

Sorry for the inconvenience, and have a great weekend.

Cheers,

S.H.

Chapter 474 - Possibilities

"That sounds incredible. I never thought about it this way. So do we already know how it works, teacher?" Sumaci played her usual role as the inquisitive student, ready to prod her teacher into further explanations while ignoring some of the references she couldn't possibly understand. Yet once more, Corco could act far less self-assured than usual. His enthusiasm quickly faded. As he was reminded of just how much he still didn't know about cultivation, the discomfort returned once more. Again he looked away, out into the sea, as if he could find the answers there.

"Well, that is the big question, isn't it?" he finally said. "For now, I've got some likely theories, though we'll have to test them all before I can tell you anything precise." When he turned once more and saw Sumaci's eager look, Corco felt forced to continue through his tightening chest. "For one, it's possible that cultivation is an ability inherent to humans. Maybe a substance is being created internally, which somehow can be used to alter the human body. There are several cultures around the world which describe such internal powers, calling it qi, or magic, or the like. So I call this one the qi-theory to keep things simple."

At some point, Sumaci had opened her eyes and sat back up again, intrigued by the possibilities presented before her.

"But that would mean that there is no limit to the number of cultivators," she pointed out. "If all of us produce this force within ourselves, surely, all of us would be able to cultivate, right? Doesn't that violate your question about the existence of all-cultivator societies?"

The question Sumaci was referencing was actually quite a simple one, and one which Corco had posed many times since he had gained his new memories: Why were there no societies in which everyone was a cultivator? Instead, any culture which had cultivation only allowed a limited ruling class to cultivate. How was it possible that in all of human history, not one desperate or ambitious society had decided to teach cultivation to everyone? Corco had always felt that the answer to this basic question would also solve many of his questions about the nature of cultivation itself.

"That's right," Corco admitted. "So, I presume that the qi-theory is either wrong, or at least not sufficient to explain the mechanism behind cultivation. I have a hunch that there are certain limiting factors for how many cultivators there can be in any given society, which is why we haven't seen all-cultivator societies so far."

While Corco was speaking, Sumaci handed her drink to a nearby servant and sat up properly. Clearly, she was also getting more engaged in the discussion.

"I don't think that's necessarily true. That argument alone doesn't seem quite enough to falsify the qi-theory," she argued. "For example: What if people naturally produce and emit some form of gas or energy, which makes cultivation possible. Let's call it qi for now. But what if people need a certain concentration of qi to cultivate, and the amount they produce by themselves is not enough for such a concentration? If that were true, cultivation would only become possible in a sufficiently large group, and only a certain percentage of people would have the ability to cultivate. It would answer your concerns over all-cultivator societies without negating the possibility of the qi-theory, right?"

"That's a decent argument, but there's others which make the the qi-theory less reasonable." Corco also got rid of his drink as he added an argument only he could possibly make: "As far as I can tell, humans in this world are identical to humans in the other world, the world in my memories. That has held true even after we've begun to do proper anatomical research. So how come the people here have developed cultivation so thoroughly, yet people in the other world have not even discovered it?"

"Maybe we're just smarter?" Sumaci joked around, though Corco only returned a tired laugh, reminded of all the pointless worries those new memories had caused him.

"Honestly, while I'm not quite ready to dismiss the qi-theory, there are others I find more promising," he continued to elaborate his loose thoughts. "I personally like the idea that the environment has something to do with it. In some way, our environment is different from that of the other world. That difference is what makes cultivation possible in the first place. For example, some kind of cosmic background radiation could be present here, which is a requirement for cultivation."

"But that still wouldn't answer your question of all-cultivator societies, would it?" Sumaci pointed out very correctly. "If there is a kind of 'cultivation radiation' all around us, possibly from the sun or the stars, then why can only a limited number of people cultivate in any one place?"

"Maybe the amount of radiation is limited? Or maybe only some people can receive it somehow, while others cannot?" Corco guessed blindly. His wife's dismissively pursed lips told him that she was just as dissatisfied with the explanation as he was himself. After all, there were too many holes in the theory. If he got his cultivation powers from the sun, how come he could cultivate at night, for example?

Thus, he quickly pecked his wife on the lips as a distraction and moved on to his next theory before she could blast the last one full of holes.

"There's also the possibility that there's some kind of substance present in the soil here. Maybe that substance is a requirement for cultivation. This substance is then naturally ingested by all living things with their food. That could be the limiting factor for the number of people who can cultivate on any piece of land at any given time. The amount of this substance is simply limited, and if too many people cultivate at once, too much of it is used up."

Again, Corco presented a new theory, and again, his clever student managed to find the holes in it almost immediately.

"But in that case, wouldn't we find all-cultivator societies in sparsely-populated regions anyways?" she argued. "I mean, in a desert with few people, there would be a higher amount of this 'substance' per person, right?" Although Corco wanted to rebuke the first argument, Sumaci immediately added on a second: "And how come our constant use of cultivation does not use up this substance over time? How come we're cultivating as much now as we did hundreds of years ago?"

Presented with two good points at once, Corco could really only offer a tragic smile and shrug combination. Without any guidance from his other world memories, he really wasn't any better than a normal person. Thus, he could only offer some unfocused, imperfect ideas. Still, he would try to meet his student's expectations to the best of his abilities, even when such expectations were unfounded.

"Maybe we are using up the substance, but we just need very little of it, so the reserves haven't been depleted yet. It's also possible that this substance somehow reforms as quickly as we use it." Corco thought for a second, before he came up with an even better explanation. "Or maybe this substance is just catalytic, and we only need its presence for cultivation, without the need to use it up. As for your desert problem: Such far-off regions are the places we know the least about in the entire world. There could very well be all-cultivator civilizations hidden out there somewhere. Maybe we just haven't met them yet. On the other hand, these substances could be water-borne as well, which would neatly solve the desert question and explain why only ever a portion of people cultivates: After all, the amount of water in a region is always roughly equivalent with the density of human population, so the amount of this substance would scale with the number of people. This way, maybe there is always enough for some people to cultivate, but never enough for everyone."

Presented with so much information at once, even the quick-witted Sumaci had to sit back and think in silence for a second. While she was busy formulating new questions to make things difficult for her husband, Corco stood up and walked up to the ship's railing. As he leaned into the wood and stared out into the endless blue of the Narrow Sea, he could feel his chest tighten ever further. Unlike his excited wife, none of his previous enthusiasm would return, and neither would any of the holiday calm from just minutes before.

More and more, the light which played upon the waves just looked like chaos to him, inexplicable and confusing, far too complex for his limited human brain to understand. In truth, the question of cultivation had bothered him far too much for far too long. As the one major differences between this world and the other, it was also the only point of uncertainty in a world he thought was so certain. It really didn't help that the other world didn't have real life cultivation, yet had an endless supply of stories about it. It only served to confuse him further, lost in a maze of crack-pot theories.

Wasn't it possible that the other world had also — at some point — had cultivators? Maybe that was where stories of ancient heroic ages from all over the world originated, rather than from simple exaggeration? In this case, maybe Maci's theory about the limited cultivation resources would turn out to be true. Maybe they didn't have long left until cultivation would disappear in this world as well, which would throw a real wrench into some of his plans for the reconstruction of medalan society.

Worse yet, there were certain things he hadn't mentioned to Sumaci. One of his strongest theories — and the one he was most obsessed with — was that cultivation originated directly from within the soul. After all, his own experiences — be their true nature reincarnation, transmigration, or memory transfer — all but proved the existence of an immortal soul, or some functionally identical object attached to the human body.

Maybe their research into cultivation would lead him to answer some of the questions he had been asking and dreading. Maybe he would soon find out how he had gained his new memories, or who he really was. Even more than the possible advances cultivation promised for society, it was this thought that both excited and terrified Corco.

"Master, I have another question." At some point, Sumaci had stepped next to Corco, unbeknownst to the teacher, who had been trapped in his own thoughts for an unknown amount of time. As she snuggled up next to him and her warmth entered his body, he could feel his entire body relax. His tense hands stopped gripping each other, and once more loosely hung over the ship's railing.

"Shoot," he casually replied. It was an attempt to hide his prior anxiety, even though he was certain Sumaci knew better.

"Why have you never taught any of this in your classes?" she asked a genuinely good question, as always.

"That's because I don't actually know anything," Corco admitted unlike before, when he had tried to bullshit his way through the lesson with half-truths and theories. "Everything I've told you today is just conjecture, nothing more. It is all based on my very limited understanding of the subject, as well as a pious wish that cultivation will follow the rules of logic and the empirical world as I understand them. Unlike all the other things I've taught before, I have no other world memory of cultivation in my head. Honestly, I don't know anything about the subject, at least not anything other people in this world couldn't teach as well."

As he spoke, Corco could slowly feel his body relax. Maybe admitting that he wouldn't and couldn't know everything had helped him come to grips with his own limitations, or maybe it was his wife's presence which had helped calm him down. Either way, he finally took a deep breath as the tightness in his chest eased at last.

"But isn't it more exciting to not know anything in advance?" Sumaci asked, a carefree grin on her face. "Don't you want to explore the deep seas of science together?"

Surely, the fact that he wasn't alone in his quest was a great relief for Corco. Rather than think of it as another challenge to overcome by himself, he should think of it as a puzzle to be solved. And puzzles were fun, especially in good company.

"That's right," he said, and put his arm around his wife. "Since no path exists yet, all we can do is forge our own, through sheer determination. I mean, we haven't invested this much money and manpower in this research for nothing, right? That's why we're making the trip to check on all of it, to find answers to all those questions. By the end of it all, we'll know infinitely more about all of this than we do now, and we'll have lifted another small piece of the veil that obscures this world."

The more he spoke, the calmer Corco got, the more his determination grew. How could he have forgotten such a simple truth until Maci had reminded him? Whether it was the recent history of Medala including the lightning miracle, his pursuit of the ideal country, or this cultivation research, all of them were things he could not find in his memories. All he had to do was once more forge his own path towards his goal, and like all the previous times, he would not have to do it alone.

As always, he would be supported by those who were precious to him, people he valued as much as they valued him. Together, they would forge ahead into a brighter future, whatever shape it may take.

"I thought we made the trip to relax and get away from all the work," Sumaci joked, her smile brighter than the sun's reflections in the water.

"Of course," Corco replied, and answered her easy smile with a confident one of his own. "Why would we ever consider solving a puzzle as work? Let's just go at our own pace, and enjoy the ride."

As the king of southern Medala stared out into the endless waves once more, he could no longer see the chaos. All he saw were endless possibilities.

Chapter 473 - Pleasure Cruise

The cool, salty wind of the Narrow Sea blew across Corco's face, as the soft sound of flute entered his ear and enveloped his being. His body relaxed as he sank into his seat placed atop the ship's main deck, as waves gently rocked his body side to side. Maybe, he thought, this is what freedom feels like.

After some wrangling in the privy council — and plenty of useless begging and complaining from Fadelio — Corco had ultimately gotten his wish. Being an absolute dictator also had its perks every once in a while. Thus relieved of his duties, he'd managed to get away from all the work for once, to enjoy some well-earned time off. Better yet, he could enjoy it in very good company.

"I still can't believe they just let us go like that." At some point, the sound of the flute had stopped and Sumaci had sat up in her seat next to her husband after she had put away her instrument.

As Corco's wife had said, their actions had been highly unusual. After all, if one of the two monarchs of the country was absent, the other could naturally take over government affairs. The fact that both of them had been let away on vacation at the same time was certainly out of character for their worrywart assistants, to say the least. Still, Corco was neither bothered, nor surprised by this development.

"It's not like there's anything difficult left to do in Saniya. Most of it is just housekeeping," he argued, as he continued to stare out into the sparkling blue of the Narrow Sea. The beauty of the glittering waves calmed and excited him at the same time. "Fadelio can handle that much on his own for a while. And it's not like we're really on vacation. Not a proper one anyways. There's plenty of work to be done, and we even have a radio mounted on the ship. In case an emergency happens, we'll hear about it right away. Then we'll get back to Saniya in a few days at most, whether we like it or not."

While Corco was talking, Sumaci had stood up and walked over to the bar they had mounted underneath the ship's quarter deck. This ship had been specifically modified by Corco over the years, installing all kinds of unnecessary luxuries, just to see if they were possible with their current level of technology and craftsmanship. This tiny bar, built atop a series of ball-bearings, was free-floating and would self-right in accordance with gravity just like a spirit compass. As such, it could be used even at high seas.

Soon, Sumaci returned from the marvel of modern technology and engineering, which she had casually used to make them some drinks.

"Still, weren't you preparing a grand strategy for your new invention?" she asked, as she handed one of the two cocktail glasses to her husband. They had ice, straws, and everything. Truly an experience way beyond its time.

"You mean the bicycle?" Corco responded, as he took the glass his wife was offering him. "Any strategy used for their spread has already been planned out long in advance. I mean, we spent months building the thing. Just writing down a few lines was a lot easier. And I don't think following those simple instructions until I come back won't be any harder. They can't fuck it up that much, can they?"

"But I thought you wanted to personally teach the soldiers how to ride it. Who'll do it if you're not there? Didn't you say that was important?" Sumaci probed further, as she sat back down on her reclining chair which had been fastened to the main deck.

Although Corco thought it was strange that she hadn't asked such a question earlier, maybe she had wanted to be properly at sea before asking things which could let Corco reconsider their little trip. Though in that regard, she really hadn't needed to worry. In response to her question, Corco turned over and just smiled at his wife for a few seconds.

"Not as important as some time off with my beautiful wife," he finally said, and softly held her cheek in his free hand, before he turned back around. "Also, Nabo has learned how to ride too, and I've even left him a secret weapon to make things easier. So I can just have him do the teaching, while I handle more important matters."

Corco's smile transformed first into a sly grin, and then into one of anticipation, as he thought about Nabo's training, and then their plans for this journey.

"That is true, we will have plenty to do on this trip, won't we?" Sumaci sighed, and plonked back into on her seat in frustration.

"That's right. This is officially a business trip, so please don't enjoy yourself too much," Corco confirmed, and loudly slurped his drink through the straw to reinforce his point.

"Honestly, I'm just glad to be back at sea for once, no matter in what form," Sumaci admitted, to no-one's surprise, least of all Corco. After all, his queen had been a ship's captain for much of her life. Beyond that, she would surely be worried about her home as well. Even though a war was still raging on the Verdant Isles, she hadn't been back there ever since the start of the rebellion.

"Maybe we could do something like this regularly," Corco thus suggested vaguely. He didn't want to mention the war and ruin the good mood, something he suspected his wife had been doing as well. "Like, once a year, we just take a few weeks off to enjoy ourselves."

"That would be nice," Sumaci just confirmed, as Corco had expected.

For a while, the couple remained silent as they just slurped their drinks and stared out into the sparkling blue sea. Since Corco was perfectly content with doing absolutely nothing for a while, it was of course his inquisitive student's duty to break the peace once more.

"Though I still don't understand what's so important about cultivation that it requires the king to personally inspect some random results," she reiterated a thought she had expressed before their departure as well. Yet once again, Corco gave the same answer.

"Cultivation is the basis of our rule, after all," he just said.

The first time, such a vague non-answer had been enough to satisfy Sumaci. Now however, she probed further, whether out of curiosity or boredom.

"Was the basis of our rule," she corrected. "Didn't all of that change with your lightning miracle, oh great teacher? I mean, with the rapid advance in technology we have gone through, won't cultivation become less and less important in the future? Surely, relying on cultivation is no way to rule in the long-term."

While Sumaci's view was sufficiently progress-oriented, throwing away the past to face the future, Corco thought her views were a bit too radical. Not to mention that they didn't coincide with his own plans, or rather, his own predictions about cultivation.

"I wouldn't be so sure about that," he thus said.

"What do you mean?" Sumaci asked and sat up, already in student mode, ready to challenge any of Corco's teachings, as usual. In response, the teacher righted himself as well, and faced his student squarely.

It's been a while, he thought and suppressed a smile as he stared into Sumaci's eager eyes with fascination. This would be their first lesson in a while, though it would be less of a lesson this time, and more of a summary of his best and worst theories on the subject.

"First off, how much do you know about cultivation?" he asked, in an attempt to establish her base level of knowledge. After all, they had never had any serious discussions about cultivation, and he needed to know where to begin with his lecture.

"Cultivation describes a set of breathing techniques and spoken or thought mantras, coupled with certain forms of physical exertion, which manage to elevate the human body beyond the mundane, imbuing it with superhuman capabilities over time. For centuries, they have also been a powerful tool for the ruling classes around the world to control the commoners at the bottom, by controlling the outflow of techniques and only imparting them onto their followers." Maci rattled off, before she she added: "Though these old methods of control have been challenged recently, mostly by you, teacher."

In response, Corco nodded slowly. His wife had given a textbook definition, which was impressive on its own, since there were no textbooks on the subject in the first place. Most likely, she had come up with such a clean and comprehensive definition on her own, maybe even on the fly. It represented the height of understanding on the subject of cultivation in the world, in addition to some of Sumaci's own thoughts. It was certainly more than good enough to jump straight into his theories.

After he had taken a few seconds to organize his own messy thoughts on the subject, Corco finally continued.

"Well, you want to hear my opinion on cultivation?" he asked. Although he never enjoyed thinking about cultivation, he couldn't disappoint his wife with that eager expression on her face.

"Of course. You know I always enjoy your lectures." Although Sumaci looked poised to learn, an awkward Corco was in no position to fulfill her wish.

"Well, this one will be less of a lecture, and more of a loose collection of theories and ideas," Corco admitted. "For a more methodical look at cultivation, we probably have to start with the most fundamental questions. What is cultivation, really, at its essence? And how does it work? By which I mean, what sort of mechanism is happening inside the human body which allows for cultivation to happen in the first place? What are its requirements, and what are its limitations?"

While Corco was talking, Sumaci had laid back down on her side and snuggled into a comfortable position.

"All of them good questions, teacher. Surely, you already have the answer to most of them," she said, and closed her eyes, ready to receive another one of Corco's many lengthy speeches. However, the teacher had to disappoint his student this time.

"I wish." With a sigh, Corco once again looked out onto the sea.

Still busy with his messy thoughts, he tried to organize them for a while, as his wife patiently waited for him. Though the more he looked out into the blinking mess of lights, the more muddled his thoughts became. In the end, he gave up and simply rattled off what half-baked theories he had come up with so far.

"According to my best guess, cultivation is a way of influencing the human body, in some way," he said. "I know that's frustratingly vague, but we simply don't know enough about cultivation yet to say anything more. If I had to say anything more concrete, cultivation is either a targeted way of manipulating the human hormone household, or a method to directly mutate the human genome in a targeted manner. Since cultivation can do some things which seem outside the realm of mere hormones as far as I know, I tend towards the latter explanation. Though I won't rule out the former without formal, experimental falsification."

As he spoke, Corco got both excited and uncomfortable, as he usually got whenever he thought about cultivation for too long. It was not a pleasant feeling, yet it was one he just couldn't let go.

"Is this not a powerful force?" he asked after he had turned towards Sumaci, his excitement temporarily overpowering his discomfort at the thought. "A clean, safe, and ethical way to manipulate the human genome, a powerful path into the future, should it hold true. Even more, it could be a way to manipulate all kinds of organisms beyond humans, from plants to animals. A pre-industrial CRISPR, if you will. If this power can be truly understood and harnessed by us, the possibilities are almost endless. It's an invention maybe even beyond an industrial revolution in importance."

Hermit's Notes: First of two connected chapters. These are a bit dry and theoretical, but I guess that's the result of always pushing back the cultivation chapters. I'll need to establish some basics for the next few chapters to make sense.

Chapter 472 - Easy Rider (Part 2)

"Riding a bicycle is easy," Corco explained to Fadelio, as he was still driving circles around him, "and you'll never forget once you learn. It's like..." Well, that's not gonna work, he realized before he awkwardly finished the sentence, "it's like something easy, you know? Anyways, they'll learn soon enough. And they'll have to. Not only the runners, but all of our soldiers."

"Is that not a bit much?" No doubt, Fadelio thought back to his own misadventures with the machines, and the many falls he had suffered in his attempts to learn from Corco. It was a good excuse for the king to join in on the memories and smirk at his friend's expense one more time. However, not everyone was in a mocking mood.

"Prime Minister Fadelio, it truly is not too complicated," Nabo made his presence felt. "Even a humble commoner craftsman such as I was able to learn the operation methods of the bicycle rather quickly."

That much was true. In fact, Corco was convinced the craftsman had begun to grow a beard in order to hide the wound around his chin from a particularly nasty fall. Though to his credit, he had stuck with it and eventually become the second cyclist in this world, before even Fadelio, who had given up halfway through.

"It's not just easy, it's necessary." Corco added, and stopped cycling again. This was too important of a topic, and he lacked gravitas whenever he was riding around. "If the soldiers don't want to learn it by themselves, we'll have to force them. And before you complain again: there's no alternative to this. These things are far too crucial for our future success. So we'll have to make bicycle lessons in the army mandatory for a while, until enough people learn it to prove how easy it truly is. Only then will the idea catch on by itself. Believe me, riding a bike feels counter intuitive at first, but once you get it, it's the easiest thing in the world. And once there's enough examples of people rising around, everyone will want to learn it, and we're gonna thoroughly revolutionize the way our society functions."

"I retain my judgment on that part. On all parts, in fact," Fadelio just said in response to Corco's enthusiastic speech.

"You would, wouldn't you." Corco sighed. Clearly, his enthusiasm wasn't contagious today, so he had to explain himself properly. Otherwise, there would be problems with policy implementation down the line.

"Right, I'll just give you this one factoid to spark your imagination," Corco tried again, "Once they learn how to ride one of these, each of our runners can cover a distance two or even three times as far as before, at like twice the speed. In the past year, we've been struggling with communication and control over the distant estates, right? Well, here's your solution: We'll just shorten the distance to those far-off estates from a week to a few days."

"That... would be helpful," Fadelio finally admitted, after a second of stunned silence. "However, it would not solve the fundamental problems of control in those estates. Even if the runners could arrive there more quickly, we would still be lacking military control in those distant areas, and our officials would continue to suffer under the non-compliance of the locals."

"Like I've said, the soldiers have to learn how to ride as well," the king repeated. "By then, they can also arrive in those distant estates more quickly. And just imagine the long-term benefits: On these, an entire army would be able to travel 150, 200, even 250 kilometers in a day on a forced march. Not to mention, a cyclist can transport many times more weight than an ordinary soldier, which will vastly improve our logistics, too. We'd always be able to choose the battlefield, and we'd never be out of position or out of supplies. By that point, who would ever be able to corner us, and who would ever be able to defeat us?"

Corco imagined the new units like dragoons, traveling to the battlefield by bike, and then dismounting to fight as ordinary infantry. He had images of street cycling races in his head after all. With some training, his soldiers would be able to travel next to each other in the thousands. As Corco voiced out the benefits of the bicycles more and more, Fadelio finally seemed to come around to the idea as well. At last, he began to see the genius in Corco's plan.

"That... sure sounds impressive, should it ever come true." Of course he had to add that little caveat in there. "Though if we can find enough men who will be able to tame these machines, I am still unsure."

Again with that. It's a personal vendetta, isn't it? Just because you've failed to ride a bike doesn't mean no one else can.

"No worries, I'll personally deal with the training," Corco reassured his friend, rather than complain about him. "Soon enough, you'll see the results, and you'll see just how easy it is to learn. Believe me, this is a fundamental shift in our country's future, one which will bring us irreversibly ahead of our enemies. With faster transportation and communication, the moment when we once more unify all of Medala won't be too far off anymore."

While the idea of a mounted cyclist army felt funny to Corco, he didn't have the luxury of using horses, since he hadn't found any yet. Their efforts to breed camels were also still at the very start.

Though objectively speaking, bicycles weren't any worse than horses in the first place. Rather, they were much better so long as their infrastructure was good enough.

After all, the bikes didn't need any supplies, couldn't fall ill, and didn't get tired. While horses were much better in rough terrain, the bicycles made more than up for it with their efficiency around roads. After all, as Saniya's army increased in size and technology, Corco's preferred form of engagement was large-scale battles along major roads.

In the first place, the only reason bikes were rarely seriously used for war in the other world was because proper bikes weren't developed until better methods of transportation — like trains and even early automobiles — had already been invented.

Now however, the invention of the bicycle had been pushed ahead by hundreds of years, and there were also no horses to compete with them. Once introduced, these bikes would dominate the battlefields and streets of Medala for decades to come, at the very least. While Corco was still lost in thought about the future of his kingdom, his attendant seemed to have been hung up on an entirely different idea.

"Ah that reminds me, the reason why I've come," he said, and pulled a scroll from his pocket.

"What do you mean? What reminds you of what? The unification of Medala?" Corco tried to follow Fadelio's sudden jump in logic, before he realized why his attendant had come here to find him in the first place. "Is there more news from the north?"

After all, most of Medala had been remarkably quiet these days. After a hectic last year, most forces had calmed down to stabilize their positions or lick their wounds. Only the north had shown increased activity, and only after Brym had begun to stir up the place for his bond sales.

"Yes, the detailed report has arrived," Fadelio confirmed, as expected. Thus, the fun was over once and for all. Once more, Corco was forced to return back to his work, leaving behind the whimsical world of bicycle testing. Left with no other choice, he had to turn towards Nabo to invite him away. After all, this was classified information, not something a craftsman would be privy to.

"Sorry, could you leave us alone for a moment?" he tried to be as tactful as possible, since he was about to throw the craftsman from his own home. However, Nabo was as patient and understanding as he had been during the month-long building process of the bikes.

"Of course, King Corco," he just said, and turned to leave.

Thus, Corco and Fadelio had to wait in awkward silence until Nabo was out of earshot.

"Did something happen?" Corco was the first to speak up, confused that the north was still an issue at all. "I thought the news we got was that everything had been resolved already? Any further details should have been handled by your department, right? I mean, the contract was already signed and everything. Did Amautu make some sudden counterattack or something?" the king finally guessed. He really couldn't imagine what else would need his attention. After the mess in the north had been resolved so cleanly as per Antaya's last report, he had mentally already struck the issue off his endless to-do-list.

"No, the northern unrest has been resolved cleanly, just how the initial report said," Fadelio alleviated Corco's initial concerns. "However, the full report contains a few more details you should be aware of, things too important for me to just handle by myself."

"All right. So what is it then?" a relaxed Corco leaned into his bike's saddle, relieved that the worst case of a sudden defeat in the north hadn't happened. As expected, Fadelio's next words could at most be considered an issue, rather than a catastrophe.

"It's the ghosts," he explained. "They've suffered quite significant losses while defending the northern lords."

"We'll finally have to start training new people, huh?" Corco just commented. After all, the reestablishment of the Mausoleum had long been part of the king's plans. However, because there had always been more important things to deal with, it had been pushed back time and time again. Now, it was apparently no longer possible to delay the issue any further, or they would eventually just run out of people.

"That was Lady Antaya's suggestion as well," Fadelio confirmed. "Further, the lady has reported that King Amautu has developed an army of elite assassins, far stronger and more loyal than ordinary warriors, or even the ghosts."

"Another one, huh?" Corco sighed in response to more bad news. "First, he had strong warriors, now he has strong assassins, too. It looks like those Chutwa scholars are really far ahead of us when it comes to cultivation research."

"Yes, indeed. It's quite concerning to be this far behind," Fadelio admitted. "From our own reports, and from intelligence the central kingdom has shared with us, their supply of powerful warriors seems nearly endless. It's concerning for the future, especially if we end up in a military conflict with them."

"That's right. I think it's finally time to cash in on our own cultivation research," Corco concluded. "We've been working on this for a long time already. It's time we start seeing some results, no matter how ready we are."

No doubt, those were the exact words Fadelio had been waiting for, since he wrote down Corco's orders with a happy expression. After all, there was one more reason why they hadn't reestablished the Mausoleum until now.

Corco had blocked any early attempts to do so, because he wanted to develop new and improved cultivation techniques for his ghost warriors before they started on the wrong foot again. To achieve as such, the king had funded and organized research into cultivation techniques for years now. However, not even Fadelio had any access to the relevant information, let alone the results of the research. After all, Corco knew precious little about this one aspect of this world, and so he had decided to be as cautious as possible.

Thus, Fadelio could only ask Corco to release the research early if they wanted to rebuild the ghosts stronger than before. Now, they had run out of time, so even the perfectionist Corco had no choice to cut the experiments short. If Amautu overwhelmed them with an endless army of elite warriors, everything would be too late. If there were any problems arising from insufficient early research, they would have to deal with them later.

Thus, Corco rode his bicycle out of the yard, ready to return to the castle first, to plan a visit to distant islands around Medala. In fact, his mind wasn't on the research along. Hadn't he wanted to make up today's events to Maci? Surely, this was the perfect opportunity to travel around the islands of Medala and spend some time together, as a kind of second honeymoon.

Even with his long steps, Fadelio just barely managed to keep up with the absent-minded Corco, although the king had already slowed down out of consideration. Meanwhile, the king's guards had to break into a jog just to keep up with their king's whims.

"By the way, Laqhis," Fadelio suddenly said, already out of breath.

"What is it, friend?" Corco asked. Although he expected another question or remark about cultivation, or the ghosts, his mood was now restored, eager to tell Maci about his plans.

"How do you woo a woman?" Fadelio asked out of the blue, to baffle his king and the surrounding guards. Maybe, Corco thought as he stared at his embarrassed friend, it was time to give him some time off as well. With a proper social life, maybe he would bother him a bit less. Surely, this was an idea worth exploring.

Hermit's Notes: Next up: A proper exploration of cultivation, finally!!!

Chapter 471 - Easy Rider (Part 1)

Today had been a great day. First, Corco had woken up next to his wife, by himself, with the rising sun. With how busy both of them had been for years now, that much was already a rare enough occurrence. From there, things had only gotten better.

In a genius move, Corco had hidden away from Fadelio the previous evening already, which meant there was no one who could read him his schedule in the morning. In the first place, most of the important work had been finished a while ago. After the end of the war, there had been many issues left to resolve. Now however, things had calmed down again, and all big problems had either been dealt with, or could not be dealt with at all for now.

Thus, he was just being kept busy with irrelevant crap that didn't matter day after day. Surely, now that the kingdom would no longer collapse without his presence, he could be allowed a single day off. Maybe Fadelio had understood as much as well, since he hadn't come over to Maci's quarters to find him first thing in the morning.

Originally, Corco had planned to just stay inside and spend a lazy day with his wife for once, making music, cocktails, and love. However, even better news had still forced him outside in the end, against his own desires. Still, this issue was too important, and not something he could put off.

At last, after months of hard work, the mass-produced bicycles were finished and ready for the final inspection. Once this last test was deemed successful, they would reign in a massive transportation revolution, and change the world forever.

After seemingly endless back and forth, Nabo had finally gotten things right. Egidius' little apprentice had grown to the point where he could barely try to fulfill Corco's wishes, though the necessity for constant adjustment throughout the building process proved that he was still a bit too green for this type of work. After all, the king wasn't asking him to make a back scratcher, he was asking him to invent world-changing items. Though through perseverance and persistence, Corco could finally reap the reward of the talented clock maker's work.

Thus, the king had enjoyed the morning by riding around various models and versions of their life-changing invention, rather than enjoying the company of his wife. Although he had invited Maci to come along with him, the girl hadn't shown any interest for the new invention. While she had shown understanding for the necessity of his work — as she always did — Corco knew that she had been disappointed that their plans had been dashed. Still, this wasn't something he could just push back. The invention of the bicycle was too important to ignore, even for his wife. He planned to make up for his mistake later in the evening.

Thus alone and unloved, the king had appreciated the progress they had made throughout the many iterations of bicycles they had designed — as well as the brilliance of the final product. To heal his injured heart, he had also enjoyed the wind through his hair as he rode circles through the yard. He had tried to ride along the street as well, but the guards had claimed that it would be a bad idea for the king to ride around by himself like that. Maybe, Corco thought, he should try again later. After all, this yard was far too small for a proper test, and he was the king after all. Couldn't his guards just cordon off a street for a bit? In this manner, Corco planned to spend all day getting familiar with his newest toy, as he tried to forget the guilt he felt towards Maci.

Yet when he saw Fadelio watch him from the yard's entrance, he realized that reality had already caught up with him once more, and it wasn't even lunchtime yet. Still, his attendant hadn't come here if it wasn't important, so the work still had to be done. Thus, he drove up to the entrance and braked sharply in front of the attendant. As usual, his boring friend just stood there, and wouldn't even pretend to be scared or upset, not even out of courtesy.

"Morning, buddy." Undeterred by his failed prank, Corco smiled as he sat back down on the bike's saddle, with one foot resting on the pedal and the other on the ground for stability and style points.

"Good morning, Master." Fadelio's response was even drier and stiffer than usual in its delivery, despite Corco's strong pose. "There are important matters to report."

As expected, Corco thought. We've not been dragged into any new wars, have we?

Since the news didn't seem to be of life or death importance — otherwise Fadelio would have told him immediately or at least shown more urgency — Corco decided to indulge in his hobbies for a bit longer. After all, the invention of the bicycle was an important matter for the future of their kingdom as well. It was only right and proper for the kingdom's prime minister to be informed about such an epoch-making invention. For the moment, dragging out his return to work had become the top priority for southern Medala's king.

"Later, check this out first," he thus said, and motioned towards the bicycle underneath him with one hand, the other still left on the handle to maintain his pose. "Look, our newest version bicycle, and the final manufactured version. Well, not exactly. This version was specially designed for me, so it's got a few extras."

As he got back onto the pedals and rode around Fadelio in a small circle, Corco could feel himself grinning like an idiot, but his attendant's attitude remained boringly impassive.

"Very nice," he commented, without even properly looking. He didn't as much as turn his head to follow the king's path.

"Isn't it?" Corco barreled through his attendant's indifference as if it didn't exist. He had worked hard for this kind of levity, and had even risked his marriage. His workaholic attendant's sarcasm wouldn't ruin his mood. Rather, he felt inspired to show off even more.

Once again, he stopped in front of Fadelio, this time to point out the features of Medala's newest invention. "Look, in the end we landed on one hollow metal frame, no separate parts. Those modular ideas were neat, but proved too unstable. The metal's so thin that it's hardly heavier than wood, and it's a lot more sturdy as well. And with mass-production, we even managed to keep the cost in check. It's barely more expensive than wood, but much more functional. Though the wheels are still made out of wood and covered in leather."

As Corco was describing the newest creation of Saniya's innovative craftsman class, Nabo —the one craftsman who had actually created it — had walked across the yard to join the conversation. The skinny, young clock maker with the shaggy beard smiled as he added to the explanation.

"We considered adding metal sheets to the outside, like one might see on a wagon wheel," Nabo said. "But for that, we will need to make more long-term tests on wear and tear, to see if such an increase in cost is necessary. After all, a bicycle is far lighter than an ox cart."

"Of course, we're gonna replace all the wheels with proper pneumatic tires... as soon as I've figured out where to get some rubber," Corco added in the end, more to himself than to anyone else. After all, no one here knew what rubber even was, let alone where to find him a rubber tree.

Corco was quite annoyed that the most important plant for industrialization was absent in this world. Although Atau had scoured the globe for plants based on Corco's descriptions, rubber trees were still nowhere to be found. At least they had cotton, which would serve them well for quite some time during the early stages of industrialization. Still, the constant need to work around their lack of rubber and look for alternative had become quite the hassle.

"Very nice," Fadelio just repeated his earlier comment, and in the same dry tone as well. Clearly, he was just humoring Corco until the king was tired out from his enthusiasm and ready to listen to whatever boring politics stuff the prime minister had brought with him. However, Corco was far from being done gushing about his shiny, new bike.

"Isn't it?" he repeated as well, and grinned even wider as he slapped the bike's metal frame for emphasis. "By the way, the frame was made by the Veteran Arms Company. You know, the one that made us some trouble a while back. They have plenty of capacity to do iron work, and they're almost done with their big military contract for the bayonets, so they had spare capacity we could use. Luckily we decided to keep them around, or we might still be stuck looking for ways to save money on mass production."

"Yes, that is fortunate," Fadelio finally gave a proper reply beyond one or two words. "Not to mention, they have really helped solve the problem of veteran employment for us."

"That's right," Corco admitted, though his enthusiasm was limited. While it was true that business ventures like the Veteran Arms Company had helped make sure that they got most of their veterans from the last war off the streets and into employment again, they had congratulated each other for their decision more than enough already. Thus, Corco just decided to claim all the credit for himself, and annoy Fadelio off the topic in the process. "That truly was a genius move by me, if I am allowed to say so myself. Which I am, because the king can allow others to say whatever he wants, even when it comes to himself."

In response to Corco's brilliant meta joke, Fadelio just stared, which gave the king an excuse to drive another circle around the attendant, before he once again came to a sudden stop in front of his face.

"Anyways, check out those contact breaks," he showed off, as if it hadn't just been a cheap excuse to annoy his attendant some more. "Those were finicky until we got them right, but now they're both cheap and reliable. And as the piece de resistance:"

All this time, he had held back for the grand finale, but now, Corco finally rang the little bell screwed to the handlebars. The light ringing sound made Corco feel nostalgic for a past he had never really lived through. To be honest, they had wasted far too much time to get the sound just right, just how he remembered.

"And what is that?" Fadelio asked in a mildly intrigued voice. Though of course, Corco could only offer disappointment to still such intrigue.

"It's a bike bell," Corco explained as if it was self-evident. "No bike is complete without a bell, of course."

Unfortunately, they hadn't found the time to paint his bike bright-red, or add playing cards to the wheels. Otherwise, it would have been able to go even faster.

"So these 'bike bells' will be on every single one of these?" Fadelio ignored the king's jokey tone and seriously inspected the bell, a critical frown on his face. "That seems like a waste of money and materials."

You're taking the fun out of everything. Admit it, you're doing this on purpose, Corco thought, and ignored the fact that he was fooling around on purpose as well.

"No, of course not," the king said as he suppressed a sigh. "They're only on this special version that's been made specifically for me. It's the luxury edition, if you will. It even has some experimental gear shifting, look."

As Corco operated the gear shift on the handle, he stared down and slowly turned the pedals, to make sure the chain properly jumped over into the smaller sprocket one over. After all, the technology was a bit wonky, so the chain still had the habit of jumping out of the gears every once in a while.

Only when he finished the gear shift without any incident did he look back up, proud of his achievement as if he had been the one who had built it. Luckily, the one who had actually built it stood to the side and was pretending like he didn't exist, still nervous in the presence of such important people. Thus, Corco could brag about Nabo's achievements with reckless abandon.

"King Corco, all of this is very impressive, no doubt," Fadelio replied in a voice that proved he wasn't impressed at all. "However, I have serious concerns about the practicality of this invention. You have already spent so much time on it, and yet you are still the only one who can ride it. Can our runners truly learn how to operate this machine?"

"It's not that hard. See?" Once again, Corco used the excuse to drive more circles around his attendant.

Hermit's Notes: And now we know, Corco's clever invention to solve his problems in the distant estates was a bicycle. How many of you were guessing trains? ;)

Chapter 470 - Business Proposal (Counter Example)

A thousand miles away from the site of Medala's most bizarre proposal, a strangely similar type of play was being staged by Inti's very own brother.

"Hey, let's get married," Fadelio said towards the woman sitting to his opposite.

At first, Llamka — one of Queen Sumaci's personal maids — had returned nothing but a vicious stare to the unwelcome visitor, but it didn't seem to be helping. When this man — who had attacked his queen with vicious words in the past — had first come here to the queen's quarters, Llamka had hoped that he had come to make amends. However, the unsociable prime minister of the kingdom had informed them that he had only arrived to find his master, King Corco, who had come to visit his wife last night.

After sending for the queen to ask of the king's whereabouts, the man had simply sat there, his knees almost hitting his chin as he sat in a normal chair for a normal human, which looked laughably small underneath his frame. At the time, Llamka had thought that their silence would last until the man disappeared with King Corco, yet he had asked such an outrageous question out of nowhere.

"Excuse me?" Llamka asked back. Maybe she had misunderstood. Though if this uncouth giant had really said such nonsense, she would give him a chance to rescind his words. Yet the excited prime minister doubled down instead as he adjusted his position in his creaky chair.

"Think about it," Fadelio began, his usually indifferent voice raised as if he had just experience a great epiphany. "I've had some undue conflict with your master, haven't I? But I want to make up for my mistakes."

Queen Sumaci is your master as well, by right and through marriage, Llamka corrected in her head, though this was no time to start another conflict. At least the prime minister was finally willing to correct his past rudeness. It was her duty as the queen's personal maid to guide him towards the right path one step at a time.

"So, in order to atone, Prime Minister's plan is to marry this old maiden?" she tried to confirm the bizarre plan. By saying it out loud, surely Prime Minister Fadelio would understand how nonsensical his ideas were. Yet the man only nodded harder in response, seemingly happy to have found a kindred soul.

"That's right," he said. "So far, Queen Sumaci has refused to punish me for my previous actions. But in medalan etiquette, there is no code of conduct for a servant to apologize for mistakes of their own volition, apart from suicide. However, my presence is still very necessary to serve the country, so suicide just isn't an option. But marrying Queen Sumaci's personal maid is within the realm of a servant warrior's abilities, and would certainly ease the conflict between us. So our marriage would perfectly serve to resolve this needless conflict. And you would be getting something out of the deal as well, Lady Llamka."

Although his words seemed to be making perfect sense, none of them sat right with Llamka. He had spent all this time explaining how the marriage would benefit him, yet had barely wasted one vague sentence on the woman he was supposed to be courting right now. Still, at least his intentions were good.

"And what is it this maid would be 'getting out of the deal'?" Llamka asked, and tried to force a polite smile, though her voice involuntarily turned sharp towards the end. If this wasn't the most roundabout attempt at humiliation from the prime minister, he was at least genuine in his attempt at rectifying his mistakes. However, his next words completely dashed all of Llamka's hopes.

"Not to brag, but clearly, there could be no better husband for you than I," the monstrously tall warrior bragged. "As the prime minister of the country, I can provide for you, better than any other warrior in the kingdom. Not to mention, I am tall and strong enough to gift you many strong sons."

While, objectively, his points all rang true, the way he presented them so arrogantly — as if he was offering a gift to a poor beggar — made Llamka feel only disgust. Though what bothered her even more was the complete disregard of her own situation. Again, this man was only focused on himself.

"In the past, Queen Sumaci has provided for this poor maid quite well, and will continue to do so," she thus said to correct this ignorant man's thinking, before she added: "Further, bearing the sons would be the woman's responsibility, I would believe."

At first, Llamka had simply intended to remind Fadelio of the proper etiquette which he supposedly valued so much. After all, she herself was a warrior just like him, and just like him, she was the personal attendant of a member of the imperial family. Their status was almost identical, yet how come this man treated her as if she was inferior? Thus, the further she spoke, the icier her voice became. In the end, Fadelio's stupid grin finally disappeared, replaced by a gloomy frown as he realized that his 'brilliant' marriage plan had hit an obstacle.

"No need to act so haughty," he scoffed, as if it had been Llamka who had embarrassed him, rather he himself. Yet even if he was in a bad mood, his next words went too far. "Why would you ever think you could do any better at your age, and with your looks?"

What did this overgrown troll say to me!?

Before she had realized, Llamka had jumped off her seat. Even if this man technically was her mistress' guest, even if he was the king's friend, she wouldn't hesitate to fight him to the death if he continued to insult her honor like this. To her, her maiden status was a touchy subject. Wasn't her situation the same as his, valuing her duties to her master above her own personal fulfillment? Yet here he stood, and judged her for choices he himself had made. Worse, he scorned her for them. Though even now, she did her best to stay in control and not embarrass her mistress. In order to prevent an incident, Llamka took a deep breath before she spoke.

"Prime Minister Fadelio, surely there is a good reason why both of us are without marriage at our age," she pointed out, again with more bite than she had intended. By now, she herself had lost control and had begun to launch into a tirade before she had realized. "In your case, the cause of your loneliness has become plainly apparent in this conversation. If this is how you usually aim to woo a lady, then-"

"Hello, I have returned!" Just in time to interrupt an emerging explosion, Puklla — the second of Sumaci's personal maids — stormed back into the room with her usual, exuberant energy and lack of decorum. Yet when she saw the situation in the room — the angered Llamka standing and ready to start a fight, and a gloomy looking Fadelio sitting in his tiny chair in an awkward posture — she froze in place.

"Uhm... have I come at a bad time?" she finally asked. "I can come back later if it is inconvenient."

"No, you have come at the perfect time." Llamka shook her head and relaxed. This time, she didn't even mind her fellow maid's poor manners. After all, she had managed to resolve a dangerous situation which could have further strained the relationship between the queen and the prime minister. Although inadvertently, Puklla had done a great deed.

I should reward her and be a bit more lenient with her for... let's say a day, Llamka thought as she once again took a seat, slowly and with proper posture.

"Puklla, did you manage to locate King Corcopaca for Prime Minister Fadelio?" Llamka finally asked.

"Ah, yes." Puklla, who seemed to have been confused for a moment, finally sprang back to life. From the door, she walked in front of the still stunned Fadelio with dainty, springy steps. "Queen Sumaci informs Prime Minister Fadelio that King Corco left the palace hours ago. He is not here," she concluded with a bow.

Usually, such blunt speech would be met with Llamka's stern rebuke. This time however, she had to stifle a grin, just how the big oaf had to stifle a frown. Clearly, he was thinking hard, no longer concerned with his previous embarrassment. After all, he still had his duties to fulfill, which was all he cared about, as Llamka had just painfully learned.

"Well, do you have any idea where he could have gone?" he finally asked. By now his face was once more calm, as if his interaction with Llamka hadn't fazed him at all.

"Ah yes, I almost forgot." Puklla hit her head and smiled as if her actions were normal. "Mistress said that, after the young maniac showed up, King Corco immediately rushed out after him. Apparently, they were completing some big invention? Though I could not tell what invention could be more important than Queen Sumaci."

Although Pukkla's explanation was vague, and her commentary rude and unnecessary, it seemed to have been good enough for the prime minister.

"Young maniac..." he muttered, before his eyes widened.

"Nabo," Fadelio concluded, jumped off his seat and bowed towards Llamka. "Thank you very much. You have been a great help!"

"In that case, there surely is no more need for Prime Minister to endure our presence any longer," a biting commentary came back from Llamka. Not only was she bothered by how quickly he had recovered after their conversation, she also didn't like just how differently he treated the queen's two maids. However, the oaf seemed to barely hear her.

"No time to talk!" he just shouted and rushed towards the door. "I have to find the king! Thanks again, I owe you something!"

Thus, with a casual excuse and an insincere promise, the kingdom's prime minister charged out of the room.

What a nuisance, Llamka thought.

"What a fun person. He's a lot more lively than he looks," Puklla commented, with that silly grin on her face, as always. In response to her innocence, Llamka had to sigh. Her fellow maid wasn't a little kid anymore, after all.

"I believe we were not looking at the same man," she commented, as she looked at the door through which their guest had suddenly disappeared. "Though, he certainly looks almost as flighty as his unreliable master."

Llamka couldn't believe that she had almost been fooled by the prime minister's serious exterior. After all, King Corco was famous for being jumpy and moody. Surely, his personal attendant wouldn't be any better.

Though when she thought about the way the king treated his wife, her worries for the kingdom's future dissipated before they could form. If she found a man as sincere as King Corco, she would at least consider marriage, even if he lacked propriety.

__________________________

What do you mean, 'how I woo a woman'? That was just a very reasonable proposition, and it was ridiculous and stupid of you to refuse, just because of your pride. I'm a good guy, clearly it's your loss to refuse me.

Although he truly hadn't cared in the moment, too concerned with finding Corco to mind the insults, the way from the castle to the young Nabo's workshop was long. All along the path, the maid's harsh words played in Fadelio's head, round and round.

Although he tried his best to remain level-headed and see things from her perspective, he really couldn't accept that this woman hadn't simply accepted his proposal. Sure, he had asked while he had waited for Queen Sumaci's reply, and thus his question had come suddenly and in an inappropriate social situation, but that couldn't be the reason, surely? After all, if she thought about it for just a second, she should have realized the value of his offer.

Logically, the maid's rejection just didn't make any sense. All the way, he tried to figure out where he had gone wrong, but he just couldn't find an answer. Now he was still stuck with this pointless conflict he had started with Sumaci for no good reason, and he once again had no idea how to resolve it. Worse yet, he even had a solution to this problem by now, yet the one person who could deny his gesture of peace was the queen's very own maid.

That must be some form of disloyalty, right? Maybe she's a spy, and that's why she rejected me.

Had he known that his very sister had just gotten engaged with the exact same strategy, he would have felt even worse, and been even more confused.

While the kingdom's prime minister was still puzzling over the female psyche, he had made his way to Chukru Island, to the workshop of one Master Nabo. The first — and most talented — disciple of Master Egidius had recently finished work on his own masterpiece, which had been acknowledged by the clock makers in the city. Thus, he had become a fully fledged master of clock making in his own right, the first to be trained in Saniya.

Months back, Corco had run over to Egidius to have him invent something again. In response, the old maser — already overwhelmed with earlier demands as well as his position as the head of the newly opened university — had declined the king's request. Instead, he had referred to his talented apprentice to help the king with his newest plans.

Apparently, it had been the right choice, at least for Egidius, since Corco had kept asking for corrections based on vague descriptions, which had forced Nabo to make more and more iterations of the king's new invention. It had taken Corco months to get everything right, months until he had been satisfied. By now, they were apparently in the early production phase, trying to figure out how to mass-produce the strange contraption the king had come up with this time.

'Epoch-making', Laqhis called it. Let's see if it looks any more impressive this time.

Supposedly, the new invention was meant to solve all their problems with transportation, communication, and control in the distant territories of the southern kingdom. Based on what he had seen, Fadelio remained skeptical.

As he was still in thought, he came to the yard in question and entered past several rows of guards. Ever since the mess with the lightning miracle, Corco had been a lot less free. Since he insisted on still traveling around his capital, a large presence of guards — as well as heightened security measures —had become inevitable. Still, they wouldn't stop the king's attendant, so they just waved him through without a word.

For a moment, Fadelio thought about the lax reaction from the guards. Wouldn't there be a way for foreign spies to dress up an assassin to look like him? Clearly, this needed to be addressed later.

Yet as soon as Fadelio entered the yard, he temporarily forgot about the king's security concerns. After all, he had rarely seen his master so happy. The entire yard was filled with strange, gangly contraptions of metal, wood and leather. Meanwhile, King Corco himself excitedly drove circles around the yard, sat upon his newest invention: the bicycle.

Hermit's Notes: Well, turns out there's some things Fadelio is bad at. First of three chapters I'll be posting today, mostly because I kinda had to finish all three at once because I couldn't decide on some details.

Chapter 469 - Business Proposal

Although it took Inti quite some time to return from the Old Well, she was still upset by the time she reached her temporary stay in Challwala, a courtyard attached to a local Wonders of the World shop. Thus preoccupied with her own anger, she barely noticed an excited looking Brym sitting bent over some documents as she stomped into the main building's hall. Instead, she just charged past him and plonked herself down onto a chair in the corner.

To her surprise, Brym stopped to look up from whatever work he thought was oh so exciting. In truth, she hadn't expected him to react at all.

Usually when he gets excited, it's about money. And usually when it's about money, he forgets everything else around him, she thought. This time however, her traveling companion surprised her.

"Lady Inti, is everything all right?" Brym asked, as he put the papers in his hand onto a stack.

"Of course," Inti lied, while trying to sound as calm as possible. "What could possibly be wrong with me?"

For a second, Brym just stared at her with one eyebrow raised, before he remarked: "You look upset. You never look upset."

Although Brym had a strange way of showing his concern, it still proved their familiarity. Still, Inti really didn't want to talk about her mother's paranoia, or about the engagement she had lined up with the rapist, not even to her traveling companion.

"It really is nothing," she thus insisted again. To prove she was fine, she stood up — a bit too quickly — fixed her clothes — a bit too sloppily — and came over to Brym's table.

"Rather, Master Brym, what are you doing that has you so enthusiastic?" she asked, in an attempt to divert the merchant's attention. Predictably, he forgot all about her concerns as soon as he was asked about something he was passionate about. That 'something' was usually money, of course, as was the case this time.

"Ah, I'm counting up the bonds we've sold since the last meeting," Brym said as his previous agitation returned. At the same time, he once again picked up the stack of papers he had just put aside. With swift, but precise hands, he put down the papers again and picked up a single document covered in numbers and lines, most likely a table to count up his earnings. "It's turning out to be quite a staggering number, and it surely will only get to be more in the future."

As always, Brym's single-minded focus on money felt like an endearing quirk to Inti, rather than the severe character flaw it was. To her, it felt as if nothing in the world could phase him, so long as he had two coppers to rub together. It was an enviable trait for someone who was struggling so much over her past actions, and over the future course of her life.

"It's great that the sales went so well, but aren't you upset about the talks with Amautu at all?" she probed. Her intentions weren't malicious, but she just couldn't quite accept that Brym had shrugged off the mess in Challwala so easily.

"Why would I be upset?" he replied to her surprise, showing a calm smile as he once again began picking up bonds and adding up his earnings.

"As far as I know, the northern lords barely managed to get any of their demands heard," Inti explained. "This was a golden opportunity to weaken King Amautu's power, wasn't it? And now he has weaseled his way out of it."

"Well, from the very start, it's not like weakening the king's power was part of my plan." Brym shrugged, and twirled his feather quill between his fingers in between additions. "In the end, I'm just the finance minister. My job is to make money, not to destabilize enemy countries on my own authority. And money I've made." He tapped on the staggeringly large figure which stood in for the total value of Sila Brym had sold in bonds, at least the amount he had counted up so far. "Based on these numbers, we'll probably end up making even more money in the north than we've made in the central kingdom."

In truth, this wasn't too surprising. With a more aggressive and less traditional king, the northern lords would be more eager for foreign support than those from the center. Still, it felt nice that it had come all at once like this, and it must have felt doubly nice for a money-grubber like Brym.

"But still, wouldn't it have been more perfect if we could have also helped weaken one of King Corco's competitors?" Inti probed again. After all, their failure to properly control the situation had bothered her all this time. As far as she was concerned, their visit to Challwala had precariously stopped short of total failure. Why was Brym so unaffected, especially when he could have helped out his 'big bro' by weakening their enemy? However, Brym's answer surprised her.

"I'm not so sure about that." He shook his head and put down his papers again. Inti knew what that smug look of his meant. He was clearly getting ready for a lecture.

"What happens when Amautu falls?" the smug merchant asked.

"The northern kingdom's Scholarly Court is weakened, the northern lords will side with the south, and then King Corco can take over?" Inti tried. After all, she had thought that this had been their ultimate plan as soon as Brym had begun to call together the northern lords for a meeting. Yet once again, the smug Brym just shook his smug head in a smug manner.

"No, even if we had succeeded, big brother could never have taken advantage of a weak Amautu," he said. "Saniya is too far away, geographically, for direct intervention. And even if that wasn't the case, right now, the southern kingdom doesn't have enough personnel to administer the north in the first place. So there's only three possible outcomes if we weaken Amautu to the point of collapse: One, the scholars take over and turn the north into another Chutwa puppet, which would be worse than Amautu's control. Two, the central kingdom swallows them, which would strengthen them greatly, and would obviously be catastrophic for us. Three, no one takes over, and the north sinks into an endless civil war. Although that version wouldn't directly strengthen our enemies, it's not a great outcome either. Apart from the loss of human life — which Big Bro wouldn't appreciate — it would also impact our business. We mostly deal in luxuries after all, and you don't need luxuries in a war."

"So in the end, it's just about business again," Inti replied, after some baffled silence. After all that monologuing, it all just boiled down to money again for Brym.

"It always is, as you are very well aware, Lady Inti," the finance minister said, as if she really knew what he was talking about. "As is, Amautu hasn't achieved half as much as he thinks he did. All he really did with his little weakling act was restore the status quo from before he sent out his scholars to take over the estates. Now the north is back to an uneasy peace between all parties. Sooner or later, one of the parties will get strong or desperate enough, and then a violent civil war will break out anyways. That's because the fundamental problem of the north — a power struggle between the lords, the king, the scholars, and the commoners — has not been resolved this time. Though until that outbreak, we probably have years left, which gives us plenty of time to get into position and take advantage of such chaos. Though for that too, we'll need enough money, as always."

Although he acted as if he only cared about money, Inti was shocked with how detailed Brym's plan for the north was. While she had been eager to change things immediately, he had been planning years in advance.

"Your thoughts on the subject are much more thorough than my own," she had to admit, another defeat in a day of defeats, another blow to her psyche. She had changed topics to take her mind off her issues, and had only added another one in the process.

"I had a good teacher after all," Brym bragged about his big brother, as usual. Though when he saw Inti slump in her chair without any motivation, he soon lost his smug expression.

"Say, Lady. Now that this mess is over with, I think it's time for us to move on," he suddenly said.

"I thought you were done for a while after this major sale," a confused and dejected Inti replied. After all, most of the northern lords had come here to Challwala, and all of them had bought some bonds to buy themselves support from the southern kingdom since the meeting. However, Brym soon corrected her assumptions.

"Oh no, there's still eastern Medala left to visit, probably the easiest, and most enjoyable part of the journey. You wouldn't want to miss out on the best part, would you?" he asked with a wink. "So please get ready, we'll get going soon."

"Who said I was going with you?" Inti asked, as defiant as she was baffled.

"You don't have to come along, of course," Brym conceded, before he gave her an encouraging smile. "But based on your look, I just thought you could use an extended vacation."

"It looks that bad, does it?" Inti sighed. Over years of spy and diplomatic work, she had become an expert at hiding her inner thoughts, yet a short journey of a few months had changed her so thoroughly that she had become an open book. Only now did she realize just how much her time with Brym had changed her.

"No, lady looks immaculate, as always," Brym offered her a hollow compliment. "I am simply an excellent judge of character... and I could use the support of course, as always."

His shameless self-compliment made Inti laugh, for the first time since they had arrived in the dreary city which was Challwala. Now that she thought about it, she was always in her best mood whenever Brym was around. Although she really had never considered him a potential husband, she realized that he wasn't a bad option after her mother had repeatedly misunderstood her.

Although he was no mighty warrior, he was still a man of importance, drive and ambition. At the same time, he would frequently humor her selfish desires, and would support her whenever she needed the help the most, just how he had suddenly invited her to travel more to cheer her up. Best of all, he wasn't the kind of man who would stand in the way of her own goals, and would let her be herself.

If I'm going to marry someone, it may as well be him, she concluded.

Before she had time to regret her impulsive thought, she blurted out: "Hey, let's get married."

"Excuse me?" Brym was taken aback at her sudden assault, but now it was too late to back down. Would she embarrass herself by saying she didn't really mean it? Impossible! Thus, she could only charge ahead.

"Think about it," she argued, mostly to save face. "You already told me that you wanted to continue the family name to honor your late father, right? Well, I have also been looking for a partner, because otherwise my mother will marry me off to some random bastard. So why not just get married to each other? We're of suitable status, and we've been getting along well for months now. This way, both of us would be getting exactly what we need. It's not a bad deal, is it?"

The more she thought, the more Inti talked herself into the intrusive thought. Even so, her potential partner still didn't consider her proposal a serious offer yet.

"That is certainly an idea worth exploring," he deferred her proposal until an indeterminate time, a joking smile on her face. However, Inti, now strangely determined, knew a way of dragging Brym along with her reckless idea. After all, the only thing the merchant loved more than money was to haggle.

"Then let's explore it," she said, not giving her future husband time to think.

"What do you mean?" he asked, seemingly intrigued by the idea.

"Let's explore the idea of our marriage, to see if we're suitable," she argued, and continued before he could reject. "I could accept that at least one of our children can be named 'Fastgrade' to continue your family line, but I want our first-born son to be named Atoc di Pluritac, after my father."

By this point, she had completely skipped the step of whether to get married, and moved on to their future children. Instead, their future marriage would be decided entirely by whether or not they would be able to come to an agreement.

Even so, Brym showed no confusion, or rejection, like any normal man would have done. Instead, when faced with an offered deal, he immediately went into merchant mode, and made a counter offer.

"No, it's fine to name him Atoc, but the first-born should carry the Fastgrade family name, son or daughter. All other children can carry the Pluritac name, if that's a point you're insistent on."

"Deal," Inti immediately agreed, and added: "I want four children, like my mother."

"Two, at most."

"Three."

"Fine," Brym admitted, "but no dirty tricks. No adoptions, no counting twins as one child, or other such nonsense."

"Of course not. But," Inti added, "the children need to be raised in accordance with the Pacha faith."

"I have no problem with that, though they certainly would also need proper education, based on the curriculum designed by big brother."

"Of course."

By now, Brym seemed to be getting into this 'game' as well, and asked about the next potential point of contention by himself.

"Where would we live?"

"I want a big manor in a quiet part of a large city, I don't care where exactly," Inti spoke out her excessive wishes, wishes for the future she had sometimes imagined in the past.

"Saniya," Brym insisted. "My work is there."

"Saniya is fine." After all, Saniya was quickly approaching Arguna in terms of size and importance. After she had considered their future hometown for a second, she added with a sly grin: "But you need to come with me to lord our relationship over Mellana once a week."

She couldn't wait to watch her sister's sour face when she compared her unemployed guard husband to her own minister of finance. However, Brym clearly wasn't so enthusiastic about Inti's sibling rivalry.

"Once a year at most," he haggled, down to a number which wasn't nearly enough for Inti. What good was a husband if she could only show him off once a year?

"Once a month," she tried again.

"Every other month is my best offer," Brym insisted. "I'm a busy man."

Better than I thought.

"Fine," she took the chance before her husband could regret it, and then added: "But I pick the manor."

"I'm fine with that. But I will retain veto power," he insisted.

"Deal."

"What about your work in Arguna?" Brym asked. Maybe for him, this would be the deal breaker of what he may still have considered a game. However, Inti had long readied an answer for this issue.

"I was planning to take on a different role in Saniya, training up new ghost warriors," she explained the future she had come up with an hour ago. To her surprise, Brym didn't ask any further questions about her half-baked plans at all.

"That's no obstacle then," he just dryly remarked. With how fast his brain was running, maybe he had already figured out the details. "Anything else?" he added.

"I want to get married on the Lovers' Islands," Inti said the first thing to come to her mind. "Would that not be quite symbolic, to end our journey where we started it?"

"You mean the islands filled with pirates," Brym remarked.

"The pirates were your men, right? Can you organize something?"

"Sure, that seems possible," Brym admitted, after a few seconds of hesitation. "Since we'll travel through the eastern estates first, we have some time left until then anyways. I can set up something by then."

"Anything else, any other concerns?" Inti finally asked again. By now, her head had begun to cool down, and she was starting to get nervous. For Brym, it was the last chance to bail out of the deal and treat it like a joke. After all, she didn't want to just push him into a relationship forcefully, and she herself also wasn't quite so sure about her reckless idea anymore. However, to her surprise, Brym shook his head, and smiled gently.

"Not from me."

Inti didn't know at which point of the conversation Brym had gone from joking to serious, but she could feel that he was as committed as her by now, maybe more so.

"So we have a deal then?" she tried to confirm one final time. However, Brym's smile only softened further as he stood up from his seat and reached his hand across the table.

"I believe we do. I wish us a happy cooperation."

As Inti stared at the outstretched hand, she hesitated for a second, too nervous to continue. However, when she looked at Brym's eyes, and his encouraging nod, she finally left behind her worries and reached out to her future husband.

To seal their deal, the two shook hands across the table, like real men. After their bizarre conversation, these two people — who had always been so controlled in their daily lives — suddenly and spontaneously had gotten engaged, in a manner so bizarre that it would surely never be repeated in the history of Medala.

Hermit's Notes: I hope this chapter was weird, but not too weird. I just thought these two weren't suitable for some sappy, tear-filled confession. This version is funnier, I think, and more interesting, I hope.

Chapter 468 - Question, Answer

Once again, Inti found herself in the Old Well, the same secret room she had sought out two days prior. Just like the first time, she once again found her mother already waiting for her inside. However, the busy office atmosphere from last time had disappeared.

Only a few masked ghosts were left to inject some life into the room. Though they were still walking from here to there, it looked like they were mostly busy with filing and putting away all the documents in the room. In the corner, there was even a small fire pit, which was fed with paper every once in a while.

Inti wondered if there were fewer workers simply because, now that their mission was over, the only work left was to clean up their traces, or if they had just lost so many people that this was all they could spare. Though of course, she had come here precisely to get an answer to that very question.

"So, where is everyone?" she began after she had stormed into the room and sat down in front of her mother. This time, the spy queen wasn't so preoccupied with work, so she put down the document she had been writing and squarely looked at her daughter and her rude actions.

"Off to work, of course. Most of the ghosts we needed for this operation were not originally stationed in Challwala. Because of the mess you caused, reinforcements had to be drawn from all over the north. Since they were only here as temporary support, they need to get back to their own duties now that the emergency had been resolved."

Although Inti wanted to question her mother about their losses, the question got stuck in her throat at the last second, and never quite made it out. In truth, she was too scared to hear the answer, even though this was the very reason she had come here.

What if, with her thoughtless actions, Inti really had caused great death upon the ghost warriors the late emperor Titu had entrusted to their family? This wasn't a reality she was eager to face. While her mother was calmly waiting for Inti to respond in any way, the usually brave warrior lady just sat there, steeping in her own anxiety.

Don't sit there like an idiot, she scolded herself. Just ask!

Yet in the end, she could not bring herself to create torturous certainty. Instead, she simply continued a meaningless conversation in a meaningless way.

"How did you do it?" she forced out, almost in a whisper.

"Pardon?" Antaya asked back, as confused by the sudden change in topic as Inti herself.

"How did you manage to find all the lords, and protect them all at once? I thought you only entered the city around the time we did?" Inti asked a question she wasn't all that interested in. Still, her mother replied dutifully, though with the kind of quiet scorn only a mother could show.

"What do you think your mother does with her time all year round? Over the past years, I have done little else but travel within the two northern kingdoms. Most of the time, I am moving to meet some lord in his estate, for some agreement, or simply to deepen relations. When you and your little friend started to invite people for a get-together in a lion's den, I was the first to hear about it. Ever since then, I have kept close contact with all the lords and their respective plans. This way, I knew who would come in person, who would send a representative, how many warriors they were bringing along, and — of course — where they were staying inside Challwala. At that point, I simply needed to place some surveillance to make sure they were safe. Though I am surprised you could not answer your own question. After all, you were the one to help me keep an eye on all the lords."

Antaya's reminder at the end was probably designed to bring the conversation back on track, to force out the question Inti really wanted to ask. However, when the young lady wanted to oblige and inquire about their losses, another silence thickened the air in the room once more. Eventually, Inti had trouble breathing, so she had to force out yet another meaningless question, to stall for time and ease her troubled mind.

"What about your knowledge on the strength and distribution of the Terminus people who came to deal with the lords?" she asked, and took a deep breath to clear her stuffy chest. "Wasn't Terminus a highly secretive organization? You also said that you knew little more than their name only two days ago."

"We didn't know precisely when and how many would arrive at which location, that much is true. As a result, we also made some mistakes which cost us needless lives," Antaya admitted. Although she was still willing to play along with Inti's stalling tactics, she closely observed her daughter at the mention of the losses before she continued. "However, we made some educated guesses based on the importance of the present lords — as well as the strength of their entourage — in advance. Not to mention, there are plenty of people in and around the Scholarly Court who have grown unhappy with their king and his scholar servants." For a second, Antaya paused again, before she added: "They have provided important hints, which have let us avoid most losses this time."

Her voice was as flat as ever, but she began to fiddle with the documents on the table again, not looking at her daughter's face for a second. Inti knew when her mother was lying, and this was a clear sign. Even if Antaya had done it for her daughter's sake, Inti still couldn't stand the secrecy, much less when it concerned the lives of others.

"Don't lie." She finally exploded, and blew away the unease in her chest with anger. Before she had realized it, Inti had jumped off her seat. Her panicked eyes flitted across the room for a few seconds, until she accepted that there was no way back now. She had already spoken out what shouldn't be said. It was time to face the truth.

"Please, mother. I need to know," an exhausted Inti said as she sat back down. "How many did... how many died?"

Although she was uneasy when she thought about the possible answer, Inti couldn't help herself any longer. Last night, she didn't get a second of sleep, thinking of all the people who had died due to her and Brym's reckless actions. At the very least, she needed closure. That was why she had come here after all. However, her cruel mother once more denied her even that.

"That is classified information," she simply said. "You are stationed in Arguna, so you have no need to know about the happenings in Challwala. I cannot tell you."

Although Inti knew her mother was trying to protect her, she had to know, or she would never sleep well again.

"Mother, please-" she begged, but Antaya rudely interrupted her.

"Even as your mother, I cannot tell you," she replied in a blunt tone.

"Fine. You know I can just request this information from Saniya, right?" Inti pointed out. If her mother didn't recognize her as family, then she wouldn't treat her as family either. However, just as she had announced her plans, she thought of something, and added with a critical look at her mother: "You will report it to Saniya, will you?"

After all, Antaya had long shown distrust towards King Corco. Yet the spy queen calmly dismissed Inti's concerns.

"Of course. You would not believe your mother can do whatever she wants, would you? I am far less free than you might believe," she added after another short pause.

"Well, I will see once I request the report, won't I?" Inti half-threatened. She really wasn't willing to believe her mother in that regard. "That might take a few days longer, but once I know how much damage I've caused, at least I will be able to sleep. Though I have to wonder: what will the people think when they learn that the spy queen's own daughter has to go past her mother for basic information like this?"

For a few seconds, the silence returned to the room. This time however, it wasn't Inti who was its focus. Instead, Antaya who had just been threatened by her daughter, had to withstand its pressure. After a few seconds, she gave up her attempts to protect her fully grown daughter's fragile psyche, and finally spilled the truth.

"We have lost more men than we anticipated," she said vaguely. "Dozens. I cannot give you a precise number yet, since we simply do not know how many are yet to return. Was that what you wanted to hear?"

It was indeed, yet when Inti got the answer to her question, she froze, unable to reply once more. Who knew how long she just sat there, unable to do a thing. Eventually, the merciful Antaya spoke up again, maybe aware how harsh her blunt words towards her daughter were.

"With the lack of manpower, everyone will become a lot busier in the future," she commented with a sigh. "We really need to rebuild the Mausoleum soon. That has been overdue for a long time."

When Inti heard her mother's poor attempt at changing topics, her mind suddenly reactivated. It was true, the Mausoleum really needed to be rebuilt.

For generations, the Mausoleum had been the training center of the ghost warriors in Arguna. After the emperor's death, 'Empress Mother' Spuria had attempted to take over the building in order to gain control over the ghost warriors. However, by the time her goons arrived, it had been completely evacuated by Inti's father Atoc.

Since then, there had been no proper way to replace fallen or retired ghosts. After the establishment of the Triumvirate Kings, they had been stuck in this perpetual state of political limbo, so there was no way to rebuild their training center properly. By now, this state — which was meant to last only until a new emperor was crowned — had sadly become normality.

Now that Inti was reminded of such an issue, wasn't this a chance to make up for her mistakes? If Inti could take charge of the ghost warrior training, she could at least replace the souls which had been lost. Even better, she could improve their training, to make sure that a loss like last night would never happen again.

"Maybe I could rebuild the Mausoleum," Inti thus suggested. "I know the entire training regimen already. And you didn't want me involved in politics anymore, right? I could just train up the ghosts instead, wouldn't that be fine?"

Once again, Inti's verve had returned. Finally, she had found a direction for her life. She had been tired of Arguna's petty politics for a while now. Yet this way, she could atone for her mistakes, do something meaningful, and even make her always worrying mother happy. However, just as Inti had managed to perk up from her slump, Antaya once again came in to crash her daughter back to the ground, in predictably controlling fashion.

"No, you will not find the time to do such work in the future," she said out of the blue.

"Why not!? What problem do you have this time!?" Inti shouted, though her mother retained her distant, polite smile, as always.

"There is someone I want you to meet," she just said.

"I will not like this, will I?" Inti replied, a bad premonition brewing in her stomach.

"Lord Rubria has heard much about Lady Inti's grace and ability," Antaya said as if she hadn't heard the complaint. "Thus, I have arranged a meeting between the two of you, so you may get to know each other."

"What do you mean?" Inti asked dumbly. Of course, she knew exactly what her mother meant. However, she couldn't fathom how Antaya could suddenly decide to marry her off to some random man.

"You complained that your sister was allowed to get married," Antaya explained, while completely twisting Inti's former words. "You mother has decided that you should have the same chance. It will also be a good way to get you away from all the politics. No more ghosts, and no more fights to the death."

As Antaya explained, Inti just sat there and stared at her mother, baffled at the woman's selfish indifference.

"Lord Rubria is quite excellent, and far above you in standing," the mother simply droned on as if she couldn't read her daughter's mood. "Any young warrior girl would be exalted to marry a proper lord, not to mention that you yourself are hardly a young warrior girl anymore."

Although Inti wanted to reply to the slight at first, she recalled something more pressing before she could.

"Wait, wasn't Rubria the boy who had you kidnapped and then tried to rape you?" Inti finally remembered the story her mother had told her several years ago. Her mother wouldn't want to marry her off to someone like that, would she?

"No, of course not," Antaya shook her head, much to Inti's relief. Though that relief only lasted for mere seconds, until her mother's next words. "It was just his servant who was a bit too enthusiastic. I would hardly call that a kidnapping. I was merely enticed."

"With a sword?" Inti shot back.

"And money," Antaya added, as if that made things any better.

All the baffled Inti could muster in response was a silent stare at her mother, loaded with as much scorn as it could carry. Did this woman not recognize how wrong this was?

"It was no rape either way," Antaya continued to lie after a while of uncomfortable silence. "I don't know of a single girl who ever entered Lord Rubria's bed unwillingly, once she has been brought into the estate. After all, who would say no to such a handsome, young lord?"

Again, Inti just stared at her mother, who was increasingly spouting nonsense. After all, Antaya herself had very openly rejected Lord Rubria many times.

"Anyways, Lord Rubria is no child anymore. He has matured a lot, and no longer does such uncouth things," Antaya concluded, as if that had solved anything.

"You want me to marry a rapist who's in love with my mother," Inti just calmly pointed out, which destroyed all of her mother's previous efforts. Even so, Antaya wouldn't give up.

"Lord Rubria is a very appropriate match for you," she insisted. "He is of high status, young and competent. He will be able to protect you. Better yet, his lands are on the edge of the Empire, where very little happens. And the young lord has zero political ambitions. Over there, you will not only be able to live comfortably. More importantly, I'll know that my daughter will be safe."

"So that's what this is about." Inti finally understood. "Your paranoia about King Corco."

Clearly, her mother was willing to sell her off to anyone,even to a barbarian warlord, so long as her physical health was guaranteed. However, she wasn't some little girl anymore. Inti would decide her own fate.

"It is no paranoia. Listen to me-" Antaya tried again, but Inti interrupted her mother's words, maybe for the first time in her life.

"No, whoever I marry is for me to decide, not for you," she said in an icy tone which shocked even herself. "I will certainly not marry a man who was not good enough for my aging mother, just to ease your skittish mood. If you like your Lord Rubria so much, then you go marry him. I'm sure he would prefer that greatly."

After her last biting comment, Inti jumped off her seat and stormed away. Although she had managed to find a way to atone for her past mistake, she left the Old Well more upset than she had come.

Maybe this Lord Rubria truly was a great marriage choice for a warrior girl. Maybe he really was out of her league, and maybe he truly had changed as a person, but she would be damned if she married a man who would think about her mother whenever he was inside her. Her mood thus ruined at the dirty thought, she stormed away, to forge her own path.

-----------------------------------

After she had watched her daughter storm off, Antaya sighed and returned back to her work. However, she had a hard time focusing, a very uncharacteristic state for the spy queen.

Inti's stubborn refusal just wouldn't let go of her mind. None of her spoiled daughters knew just how dangerous their harmless looking king really was, even to his own allies. Antaya had felt it during their confrontation in Saniya, and she would be damned if she let her husband's children suffer the same danger as well. Yet at every turn, they mistook her concern for ill intent.

At least training up the ghosts should be safer work than spy queen, she thought. Little steps.

Just as she was coming up with plans to further nudge her daughters away from the southern kingdom's center of power, she was interrupted by a whisper from Five.

"Our guest has been waiting for a while already. Should I send him back?"

In her worry over her daughter, Antaya had completely forgotten that she had been getting ready for a scheduled guest, right before Inti had barged into the room to disrupt her plans.

"No need, bring him in," she replied after sorting her thoughts. This was important, so she had no time to mull over her daughter's stubbornness.

Maybe, she thought, if she did well enough in her role as spy master, her achievements would be enough to exchange for the safety of her children. Those were her thoughts as she watched the white-robed warrior take a seat to her opposite.

"Greetings, lady Antaya. My name is Inkasius di Pluritac. This poor warrior has come to stop the endless death of the northern lords, and to halt his master's mad path towards destruction."

Hermit's Notes: Last chapter for the week, posted a bit early since I'll be away later.

Chapter 467 - Strength Through Weakness

As he looked up at the Wonders of the World shop in Challwala's outer city, Amautu once more realized how poor his initial negotiating position was. After the events from last night, the southern minister Brymstock insisted on advancing the time of the meeting to today, and he insisted on changing the meeting place as well.

In the southern kingdom's own property out here in the outer city — far away from the Sky Ziggurat — Amautu's home advantage was minimized as much as possible. No doubt they had also prepared an elaborate escape plan had Amautu come with soldiers to apprehend them. Not only had the king lost the trust of the other party prior to the start of negotiations, he had also lost much of his home advantage.

Another advantage lost. Not that it matters. This should make it easier to act weak, and acting weak should prove beneficial for once.

Amautu had long planned out his strategy, so his apparent weakness wouldn't be a problem this time. Thus unconcerned with the deliberate signs of distrust the southern minister and the northern lords had shown him, he entered the shop.

Shortly thereafter, Amautu sat at a table together with Brymstock di Pluritac, who represented the southern kingdom as its finance minister, and Tacao Calvu Betucio, Governor of the North, who represented the northern lords.

The seating arrangement clearly drew the lines right from the start. While Amautu sat alone on one end of the table, Brymstock and Betucio sat together to his opposite. Apart from the transcribers to record the meeting, there was no one else left in the room, not even their personal attendants. In such a private meeting, the participants had no reason to strictly adhere to the usual code of conduct.

As a result, the first question from Brymstock after their introductions was: "Where are your scholar friends, King Amautu?"

Of course, Amautu would never make the mistake of bringing any scholars to the meeting, not after what had happened the previous night. Thus, the first, probing attack didn't bother him too much, despite the rude tone.

"They are not here, of course," Amautu calmly replied. "This meeting's purpose is to reconsider northern medalan politics. No outsiders should be present on such an occasion."

As he spoke, Amautu stared squarely at the fair-skinned merchant who was representing the southern kingdom. Yet just how the king had done before, the fat man acted as if he hadn't heard the slight.

"That's good." He sneered instead. "Your Chutwa friends have already done enough damage. They are not welcome here."

Welcome where!? This is the king's city, foreigner!

Clearly, this foreign merchant had set out to provoke him today. Yet rather than angry, Amautu got nervous. If this foreigner did nothing but throw out accusations, then his entire negotiation strategy would be useless. If the other side was unwilling to even talk, they would never reach an agreement. Luckily, the third party at the table was more reliable, and more invested in the peace process.

"King Amautu, you have crossed a line last night," Betucio added, though in a much more diplomatic tone. "Although this governor has always stood behind his king, this time, the actions of the Scholarly Court have been inexcusable. After the events of last night, we cannot in good conscience believe that King Amautu has come here with good intentions."

Not long ago, Betucio had still been considered part of Master Ichtaka's line of disciples. However, the brazen actions of the scholars had forced Betucio to side with his family and his fellow lords, and against Amautu. As he spoke, the governor of the north barely looked at his king's face. Rather than angry or afraid, he appeared to be more disappointed. It was a disheartening reaction, and Amautu himself was uncomfortable to have lost such a loyal ally, all because of the incessant meddling from his fellow disciples.

"Last night was a mistake. However, this king was not involved in the matter, please believe as much," he tried to explain himself to his old friend. Even though he knew that he had to perform today if he wanted to succeed in negotiations, he couldn't shake the bad feeling when he faced Betucio. "This king has always had good intentions in all of his actions, yet he cannot control what some of his subjects do on their own."

Unsurprisingly, neither of the two reacted to Amautu's frank confession. Who would believe that a king would have no power in his own capital? In truth, it wasn't like Amautu had no power at all. Rather, he had deliberately given up control completely to trap his senior brother. As a result, his excuses sounded rather hollow, even to himself. Yet how could he possibly explain that without looking like the villain?

As Amautu was still confused over his past actions and his future strategy, Betucio had taken out a bamboo scroll, and pushed it to the king across the table.

"This here is a paper signed by all lords of northern Medala," he explained. "Within, we state our condemnation of King Amautu's past actions, as well as our desire for change. Within, we further commit ourselves to a return to past traditions, past civility, and past respect for the status of the medalan lords. We demand that the rights and private property of all medalan lords be guaranteed, and that their losses be compensated. The levied warriors of the Scholarly Guards are also to be returned to their respective estates, and no further levies should be demanded by the king in the future. Finally, all Chutwa scholars should be barred from entry into the northern kingdom from now henceforth."

Although Amautu took the piece of paper, he didn't bother with reading it. Betucio had done a very good job of explaining the contents, after all. Instead, the king shook his head, while trying to look as embarrassed as possible.

"That is impossible," he said, and placed the paper back onto the table. In response, the foreigner meddled with the local affairs of the north once more.

"King Amautu, maybe we have not been sufficiently clear, because Governor Betucio is too polite," the merchant said, and pressed his hands onto the table in a gesture which was probably meant to look threatening. "These are not suggestions, they are demands. And if these demands are not met, the northern lords will take matters into their own hands. By then, all consequences will have to be borne by you."

Again, this bastard was trying to provoke him. However, the insults only helped Amautu calm down. Maybe he still felt guilty about the way he had treated Betucio and some of the other lords. However, his main opponent was this man of the southern kingdom, and his aim was to end his incessant meddling in their internal affairs. With such an enemy, he would no longer feel bad about lying to achieve his goals. In the first place, this was something he needed to do to regain his authority. Only then could he start to put things right.

"This king is well aware of the implied threats in this document. However, there is nothing I can do," Amautu began. In order to weaken his impression further, he even began to humiliate himself by addressing himself in the first person. "I have neither the power, nor the authority, to deport all scholars from the kingdom. In the first place, authority over international matters for the Medala Empire lie with the Triumvirate Meeting, officially. Though even if a resolution could be reached or if I were to act on my own accord, I do not possess the strength to execute such a resolution."

"Have things deteriorated this far?" Betucio asked. His deep frown told Amautu that the governor understood what his king was hinting at.

"Indeed they have, my old friend." The king nodded, and looked down, in his best attempt to appear embarrassed. "Apart from my attendant and a few private servants, I have no control over any of the king's warriors any longer. I control neither the Scholarly Guards, nor Terminus. Now everything is in the hands of Master Ichtaka and his disciples."

Of course, that was a massive exaggeration. Amautu was still the most powerful political entity in the kingdom, apart from maybe his master. Though that wasn't something these people needed to know, nor could they know it. Once again, he would use a difference in knowledge to gain an advantage during negotiations.

With a lowered head, Amautu observed the two men opposite for their reactions. While Betucio looked sympathetic to his plight, the foreigner predictably looked unhappy.

"In that case, why are you here by yourself, powerless king Amautu?" he probed for a hole in Amautu's story. "Leading such important negotiations by yourself, it certainly seems like you still have a lot of power left, or at least a lot of trust from your master."

This foreign invader was as perceptive as he was annoying. Although Amautu had suffered yet another insult, he had to hold back and once more pretend to be pitiful.

"Minister Brymstock, you simply do not understand the way the Chutwa scholars think." Amautu sighed, before he told his story. "While these negotiations seem to be of vital importance to us, the Chutwa simply never cared about their outcome. In the first place, the great scholars would never lower themselves to arguing with barbarians. Thus, I could come here by myself."

"Then if they don't care, why do they get involved in local matters at all? Why not just stay here in Challwala and do whatever it is they care about?" the annoying Brymstock probed further. Finally, his questions had led Amautu exactly to the place he wanted to go. After another sigh, he stared at the two people on the other side of the table to raise the tension. Only after a while did he reply.

"They are indeed interested in Medala, or rather, they are interested in converting Medala into another Chutwa tributary state. However, they believe that simply killing anyone who would get in their way would be a much easier solution. After all, the Chutwa have far more advanced cultivation techniques than the Medalans, so they have plenty of warriors to throw away. The events of last night were the result of their beliefs and their power. So long as the lords continue to oppose a takeover by the Chutwa scholars, they are unlikely to stop."

"Are you threatening us, King Amautu?" Brymstock tried to threaten back. However, he hesitated in his response just a little too long, proof that even he had been intimidated by last night's events.

"No, I am simply warning you." Amautu sighed again, and covered his face with his hands for a few seconds to hide his sneer. "All I want is to prevent further bloodshed, as well as the eventual destruction of the northern kingdom in a brutal civil war."

"If they want a war, they can have it." This time, Betucio was the one to reply, though his words seemed even less convincing than Brymstock's. His voice lacked any force, and a deep frown of worry had developed on his face, no doubt caused by the image of countless mindless Chutwa warriors overrunning the estates of the north.

"Don't be so sure, my friend," Amautu further stoked the flames with a shake of his head. "Just how many men have you lost last night alone? I guarantee you, this attack was far from the limit the scholars can achieve. Terminus is endless. Even I cannot tell how many men they have hidden within those dark halls. As far as I can tell, they can throw endless waves at their foes, until they die from exhaustion."

Of course, none of that had been true. Amautu had full control over the Scholarly Guards. Not even his master could freely wield the king's warriors. In fact, Amautu had decent control over Terminus as well. The attacks of the previous night had only been possible because Amautu had allowed Ohtli to make use of the king's seal for a day. Now, his senior brother had lost his privilege, and all the power he had enjoyed with it. Not to mention, after last night's losses, Terminus wouldn't be able to launch another attack for months, at least.

However, the foreigner and Governor Betucio couldn't possibly know any of that. Even the all-pervasive spies of the southern kingdom couldn't easily uncover core secrets in an enemy kingdom's capital. With this difference in knowledge, and with the fear of last night still fresh on their minds, he had successfully managed to intimidate his opponents. Indeed, the room returned to silence for quite a while as Amautu let them steep in their own thoughts.

"Then why are you here, King Amautu? Only to prove how useless you are?" Brymstock finally asked, maybe to regain a modicum of initiative. However, everything was too late now. The seeds of doubt had long been sown.

"No, while I cannot accede to your demands, there are still some things I can do," Amautu offered. After showing them a bleak future without escape, he would prove that he was the only one who could prevent the worst result. However, the foreigner proved stubborn till the end.

"If you cannot fulfill the demands in the paper, then the lords have already decided to go to war," he insisted in a low voice which would have sounded intimidating, had they come from a ,more imposing man.

"Minister, this king simply does not have the power to fulfill anything." Amautu smiled weakly. "No matter how much you threaten, this simple truth will not change. I can only do the things I can do, and the scholars prevent me from doing most."

Thus, Amautu had painted himself as just another victim, an unwilling ally of the scholars, who had been forced into passivity. Most importantly, this weak position he had established guaranteed that he couldn't be forced to agree to any harsh demands from the lords. How could he commit to reparations when he had no power in the first place? In the end, it was his former disciple Betucio who asked the final question, which completed Amautu's plans.

"In that case, what can King Amautu offer?"

"At the very least, I can guarantee property rights for the lords and the territorial integrity of their estates," Amautu said readily. Trying to take either had proven impossible anyways. "After the recent attempts of the scholars to infiltrate further inland failed, they became frustrated with their progress. If I offer to take over the mission of enlightening the local lords, I can surely stall their brazen attempts in the future."

"Is that all you will give? An armistice and an empty promise?" the spoilsport foreigner asked, but Amautu was now undeterred by his bad attitude.

"I can also guarantee that the lords will no longer be targeted by Terminus," the king added another empty promise. For a while, Terminus would be incapable of such attacks in the first place. "However, in return, the lords will have to continue sending men for the Scholarly Guards."

"That's impossible. This runs counter to one of our core demands." This time, it was Betucio's turn to deny Amautu's request. After all, the lords had lost a lot of population by sending them to the capital. Yet this was a point Amautu had to insist on. How else would he strengthen his forces, to one day take over the north, just how Corco had taken over the south?

"Without any visible benefits from these negotiations, the scholars will consider my mission a failure. Should I prove unreliable, they will continue to interfere in Medala's internal affairs," the king argued. "I have to offer the scholars something if I wish to gain their trust."

"And that something are the warriors of Medala?" Betucio complained in a critical tone.

"Yes, I can tell them that the lords have stopped resisting, and prove it through your surrender of warriors." Amautu acted excited, and then added a sly grin. "In fact, you do not need to send any core warriors at all. You could send old men, or even commoners. Anything really, just to deceive the scholars."

While, in response to the improved offer, Brymstock looked like he had swallowed a frog — and in fairness, he probably had, based on his belly — Betucio stroked his chin for a few seconds, before he finally gave the reply Amautu wanted to hear.

"That would be doable, I believe most brothers would agree to such an arrangement," he finally said, and showed a smile of relief. Clearly, he had never wanted a war in the first place.

Although the foreigner wanted to say something again, eager to disrupt the peace, Amautu spoke up first. After some research, he had learned how to win him over as well.

"Of course, the northern kingdom will not only guarantee the property rights of any medalan noble — even from other kingdoms — we will also allow Minister Brymstock to officially sell his bonds in the north, without any interference," Amautu said, pretending to be magnanimous. Though maybe he really was this time, since this was the only true concession he had made today.

Anything to get this insufferable instigator out of my country.

Ever since he had entered the northern kingdom, this foreigner had done nothing but disrupt his plans. At this point, Amautu would be happy to help him sell his papers, just to get rid of him. Luckily, Brymstock di Pluritac didn't even think for a second, and directly agreed, as if he had just been waiting for Amautu's words.

"In that case, I believe we have a deal." He suddenly smiled, and jumped up to shake the king's hands before he could rethink his decision. Although Amautu couldn't shake the thought that he had somehow been played, he had finally achieved his goals.

Thus, the imminent civil war in the north ended with a handshake and a signature. In the process, the least powerful actor in the city — King Amautu — ended up with the largest advantage. After leveraging his weak position to negotiate strong terms, he managed to restore the status quo in the kingdom, while also intimidating the lords and weakening his senior brother's authority in the process.

Surely, his master wouldn't like that he had simply thrown his head disciple under the bus, and many other scholars with him. However, now that he had somewhat reconciled with the lords, Amautu's status in the kingdom had grown in importance again. Thus, ambitious people like Ohtli could no longer get rid of him quite so easily, no matter how they tried to fool their master.

Not to mention, he would soon travel to Tequitlali. Amautu hoped that after following his master's advice to get married to the right woman, he would remain in Master Ichtaka's good graces. By then, he would be able to work with the lords, the scholars and the people of Tequitlali, depending on his needs. While Amautu was still balancing on a knife's edge, the King of the North could finally see the end of the blade, and the wide open space on the other side.

Hermit's Notes: This chapter focuses on a neat instance of two-level games I thought, something I've been thinking about a bit lately.

Just about the ending of this mini arc, another two or so chapters to wrap things up.

Chapter 466 - Springing the Trap

After a night of violence in Challwala, King Amautu reacted quickly to the shifting situation. After all, he had been ready for a failure of the operation well in advance. While the outcome had been even worse than what he had expected, their defeat hadn't been catastrophic. Not to mention, even a defeat could be leveraged into an advantage with enough finesse.

Sure, the southern ghost warriors had saved all the northern lords and managed to stage their little meeting. However, in order to achieve their goals, their own losses had also been considerable. Not only had many valuable ghost warriors died last night, the lords had also lost most of the warrior guards they had brought into the city. By now, they would be almost without protection, and terrified of the strength of his new secret department.

If Amautu played his cards right, this was certainly something he could work with. For now however, he had to play upset.

Thus, he looked up from the scroll he had pretended to read and looked around this room at the bottom of the Sky Zigurrat. The large stone room had been lit up brightly, though the atmosphere was solemn. Lines of chairs had been erected in the square room, each of which seated one of Master Ichtaka's students, all equal in their position in accordance with their status.

By now, all of them should know about the failed operation which took place the previous night. Although Amautu was unhappy that he, a king, would be put on equal status with these ordinary disciples, he had no room to complain, for Master Ichtaka personally sat elevated and to the side, half-hidden in the shadows, to observe the proceedings.

From here, they would plan how to handle the upcoming negotiations with the lords and southerners, now that their circumstances had changed so dramatically. Even the arrogant scholars had realized that their methods weren't working. Finally, they had begun to take medalan politics seriously. Thus, the king could only play by the rules of the scholars once more. Luckily, his main opponent had made too many mistakes recently, and was too easy to attack.

After Amautu had tucked the scroll into his sleeve, he turned to his senior brother Ohtli, and nodded towards him. In response, the senior brother — who had been made to wait for some time by Amautu's leisurely reading — scoffed and stood up. As the senior disciple, it was his prerogative to open up the meeting, another privilege Amautu was eager to get back.

Sure, you be unhappy, senior brother, he thought as he watched the face soured by his little stalling tactic. The more upset you are now, the more mistakes will you make later.

"Last night, the local barbarians have once more shown their determination to retain their ill-gotten power and prevent progress," the senior brother began. "Even so, the brave Cuauhuehuetque of the Way would not bow to the stubborn barbarians, and enacted the will of the Way upon them. As planned, the two most egregious offenders among the barbarian Chatra were sacrificed to the great Way. The rest were driven from the city, not to return to the embrace of the Way until their lesson is learned."

After Ohtli's bluster, a few disciples nodded in approval. Most however had enough sense to remain quiet in the face of these brazen lies. Meanwhile, Amautu himself wouldn't just let his senior brother's words stand. He couldn't allow him to deny reality, lest their master ended up making decisions based on false knowledge.

"Senior brother," Amautu began his counterattack. "This king has heard all about last night's events, as have all other disciples in the room. There is no need to recount past matters once more, less so if such a recount does not reflect the truth."

In the Way of the scholars, truth was considered a great pursuit, and lying was considered a great unrighteousness. Suddenly, all eyes in the room were on Amautu, who had just indirectly accused his senior brother. In response, said senior brother narrowed his eyes and stared Amautu down, but the king would not back down today. No, in fact, he could not, not if he didn't want to lose control over his kingdom forever.

"Junior, dare you claim this senior has spoken untruth?" Ohtli finally asked when he saw that Amautu wouldn't buckle under silent pressure. As the eyes of the disciples focused on him, the king could feel the tension in the room rise. However, this pressure was just a misguided attempt to prevent him from thinking. After all, the king had long prepared his arguments for today and didn't have to think at all anymore.

"Senior brother, if last night's operation had been a success, there would be no need for all fellows to meet today. Our fellow brothers have come here to decide how to handle the upcoming negotiations. Had all the lords truly fled the city in fear, there would be no reason for us to assemble. After all, who would we negotiate with had we managed to intimidate those lords into an escape?"

Although Master Ichtaka sat in the corner of the room, overlooking the crowd, Amautu wasn't afraid to start a fight this time. After all, his elder brother had been the one to make the mistake, and not for the first time. By now, his failures had become so severe that they threatened to destabilize the kingdom itself.

Even worse for Master Ichtaka, they threatened the very status of the scholars in Medala, a status they had only achieved through Amautu's support. Yet Ohtli seemed remarkably unaware of the damage his greed and arrogance had caused to their master's plans. When confronted with his own failures, the head disciple said no word.

"Hmph." he simply snorted, sneered, and crossed his arms as he sat back down in his chair. Maybe he wouldn't admit his mistakes, but he certainly couldn't defend his actions either, so he had apparently chosen to remain silent.

A child's response. Who would respect you like this?

Of course, Amautu wouldn't just let him off like this. This was too rare a chance to harm his senior's reputation further.

"Senior brother, almost all of Terminus has been eliminated, yet the operation has been a total failure. None of the northern lords have died in the process, and neither has the southern merchant. Now they are sitting together somewhere and drafting a paper of condemnation against the kingdom, or so we assume. We simply cannot know for certain, because we cannot find them," Amautu explained what everyone here already knew.

Though his purpose wasn't to inform anyone of course, it was to establish the truth, so his senior couldn't shamelessly lie anymore. Obviously, humiliating his senior brother in the process was a nice little bonus.

"Two of the Chatra were killed," senior brother tried to insist. Yet Amautu was having none of his nonsense.

"The only ones who died were mere representatives, not real lords. And in order to achieve such a feat, almost all of Terminus has been sacrificed. Now, the strongest arm of the scholarly court has been cut off in a meaningless, zealous pursuit of ignorance."

This time, Amautu's accusations were no longer veiled. They were a direct attack on his senior's character. In response, the various disciples in the circle looked at each other and whispered in shock. Although Amautu wasn't expecting any of them to openly side with him against their senior brother, this would be good enough.

As expected, Ohtli jumped from his seat, probably to accuse Amautu of disrespecting his senior again. However, when he saw all the stares of his fellow disciples land on him, his finger slowly lowered again. Even in his rage, he should have understood that he couldn't arbitrarily force through his opinions, not if he didn't want to get isolated among his fellows.

"That is the role of the Cuauhuehuetque," senior brother instead tried to argue. Although he was no longer accusing Amautu, his voice was still firm. "Their only purpose in society is sacrifice, in support of scholarly duties. This, and nothing less, shall be their lot in life, and they have died to fulfill it. Who could ever argue about their use, when they have done their duties? Soon, their numbers shall be replenished, as is the destiny of Terminus. By then, another attempt at cleansing can begin. Those barbarian Chatra cannot escape their fate for long. Their end has long been decided."

"And while we await the rebuilding of Terminus, the northern lords have long banded together and sent their troops onto Challwala," Amautu sneered in response when he saw that some of his fellows seemed swayed by Ohtli's shallow arguments.

Luckily for him, these people knew very little about medalan culture, despite the years they had spent here. If they did, they would know just how important warriors were for the medalan lords. Their losses last night had been catastrophic. Many of them would be apprehensive about a full-blown war as a result, not when they knew so little about the true strength of Terminus or the Scholarly Guards.

Though the truth didn't matter. So long as his fellows believed that Medalans would treat their warriors like sacrificial pawns like the Chutwa did, there was no reason to assume the lords weren't willing to sacrifice all of them to topple the rule of the scholars.

As Amautu stared around the room, into the shocked and confused faces of his brothers, he could feel the tide turn in his favor.

Yes, surely, you are not used to having your lives threatened. Time to feel the flip side of power, my dear fellow disciples. Let me give you another taste of reality.

"Moreover, there will never be another chance like this," Amautu continued in the face of stunned silence. "After last night's events, the lords will never again enter Challwala, unless accompanied by an army. How exactly will the Markers of Terminus make another attempt at their lives?"

His last question was directly aimed at Ohtli again. While Amautu sat comfortably in his chair, the senior brother still awkwardly stood in the center of the room, surrounded by the apprehensive stares of his brothers.

"What does it matter?" he shot back, though his voice was now a lot more agitated than before. "Those barbarians are swimming against the stream of history! They will exhaust themselves and sink soon enough!"

"Yet they are still strong enough to capsize the efforts of the men in this room on their way down," Amautu shot back. He had long expected sophistry and empty phrases. Not to mention, everyone in this room was a master of language, as most scholars were.

Ohtli wouldn't be able to fool them with these cheap tricks, not unless they willingly played dumb in the first place. For a second, the senior brother stared at the junior with all the resentment of an older brother who couldn't have his younger brother's toy. Finally, he seemed to have realized that he couldn't win the argument, and that the other disciples would remain neutral throughout. No one was coming to his aid. Thus, he finally sat down again.

"What is it you want, junior?" he asked after another long pause. Though his words still sounded resentful, Amautu hadn't expected any less from his petty senior, and so made his only demand for today without concern.

"Senior brother, this junior believes it would be best if you were to stay out of the upcoming negotiations with the northern lords and the minister of the southern kingdom."

For the third time, Ohtli jumped from his seat, and this time even Amautu was shocked by his violent reaction.

"Crazy! How dare a barbarian look down upon his senior brother! Master was nice enough to take you in when you had nothing, when you were only an ignorant child, no more! Master gave you wisdom! Will you now spit upon the gifts received, to ingratiate yourself with these barbarians! once more?" he shouted in a single breath, spittle flying from his lips.

That damn finger of his was also pointing at the king of the north in accusation again. Maybe his extreme reaction was due to his poor self-control, or maybe in his arrogance, he really hadn't expected that Amautu's goal had been to remove him from government affairs.

However, there was also a distinct possibility that he was trying to enrage Amautu with his disrespectful actions. If a junior brother started to openly insult his senior, he would be in the wrong, no matter how good his arguments were. Thus, in the face of yet another improper provocation, Amautu took a deep breath before he replied as calmly as he could.

"Of course not, senior brother. This junior is eternally grateful for master's gift of wisdom, though he is unworthy. Only, doing all this dirty work is truly beneath senior brother. Why bother with all these barbarians and their dirty ways? Would it not be wiser to have senior brother read the classics, or stay with master, in charge of teaching the younger generation, rather than waste senior brother's time on the trivial matters between the unwashed masses?"

This time, Amautu chose flattery rather than provocation, since it seemed like Ohtli was about to explode anyways. Apparently, he had chosen wisely, since at least that damn finger finally went down again.

"Whatever the matters between barbarians, whatever is important, this senior shall decide for himself," he huffed and crossed his arms inside his sleeves. "Should junior negotiate with the barbarians by himself, he would surely go easy on his fellow countrymen, despite all the scholarly servants they have killed last night. After all, junior's blood is irredeemably tainted with the barbarity and ignorance of this land. This senior is simply concerned that the crimes of these fake Chatra would be forgiven. Thus, senior brother would aim to join the talks, to give his advice and guarantee an appropriate punishment for their insolence."

It had only been one night and one morning since the failure of Ohtli's plan, and yet he had already prepped up again. Even now, he still insisted on his faulty opinion. Maybe he would to his last breath. After all, not even a public condemnation of his failure could shame him into admitting his mistakes. While Amautu had hoped for some support from the other disciples to give the senior a final push, they had clearly decided to stand aside and watch. They probably knew that Amautu was right, but didn't want to openly oppose the head disciple either.

Clearly, this was leading nowhere. Thus, Amautu turned towards his master, begging for some understanding from the wise Ichtaka, his last remaining hope for a peaceful resolution of this mess.

"Master, senior brother has sufficiently proven that his violent suppression is not a promising method to promote the light of the Way within these lands. If senior brother insists on defeating the local lords through force alone, they will rise in revolt. Worse yet, they have received help from an enemy kingdom. As they have become more hostile towards the Scholarly Court, that kingdom has begun to arm and organize them. If the central kingdom joins their growing alliance as well, there is a very real chance that the scholars will be driven out of these lands for good. Rather than more conflict, we need to come to an arrangement with them. After all, the teachings say that harmony shall be striven for above all else."

As Amautu's speech went on, he carefully observed his master's reaction in the shadow, as did all the other disciples in the room. When he saw his master slowly nod, he realized that he was on the right path. It had been wise to argue based entirely on the teachings of the Way, rather than relying on logic like his brother Corco would have. After all, the wisdom of the ancients was far beyond whatever any modern person could know. However, such knowledge could be used by anyone, and misused by those with bad intentions.

"Master, this is nonsense!" Ohtli fired back with a broken voice, panic written in his face as he saw his ambitions crumble before his eyes. "The junior shall adhere to the senior, always! Junior Amautu has violated one of the basic precepts of the Way. Such blatant disregard of the laws of the world cannot be rewarded. No, they must be punished in turn!"

Of course, Amautu couldn't just let his senior use sophistry to fool their master again, like he had done so many times before.

"Teacher, this-" he tried to argue, when at last, Master Ichtaka raised his hand, and his voice with it.

"Enough," the old man said sternly, almost in a whisper. Even so, all other sounds in the room stopped immediately, as if his master commanded the air itself.

"As the water follows the path of the river, so shall the scholar follow the path of the Way. A path of resistance is no path at all," Ichtaka explained the Way as he looked at Ohtli. As usual, a few words of wisdom enlightened the whole room.

Upon his master's words, Amautu finally relaxed. With this, his master had sided with him and against his senior brother, for the first time he could remember. Clearly, even master's endless patience had grown weary in the face of his head disciple's endless failure.

"Master-" Ohtli tried to argue again, but this time, it was his turn to be interrupted by Ichtaka.

"Head disciple Ohtli shall go spread the teachings of the Way among the young ones, as he is most familiar with such duties. Second disciple Amautu shall talk to the unlearned, so they shall see the light and cease their barbaric acts."

With his orders given so clearly, there was nothing left to argue. Anything more would be considered rude towards their master. Thus, the unwilling Ohtli had to lower his head and accept his orders, as did all the other disciples in the room.

With his face towards the ground, Amautu could hardly suppress his smile. After today's failure, his senior's reputation among the disciples had fallen to the floor. Now, he would have no more ability to fight the king for power in his own kingdom, at least for a while. Even better, now that this stumbling block had finally been removed from the path, Amautu could face the upcoming negotiations calmly. Finally, he could pave the way for peace, and for the eventual enlightenment of Medala.

Hermit's Notes: Well, I tried to not name the senior brother for as long as possible, so you guys wouldn't have to remember quite so many names. But this chapter had so many weird, unnatural sentences as a result that I still gave up in the end. Sorry about that.

A second chapter to be posted right after this, since I keep writing them out of order somehow.

Chapter 465 - Final Outcome

"What happened?" Lord Gratidia mumbled when he opened his eyes, shortly followed by: "What is this place?"

When the confused lord rose from the bunk with the soft bedding, he found himself in a dimly lit room, with a crackling fireplace in the corner and dark night outside the windows. After a fierce fight with the attackers, he had already expected to wake up in the underworld, but his aching head told him that he was still very much alive.

Before he could gather his thoughts, he spotted a figure moving in the darkness on the other side of the room.

"Who is there!?" he shouted, but when he reached for his axe on instinct, his hands grasped nothing. Both his weapons and his armor had been taken at some point.

Of course they were, fool. You are a prisoner.

He would just have to make do with his fists then, was what he thought. However, the lord's vigilance was misplaced this time. The dark figure proved to be an ally, rather than an enemy.

"Lord Gratidia, you have finally awoken," the smooth voice of a young man replied the lord. "This lord has been quite concerned," the voice said as the figure came closer.

When he entered the light around Gratidia, the lord saw that his fellow prisoner wore expensive, red warrior's robes. As he approached, he was still tugging on his robes to make sure they fit well around his shoulders. Clearly, he had only just gotten dressed. Though more importantly, this man was clearly of high status, either a lord or a high-ranking warrior.

For a moment, Gratidia stared blankly, trying to remember the identity of his opposite. He certainly had seen the young man somewhere before, but he simply couldn't remember where.

He has to be a warrior. What lord would be this young? Gratidia guessed, and directed a critical gaze at the boy who looked no older than twenty. However, the young man soon proved him wrong.

"Atoc Rubria, Lord of Yakuharra," the lord introduced himself and sat down on a bunk next to Gratidia's. Only now did the lord look around and realize that their cell wasn't looking too bad. Apart from five bunk beds with barely adequate bedding, there was also a wooden floor and the warm fireplace which created all the light in the room.

After a few seconds, Gratidia realized that he had failed to reply to his fellow lord. Instead, he had distractedly stared around the room like a fool.

This is no time to be confused. How can I embarrass myself in front of a junior?

"Ah, of course," Gratidia strained his mind to remember where he had seen this self-proclaimed lord. "We met..."

"During the last northern meeting of the lords for the end of the war against the central kingdom, yes," Rubria smoothly helped out again. "Of course, it would have been understandable if Lord Gratidia did not remember this lord. That meeting must have been some three years back, after all. At the time, this lord did not yet carry the name 'Atoc', as he was not of age."

Finally, Gratidia connected the face in front of him with the stubborn young man who had looked even greener, and had struggled to hide the deep unease on his face.

"The young Lord Primu Rubria, ah yes," Gratidia smiled, and finally bowed in greeting, before he made an excuse for his faux-pas. "Please excuse this lord's poor memory, Lord Rubria. This headache is quite the trouble."

Finally, Gratidia remembered this unfortunate young man, whose father had been assassinated during the Succession War.

"Not to worry, Lord Gratidia," Rubria waved away his apology. "We should simply be happy that we survived tonight with nothing more than headaches and bruises."

Gratidia nodded, but he had only half-listened to the youngster's explanation, since he was already focused on the room again. If they wanted to escape from this prison, he needed to make a plan first.

This chair could make for a makeshift weapon in a pinch. It could also be used to smash in those large windows. Though it is an obvious point of escape, so there are surely guards present outside. Maybe the dressing screens could be used as shields, they seem to be made of sturdy wood. Who knows, there might just be a hidden room somewhere behind those bookshelves as well. Though the door itself looks flimsy, maybe it could simply be kicked open.

The more the lord looked around the warm, inviting room, the stranger he felt. What sort of prison was this? Were their captors tempting them to escape, for an excuse to kill them? Since he didn't understand, he once more asked for support.

"What happened? Where are we?" Gratidia asked a second time, this time to his fellow lord, rather than to himself. Unsurprisingly, he received a much better answer this time.

"While this lord can not fathom where exactly we are at the moment, we should still be somewhere within Challwala. We were not transported for very long, no more than half an hour. If nothing else, we should be safe, for now."

"So then we have been kidnapped indeed. What a humiliation," Gratidia concluded. After seeing the room, he had hoped that he had been saved after falling unconscious, but it seemed like the masked figures from before had been the ones to bring him here.

"Not exactly," Rubria said, who looked a bit embarrassed when he spoke. "Last night, two forces apparently attempted to catch all northern lords in Challwala, and it appears as if we have been caught by the righteous of the two."

"Two forces?" Gratidia asked, as his nervousness made him scoot forward in his seat.

"While this lord might not know where we are, the purpose of our presence is more than clear," Rubria explained. "While the men who attempted to kill us were sent by the scholars under King Amautu, the ones to catch us were the ghost warriors of the southern king Corcopaca. We have been brought here for the meeting of the northern lords, organized by the southern kingdom."

"What!? Then why did they attack me!?" Shocked enough to even forget his proper address, Gratidia finally jumped from his bunk, which prompted another migraine attack. Before he could compose himself, he received his answer, though not from Lord Rubria.

"This servant fears that our circumstances made such measures inevitable, Lord Gratidia." The sudden voice made the lord's head swerve around. Again, the headache came back, but Gratidia did his best to suppress it. Despite the lord's vigilance, the door had opened at some point and a middle-aged woman had entered without his notice.

"Who are you!?" he asked through clenched teeth to combat the pain in his head. This was no time to consider his health. Although the arrival was just an old woman, she was clearly a dangerous assassin. How else had she sneaked up on his undetected?

Thus, the lord took a stance, ready to dodge a sudden knife attack. However, the woman didn't seem to care about his vigilance. In accordance to the customs, she simply bowed and introduced herself.

"Greetings, Lord Gratidia. This servant is Antaya di Pluritac, one of the the organizers of this meeting of the lords."

The spy queen of the south.

This was a name even the uninformed Gratidia knew.

Again, Gratidia was baffled by the development of events. Before he could gather his thoughts about this strange visitor, Rubria jumped off his bunk and ran up to the spy.

"Lady Antaya!" the young lord shouted, while grinning like an idiot. "How fortunate for us to meet here!"

In response, this lady Antaya smirked at the young lord.

"Not so much, Lord Rubria, for our meeting in this place and at this time had been planned long in advance," she said. Gratidia had to frown, Did that mean that this woman had always planned to kidnap them? Yet once again, Rubria preempted him.

"Lady, this time you were too naughty," he joked. "If you had planned this long in advance, you could have at least told us."

Entirely inappropriate for a prisoner who was talking to his captor, he sounded like the spy queen had organized a surprise dance party for him, rather than his kidnapping.

"Of course we would have loved to do everything in good order," the lady replied with a sigh, while Gratidia was still baffled by their interaction. "Unfortunately, security considerations did not allow the ghosts to do so, and the enemy's swift response forced us to act before we were fully prepared. For such inconvenience, this servant apologizes."

Again, the woman bowed, this time even deeper. Rubria was stepping ahead to hold her up by her shoulders, no doubt to perform some more coquettery with her. However, Gratidia had finally regained his composure. What were these two people doing here? This wasn't a pleasure walk in the gardens!

"You say you are not the enemy, woman, but then why did you attack us!?" he jumped between the two and shouted at the spy to disrupt their nonsense. He had been fighting for his life, and these two were playing games!

"Unfortunately, Lord Gratidia is too brave, and too powerful a fighter," Antaya explained without flinching. "Since the brave warrior lord of Rhodanos presented our men with hostility upon meeting, we could only incapacitate the lord to suspend his resistance and carry him to safety."

Again, Antaya bowed like a servant. At least her explanation made sense.

This lord must have looked quite ferocious while fighting to the death. No wonder those little spies were scared.

Even so, the lord was still unsatisfied with the excuse.

"They should explain themselves then!" he shouted. Had these people identified themselves as allies, Gratidia would have never been humiliated like this.

"Unfortunately, there was little time," Antaya said, while retaining her bow. "Out on the streets, we had to assume that enemy reinforcements would arrive at any moment. Furthermore, we did not expect our enemies to wear similar masks and robes to our own, which created undue confusion and made any explanations in the moment difficult."

Since her words just sounded like more excuses, Gratidia was still frowning. Though for now, he failed to come up with more accusations, so he remained silent. While Gratidia was still thinking, the little lord next to him took the chance to woo with the spy again.

"Are those... things are still out there?" With hesitation, he at least asked a proper question this time.

Reminded of the recent battle, Gratidia had to shudder as well. Those assassins sent by Amautu hadn't been human. If they were still out there, he would surely die eventually under their relentless attacks. Maybe, he thought, it wasn't so bad to be stuck here. At least he would be safe. Rather than complain again, Gratidia decided to remain silent and observe his new allies, for now.

"Indeed they are," Antaya confirmed the worst fears of the lords. "We still know little about the new troops of the scholar king, but their appearance signals a new escalation of the conflict. They are as powerful as warriors, but large in number, and apparently expendable, or they would not be used in such a manner. We cannot fight them head on, at least not in Challwala. Thus, it was unfortunately not possible to get permission from the lords before moving them to this meeting place. Once again, this servant is inconsolable."

Again, Antaya tried to bow, but this time Rubria finally took the chance to hold her up by her shoulder. For a second, she returned a stern gaze, until the young lord awkwardly let go and took half a step back.

"Not to worry lady, there are many ways to make good on your mistakes," he finally managed to squeeze out after a lengthy cough.

"Oh? What does Lord Rubria have in mind?" the woman asked back, now all smiles.

"Would Lady Antaya maybe honor this lord with her presence over dinner?" the nervous young lord asked.

"This servant would be delighted," she replied, though her tone was formal. However, she thought for a second, before she added in a more relaxed voice: "However, this servant can only agree if she can bring along her daughter Inti. This servant would love to make Lord Rubria familiar with her, a beautiful young lady of great decorum, who is far more capable than this humble woman."

Just as Gratidia once more wanted to interrupt the incessant courtship dance between the two, the door to the room opened once again, this time loud enough that all three of them turned their heads in unison.

"So this is where you were, Lady Antaya," Brymstock the merchant said as he entered. "I have been looking for you. How did the mission go? Were there any problems?"

Although the merchant was outwardly confident, his eyes flitted around the room nervously, before they landed on the two lords next to Antaya.

"Ah, is it fine to tell me here?" he added, presumably worried about bad news which would make the southern kingdom look weak.

"No need to worry, Minister Brymstock," the spy queen alleviated his worries with a smile, before she motioned towards the two lords. "As you can see, everything went quite well. All the lords who have come to the capital could be retrieved successfully, before 'Terminus' could catch them. Only two representatives who had come on behalf of their lords were killed, since their safety was a lower priority. However, for the meeting we managed to save at least one warrior capable of representing their lord from every northern estate. Although there have been some losses, the mission has been a great success overall."

As he learned more about this operation of the ghosts, Gratidia's eyes widened in shock. Somewhere just out of his sight, a giant battle had been going on between King Amautu and the forces of the southern kingdom. And apparently, the southern kingdom had won.

Although Lady Antaya's vagueness about their losses indicated that they had been quite heavy, defeating the king's forces in the king's capital still proved the strength of the southern kingdom. While Gratidia was still mulling over his future relationship with the south, the merchant continued their conversation.

"In that case, I will have to thank you, Lady Antaya. The reputation of the spy queen is truly well-earned," Brymstock flattered, before he turned towards the lords.

"Dear lords, although this minister would love to spend some time socializing, it appears there is little time," he explained, and bowed towards them like a merchant eager to sell his wares. "The Chutwa scholars have long lost all decorum, and they will only turn more ferocious after tonight's failure. Thus, it is necessary to hold our planned meeting of the northern lords as soon as possible: Right here, right now. Please, take some time to get ready. A servant will soon come to take you to the prepared meeting place."

Thus, Brym bowed again, before he ran off without waiting for an answer from Gratidia or Rubria. Most likely, he was off to send out the same invitation to all the other lords the woman's ghost warriors had kidnapped tonight.

Soon, Gratidia stood behind the screens on the other end of the room, and fixed his robes in front of a full-length mirror. In the meantime, Rubria was still fooling around with the woman who looked old enough to be his mother.

While he looked at the lord who was socializing with the spy master of the southern kingdom, Gratidia thought back to the events of tonight, and couldn't help but think that all of this had been far too convenient for the southerners. Though even if all these events had been planned out by the ghost warriors, it only proved their power, which just gave Gratidia one more reason to side with them against Amautu. Surely, most other lords would think the same.

It appears this meeting will go down far more smoothly than previously expected. Maybe this lord would have been better off staying at home, he thought, and turned back to continue fixing his clothes.

Hermit's Notes: With this chapter, I think I'm finally no longer behind on releases? If my plans hold, I'll post three more chapters this week, at least. No promises though.

Chapter 464 - Fear and Doubt

While most of Challwala's citizens were peacefully sleeping in their beds, they were completely oblivious to the spy war which had been taking place throughout the city just outside their windows.

By now, the warmth of dark night had begun to make way for another stuffy day in the north, yet Inkasius still remained at the Terminus compound. Of course, he wasn't staying here out of choice. After all, this was hardly a pleasant environment.

Like most courtyards in Challwala, the center of the compound was a massive open space, where Inkasius had been forced to remain, since he hadn't been allowed to enter any of the surrounding buildings. Yet unlike most of the inner yards in the city, it didn't contain a Chutwa-style garden. Instead, the yard was covered in simple sand, like a warrior's dueling arena.

Indeed, he could see traces of blood left all over the yard, which laid proof to the kind of grueling training — or punishment — the members of Terminus were subjected to. Worse yet, there was this constant sickly-sweet scent in the air, as if something was rotting in the distance.

Maybe that's corpses, or they are fumes from tonics, a way to numb the pain of the warriors after training in this yard, Inkasius speculated wildly.

While he remained to indulge in his imagination, the warriors in question had left the compound for the most part, out to hunt the lords of the north without any remorse or hesitation. Though of course, they had only gone because of an order Inkasius had delivered, so he had no right to condemn their actions.

A handful of warriors were still here, though he could barely tell. Sometimes, he could see bent over figures shamble past one of the many dark windows facing the yard. The only people he had seen clearly had been so-called 'trainers', scholars in white robes who had only appeared when Inkasius had tried to enter one of the buildings, to prevent his snooping. Thus, he could only sit in the one chair they had provided him, and await the return of the commissioned warriors. From the environment, to the secretive actions of the trainers, everything in this courtyard screamed suspicion to Inkasius, yet he still couldn't just leave here.

For one, he was rather happy that he could dodge the 'senior brother' for a while. Although this place was unpleasant, it wasn't as bad as that arrogant foreigner's presence.

More importantly though, King Amautu had ordered him to remain behind, and wait for the return of the assassins, to confirm the success or failure of their mission. Regardless of the final outcome, Inkasius would carry this information up the Sky Ziggurat and to his master as soon as possible.

Thus he sat there, in this creepy place with nothing to do. As time went by, his mind played ever more fanciful tricks on him, and created horror scenarios to reinterpret even the most harmless of impressions.

When he looked at the blood on the ground, he no longer saw intense, ruthless training, he saw warriors lined up to await ritual sacrifice.

When he saw a bent shadow walk past a window, he no longer saw tired servants cleaning the building, he saw warriors who had been so abused that now, all they could do was wander these halls endlessly, like ghosts, always observing him from the shadows.

When he smelled the sweet scent in the air, he no longer imagined medicine or corpses, he imagined vicious scholars using their knowledge of drugs and poisons to make the brave warriors of Medala meek and obedient.

Despite the rising heat of a classic Challwala morning, his body began to freeze up as his thoughts spun in endless, ever-escalating circles. More and more, Inkasius felt uncomfortable in his chair. More and more, he felt like he didn't belong here.

Worse yet, he thought more and more that, should he stay any longer, he may never be able to leave. His heart cramped in his chest, and he had trouble breathing.

No, he had to get out of here, his orders be damned.

Yet the moment he jumped from his seat, the main door to the inner yard opened. Before he could react, a number of masked figures entered, lined up in front of Inkasius, and went down on their knees. Of course, the warrior knew that they weren't bowing to him.

They're bowing to the king's seal on my waist.

After all, he had officially come to relay the orders of the Scholarly Court, since 'senior brother' had no legal power over him. Without such a seal, Inkasius wouldn't have been let into this secretive place in the first place, not even into this empty yard.

"Rise," Inkasius ordered, since the deferential treatment he received from fellow warriors made him uncomfortable. In response, the four men stood up like a single entity. Once they were upright, he could see that two of them had their robes ripped, and that they were bleeding through the cloth. Yet despite their wounds, they stood straight, without any concerns for their health. Again, the creepy feeling from before returned.

"Take off your masks," he squeezed out, despite his shortness of breath. Maybe if he could see their faces, he would no longer feel so uneasy. Maybe then, they would start to feel human again.

However, the men did not respond immediately. They simply stood there and looked at each other.

Hesitation. At least a human reaction.

Still, it wasn't enough to dispel Inkasius' unease. Thus, he pulled the king's seal from his waist and held it in his hand, stretched out towards the killers, for them to see.

"This Disciple has come on orders of the scholar king! In presence of the king's seal, This Disciple's word shall be the king's word!" he shouted, and took a step forward. "Whoever fails to heed the king's word shall be a traitor upon the kingdom!"

Finally, the killers raised their hands to their faces and took off their masks. Yet the reveal didn't ease Inkasius' anxiety at all. Their faces were shocking. Milky eyes, age spots and wrinkles; compared to their upright posture, the faces of these men looked way past their prime. Not only did they look old, their pale, sallow skin looked sickly as well, as if all of them were plagued with unspeakable disease.

What is this? Who are these men? What happened to them?

One question after another swirled around in his head, yet no answers were forthcoming.

Instead, the earlier tightness in his chest had returned with a vengeance. Once again, he felt like he was being observed from the shadows. All around the yard, he felt shadowy figures stand behind the dark windows and observe his every move, just out of sight. Inkasius had to take three deep, stuttering breaths before he managed to act calm on the outside.

Whatever was happening here had nothing to do with him, he told himself. However these old people had come to be members of Terminus, it wasn't any of his concern. Rather, he felt like if he continued to dig any deeper, he would simply disappear one night and join them as well. Thus, he ignored the pain in his chest, and pretended to be calm as he continued to fulfill his orders. The sooner he got done here, the sooner he could leave.

"Report on the results of your mission. The great scholar king needs to be informed immediately," he asked towards the man who looked least marred by life.

"Yes, great disciple," the man said. Before he spoke, he went down on one knee and bowed his head once more. The others followed as well. This time, Inkasius didn't ask them to rise again. Although he felt bad about treating fellow warriors like this — elders no less — he really couldn't stand to look at their faces any longer.

"The mission of Team Namachtli has been a success. House Caecina's representative has been eliminated, and his body disposed of, as ordered," the unmasked elder warrior explained. "During the mission, there was interference from an unknown enemy. As a result, six Markers of the Way have terminated their path. That is all."

According to the report, this man had just seen his battle companions die, yet his voice was devoid of any emotion. Again, Inkasius' chest tightened. However, at least when it came to the results of the mission, he could relax.

Seems like there was some resistance, but so long as they were successful, it should be fine.

After all, bringing good news was always preferable to bringing bad news. If he had to report a failure to the king, he had to fear punishment again. Thus, he was satisfied to send these killers away, so he wouldn't have to look at them any more.

"Very well. You may leave and rest until-" before Inkasius could finish his sentence, the door to the yard swung open once more. This time, a single figure entered, his robes ripped and soaked in blood. He could barely walk, with his left leg dragging behind him. Every step created a red streak behind the warrior, like brushstrokes which painted a picture of the man's defeat.

Yet as if his injury didn't exist, he walked straight towards Inkasius and went down on one knee. In the process, his left foot angled off at the shin, clearly broken, yet the man didn't care.

"Report, great disciple," he said. "The mission has failed. Lord Gratidia has escaped the End. Team Miktika has been wiped out in the process, there is one survivor."

Again, Inkasius was shocked, this time from the words he heard, rather than the people he saw. Before he could gather himself, another team entered the yard to report, and then another.

The longer this went on, the more Inkasius realized that this mission had not only failed, it had failed catastrophically. Out of all the teams which returned, only two had managed to fulfill their orders, and even they had suffered heavy losses in the process. Meanwhile, three other teams had not returned at all.

They were either still out there, trying to hunt down their targets, or they had been wiped out. Considering the determination of the other teams, and their general state of injury, Inkasius was convinced that the latter was true.

What is happening here!?

Utterly paralyzed by shock, he could only watch as the yard slowly transformed from a training place into a field hospital. More and more killers appeared, with various degrees of injuries, and sat down in the yard. By now, bloody streaks had turned the sand into a canvas.

At some point, servants had appeared from within the dark buildings around the yard. They began to treat the wounds, though it could not prevent the losses the men had already suffered. In the end, only one out of three people whom Inkasius had sent out on the mission had returned to Terminus, many of them with injuries so heavy they would never heal.

For a while, no more groups showed up. As the warriors were suffering all around him, the one who had sent them just stood there. Right in the middle of the yard, Inkasius was rooted on the spot, struggling to form any coherent thought, and then struggling to find excuses for his swift escape.

Maybe, he convinced himself, the last three groups had really been wiped out. In that case, he could finally leave this hellish place and report to King Amautu. Yes, surely that must have been the case. The last groups were long dead. Thus self-hypnotized, he took the first stiff step in an hour, to leave this place behind, forever, he hoped.

Yet when Inkasius thought that the nightmare was over, one last group entered the yard. Again, the king's disciple was rooted on the spot. Though as he listened to the report — this team had failed to catch their target after a long chase through the city, which was why they had been late — he was distracted, even more distracted than before.

Somehow, one of the bent figures felt familiar to Inkasius.

"You! remove your mask," he ordered. As he watched the old man uncover his face, the tight feeling in his chest grew again, to the point that he thought his heart would burst through his rib cage.

"I know you," he whispered, barely able to breathe. "What is your name?"

"All of Terminus is one, a mere Marker on the Way. Terminus carries no name," the man replied, without a hint of emotion in his voice.

However, while Inkasius didn't remembered his name, he still remembered his stature, and the cut of his face, with the sharp chin and drooping eyes. Several years ago, he saw this man stand next to King Amautu. Back then, he had envied his privileged position, and vowed to achieve the same one day.

At first Inkasius thought it was just mere resemblance — possibly an older relative of the warrior he remembered — yet the more he looked at the man's features in detail, the more certain he was: This old man was King Amautu's former attendant, and former head disciple, who had suddenly disappeared two years ago.

If he remembered correctly, the king's last attendant had been only a few years older than Inkasius himself. They were members of the same generation. Yet what knelt before him was an old man, his body mangled by time.

Unable to think, unwilling to imagine the consequences of his discovery, Inkasius stumbled past the kneeling killers, and out of the bloody yard. Before any of the resident scholars could stop him, he had left the cursed compound and its cursed inhabitants behind. Without a plan, he simply rushed through the claustrophobic streets of the city, as he struggled to accept what he knew to be true.

Maybe his earlier fantasies had been closer to reality than he was willing to admit. Maybe, Terminus was not only the greatest shame of the northern kingdom, but also its greatest sin.

Hermit's Notes: In my plans, there are 13 teams of Terminus: Three named after the three bonds of Confucianism (whose main job is to monitor the government internally for corruption/spies/traitors), five named after the five virtues of Confucianism (whose main job is surveillance of the population to enforce proper moral conduct), and five named after the five precepts of Daoism (whose main job is to punish criminals). Though I only ended up naming two here, and only some of the simpler concepts. As it turns out, translating complex chinese philosophical concepts into nahuatl is quite the challenge.

Chapter 463 - Bloody Night

Not for the first time, Inkasius stood in front of this nondescript stone block on the edge of Challwala's inner city. Hidden behind these walls was one of King Amautu's newest projects, and, as far as Inkasius was concerned, the shame of the northern kingdom. Inside, he would find 'Terminus', an organization created to wipe out all enemies of the king, no matter the price.

Truly a detestable place, he couldn't help but think. Still, the orders had to be fulfilled, even though they hadn't come from his lord this time.

Rather, King Amautu's senior brother had personally burdened him with the immoral task. Of course, Inkasius was unwilling from the start, even before he had heard the contents of his mission.

In the first place, he served House Pluritac, not some foreign invader. In order to survive, he had become a 'disciple' of King Amautu, but he was still a medalan warrior at heart. Even in the culture of the scholars, he was only subordinate to King Amautu, his nominal master. He certainly wasn't this self-satisfied foreigner's 'disciple'.

Not to mention, Inkasius always had the feeling that this senior was on bad terms with his king, and that this greedy snake had been aiming for the throne, or the destruction of the kingdom, or both. Thus, he wouldn't listen to any of this 'senior disciple's' words, no matter how much he threatened or cursed. Otherwise, Inkasius could unknowingly commit treason for simply following orders.

However, after that senior had made a fuss about the warrior's 'disrespectful attitude', King Amautu himself had indicated that just this one time, these orders were to be followed. Clearly, 'senior brother' was taking a perverse joy in seeing him unhappy as he forced his orders onto him, a simple message transport any lowly servant could have handled.

However, when he heard the exact contents of the message, and the identity of the recipient, he understood why the king's fellow disciple had picked someone so important to carry out the orders.

Thus, again his better judgment, he once more did as he was told. At the very least, King Amautu's submissive attitude this time was highly suspicious, and not at all how the king would usually act. Maybe, Inkasius though, he didn't have the full picture. At least one more time, he would trust his king. He would betray his own judgment, and trust that his lord knew what was best.

Thus, he pulled out the bamboo role which contained the orders, a list of names, all of whom enemies of the kingdom who were to be removed. This time, those enemies included an Oriental, whose death Inkasius didn't particularly mind. However, the orders weren't limited to outsiders alone. Not even the lords of the kingdom would be spared any longer. Once he stepped through this door and presented his orders, any medalan lord currently in this city would become the target of the northern kingdom's most dangerous organization.

As a warrior of Medala, he was entirely opposed to the idea, yet he had already made his decision. By now, he knew too much, so he couldn't just fail to fulfill his orders. His safety, and that of his family, were on the line. Last time he had come here, he had met King Amautu's former attendant, who had become the king's disciple after he had converted to the Way. The broken state of the king's former attendant still gave Inkasius nightmares to this day, an image powerful enough to deter any disobedience.

Thus, with a heavy heart, he went inside, to order the assassination of the kingdom's upper class, and possibly provoke a war against the kingdom of the South. A dark night lay ahead for the people of this city, for now the End was coming.

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Old-familiar sounds awoke the young Lord Atoc Rubria from his sleep. Back in his youth, his home of Yakuharra had frequently suffered from northern barbarian attacks. Every winter, they would rushed down the mountains in search of food and plunder, and Yakuharra had acted as the shield of the empire against these invaders.

As a child, Rubria had been awoken by the sounds of fighting more than once. After his father's early death, his anxiety had gotten even worse. Thus, the memories of his youth drove him out of bed and his hand onto his axe handle before he even understood what was happening. Though a swift look out the window made him understand his situation very quickly.

An attack in the middle of Challwala. How bold.

It had been a while since Yakuharra had last been attacked by the barbarians. Not since he had struck a deal with the northern tribes had he experienced a direct threat like this. However, Lord Rubria didn't feel threatened in the slightest, despite the sudden appearance of the invaders. Out of the window, his guards were fighting off the robed and masked attackers in good order. Already, the yard was brightly lit, which allowed him to see that his men had a significant advantage in numbers, and looked well-organized.

Luckily, we came prepared.

If Lady Antaya hadn't informed him that this trip would be dangerous, he would have never brought so many guards. He also would have never disguised so many of them as merchants and let them enter the city in advance, to confuse the enemy about their strength. Now, it appeared as if his trust in the lady's information network had paid off once more.

Though this lord cannot thank you this time, my dear lady. This time, your favor has caused quite the mess for this lord.

In the first place, Atoc Rubria had only come to join this dubious meeting in the snake's den that was Challwala because Lady Antaya had asked him for a favor. Otherwise, the cautious young lord would have simply remained in his home by the mountains and watched the fireworks from there.

The distant scholars of Chutwa had barely reached out to his home, and his tight grip on his small community, the conservative and combative character of the locals, as well as his deals with the barbarians had made his estate almost impenetrable by foreign influences. Since he had no worries about his safety back home, he had been ready to throw out his invitation for this meeting of the northern lords. Only when Lady Antaya had personally asked him did he reconsider.

Maybe after she has caused us so much trouble, the lady would be more willing to return the favor this time.

At the thought of the mature Lady Antaya's figure hidden underneath her dress, Rubria had to wipe away the drool around his mouth. Over years of meetings, he had desired the lady more and more, though she had never once accepted his advances. Maybe this time, gratitude or guilt would make her more receptive to his courtship.

Just as the young Lord Rubria was stuck in his fantasies, his door was shoved open with enough force to slam against the wall. Though the noise roused Atoc from his dreams, he still had nothing to fear, he thought, since the man who had entered was his personal attendant Kizco.

"Lord, the men cannot hold," the warrior with the disheveled hair and the panicked look said. "We need to leave."

For some, there might be something to fear after all, Rubria thought. His attendant wasn't usually the timid type, so the lord had no reason doubt his closest servant. Still, he couldn't help but question the news.

"What? How can our men be this useless?" he shouted. "We have the advantage in numbers, and we have been expecting them in advance! How are we still losing!?"

This made no sense. Hadn't he only just seen through the window that everything was going well? Yet when Rubria looked back into the yard again, he realized that the situation had dramatically turned for the worse in the short time he had spent dreaming about his dream woman.

As soon as his focus returned to his warriors, one of them pierced a masked intruder with a spear in his abdomen, a blow which would incapacitate any man. Yet despite the blood which sprayed from his stomach, the masked attacker simply pushed on, as if the deadly wound on his body didn't exist.

In the end, he drove the spear all the way through himself and continued to charge towards Rubria's warrior. In shock, the defender took a step back and stumbled over something in the dark. When the warrior fell over, the masked attacker jumped on him like a ferocious beast and clawed at him with his bare hands, the spear still embedded in his body. Similar scenes were happening all over the yard, which was now littered with bodies from both sides.

"They are fighting as if their lives do not matter. And they are strong like bulls," Kizco explained, before he added in a shuddering voice: "They are not human."

Faced with the confused ramblings of his attendant, as well as the man's empty stare of shock, Rubria finally realized that the situation had gone completely out of control.

"Very well, then we shall make use of our escape plan," he ordered immediately. Luckily, Rubria had prepared well in advance. Thus, he and his attendant made their way through the secret passage hidden within this family manor in Challwala. Since the dust-covered hidden trap door hadn't been used in a century, Rubria was quite certain that no outsiders would know about their escape path. By the time those attackers breached into the manor proper and found the hidden entrance, he would be long gone.

Vile creatures! I will never forgive you for killing my men!

Now that the numbness of shock had worn off, Rubria became angry, rather than scared. These had been his best men, many of them battle companions and close friends who had stuck with the family when they had struggled so much after father's death. Now, they had died just like this, a month's journey from their home. At least, Atoc knew where to direct his anger. Their masks wouldn't help them, he knew exactly who the assassins were.

Who else but the king's foreign hordes could have done something so vile, in such blatant disregard of medalan customs? Who else but those so-called scholars would show such religious fanaticism in a fight? Now that these villains had tried to stop him, he was even more determined to attend the meeting with the southern kingdom's minister. Not only would he attend, he would push for the harshest punishment for their good King Amautu who thought he was invincible as he trampled their rights, just because he was hiding behind his servants.

Yet just as Atoc was thinking about his revenge, a cloth covered his mouth and nose before he could react.

"Don't move," he heard, and a blade pressed into his back as well.

Who talked? Who betrayed me? Rubria thought, yet he could do nothing. Not long after, more unknown figures carried him away into the night.

---------------

Lord Gratidia had been doing an awful lot of losing recently. Yet ever since he had allowed Lady Inti and that foreigner to get involved in his family affairs, things had turned for the better.

After several moons of fighting, the scholars — and the ruffians they had backed — retreated out of Rhodanos again. At last, he was in charge of his own estate once more, free from the influence of the greedy King Amautu.

Though it hadn't been gratitude which drove him here to Challwala. Rather, he was afraid of the consequences should the meeting fail. If the southern merchant didn't receive explicit support from the northern lords during this meeting, Gratidia feared that the coward would run back south, and leave the northern lords to their devices.

Without the threat of the southern kingdom's intervention, King Amautu would surely come back for revenge. Rhodanos had experienced a king's revenge once before, and could not withstand a second time. Thus, Lord Gratidia had come to Challwala in person, to guarantee that this meeting of the northern lords would be a success.

Yet before he ever learned the exact time or location of the meeting, he had been surprised by a sudden attack from an unknown enemy in the night. Never had Gratidia thought that someone would dare send out so many troops to assassinate him in the middle of the north's capital.

Surely, even King Amautu would have to fear the loss of reputation this sort of attack brought with it. Yet the proof was undeniable, and right in front of him. A horde of foes had come to attack out of nowhere, enough to kill any warrior. However, Lord Gratidia was done with losing, and showed why the late emperor had awarded him his estate in the first place.

Blood had splattered all over his face, but it wasn't his own. The exhausted lord took a heavy breath and looked around at the battlefield he had survived. Just now, this had been a violent brawl, involving two dozen warriors. Now, he was one of only four men left standing, and the only one without any injuries. After all, Gratidia was the one with the most battle experience out of anyone, possibly across all of Medala.

Their enemies had been inferior in numbers, yet their strength had been absurd. Despite their slim frames and mangled postures, these masked figures had the strength of tigers as they charged them head-on. Yet in the end, strategy — and Gratidia's on-the-spot decision making — had made the difference. In formation, his well-trained men had made up for their disadvantage in raw strength, and slowly ground down their reckless enemies.

Although all but three of his men had died in the process, he couldn't help but think that these attackers had missed a trick.

If they are assassins, why did they attack from the front? Any ambush would have been more effective, even a poor one.

This was only the first of many questions Gratidia had, the next most pressing being the identities of the masked attackers. Thus, the lord walked up to one of the felled monsters, and reached out for its mask.

Now then, let's see who you really are, he thought, though he already had a good idea who had sent them. Yet his fingers never reached the mask to confirm his suspicions.

"Lord, there are more incoming!" he heard one of his remaining men shout.

Only then did he realize that they were surrounded by another half a dozen masked figures, three in front and three in the back. His men were injured, exhausted, and this time they no longer had an advantage in numbers. There was no escape.

Another defeat then, the lord just thought, as he slowly raised his axe, ready for one final fight to the death.

----------------------------------------------

When Cossus di Caecina had been sent to Challwala to represent Lord Caecina in a meeting of the lords, he had considered it a great honor, and an even greater opportunity. Not many warriors would ever have the pleasure of being treated like a lord. Not to mention, Cossus was also looking forward to the bribes he expected to collect from all available sides. So long as he didn't make trouble for his lord during this meeting, he knew he was safe to collect as much as he could carry.

Once he returned back home, he would have had both wealth and prestige. It had been perfect, the next step in a successful life aimed towards the top.

So where did everything go wrong?

The attackers had come in the middle of the night and had relentlessly mowed down any living thing in the manor. In the chaos, he had somehow managed to escape into the city, yet he hadn't made it far. After he had dragged his exhausted body along half a street, he had vaulted over a random courtyard wall. Now his back pressed against the cold stones, while his breath raced to match his racing heart.

Damn, damn! Don't find me, don't find me!

The same thoughts turned and turned in his head, yet his prayers would not be answered. Out of the darkness, a black figure unveiled itself like death personified. Frozen from shock and exhaustion, Cossus could only watch as the creature charged at him. Before he had noticed, a short sword was stuck deep in his chest.

Only now, at the end of his life, was Cossus able to overcome his fear. Filled with the desperation only the fear of death could bring, his weak hands clawed at the attacker, but he only managed to pull the black hood of his face. What he found underneath was no monster, but a simple man, old and thin, with sallow skin and dark-blue cheeks. Yet in his eyes, buried deep within his haggard face, burned a fanatical flame which threatened to devour everything.

"The end has come," the old man whispered, and pushed the sword deeper.

Hermit's Notes: Renamed End of the Way to Terminus, cause it's a neater name and the meaning is the same.

Chapter 462 - Mother's Perspective

"Mother, what are you doing here?"

Some time had passed since Inti had entered the Old Well. By now, she sat opposite her mother — Antaya di Pluritac — but she was still as confused as she had first met her here.

"What does it look like I am doing, my dear daughter?" her mother asked, without looking up from a piece of paper she was writing on. Based on the book sitting next to her, she was probably writing in code. At least that was Inti's best guess based on the nonsensical mess of numbers and letter written within.

When confronted with her mother's return question, Inti looked around in search of an answer. Considering the age and secretive nature of this hideout, it certainly looked different from what Inti had expected. First were all the people running around the place. Inti could see at least ten, all of them wearing black robes and plain, white masks with numbers stitched on their chests.

They sat around the warmly lit room on various tables and did all kinds of writing. Others entered or exited through one of several openings in the walls, put papers into archives or carried them across the room to some other station.

Though the fact that some of the tables these people were writing on were old barrels probably intended for long-storage rations tipped Inti off that this wasn't the usual operational center of Challwala. Rather, this place was improvised, and had only been set up very recently.

Just as Inti had decided that there was no point in replying to her mother's question — since the answer seemed obvious — a figure in a mask and a big '5' stitched onto their chest came up to their table and handed Antaya a piece of paper.

The woman looked at the paper for a second, before she said: "Thank you, Five," and put the paper on a pile to her left. Afterwards, without a look at her daughter, she looked back down and continued to write her original message.

"What's with the masks and the numbers?" Inti finally couldn't help herself and had to ask. They had to start this conversation some way, after all.

"Security measures. There have been a few infiltrations recently, and the current state of the city could best be described as simmering, right before a boil. We need to be efficient, and fast, so anonymity had become paramount for our people."

"And why do... all this." Inti motioned around the room, before she asked the more pertinent question. "Rather, why do you have to do it personally?"

In response, Antaya looked up from her message and put down the feather quill in her hand. For a while she just stared at her daughter. Only when Inti started to squirm under her mother's stern gaze did the spy queen reply.

"I thought: If I don't look after my daughters soon, maybe all of you will end up dead, or pregnant, or worse," she said.

"So you've heard?" Inti asked, though she shouldn't be surprised. After all, Mellana would have arrived in Saniya months ago. It was hardly a shock that her mother already knew about the ridiculous actions of her selfish daughter. Meanwhile, Antaya picked her quill back up and looked back down.

"What, about the fact that you abandoned your post and have been traveling around for fun, or that you made all kinds of trouble for me in the process?" she mumbled out a question as she began scribbling. Inti frowned for a second, annoyed by her mother's accusations. Though if nothing else, she was happy that her mother hadn't seen her loss of control, and quickly fixed her expression.

"No, I was talking about Mellana," she tried to clarify. She wasn't here to talk about her own failings, though to be fair, she also hadn't really come to gossip about Mellana either.

"I have heard about everything, as you could expect." Antaya glanced up just long enough to reply, and then continued her work.

"And what she did does not bother you?" Inti probed again, this time a bit more agitated. "She's..."

"Betrayed us?" Antaya completed the words and smiled at the paper in derision.

"Did she not?" Inti crossed her arms. Was her mother deliberately trying to upset her?

"All I know is that I never had to worry about Mellana, not once in my life," Antaya replied, and once again put down the quill. This time, Antaya folded the paper, before she picked up a piece of yellow wax from a stand filled with different colors. "You on the other hand-"

"I can handle myself just fine, thank you very much," Inti huffed out an interruption, which once again let Antaya look over.

"Is that so?" she asked, and put the wax over the candle flame on the table with a mysterious smile. "Then how often, do you think, did I have to get involved to prevent your death over the past few months? Do you want to try and guess the answer?"

Silence once more forced its way between the two to increase their distance. As Inti watched the wax slowly go shiny, she thought back to her most recent adventures. It was true that her actions had been a bit reckless, and it was also true that their journey had been shockingly smooth since they had left Rhodanos. Still, she hadn't noticed anything, and couldn't confirm or deny a thing. Since she couldn't win a debate without knowing anything, Inti decided to admit defeat.

"No, thank you," she finally said, and lowered her head.

"A wise choice, for once," Antaya commented, before she began to apply wax to the outside of the folded paper she had just written.

"Still, it was irresponsible of sister to just abandon us like this."

While the spy queen was busy pushing a seal into the quickly hardening wax, Inti tried to switch topics once again. So far, this meeting had certainly gone nothing like she hoped.

"Your sister wanted to start a family. There is nothing wrong with that," Antaya insisted, and blew onto the wax to help it along. "As far as my daughters are concerned, she is the only one I don't have to worry about all the time."

"She's pregnant, with some strange man's child," Inti pointed out.

"Well, at least she is not bothering me with extra work."

"She just disappeared from her post, without a word."

This time, her terse words let her mother look up again. With a stern face, she stared down Inti again.

"And what have you been doing, my dear daughter?" she asked an icy question which pierced right through Inti's chest. "You also left your post at a critical time. And yours was the most important, that of monitoring the political arena in Arguna. And you did not leave because you were imprisoned, like your sister. You left to travel around the country with your new man. Compared to Mella, would you say you have done your duty?"

"He is not my man, we are only traveling together," Inti insisted, though her voice was weak. She herself knew that she was in the wrong here. Although she had only taken a break because her sister had dared to do the same, it still hadn't been right.

"Whatever you say, my dear daughter," Antaya simply replied. While Inti mulled over her own decisions, and her own mistakes, her mother waved over to someplace behind her. Soon, the masked ghost with the five on its chest returned.

"Get that to Fourteen, please. Post-haste," Antaya said, and handed Five the newly sealed paper. After a quick bow, Five soon disappeared again.

In the meantime, Inti had finally managed to organize her thoughts. Although her actions had clearly been wrong as well, they obviously weren't nearly as bad as Mellana's. In the first place she had never been truly irresponsibly, as she had planned out everything.

"I am only taking a short break," she tried to explain to her mother. "All my life I've done my duties. And there is no trouble in Arguna anyways. I've kept in contact with our people there, and would have gone back at the first sign of trouble. Until then, I think I can take a little time off."

The more upset Inti became, the louder she got. However, her mother just went back to reading messages, unimpressed by her daughter's outburst.

"Surely, your sister thought the same," her dry voice shot back.

"But now she's too busy playing with that guardsman to ever return," Inti insisted. "She will never come back to the family business. I will. I will spend the rest of my life as part of the ghosts. Since no one else will do it, I might even replace you one day."

"You will not," Antaya shot back. For the first time, she sounded upset. She had even stopped working again to stare at Inti.

"What? Do you think Tama the unreliable will do it?" the daughter mocked her, happy that she had finally managed to unsettle her mother.

"No, none of you will take over the position." Antaya sighed, once again in control of her emotions. However, this topic seemed to matter a lot to her, so she leaned back and explained without any distractions. "In the first place, leading the ghost warriors is not the business of our family. It never was. Your father was the first of our family to lead the ghosts, and he only took over because his friend, Emperor Titu, was worried that the ghosts would be turned against him if anyone less loyal were to lead them. Because we were in a terrible position after the emperor's death, we were forced to take over to save our lives, and to save King Corco's claim to the throne. However, this is not the kind of future I had ever envisioned for any of you."

Again, Antaya sighed, and stared at some distant point past Inti, seemingly lost in her own thoughts. However, her daughter didn't share the mother's sentimentality. Why would her mother's plans for her matter? Had mother ever considered what her daughters wanted in the first place?

"But what if I want to do it anyways? What if I just keep leading the ghosts?"

Will you stop me? she thought, but her mother's reply shocked her. She simply shook her head, and sighed again.

"You have no choice. None of us have. The only one who can decide the leader of the ghost warriors is King Corco. And he is far too suspicious to appoint you as my successor. He has already threatened me before, and he will do the same to whoever will replace me."

"He threatened you!?" Inti shouted, and half-jumped out of her seat. To her, Corco had always seemed quiet, friendly and well-mannered.

Though I guess based on Brym's true actions, I should have guessed that this kind of person is not harmless.

In contrast to Inti, Antaya remained perfectly calm.

"Considering the power the ghosts have in his kingdom, it was perfectly within the king's right to do so," she strangely explained for the one who had threatened her. "The king's authority is paramount. No servant should be able to threaten the king, otherwise King Corco will end up like King Amautu, a mere puppet to his former support. Unlike Amautu, Corco has been far more careful in dispensing his power. Now you see why I do not want you to succeed me. Surely, you do not want to end up as our king's target."

"And what if I want to anyways?" Inti still insisted, though the motherly smile which responded her made her insistence feel childish.

"Again, this is not your decision. It is King Corcopaca's, and he will never choose you. Our family already has far too much power in the southern kingdom. I lead the ghosts, your brother is the kingdom's prime minister. Now, Tama has married that Atau boy, who's the kingdom's admiral-"

"What?" a confused Inti wondered when exactly this had happened, but her mother just pressed on.

"...and now you are playing around with his minister of finance as well. Do you really believe someone who is as careful and suspicious as King Corcopaca will just watch as our family occupies all important positions in his kingdom?"

Once more, the silence between them had returned. Finally, Inti had nothing left to say in reply.

"If this old woman had the choice, I would prefer if all of you were just like Mellana. You should just look for a good man far away from the politics of the kingdom, and find your own happiness," Antaya concluded.

After all these years, Inti had almost forgotten that in the end, her mother was just a typical medalan lady: conservative and servile. However, this was not a path Inti was willing to take. While she understood her mother's concerns, she would never agree to just throw away all the hard work over the years. Instead, she would find her own happiness, and make something of herself, her mother's blessing be damned.

Thus, rather than waste any more time on a discussion which would lead nowhere, she simply decided to move on to the main topic of their discussion. She hadn't come here to be lectured, after all.

"Anyways, I haven't come here to talk about my future husband," she forced the conversation to shift, before she realized how poorly her rude words prepared her follow-up. "I need your help."

Although Inti was embarrassed by her selfish plea, her mother just smiled.

"Only mine?" she asked, and once again began to look through the papers on her desk.

"I need access to the local forces," Inti explained the plan she had brought with her before her mother's presence had derailed her. "Minister Brymstock is about to meet with the northern lords, and I need enough people to protect them. They are all in danger."

"Of course they are." Antaya scoffed. "Why do you think I am here, in this city deep within enemy territory? Of all places in Medala, this one is the most dangerous to me."

To her shock, Inti realized that she hadn't even considered her mother's position at all. All this time, Antaya had seemed so in control that she had never believed her to be in any danger in the first place. Yet as she looked around the room again, at its improvised furniture and the masked people running around in it, she realized that this clearly wasn't the case. Something must have already happened to warrant this level of security.

Thus, Inti's mind circled back the important question: Why had her mother come here if the city was so dangerous? Although Antaya had always been quite distant, especially in recent years, their previous conversation could only lead Inti to a single conclusion.

"You came here to support us?" she guessed.

"Why else would I throw stones into this stale pond. I will only get my dress dirty." However, Inti didn't think her mother's joke was funny, so she just stared until Antaya continued. "After all, my daughter's man has poked the lion, and then foolishly ran right into the lion's cave to show off. As always, the mother will take care of her child's mess."

Although her mother had once again misidentified Brym as her man, Inti wasn't in a mood to correct her. After all, since her mother had the same goal now, her plan would become a lot easier to realize.

"Then we should activate the agents right away, to protect Brym and the lords during the meeting," she urged, yet her mother continued to work calmly.

"I have long activated them," she explained, while she added another piece of paper to a pile on her right. "In fact, ever since you entered this place, I have done nothing but coordinate our forces for your grand meeting."

Finally, all tension left Inti's body. Only when she sank into her seat did she realize just how on edge she had been all this time.

"Then there is nothing left to worry about," she said.

Now that the spy queen was in charge, she had full confidence that their plans would succeed. Yet the spy queen in question once again shook her head to contradict Inti.

"I think you are overestimating our position in Challwala. This city is among the places where we are weakest compared to the local forces. After all, we have only begun to strengthen our efforts in the north at the start of the year. Not to mention that the northern kingdom has far stronger security forces than the disjointed center," Antaya explained. "Amautu cannot use any of the emperor's old intelligence forces like the ghosts, but he has long since developed his own. Those Chutwa people have brought several experts in covert operations from their homes, and those scholars have their eyes and ears everywhere above ground. Not to mention, there is also that mysterious new organization called 'Terminus'."

"Terminus? What is that?" an intrigued Inti asked, as tension returned to her body once more. However, this time, even her mother all-knowing mother didn't have the answers.

"I am unsure. Our informants could catch little more than a name so far, but it appears to be a secret organization, we assume, specifically founded by King Amautu for the purpose of assassinations. This time, you best not expect things to go the same as usual. This time, we are at a disadvantage in both intelligence and numbers. If we want to win, we need to be smart, and move carefully. Our enemies are no pushovers."

Again, Antaya picked up her quill. Before she bent over to write another message she looked up one final time to add: "Now stop sitting around with your mouth open and help me sort these papers. We have much left to prepare."

Chapter 461 - Setting the Board

Deserted Wonders of the World shops were a familiar sight to Brym by now. Thus, as he sat in the center of his empty store and stared at the entrance, he wasn't bothered by the eerie calm. Unlike many other stores in the north, at least this one hadn't been looted and burned down. Even the shop keepers were still here, safe enough to remain in plain sight, although they couldn't do their main work any longer.

Instead of easing silver out of the pockets of their rich customers, they were cleaning the store to keep themselves busy, while Brym remained seated, waiting for his expected company to arrive.

At least he didn't have to wait for long. Not long after Brym himself had entered his shop, a guest arrived as well, though this one wasn't here to buy anything. Moreover, he would no doubt turn from guest to host soon. After all, Challwala had been the home of House Betucio for generations.

Looks like he's still well-connected, despite his isolation, Brym thought as he stood up to greet the visitor.

"Governor Betucio, how good to see you again. It's been too long."

Clean-shaven and red-robed, the middle-aged Governor of the North didn't fit at all into the image of his city. Maybe that was why his own king was treating him like an outsider. Quite possibly, that Betucio returned a pained smile when Brym stretched out his arms in an inviting gesture.

"Likewise, young master Brym," he nevertheless said. "Though this lord would have preferred to meet under less tense circumstances. Minister Brym's actions have certainly lit fire a fire in the northern kingdom. Its heat can be felt all the way here."

"Haha, I never intended to trouble anyone," Brym tried to deflect the veiled criticism. "I am simply protecting my investment. Though of course, I do hope that the upcoming meeting will put an end to the unsavory conflicts, and to Amautu's political overreach. After all, in Medala, the lords still matter as much as their king. King Amautu's lust for power needs to be stopped before he does irreparable damage to Medala's stability. He needs to realize that he is just the first among many, nothing more."

The shameless Brym made his argument without once losing his calm smile, despite the fact that the powers of the lords had already been heavily restricted in the southern kingdom. If there was anyone who couldn't complain about Amautu's attempts to centralize power, surely it would be a member of Corco's court. Still, the experienced Governor of the North had the tact of old nobility — and that of an old friendship with Brym — and so didn't call him out on his nonsense.

"Indeed, which is the main reason this governor was willing to help organize such a meeting of the lords," he agreed instead. "Although it might be dangerous, something has to be done. Not only for the sake of House Betucio, but for the sake of King Amautu as well."

For the first time since his arrival, Betucio's face changed, from a tense frown to a more relaxed, but troubled one. Strangely, Brym didn't get the feeling that the governor was lying, which confused him quite a bit.

"Wait, I thought Amautu had taken all power from the northern governor position, taken over Governor Betucio's city, and thrown you out of his Scholarly Court?" Brym asked, in an attempt to sow dissent within the northern forces. He really didn't want to work with someone who had sympathy for his enemies. However, despite Betucio's sigh, his calm reply disappointed Brym.

"Indeed, all of it is true. However, this governor is still deeply troubled by the path King Amautu has taken these years. The king himself is a good man, that much is certain. At least in our many conversations, he has always been as selfless as he was ambitious. All this time, the king only wanted the best for the people of Medala. Yet too many have misunderstood his intentions, until he could only rely on the scholars to secure his throne. Now King Amautu, to reliant on outside forces, is no longer in full control of his kingdom. Things need to change, and fast. Otherwise, there will be a revolt like the one Saniya has suffered. Last year, the commoners were lynching lords and priests, this time they might lynch scholars on top of it."

"Not to worry, Lord Betucio." Brym slapped his chest to look more confident. "With the combined strength of the northern lords — and backed by the Kingdom of the South — not even the arrogant Chutwa scholars would dare oppose us. Against such a powerful, united front, they will only be able to yield their ill-gotten power and flee back across the sea."

By the end of his speech, Brym's chest had swelled, and his eyes focused somewhere in the distance, just like he had practiced many times. However, Betucio only sighed again in response, clearly not infected by the young minister's enthusiasm.

"Hopefully you are right, my friend. The north has long suffered too much blood and fire."

__________________________

From high atop the Sky Zigurrat, all of Challwala could be observed. Only, the Zigurrat's foundation was so narrow, and its walls so thick, that up here on the highest floor, only a single person could fit comfortably. Still, it was a great place for Amautu to observe his capital, the largest city of his kingdom.

Somewhere down there, hidden between these blocks of stone, Brymstock di Pluritac — his brother's thieving little magpie — had made himself comfortable in a new nest. Not only he alone, various lords of his northern kingdom had also come to bother Amautu here in his home. If his information was correct — and it usually was — they were trying to unite and pressure their king into giving up on some of the rights he had secured only recently.

Their plans were good, Amautu thought. At the very least, he had been forced into a corner once again. Just like last time, when that merchant had put pressure on him to recognize his act of thievery in Porcero, the southerner from the Orient was once more manipulating the people of the north for his own benefit. Once again, Amautu's citizens were suffering under attacks from common bandits, paid and organized by Brymstock. And once again, his people were blaming their king for the damage.

Though of course, the lords were better informed than the common people. They would know who was really at fault for this mess. They knew, and yet they still sided with that southern barbarian, all of it just to gain an advantage in their endless struggle against the harmonious, unifying power of their central ruler. Medala had played this sort of game for centuries, emperors and lords vying for power, always pitted against each other.

What a waste of time, Amautu concluded.

Didn't these people know that centralization was inevitable, eventually? Chutwa itself was perfect proof for this, as were many other countries around the world. Even those backwards orientals had kings and queens. Yet the locals still stubbornly resisted progress.

By fighting the natural progression of things, the lords of Medala just held the Twin Isles back from advancing beyond its backwards nature, and now they were all stuck in this endless squabble, as him and his brothers slowly ground each other down while those lords acted as hyenas in the background.

Well, at least our oldest has done the right thing.

Whenever Amautu thought of the way his brother Corco had cleaned up those greedy lords in the south, he couldn't help but feel satisfied. However, his next realization ruined his mood once again.

Even the bastard has done better than this king. This king cannot fall behind. Now is the best opportunity to take control.

With the various players assembled in the city, Amautu could soon change the political landscape of Medala once more, just like his two brothers had. Not long and the power of the King of the North would once more be strengthened.

"Junior, are you up here?"

Just as Amautu was refining his plans, an inconvenient, impolite voice from down the ladder behind him interrupted his thoughts.

"Indeed. Is there any need for this king's presence, senior brother?" Although Amautu's voice remained polite and calm, his face had twisted into a sour frown, as always when he thought of his senior brother while no one was around.

"There is no more time to waste. Junior will need to prepare for his imminent journey to Tequitlali. Junior cannot afford to let the princess wait."

Ah yes, a marriage no one but my dear master wanted. And my dear senior brother of course, Amautu thought. They had been bugging him over this marriage for a long time, though the king was still unwilling.

In truth, he wasn't completely opposed to the idea of a political marriage. If nothing else, he was quite eager to win over another ally, something he was severely lacking. After all, he was desperate enough to leave his country in the hands of the scholars, since no one else wanted to work with him.

He had lost the trust of the lords after he had limited their powers, the priests didn't like him because of his Chutwa faith, and the Orientals had been won over by the clever Corco. By now, the scholars were the only force he could rely on, which made the addition of another ally a necessity to balance out their influence. Still, he couldn't just up and leave, not when the kingdom was in such a chaotic state.

"This king shall depart soon, after the meeting with the southern kingdom's representative," he thus delayed. However, his fellow disciple's reply was once again rude, and once again didn't take the king's wishes or the kingdom's needs into account.

"Junior, surely there is no need to value a common merchant this highly. That maggot should have no right to even meet with a disciple of a great scholar. How could he possibly understand the wisdom of the Way as imparted by Master Ichtaka? Surely, the best course of action would be to simply leave them be and fulfill Master's orders as quickly as possible. In the meantime, this senior of yours shall handle the matter with the merchant, and the disobedient barbarians."

Ah yes, surely you'll handle it well. And while this king is off to get married to some woman across the sea, this good senior brother of mine will take the opportunity to put the kingdom in order. His order, of course. Who knows if there will still be a crown to wear once this king returns from the trip.

Amautu knew very well that his senior brother had always been jealous of him. After all, his senior was a proper Chutwa native, and Master Ichtaka's oldest disciple. He probably had a hard time grasping how his junior brother — a barbarian no less —could control his own country while he was still penniless. Maybe he even felt insulted that his inferior junior hadn't already handed over his power of his own accord. Still, this time, his entitled senior's selfishness suited Amautu just fine.

"And how does senior brother expect to handle them?" he asked. As he observed the city, his eyes narrowed.

"Simply get rid of them," a vicious voice came from down below, like a snake's hiss from the underworld. "Now that all of them are in one place, they shall be slaughtered like the disobedient dogs they are. These barbarians do not deserve to enter negotiations as if they were equals to the great scholars. Those unenlightened by the Way better know their place, or they shall be removed."

Yes, you take all your contempt, and act on your heart's desire, Amautu thought, but he tried hard to make his next words sound displeased.

"This king cannot agree to such rash action. Senior brother, this king shall never allow anyone to willfully incites war in this king's lands, even if that someone deserves this king's respect."

"This scholar is your senior!" an unhappy growl came back, before he cited the scripture of the Way. "The junior is to adhere to his senior's advice, lest he shall go astray."

I knew you'd say that again.

Happy with his successful prediction, Amautu smiled heartily. Jealousy had turned his wise senior into an idiot, easy to predict and easy to exploit.

"Does Master know about these grand plans, Senior Brother?" Amautu asked the key question. For a moment, silence returned to the top of the Sky Zigurrat, before his senior's voice replied once more.

"This Senior will do what is best for the enlightenment of the people," he insisted, rather than replying to the question. "And Junior better not get too involved, lest he miss his ship to Tequitlali. Then, Master will truly be cross."

"Not to worry, senior brother, this King is fully capable of resolving the current chaos before departure time. Further, any complaints Master has, this disciple will take up with Master himself."

Although Amautu's words were cold, a sly smile was on his lips as he listened to his senior brother stomp away in anger. With this, his jealous senior brother would surely plan for the assassination of the magpie, and for the assassination of those disobedient lords while he was at it.

Meanwhile, Brymstock and his band of thieves would surely anticipate such an attack, and try to prevent it. Yet whichever of the two sides won, Amautu surely wouldn't suffer.

If the southerner won and repelled his senior's attack, he could use the excuse of his fellow disciple's overreach of power — as well as his loss of control over Challwala — to weaken the influence of the scholars in his court. Even his master would see reason once his best disciple's plans failed in such an abject manner. Once his master realized that they were getting nowhere with pure violence, he would be forced to adopt gentler methods to enlighten the people of Medala, just like Amautu had always wanted.

Meanwhile, if the southern magpie was unprepared and his senior's assassination plan succeeded, Amautu would get rid of his greatest headache, and then he could push all the blame onto his senior brother. Absolved from criticism by the remaining lords or the Ancestral Hall in Arguna, he would have the power to finally centralize the country. As a little bonus, he could even ally with the remaining lords — who would have nowhere left to turn — to weaken the influence of the scholars in turn.

Through the light drizzle of evening, Amautu continued to watch over his city. Down there, various players had begun to move their pieces, yet such a game was far too low-brow for a king. The lord of these lands would simply remain here and watch as the players took each other's pieces off the board. Only at the end would he move in to decide a winner.

Whatever these people were thinking, this was still his city. Here, only the king could be the ultimate victor.

__________________________

After months of experience, Inti would no longer try to contact the local ghost forces through Brym's shops when entering a new city. As the public signpost of the southern kingdom in the north, these were the first places to be targeted by the scholars every time they attempted to take down a city.

Thus, rather than waste her time in a depressing, empty shop monitored by the enemy, Inti immediately turned to the most secretive ghost hideout she knew in Challwala. Code name 'Old Well' was an ancient hideout of the ghosts, from before the time her mother had taken control of the emperor's ghost warriors. In fact, the existence of the hideout could even predate the late emperor Titu himself. Most likely, it had been established by some previous emperor's forces to keep an eye on the loyalty of his northern governor. Considering the hideout's secretive location, Inti wasn't surprised the place hadn't been discovered until now.

Hidden deep within a long-abandoned part of Challwala's sewers, hidden beyond endless labyrinthine corridors — and behind several secret entrances — this place was practically impossible to find without a map. In fact, even with the map she had memorized, it had taken Inti the best part of a day to find her way.

I just hope Brym will be patient and won't run head-first into needless trouble again.

Her travel companion surely was clever, and good with his words, but he certainly was also arrogant. He tended to overestimate the control he had over a situation, and so repeatedly left himself in dangerous positions. And as far as Inti was concerned, the current was the most dangerous position they had ever stumbled into.

Thus, she had decided to activate every single force she could find within the city. No matter how hidden, no matter how important, she would use all the pieces she had available, to make sure Brym wouldn't die and their travels in the north wouldn't end in catastrophic failure.

Just be patient for a little bit, you fool. Take a nap or something. I'll be back soon, she addressed Brym in her head as she opened the final door, the one which would lead her to the hideout proper at last.

As soon as the hidden door of wet stone slid opened, Inti was greeted with warm light from inside, proof that this hideout was still manned.

Good, let's have them spread out and call for all the local ghosts. I'll have to act before Amautu can, she organized her thoughts, yet when she saw who was waiting for her inside the hideout, Inti forgot all about her previous plans.

"Mother?" she asked in confusion. It appeared as if, for this great game, the elusive spy queen had placed herself on the board to join the game.

Chapter 460 - Stale

Challwala, pearl of the north.

As the largest port along Medala's northern coast, it had also been, for centuries, the most important port in Medala. Unlike Saniya, which had only been a hub for trade in Sachay even during its best days, and unlike Porcero, which had only really traded with the Bronze Coast until the arrival of visitors from distant Arcavia, Challwala had always been the largest, most important sea port on the Twin Isles.

This had become doubly true every time the Verdant Folk intensified their efforts in their waters, to once more disrupt the trade routes within the Verduic Sea. After all, Challwala was built not on the Verduic Sea itself, but on the south of the Copa di Mullu instead. With protection from the massive bay came calmer waters, more predictable weather, and better security.

Not only offered this port better protection from the elements, it was also safer from occasional coastal raids from pirates due to its easterly position. Even better, the city's location allowed for smooth and safe transport along the northern coastline, past the various Chutwa tributary states beyond the bay in the north-west and all the way to Chutwa proper. Without any good navigational tools and with the threat of pirates looming in the west, this had been considered the safest route to Medala's richest trading partner for centuries.

Thus, the city was not only the economic hub of the north, it had also been the main seat of the Medala Empire's Governor of the North for generations. Though the current governor Betucio probably no longer felt at home in his city.

Once King Amautu had established the Scholarly Court of the Northern Kingdom on the premises of the old Sky Zigurrat, he had taken most of Betucio's power as well. The Zigurrat had once been a ritual site, then a castle, and finally a lighthouse, before Amautu had made it his new home. Built close to the city's main port, the massive, but thin and tall structure stretched far beyond even the height of the governor's mansion to prove the new king's power.

Even out here, still outside of Challwala's city walls, Brym could see the building looming in the distance, just how he could feel the influence of the scholar king.

"You think they'll ever let us in?" Inti asked with a glance at the distant city gate. When they had arrived at the city, Brym had immediately presented his letter of invitation from Amautu, yet they hadn't been let in right away. Rather, they had been ordered to stand aside, at a distance of at least 300 meters or so from the city's southern gate, while the guards figured out what to do with them. It had been a long time since then, but Brym still tried to remain optimistic.

"They'll have to let us in at some point," he argued, before guessing their intentions. "Maybe they are just nervous because we're bringing so many guards with us. They've already seen me carry their king's seal. If they won't let us in today, surely they would disrespect their master."

Now that Brym and Inti were traveling together again, they obviously had also recombined their guard forces, which meant that they were basically traveling with a full military platoon of one hundred warriors by now. Of course such a number would make the local guards nervous, so Brym was quite certain that this protection was part of the problem. However, Inti's focus was once again elsewhere.

"Though the question is: Is Amautu their true master?" she questioned, and stared at the distant cityscape with the Chutwa-inspired architecture beyond the wall. "I'm surprised these people still speak Yakua in the first place."

"I wouldn't be shocked if they had let us through earlier if we had asked them in Chutwaya first," Brym had to agree. He also didn't like how close the north had aligned itself with the distant Chutwa, especially here. "Really, it's ridiculous that even their guards are dressing up like-"

"He's coming back," Inti interrupted him.

Just as Brym was gearing up to talk about him, the city guard who had previously inspected them came towards their convoy again. Still, even though he saw it for the second time today, the young minister couldn't stand how brazen and cheap the guard's outfit was.

The new arrival wore long, white robes and had a long beard, just like those of the scholars. However, he also wore a poorly fitted leather armor over the robes, and a helmet too tight on the sides to accommodate the fancy beard, which ended up looking squished as a result. Not to mention, the beard was partially peeling off in the hot and humid weather of northern Medala's late summer, which proved that it was simply fastened with glue. Frankly, the man looked ridiculous to Brym.

Like a boy dressing up in the clothes of his father.

Though despite the man's laughable look, Brym transformed his derisive smile into a friendly one to greet the guard as he closed in.

"Now then, master. Were you able to get confirmation of our identities, and have you confirmed the veracity of our invitation?" Brym asked in advance, to avoid any more shenanigans. He had already paid quite a bit of silver the first time this guard had come over, and he didn't want to pay a second time. Yet despite the generous bribe the man had received earlier, he scoffed in his selfless benefactor's face.

"For the moment, the forgery could not be uncovered, barbarian," the haughty guard said.

Brym meanwhile tried to identify whether or not the man was just naturally rude, hated southerners, or if someone important had instructed him to make things difficult for them. Considering the guard's low status — and the fact that they had been stuck outside the city gates for half a day already — Brym tended towards the latter explanation.

After all, an ordinary guard wouldn't dare antagonize this many warriors led by a man who carried his king's seal, not unless he had someone of weight to back him up. This was also the reason Inti had question the loyalty of the guards. Amautu himself would never order them to disrespect his seal like this. Clearly, someone else was giving them directions, someone who didn't care about medalan royalty. This was of course a big deal, though not one Brym had to deal with right away. For now, he would focus on the essentials instead, and solve his own problems before he tackled those of northern Medala. Before anything else, he would have to get through those gates somehow.

"Then that means we can go through?" he thus asked for confirmation again. With a heavy heart, he reached into his pocket to get some more cash ready for the guard. For a second, the man's greedy eyes lingered on the silver glint which played between Brym's fingers as he deftly showed off the coins, unseen by others in the vicinity. Only then did the man give his reply.

"Fine. Access shall be granted," he finally replied. Enticed by the prospect of more silver, he had even dropped the insults.

"But only one can go," the guard added. "The soldiers shall stay outside."

Of course, Brym had never expected to carry an entire army through the gates of an enemy's capital city. Still, he would never enter this sinister-looking place without any protection at all; especially not after the damage he had caused to Amautu's little kingdom over the past few months.

"Of course not. We are not here to start a war," Brym claimed, while doubling the amount of coins in his hand and making sure that the guard saw it. "However, not all of them are soldiers after all. As I am to meet with the King of the North, I will need my assistants, my Chutwa translators, my clerks and registrars, manservants, and personal attendants, at the very least."

As Brym listed off all the professions he could think of, the guard only stared at the merchant's animated hands with the silvery glow. Finally, the fake scholar swallowed hard and replied:

"Fine, but only if they are truly not soldiers," he said, in a last attempt at faked integrity.

"Of course," Brym replied, and shook the man's hand in relief. Now that both parties had come to an understanding, a real load had been lifted off his shoulders. If nothing else, he sure felt a few Sila lighter after that handshake. Maybe that was why his steps were so easy when he, Inti, and their thirty guards made their way towards the southern gates. Soon after, the group was traveling through the streets of Challwala.

As the medalan city with the closest ties to Chutwa, the architecture of the local Medalans was also heavily inspired by that of their distant cousins in the west.

With such a backdrop, Brym wasn't surprised by the depressing mood he found when he first entered the city. Of course, the city's general architecture greatly contributed to the city's overall mood.

Old stone buildings, blocky, sturdy, and imposing stood hidden behind walls, which stood side by side, with only small, dim alleys in between for traversal, if any. Such close construction had banned all light from the city streets and made them feel claustrophobic and uninviting. Any social life would be happening somewhere within these monstrosities, in private gardens hidden behind layers of stone.

Where Medala's courtyards were open and communal, Chutwa's had always been secretive and private. Such an architecture surely also impacted the mood of the local residents, and surely the recent actions of their current king didn't really help matters in this regard.

Walking through the city, Brym couldn't help but notice the startling emptiness. The few people he did spot on the street were walking quickly, with their heads held low. Only the white robes of scholars could be seen loitering every once in a while, around corners and through open windows, always keeping an eye on the locals.

With its culture so influenced by Chutwa, the people of Challwala had always been more private than those in other parts of the country. However, this was still a huge port city, the largest in Medala, so it had always been plenty lively, if more reserved in certain aspects. Not only that, all of the city's previous signs of prosperity had been removed, both from the buildings, and from the people themselves. The city once known for its excellent pearl and coral jewelry now presented itself bare like a pauper.

"What a depressing place," Brym finally commented. In response, Inti looked behind them, at the large collection of experienced warriors.

"I don't think those numbers will be enough," she finally added on to Brym's comment. With worry written all over her furrowed face, she scanned their surroundings, presumably for more hidden scholars.

"Well, our men should be enough to protect us against any direct threats," Brym replied, far more composed than his companion. "Any threat beyond that, we won't have to fight on our own. I've made sure of that."

With growing excitement, Brym looked down at the letter in his hand. Though they looked similar, it certainly wasn't Amautu's invitation he had received in the new Latrus hideout. Instead, it was his own, an invitation to a meeting on the state of the northern kingdom, initiated by Brym himself. This letter had been sent to every estate in the northern kingdom, and he had traveled to Challwala slowly enough to give the lords plenty of time to react.

If the lords of the north had any political instincts, they — or their representatives — would congregate here and meet with Brym, to hold a meeting which would shock Amautu and his scholars to the core.

"Did you think it was wise to make new plans out of nowhere?" Inti asked, still busy with her observation of the surroundings. By now, Brym really thought that she was overdoing it with her caution. It was always a good idea to be careful, but the significance of Brym's planned meeting was far too great. It was certainly worth the risk.

"You don't understand. This will be a demonstration of strength," he explained. "Not only would the implicit support of the northern lords vastly improve our negotiating position with Amautu, the meeting would also allow us to make up for all the bond sales we have missed out on these days."

"And it puts a big target on our backs as well," Inti added in a sarcastic tone. "Perfect."

"Wasn't security your specialty in the first place?" Brym winked, in an attempt to inject some levity into the dreary mood. "I will be relying on you when it comes to our safety over the next few days."

However, Inti only sighed in response to Brym's light-hearted attitude.

"Master Brym, you do understand that we are in hostile territory. There is only so much I can do in a foreign capital," she explained. However, Brym still remained calm. Unlike Inti, he never only looked at the things their enemies could do to them. As always, he would also consider the things they couldn't do.

"I'm sure you will do fine. I believe in you," he half-joked again, before he explained the reason for his calm. "And I doubt Amautu would be silly enough to start killing people at a meeting of his lords. I've always experienced him as a very rational man. Attacking his lords, as well as a representative of the southern kingdom, without any alibi is just about the least rational thing he could do. I don't think he will suddenly lose his head over a simple political struggle and ignite a rebellion, not when he is currently using so much effort to prevent one."

"Don't think everyone will always be as rational as you," Inti tried again, but clearly gave up when she saw Brym's determined face. Instead, she sighed and added: "Just be careful."

"Of course. As always, I will leave things in your steady hands," Brym said, satisfied that Inti could finally see his point of view.

"Fine, then I will be off to connect with the locals. Please retain a low profile until I return," Inti still insisted.

Brym wanted to relieve her anxiety again, but before he could, the spy leader had already disappeared around a corner. Unconcerned, Brym once more looked at the letter, before staring at the towering Sky Zigurrat in the distance. Soon, this conflict would be decided, and he was sure that it would be in his favor. He certainly had prepared sufficiently.

However, unbeknownst to him, other actors all across the city were also bringing their pieces into position, all eager to win this game for northern Medala's soul.

Chapter 459 - Old Investments

It had been almost three months since Brym had left Rhodanos. Now, he found himself in a nameless little forest on the western foot of the Sallqata Mountain Range. Until recently, this place was untouched by civilization, far away from any cities controlled by nobles, or any sites of pilgrimage. No major road led through the area either. It was truly the middle of nowhere.

However, there was a good reason for him to take a detour in between visiting the cities of northern Medala and make his way here. Within these nameless woods, a valuable investment lay hidden, one he had been cultivating for years.

Unbeknownst to most — even unbeknownst to the lord who nominally owned these woods — a number of huts had been erected in the middle of the forest. Although this village was only small in size, it had a little stream and a deep well for water, a blacksmith for repairs, a granary for winter supplies, and almost anything else a self-sufficient settlement would need.

This was the newest hideout of the Latrus bandits, built with the southern kingdom's generous sponsorship. Currently, Brym found himself inside the largest of the village huts, sat opposite the leader of the bandits, Latrus the Unfettered himself.

After years in charge of his own bandit group, the rogue warrior had acquired the kind of confident posture only a true leader could have, together with the weathered skin to prove the days and months spent outside to lead his men into battle and provide for his own.

"Lord Brym, how good to see you again," the bandit leader greeted his main sponsor enthusiastically, while he led them to their seats. "I do hope you had a good time coming here."

"Yes, we came here without any trouble, though it is no slight on your newest home's secrecy," Brym replied with his customary smile. "Your directions were concise, so we managed to find your location just fine. Though I will say that we would have taken days of searching if your men hadn't guided us from the edge of the forest. Still, the way from civilization to here was quite uneventful. After all, I'm bringing enough protection these days, so no one on the way dared to bother us."

"I can see as, much" Latrus replied with a look out the window, where Brym's guard sat squeezed together in the small open space in the center of the village.

If he still was with his previous retinue, their accommodations wouldn't have been a problem. Although the village was small, they could have easily housed the half a dozen warriors Brym had brought along in the past. However, things had changed a lot over the past months. By now, the southern kingdom's minister of finance was forced to travel with a full fifty warriors for protection, an entire half platoon.

This change in numbers had become necessary because Brym's recent actions had caused considerable unrest in the northern kingdom. Of course, the northern court would do their best to target the main cause of these conflicts. Not only were Brym's shops one of the main targets of their revenge — often with violent consequences — Brym's own team would also also become the target of frequent 'bandit attacks', especially when they were traveling through the wilderness like this.

Thus, they had to increase their retinue sufficiently. By now, Brym was traveling with fifty proper warriors for protection. While the numbers seemed excessive as bandit protection for an envoy with diplomatic protection, they were still necessary in practice. After all, they weren't really fighting bandits. They were fighting Amautu's poorly disguised minions. Those warriors and scholars would just don some cheap clothes and ambush them in some deserted area, hopefully to kill him and then push the blame onto real bandits in the area.

Yet the increase in the size of Brym's retinue was enough to put an end to such shenanigans. If they were still wiped out with fifty fully armed warriors, even Amautu and his hypocritical scholars wouldn't have been able to argue that it had been a simple bandit attack. Obviously, there was no bandit in all of Medala who could organize a team large enough to deal with this many warriors.

Well, if there's one bandit who can organize that many, it might be this guy, Brym thought, as he observed his host some more. The lord of this hidden village, Latrus 'the Unfettered', formerly Latrus di Saliena, was a former warrior who had fled the eastern Governor Quintus Saliena's tyrannical rule years ago, on the day of Corco's return to Medala. As a rogue warrior, he obviously could no longer follow an honorable path in life, since they were considered outcasts of society for failing to uphold their duties towards their nominal lords.

Thus, Latrus and his family had been forced to hide away in the forests around Porcero while living off of the scraps of traveling merchants ever since then. However, a chance encounter with Brym years back had changed the family's fortunes. Those fortunes were now plain to see, laid out before Brym.

"Please, enjoy yourself," Latrus said, while he motioned towards the delicacies he had prepared for his sponsor's visit. The host presented with a feast on par with the poorer lords in Medala, which not only proved the wealth of the bandit group, but also their connections in the area, since they had clearly known early on that Brym was coming.

"I see you have made good use of the southern kingdom's money," Brym quipped, and picked up a cup of wine. Although the preparations for the foods here were as simple as the entire village, the basic ingredients used were all of great value. Not only the wine was high-quality, Brym even spotted some saltwater fish. In this place — which lay as far inland as Medala's geography would allow — only vast amounts of ice, and vaster amounts of money, would allow for such a feast.

"Yes indeed, we have," Latrus replied in a satisfied tone, and picked up his own cup for a toast.

WIth the financial support from the southern kingdom, the Latrus bandits had managed to grow from their humble beginnings as roadside robbers. Soon, they had spread their operations all throughout eastern Medala. In return, they had helped disrupt the new trade routes the Arcavians had been establishing through the northern kingdom and towards Chutwa.

During the south's conflict with Lord Saliena over their property rights in Porcero, the Latrus bandits had further intensified their efforts, to force Amautu into a compromise. In the end, in return for the guaranteed property rights of the southern kingdom in the north, all bandit forces, including Latrus and his men and women, had scaled down their operations. That had been two years ago, yet the south's support for the bandits had never stopped.

"We do not usually live this large. We were expecting our great benefactor, so we prepared in excess for your arrival," Latrus explained the feast. Maybe he didn't want Brym to think that he was wasting all of the sponsored money on luxuries, though that was an unnecessary concern. The presence of this village alone was more than enough to prove the efforts of the bandit group, as well as the sound nature of Brym's investment.

While Amautu's kingdom used the breathing room from the reduced bandit activity to fight the Kingdom of the Center, and then to start centralizing the country, the bandits hadn't stood still either. Off the beaten path in between estates, the Latrus bandits in particular had spread out their operations ever further. After they had linked all the disparate bandit groups in Eastern Medala, they had now begun to look further west.

Through hidden paths in the Sallqata Mountains, they had brought both men and materials closer to Amautu's center of power. With the establishment of this hidden village, they had now finally established their first base in Northern Medala. After years of operations, the Latrus bandits had gone from bereaved dogs on the run from their vicious master, to an important political player in the northern kingdom. Their lord's expensive greeting certainly reflected that status.

"Apart from these minor refreshments, we are also prepared to take direct action in support of Benefactor Brym's plans," Latrus added, in a self-satisfied tone.

"Are you?" Brym simply asked back. He didn't doubt the strength of the bandits, which was plain to see out the window. He didn't doubt their determination either, which they had proven numerous times over the course of their cooperation. Rather, he doubted their leader's understanding of the situation at large. They had only just arrived in the north after all. Though even that assumption was corrected immediately.

"Yes, even we have heard of the gang wars which have been happening in the north," Latrus explained. "I thought it likely that the southern kingdom's freedom fighters would be reactivated soon to add to the chaos."

Apparently, Brym had been playing around a bit too hard these days. Even all the way out here, in the middle of nowhere, these 'freedom fighters' knew about the damage he had caused to Amautu's grand plans.

After the first example of Rhodanos, he and Inti had found a template to work off of, and they did their best to replicate it elsewhere. In fact, most cities were a lot easier to clear of the scholar influence than their first attempt.

In the first place, most lords had done a much better job than Gratidia of holding on to their power while limiting the scholars. As a result, most lords were a lot more active in their support as well. After all, the southern kingdom had no political aspirations in the north, at least not in the foreseeable future. They were only interested in economic cooperation, while leaving political power to the lords, which suited both sides just fine.

By the time they reached their third northern city on their journey, lords began to actively approach them for cooperation as soon as they crossed the city limits. With such support, the gang war which had been relegated to Rhodanos alone soon spread all across the north. City by city, the scholars were losing their grasp on power as quickly as they had achieved it. With their ease of progress, Inti and Brym had even split up to spread the damage more quickly. Of course, the good times couldn't last forever.

At first, Amautu had simply sent more men from Challwala to join in the fun. However, such attempts only intensified the conflicts and did nothing to reverse their unfavorable position.

Soon, the northern king realized that he couldn't compete in this kind of contest, at least not straight-up. He was investing money to fund the local gangsters and his own men to lead them, all to fight a war which was only destroying his own lands. Meanwhile, Brym was only sharing some profits from his business with some local forces, and invested nothing beyond that. In the long-term, the winner of such conflicts was inevitably the side without any consumption. Thus, the northern court's strategy had to change once again, and this time, they were desperate.

Violence in the cities of the north increased further, as the scholars were increasingly lawless in an attempt to shock their enemies into a retreat. At first, they had still held back their brutality, since they were officially representing the 'civilized' scholars of Chutwa. However, now that they were cornered, they became increasingly ferocious. By now, the fires in the cities were no longer starting by accident.

Apart from arson — largely focused on the now mostly abandoned Wonders of the World shops in various northern cities — there were even instances where important citizens like wealthy merchants and famous local craftsmen were held hostage to force some of the lords into compliance. Even resident Pacha priests weren't spared, with devastating consequences. One instance of a priest's public lynching by fake scholars eager to please their masters had sparked an outrage which had almost led to a rebellion in one of the northern estates.

Thus, the actions of the scholars had set more and more commoners against the scholars, even though the main target of their suppression had always been the northern lords. By this point, even Latrus from the east, stuck in this village on the edge of the northern kingdom, seemed well-informed, which showed the full dimensions of the chaos.

"Indeed, your brave freedom fighters may have to work harder to fight those unsavory forces which aim to destroy medalan traditions," Brym explained to Latrus, who pretended to look concerned in response. As long-time collaborators, of course the sponsor knew what that look meant. "What is the issue? Do you need any support?" he thus added. He wouldn't mind paying a bit extra, so long as the bandits stayed loyal. However, Latrus' demand was surprisingly reasonable.

"Well, since our numbers have grown and we have stretched into the west, we are lacking all kinds of materials. More than anything, the number of our weapons is seriously insufficient," he explained. "That northern king has been quite aggressive. I hear his scholars now roam the lands armed with pikes proper battle axes. If we cannot arm ourselves in response, I cannot in good conscience force my people to go up against them."

"Of course, you will need the right tools to do your work. Getting you as much shouldn't be a problem at all," Brym replied. "I should be able to organize something appropriate within a month at most."

Just as Brym was about to explain the strategy for their newest cooperation in detail, one of his guards silently entered the room. Although the interruption was sudden, the minister wasn't too upset. His men knew that he didn't like to be bothered during meetings, and wouldn't just interrupt him for no reason. Clearly, this was important.

Thus, both him and Latrus simply remained seated and watched as Brym's guard came up to his master.

"A message has arrived from Lady Inti, Minister," the guard explained, while handing him a sealed piece of paper.

Brym nodded and waved the guard away, before he checked the letter's seal, to confirm that it was unbroken, and also the correct one. After, he opened the letter, and once again checked its authenticity, this time through the numbers written along the margins. The intricate code offered an additional layer of protection, to make sure neither of them were receiving any fake information from elsewhere while they communicated at a distance.

Unlike the status of the letter itself, there was no need to decode the message proper, since the contents themselves weren't very secretive. Since there was no need to waste any time on en- or decoding, Brym could just read the message directly. As he did, a satisfied smile slowly spread across his face. Apparently, after months of effort, his goals in the north had finally moved a step closer to completion.

"Good news, I assume?" Latrus asked.

"You could say that," Brym replied, while he carefully folded up the letter and put it away. "King Amautu has invited me to Challwala, for talks on how to solve the current chaos in northern Medala. Apparently, the Latrus bandits can extend their days of peace a bit longer. And there will be no more need for any weapons deliveries either. With this invitation, the king of the north has already admitted defeat, and proven his eagerness for negotiations."

In anticipation of the upcoming meeting, Brym couldn't help but smile. After all, negotiations had always been his specialty.

Hermit's Notes: Ah yes, an old character from the story's early days. Latrus has always been part of my plans for this novel, but I kept adding new story lines and characters, so his eventual return just got pushed back to here.

Chapter 458 - Evening Sky

For a full trium after the arrival of the scholars, Rhondanos had turned from a vibrant city into a stale pond. After most enjoyable things in life had become illegal over night, the citizens had retreated into their homes and waited in trepidation, hoping that their lord would soon restore order in the city.

Yet when even the lord's city guards showed subservience towards the scholars, they were stuck, unable to fight back. Anyone who fought back by that point would become a target for the scholars to show off their authority. Thus, nothing had happened for half a month as the situation slowly deterioarted and the scholars tightened their grasp on power. Yet the sudden arrival of two visitors from the south had now thrown a massive stone into this stale pond, and the waves threatened to swallow the entire city.

Much of the outer city's east side was made up of the largest, most important port in Rhodanos, as well as the warehouses and sleeping quarters for the dock workers around it. This place had always been the core territory of the Portsiders, who got their name from their control over the local ports. As the formerly largest, most powerful gang in the city, they used to control all illegal smuggling business going through the port as well.

Only after the South-city Gang had donned the white robes of the scholars had their fortunes begun to reverse. Over the previous trium, they had worked hard to take control of the ports, yet now the Portsiders had found a powerful backer of their own. Emboldened by the prospect of great profits, the Portsiders fought back to preserve what remained of their territory. Of course, the scholars who were so close to controlling the entire city wouldn't allow a counter attack at the last moment, so things quickly turned violent.

A previously inconspicuous warehouse at the eastern port stood bright ablaze. Its flames reached up towards the stars and illuminated the low-hanging clouds. Their reflections turned the dark of night it into the red of dusk. Burning figures screamed in terror as they rushed out of the crumbling building, to accompany the roar of the flames behind them.

Since five days ago, the unassuming warehouse had served the Portsiders as a hub for their newest smuggling operation. Up until last night, it had been filled with precious luxury goods imported from Saniya. Through secret channels, the scholars had learned the news. Thus, they had attempted a raid on the building before their rivals could react and move away the expensive merchandise. Yet in their arrogance, the scholars had forgotten that they hadn't ruled over the city for more than a few days. This was still the old hunting ground of the Portsider Gang. Out here, nothing escaped their notice.

The Portsiders had long been ready for the raid, and had in fact leaked the news about the warehouse on purpose. When the fake scholars burst down the doors, they only found a building filled with empty boxes, as well as an ambush from their rivals.

During the violent fighting, a fire broke out, and the dry boxes filled with straw for packing were the perfect material to grow the humble flame. Soon, the fire spread from the warehouse to the surrounding buildings, as all gangsters in the area fled in horror. They feared for their lives, as they feared accountability for their actions. That night, almost a fourth of the city's biggest port burned to the ground, together with dozens of gang members from both sides, thousands of Sila in smuggled merchandise, and countless innocent. Even so, the fighting wouldn't stop, and only grew more and more ferocious as the days went on.

While the fire was still raging across the city, several scholars lay in ambush in a dark alley in some unassuming corner of the western city. They had positioned themselves to cut off all escape routes from a private courtyard on a busy street corner. Beyond the courtyard's walls, they had learned, the Portsiders were distributing some of their new smuggled goods to willing buyers.

Enraged by the bold resistance from their long-term rivals and greedy for the copper from their newest operation, the pious scholars stormed the building. Thus began another desperate struggle between the two parties.

This time however, the scholars truly caught their rivals by surprise. And this time, they had the advantage in numbers. They killed the sellers and guests, robbed all the merchandise and disappeared into the night before any reinforcements could arrive. Their victory left behind eight bodies, two of them fake scholars and another two civilians. While it felt like a significant victory to the victors, it ultimately changed very little about the gang war which was still raging in Rhodanos.

All across the outer city, a dozen more distribution points just like this one existed. Now that one had been compromised, the Portsiders could just open a new one within a day. Thus the fighting continued, on and on in a never-ending cycle of violence. In all meanings of the phrase, the outer city of Rhodanos was on fire, as the two gangs fought tooth and nail for dominance.

Yet the city guards, who should have guaranteed the safety of the citizens, remained suspiciously absent throughout the chaos. Rather than venture into the outer city to restore order, they strictly stuck to the inner city walls, to protect the nobles of Rhodanos alone, while the commoners outside were forced to fend for themselves.

Thus, from the absolute safety of an inner city courtyard, Brym could watch the red skies in peace, even though they were caused by the flames of the outer city's destruction. Although a banquet of great delicacies had been laid out before him by their host, he really didn't feel like eating, which was a first for him. Yet this certainly wasn't the fault of the cook. Rather, no matter how well prepared the dishes were, all of them just smelled burnt to him right now.

"This doesn't look like an economic solution to the problem," Inti commented, her frown mirroring Brym's own. Unlike the merchant, she was still eating, but she clearly wasn't enjoying the meal House Gratidia had prepared for them either.

"No, it does not." Uncharacteristically, Brym admitted defeat immediately. In ordinary times, he would have prepared to argue it out with Inti over dinner. Normally, he quite enjoyed such debates. Today however, he really wasn't feeling up to it. Clearly, the girl was picking up on his low mood as well.

"Well, I mean, no one could have foreseen that things would turn out so violent," she tried to comfort him, rather than prod further. Yet her words provided little comfort to Brym

"I could have foreseen it. In fact, I was counting on it," he said frankly, even though the admission spread a bitterness in his mouth. "Money is the solution, and source of all our problems. When I presented them with such a big prize, both sides were guaranteed to fight tooth and nail for all that copper. The only thing I didn't consider were my own feelings."

The moment he had come up with his plan, Brym had already foreseen the chaos in the city. This result wasn't anything surprising to him. In fact, he had banked on it. Based on his own understanding of the situation in Rhodanos and their available means, this would be the most effective method to fight back against Amautu's power in the north.

Since the scholars were interfering with business operations around the country, Brym wouldn't be able to sell any bonds up north to solve their financial issues any more. Worse yet, the shops weren't generating any more profits either, which would reduce the southern kingdom's fiscal revenue further. However, by selling his leftover stock to the gangsters, he could retain most of their income, with only a slight reduction in their expected profits.

In the same move, Brym had also launched a massive gang war in Rhodanos. In the short-term, this conflict would reveal the so-called scholars for what they really were: weak thugs who were hiding behind a strong facade, backed in their thuggery by the northern king's court. Long-term, this war would have a significant impact on the economic strength of the northern kingdom as public order began to break down along Medala's busiest trade route.

Even the loss of civilian life which was happening throughout the city right now had been part of the plan right from the start. With increasing chaos in the north, ever more commoners would travel south to Saniya for security. Those who stayed would harbor resentment against the scholars who had caused such a conflict in the first place. Of course, they wouldn't resent a fellow merchant who was just trying to sell desirable goods to willing buyers, so the southern kingdom's reputation would be safe, despite everything he had done to provoke the conflict.

All in all, it had been a perfect plan. Yet now that he sat here and watched the carnage, even just from a distance, he realized that he wasn't quite as strong as he thought he had been. Initially, he had wanted to solve the crisis in the north all on his own, without burdening his big brother Corco. Yet now, he felt like he could smell the copper and iron — not of money, but of blood — in the air all around him. His usual, calm business smile was long gone, together with his appetite. At this point, he was doubting whether his clever plan had been the right thing to do in the first place.

Maybe I should just stop traveling around and go home. We've already sold enough bonds in the central kingdom to balance the budget for the year.

As a gloomy Brym brooded over his future plans, Inti began to look increasingly distressed as well.

"How about we just call back home?" she suggested. "We should have sent back a report a while ago already. Maybe we can ask someone to take over here, so that we can just move on to some place that's less... on fire."

For a moment, Brym was tempted to agree to the idea. However, when he thought back on the past year in Saniya, he nevertheless shook his head.

"No, if you can, would you please not report what has been happening here, at least for a while? Big brother has enough to deal with already."

Reminded by Inti's words, Brym had finally remembered the resolve he had almost forgotten in his dismay. He really wasn't surprised by the outcome of his plan, so he didn't need to report home for support. Rather, because he had anticipated such a result, he deliberately hadn't reported back home until now. He knew that his big brother abhorred methods such as these, methods which brought harm to the common people of Medala. However, he also knew that this was the best way to resolve the issues in the north.

If he reported back home, then Corco would once again be forced to give up an optimal solution, only to stick to his principles. Once again, he would have to waste his time and energy, and agonize over imperfect alternatives, just to fulfill everyone else's demands, to his own detriment. Compared to such an outcome, Brym would rather hide the truth for a while, and take on all responsibilities himself.

By now, he had steeled his heart once more. Although the sky was red from flames and the streets were red from blood, all of this was necessary. At some point, the north was bound to explode, and it was better that it was mostly gangsters killing each other, rather than innocent civilians being suppressed and slaughtered by the scholars.

Maybe all of that was just Brym's conjecture, just an excuse to make himself feel better, but he had already started down this road, and he would continue to go down the same path, without hesitation. This was the right thing to do, he was convinced of it. And if he had to lay the weight of some innocent souls onto his conscience, he would do so without hesitation. At least for once, it wouldn't be Corco who would have to make the difficult decisions.

"So what happens now?" Inti asked him after a prolonged silence. Maybe she herself had felt Brym's resolve. At the very least, she didn't look quite as careful as before.

"Now we wait, at least for a few more days to make sure the right side has the upper hand in this city," a stone-faced Brym replied. By now, a grim indifference had swept over him. Now that the ball was in motion, he no longer had the power to stop it anyways.

"You think our guys will win?" Inti asked.

"They should be able to. They have all the advantages they need," Brym began to explain. "With the considerable profits from their smuggling business, the Portsiders will be able to buy as many weapons and recruit as many new members as they want. With enough silver, they can even afford to hire warriors for a while. Meanwhile, the scholars only have an empty title to fall back on. All this time, they used the threat of the northern court to stop any resistance, but in the face of thugs without status or anything to lose, those tactics will no longer work. And now that the guards have retreated into the inner city, the scholars are all on their own. Without funds or reinforcements, they'll run out of steam pretty quickly."

"You're sure the guards won't move in again? What if an order comes down from Amautu directly?" Inti added with a worried look. However, Brym was far more assured in his plan than her.

"Lord Gratidia will just continue to hide and pretend he didn't get the order until it's too late. He wants the scholars out of his city more than anyone. I mean, you heard how desperate he was when we met him," he reminded Inti, before he stood up and walked up to the room's window. Outside, the red skies had begun to flicker and dim, a sign that the distant fires were about to go out. Maybe the fighting had finally stopped for the night.

"After this, the scholars will have their reputation ruined in the city," he explained further, more for himself than for Inti at that point. The more he went through his plan, the more his resolve grew. "Once we start conflicts al over the country, they'll suffer significant losses. Even if only one in a hundred of these people is a true scholar loyal to Amautu, it'll be devastating. They can't afford to lose that many officials. Afterwards, they probably will no longer dare to overreach their power so much. Not only will we gain favor with the northern lords, it'll also allow our core businesses to operate again. Not to mention that I'll finally be able to sell my bonds."

Although the look at the red skies still stung in Brym's heart, although the burnt smell still lingered in his nose, all of this was bigger than himself. All this time, Corco had stood in front of him and carried all the burdens, but Brym was no longer the little orphan boy who had to be protected. It was high time that he began to carry part of the burden as well. All this time, Brym had never forgotten the main goal of their operation. While he was up here in the north, he'd make all the money Corco needed for his grand plans, even if he had to burn his soul to do it.

At some point, Inti had quietly come next to him and watched the red of the sky turn black once more.

"It seems like there will be a lot more red skies up ahead for us," she commented.

"Let's try to enjoy them," Brym replied, his pain buried deep within. "They are beautiful, after all."

Hermit's Notes: There we are, all caught up, I think. 

Finally managed to get a bit of character development in for Brym, who was always a bit one-note with the money thing. I hope it felt natural (I spent way more time debating the direction of this chapter than I really should have).

This arc is slowly closing in on its end, just another transitional chapter (probably released tomorrow or the day after), and then a bit of a finale, but only a mini one.