The White House
Central Serdes.
In the middle of a perfectly level plain rose a single castle. The land was so rich and open it might have been ideal farmland, yet nothing grew there but an endless stretch of green grass. No trace of people or living creatures marked the surroundings. It looked like an island set upon a sea of green.
This was the domain of Blancaros, and the seat of the Grand Council that handled every major affair of the continent—commonly known as the White House.
Ferda had arrived.
Is this the place?
He looked up at the castle gate. It already stood open. To ordinary eyes that was all there was to see, but those familiar with mana, like Ferda, could perceive more. A translucent white veil hung before the gate in the shape of a circular dome, like a barrier.
Order and domain. So long as those two conditions were satisfied, no one within Blancaros’s territory could defy her will—not even a god.
“You may rest easy.”
A young man’s voice floated from beyond the gate. Ferda turned toward it and found a man standing there.
“Lady Blancaros is generous to those who uphold rules and order.”
Ferda studied his appearance. Pure white clothing against pure white skin. The pallor of him called vampires to mind. Had it not been for the pair of horns and the eyes, the resemblance would have been complete.
The man placed a hand over his chest and introduced himself.
“My introductions are late. I am the Hand of Blancaros, and I have been charged with guiding you, Lord Ferda.”
As expected, he was one of Blancaros’s spawns. Blancaros possessed three spawns in total: Hand, Mouth, and Eye. Each was specialized to the body part that named them. Unlike other dragon spawns, they were notably courteous.
“Please come inside. I will show you the way.”
They also could never leave Blancaros’s domain.
“Very well.”
Ferda extended a hand into the domain. At once he felt fine particles slip between the layers of his skin. Then he sensed an anomaly in the movement of the circles nested in his dantian. They were growing slower. Not as if they had snagged on some foreign obstruction, but as if he himself had willingly released the tension—natural, seamless.
Truly astonishing.
An absolute domain. Because that absolute applied even to its own master, it was delicate and solid beyond any comparison. Yet the suppression did not lead to complete neutralization. The message it delivered was perfectly clear.
Harm me if you can.
But no one would escape Blancaros’s gavel of law—not with so much as a scrap of excuse left in their hands. That was the point being driven home.
Shadow Hand should still move, at least.
Concentration for forming a magic circle was interfered with as well, but that would not matter if he never formed one. Shape of Shadow was precisely the technique he had learned for situations like this.
Ferda glanced behind him. Jed and Arwen, who had followed, both looked uncomfortable.
“How does it feel to set foot in the domain?”
“Not great. Helpless, I guess. My eyes feel dry too.”
“Same here. I feel a little drained. I don’t think I can use aura…”
The knight could not use aura, and Jed’s unique abilities as one of the Red-Eyed Tribe were being obstructed.
“Ruri, you?”
“No issues.”
“Is that so?”
The exchange ended dryly. Anyone watching the three of them would have found it strange enough.
Arwen tipped his head slightly toward Jed and asked under his breath,
“Hey—something happen between the spawn lady and the Regent?”
“Dunno. I’ve decided not to care about that mess.”
When dragons fight, humans get crushed. Jed had already tasted that once and shuddered at the memory.
“Five hours remain until the conference begins. Would you prefer to go to your room, or to the banquet hall?”
“What’s the difference?”
“Rest, or social exchange. A great many people are already gathered in the banquet hall.”
“Obviously we should go to the banquet hall, right?”
Jed’s eyes sparkled a little too brightly. When Ferda gave him a look of pure pity, Jed hurried to justify himself.
“Think about it. Know yourself and know your enemy, and you won’t lose a hundred battles. Isn’t it better to size people up ahead of time?”
“I was thinking the same thing.”
“Then why look at me like that?”
“Because you’re not.”
Jed glared as if the injustice of it all was too much, but he could not bring himself to deny it.
“Show us to the banquet hall.”
“Understood.”
The Hand of Blancaros began to lead the way. Before following, Ferda gave Jed a light pat on the shoulder.
“Enjoy the banquet to the fullest.”
“Huh? Ah—yes. Thank you.”
They walked on, and the words snagged in Jed’s mind. He turned them over and over.
No way.
Surely not. But it could be. If it was Ferda, he might just do it.
On the off chance, Jed leaned in and asked,
“You’re not thinking of counting this banquet as the investiture feast, are you?”
“……”
“You’re… not, right?”
Ferda did not answer that he was not.
The banquet hall of the White House.
With only five hours left until the conference, a great many nobles had already gathered. Had the number of companions each person was allowed not been limited, the hall would have burst at the seams.
The pure white doors slid open, and laughter and music that had been held inside spilled out.
“Oh.”
The Grand Council he was entering for the first time. Even Ferda, who was not given to sentiment, found himself letting out a sound of admiration. He had thought the buildings of the Empire splendid enough, but in the end they were human-made. A dragon’s architecture delivered a shock of an entirely different order.
Inside, people already accustomed to this atmosphere laughed and talked. It was not merely humans. The great chieftain of the elves, dwarves, gnomes—races that rarely mixed with human society—were present as well.
“Ohhh…”
The one who could not hold back his gasp of wonder was Arwen. Jed watched him and smiled as if he found the sight adorable.
“First time at a party, Sir Knight?”
“No. I’ve been to plenty of parties on official business with the Count.”
“Then wipe that country-bumpkin look off your face. It’s written all over you.”
“Ah—r-right…”
At Jed’s warning Arwen meekly accepted the advice and kept his eyes fixed straight ahead. The awkwardness did not vanish.
Consilus was right.
The man needed experience. Unlike the country knight Arwen, Jed and Ruri were not swept away by the atmosphere. Jed was far too familiar with high society; Ruri was simply herself no matter where she stood.
And the emotion Ferda felt beneath all this splendor was—
Like walking into a den of vipers.
Discomfort. It was on a different level from sparring for dominance with regional lords. From the moment their eyes met, every glance felt like a fight. Friendly gazes constantly scanned for weaknesses. Even a simple greeting and turn away seemed to be sizing him up and ranking him.
No wonder they are high nobles, and why some of them could become kings of nations.
They possessed power. The power to endure in this place. The power to climb to the seat they desired. The power to drag down whoever already occupied it.
What did one do when surrounded by such people?
The answer was simple. Ferda only straightened his back further and walked on as if to be seen.
He met their eyes one by one and read the currents. Even in a social gathering where everyone supposedly mixed freely, people inevitably clustered by faction.
Ferda considered it. If he were to join a group, where would he go?
Just as the thought formed, someone caught his eye.
“Hahaha! There you are! Regent of Valdrova!”
Among a knot of humans, a man and several women stood out in clothing more splendid than the rest. They were clustered as if he stood at their center, and he was waving Ferda over. On the man’s shoulder was embroidered the crest of the Arken Empire.
Alexander Arken.
The First Prince of the Arken Empire.
The incompetent emperor, Godfrey Arken.
The First Prince Alexander Arken and the Second Prince Ureas Arken had scrambled and clawed to drag him from the throne. They had called it a historic stage for the Empire’s new leap forward. The result had been disastrous. Godfrey remained firmly in place, and both sons became objects of ridicule.
Two incompetent sons who could not even topple an incompetent emperor.
The narrative had spun until even Godfrey looked like a saint by comparison, only strengthening the emperor’s grip on the throne. From Ferda’s perspective—someone who wished for the Empire’s fall—those two were useless.
“Let us make a proper introduction. I am Alexander Arken.”
The eldest, Alexander Arken. A man in his thirties with a splendidly grown beard that seemed to announce he was already emperor in all but name.
“Ferda Valdrova. I greet Your Highness the First Prince.”
“I received a letter from you some time ago and am sorry I never replied. That day I was so buried in official duties I barely had time to open my eyes.”
Like hell.
While Ferda thought that, the woman standing beside the prince chimed in.
“Haha! With a hundred million subjects before a prince, even two bodies wouldn’t be enough, would they?!”
Where the emperor’s light was golden, hers was blue. Her youthful appearance and hearty laugh should have seemed insolent, yet even Alexander did not dare to check her. Whatever she looked like, her age already numbered in three digits.
“Who is this handsome fellow? Won’t you introduce him to me, Prince?”
“Ah—of course! How rude of me! Allow me to present her. This is Lady Erdes Roton, President of the Serdes Human Magic Society.”
Erdes Roton.
Roton. Once the greatest house of alchemists—and the worst house of swindlers. Erdes was the last of that bloodline. She held no territory and no title. All she possessed was the Seventh Circle. Under that name, every mage in human society was managed and controlled by her hand.
No—they had to be controlled. Only then was her nature satisfied.
“I am Ferda Valdrova. It is a true honor to meet the great Archmage.”
“Haha! I wanted to see the face of His Majesty the Grand Duke just once, yet I meet the fiancé first.”
“I had heard it would be difficult for you to attend this gathering.”
“Of course I know. This is a place for mortals, not immortals.”
She smiled. It was less a smile of pleasure than a reflex.
Her eyes settled quietly on Ferda.
“Regent of Valdrova—no, I’ll call you Regent Ferda. Mentioning the name Valdrova itself still feels unfamiliar. That all right?”
“As you wish.”
“How old are you?”
“Eighteen.”
“Mage family?”
“No. I was the third son of a knight house called Rosnova.”
Her eyes rounded like full moons.
“Hmm, remarkable! I’d heard knights practice mana arts as well, but only as a side path. Yet I can feel a mage’s nature in your body.”
“I trained as a mage.”
“Oh? Is that so? Such great achievement at so young an age? Haha!”
Hearty laughter, and her tongue never stopped moving.
“I heard from the prince. You did great service recently, catching rats for the Empire?”
“Rats?”
“Black mages.”
He remembered. She meant the black mage cabals that had been hiding in the underground waterways. In truth he had removed them because they would have become obstacles when he brought the Empire down—but Ferda did not lie.
“I merely contributed a little for the sake of a larger design.”
“Don’t get too comfortable. That isn’t the end of your achievements, is it? You handled the Tessalos Wolcher affair as well, I hear.”
That had been before the engagement ceremony, when all the lords had been gathered. A man he had not intended to kill, yet had been forced to.
“That bastard was researching black magic, wasn’t he?”
“Yes.”
“Impressive. From the records he was a talentless mage of no particular note, yet he became so consumed by rage that he mutated into a Red Circle. After that he apparently made some progress.”
Erdes leaned forward.
“Because he fell into black magic, of course.”
The wine in the glass she held swirled faintly.
“Did you know? I absolutely loathe black mages.”
It was a well-known fact that she abhorred black magic. Zero tolerance for anyone who learned it. Licenses revoked, circles shattered, a lifetime barred from ever living as a mage again.
“How much do I hate them? If I so much as breathe the same air in the same room, I want to strangle myself.”
“Is that so?”
“Talentless creatures sell their souls to demons, then dress up what they receive as ‘effort.’ In the end they become puppets worse than dogs, wandering the afterlife as spirits lower than wandering wraiths—and they never even realize it.”
Her narrowed eyes shone blue.
“What about you, Lord Ferda? What do you think of those who learn black magic, hm?”
The hatred in her gaze was vivid. The same look she turned on black mages.
“Especially if someone were to inherit and continue the practice of using monsters to perform necromancy—what do you suppose would happen then?”
That hatred was directed at Ferda himself. The meaning was unmistakable.
I know what you are.
That he possessed a Red Circle. That he had learned black magic. That was why she hated him here and now.
As the strongest mage among humankind, her hatred was something to be feared.
But do you know even that?
That this very hatred of yours would one day make you strangle yourself. That you would fall into the grave you dug with your own loathing. And that the one who pushed you into it—
was none other than me.