154. Hot Air Balloons

Present, Ravenna’s office, Lord Castle, Kim City, Kim Island, Kim Dukedom, Ancorna Empire

The afternoon sun poured through the floor-to-ceiling windows, painting the marble floors in molten gold. Dust motes swirled lazily in the beams of light, drifting past shelves lined with leather-bound tomes and rolled schematics. The scent of ink and parchment mingled with the faint floral perfume of the drapes and night-blooming roses.

Ravenna sat at the head of her worktable, her fingers steepled before her as she studied the glowing blue interface of her . The translucent display hovered in the air, its text crisp against the sunlight.

Access to every known spell in the world. Includes recipes, ingredients, and execution details.

Cost: 100 Reputation Points per hour.

{Note: Spells must be known by at least three living beings to appear in the library.}

A frustrated sigh escaped her lips. "Useless," she muttered, tapping the interface with a manicured nail. "If it's not remembered by three people, it might as well not exist."

Her gaze drifted to the open novel panel beside her—Light's Conquest, The Saintess Marie wielded spells of terrifying scale: Dawn's Pyre, which had burned an entire fleet to ash; Veil of the Forgotten, which could hide a city from divine sight. But the author had glossed over the details, reducing world-shattering magic to mere set dressing.

Ravenna's fingers clenched. "Her Hair and blood might amplify magic again, but that's a temporary solution." She scrolled through the library's index, her irritation growing. "And this search function is abysmal. Either I need to know the spell's exact name, or I need to the primary ingredients. Useless."

She snapped the interface shut with a sharp gesture, the blue light dissipating like mist. The novel's description of Marie's magic had been clear on one point: the spells weren't hers originally. They'd been excavated from some forgotten Herptian archive in the Western Continent, lost knowledge, rediscovered.

Which meant they wouldn't appear in the spell library, no matter how extensive it needs to be known by three living people.

Ravenna turned instead to the schematics spread across her desk, designs for hot air balloons, their silk envelopes sketched in hurried strokes. A potential advantage, yes, but not the game-changer she needed.

Outside, the distant sound of the sea echoed from the shipyards. Somewhere in the city, Marie was likely causing some new mischief, utterly unaware of the divine potential simmering beneath her skin.

"I've grown rather close to her, haven't I?" she mused aloud, her dark black eyes drifting toward the window where the spires of the city's buildings pierced the afternoon sky.

With renewed purpose, Ravenna pulled a fresh sheet of parchment toward her, the crisp paper whispering against the polished table. Her ink pen danced across the surface in precise strokes as she began drafting: Proposal for the Establishment of a Ducal Magic Tower

“Restricted access for Tier 3 spells” muttered as her handwriting grew more forceful as she continued, the ink occasionally splattering when her ink pen moved with particular emphasis. The restrictions placed on ducal magic towers under Imperial law were absurdly limiting—only the Imperial Tower in Ancora could research large-scale offensive spells, while the noble houses were relegated to petty household charms and agricultural enhancements.

The draft took shape with alarming speed, pages filled with precise calculations, personnel requirements, and even preliminary designs for the tower's structure. It would need to be tall enough to harness celestial alignments, yet discreet enough not to draw immediate attention from the capital if Ravenna started to allow visits from the mainland. Perhaps disguised as a lighthouse or—

A sudden gust of wind through the window scattered several sheets. Ravenna sighed, pinning the papers down with an inkwell shaped like a coiled serpent.

"This will have to wait," she conceded, gathering the documents into a neat stack. The immediate threat of the impending attack demanded all available resources. But once the smoke cleared…

Her fingers traced the edge of the parchment, already imagining the spire that would one day dominate Kim City's skyline—a magic tower so advanced everyone in the continent will rush to it.

Coastal City of Konfir, Holland Barony, Ancorna Empire

The docks groaned under the weight of the assembling fleet, the salty air thick with the scent of flowers and the metallic tang of spell-charged sails. Sixty ships cut imposing silhouettes against the dawn-lit horizon—two full battalions of the Imperial Navy, their polished hulls glinting like blades freshly drawn from their scabbards. Among them sailed hired mercenary vessels flying the jagged banners of adventurer guilds, a solitary Crusader ship of the Solious Faith with its gilded prows, and one conspicuously under-armed Imperial cruiser that seemed woefully out of place amidst the war-ready fleet.

At the helm of the lead magic ship—a sleek, triple-masted vessel with sails that shimmered with embedded spellflowers—stood Edward Jola, his knuckles white as they gripped the railing. The afternoon winter mist clung to his velvet doublet as he bowed his head, an uncharacteristic prayer slipping through his lips:

"Oh Great Goddess of Indulgence, spare this sinful soul."

The words tasted foreign. Edward had never been a devoted man, Herptian Church he'd only ever visited for political appearances. Yet today, with the weight of his choices pressing upon him like the ocean's depths, he found himself seeking divine mercy.

Around him, the ship buzzed with activity. Mages in Imperial-blue robes chanted over spellflower braziers, their magic coaxing the winds to fill the enchanted sails. Knights in polished plate armor checked and rechecked their weapons, the rhythmic shink of swords being drawn and sheathed a constant refrain.

Edward's gaze drifted to the horizon, where Kim Island's silhouette would soon appear.

He wasn't foolish enough to believe himself anything but a pawn in Prince Nolan's game. Refusing the prince's "request" would have meant ruin—his already dwindling fortune, bled dry by his son's gambling debts and his wife's insatiable taste for luxury, would have crumbled entirely under Imperial pressure.

Yet even now, as the fleet began its advance, a traitorous spark of ambition flickered in his chest.

“What if we succeed?”

The thought was as dangerous as it was tempting.

Somewhere behind him, a mercenary laughed too loudly, the sound swallowed by the creak of ropes and the cry of gulls. Edward exhaled, his breath fogging in the chill air.

The dice were cast.

Now, he could only pray they'd land in his favor.

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