193. New Spells

Blood.

It painted the polished marble of the Solious Cathedral’s grand hall in jagged, spreading rivers, staining the steps before the colossal statue of the Goddess. The golden light filtering through the stained glass seemed almost blasphemous as it fell upon the scene: upon the trembling faces of paladins, junior priests, and servants who had gathered in horrified silence.

High Priest Caldus’s body slumped against the base of the statue, his once-pristine white mantle now soaked crimson. The twitch in his limbs was faint, the final remnants of life ebbing away. The cut that felled him was clean yet merciless, a single stroke that spoke of precision rather than rage.

Eugene stood over him, his sword still in hand. Blood splattered across his face and tunic, dripping slowly from the edge of his blade. His eyes, cold and unwavering, were fixed on the strange object he held in his other hand—a black crystal shaped like a rose, its surface glimmering faintly in the candlelight as if it drank in the light around it.

“So… rest in peace, Your Holiness,” Eugene murmured, voice low but carrying through the hushed hall. His words held neither mockery nor warmth—only a grim finality.

Footsteps thundered at the far end of the hall. Paladins in gilded armor and Imperial Knights in midnight-blue cloaks burst into the chamber, their boots skidding against the slickening floor. Their eyes darted between the corpse of the High Priest, the ominous black rose in Eugene’s palm, and the blood-dark blade still gripped in his other hand.

Verdant Terrace Garden, Imperial Palace, Ancorna Capital City, Ancorna Empire

The Verdant Terrace Garden was a sanctuary carved into the heart of the palace, a place of deliberate seclusion. The morning sun had only just broken through the clouded horizon, its rays still softened by the lingering weight of night cold. The air was rich with petrichor, carrying the delicate perfume of blooming jasmine and freshly awakened silk trees whose blossoms swayed lazily in the breeze.

A winding screen of curved glass and ivy-wrapped trellises enclosed the space, shutting out the bustle of the palace beyond. Only the gentle rustle of leaves and the faint, musical trickle of the garden’s fountain filled the silence.

At the center, beneath the shaded arch of flowering branches, a round table of veined white marble stood adorned with neatly arranged writing implements, crystal inkwells, and folded letters awaiting attention.

Princess Serena Solarius sat poised yet comfortably in her chair, her long hair still unbound from the night, a silk robe draped over her shoulders. Across from her sat her husband, Baron Gray Josep, his posture relaxed but his eyes sharp with curiosity. They were not alone, between them, in a third seat, lounged a middle-aged man whose manner spoke of both confidence and familiarity.

Stolen story; please report.

“So… a reply from King Julian Hill?” Gray asked, a faint smile playing on his lips as his gaze drifted toward the letter the man carried.

“Yes,” the man replied with quiet satisfaction, setting the letter gently upon the marble table. “He is willing to uphold his end of the bargain. The Hilda Kingdom’s Alchemy Research Institute will lend its full support to your claim for the throne.”

Princess Serena’s eyes lit with a slow, satisfied smile. “Finally… a reward for years of patience,” she murmured. “Holding off that fool of an elder brother from forming his own faction has been nothing but tedious, but now it pays off.”

“And what of the funeral arrangements?” Serena asked next, her tone turning almost languid as she reached over and began idly toying with Baron Gray’s ear, a playful gesture entirely at odds with the gravity of their conversation.

“His Majesty will officially announce Prince Nolan’s death today,” the messenger said, bowing his head slightly. “An Imperial Funeral will be scheduled for the coming week, once the body has been recovered.”

“I see,” Gray replied, a calculating glint in his eyes. Then, turning to Serena, he added with a slow smile, “With this, we now have both the funds and the talent. We can finally set our plan into motion—our campaign to outpace every other candidate through technological superiority, to usher in an entirely new age of advancement.”

Serena chuckled softly, her voice smooth and confident. “Once we begin, no one will be able to keep up with us. We won’t just compete, Gray… we’ll leave them in the dust before they even realize the race has begun.”

Northern Shore, Kim Island, Kim Dukedom, Ancorna Empire

The northern beach was unrecognizable from what it had been only a few months ago. What was once little more than a rugged, windswept coastline had been reshaped into a thriving shoreline settlement. Rows of modest but sturdy buildings now lined the sand, their Romanesque arches and domed rooftops fashioned from Portland cement in the same style as Kim City’s main district. The smell of salt and wet stone mingled in the air, carried by the steady breeze from the open sea.

Out over the water, a long bridge jutted from the shore—a massive construction of iron pillars and reinforced cement, its surface lined with stone parapets and gaps for netting rigs. Tall iron torches stood at intervals, their brackets waiting to be filled, and in the sea below, slots had been set for colossal fishing nets to be lowered and raised with ease.

A single fishing boat drifted along the pier’s shadow, rocking gently with the swell. On deck stood two men, their gazes fixed on the bridge as it neared completion.

“This is going to streamline the entire process for catching those magical beast fish,” the younger of the two remarked, his tone carrying a mix of excitement and professional pride. This was Angelo, Sarah’s husband and one of the more skilled fishermen in Richard’s employ. The sunlight caught in his wind-tousled hair as he adjusted the strap of his satchel.

“That’s right,” the older man beside him replied, lowering a pair of brass binoculars from his weathered face. His lined features broke into a small, approving smile. This was Richard, the head fisherman of the northern docks, and one of the first leaders of the city before Ravenna’s arrival. “No more exhausting net swaps in the middle of the tide. Once this bridge is done, we’ll have a permanent rig in place. All we’ll need to do is haul ‘em in.”

He cast his eyes toward the waves, where the faint silver gleam of fins broke the surface before vanishing again. “Both Mira and Maverick magical beast fish are so dimwitted, they’ll practically catch themselves once we set the traps. All we’ll have to do is show up.”

Richard’s chuckle was low and knowing the sound of a man who had worked the sea long enough to appreciate when the work was about to get easier.