The Assistant Chancellor slumped in the Royal Castle’s office, his head bowed low. Sleep had eluded him for days.
“…Is everything truly going to be alright?”
He muttered to himself, glancing at the schedule for the upcoming Spectator Subjugation, just two days away. An inexplicable anxiety gnawed at him, causing him to hunch his shoulders. Despite having approved the renovation plans for the arena and the associated costs, a creeping fear began to envelop him as the event approached.
Just a few months prior, the Undead Beasts had been a source of terror for everyone. The joyous excitement over the manifestation of the Holy Sword had dulled his senses, making him feel invincible. Now, he was painfully aware of how misplaced that confidence had been.
The Assistant Chancellor hailed from a noble family that had held key positions in the court for generations. He understood better than anyone that he owed his position more to his family’s influence than to his own abilities. Before the mass outbreak of Undead Beasts in the north, the kingdom had enjoyed a period of peace, and he had been content to maintain stability without drawing attention to himself.
—We have both gone mad, myself and His Majesty.
The thought crept into his mind, spurred by the petition placed before him. Nearly half of the clergy from the Great Church of the Royal Capital had gone missing. The news had reached him just days ago through his assistant, who had learned of it by chance after the Knights Order dismissed the matter.
When he had questioned Dylan Agreas Jiemeld, the Commander of the Royal Knights Order, the response had mirrored that of the Knights: dismissive and unhelpful.
—Can I truly trust that man?
To overlook the mass disappearance of clergy at this juncture seemed utterly insane. Seeds of doubt began to sprout, cooling the fervor he had felt over the Holy Sword. Yet, he also sensed that it was too late to realize this now. The glorious fact that he had witnessed a historic miracle during his tenure as Assistant Chancellor filled him with dread, as if a chill had run down his spine.
The thoughts that had once lingered in his mind now terrified him. The Holy Sword could serve as a deterrent against foreign threats—he had been the one to share that notion with Count Agreas, his eyes shining with hope alongside the king.
He was still far from fully grasping the implications of it all, and the fear was palpable. Nevertheless, as long as he held the position of Assistant Chancellor, he had to confront the anxiety he felt and take whatever actions he could.
“…I apologize, but please relay a message to His Royal Highness the Crown Prince. Keep it confidential. And you are to accompany him.”
He summoned his assistant and issued the command. The king remained utterly enamored with the Holy Sword and Agreas’s words, and it was unlikely that the Assistant Chancellor’s concerns would reach him at this point. There was no time to discern which of the influential nobles in the kingdom were untainted by this situation. The image of the still youthful Crown Prince came to mind as a glimmer of hope.
—If it goes well, perhaps we can sway the House of Marquis Beresford…
With that thought, the Assistant Chancellor rested his elbows on the desk, burying his head in his hands. If his premonition proved true and calamity struck, he would share the king’s fate. The weight of that realization made his shoulders tremble.
Dylan Agreas Jiemeld received a report from a messenger alongside his subordinates at the duke’s residence in the Royal Capital. His usually composed expression now bore a hint of irritation.
“…I fail to see how the sudden appearance of a new Holy Sword will change anything. It’s merely a nuisance.”
The news from the Duchy of Jiemeld had exceeded Agreas’s expectations.
“The prototype lacked defensive mechanisms, so it was predictable that they would be dealt with given enough time. Most likely, the lightning strike mentioned in the report provided them with an opportunity to exploit. It cannot be helped.”
He found himself vexed by the slow pace of information in these times. Events occurring in distant lands could only be confirmed through the eyes and ears of others. The knowledge and perspectives of those who witnessed the events influenced the narrative, and when people intervened, interpretations could become distorted. The process of transmitting information inevitably led to inaccuracies.
“Eventually, when the Immortal Mud engulfs the kingdom, such annoyances will be resolved.”
He gazed out the window, observing the sprawling darkness of the Royal Capital as he murmured to himself.
“When the goddess loses her followers, she will no longer be a threat. However, at this stage, it would have been more prudent to eliminate the Sorcerer first.”
“I apologize, my lord… After that incident, I thought it best to send our men from Jiemeld, but for some reason, it has taken longer than anticipated…”
Hearing his subordinate’s downcast voice, Agreas sighed.
“Even in that village, we cannot reach them. It seems the Sorcerer possesses a similarly insidious power.”
Exhaling, Agreas donned his usual calm demeanor.
“There’s nothing left to do but despair over the fact that we are too late. Well, we will take whatever actions we can. Even with the Holy Sword at our disposal, we can only hinder them; complete eradication is beyond our reach. Once that happens, the world will simply shift to one ruled by a fully immortal conqueror.”
He smiled, knowing that everything would inevitably come to an end before they could intervene.