[Emerald Castle, Prince’s Bedchamber]
"How far along was the research?" Alden asked.
"Completed," Logan whispered. "It was in the implementation stage before the incident. We lacked materials, but... if my seniors continued the work after Master fell ill, they likely have finished it by now."
Alden gritted his teeth. He was far too late despite starting early.
"Listen carefully to what I am going to tell you, Logan," Alden whispered. "Your Master did not fall ill. He was poisoned."
Logan's face went white. "Poisoned?" His hands trembled.
Taking a deep breath, Logan choked out, "Your Highness. Who would..." He couldn't finish the sentence. His heart was beating too heavily.
Alden thought for a moment before adding, "We need to find that out. So... your first task is to gather evidence. Your senior disciples—I suspect them. Return to the tower, and observe for now."
"But, then they..." Logan shook his head frantically, his hands gripping the arms of the chair until his knuckles turned white.
"They won't act immediately, since I personally called you here," Alden assured him. "Some vague rumors may spread. They will act cautiously."
"Is that why... but Your Highness, your reputation..."
Alden smirked. "That's not for you to worry about," he said, leaning forward, elbows on his knees. "Whatever happened in the dungeon between you and me must never be disclosed to anyone. Not a soul."
"I swear..." Logan whispered, his voice cracking. "I will never..."
"Now, return to the Alchemists' Conclave." Alden reached into his pocket and tossed a small parchment through the air. Logan caught it with fumbling hands. "... retrieve all your Master's research and bring it to me."
Logan froze. "Wha... what do you mean... wouldn't that be stealing?"
Alden smirked, thinking back to the lost documents. After Logan's execution in the previous timeline, the Arcanum fell into huge trouble. After thinking for a long time, Alden finally remembered: it was because they couldn't access the research. With both Logan and Hadrian gone, they couldn't retrieve the data.
"Yes, you need to steal. It's better than having those fall into the hands of those who poisoned your Master, right? I will send a few knights with you. For your protection."
Logan swallowed before stammering, "But... how do I believe that it's true?"
Alden looked at Logan, his chest tightening, clearly afraid of being punished for his insolence. His mouth curved upward at one corner. "Do you doubt me, Logan?" Alden asked, his voice dangerously soft.
Logan flinched, shrinking back. "I... I didn't mean it that way, Your Highness. Master's research is not my own. I simply... shouldn't be handing it over."
Alden said nothing in response. He looked at Logan. Patiently waiting.
"I... I mean, I will do it. As you wish." Logan leaned forward in his seat, eyes wide. "And... if I may ask..." He hesitated, eyes darting left and right. "Could you please let me... meet Master Hadrian? Where is he currently?"
Alden appeared distant. "I can’t reveal his location, but I can allow you to meet him. However, this will take some time. Do you require a vow regarding his safety?"
Logan shook his head violently. "N...no... I believe you, Your Highness."
"Dismissed." Alden began scanning the papers in his hand.
Then his eyes darted around for a moment before hardening with resolve.
Logan threw himself out of the chair, falling to his knees. "Your Highness, so far I have shown nothing but insolence, that day in court and even today. But you still saved me, and rescued my master. I couldn't say it before but..." He gazed up. "Thank you. Thank you so much. I, Logan Valecrest, will forever be in your debt. Since you’re interested in research, I have some of my own works that even my Master highly praised. I’ll dedicate them all to you. Please accept them."
"That..." Alden looked down at the bowed head. "I won't refuse."
'Even small things might be helpful in preventing the apocalypse,' he thought.
[Imperial Court - Afternoon Session]
The herald announced the Emperor. The court bowed.
After the Emperor settled into the golden sun-throne, the session began. Alden stood from his obsidian seat and walked forward.
"I have something urgent to report, Your Majesty."
The Emperor leaned forward slightly, his golden eyes unreadable. "Go ahead, Crown Prince."
Alden straightened, scanning the room. The three Dukes were present, their reactions a tableau of the court’s fractured politics. Duke Viremont was notably absent—likely scrambling to salvage his crumbling assets. Duke Ashvale sat upright, brimming with anticipation, while Duke Varik leaned back, his eyes narrowed in suspicion. Duke Helbart, nursing a goblet of wine, smirked.
Behind the Emperor, the Imperial Advisors sat like vultures. Lord Callum and Lord Aldric occupied the left and right, ready to pour suggestions into the Emperor's ears. Magnus sat slightly apart, remaining quiet, possessing none of the restless energy of the others.
Alden opened his mouth, his voice carrying clearly through the hall. "We have intercepted a shipment of Imperial Gold bound for Ravencliff. Furthermore, we have uncovered evidence of a conspiracy to artificially plummet the Viremont Market to destabilize the Empire's economy."
A murmur rippled through the crowd.
"This sabotage," Alden continued, his voice hardening, "was orchestrated by Ravencliff."
He produced the rolled parchment—the one taken from the hollow bottom of the cart—and handed it to the attendant, who carried it to the Emperor.
Behind the throne, Magnus’s gaze narrowed. Aldric’s eyes widened slightly.
The Emperor gestured to the Royal Translator. The elderly man stepped forward, taking the parchment with trembling hands. He adjusted his spectacles, squinting at the script.
"Your Majesty," the translator hesitated. "This letter is written in Kezreth. It says..."
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He cleared his throat and read aloud:
[Thank you for the artwork. We absolutely loved it. The craftsmanship exceeds our expectations. Please send our regards to the artisan.]
Silence hung for a heartbeat, then shattered.
Laughter broke out across the hall. It started with Duke Helbart and spread to the lower counts.
Duke Varik tilted his head, confused. Duke Ashvale looked disappointed.
Helbart took a slow sip of his wine, sneering over the rim. "It seems His Highness has dabbled in foreign tongues. A valiant effort, though clearly, the lessons did not take. Perhaps a tutor is in order?"
Countess Alderton hid the lower half of her face behind her fan, her eyes crinkling with amusement.
To the left, the Ravencliff Envoy rose from his seat. He smoothed his robes, his expression one of profound displeasure.
"Accusing us baselessly like this..." The Envoy’s voice dripped with indignation. "Your Majesty, does the Empire wish to break the peace treaty over a thank-you note for a painting?"
Alden didn’t respond to the mockery or the threat. He stared at his father.
'Even now,' Alden thought, his stomach churning with disgust. 'We are the Empire. Yet we let a delegate from a lesser kingdom threaten us in our own hall?'
He watched the Emperor’s face. 'Father, at least show me your competence. You won't just dismiss such a claim without proper investigation, would you?'
The Emperor frowned, looking down at Alden. "Prince, what about this letter seemed suspicious to you? If you are curious about the language, do you require tutoring?"
Magnus walked forward, leaned in, and whispered something into the Emperor’s ear. The Emperor listened, then nodded slowly.
"You even arrested merchants who held proper documentation?" The Emperor’s voice grew stern. "Crown Prince, explain yourself. This letter better not be your only proof."
Alden nodded once. "It is."
"Preposterous!" The Emperor slammed his hand on the armrest. "A Crown Prince mustn't misuse their position to harass legitimate trade! We maintain a peaceful relation with Ravencliff now. Do not create a meaningless feud based on paranoia!"
Alden sighed internally. 'Incompetent.'
Without waiting for permission, Alden walked up the steps to the translator’s podium. He took the quill from the inkwell, dipping it deep until the tip dripped black.
"Hold it flat," Alden ordered the translator.
With deliberate strokes, Alden drew thick, black lines across the parchment. He struck out the second line. Then the fourth. Then the sixth. He obliterated the horizontal decoys—the "noise" of the cipher.
He stepped back. "Read it vertically. Top to bottom, skipping the blackened lines."
The translator squinted at the new pattern. His eyes went wide. The color drained from his face.
"This... Heavens." The old man’s hands shook violently. "It is a grille cipher. The horizontal lines are decoys. The true message... it runs like rain, top to bottom."
"Read it," Alden commanded.
"We... 'We are ready to plummet the Viremont Market. Adjust your holdings immediately upon receipt.'"
The laughter in the hall died instantly.
Kezreth, a vertical language at its core, was adapted horizontally only recently for diplomatic purposes. In his previous life, the cipher remained unsolved until Commander Cullen stumbled upon it by chance—three years into the relentless war, when an injured scribe accidentally dropped ink on a page. The black stain erased the horizontal decoy, revealing the vertical truth in the negative space.
The mouths of the mocking nobles tightened shut. Duke Helbart froze, his wine glass halfway to his mouth. Lord Aldric’s eyes widened in alarm.
Alden watched every reaction calmly, cataloging the fear, before turning back to the Emperor. "Your Majesty, allow me—"
Before the Emperor could respond, the steel sang as Alden drew the sword, clearing the scabbard. Gasps and shrieks echoed through the hall.
Instantly, the four Imperial Guards stationed at the base of the dais drew their weapons and advanced to intercept him. The court’s protocols were absolute: no bared steel was permitted before the Throne.
Alden ignored the guards. He turned and leveled the point at the Ravencliff Envoy’s throat.
"Explain yourself, Envoy," Alden said, his voice quiet and cold. "Why does Ravencliff seek to cripple the Imperial Economy?"
The Envoy stumbled back, his face draining of color, but he grasped desperately at his last shield. "Madness! I am a diplomat! To draw a weapon on me is a declaration of war!" He looked frantically at the Emperor. "Your Majesty, do you condone this? If he strikes me, the peace treaty burns!"
"Alden!" The Emperor’s voice cracked like a whip, echoing off the high ceilings. "Sheathe your blade. Now!"
Alden didn’t move. The tip of his sword hovered inches from the Envoy’s jugular.
"I gave you an order, Crown Prince!" The Emperor stood, his golden aura flaring with genuine fury. "Do not force my guards to cut you down in my own hall!"
Alden held the pose for a second longer—long enough for the Envoy to feel the reaper’s breath, long enough for the court to understand that he wouldn't hesitate to kill. Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, he lowered the weapon and slid it back into its scabbard.
Alden turned to his father, his expression unbothered. "Your Majesty."
The Emperor sank back into his seat, massaging his temples, his face pale with the adrenaline of the near-disaster. He looked at the trembling Envoy, then at the damning parchment.
"Envoy," the Emperor said, his voice low and dangerous. "Under Article Four of the Treaty, espionage forfeits diplomatic protection." He raised a hand, signaling the guards who were still tense. "Take him into custody. Not the dungeon—the Guest Tower. Under heavy guard."
"You cannot do this!" the Envoy shrieked as the guards seized his arms. "Ravencliff will hear of this insult!"
"If the Market falls," the Emperor growled, ignoring the threat, "Ravencliff will have more to worry about than insults. Get him out of my sight."
As the Envoy was dragged screaming from the hall, the Emperor turned his gaze back to Alden. There was no warmth in it.
"You deciphered the plot, Crown Prince," the Emperor said, his voice tight with suppressed anger. "But if you ever draw a weapon in this court without permission again, I will have you shackled beside him. Do you understand?"
Alden bowed, the gesture perfectly respectful. "I did what was necessary to secure the truth, Your Majesty." His gaze then fixed on the emperor. "However, I kindly request a private meeting. The matter at hand demands utmost discretion."
The court murmured in disbelief. After such a daring act, requesting a private audience was utterly incomprehensible. Alden meticulously registered the court’s reactions and mentally cataloged every heartbeat.
After a brief moment of contemplation, the Emperor nodded. "Clear the room."
The nobles hesitated, then filed out, whispering furiously among themselves. Soon, only the Emperor, Alden, and the three Advisors remained.
Alden looked at the Advisors. "Complete privacy."
Lord Aldric immediately protested. "Your Highness, we can't leave His Majesty unguarded! As advisors, we must—"
Alden smirked, but his eyes remained glued to the Emperor. 'What will you do now, Father?'
Meeting the dark, unyielding eyes of his son, the Emperor waved a hand. "Dismissed. Everyone."
Aldric left, his teeth grinding audibly. Magnus left last, meeting Alden's gaze once—emotionlessly—before the heavy doors thudded shut.
Finally, they were alone, save for the Emperor's shadow guards hidden in the rafters.
Alden didn't insist on making the shadows leave. Instead, he walked forward and knelt before his father, pulling another rolled parchment from his sleeve.
"Your Majesty," Alden said, unfurling the document. "These are the testimonies of Lady Kaelen. And this is the proof that the last location the gold departed from was the Green Spire Tower."
The Emperor took the documents. As he read, his jaw tightened. "Slave Bind? Body Control? This..."
Alden smirked, though there was no humor in it. "This is statecraft. Why are you surprised, Your Majesty? The fools are the ones who never suspected."
From the darkness, there was a faint —metal shifting on stone. Denzel had moved. A warning.
Alden ignored the sound of the executioner, his hand clenching into a fist on his knee. "My mother died suffering for years, yet you—"
He didn't finish the accusation. If he did, he might say something treasonous.
Gritting his teeth, he said, "Your Majesty, I have already ordered the capture of the Green Spire Tower heads. I do not expect you to deliver justice to her, but I intend to make it right."
The Emperor sighed, sinking back into his throne. He looked suddenly older, the golden light of the afternoon accentuating the lines on his face.
"I see," the Emperor murmured. "Indeed, I won't stop you, son. Go ahead." He leaned forward slightly. "But can you promise me one thing, my son?"
Alden's eyes didn't soften. He glared up at his father without replying.
The Emperor continued, his voice almost pleading. "Can you just inform me about these things beforehand? I have competent aides. Problems can be handled better if we work tog—"
Alden finally sneered.
"Competence? Lord Aldric still sits at your right hand, unpunished, while my home bleeds from his negligence."
The Emperor opened his mouth to speak. But Alden stood up slowly, dusting off his knees.
"Apologies, Your Majesty, but I cannot give you that oath. I will inform you only when time permits."
He met the Emperor's golden eyes, not a single shake in his own dark ones.
"Instead. I'll tell you one thing. Do not get in my way, Father. Even if you try to stop me, Green Tower falls tonight. And soon others will follow."
Without waiting for his father's response, he turned his back to the Emperor.
"Since I have been rude to Your Majesty, I offer this as my penance: consider it paid in blood. At first light, I depart for the East to crush the rebellion myself."
Alden finally left the hall. Other nobles began flooding in and Alden could hear the low sigh of the Emperor. He didn't care.
