Chapter 127 — In which all meetings are a pure coincidence and nothing else (6)

  Purplus, the Universe Temple, the restaurant and a particular alcove in it.

  This place suddenly became an abode of profound silence, filled with shock and confusion.

  Sangria and Scarlen looked at the Alexandrit dumbfounded.

  ‘Who is Mr. Seven?’

  Their faces were asking.

  On the other hand, Iben was frozen in place, and unable to move around – his back still ached from that stab – blankly stared at the hand that set down a side-dish.

  His own swallowing sounded extremely loud to him.

  He slightly opened his mouth to whisper something, when…

  “Excuse me.”

  Alexandrit who seemed to have no interest in watching Iben fell into the well of mixed emotions and instead stared towards the center of the hall, where guests, severs and attendants all mixed, spoke up.

  And then very quickly left, as silently as he appeared.

  “…”

  “…”

  Scarlen and Sangria stared at Iben, their gazes asking ‘what was that?’.

  Of course, both of them being smart men, they were swiftly putting pieces together.

  Iben never told them, who helped him escape the prison, and who he teleported.

  But thanks to Sangria precise memorization the mysterious visitor’s eyes, they knew that that visitor was the Saint.

  They also saw Iben being escorted by the Saint’s attending priest and this attendant that just appeared.

  From the Saint himself breaking Iben out of ‘his own’ prison, the difference in his behavior when saving the Archmage and now, and to the warning that the attendant brought, one thing became very clear.

  There was a giant storm brewing under the surface of Purplus.

  A secret power struggle that others were unaware of.

  And there was another thing that struck both men.

  ‘Those priests the Saint was lecturing were the priest of the Sun and Day Gods Temple, who were part of the envoy.’

  They recognized the priests in the lecture hall.

  They were the same priests, who tried to do some strange ritual during Vern’s coming-of-age ceremony.

  What was the Saint doing with them?

  But there was one more thing that Scarlen figured out.

  “Do you think lights are very bright here?”

  He asked Iben.

  He couldn’t ask directly, but what he meant was ‘Was this person your Light?’.

  Iben also never told him who his Light was, but considering his strong reaction right now…

  Iben didn’t answer.

  He just silently put a piece of carrot in his mouth, and began to chew.

  ‘You still don’t trust me, huh?’

  They spent a few days together, and on the surface their relationship became less stiff, but it was just an illusion.

  ‘Well, I don’t trust you either.’

  Iben was still suspicious of this entire set-up.

  There were factors at play here that he couldn’t figure out yet.

  “Huh, that reminds me of Young Master Vern.”

  Suddenly Sangria mumbled, as he took a sip of soup.

  “Why is so…?”

  Iben, who only then took a bite of his meal, instantly understood what Sangria meant.

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  There was not a lot of spice… but there was quite a lot of salt.

  “Hey… Does Purplus usually use a lot of salt in their dishes?”

  Scarlen slowly asked.

  “… No. That’s fairly unusual.”

  At Iben’s answer, Scarlen frowned.

  ‘Salt is white… is this some kind of warning?’

  Scarlen spent the rest of the meal trying to figure out its meaning.

  *-*-*

  Vern happily drunk his salted coffee.

  Not having Sangria breathe down his neck whenever he did that was truly a blessing.

  Then he looked up and saw Crimo glaring at the two wills.

  “How is it?”

  Vern asked.

  As he was no longer the throne ruler, he didn’t have the authority to see whether the wills were real or fake.

  “Both are partially fake.

  Crimo sighed.

  “One is entirely fake, but the signature is real. The other is real in some part, but mostly fake and the signature is somewhat doubtful.”

  “Signature is somewhat doubtful?”

  “It was not made with the intent of signing up a document. If I was to guess, they probably took some letter and turned it into a will.”

  Vern took a sip of his coffee.

  ‘The real will was probably destroyed shortly after its creation without the late General’s knowledge.’

  Vern could somehow relate.

  His entire life work was destroyed at the hands of traitors or lost to time.

  And just like the late General, he left a mess after his death.

  “So what you’re going to do?”

  “I’m not exactly sure…”

  Crimo rapped at the edge of the table, deep in thought.

  “On the one hand I could lie and chose the candidate I like more. Knowledge that the will was fake could be used as a good bargain chip. But on the other hand…”

  He glanced at another document put aside, but ready to be picked up at any moment.

  “Considering your plans, it would suit us very well if the threat of Flavun was at least temporarily diminished.”

  In other words, it would do them good to stall and let unease simmer in Flavun.

  Vern had no delusions, though Crimo didn’t harbor hatred towards Flavun, he saw it as a potential enemy.

  He would gladly push them down if he had an opportunity.

  “Then why hesitate?”

  Crimo bit his lip.

  “It would do us good to maintain tense situation in Flavun, but… a civil war is a completely different matter. I don’t want it to deteriorate to this level.”

  Ah. But Crimo was still a kind person.

  Vern considered it for a moment.

  “Did Sir Citrie mention anything about attending to the matter of wills as quickly as possible?”

  “He didn’t. He looked like he wanted to get out of my hair as quickly as possible.”

  “Oh?”

  Vern smirked.

  But he quickly turned his thoughts to important matters.

  ‘If Saf wanted it to be done quickly, she would make Citrie say something. Then it can only mean she wants us to stall too.’

  Vern had no doubts about who sent the two wills and Citrie.

  “They must be ready for things going south too. Whichever candidate you choose, the other candidate will make their dissatisfaction clear. Rather, choosing will just rope you into it too. They must be aware of it, so they will expect you to stall. And be ready for the consequences of it.”

  He reassured Crimo like this and the Archmage nodded

  From his relieved face, it seemed he thought exact same thing.

  As he grabbed the document he put aside, and was about to move to another item on their agenda, Crimo paused in mid-movement and carefully asked:

  “Regarding that Sir Citrie… I heard you’ve met him.”

  “By pure coincidence.”

  “And then you spent several hours with him?”

  “It turns out he is an excellent listener.”

  “… You also returned without a cloak.”

  “…”

  Vern was momentarily confused what cloak.

  Then he remembered.

  “Ah, yes, it was annoying, so I took it off at some point.”

  “…”

  Crimo just stared at him with a silent question in his eyes.

  Vern stared back and then, finally realizing what the question was, answered simply:

  “Oh, don’t worry. I’m not fucking the spy sent by our enemies.”

  He swallowed ‘yet’.

  Then he added, slightly grumbly:

  “With how frozen stiff he was in front me, it would be difficult to bend him, anyway.”

  Crimo blinked.

  He seemed to be doing some desperate calculations.

  Then he just sighed, and pressing his temples, said:

  “Just be careful, please.”

  He spread the documents he wanted to talk about with Vern.

  On the top of the documents was written a simple project name – Archmage’s Grant.

  The second step of Vern’s plan to return power under the archmage’s name was about to be revealed to the public.

  They were about to focus on that when Crimo suddenly hesitated and then very cautiously added:

  “Mr. Cuprit reported that Sir Citrie seems to be sick.”

  “… I see.”

  He didn’t look sick when Vern saw him last time.

  He must have caught something in the meantime.

  But Crimo’s gaze was drilling holes into him.

  “… Vern, should I send some medicine to Sir Citrie?”

  “Hm? No, why? He probably can get one himself…” Vern paused, struck by a thought. “Besides, wouldn’t it be better if he is sick?”

  “…”

  Crimo mumbled he must make sure to order some headache medicine later.

  It didn’t seem to be medicine for Citrie.

  *-*-*

  In Purplus, the Universe Temple, the Rubrun’s trio just finished their meal.

  They stood up from their seats with the plan of heading out to the temple pointed out from them by the Saint.

  But suddenly all three of them turned their gazes, drawn by some sort of instinct.

  The premonition of incoming disaster.

  An attendant, a slave, was hurrying through the restaurant with a tray of plates.

  To avoid disturbing the guests, the attendant ran along the wall.

  It happened just when they passed a large pillar.

  Someone stepped out of a shadowed corner, walking right into the attendant’s track.

  The clash was louder than expected.

  What followed all happened in one second.

  The food fell on the guest who crushed into the attendant.

  The plates fell to the floor.

  The attendant horrified, instinctively threw themselves on their knees.

  The guest took one step back due to impact.

  And then they blinked.

  And suddenly something was different.

  The attendant who crushed into a guest, was a few steps away, wobbling on their feet to catch balance.

  And the attendant kneeling on the ground is none other than Alexandrit.

  “You—!”

  A guest, the black haired woman in rich golden robes, hissed through her teeth.

  The atmosphere turned dark.

  Even without quite understanding Purplus customs, Sangria and Scarlen could tell that something horrible just happened.

  The difference in clothes made the status gap very clear.

  Iben who understood much more turned deadly pale.

  He was about to run, but Scarlen caught him.

  In the quiet like a mouse hall, the sound of door opening felt like a thunder.

  The guest who was about to say something turned her head and closed her mouth.

  A person in clothes more luxurious than anyone in the hall entered.

  Amara silently surveyed the hall, his white hair catching light as he slightly moved his head.

  Then, finding his target, he strolled over without hesitation.

  “Head Priest of Sun and Day Gods Temple.”

  He stopped in front of the guest and nodded in a greeting.

  “Your Excellency.”

  The woman bowed.

  “Will you chat with me now, or…” Amara quickly glanced at her slightly stained robe. “Will you change your clothes first?”

  “It’s okay, I can take it off and it can be washed, while we talk.”

  She did as she said, and Amara bid the attendant, the one who actually crushed into the head priest, to the task.

  They hurried away with sweat and tears rolling down their face.

  Amara appeared uninterested.

  He turned around, glanced at Alexandrit, then waved to one of the guards and slightly pointed at the attendant.

  Then he led the head priest of the Sun and Day Gods Temple out of the restaurant.

  The Head Priest of the Universe Temple Rasin, who at some point entered the hall and was watching the situation, also followed them out.

  On the other side, the guard appointed by Amara approached Alexandrit.

  Alexandrit stood up and soon the two of them disappeared in a dark corridor.

  Iben watched their backs entire time, frozen in place.

  *~*~*