Chapter 354
An Unusually Quiet Burgos
Unlike Clifford, who was close to the people, Burgos Castle sat atop a massive hill, isolated and removed. There was no murmur of the nation’s affairs, no whispers of unrest. Those who had sensed the brewing war had long since distanced themselves, leaving everything shrouded in a heavy, dark silence.
Timothy and the courtiers who had been in Clifford urged their horses fiercely, racing toward the royal palace. As they approached, the Burgos flag fluttered alongside torches, and the gates opened in anticipation.
Clatter, clatter!
Whoosh!
The situation was urgent. Clifford did have mages, but they were nearly incapacitated, and a shadow from the palace was tailing the traitor. Clifford was clearly preparing for a fight. Other traitors had likely been identified, and even if not, no help could be expected from them.
As soon as Timothy dismounted, he dashed to the central audience chamber where Damon awaited. If war was imminent, swift action was their advantage. The king’s decision, made even a moment sooner, could be the difference between victory and defeat.
Creaaak.
“Oh, Timothy.”
“Your Majesty, I have returned.”
Damon was in the middle of a meeting with nobles about military strategy. All eyes turned to Timothy as he steadied his breath and relayed the intelligence from Clifford.
“So, how many envoys have died?”
“Rumors say two or three, but it’s not a significant matter.”
“Two or three? That’s a big difference.”
“Most of Clifford’s mages, including Sir Ian, are stationed there. They’re nearly incapacitated—close to normal people—and can’t return to Bariel. This information comes from a reliable source planted in the palace.”
The nobles murmured in disbelief. They had never seen anything like this. Most mages were away from the center, and their condition was so severe they couldn’t return? This was a godsend.
One noble, excited, added, “Your Majesty, if the mages are that incapacitated, why wait? We should strike immediately. Better to capture the mages and prevent Bariel’s intervention altogether.”
“Exactly. If we act now, we can reach deep into the center. This is an opportunity we cannot miss.”
“Now I understand why Clifford delayed. They were waiting for the mages to recover. It seems Bariel has formed some alliance and plans to use the mages as their frontline defense.”
“How long has it been since we received the message from Luswena? The one with the Black Moon signal?”
“Less than three days. The mages must have exhausted a great deal of magic.”
“They went to fetch Sir Ian, but how did it come to this? Could he have personal issues?”
“How would we know the mages’ problems? We’ll capture and interrogate them. Your Majesty, we must act without delay. Claiming to retrieve the envoys who fell ill is a perfect pretext.”
“Yes. Then demand passage. They will refuse, and we’ll use that as a cause to enter.”
The nobles quickly crafted a smooth plan. Since the other side officially acknowledged the envoys’ illness, Burgos could claim the right to retrieve them. Of course, the escort would be military-sized, and Clifford would never open the border willingly. That would be the spark of war.
“And it seems the palace anticipated our arrival and the traitor’s movements. A shadow followed us.”
“Really? Any casualties?”
“One death, but it was instantaneous—no leaks.”
Clifford had caught on to Burgos’s intelligence operations. Regardless of how many envoys died, the fact that the news leaked meant Burgos would soon use it as a pretext to cause trouble.
Damon rested his chin on his hand, deep in thought, then snapped his fingers.
“When we claim to retrieve the envoys at the border, send military doctors ahead.”
Amid the chaos, supplies and medical aid were scarce, so the envoys’ deaths could be attributed to lack of care. Sending doctors first would strengthen their claim of humanitarian intent. The nobles and courtiers nodded, taking notes.
“Understood. Shall we prepare to depart immediately?”
“Yes. Have everything ready before dawn.”
“Of course, Your Majesty.”
Damon gestured for everyone to leave, and the nobles moved out in perfect order.
Timothy followed, but suddenly sensed something odd. One of the courtiers who came with them remained frozen in place. When Timothy looked at him in confusion, the man lay flat on the ground and reported to Damon.
“Your Majesty, I have a personal matter to discuss. May I have a moment alone with you?”
Damon, rising from his desk and rifling through papers, tilted his head in curiosity. He glanced at Timothy as if to ask if he knew what was going on, but Timothy was just as clueless.
In a low voice, Damon muttered, “To ask for my time for a personal matter? How audacious. And to call it an honor? Preposterous.”
“Your Majesty, it is something I must say.”
“Very well. Speak. Timothy, please step outside.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
Timothy shot a glance at his subordinate and left the chamber.
With everyone gone, only Damon and the courtier remained. The man cautiously raised his upper body and looked up at Damon, who sat cross-legged, silently urging him to speak quickly. The long meeting had worn him down, and there was a warning in his gaze: if this was trivial, punishment would be severe.
So, the courtier had to be direct.
“I believe Timothy is a traitor.”
Damon paused. He had heard such words before in a past life, though from a different source.
“Do you understand what you’re saying?”
“When Timothy met with palace personnel, there was a third party besides the shadow. They seemed to be looking for Timothy, but without hostility or ill intent. It’s clear Timothy has some connection within Clifford.”
The courtier’s heart pounded so loudly he could almost hear it. He knew the gravity of accusing his superior. If the king sided with Timothy, he would be utterly ruined. But if the king even suspected Timothy, his own position would rise.
This was a gamble for power, a chance to climb higher and earn the king’s trust.
“…”
But no answer came.
The courtier glanced sideways at Damon, who wore a strange expression—part anger, part regret, even despair and sorrow.
The king’s reaction was nothing he expected. He dropped his head to the floor and shouted, “I swear on everything, this is the truth, Your Majesty!”
“Lower your voice.” Damon pinched his forehead, frowning.
Just like before, Timothy was betraying Burgos. Despite differences in their relationship and distance, the outcome was the same. For Damon, who wished to change Burgos’s future, this was a death sentence. No matter what you do, the future won’t change.
If you can’t even change the fate of one small life like Timothy, how can you hope to alter the course of a great nation like Burgos?
All these questions echoed in Damon’s mind, transformed into Ian’s voice, tearing through his thoughts.
Crash!
Clink!
Damon hurled a decorative object against the wall. His breath came in ragged gasps, and with every shattering sound, Ian’s voice seemed to scatter further.
The courtier trembled, lying flat and waiting for the king’s fury to subside. Timothy was the envoy leader and the king’s closest confidant. If he truly was a traitor, such a reaction was natural. The courtier only hoped the shattered glass wouldn’t cut him.
“Haa… haa…”
After a long outburst, only heavy breathing remained. Damon slumped into his chair and searched for a cigarette.
“Timothy has a family, yes?”
“Y-yes, Your Majesty. A wife and children.”
“Timothy will lead the war effort. You—”
A harsh command escaped Damon with a sigh and a plume of smoke.
“Detain his wife and children. Responsibility to family must be paid with life. Show him what pain worse than death truly is.”
The chilling words made the courtier sweat without realizing it. What would they do to Timothy’s family while he was away? The memory of the warm smile from his own wife flashed through his mind. But it was too late to turn back. He closed his eyes tightly and imagined his own future.
“And you.”
“Y-yes, Your Majesty.”
“Tell Timothy he cannot participate in the war. Offer him a dismissal in exchange for staying in Burgos. Assure him his family will be well cared for.”
Timothy would surely wonder why the king was bypassing him to speak directly. It was suspicious, but there would be no time for doubt in the coming storm of war. The courtier nodded again.
“Yes, Your Majesty. I will carry out your orders perfectly!”
“…Leave.”
The gamble had paid off. His legs trembling, the subordinate barely managed to stagger out of the audience chamber. The king, who believed his words on nothing but a hunch and without any proof, had shown no sign of doubt. It was clear now—he had always harbored some suspicion toward Timothy.
“Timothy… so it’s come to this again—”
Damon stubbed out his cigarette and kicked the desk in frustration. Outwardly, he pretended to care for Burgos, for himself, but nothing had changed.
It was a personal disappointment, a burning anger—but beneath it all, it was the crushing frustration of knowing the future he wanted to change was set in stone.
“No. No, no, this can’t be.”
This time would be different. The small pebbles might remain where they were, but the river of Burgos, led by Damon, would carve a new path. It would flood Bariel, fill the palace, and he would watch the shimmering surface gleam brilliantly above it all.
This life’s Burgos was different. This life’s Damon was different. Clutching his head, he muttered to himself like a ghost whispering through the vast audience hall.
“You didn’t meet Timothy?”
“Yeah. Someone else was there. That palace traitor died, and his shadow dragged the corpse away. We just got out of there.”
Beric was tearing into his meat as he reported, while Barsabe hung his head in shame.
Beric might be careless, but Barsabe had rarely ever messed up a mission. He’d rather die than return empty-handed.
And yet, all they managed was to climb onto the roof. It felt like a stain on the palace guard’s reputation.
“Sorry. There were too many people, so it was hard to follow. Above all, we decided not to risk being spotted by the shadow and stopped the pursuit to return to the palace first.”
“No, that was the right call. If Cliffford found out those two met, things would get complicated. Good work, Barsabe.”
“What about me? I worked my ass off too. Climbing roofs, crawling up ledges, got my head stuck on a railing—look at this scratch on my neck. Ugh, it’ll take a year to heal.”
Beric whined dramatically over a mere scratch while chewing his meat. Ian laughed, amused by his blatant demand for praise.
“You did work hard.”
“Did work hard? I did work hard, not just ‘did work hard.’”
“Alright, eat up. The palace chef remembers your name now.”
“Eat up” was both praise and reward. As Beric laughed and grabbed handfuls of meat, suddenly—
Crack, crack!
Boom!
“Ah! You scared me!”
“Something’s wrong!”
The palace attendants burst into the wizard’s annex without warning. The wizards, just starting to stir, froze and turned toward the door.
“T-The border! Burgos’ army has appeared!”