Episode 462
Meanwhile, Tweller dashed down the corridor, draping the armor handed to him by a subordinate over his shoulders.
Though the summons had come suddenly, it wouldn’t take long for the forces to assemble. By a stroke of luck, foreign envoys were currently inside the palace, engaged in peace talks. For the sake of mutual safety and peaceful dialogue, the palace guards had already entered a semi-war footing, fully armed and ready.
“There are three exhibition halls in total. Which one exactly?”
“The largest one—the central exhibition hall.”
“Minister! A body has been found in the garden leading to the Second Palace! The wounds are severe, so it appears to be the work of an intruder!”
Tweller halted in his tracks. The Second Palace was far from here, the source of the commotion. Yet intruders had reached that far? He let out a deep sigh, the smoke from his cigarette swirling chaotically.
“If they’ve already moved that far, quite some time may have passed since the intrusion.”
“The route is also uncertain. Despite the explosion heard here, they might have entered through another path. It’s best to search the entire palace, starting with the Second Palace garden.”
“According to Romandro’s report, Rutherford is here. We can’t afford to split our forces. The Second Palace houses the Magic Department—request support from the duty officers there—”
At the mention of the Magic Department, a certain name flashed through Tweller’s mind: Damon Runkvis.
“Isn’t King Damon currently detained by the Magic Department?”
“Yes. They’re in charge of his interrogation…”
“Ah!”
It was already known from the peace talks that Rutherford was behind Damon. The Burgos delegation had openly declared they were acting under Rutherford’s orders, disregarding their national duties.
Burgos had been defeated, its throne vacant.
And Rutherford was extending his influence there.
“This is an attempt to seize King Damon. Inform the Magic Department immediately and strengthen their defenses!”
“The Burgos delegation could also be a target.”
“We’ll keep King Damon confined within the Magic Department and move the Burgos delegation as far away as possible.”
“Move quickly!”
As the officers scattered in all directions, Tweller stepped forward to personally oversee the situation.
Before the massive arched entrance to the exhibition hall, soldiers stood tensely, swords drawn, as if troubled by some unseen force. Approaching, Tweller heard their uneasy report.
“Minister!”
“Is entry impossible?”
“Yes. We can’t get in. It seems to be a protective barrier…”
A faint buzzing filled the air.
Tweller reached out to the shimmering invisible wall. Sparks flew, and a sharp heat burned his palm.
Magic. A protective shield cast over the entire building. The problem was, no one knew if it was the Magic Department’s doing or Rutherford’s faction.
“Minister, if it’s the palace’s own magicians, they wouldn’t block our soldiers. Lord Ian sent Romandro to alert us and request support, didn’t he?”
“I agree. How about using the Empire Defense Department’s magic-sealing stones to break through?”
“Isolating ourselves only benefits Rutherford’s group. The sooner we decide, the safer it will be for the magicians inside.”
“If they’re trying to hold this building, might there be a secret passage connecting it to the outside? We need to secure it as soon as possible.”
“Minister Tweller! Please decide!”
“Or should we bring the magic-sealing stones first, then decide—”
All the officers pressed Tweller in unison. Given the circumstances, it was likely Rutherford’s faction blocking the palace soldiers’ entry.
Though wary of the magicians, they also understood their importance, which made the officers’ urgency all the more pressing.
Then, a rough shout came from behind.
“Hey!”
Short and sharp, but instantly recognizable.
“Beric’s here! Why are you all dawdling here?”
Behind him came Barsabeo.
“Excuse me, Minister. His Highness Jin has sent two royal guards out of concern for Lord Ian and the Magic Department’s safety. Regardless of Rutherford’s arrest, we’ll first confirm Lord Ian’s condition.”
Unlike the wild stallion Beric, Barsabeo spoke politely and rationally, stating his identity and purpose.
Tweller stepped aside to let them through.
“If it’s the prince’s order, of course.”
“Thank you.”
“However, the barrier will slow you down.”
“A barrier?”
As Barsabeo rolled up his sleeves and approached, Tweller hesitated. Right—he had completely forgotten because of that wild stallion. The palace guards were mostly magic swordsmen, instinctively sensitive to magical energy, unlike ordinary people.
Barsabeo cautiously placed his hand on the barrier and frowned.
“A strange energy? It must be Rutherford’s doing.”
“Then hurry and break it—”
“No.”
Barsabeo firmly contradicted the officers.
“This is the Magic Department’s work.”
Rutherford stared intently at the bowed Ian.
The eerie silence grew heavier with time, unsettling him. It was unnatural not to hear any response. Yet this lowly boy didn’t even breathe.
“L-Lord Ian?”
“Good heavens, Lord Ian! Are you alright?”
“Y-You mad bastard! How dare you lay a hand on Lord Ian—!”
An unwelcome presence approached.
Rutherford slowly turned his head. Judging by their attire, they were palace magicians. He didn’t know what the red bands on their heads meant, but their foolish expressions amused him.
With a smirk, Rutherford tapped the back of Ian’s head with his fingertip, as if to show everyone what this boy, revered as a minister, was to him. Ian didn’t flinch.
“Proud magicians of Bariel, I see.”
“How rude! Step away from Lord Ian at once!”
“Hahaha. Lord Ian, huh.”
“W-What the hell are you babbling about…?”
“You know nothing. How filthy, emaciated, and foul-smelling Ian truly is.”
“W-What did you say—”
Rutherford passed by Ian slowly, each deliberate step seeming to sink the magicians’ hearts.
That Ian couldn’t even resist, kneeling like this—whether by magic or illusion, they couldn’t tell—made them question if they could even stand against him. Alone, Rutherford might be manageable, but the number of conspirators visible through the half-open exhibition hall door was daunting.
“Stop! Don’t move!”
“Those who seek to capture me have no fear of getting close.”
“What have you done to Lord Ian, you bastard!”
“I was merely exchanging greetings after a long time. Is that a problem?”
Ian lowered his posture and remained silent. That was all. Just as they revered Ian, Ian seemed to revere Rutherford, kneeling before him.
The magicians’ eyes flickered briefly at this realization. Rutherford was the one who created Idgal, and Ian had confessed to aiding him. Like interlocking gears turning, the truth seemed to be revealing itself.
The magicians stepped back, calling out to Ian.
“Lord Ian! Snap out of it! Can’t you speak? What should we do?”
“Damn it! We need to understand what’s going on!”
“Please, tell us, Lord Ian!”
But there was no answer.
Rutherford twirled his long pipe with a satisfied smile. He couldn’t tolerate silence that defied him, but this silence, which dismissed his opponents, pleased him.
“Let’s see. I need to reduce the number of magicians here. Ah, no personal grudge, I assure you. It’s all part of a plan under the will of the gods.”
He exhaled a cloud of smoke, muttering to himself. Kill or spare? Spare or use? He was fully aware of his role as the perfect predator.
The magicians were overwhelmed by despair, fear, and confusion—until they noticed Ian’s hand touching the floor.
“Lord Ian… your hand.”
His knuckles were white from clenching so tightly. There was nothing to grasp, yet the trembling desperation was like clutching at a straw.
The magicians, who had been staring blankly, stopped retreating.
One by one, they removed their robes and laid them on the floor. Even if their bodies were consumed by flames, they hoped their robes would leave some trace in the world. This was a ritual of acceptance—acceptance of death.
‘His body won’t move by Lord Ian’s will.’
‘We are the only ones who can help Lord Ian now.’
‘We have no choice but to fight. If we don’t, everything will collapse.’
Whether it be the palace, Bariel, or even Ian himself.
Ziiing!
The magicians simultaneously unleashed their magic, enveloping the building in a massive protective barrier. It was meant to trap Rutherford’s faction, but also to prevent anyone in the palace from seeing Ian’s condition.
Ziiing!
A boy with radiant blonde hair and fresh green eyes gazed upon the world.
Among those close to divine power, he was the one who could soar highest.
Their guide, connected through a sixth sense.
Ziiing!
Shaaak!
Only Bariel could bring such a boy to his knees.
The power radiating from the wizards quickly filled the entire room. Rutherford watched with keen interest, clearly having anticipated this very moment.
“…It’s all pointless.”
Their secret passage was nothing but an illusion—just a painting. Even if the building were sealed off, what good would it do? He gently flicked his cigarette holder.
“I told you, this is all part of a plan ordained by divine will.”
Snap!
As ash scattered, those who had been lurking like shadows stepped forward before Rutherford. Blue light shimmered at their fingertips. Wizards.
The palace wizards and Rutherford’s own faced each other head-on, eyes sharp with caution.
“…This is the palace. Surrender peacefully. You were lucky coming in, but you won’t be so fortunate leaving.”
“Luck? We’ve never relied on something so small and faint. We’re here because of our own will, pure and unbroken.”
“Do you even understand what it means to create an Idgal?”
“It means handing the wizard’s lifeline to the author! What on earth are you thinking, supporting Rutherford like this?”
“How many times do I have to say this?”
Rutherford’s wizards lowered their stances.
“Under divine will.”
And the blue light deepened.
In response, the palace wizards painted their own aura with a rich yellow glow. The two sides locked eyes, each seeking the other’s throat in a tense standoff.
“…Enough.”
A clear voice rang out. Small, but impossible to ignore. Ian.
Everyone there, including Rutherford, turned their gaze. A child swaying against the wall, barely able to stand. His golden hair hung limply, obscuring his face.
“Ian! Are you alright?”
“Are you coming to your senses?”
“……!”
Unlike the wizards who showed relief, Rutherford’s expression twisted with unease. How was he still standing? He hadn’t given the order. Rutherford turned fully and strode toward Ian.
“Ian. Seems you found this little game of generals quite entertaining. Moving without thinking, unable to tell front from back.”
“…You?”
“What?”
Ian panted, muttering something barely audible. Rutherford leaned in closer to catch the words.
Suddenly, Ian grabbed the collar of his coat with a fierce grip.
Crack.
“……!”
“‘A plan ordained by divine will’?”
Blood trickled down Ian’s mouth, the inside torn from the strain.
“I wonder… if that plan included something like this.”
Ziiing! Ziiing!
The green eyes that had peeked through Ian’s golden hair instantly shifted to gold. In that split second, realizing how close they were, Rutherford tried to pull back—but he couldn’t break free from Ian’s grasp.
“If it did, then I think I’m the one destined by that fate.”