Chapter 532

Shatima’s gaze caught the very edge of the sky.

It felt as if everything she had ever believed in was being denied. No matter how close one might be to the gods, in the end, they were still human. Yet here was nature’s order bending to their will. It was astonishing, terrifying, and at the same time, awe-inspiring.

King Cliford stole a glance at Shatima before extending a wine glass toward her—a silent invitation to toast.

“Prime Minister Shatima, would you care for a drink?”

His sharp cheekbones, firm mouth, and the countless colorful dots tattooed to conceal his eyes and gaze gave nothing away at first glance. But Cliford could tell—Shatima was quietly soaking in the wonder before her.

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“If only the King of Hawan could witness this spectacle. What a pity. Can mere human words truly capture such a feeling?”

Could one even begin to grasp the limits of the mages? Could they foresee Bariel’s future as well? The unsetting light, the darkness that inevitably recedes—this sky above embodies everything Bariel stands for, everything you are about to confront.

Cliford spoke gently, and Shatima quickly caught his meaning. He was trying to persuade her. The path forward for Hawan was not in Burgos or any other land, but here, in Bariel.

“Look over here! The breeze is light and refreshing—just like dawn,”

“It’s beautiful. It’s like watching sunset and sunrise at the same time. Can you see the clouds drifting? Hey!”

“Oh my, it really is. Incredible.”

“Simply magnificent!”

The view from the wide-open balcony gave everyone watching a sense of certainty. The miracle unfolding before them was no illusion—it was real.

A soft rustle.

Then, like a gentle drizzle, tiny beams of light began to fall. They adorned the place like a grand chandelier, and the crowd couldn’t help but marvel at the splendor.

As the orchestra shifted its tune and palace dancers took the stage, the grand banquet officially began. Nobles clasped hands with like-minded peers and twirled gracefully, while the clinking of glasses rang clear throughout the hall.

Shatima was about to savor another drink, enjoying the breeze, when—

“Excuse me.”

Ian’s voice cut through the hum. Dressed impeccably in his uniform, he bowed in the Bariel manner. The fresh green eyes she remembered were gone, replaced by sharp, golden eyes like a lion’s.

He looked more tense than when she’d last seen him in the Ministry’s courtyard—no doubt from maintaining four portals and leading the mages through the endless daylight.

Even to an ordinary person, it was clear he was accomplishing the impossible.

“Your Majesty, the King of Astana will first be granted an audience with the Crown Prince. Following him will be King Cliford, and then the Prime Minister of Hawan.”

“Oh, very well.”

“Please follow the mage this way.”

“We shall meet soon.”

Hasha smiled, and Ian returned the gesture, faint and fleeting as it was.

“Please wait here for a moment. If there’s anything uncomfortable, do let me know. I hope you enjoy the Empire’s festival to the fullest.”

“Thank you. And congratulations.”

“Please direct your congratulations to the Crown Prince, not me.”

“But aren’t you part of this honor as well? By the way, when is the coronation?”

Though the enthronement had begun, the moment recorded in history would be the coronation. Ian clicked his pocket watch as if to say, “Watch closely.”

“With the boundary between day and night erased, it will be 100 hours from now.”

“Hahaha! Very well, understood.”

“Then, I’ll take my leave.”

Ian stepped back, whispering instructions to the mages before disappearing from sight.

About ten minutes passed.

A Hawan attendant approached Shatima with a report. The audience with the King of Astana was nearly over, and they wanted to check the final tribute.

“Prime Minister, everything has been transferred into the boxes.”

“Have you completed the inspection?”

“Yes, no issues.”

“…But where is Eri?”

Erika was nowhere to be seen. The attendant looked uneasy as she answered Shatima’s question.

“She said she’d step out briefly but hasn’t returned.”

“…Understood.”

Shatima’s jaw tightened. She knew Erika wasn’t foolish, but such unilateral actions were unacceptable.

Since she was from the Imperial Investigation Corps, she wouldn’t have gotten lost. And with King Cliford watching closely, there was no room for further discussion.

“Oh dear, next up is our own Noah.”

“Yes, Father.”

“Did you pack the grapes carefully? What if they got crushed?”

“Don’t worry about that. Just be careful going down the stairs.”

As the Astana delegation stepped down from the dais, Cliford’s side grew busy.

“Where is Sir Ian?”

“He’s outside the banquet hall.”

“I have a message for the Ministry. Please escort me.”

“Yes, this way.”

Hasha sought Ian immediately upon descending. They needed to share what they’d discovered about the doll quickly. Ian pushed through the dancing nobles in a daze and soon exited the grand hall.

Tap, tap, tap.

Near the banquet hall, in a quiet corridor.

Unlike the noisy interior, the hallway was calm. Hasha encountered a mage from the Ministry and, after a brief exchange, was led to a separate annex on the opposite side of the hall.

“Sir Ian, the King of Astana has requested a brief meeting.”

“Bring him in.”

Creak.

The door opened to reveal golden-eyed mages sprawled across sofas. They seemed too weak to rise, merely nodding in greeting to Hasha.

“What’s the matter, King Hasha?”

“…Sir Ian, are they all right?”

Unlike the mages lying helplessly, Ian sat at a desk, reviewing reports. His face was paler than when seen at the banquet, but otherwise seemed fine.

Ian shrugged as he looked around at the mages.

“Well, it would be a lie to say they’re all fine, but they’re holding on. I’d like to be more formal, but as you can see, it’s difficult. Sorry about that.”

“Nonsense, among us! I too have fought alongside mages on the battlefield. Speak freely.”

“No, this is an official event. With so many watching and listening, I must maintain decorum. Is this about the doll you asked about earlier?”

“Yes. Katimako.”

At Hasha’s call, Katimako stepped forward, placing the doll and a dried fairy on the table. The mages reluctantly vacated the sofas, some wobbling, others rolling over.

Ian offered a handshake to Katimako, who appeared as a child, without any particular expression. Beric had already given him a thorough briefing.

“Pleasure to meet you. I am Katimako.”

“I am Ian Hielo, Minister of Magic.”

“To get straight to the point, yes, this doll is related to a curse. Dolls made from human skin are a traditional method. Usually, they use parts of the target’s body—commonly hair or other easily obtained items. But—”

“That’s unacceptable.”

“Yes. This is the Crown Prince of the Bariel Empire. If the doll’s silver hair belongs to His Highness, that’s a problem in itself. It means there’s a traitor very close within the palace.”

“Our investigation confirmed that all materials, including the human skin, are unidentifiable.”

“Expected. That’s because of this dried fairy.”

Plop.

Katimako set the fairy’s corpse, wrapped in cloth, before Ian. The mages who had stepped back now leaned in, stretching their necks. Who ever gets to see a fairy’s corpse in their lifetime?

“Do you know of Laromedia?”

“Never heard of it.”

“I’ve only seen it a handful of times myself. It’s known to inhabit the northern and southern polar regions of Gaia.”

Ian glanced at Romandro, silently instructing him to check the palace archives for any information on Laromedia.

Romandro quickly pulled out a notebook and began scribbling, while Katimako continued, mindful of his pace.

“Laromedia is a species that cultivates flowers and feeds on them. Though the exact mechanism is unknown, contact causes hallucinations and eventually leads to a mental state where the victim believes the hallucinations are reality.”

“Hallucinations?”

“Yes. Because of this trait, it was often used in propaganda. The content of the puppet show is important. If it’s negative or malicious, we can assume the puppeteer intended to implant those ideas into the masses.”

Ian and Romandro exchanged a sharp glance.

The content was so disrespectful and dangerous it was unthinkable to speak aloud—it dared to question the Crown Prince’s qualifications.

“Does it actually work?”

“Since it’s a dried corpse, the effect is far weaker than when alive. But like raindrops soaking clothes, repeated exposure would certainly have an effect.”

Ian pressed his forehead briefly. A faction seeking to overthrow the palace had infiltrated Bariel. They hadn’t caught the puppeteer, and they didn’t even know if they were a citizen.

Romandro bit the back of his pen in frustration.

“We should have grabbed even a scrap of their clothing to teach them a lesson! Good grief!”

“Has a Laromedia habitat ever been found near Bariel?”

“I’m not sure. As I said, I’ve rarely seen one myself. The latest reports I’ve heard place them near Toorun.”

Toorun.

The name sparked a connection in Ian’s mind. Rutherford, Burgos, Toorun—and the underground god who wished for the downfall of Bariel.

Ian carefully gathered the fairy’s corpse and handed it over to Romandro, instructing him to keep it well preserved.

“Understood. And thank you for your help.”

“If there’s anything else to report, I’ll relay it as it comes up. And if you have any questions, don’t hesitate to ask.”

“Yes. How was your audience with His Majesty?”

“The hospitality was overwhelming—I hardly knew how to respond.”

“That’s good to hear. Now, let’s return to the banquet hall and enjoy the food and drink. We’ll wrap things up soon and head back.”

Hasha and Katimako glanced over at the mages. They were barely standing—who knows if they could do anything in that state. More importantly, what about the war?

“Will you be joining the battle later?”

“No, we’re fighting alongside you. Everyone is carefully managing and distributing their magic. The time it takes to reach Burgos from the center is a chance to recover, and we plan to make full use of it. The Magic Department is also developing healing potions. There’s nothing to worry about in Astana.”

“As your king and your friend, I worry nonetheless.”

“I appreciate your concern.”

Ian smiled faintly, and Hasha gave his shoulder a light tap—a signal that they’d be leaving first.

As the guests from Astana exited the waiting room, the mages who had been barely standing suddenly collapsed, their legs giving out beneath them as they tumbled to the floor.

Thud.

“Ugh, I’m really dead tired. Can we get this covered as an industrial accident? Maybe some financial compensation or treatment would help.”

“Everyone, gather your things and let’s move out.”

“Ian, are you leaving now? Let’s rest a bit longer.”

“No, let’s take a little more time. The banquet hall’s still full of people having fun anyway.”

“Shift change.”

“Ah, this is maddening. Why does break time always feel so short?”

“Because it actually is, dummy.”

Squeak.

Ian stepped out of the waiting room with Romandro and turned toward the banquet hall. From a distance, he noticed someone slowly entering—a woman dressed in the Hwan delegation’s attire, her face partially hidden. She hesitated briefly upon seeing Ian but then walked naturally toward the entrance. Bit by bit, she drew closer.

“Please, come in.”

“…”

Ian opened the door without hesitation. The woman nodded slightly and slipped inside quickly. Seeing this, Ian’s brow furrowed.

“Romandro.”

“Hm?”

“Doesn’t that back look familiar?”

“I’m not sure. Why? Do you recognize her?”

Romandro stared intently at the woman but couldn’t place her.

Ian followed her inside, unsettled by a strange sense of familiarity.