Chapter 49
White House
Central Cerdes.
A lone castle towered over the middle of an evenly spread plain.
The land was fertile and open enough to make perfect farmland, yet nothing grew there but grass, forming an endless green meadow. There was no sign of people or any other living creatures nearby.
It looked like an island resting upon a sea of green.
This was Blancaros’s domain and the seat of the Grand Council, where matters concerning every continent were handled.
It was commonly known as the White House.
Ferda had finally arrived.
‘Is this the place?’
Ferda looked up at the castle gate.
It was already open.
To an ordinary person’s eyes, there was nothing more to see, but those accustomed to mana, like Ferda, could perceive it.
A translucent white curtain stretched before the gate, forming a barrier shaped like a rounded dome.
Order and territory.
As long as those two conditions were satisfied, no one within Blancaros’s domain could defy him.
Not even a god.
“You may put your mind at ease.”
A young man’s voice came from beyond the gate.
Ferda turned toward the voice and saw a man standing there.
“Lord Blancaros is generous toward those who observe rules and order.”
Ferda studied the man’s appearance.
He wore pure white clothes, and his skin was just as pale.
His bloodless complexion brought a vampire to mind.
It would have been an apt comparison if not for the pair of horns and the lack of eyes.
The man placed a hand over his chest and introduced himself.
“Forgive my belated introduction. I am Blancaros’s Hand, and I have been assigned to guide you, Lord Ferda.”
As expected, he was one of Blancaros’s Spawns.
Blancaros had three Spawns in total: the Hand, the Mouth, and the Eyes.
As each was named after a body part, they specialized in the function associated with that part.
Unlike the Spawns of most other dragons, they were courteous.
“Please come inside. I shall guide you.”
And they were incapable of leaving Blancaros’s domain.
“Very well.”
Ferda reached a hand into the domain.
The instant he did, he felt tiny particles burrowing between the pores of his skin.
Soon afterward, he noticed something strange in the movement of the Circle residing within his dantian.
It was gradually slowing down.
However, it did not jerk or catch as though obstructed by some foreign object.
Instead, it felt completely natural, as though Ferda himself were willingly relaxing his strength.
‘Truly astonishing.’
An absolute domain.
Because that absoluteness applied even to Blancaros himself, the domain was incomparably delicate and solid.
Yet the suppression did not completely neutralize his power.
The message it conveyed was clear.
‘Try harming someone, should you think yourself capable.’
However, he would not escape Blancaros’s gavel of judgment.
He would not be left with so much as a shred of an excuse.
That was what the domain sought to emphasize.
‘I should still be able to move a Shadow Hand.’
The concentration required to form a magic circle was also being interfered with, but that did not matter as long as he did not create one.
After all, Shape of Shadow was precisely what he had learned for situations like this.
Ferda glanced behind him.
Zed and Arwon, who had been following him, also looked uncomfortable.
“How does it feel to set foot inside the domain?”
“Not particularly pleasant. I suppose I would describe it as a sense of helplessness. My eyes feel rather dry as well.”
“I feel the same. It is as if some of my strength has been drained away. I do not think I can use Aura…”
The knight could not use Aura, while Zed’s unique abilities as a member of the Red-Eyed Tribe were being obstructed.
“Luri, what about you?”
“I feel nothing unusual.”
“Is that so?”
The conversation ended without further comment.
However, anyone observing the two of them would have found it strange enough.
Arwon subtly leaned toward Zed and asked,
“Did something happen between that Spawn lady and the Regent?”
“I don’t know. I’ve decided not to concern myself with those two.”
When dragons fought, it was humans who suffered.
Having already experienced that once, Zed shuddered.
“There are five hours remaining until the summit begins. Would you like to go to your rooms, or would you prefer the banquet hall?”
“What is the difference?”
“Whether you wish to rest or socialize. Many guests have already gathered in the banquet hall.”
“Of course we should go to the banquet hall, shouldn’t we?”
Zed’s eyes gleamed more brightly than usual.
When Ferda looked at him with contempt, Zed hurriedly offered an excuse.
“Think about it. As the saying goes, know yourself and know your enemy, and you need not fear the result of a hundred battles. Would it not be best to learn about the others in advance?”
“I was thinking the same thing.”
“Then why did you look at me like that?”
“Because that is not your reason.”
Zed glared at him in disbelief, but he could not bring himself to deny it.
“Take us to the banquet hall.”
“Understood.”
Blancaros’s Hand began leading the way.
Before following him, Ferda patted Zed on the shoulder.
“Be sure to enjoy the banquet to your heart’s content.”
“Pardon? Ah, yes. Thank you.”
As they continued walking, Ferda’s words began to weigh on Zed’s mind.
He thought about them again and again.
‘Surely not.’
It could not be.
Yet it might be.
Ferda was certainly capable of doing something like that.
Unable to dismiss the possibility, Zed cautiously asked him,
“You are not planning to use this banquet as a substitute for the investiture banquet, are you?”
“…”
“You… aren’t, right?”
Ferda did not say no.
***
The White House banquet hall.
With only five hours remaining until the summit, a great many nobles had already gathered there.
Had there been no limit on the number of companions each person could bring, the banquet hall would already have been packed beyond capacity.
The enormous white doors slid open, and laughter and music spilled out from within.
“Oh.”
It was Ferda’s first time entering the Grand Council.
Even Ferda, who was not easily moved, could not help but voice his admiration at the sight.
He had thought the buildings of the Empire extravagant, but they had ultimately been constructed by humans.
A dragon’s architecture delivered a shock of an entirely different magnitude.
Inside, people familiar with such an atmosphere chatted and laughed among themselves.
And it was not merely humans who were present.
Even races that rarely mingled with human society had attended, including an elven high chieftain, dwarves, and gnomes.
“Ooh…”
The one who could no longer suppress his amazement was Arwon.
Zed watched him and smiled as though he found the sight endearing.
“Is this your first party, Sir Knight?”
“No. I have attended plenty of parties while accompanying the Count on official business.”
“Then stop making that country bumpkin face. Everyone can tell.”
“Ah, r-right…”
At Zed’s warning, Arwon readily acknowledged his mistake and kept his gaze fixed straight ahead.
The awkwardness did not disappear.
‘Consilus was right.’
Arwon was a man who needed experience.
Unlike the country bumpkin Arwon, neither Zed nor Luri was swept away by the atmosphere.
Zed was far too accustomed to high society.
As for Luri, she simply marched to the beat of her own drum.
And the emotion Ferda felt beneath all this splendor was—
‘It feels as though I have entered a den of vipers.’
Displeasure.
This was on an entirely different level from his contests of will with provincial lords.
The moment their eyes met, it felt as though a battle had begun.
Even their friendly gazes constantly searched for weaknesses.
From their brief greetings to the moment they turned away, everything they did seemed to be an appraisal of Ferda.
‘That must be why they were able to become high-ranking nobles and kings of nations.’
They possessed power.
The power to endure in their positions.
The power to climb to the seats they desired.
And the power to drag down those already occupying those seats.
What should one do when surrounded by such people?
It was an exceedingly simple question.
Ferda merely straightened his back and strode forward as though daring them to watch.
He met each person’s gaze in turn and read the flow of the room.
Even in a social gathering where everyone mingled together, people ultimately clustered with their own factions.
Ferda considered it.
Suppose—
Suppose he were to join one of those groups.
Where should he go?
As he thought that, someone caught Ferda’s eye.
“Hoho, so you have arrived! Regent of Valdrova!”
Among the clustered groups of humans stood men and women dressed more extravagantly than anyone else.
They surrounded a man as though he were the very center of the gathering, and he was now beckoning Ferda over.
The emblem of the Arken Empire was embroidered on his shoulder.
‘Alexander Arken.’
The First Prince of the Arken Empire.
The incompetent emperor, Godfrey Arken.
Alexander Arken, the First Prince, and Ureas Arken, the Second Prince, had struggled desperately to pull Godfrey down from the imperial throne.
They had proclaimed it a historic moment that would herald a new leap forward for the Empire.
But the result had been disastrous.
Godfrey remained firmly in power, while his two sons became objects of ridicule.
‘Two incompetent sons who could not even depose an incompetent emperor.’
Their failure had made Godfrey appear almost virtuous by comparison, only strengthening his position on the throne.
To Ferda, who desired the Empire’s downfall, the two of them were nothing but useless fools.
“Allow me to introduce myself properly. I am Alexander Arken.”
The eldest son, Alexander Arken.
He was a man in his thirties, and the finely groomed beard he wore seemed intended to proclaim that he was already emperor.
“I am Ferda Valdrova. It is an honor to meet Your Highness, the First Prince.”
“I sent you a letter some time ago, but I apologize for failing to reply to yours. I was so overwhelmed with official duties that day that I barely had time to open my eyes.”
Bullshit.
As Ferda thought that, the woman standing beside Alexander chimed in.
“Hahaha! The prince has a hundred million subjects depending on him. Even two bodies would not be enough!”
Unlike the prince, who gleamed in gold, she wore blue clothing.
Her youthful appearance and boisterous laughter seemed exceedingly impudent, yet even Alexander did not dare rebuke her.
Despite her appearance, she was more than a hundred years old.
“And who might this handsome young man be? Won’t you introduce him to me, Your Highness?”
“Ah, of course! How rude of me! Allow me to introduce Lady Erdes Roton, Chairwoman of the Cerdes Human Magical Association.”
Erdes Roton.
Roton.
Once the greatest family of alchemists—
and the worst family of swindlers.
Erdes was the last surviving member of that bloodline.
She possessed neither territory nor title.
All she had was a Seventh Circle.
Yet beneath her name, every mage in human society was administered and controlled by her hand.
No—
They had to be controlled.
She was the sort of woman who could not be satisfied otherwise.
“I am Ferda Valdrova. It is truly an honor to meet such a great archmage.”
“Hahaha! I have long wished to behold His Majesty the Dread Queen’s noble countenance, but it seems I will meet his fiancé first.”
“I heard it would be difficult for Her Majesty to attend.”
“Of course I know that. This is a gathering for mortals, not immortals.”
She smiled.
Rather than a smile of genuine pleasure, it seemed closer to a reflex.
Her eyes remained fixed on Ferda.
“Regent of Valdrova—no, I think I will call you Regent Ferda. I am not accustomed to even speaking the name Valdrova itself, you see. You don’t mind, do you?”
“Do as you please.”
“How old are you?”
“Eighteen.”
“Were you born into a family of mages?”
“No. I was the third son of a knight named Rosnova.”
Her eyes widened as round as the full moon.
“…That is astonishing! I have heard that knights also practice mana cultivation, but I understood it to be merely secondary. Yet what I sense from your body is unmistakably that of a mage.”
“I trained as a mage.”
“Oh, did you? Then you have achieved a great deal at such a young age! Hahaha!”
Her tongue moved without pause beneath her booming laughter.
“I heard about you from the prince. They say you made a significant contribution when the Empire hunted down some rats recently.”
“Rats?”
“The dark mages.”
Ferda remembered.
She was referring to the group of dark mages hiding in the underground waterways.
In truth, he had eliminated them because they would clearly become obstacles to the Empire’s eventual collapse.
Still, Ferda did not lie.
“I merely made a small contribution toward the greater cause.”
“Don’t be so modest. That was not the end of your achievements, was it? You also dealt with Thessalos Walcher.”
This time, she was referring to what had happened when all the lords had gathered before the engagement ceremony.
A man Ferda had not intended to kill—
but had been forced to.
“That damned bastard was researching dark magic, wasn’t he?”
“That is correct.”
“It was fascinating. According to the records, he had been an utterly mediocre mage with no talent to speak of. Yet they say his rage caused him to mutate into a Red Circle mage. He must have made some progress after that.”
Erdes leaned forward.
“Because he had fallen into dark magic.”
The wine in the glass she held swirled gently.
“Do you know something? I absolutely despise dark mages.”
Her hatred of dark mages was well known.
She followed a policy of zero tolerance toward anyone who practiced black magic.
She stripped them of their qualifications and shattered their Circles, ensuring they could never live as mages again.
“I hate them so much that merely breathing the same air in the same room makes me want to strangle myself.”
“Is that so?”
“Talentless trash sell their souls to demons, then dress up what they received as the fruit of hard work. They do not even realize that they will eventually become puppets worse than dogs, reduced to something lower than wandering ghosts haunting the gutter.”
Her narrowed eyes glowed blue.
“What about you, Lord Ferda? What do you think of those who practice dark magic, hmm?”
The emotion in her eyes was unmistakable hatred.
It was the gaze she directed toward black mages.
“More specifically, what do you think would happen if someone inherited and continued a form of necromancy that used monsters as its medium?”
That hatred was directed at Ferda.
The meaning was clear.
‘I know who you are.’
She knew that Ferda possessed a Red Circle.
She also knew that he had learned black magic.
That was why she was looking at him with such loathing.
As the strongest mage among humanity, her hatred alone was something to be feared.
‘But do you know even that much?’
Did she know that her own hatred had tightened the noose around her neck?
That she had fallen into the grave she had dug with her hatred?
And that the one who had pushed her into it—
was none other than Ferda himself?