Vaskel's foot tapped harder against the marble as Setsuna stepped forward. His lip curled. "Why is he even here?"
"Because the Crown asked for me. Obviously."
"Silence."
Cedric's voice cut clean through the chamber. The air seemed to tighten at once, every word carrying the weight of command. His golden wings shifted faintly as he leaned forward on the throne — a towering seat of white stone veined with gold, its back carved into sweeping wings that fanned outward like a fairy's, catching the light in delicate arcs.
Below him, the captains stood aligned in silence — Vaskel to the left, Idris at the center, and Setsuna on the right — each a pillar of power, yet all bound beneath the king's gaze.
"Let us begin. First—Vaskel."
Vaskel straightened instantly, though his jaw twitched.
"Is it true," Cedric said slowly, "that you are expelling Rulthan from your squad?"
"Yes, Your Majesty."
"And why is that?"
Vaskel's eyes slid toward Setsuna, bitterness sharp in his tone. "Because he lost to his filth in the arena. Keeping him is an embarrassment to me and my squad. I have no use for someone who couldn't even defeat filth."
The hall chilled. Cedric's gaze narrowed, his voice dropping lower. "…Filth? Embarrassment?"
A silence followed that pressed on every breath.
"So you are telling me," Cedric continued, his tone now cutting ice, "that the one I handpicked to join the tournament is filth? That my judgment is an embarrassment to you?"
Vaskel froze, color draining from his face. "N-no, that's not what I meant, Your Majesty—"
"Shut up." Cedric's voice cracked like a whip. "I do not care what you call your slaves, and I do not care that the nobles are laughing at you. But you will never again call my choice filth."
His eyes burned colder. "Did I make myself clear?"
The weight in the room deepened, gravity itself seeming to drag Vaskel down. He bowed his head, his hair falling forward to shadow his face. "...Yes, Your Majesty."
"Good. Then listen carefully: Rulthan stays in your squad. End of discussion. Now—take your leave."
Vaskel swallowed, then stepped back. His retreating footsteps echoed against the marble, fading toward the heavy doors.
Setsuna's lips tugged upward, the smile sharp, unbothered — savoring every flicker of Vaskel's humiliation.
Idris exhaled smoke through his nose, rolling his eyes at the display. "Gloating as always," he muttered under his breath.
Setsuna tilted his head. "What can I say? He had it coming."
"Enough."
Cedric's voice cut the moment short. His gaze shifted, landing squarely on Idris. The cold authority in his eyes hadn't softened in the slightest.
"How is Aoi doing?"
Idris took the pipe from his lips, answering smoothly. "Fine. He's in shape."
"Excellent." Cedric leaned back against the throne. "I want to be sure he won't throw his next match against Kazuo."
Idris shook his head. "He wouldn't. He's eager to fight him — reckless for it, even. Though to be blunt…" His brow lifted ever so slightly. "I can't see why exactly."
The faint pause lingered, betraying the lie he wrapped in composure. Idris knew more than he let on — but not here, not before the king.
"It doesn't matter. All I require is that he takes this matter seriously."
After hearing that, Setsuna's smile faded in an instant. He stood a little straighter, watching Cedric with new weight in his eyes. The implication was clear enough.
Cedric's hand waved lazily. "Take your leave, Idris."
Idris inclined his head, slipping the pipe back between his lips. As he turned, his eyes flicked briefly toward Setsuna — a quiet exchange — before he strode from the hall.
The heavy doors closed, leaving Cedric and Setsuna alone.
His gaze shifted at last, pinning Setsuna where he stood. "How is Kazuo doing?"
"Since he joined my squad, he's obeyed without a word. Never complained, never caused trouble. He's held up his end of the deal — just as you've held up yours."
Cedric inclined his head. "Good. But to be certain — do you believe he can beat Aoi?"
Setsuna didn't answer at once. He knew Aoi was Kazuo's natural counter, especially with lightning. And yet, in the silence, a face flickered through his mind — Eleanor, and the change she had wanted. He closed his eyes briefly. "No. He will not."
Cedric studied him, eyes sharp as razors. He knew Setsuna wouldn't dare to lie. Still, he pressed. "Setsuna, I do trust you in this matter. But let's say there is a small possibility — that he defeats Aoi. Let's say it happens. I want to be certain you told him… regarding the wish."
Setsuna opened his eyes, half-lidded. "You have nothing to worry about, Your Majesty. I explained it to him in full. I warned him clearly — and I made it plain I'd kill him myself if he ever crossed that line. He knows."
Cedric nodded once, relieved. "Then we've achieved our goal. Kazuo is a pawn now — a noble folded into the system. The tournament itself changes nothing. Still…" His gaze sharpened, the words carrying more weight than he let show. "…I take no chances."
Setsuna hesitated, then asked, "If you don't mind, asking how do you view him now? Since I was the one who brought him here."
Cedric uncrossed his legs slowly, rising with controlled grace. His golden wings shifted as he clasped his hands behind his back. "He's smart enough to survive unfair conditions. That much has earned my respect. But his eyes…" His gaze narrowed faintly. "…they still baffle me. I don't care for his magic affinity — but others do. And paired with those eyes, it stirs questions best left unanswered."
Setsuna's voice was quiet. "So you've found nothing?"
"Nothing." Cedric's reply carried a cold edge. "But he is the talk of the Upper Crescent — the center of every whisper and every eye. That ends with the tournament. Afterward, his light fades."
He descended the dais, his tone dropping lower, deliberate, each syllable weighted. "There is something I don't like. If certain things ever become rumor, they spread like rot. And rumors — even false ones — always carry a sliver of danger."
By the time he reached the floor, he stood eye to eye with Setsuna. Neither looked away.
His gaze hardened. "You know what I mean. I am talking about the illustration of the White Serpent."
Cedric's tone sharpened, clipped like a blade against stone. "The illustration no longer exists — I burned it with my own hands. That should have been the end of it. But if somehow word ever goes out… I will know where to search."
He stepped past Setsuna, the chamber thick with his presence, every stride a reminder of who held dominion. Then, as he passed, his eyes cut back, cold and absolute.
"I forbid you — and Kazuo — from ever investigating it. This is an order."
Setsuna stood still, gaze lowered. In that moment, the pieces clicked — Cedric or Elyria must have borrowed that tome before it vanished. Which meant Kazuo had spoken with Elyria, even after Setsuna told him to stay away from her.
"…Understood," he answered.
Cedric strode on, wings folding with quiet finality as he reclaimed his place at the center of the chamber.
"Take your leave. And do not let your emotions disrupt your judgment."
Setsuna shifted, ready to turn — but Cedric's voice cut once more. "Just one more thing. You never asked me why. You simply accepted it when I introduced Aoi in the battle royal."
Setsuna's gaze flicked back, unreadable. "There's no use in asking a question when the answer won't change a thing."
With that, Setsuna bowed his head and departed the throne room — leaving Cedric alone in the silence.