After finalizing the doll's design, Kashchey personally took charge of managing his territory with remarkable diligence.
"Someone's calling for the deportation of the infected? Set the petition aside. Our official response is that the matter is under review."
"Some infected individuals have requested leniency for violating the Ten Principles of Coexistence between Infected and Non-Infected Citizens? Denied. The penalties remain unchanged. Disregard their opinions and place them under strict surveillance. We need to determine whether they're genuinely foolish—or being manipulated by someone even more foolish."
"A request for a ceremony a year from now to celebrate the thousandth anniversary of Kashchey's joining the Ursus Empire? Approved. Rename it to 'The Duke's Thousand-Year Journey with Ursus Day.' Tell them to prepare thoroughly and promote it widely."
The Emperor's Blade, Smirnov, was shaken when he witnessed the two bodies—Kashchey and Koshelna—seated at separate desks, both frantically processing paperwork at the same time.
Since his appointment as the Duke's bodyguard, he had never seen Kashchey work so fervently.
A sinking feeling took root in his chest—and it didn't take long for that unease to materialize.
After clearing through a mountain of documents, Kashchey and Koshelna turned toward Smirnov at the same time. Their eyes locked onto him.
"Smirnov."
They spoke his name in unison, two distinct voices blending together in eerie harmony. A cold shiver ran down his spine.
He was still newly promoted and had never encountered such an uncanny scene.
"Do you still remember the contract I signed with the Emperor?" they said, voices overlapping. "Lately, this old body of mine has grown… weary."
Each time a new emperor ascended to the throne, the ancient Duke would make his way to the Ursus Palace to establish a new contract.
This ritual had begun with the death of the founding emperor of Ursus. Kashchey himself had proposed it—claiming it would ensure smoother communication and prevent any… awkward misunderstandings.
Although the terms of each contract could be negotiated between both parties, Kashchey had never once violated one once it came into effect.
The Empire's department tasked with overseeing Feranmuts and immortals considered the contract to be the final safeguard against the Duke.
But no one had ever dared confirm whether it truly held any power over him.
Smirnov recalled his training.
The most recent contract included a number of specific clauses. The first emperor to encounter them had seen no issue—in fact, he fully supported the terms.
"This will prevent Duke Kashchey from monopolizing power."
One clause in particular stood out:
When the Duke requests a leave of absence, he must first notify the Emperor's Blade and receive their approval. Leave is limited to one year. If it exceeds that, the Emperor must be formally informed.
[Clause: Duke Kashchey cannot take leave during a transfer of imperial power until a new contract is ratified.]
Duke Kashchey retains the right to decide whether or not he requires the protection of the Emperor's Blade. The only condition: he must leave behind an avatar capable of maintaining communication with the Empire.
This final clause, in truth, was the Empire's compromise with the immortal Duke.
After all, the nature of Kashchey's vacations often required him to conceal his identity, and bringing along Emperor's Blade would only draw unnecessary attention.
Besides, there were times when this ancient being sought excitement during his leisure. While he always returned unharmed, the process was inevitably nerve-wracking for the Emperor's Blade.
If he truly wanted to vanish for a secretive holiday, the Empire had no real way of stopping him.
Still, such behavior was detrimental to transparency and could endanger the fragile trust between the immortal and the state.
More importantly, for Kashchey, trying to work and vacation simultaneously was pure torment.
Sure, he could slack off in good conscience—but it was evident that a legitimate, sanctioned break would serve him better.
After all, some forms of entertainment demanded his full attention. Much like gaming, it required focus.
---
Smirnov had clearly grasped the reason why these two were staring at him so intently.
"His Excellency the Duke has poured all his strength and energy into serving the Empire… It is only right that he be granted some rest."
The Emperor's Blade, voice sincere, was clearly trying to offer Kashchey an acceptable way out.
Under Koshelna's gentle yet coercive gaze—and Kashchey's not-so-subtle, almost threatening one—Smirnov stiffly signed the leave request.
I'm not getting paid this year, Emperor's Blade thought, glumly.
Before this mission, the Emperor had given him explicit instructions: Approve as few of Kashchey's leave requests as possible.
What the first emperor had never anticipated was that every time Kashchey—the most intelligent Duke of the Ursus Empire—went on leave, the Empire's tax revenue would suffer a sharp decline.
"If he gets his leave approved, I'll deduct your pay."
"Then feel free to deny Lord Kashchey in person—if you dare!"
---
Kashchey planned to visit an old friend—someone he hadn't seen in many years.
That friend now lived in the snow-capped mountains, working as a nanny for others.
Even immortals have social needs.
Especially an immortal as… benevolent as Kashchey.
Naturally, he wouldn't use the Duke's body—doing so would risk sparking diplomatic complications.
Nor would he use Koshelna's. That body still required fixed linkage to the doll in the Duke's mansion. It would be some time before it could be fully operational.
In the end, he chose to inhabit Dr. Mobius.
From the outside world's perspective, this body bore no connection to Duke Kashchey.
And on the practical side, it allowed him to complete his investigation of Rhine Lab and deliver the report to Saria.
Truth be told, Kashchey himself was quite curious about the outcome.
---
On the snowy mountain, a woman with blue eyes and short black hair tinged with blue at the ends sat leisurely by the fire, warming herself as she read a book.
Her name was Kjera—a god of Kjerag, currently living in disguise as the Chief maid to the Saintess.
"I wonder when little Enya and her brother will finally reconcile… oh dear."
She sighed softly, thinking of how best to ease the tension between her saint and the girl's estranged sibling—completely unaware that, at that very moment, an uninvited guest had quietly slipped into Kjerag.
---
"It's really cold here."
Kashchey, now inhabiting Dr. Mobius's body, pulled her heavy sweater tighter around her.
Though this vessel was among the hardier ones in her collection, it had inherited Phidia's pronounced aversion to cold—a trait not so easily dismissed.
"Why hasn't Kjera come yet? Hasn't she sensed that her dear old friend is freezing out here?"
After standing stiffly in the snow for what felt like ages without any sign of Kjera, Mobius reluctantly made her way into a nearby tavern to warm herself.
Once inside and seated with a drink, she idly eavesdropped on the local patrons' chatter.
"Did you hear? The patriarch of the SilverAsh family returned to Kjerag recently. He's founded a company called Karlan Trading, and it's doing incredibly well."
"What about the other two clans? Are they really just going to stand by and let that happen? Word is, the clan leader's parents were killed by them…"
"Shh! Keep your voice down! Do you have a death wish? You think this is something you can talk about in public?"
Mobius, her earlier boredom now forgotten, sipped her drink and listened intently, clearly enjoying the tavern gossip.
But just as she was settling into the story, a cold hand suddenly slipped inside her collar.
The unexpected chill shot down her spine like ice, jolting her from her seat.
For someone who already loathed the cold, the sensation was almost unbearable.
"Ah—!"