"Commander, why don't we act now? Count Boris has already begun stationing men in Chernobog. If we delay any longer, I fear unforeseen complications will arise."
"The Festival of Duke Kashchey is about to begin. During this period, that vainglorious creature is at his most sensitive. Our goal is to spark war and restore the glory of the late Emperor—not to clash head-on with Duke Kashchey. Do you understand?"
"But when we incite riots under the name of the Reunion Movement, aren't we essentially making ourselves Kashchey's enemy?"
"…Good grief. How could I have such a dim-witted nephew? Have I not told you already? Duke Kashchey is the embodiment of Ursus' will. That means he will not allow his personal ties—even his adoptive daughter—to sway his judgment. Many emperors of Ursus have held grievances against him, yet Kashchey remains active as a duke to this day because he knows precisely what can and cannot be done… At worst, we simply spare the leader of Reunion, so as not to provoke him too far."
"Isn't that… a bit too optimistic? I mean… what if Duke Kashchey becomes furious at us for borrowing the name of Reunion?"
"…Were you not my late brother's only child, I would have had you shot on the spot."
The officer felt his chest tighten with rage at his nephew's reckless tongue.
Of course, no one could be absolutely certain about matters like these. But most events in history do not bend to individual attitudes; what mattered was whether the plan was feasible. To the officer, this one was. And if he wanted to rise quickly through the ranks, how could he do so without taking risks?
His own position as an officer was won by just such a gamble: seizing credit from a fallen comrade, even at the risk of being arrested.
Had anyone noticed what he had done on that battlefield, he would have been executed without question. Ursus military law was strict—such false reports of merit were a capital crime. Especially since their unit was accompanied by a mind-reader, a psychic adept capable of sensing lies. Normally such adepts restrained themselves, lest mistrust fracture the army from within. But in cases of falsified honors, they would surely act, and the penalty was death.
Yet no one noticed his deceit. And that taste of success had never left him.
---
"Lord Kjeragandr… I'm not sure this is such a good idea…"
Aboard a trade train belonging to Karlan, Enya sat uneasily inside a luxury two-person cabin, disguised alongside Kjeragandr. The fare was costly, but it was the only way to avoid unwanted eyes.
"What's the matter? Don't you want to see my friend's domain with your own eyes?" Kjera asked in puzzlement.
She had assumed Enya had simply grown bored of cloistering herself within the Holy Mountain, endlessly translating ancient texts. So she had suggested a journey—partly to broaden her horizons, partly to let her relax.
"I do want to go, but…"
Enya hesitated, her words trailing off.
As the nominal religious leader of Kjerag, the Saint's voice and Kjeragandr's vessel, she rarely had the freedom to step beyond her sanctuary. The excuse for her absence this time was drastic: after centuries of silence, Kjeragandr had supposedly descended with a divine oracle, demanding to meet with the Saint in private. No one was to disturb her.
Enya couldn't help but feel uneasy.
The entire Vine-Bear Court had erupted in chaos at the announcement. Even the heads of the Three Great Clans convened to discuss what could possibly prompt Kjeragandr—silent for centuries—to summon the Saint. None dared to trespass into the Holy Dwelling to see for themselves. After all, on that very day, clouds dispersed in a wide radius around the mountain, and snow swirled skyward—a miracle beyond doubt, proof of Kjeragandr's immense power.
"Relax. We're going on a little outing. At least try to enjoy yourself—don't keep such a solemn face."
Kjeragandr had clearly noticed Enya's unease.
She had once asked Kashchey whether she could bring along her Saintess.
Kashchey's answer was simple:
"Do as you please. As long as you can ensure your Saintess does not speak of my connection to that body of Mobius, it doesn't matter. That vessel still has its uses."
---
"…Understood, Lord Kjeragandr."
Seeing Kjeragandr's eagerness, Enya had no choice but to agree.
After all, with Kjerag long isolated from the outside world, she knew little of affairs beyond its borders.
In truth, the vast majority of Kjerag's people—including the current Saintess, Enya—had little understanding of Kashchey's infamous "reputation."
And among the very few who might have grasped the truth—Enciodas SilverAsh, for example—even he was unaware that his sister, along with Kjerag's god, was about to pay a visit to the Eternal Duke of Ursus.
Meanwhile, at the Council of Three Clans, a white-haired Feline man sat silently in his seat, his coat draped around him, listening to the endless bickering of the other two clan leaders.
He had grown weary of such meaningless infighting. Kjerag's strength needed to be unified, focused as one.
He had already devised a plan—one that would allow him to become the sole voice of Kjerag.
But now, Enciodes found himself forced to revise that plan.
He had never accounted for Kjeragandr.
After all, the god had not shown itself in centuries, and Enciodes had never witnessed its divine might with his own eyes.
Yet Kjerag stood on the cusp of inevitable change. The bowstring was drawn; the arrow could not remain unloosed.
If they did not accelerate reform, their backward nation would soon find itself crushed and humiliated by foreign powers.
Now, with Kjeragandr suddenly issuing divine decrees after centuries of silence, it was only natural for a man as calculating as Enciodes to reconsider.
It seems this plan will need more patience than I thought.
---
Elsewhere, in Yan…
A small blue rodent slipped quietly into Dusk's dwelling.
"Kashchey, must you always insult my paintings with your vulgar tastes?"
With a casual flick of her hand, Dusk bound the skulking rodent to the floor using ink given form.
"I'll admit you surpass me in painting, but that does not give you the right to disparage my sense of aesthetics… Tell me, how did you discover me?"
"I know every one of my own works down to the finest detail. Even if some overgrown worm fancies itself clever by doodling atop one of my paintings, I can see it at once."
"…Hmph. Don't be angry. I only came to ask if you'd like to visit my domain. I've recently held a grand festival."
"You're still mired in worldly affairs…"
"That's not how I'd put it. Everyone has their own pursuits. But really, I wanted you to see what I've spent nearly a thousand years creating—my masterpiece. Who knows? It might even cure that insomnia of yours~"
"…When?"
"Very soon. For now, let this little 'defiled' work of mine live. It will guide you to my domain. Just make sure those lunatics from Si Sui Tai don't catch wind of it."
"I don't need you to remind me. I know what must be done."