In Lungmen, inside a dimly lit bar, a figure draped in a heavy black cloak handed over a sealed letter to a peculiar penguin wearing sunglasses and several gaudy gold chains around his neck.
"An invitation to attend his festival? Hah! What's so interesting about that dull man's boring little domain?"
The penguin, known to many simply as Emperor, snatched the letter without hesitation.
"Tell Kashchey this—he'd better prepare the most luxurious accommodations imaginable. I'll be bringing my employees, and we're treating this like an all-expenses-paid vacation. Every bill goes straight to him."
"…Of course."
Snakescale forced out an awkward reply. After all, the Emperor was considered a friend of Lord Kashchey. Before sending him on this errand, Kashchey had warned him explicitly: go along with whatever he says, just make sure he accepts the invitation.
"In that case, I'll be taking my leave."
Snakescale turned and left the bar.
If he dares flaunt that twisted, one-track sense of aesthetics again, I'll throw the wildest party his domain has ever seen—right in the middle of it.
---
The Kashchey Duchy was already brimming with a lively atmosphere.
Everywhere one looked, there was movement and energy.
Construction workers labored with fiery enthusiasm as they expanded and decorated the festival grounds. Merchants rushed to bring in vast shipments of goods from outside, stocking up for the grand occasion. Business owners had even raised their employees' pay in recent days, ensuring that when the celebrations began, everyone could truly indulge and enjoy themselves.
Even the infected citizens of the duchy felt a rare change—during inspections, the patrol officers' usual severity had softened noticeably.
During the festival, all businesses and service industries were placed under mandatory leave.
This policy, proposed by the Committee of Happiness and Security, had one simple goal: to guarantee that every citizen could fully enjoy the Duke's grand festival.
And while, in theory, some might have opposed such a sweeping measure… in reality, not a single soul dared to speak against it.
There never had been.
Thus, the proposal passed almost instantly.
Investigators from the Committee would patrol tirelessly throughout the festivities, ensuring that no one violated the ordinances.
Of course, the majority of citizens openly welcomed and celebrated these rules. But even among the tiny handful who harbored quiet complaints, not one of them would risk provoking an investigator—each one driven by relentless quotas—over some trivial profit.
And while investigators were bound by strict, even harsh, standards when it came to identifying offenders, the punishments themselves were left entirely to their own discretion.
If the investigator happened to be mild-tempered, one might get away with a fine and a short detention as a warning.
But if the investigator was hot-blooded, well… the unlucky offender might walk away bearing more than just financial loss.
After all, in this line of work, the only true requirement was that an investigator must preserve the "purity" of their own heart.
---
"Your Majesty, this is an invitation from Duke Kashchey, requesting your presence at his festival."
A royal guardsman respectfully presented a sealed letter to the reigning Emperor of Ursus.
The Emperor didn't even bother to glance at it. With a dismissive flick of his hand, he tossed the letter aside.
"I'm not going."
"…Your Majesty—"
"I said I'm not going!"
The Emperor's glare swept down from the throne, silencing the guard instantly.
"Tell Duke Kashchey that I am far too occupied with state affairs to attend his celebration…"
"But, Your Majesty, Duke Kashchey is the very cornerstone of the Empire. If you refuse to go, others may believe relations between you and him are strained, which could harm the stability of Ursus—"
"You dare lecture me on how to rule?"
"I would not presume."
"…Hmph. Still, your words are not entirely without merit. Very well—send some treasures from the royal vaults as a gift to Kashchey. Let it serve as my congratulations."
"As you command."
The Emperor watched the shadow of the departing secret guard fade from the hall, his heart filled with conflicting emotions.
They said the secret guards embodied the Emperor's will—but how could people be so simply defined?
Now, their loyalties had grown fractured.
Some were faithful to the late Emperor, believing the current ruler too young, and seeking to mold him into an image of his predecessor.
Some pledged themselves to Ursus itself, determined to restore the Empire's former glory in their own way.
Some devoted themselves to Duke Kashchey, convinced that emperors may rise and fall like flowing water, but the Duke was eternal iron—an unshakable guardian since the founding of Ursus.
In truth, this last faction was the least dangerous.
As long as Kashchey remained confined to his domain, they would make no move against the throne.
Only a handful of guards, those he had personally elevated, were truly loyal to him. The rest hovered in uneasy neutrality.
And to purge those whose loyalty wavered was nearly impossible. His reign was still new, his foundation unsteady, and his grip too weak.
Yet the Emperor's Blades were indispensable to Ursus.
If they judged the Emperor unworthy, they would act as they saw fit—always claiming to serve the Empire.
The "Emperor's" secret guard… when had they become something else entirely?
---
Within his estate, Duke Kashchey sat buried in paperwork.
Preparations for the festival demanded meticulous planning, and the workload was so overwhelming that he had been forced to rouse several of his dormant bodies to assist.
The Emperor's Blade standing nearby gazed dully at the surreal scene before him.
A thin, red-haired Sarkaz man in a suit, bow tie, and tall hat reviewed financial reports.
A white-haired Liberi woman drafted official festival proclamations.
A blond Kuranta man, his grin stretched to a disturbing, uncontrollable arc, sorted through the lists submitted by the Happiness and Safety Committee.
And Duke Kashchey sat deep in thought, pondering which of his "old friends" deserved invitations.
The Bloodlord? No. His ties to Kazdel run too deep. I only want to reconnect with old comrades, not agitate the Emperor's fragile nerves.
Dusk? I never expected that reclusive shut-in to agree… Was it because I promised to cure her insomnia?
Kjeragandr? As anticipated.
And that penguin… if he comes, all the better. I've been meaning to put certain pests in their place. Let him stir the waters into chaos; I'll make use of it.
As for the rest… best to leave them be. I don't want my festival turning into a circus. These three alone will consume enough effort. And I must keep my hands free to prepare against those war fanatics in the years ahead…
---
Far away, a white-haired Sarkaz woman advanced steadily toward Kashchey's domain.
During the festival, the Duke's territory would be thrown wide open—an opportunity many intended to seize.
Some came to repay debts.
Some came seeking vengeance.
Others came chasing a single answer.
"Satan—or rather, Duke Kashchey… When Her Highness was struck down, what in hell were you thinking?"
The white-haired Sarkaz whispered under her breath.