Chapter 157

Chapter 157
## Chapter 157

Bernhardt lost no time in tracking down a practitioner of the mystic arts.

Regardless of how persuasive a report appeared, one could not base strategic maneuvers on hearsay alone. He required at least a shred of validation through a specialist’s assessment.

Fortunately, a mage was located with impressive speed. This was the direct result of mobilizing the entire Marquis Roglan surveillance apparatus toward the singular goal of the hunt.

“To what does an esteemed figure like Your Excellency the Marquis owe a visit to an aging sorcerer like myself?”

The apprehended mage met the Marquis’s gaze with a serene expression. It wasn’t that he lacked trepidation, but rather the stoicism of a man who had long ago surrendered to the whims of providence and cast aside all expectation of survival.

Observing this, the Marquis reclined in his seat, a thin smile playing on his lips.

“You are far too eager to embrace your end. You haven’t even been informed of why I’ve requested your presence.”

“No matter your desires, will you not simply discard me once my purpose is served?”

“One can never be certain. I might find your talents indispensable enough to retain your services permanently.”

Despite these assurances, the elderly mage remained silent. He seemed to have resolved himself to total reticence, convinced he was merely the target of cruel sport.

Clicking his tongue, the Marquis realized he had to abandon the pleasantries and speak plainly.

“Rest easy. I did not bring you here to cause you harm. I simply require professional counsel regarding the laws of magic, and there was no other candidate qualified for the discussion.”

“Counsel?”

“What is the extent of your expertise regarding enchanted relics?”

“…I must apologize, but the lineage of my training does not involve the crafting of such items. I possess only the fundamental principles that any educated mage would hold.”

“Then are you familiar with the protocols for the transition of ownership for these artifacts?”

Marquis Bernhardt recounted precisely the details provided by his informant. He spoke of the distinction between ownership passed through blood heritage versus that granted by the explicit consent of a living predecessor. He pressed the mage on the nuances of both paths and which was more standard in practice.

The mage provided the answers without hesitation.

“The former is the natural order. The process of inheriting through one’s lineage is so pervasive it is considered a universal truth. Conversely, I have never encountered a single record of the latter method being employed.”

“Does that imply it is an impossibility?”

“It is not strictly impossible, but it is utterly impractical. Should the possessor of an artifact perish unexpectedly, the item would become inaccessible even to their own children. Who would gamble with their legacy in such a manner?”

To frame it simply, it was a system where if a father died without a formal decree, his heirs would be barred from a single coin of their birthright. Given the fragility of life, such a setup was reckless. If mismanaged, the accumulated treasures of an entire dynasty could be rendered into worthless trinkets in a heartbeat.

“In that case, can the natural transition through blood be obstructed? For instance, could a father bar his own son from inheriting the bond?”

“That cannot be done. To alter the foundational settings of ownership, one would need to dismantle and reconstruct the internal magical architecture from scratch. Only the original architect of the relic possesses that power.”

“So, as a rule, a direct biological heir must be capable of wielding the treasures of their forefathers?”

“In the mythic eras when sorcery was at its zenith, things may have differed, but for any noble house maintaining artifacts in this current age, that is the reality. The only exception, naturally, would be a child of a secret union who carries no true blood relation.”

“Hahahaha!”

The Marquis erupted into genuine laughter. Part of his joy stemmed from how perfectly the explanation served his agenda, but the primary cause was the realization that this was all rooted in basic, undeniable logic.

Despite the relentless purges conducted by the Crown, hidden mages still lingered in the shadows. If the scandals of the Capital began to surface, other provincial lords would undoubtedly seek out magical experts just as the Marquis had.

When that day arrived, if every scholar of the arts provided the exact same verdict, who would remain to uphold the legitimacy of the Second Prince?

“Excellent, truly excellent! Sorcerer, are you capable of condensing the principles you just described into a concise manuscript?”

“That would be a simple task, however…”

“Should the quality of the text meet my standards, I shall grant you a formal position.”

“I beg your pardon?”

The mage was stunned by the proposition. He was an unsanctioned caster, a man branded a felon by the mere act of breathing. Currently, the only sanctuary for his kind was under Duke Lucian in the frigid North to obtain a ‘license,’ yet here he was being offered protection.

“The ambitions of the Throne and the interests of the House of Marquis are not always in harmony.”

“…!”

The mage’s eyes mirrored his shock. Was the Marquis suggesting he would openly flout the Royal mandates against unlicensed magic?

As if to seal the mage’s suspicions, Marquis Bernhardt spoke with a confident smirk.

“If the foundations of the Realm are crumbling because the Crown wields unjust statutes, is it not the obligation of a loyal peer to stabilize those pillars, even if it requires defying the sovereign’s whim?”

—

As the days turned into weeks, the specifics of the exchange between the Second Prince and the royal messenger trickled down to the masses.

Initially, almost no one dared to truly question the Second Prince’s parentage. There was far too little proof to accept such a scandalous claim based on nothing more than academic magical theories. Most observers assumed Lucian was simply launching a desperate and aggressive political smear campaign.

However, the atmosphere shifted rapidly as the specific mechanics of artifact ownership began to be discussed in every tavern and manor.

“If there is truth to this theory, should the Second Prince not be able to command the royal treasures?”

“Precisely. They claim that even if the Late Emperor desired it, he could not have blocked the link if the Second Prince truly shared his blood.”

“Could this not be a fabrication of the mages? Perhaps they seek to sow discord as retribution for their persecution by the State.”

“That seems unlikely. Men who have never crossed paths are providing the exact same explanation, as if reading from the same scripture.”

No matter how hard people tried to align a lie, inconsistencies usually emerged if they hadn’t collaborated. Yet, individuals who had never met were reciting the same laws of magic verbatim. It served as a testament that they weren’t spinning a tale of spite, but rather sharing a universal body of ‘knowledge.’

“What of the Royal Sorcerers? What is their stance?”

“That is the pivot of the matter. The Court Mages have retreated into silence. They haven’t managed to provide a single coherent counter-argument.”

“By the heavens. Does this mean the Second Prince truly lacks the Emperor’s blood?”

The silence of the Court Mages—who should have been the Prince’s loudest defenders, even if it meant weaving fictions—spoke volumes. It implied the claims were rooted in such undeniable truths that a rebuttal was impossible.

The regional lords immediately paused their internal feuds, paralyzed by the implications. If the Second Prince was indeed not of the Emperor’s line, they could not justify his reign. How could they allow a stranger with no legitimate claim to sit upon the Jade Throne?

“Since the situation has devolved to this, we are left with no choice but the First Prince.”

“That is insanity! If the First Prince takes the crown, the sovereignty will shatter!”

“But surely we cannot crown a member of a distant branch of the family?”

“A branch member still carries the imperial spark. How could they be viewed as unqualified?”

“Qualification is irrelevant if I refuse to acknowledge them!”

“What?! Are you suggesting an act of treason?”

“I would sooner be a traitor than bow to some obscure relative from a minor branch!”

As the shadows of doubt fell over the Second Prince, the provincial nobility fractured into a dozen different camps.

Some advocated for a branch family member to take the lead, unable to stomach the First Prince. Others maintained that the First Prince, regardless of his flaws, was the only legal heir and must be seated. A few held firm to the belief that it was all slander and stayed loyal to the Second Prince.

Yet, regardless of their stance, a single truth became clear to all.

The Crown had utterly lost the capacity to control the brewing storms in the provinces.

—

“The Royal House has retreated into total silence, and a vast number of provincial lords are in open conflict over their differing views. Among them, several prominent families, including House Roglan, are reportedly preparing for autonomous military campaigns.”

“Perfect.”

Lucian, seated upon the high chair of the White Castle, allowed a small smile to surface at the news. Hugo tilted his head, visibly confused by Lucian’s satisfaction.

“Is this truly a positive development? It seems to me the entire kingdom has been thrown into chaos.”

“It may be a catastrophe for some, but for us, it is the ideal scenario. The Crown’s interference has been neutralized, others will be blamed for abandoning the throne out of greed, and we have secured a righteous pretext for our own march.”

“A righteous pretext?”

“When it comes to breaching the defenses of Tivron, there is no battle cry more potent than the restoration of the Late Emperor’s true heir.”

“Wait, do you actually intend to install the First Prince?”

“My personal feelings are irrelevant. What matters is the ‘correctness’ of the act—the idea that it is the only proper path, regardless of how disastrous the First Prince might be as a person.”

The advisors were caught off guard, their eyes snapping to Lucian. He had just discarded the formal honorifics he usually maintained for the First Prince, at least in public discourse.

Lucian, unbothered by their shock, rose to his feet.

“Whether he can manipulate the Royal artifacts is secondary; the First Prince is the sole biological offspring of the Late Emperor. In the eyes of the law, his right to the throne is absolute.”

The only hurdle to his coronation had been political maneuvering. Therefore, if one stripped away the politics and looked only at ‘what is right,’ backing the First Prince was the logical conclusion.

By positioning himself as the savior of the First Prince and the champion of his ascension, Lucian gained an ironclad justification for every military move he made.

“Even if it is merely a hollow, noble sentiment, ‘correctness’ is a shield that is very difficult for outsiders to pierce.”

“Is such a complex charade necessary? A cause is useful, but does it not also restrict your movements?”

To champion a moral cause meant one could not act in opposition to it. If Lucian swore to put the First Prince on the throne, he was tethered to that promise. Hugo was secretly troubled by this limitation.

“I believe we could move without such burdens. Many of the great houses are acting without any formal justification.”

“Acting that way might work for the present. But while it serves for today, nine times out of ten, such a lack of principle will return to ruin you later.”

Lucian smirked at Hugo’s concern. Just because others acted with reckless ambition didn’t mean he should follow suit; if he did, he would only be safe as long as everyone else was equally ‘guilty.’ Those who remained untainted—particularly the generations that would follow this era of blood—would have every reason to condemn him.

Every age produced men of ambition. If the cornerstone wasn’t set with care, the structure might look stable now, but it would inevitably crack and fall.

‘Besides, I have no intention of letting the First Prince keep that seat for very long.’

Keeping his private thoughts hidden, Lucian turned his attention back to the messenger team that had recently arrived.

“In any case, you have all performed admirably. Fritz—you executed your role flawlessly even when your life hung in the balance.”

“You praise me too highly, My Lord.”

“Nonsense. If anything, I am finding it difficult to articulate just how impressed I am. Name a reward you desire.”

Fritz shivered with a wave of intense emotion at the recognition. How long had it been since his skills as a herald had been valued? After being taken in by Calix, he had spent decades fading into the background of the castle walls. Forgotten by the world, he had feared he would simply wither away without ever having truly contributed.

To think that in the twilight of his life, he would serve such a grand lord and find his purpose once more.

Biting his lip to hold back his tears, Fritz bowed low.

“Those words of yours are a greater reward than this old man ever hoped for.”

“Do not be so modest. If you won’t choose, I shall decide the reward myself, so do not complain about the outcome.”

Lucian laughed as he looked at Fritz, who remained bowed in deep respect. Seeing the man’s blend of unwavering loyalty and high competence was a source of great pride for Lucian. Considering his advanced years, Fritz might not stay by his side for decades, but Lucian would ensure the world saw the full extent of the herald’s brilliance in the time he had left.

The moment had arrived.

The Crown was paralyzed, and the lords were distracted by their own power plays. Short of an all-out war, no one in the Empire possessed the strength to stop the events unfolding in Asagrim.

This was the perfect window to manifest the future he had planned since the day he first walked into the White Castle.

Taking a deep breath, Lucian addressed his gathered retainers.

“I shall now reveal the Northern Royal Family’s Legacy to the entire world.”

“…!?”