Chapter 94

Chapter 94
## Chapter 94

As the golden rays of the sun faded beneath the skyline and the inaugural day of the feast reached its conclusion, the invited nobility retreated to their designated suites.

These accommodations were situated within the heart of the White Palace, in wings that had sat silent and abandoned for nearly ten centuries. Under any other circumstances, it would have been natural for the curious dignitaries to wander the halls of such an ancient place, yet a heavy stillness hung over the corridor; not a single guest remained outside their doors.

Baron Elvin, whose ancestral lands sat in the shadow of Asagrim, shared this pervasive unease.

This is a true migraine, Elvin mused, rubbing his aching forehead as he drifted into a sea of troubled thoughts.

Throughout his forty-odd years, he had never thirsted for power, nor was he the type to cast his life away on the altar of fanatic devotion. His only desire was the preservation of the fragile stability he currently enjoyed.

And yet, I am being backed into a corner, forced to choose between the Sovereignty of the Imperial Family and the might of the Calix family.

A heavy breath pushed past his lips. It was a dilemma where every path seemed to lead to ruin. Regardless of the banner he raised, it was painfully clear he would be swallowed by the impending storm of conflict.

“Are you also seeking the night air to clear your head?”

A familiar voice from the shadows interrupted Elvin’s internal monologue. It was Baron Stellan, a longtime neighbor and a confidant with whom he had exchanged letters for decades.

“Sleep eludes me. I gather you find yourself in a similar predicament.”

“Who could possibly find rest after witnessing such a display?”

Elvin offered a strained, joyless smile at Stellan’s observation. Their long history allowed for a level of bluntness that bypassed the usual courtly masks.

“Mind your words, old friend. You are speaking with great audacity while standing upon the Duke’s own soil. Walls have ears in a place like this; you would do well to guard your speech.”

“I doubt it matters now. Look around—it isn’t just the two of us. Everyone in this palace is currently occupied with frantic whispers.”

Following Stellan’s gaze, Elvin noted clusters of silhouettes huddled in the dim light, speaking in hushed, urgent tones. Some stood with trusted allies, others with fellow members of their political circles, all locked in desperate consultation.

While their specific words were lost to the distance, their subject matter was obvious.

“It appears they are plagued by the same demons we are.”

“Naturally. A single lapse in judgment and their homes could be reduced to ash in the coming struggle. Tell me, have you come to a resolution?”

“I haven’t. If I’m being honest, I wish to avoid making a choice entirely.”

“You are wise enough to know that failing to choose is, in itself, the most reckless choice of all.”

“I cannot argue with that assessment.”

Elvin exhaled sharply at the biting reality of the situation. Neutrality was often just a polite term for opportunism—the mark of a man waiting to see which way the wind blew. Because those in the middle were unpredictable elements, they were frequently viewed with more suspicion than an open foe. Without the military strength to defend that middle ground, neutrals were often the first to be crushed by both sides to clear the board.

“My fear is that a rushed pledge will become a death sentence. If the tide turns, I might find my house serving as nothing more than a human shield for whichever lord I’ve sworn to follow.”

“So you intend to linger in the shadows and watch the others? Hoping that if the entire flock hesitates, no single sheep will be led to the slaughter?”

“Good heavens, man, could you not wrap your truths in a bit of silk? You have a recurring habit of exposing exactly what a man wishes to keep buried.”

“I only speak so plainly because I am looking in a mirror. It is a pathetic state of affairs, but I too find myself paralyzed.”

The two lords lapsed into a grim silence, staring up at the dark expanse of the sky. No matter how they calculated the odds, every move required a blood sacrifice; there was no road ahead that didn’t demand a steep price.

In that moment of quiet reflection, a third figure stepped between them.

“That is a remarkably dim-witted perspective. The solution is staring you in the face, so why waste your energy on such agony?”

The two barons, who had been speaking in low, confidential tones, felt their spirits nearly leap from their chests. The intruder who had so casually joined them was Lucian.

“Y-Your Grace! We offer our humblest greet—!”

“Save it. Resume your discussion.”

“….”

Elvin and Stellan went stone-silent. The prospect of debating which side to betray or join while the Duke himself stood inches away was impossible.

As the quiet grew heavy, Lucian let out a brief, humorless chuckle and leaned in.

“You both seem lost in a maze of logic. If you require an answer, I shall provide it: Join whichever side emerges victorious—be it me or Calix.”

“…I beg your pardon?”

“If the path is obscured today, simply wait until the fog clears. Is that not a viable strategy?”

The two noblemen stared at him in a daze, unable to discern if this was a terrifying test or a genuine jest. In a moment where most rulers would be strangling them for an oath of fealty, he was granting them permission to be turncoats.

“To speak candidly, I have no great desire for a sea of lukewarm supporters. If a man takes a gamble and backs me now, I am obligated to reward that risk later, am I not? I find it far more efficient to have a gallery of spectators; that way, when I triumph, I can boast without obligation.”

“Ha, haha… Your Grace truly has a unique sense of humor.”

“I am entirely sincere. Consider this: His Majesty the Emperor possesses the power to erase the House of Calix the moment he triggers the ‘Gate.’ Why would I exhaust myself recruiting allies? It is far simpler to let them watch from the sidelines and then deal with them as the cowards they proved to be.”

“…!”

The two men felt a sudden chill at the mention of the ‘Gate.’

The recent demonstration of teleporting an entire army and its logistics through sorcery had left the nobility in shock. Because it was a feat of such magnitude, many had assumed it was a trump card that could not be played frequently in the theater of war.

But if it were deployed even once, aimed directly at the heart of a rival’s estate…

Even a Great Family with centuries of fortifications and standing armies could be wiped from the map in a single afternoon.

The realization made their blood run cold. Any alliance crumbles the moment its foundation is pulverized. If the House of Calix was deleted from existence, its vassals would scatter like leaves in a gale. In such a vacuum, Lucian would stand as the uncontested master of the North, and all other paths would be sealed.

“If you do not care for the spoils of victory, take the path of safety. However, understand this: regardless of the side you choose, the world you knew is over. The status quo is dead.”

“….”

Leaving the two barons in a state of stunned silence, Lucian turned on his heel and walked into the night. He could feel the weight of countless eyes pressing against his back, but he welcomed the scrutiny. The more people watched him, the faster the rumors of this exchange would permeate the palace.

I never expected to win their hearts with a simple threat.

The objective was to ensure they never forgot the sheer, overwhelming terror of the Dimensional Gate’s potential. In truth, even Lucian was in the dark regarding the spell’s limitations. Neither the Emperor nor Glen had seen fit to share its flaws with him.

The solitary fact he knew for certain was that an agent had to be physically present at the arrival point to anchor the gate.

It could be a spell that can only be cast once a season. It might demand months of clandestine setup or a king’s ransom in mana stones.

But the reality of its weakness didn’t matter. It only had to be perceived as a threat one more time. The moment these lords imagined a rift opening in the center of their own bedrooms, they would be frozen. As long as the threat of being the next target loomed, they would think twice before sending their knights to aid Calix.

Even if they eventually found their courage, they wouldn’t dare move against him while the Hundred-Day Hunt was in progress.

“This shall be a balanced competition.”

Lucian maintained a smirk of satisfaction as he paced the stone halls of the White Palace. If he encountered any other groups of wavering lords, he fully intended to feed them the same poison.

—

Two days later, Lucian escorted the gathered lords into the frozen peaks looming over Asagrim. This was ‘Bangnil,’ a mountain range held in high religious esteem due to its proximity to the sanctified lands of Asagrim.

The occasion was the commencement of the promised Hundred-Day Hunt. Though the event was framed as a grand revival of an ancient custom, the atmosphere among the attendees was anything but celebratory.

Is this wise? Can such a gathering truly end without bloodshed?

The tension is unbearable. Surely they will attempt to eliminate one another the moment the trees hide them.

The participants were drawn from two factions locked in a blood feud. It was stressful enough to have them under the same roof; sending them into the untamed wilderness where no witnesses could follow was a recipe for disaster. They were expected to survive fifteen days in a shared territory. Even without a prior conspiracy, that was an eternity for a seasoned killer to find an opening.

Despite the tension of the observers, the primary rivals remained remarkably calm.

“Ahem! With that, we shall initiate the Hundred-Day Hunt.”

Baron Elvin—who had been drafted into the role of referee simply because of his brief encounter with Lucian—stepped forward to announce the regulations. The participants were required to survive the alpine environment for fifteen days while hunting solo. The winner would be the party that returned with the most prestigious kill. There was, however, one overriding directive: if a single participant lost their life, the hunt would be deemed a failure for all, regardless of the trophies collected.

“I will now conduct a final audit of your supplies. As per the rules, the introduction of outside provisions is strictly forbidden.”

“Search as you see fit.”

“I carry not even a scrap of dried meat.”

Lucian and Godfrey, the firstborn of Norbeck Calix, responded in unison. As Elvin moved through the inspection of their equipment, his eyes caught a peculiar detail.

What is this? Some form of marking?

The warriors representing the House of Calix each bore a tattoo in the shape of a jagged lightning bolt upon their palms. It hummed with a faint, spectral light, suggesting the use of an alchemical ink.

I do not recall the Calix line possessing a tradition involving such imagery.

A sense of foreboding nagged at Elvin, but he suppressed the urge to speak. If he, a minor provincial baron, questioned the methods of the House of Calix, he would be painting a target on his own back. Furthermore, aside from the strange ink, their gear appeared standard.

“Then, I bid you both success. I shall await your return in fifteen days.”

Upon the signal to start, Lucian and Godfrey vanished into the treeline, heading in opposite directions. It was a tactical necessity to ensure they didn’t waste time competing for the same prey in the early hours.

However, the moment the spectators were obscured by the terrain, Godfrey’s expression sharpened into something predatory.

“Are there eyes on us?”

“None within sight, my lord.”

“Excellent. We begin the pursuit. And Mage, bear in mind that the success of this endeavor rests entirely on your shoulders.”

Colin bowed his head, acknowledging Godfrey’s intense focus.

“Rest easy. The foundation is laid. However, I must ask you to secure me a window of time, my lord.”

“I am aware. You mentioned your incantation requires a significant duration to manifest.”

“It does. Furthermore, once the spectral coordinates are locked, they are immovable. Should the quarry detect the mana and relocate before the strike, the heavens will only fall upon a patch of empty snow.”

“I can provide the distraction, but are you certain we are shielded from the fallout?”

Godfrey had never witnessed the spell firsthand, but he had heard terrifying accounts of the magic Colin wielded—a power that called down literal bolts of celestial fury. He had been told it could turn a hillside into a crater, meaning the blast radius was enormous. If they were close enough to pin the enemy down, there was a high risk Godfrey’s own men would be vaporized.

“I assure you, there is no cause for alarm. Did I not provide the sigils?”

“You truly expect me to believe this small ink mark can ward off the wrath of the heavens?”

“To be technical, it creates a localized field that forces the electrical discharge to flow around you rather than through you. It is a technique regarded as the pinnacle of my tradition’s defensive arts.”

Colin offered a smile brimming with practiced confidence.

“In the annals of the Celestial School, this is known as a ‘Lightning Rod.'”

“A rod that repels lightning? It sounds logical enough. But is it not odd to refer to a tattoo as a ‘rod’?”

“The spell was originally anchored to a physical needle. As our craft progressed, we refined the formula so it could be bound directly to the skin via a tattoo.”

This was no experimental charm; it was a foundational secret of an ancient lineage. Hearing this, Godfrey and his retinue finally relaxed. If it was a legacy art, its reliability was beyond question.

“So, as long as we carry this ‘Lightning Rod,’ we are immune?”

“Indeed. True to its name, the lightning will treat you as a void. So long as you maintain a distance of ten paces from the point of impact, you will remain untouched.”

“Very well, I will take you at your word. Men, ensure those ‘Lightning Rods’ are protected! If that ink fades, your lives go with it!”

“Understood, sir!”

With their confidence restored, Godfrey led his hunters on a flanking maneuver to track Lucian. He never saw the expression on Colin’s face—a man currently fighting a desperate battle not to burst into laughter as he followed behind them.