—The old story tells.
It is the story of a solitary king and a single girl.
The story of how a solitary king met a girl and was solitary no more.
Of the solitary king's struggle, and the beginning of the imperial contest that would determine its fulfillment.
Of the girl who wished to stand by the king's side, and the strong resolve she forged regarding the state of her own heart.
However, the wishes and feelings held by the solitary king and the single girl began to cloud over atop ceaseless bloodshed, the leaking of lives, and the mounting demise of many.
The story began to undergo a transformation.
Its origin lay in the tragedy that befell the single girl alongside the solitary king's battle.
△▼△▼△▼△ —Before anyone knew it, the Selection Ceremony had begun.
That was Iris's candid assessment, and the very reason it drove her to feel such keen self-reproach for being utterly insufficient.
She had been prepared. But she was made to realize that her preparation had been nothing more than an intention.
To be honest, Iris had believed the Selection Ceremony was still far off—that Eugard's real fight for the throne was something that lay years in the future.
But it seemed Iris had been the only one with such leisurely thoughts.
"The former Emperor, Radocain Volorchia, has passed from this world. The Selection Ceremony shall begin. —I, as the nineteenth prince, declare my intention to ascend to the throne. I await your valorous efforts."
Eugard's declaration, addressed to the entirety of Elcanty territory, had been broadcast across all the lands by the power of a magical tool Whittaker had procured from somewhere.
Unwittingly, that declaration became the catalyst for the Selection Ceremony to begin in earnest. —Or perhaps, thinking it "unwitting" was something only Iris was doing.
The truth was, the strategies and policies of the Elcanty camp as represented by Eugard had not been shared with Iris in any great detail.
It was not because Iris, who knew nothing of military affairs, was looked down upon as merely a village girl from the countryside— "...I'm pathetic."
Languidly, Iris let her heavy body sink onto the bed, and cursed herself with those words.
Cursed by her own self, Iris's body had developed a high fever, and right around the time the Selection Ceremony was scheduled to begin, it had laid her up in sickbed ever since.
Right now, Eugard was away on campaign with the forces of his own territory, fighting against the other princes.
Normally, Iris had been slated to accompany him on that campaign, taking care of his daily needs. But contrary to her enthusiasm, her fevered body would not cooperate, and in the end, Iris was left behind at the mansion, grinding her teeth in frustration.
And as if being useless weren't aggravating enough— "To think I've even kept the Teacher here, confined to the mansion like this..."
"My, my, a patient shouldn't worry about such things, indeed. Besides, I was never of much use on the battlefield in the first place. It won't affect our fighting strength at all, I say."
"But you were planning to put those short claws and that big nose to great use, weren't you?"
"I'd only be good for digging holes and scouting! You should know that by now!"
Rineck, who was tending to Iris, raised his voice as his large nose twitched and quivered. At his outburst, Iris pulled the covers up over herself and murmured, "I'm sorry."
At Iris's feeble voice, Rineck shook his head. "You're making it worse, I say."
As was plain to see, Iris's fever had ended up keeping Rineck confined to the mansion as well.
He said his absence wouldn't affect things much, but the punitive force led by Volcarus was the mainstay of the Elcanty army. Considering that Rineck, as one of its members, had an irreplaceable role, Iris's existence amounted to a monument of aiding the enemy.
"You're overthinking it. Even without me, there are plenty who can fill in, I say."
"Even if there are replacements, but..."
"I'm just playing at being a healer on the front lines. Even without me, if my teachings and knowledge have truly been passed on, the others in the unit should be able to manage, I say."
As he spoke, Rineck ground multiple herbs in a mortar beside Iris's bed, mixing a medicinal broth for her.
His deft hands looked even more capable than those of the genuine healer who had treated Iris long ago when she had been struck down by a grave illness. So capable, in fact, that it was hard to believe there were plenty who could replace him. Truly.
"Now, drink it all in one gulp, I say. I should warn you—the taste is absolutely vile."
"What? Medicine you made for me, taste bad? ...Guuuh!"
"That's what I said, I say."
The shocking flavor made her feel as though she had been poisoned, and she couldn't help but let out a small cry. However, there was an old superstition that something bitter in the taste would counteract the bad things inside the body, so she forced herself to endure and drain the cup. Once she had, she could feel the medicine taking effect.
"That's just your imagination, I say. It'll start hurting again soon enough."
"Teacher, please be a little kinder..."
"I can't offer false hope. But the cure must surely lie beyond this accumulation of bitterness and suffering. Everything must be taken one step at a time, steadily."
"Everything, steadily..."
The bitter taste lingered in her mouth. As she washed it down into her stomach with water, Iris lowered her eyes.
What those words made her think of was not her own condition, but Eugard.
"I wonder how His Excellency and the others are doing now."
"There have been proper reports from the front lines, I say. It seems Volcarus has been cutting loose and performing splendidly. For Lady Iris's sake, I say."
"...Debts and favors, and yet he's so scrupulous about it with that attitude of his."
At Rineck's words, Iris recalled Volcarus, who had poked his face in before his departure. He had mercilessly mocked and ridiculed her for collapsing from fever, but he had also promised that the results would be unchanged even without her, and had set out. That blunt, brusque manner of his—she had no doubt it was his way of showing concern for her.
And in truth, he had made good on his word, which made him truly admirable.
"If anything, by actually keeping his word, he's more admirable than me..."
"Lady Iris!? Are you crying!?"
"S-sorry. I started crying because of how unshakably pathetic I am. Please, go on."
Wiping away the tears welling up with her sleeve, Iris urged Rineck to continue. Rineck glanced at her state with concern, cleared his throat with a small "ahem," and— "His Excellency and the others are proceeding smoothly, digesting their advance plan, I say. Princes who hold the right of succession to the throne split into two factions during the Selection Ceremony. Those who fight for the throne, and those who concede defeat in exchange for the security of their territories."
"...Even if they concede, they can't actually—"
"—Their lives are forfeit, I say. But we can make promises to spare the common people from unnecessary sacrifice and to avoid placing undue pressure on the princely houses. Inevitably, families whose princes were too young when the Selection Ceremony began have no choice."
"———"
"It appears they have been defeating the former princes according to the prearranged terms, and are continuing to clash with and triumph over the latter."
Reports of Eugard's victories, and yet Iris could not simply rejoice in them.
Eugard's victories meant that a brother or sister of his own blood was losing their life, and that he was walking step by step down a blood-soaked path.
And it was not that he begrudged putting on a blood-stained crown.
Iris had already accepted the fact that she was the reason Eugard had chosen to walk the path of conquest, and she had steeled herself to face that reality.
What she could not simply rejoice in was that she was forcing Eugard to walk that path alone.
As the one who had started the Thorn King, and as the woman who had made him start it, she had intended to be stained in blood alongside him.
And yet— "...If your spirits are flagging, perhaps we should arrange a time for you to speak with His Excellency after all. Fighting illness requires willpower, I say."
"Teacher, how many times do you think I've been delirious with high fever? I know how to fight an illness without being told."
"You can't joke about that, I say."
He stuck out his tongue slightly and tried to make light of it, but it fell flat with Rineck. Probably because his expression hadn't changed at all—he grew annoyed at his own poor acting skills.
All the same, Iris was refusing Rineck's suggestion—that she borrow the Dialogue Mirror he was using to communicate with the front and speak with Eugard, who was far away.
Her reason was very simple and utterly selfish.
"I don't want to end up speaking with His Excellency through a mirror, just like everyone else..."
The Thorn King Eugard, who had been distancing himself from everyone—or rather, who had chosen to distance himself to avoid hurting those around him. With Whittaker's help, he had been able to speak with people through the Dialogue Mirror, but Iris could not welcome that wholeheartedly.
It wasn't jealousy that others could speak with Eugard too.
Such feelings weren't zero, but the reason Iris disliked the mirror was that it seemed to her an even clearer symbol of Eugard's solitude.
It was convenient. But if that became the normal way to interact with Eugard going forward, no one would be willing to endure the pain to stand before him.
"At the very least, I..."
She knew she had no right to say this from a position that had never known the pain of Eugard's thorns, but Iris wanted to remain the one person who could touch Eugard directly.
For that reason, she was refusing to speak with Eugard through the Dialogue Mirror.
"...This is a matter between you and His Excellency, I say. I'm in no position to say anything pretentious."
"I'm sorry, Teacher. But His Excellency felt the same way."
Before his departure, Eugard had come to Iris's sickbed to say goodbye, and he had told her that he, too, did not wish to initiate a Dialogue Mirror conversation.
The fact that they shared the same reason, the same feeling, had made Iris happy.
That was precisely why she wanted to cure her illness as quickly as possible and go to Eugard's side at the front— "Hm? Who's there?"
Suddenly, there was a knock at the bedroom door, and Rineck stood up with a twitch of his nose.
His figure disappeared from Iris's prone line of sight as he went toward the entrance. But immediately, Rineck's startled voice came back—"I say!?"
"Terribly sorry to intrude during such trying times, Lady Iris."
"...Wh-Whittaker, sir?"
The man who appeared with a cheerful voice and a smile, his footsteps cushioned by the carpet, was a thin, slender fellow.
Iris blinked in astonishment, her fever momentarily forgotten, at the sight of the real, flesh-and-blood Whittaker Goldario—the red-haired, thread-thin-eyed man she had seen countless times beside Eugard through the mirror.
"What are you doing here..."
"What do you mean, 'what'? I'm here to visit you, naturally! A visit. When the lady serving my lord Eugard is laid up in bed, and you happen to have business in this region, there's no reason not to drop in."
"That's awfully convenient timing, I must say."
"Oh, pardon me. I do have a terribly honest nature. Ha ha ha."
Removing his hat, Whittaker smiled at Iris in her sickbed.
Raising her head to observe Whittaker's reaction—how he responded with apparent ease to even Rineck's rare cutting remark—Iris's surprise refused to subside.
Still, Iris managed to prop herself up in bed.
"I'm sorry to have made you come all the way here. And to greet you like this when it's our first time meeting in person..."
"Oh, don't push yourself. I came here knowing full well you wouldn't be in top form—that's rather a more welcome souvenir, if anything."
"Souvenir?"
Whittaker said something startling, then nodded "yes" at Iris's confusion and shoved the bag he had been carrying into Rineck's arms.
Rineck, forced to take the bag, was startled—but his astonishment was nothing compared to what came next.
"I say!? Wh-where did you get such rare herbs... and there's a bag full of them!?"
"My family happens to be rather skilled at gathering all manner of such things. As for what comes after, I'd say you're the more qualified one, Rineck."
Th-this is a heavy responsibility, I say..."
"Quite. —This is the care of His Excellency's beloved lady, after all. I'd hope you weren't laboring under some comfortable misunderstanding that this was a cushy rear-echelon assignment."
Rineck fell silent, overwhelmed by the bag's contents, and then further stunned by Whittaker's pointed words.
At those harsh words, Iris called out, "Whittaker, sir," and said: "Teacher has been wonderful. Please don't speak to him like that."
"Oh, forgive me. Rineck, I hope I didn't offend you."
"No, it's quite all right. What he says is perfectly reasonable, I say..."
"Actually, aside from apologizing, I do have something I'd like to discuss with Lady Iris in private. Could we have the room for a moment?"
"I say...!?"
Before the apology could even land, Whittaker had already moved on to a new topic at breakneck speed.
Rineck was swept along by Whittaker's conversational skill, while Iris frowned at the content of his words. Whittaker wanted to speak with her. In private.
"Of course, it concerns His Excellency."
"...Teacher, please."
At Whittaker's words, which seemed to read her to the core, Iris turned to Rineck. Rineck hesitated briefly, but ultimately slumped his shoulders and left the bedroom.
Watching him go, Iris felt a twinge of guilt—but— "Now then, how are you feeling, Lady Iris? I've heard that you've had concerns about your stamina ever since you lived in the village?"
"Y-yes. I thought I'd gotten much better since growing up, but..."
"It has been quite a turbulent year, hasn't it? Meeting His Excellency Eugard, losing your hometown and family. Being thrust into aristocratic life, with so much to learn and remember that your two hands' worth of fingers wouldn't suffice—and now the Selection Ceremony has begun."
"You're awfully blunt about it, but... yes."
"I'm sorry. I'm only capable of straightforward speech."
Listing out the events that had befallen Iris over the past year, one could say with certainty that it had been the most intense period of her entire life.
With one busy day piling onto the next, it was no wonder she was out of breath.
But she hadn't wanted to be out of breath. In fact, even though no one else—including Eugard, who had it the hardest of all—was stumbling, he continued to handle problems with vigor.
"I'm so weak... I hate myself for it..."
"Lady Iris, weak? What a jest."
When Iris cursed her own helplessness, Whittaker raised his eyebrows.
She suspected irony in those unexpected words, but Whittaker's thread-thin eyes, despite revealing nothing of his inner thoughts, did not seem to be having fun at her expense.
"In my family's line of work, I've seen many weak people, but I cannot for the life of me think Lady Iris is weak. I simply cannot agree."
"B-but, I actually have a fever like this..."
"Physical fragility and the evaluation of whether one is strong or weak are not on the same scale, in my opinion. For example, how would you describe your relationship with Rineck and Volcarus?"
"My relationship with Teacher and Volcarus."
"Yes. Those two and the punitive force—they're the ones who destroyed your family, aren't they?"
At those flatly spoken words, Iris held her breath and looked at Whittaker.
"I apologize. As I told you the first time we spoke, I've already investigated everything around His Excellency Eugard, including you. Naturally, I know about the village as well."
"Is that so. ...Well, it's not exactly something I was hiding. It's just that even if I said it openly, I don't think people would understand."
"Indeed. When I first heard the story, I thought it was a poorly made joke. Because in the ordinary sense, it's an impossible decision. Your family's, and His Excellency's."
Whittaker's manner of speaking, like the eyes behind his thin lids, was unreadable.
There was no anger or joy in it, of course—but neither did his tone sound calmly composed. If anything, it was tinged with excitement.
His voice warm with an anticipatory heat, Whittaker rubbed his hands together in front of his face.
"I understand that His Excellency Eugard sees things differently from others. He has been forced to live a way of life different from other people's as the 'Thorn King.' But what about you, Lady Iris?"
"...Me?"
"You were nothing more than an ordinary village girl, born with nothing special. Yet you've come to see things the same way as someone like His Excellency Eugard, who eschews all conventional paths. Why is that? —Was it, as I suspect, the experience of having hovered between life and death through illness?"
"—I don't think it's unrelated, no."
Overwhelmed by Whittaker's torrent of words, Iris nodded in response.
In the past—on that very day when she had lost her parents and decided to spare Volcarus—Iris recalled telling Eugard the same story.
Gravely ill and on the verge of death, she had survived through some miracle.
That experience might have been the reason Iris felt "death" more intimately than anyone else. But then, that was the same for anyone besides Iris—for instance, soldiers and mercenaries who made their living fighting on the battlefield.
"No, in fact, those people are far more capable than I am. So my way of thinking isn't all that special..."
"But no one else can actually do it. I find that to be an exceedingly 'dramatic' choice, Lady Iris."
"...Dramatic."
"That is what drives my actions. —I envy those who can do that."
Whittaker was probably the sort of person who was skilled at wearing masks. This conversation in the bedroom, and the persona he had shown through the mirror before—Whittaker had always been playing a role.
That was precisely why, of those final words of envy, Iris felt certain they were his true feelings.
"But we haven't really established that I'm not weak, have we..."
"You don't think His Excellency is weak, do you? The fact that you can see things the same way as he does simply means you're equally not weak."
"Hmm, I feel like I'm being talked in circles."
Whittaker stopped his hand-rubbing motion and spread both palms open. Iris frowned at his words. In response, Whittaker laughed softly.
"Forgive me, but I'm a patient here? If you're visiting, please visit properly. Was that what you drove Teacher out to talk about?"
"Oh, no, nothing of the sort. There was something I wanted to confirm with Lady Iris. —Have you ever heard of a disease called 'Mad War Disease'?"
"...No?"
"In fact, it's the grave illness you suffered from as a child. I believe that's what it was."
"Wh—"
Caught off guard by Whittaker's sudden remark, Iris's eyes went wide.
She had never heard the name before. Mad War Disease. Being told that it was the illness that had tormented her was like suddenly being given the name of her childhood enemy.
But Iris's shock did not end there.
"This 'Mad War Disease,' it was a kind of plague that ran rampant during the
"Is... is that so. I didn't know. The healer said it didn't seem to be an epidemic, that it was probably something endemic to the region..."
"That healer did what he could with what little he knew. After all, he managed to keep you alive through your childhood and maintain you in a state of remission until today."
"Yes. Thanks to the healer—"
Trying to recall gratitude toward a benefactor whose face had grown hazy in her memory, Iris's movements froze.
What had Whittaker just said? Remission, wasn't it?
"Remission, you say..."
"That means you haven't been cured. The reason you've had concerns about your stamina for so many years is that the 'Mad War Disease' is still doing its damage. What's more, this disease is constantly, progressively advancing."
"Th-that can't be—"
Hearing that the disease was progressing, Iris forgot her fever entirely. Her body felt as though it had gone cold all over.
She had been planning to recover as quickly as possible and rush to Eugard's side. But if it turned out she had a far bigger problem on her hands— "I—I..."
In the past, fevered and delirious, Iris had been keenly aware of "death."
Since then, she had not felt great fear in the prospect of dying herself. —But now, she was certain that if she died, everything connected to her would crumble.
"I can't die...! What should I do—"
"———"
"What should I do to keep living!? What should I do to stay by His Excellency's side..."
"I told you, didn't I? The 'Mad War Disease' is a disease that has been eradicated. That's why even skilled healers these days mostly don't even know it exists."
"Th-then, you wouldn't know how to cure it either—"
"—Which is why gathering the herbs necessary for treatment was quite a labor."
"Wh—"
Beneath the deafening noise of her pounding heart, Iris was slow to catch Whittaker's words. When she looked up, Whittaker was carefully placing his hat back on his head.
And beneath that hat, his face bore a smile.
"The herbs I brought for Rineck are the cure. The 'Mad War Disease' is a disease whose method of killing is already known—a disease that has already lost. You have nothing to worry about."
"You... you did that on purpose, didn't you!?"
"Ha ha ha—you had quite a 'dramatic' expression."
At Whittaker's unbelievable prank, Iris's voice cracked high in outrage.
He took it as though she had applauded, giving her a deep, courteous bow. Then, leaving her with an infuriating smile that promised to raise her fever even further, he turned his back.
"That concludes my business here. Do take care of yourself, Lady Iris. Every time something happens to you, His Excellency becomes unsettled, and that requires all manner of adjustments to our plans."
"I'm telling His Excellency about this, you know!"
"Such trivial matters—nothing would come of it, from you."
Her grudge, squeezed out with all her remaining strength, bounced off his cool smile, and Iris was thoroughly deflated. Satisfied with this, Whittaker exited the bedroom, and Iris collapsed back onto the bed.
The fever made her head fuzzy, but whether that was from the illness alone or from the torrent of emotions born inside her, she couldn't tell.
"Mad War Disease..."
To suddenly learn the name of her long-time nemesis—and to learn that it was a formidable foe that could kill her—but also that its killing method was known and the preparations were already done.
She couldn't decide whether to be angry at Whittaker's terrible sense of humor or to weep about it. But if she focused only on the hope that had ultimately been offered— "...I can live, too..."
Knowing that meant she would no longer have to hate herself, to curse herself for being bedridden at crucial moments and unable to be at Eugard's side.
The fear that, had she not known, the disease would have killed her—that was gone as well.
She could stay by Eugard's side and properly do what Iris could do.
"...Aah."
A small, hoarse voice escaped her throat, and Iris became painfully, belatedly aware of something.
Relieved, she rethought her future, and naturally pictured herself at Eugard's side—and thought: "...I love His Excellency."
Saved twice from the brink of death, the man who had kept Iris by his side after she had lost everything, who made no bones about pursuing the throne of the Empire for her sake, who gazed at her with gentle eyes.
She had been pulled along, dragged along, and continued with him out of a strange sense of duty that felt like it must be the right thing to do. But that wasn't it.
"I love you, His Excellency."
Now that she knew she could live, she finally understood her own feelings.
Iris had been in love with Eugard Elcanty all along.
△▼△▼△▼△ "—My star."
Suddenly, as if hearing his beloved girl's voice, Eugard looked up inside his tent.
"————"
Naturally, when he looked around, Iris was not in the tent.
She had fallen ill just before the campaign departed and remained at the mansion convalescing. She had herself admitted that she had concerns about her physical endurance, and told him it stemmed from a serious illness in childhood.
Still, she had intended to force herself to accompany the expedition, but accumulated fatigue from the repeated upheavals of circumstances had probably erupted.
That the fever had struck right before departure rather than during the campaign was a small mercy.
"If she's at the mansion, Rineck and the maids will give her the best care possible."
If this had happened during the campaign, when his freedom of movement was limited, handling it would have been far more difficult. Eugard reflected with the utmost regret that he had failed to account for that possibility.
Just as Eugard was furrowing his brow— *'Hey, don't you go silent thinking about her out of nowhere, lord-boy!'* "Hm?"
*'I'm in the middle of a report here, so listen up! You can mope about Iris all you like once I'm done with my business!'* That rough, sharp voice came from the Dialogue Mirror in front of Eugard.
The mirror surface glowed with communication light, and displayed upon it was a massive black wolf-man—Volcarus, who led the punitive force and fought as the mainstay of the Elcanty army.
Eugard remembered that moments ago, he had been discussing the war situation and strategy with him.
"My apologies. I thought I heard my star's voice for a moment."
*'Iris's voice...? Don't tell me she's come running after us or something.'* "No, I've received no such report. I gave Rineck strict orders to report even the smallest thing about Iris. If he defies that order, it will be time for the Obedience Collar."
*'Don't go using a collar you've never once activated like that!'* At Eugard's flat statement, Volcarus bared his fangs wide and roared. Around Volcarus's own neck, just like Rineck's, an Obedience Collar was fastened.
Of course, the Obedience Collars placed on Volcarus, Rineck, and all the rest of the former bandits had never once had their mechanism activated.
Because there had never been a need to.
"Your contributions have been remarkable. Whatever the circumstances of your joining the punitive force, I hold your service in the highest regard."
*'Ha! You'd better. —The blood on my fangs is the blood of the brothers who tried to protect you, you know.'* "Indeed. It is a noble cause."
Quietly inclining his chin at Volcarus, who boldly boasted of his deeds, Eugard gave a solemn nod.
In truth, the accomplishments of the punitive force under Volcarus's command had been extraordinary. Since the Selection Ceremony had erupted like an avalanche following the former Emperor's death, they had racked up victory after decisive victory in the multiple clashes between princes' armies.
"However, see to it that your men refrain from plundering as much as possible. Rewards will be ample. There is no need to collect heads or ears as proof of victory. Make sure that is understood."
*'How many times are you going to repeat that? Anyone dumb enough to work themselves to the bone when they've got the collar is not one of mine. And the other units are mostly following suit.'* "Good. That is all I ask."
The prohibition against pillaging was one of Eugard's directives that he wished to see enforced above all else.
After all, the battles of the Selection Ceremony were civil wars within the Volorchia Empire in every sense, and no matter how quickly they were resolved, the nation's strength would decline. Minimizing the blood spilled and lives lost, and establishing a system to heal wounds immediately—these were absolute prerequisites.
Even setting aside that perspective, Eugard detested the sight of victors excessively exploiting the defeated. The tenderhearted Iris, he was certain, viewed things from the same angle.
"My star..."
If he let his guard down, he found himself thinking of Iris immediately. Even with his guard up, he connected everything to her somehow—but when his guard was down, especially so.
*'Hey, you don't really need to be at the front, you know.'* "—What are you saying?"
*'I'm saying you don't need to come out here. Even if you did come, you'd just be standing at the back or the edge of camp talking to a mirror. You being here makes no difference. Or what—are you going to march out alone and annihilate the enemy yourself?'* "Like when I defeated you all, you mean?"
*'Don't go bringing that up!'* Volcarus had brought it up himself and then became angry unreasonably. Eugard could understand what he was getting at, but it was still too great an overestimation of the Thorn King.
"Even with my thorns, in a battle involving thousands of units, I could certainly be caught off guard. I've never tested it, but there must be limits to the thorns as well."
Against the old Volcarus and his bandits, or even a small village-scale force, he might be able to bind everyone with his thorns—but the maximum number had never been verified. He had no desire to conduct such an experiment merely to cause suffering to others.
Against an army of thousands or tens of thousands, binding everyone would certainly be impossible, and if attacked from beyond the range of the thorns' influence, he could be taken down before the enemy even approached.
There were countless ways to kill the Thorn King, aside from Iris's existence.
However— "The one who can make the Thorn King live rather than kill him is only my star."
Without her, Eugard would never have chosen to fight through the Selection Ceremony.
He would have done the same as those princes who had already conceded, surrendering his life in exchange for the security of his territory—swallowing the poison as quickly as possible on the most favorable terms he could manage.
"Therefore, I will not devise plans that rely on my own power. My apologies, Volcarus."
*'That's not what I—you being here or not doesn't matter, so why don't you just go be by Iris's side! Don't make me spell it out, lord-boy!'* "—So that's what you meant."
Rebuked along with the profanity, Eugard was wide-eyed at Volcarus's consideration.
Given the circumstances of his life being spared and his life being linked, Volcarus appeared to be deeply grateful to Iris—and now Eugard learned he had been sincerely worried about her collapse.
But Eugard shook his head.
"I appreciate your concern, but I will not do that. This is something I set in motion. Witnessing its course in detail is my role, my duty as a member of the imperial family, and my obligation as one who would become Emperor."
*'Tch, so you'll endure talking through a mirror, but won't do that?'* "I decided this together with my star. I, too, find it difficult to speak with her when I cannot touch her."
At that answer, Volcarus clicked his tongue, and Eugard closed one eye.
It might have sounded like a jest, but it was unmistakably the truth. He had never tested it, and both Eugard and Iris agreed they had no wish to test it.
Being at a distance where they could touch each other, speaking face-to-face—that was what Eugard and Iris had.
That sense of distance was surely precious to Eugard, and to Iris as well, and he refused to acknowledge that it could be substituted by any other means.
"It's somewhat ironic, I suppose."
He didn't want to do anything with Iris other than speak face-to-face at a distance where they could touch.
Using that as a reason to be separated from her would be putting the cart before the horse—no, if he was going to say that, then Eugard's decision to remain in the Selection Ceremony had been motivated by Iris's peace and happiness, and by his own desire to be with her for as long as possible.
In the current situation, participating in the Selection Ceremony was actually reducing the time he could spend with Iris. If he was to see his chosen path through, that was unavoidable.
"If you wish well by both me and Iris, then continue to win. That is the fastest way to return me to Iris's side."
*'It ain't for your sake or for hers, but fine—I'll do it. In exchange, lord-boy, when you become Emperor, you'd better treat me right!'* "Of course. Your service is worthy of being honored fully as a 'General.'"
'O-oh... well, as long as you understand. As long as you get it."
For some reason, Volcarus grew flustered, and the Dialogue Mirror conversation ended.
A fair amount had strayed from the main topic, but the fact that Volcarus had been worried about Iris was a gain for Eugard as well. That the fierce wolf-man had been won over by Iris—truly impressive.
*'—Your Excellency, might I speak with you now?'* Having finished with Volcarus, and as Eugard was transferring water from a pitcher into a cup, he turned to another call from a different Dialogue Mirror.
Those who possessed the limited Dialogue Mirrors were people in important positions within the camp. And this was a woman's voice that was not Iris's—which meant there was only one candidate.
"Teriola. Very well. Do you have a report?"
The one displayed on the glowing mirror surface was Teriola, with her long red hair and dress.
She, too, was accompanying the Elcanty army while handling rear-echelon support. Even on the battlefield, she maintained impeccable personal grooming, a glimpse of the Goldario family's awareness of appearances.
In truth, as her elder brother Whittaker had advised, Teriola was a capable girl.
Aware that she was not in a position to actively speak up at military councils during the Selection Ceremony, she specialized in intelligence work against rival factions and the information warfare that flowed from it.
In fact, the intelligence gathered by the Goldario family's operatives under Teriola's command—the shinobi—had been instrumental in getting more than a handful of princes to withdraw from the ceremony without a fight.
"The recent subversion of the Cliole house was splendid. A fine arrangement."
"I'm honored, Your Excellency. But I was merely following my brother's instructions. If you would recognize my family's contributions, perhaps those words could be directed to him—"
"Of course, I value Whittaker's contributions. But whether the one giving the orders was Whittaker, the one who actually executed and brought it to fruition was your ability. And so I wish to acknowledge your labor as well."
"Your Excellency..."
Teriola opened her sharp eyes in surprise, and her expression—stripped of its usual severity—revealed, for just an instant, the face she normally kept hidden.
How tightly the awareness of being a Goldario and having to support that man Whittaker bound her—Eugard felt something between pity and admiration, separated by a razor's edge.
"Please, do not think such things, Your Excellency. One cannot choose the family one is born into, but I believe I have chosen the best within the family I was given. When I consider the difficult position Your Excellency Eugard occupies, for someone like me—"
"I have my own trials, and you have yours. There is no meaning in comparing them and weighing which is heavier or greater. I may one day become Emperor, but to use that as a reason to diminish your daily life would be absolutely unconscionable."
"———"
"Truly, such thoughts would earn you a scolding from my star."
He couldn't bear to voice such cruel thoughts in front of Iris, who was the very embodiment of compassion.
At Eugard's words, Teriola's amber eyes reflected a swirl of complex emotions. Joy and admiration, mixed with grief and resignation—a truly complicated hue.
"My apologies. It seems we've gone off track. Let me hear your report."
"—No, it's not precisely a report. Your Excellency's new tent has been prepared, so you may move in whenever you wish."
"Oh—the tent."
When Teriola mentioned the tent, Eugard grasped the intent behind her words.
During the march, Eugard's tent was pitched at the edge of the camp. Given his constitution, which made it impossible to remain in proximity to others, it was inevitable that he would be alone.
Originally, Iris had been slated to handle his personal needs and alleviate the loneliness—but with her collapsed, that too had been lost.
As a result, Eugard had been forced to handle his own daily affairs—but— "Forcing Your Excellency to attend to such trivial matters is absolutely unconscionable."
Insisting thus, Teriola had swiftly arranged two tents as a countermeasure.
This created a system where, while one tent was in use, the other could be cleaned and organized, and Eugard alternated between the two.
There was some inconvenience in moving back and forth, but it had certainly eliminated the burden of daily chores.
"Of course, in terms of making someone attend to trivial matters, you are the same. Having someone of your standing do things like clean tents..."
"Indeed. It's a critical time. I understand the chances are exceedingly slim, but we cannot rule out the possibility that someone bearing ill will toward Your Excellency might sneak in. On that count, you need not worry about me—that much, I believe even Your Excellency would agree?"
"Because that is the Goldario family's policy?"
"—Yes, that's right. Of course, this was originally Lady Iris's role. You may have some dissatisfaction—"
"No."
At Eugard's flat denial, Teriola let out a small "Oh?" of surprise.
But leaving a capable worker with a misconception was undesirable, so Eugard looked straight at Teriola in the mirror and told her: "You are fulfilling your duties to the fullest within limited conditions. I am satisfied with your service, and therefore have no dissatisfaction whatsoever."
"———"
"Well done, Teriola Goldario. Continue to serve well."
"—Yes, Your Excellency."
Placing a slender, pale hand over her heart, Teriola bowed deeply at Eugard's words.
As he had said, Eugard was satisfied with Teriola's work. She seemed to harbor guilt about taking over Iris's duties, but there was no need to carry that burden.
After all, even if she recovered, Eugard's conclusion was that Iris should not be taken on the campaign.
"I would rather not expose my star to the atmosphere of a battlefield."
Placing her in an undesirable environment would quickly wear down Iris's body and spirit.
He would not say she lacked resolve or that her determination was fragile. But every person had a calling, and Iris was not a girl who could stand on a battlefield.
If only Iris could remain healthy and well— *'Your Excellency's concern—that may perhaps be alleviated.'* "What?"
*'This is only my brother's speculation, so I cannot say anything definitive—'"
At Teriola's coy lead-up, Eugard frowned. But without confirmation or Whittaker's permission, Teriola said no more. That it was not bad news for Eugard, however, she had certainly let slip.
And to learn the nature of that scheme of hers—and of Whittaker's— "—We must end the Selection Ceremony as quickly as possible."
*'Your Excellency Eugard...'*"
"Teriola, continue to serve well. I have a council of war. Leave the details to you."
'—Understood. Please do as you see fit, Your Excellency."
"Good. Well done."
Eugard inclined his chin, Teriola bowed, and her image vanished from the mirror.
Watching her go, Eugard rubbed his brow with a finger before activating the array of Dialogue Mirrors before him, restructuring the advance plan in his mind.
He knew impatience was the enemy, but the urgency simply would not stop asserting itself.
For Eugard, who did not know pain, the only remedy to halt that throbbing was the prescription of Iris.
That was precisely why— "—Even in the dark heavens, I think of you, my star."
△▼△▼△▼△ —It was a sensation unlike anything before: his soul burned by searing heat.
The fevered head, the fevered body had imposed countless hardships on Iris before.
But what this searing heat brought was not hardship. This heat, incomparably greater than anything she had experienced, was supposed to bring Iris freedom.
"Nngh—!"
The feeling of her entire being being tossed into flames wracked her with agony, and Iris thrashed in torment.
Her body, which she had thought the illness had stripped of all its strength when she was young—learning that it had not in fact vanquished the disease, she found herself oddly accepting.
The "death" that Iris had always felt close at hand had continued to linger beside her in the form of an unvanquished disease.
"Hah... hah..."
Gasping hot breaths, Iris pictured the man she loved.
Her vision, blurred by heat and tears, made even the familiar ceiling indistinct. But what Iris wanted to see was not a white ceiling—it was the one man who was not here.
Even now, fighting alone for Iris's future.
What an arrogant thought, she knew.
Eugard, alone? What of Whittaker and his vassals, who wished him to become Emperor and supported him? What of Volcarus and the soldiers, who shed their blood to fight?
Of course, she was grateful to them. She did not believe their feelings were false.
And yet, Eugard was alone.
Because the one person who should have been by his side—was not.
"I have to go..."
At the peak of her struggle to breathe, Iris was conscious of drowning in agony equal to—or worse than—what she had experienced before, yet she desperately reached out toward that distant back.
When she was young, the back Iris had chased through the fevered lake was that of her parents—figures close to her. A helpless child, desperately clinging, begging to be saved.
But Iris was no longer a child. She would not cling—she would run.
"Eugard... Your Excellency."
She could run straight toward him— "—Lady Iris!"
Jolted by the sharp voice called out right beside her, Iris slowly opened her eyes.
Her entire body was drenched in a waterfall of sweat, and she could feel the bed soaked through. She was not someone who usually perspired much, so even for night sweats, this was an abnormal amount.
But she did not feel disgusted by the sweat. If anything, it was refreshing.
Because it was visible proof that whatever had been nesting inside her had been expelled from her body.
"You fought... you fought so well, I say. What a strong girl...!"
"Teacher..."
Rineck, who had been gripping Iris's hand and desperately calling out to her beside the bed, was trembling.
Using the precious herbs Whittaker had brought, he had brewed a medicinal decoction for the Mad War Disease—and throughout Iris's battle against the illness, he must have stayed at her side the entire time.
Or perhaps he had been prepared for the possibility that Iris's body might not withstand the fight.
If it came to that, he had been ready, with the resolve of a man facing death.
"But I made it back, Teacher."
"You did, I say! Truly, truly..."
"...It's strange for you to be the one crying, Teacher."
At those round, tear-filled eyes, Iris gave a weak smile.
But though that smile had no strength, strength would soon well up again. And not just any strength—strength unlike anything Iris had ever experienced before.
The feeling that the life force she had always lacked was returning.
That was why— "I want to see His Excellency. —I have something I need to tell him."
△▼△▼△▼△ "Guh—khhh!"
A blood-choked groan escaped, and the Sun Sword fell from Grideo Muzik's grasp.
Blazing like flame, red as blood—the Volorchia Empire's treasure of a blade struck the floor with a shrill clang before vanishing like smoke.
Once it had vanished, the Sun Sword would never return to Grideo's hand again.
"This is the end."
Before the kneeling Grideo, Eugard held the same blade that had vanished from his brother's grip.
Grideo's pride had driven him to cross swords three more times. His strikes, which endured through pain and agony, had still possessed the spirit to surpass his opponent.
And even that tenacity, Eugard's thorns had bound and refused to release.
"Eugard..."
Grideo clutched his chest, gasping under the ceaseless onslaught of pain. Yet as one of the Volorchia imperial family—as one of the last two remaining—his face and his eyes showed no defeat.
Eugard paid tribute to his brother's praiseworthy strength of will and to the power Grideo had displayed over the years—power that had made him the most formidable candidate in the Selection Ceremony, and that had exceeded even his reputation.
"It was a magnificent battle, brother."
"—Hmph."
Twisting his lips in pain, Grideo neither mocked nor made excuses. Without bending from his fierce and valiant way of life, he laughed with a warrior's pride.
At the quiet nod Eugard gave in response to Grideo's indomitable spirit, Eugard flashed the Sun Sword—and with a single stroke, his brother's strong neck was sent flying. His body slumped to the ground with a heavy thud.
Grideo's corpse would not ignite.
The Sun Sword's flames consumed only what they wished to burn, and Grideo did not qualify.
Of course, the body needed to remain to confirm Grideo's death—but the respect Eugard had shown Grideo had nothing to do with such practicalities.
In any case— "—It's over."
Eugard, and Grideo, who was now a corpse.
The soldiers of the Muzik household who had stood as a wall to protect Grideo had already fallen along the path Eugard had carved to reach this place.
They had besieged Grideo's encampment, driven him into the great hall, and settled the matter through a duel between Eugard and Grideo.
—Only the final reckoning had to be settled with his own hands.
"—Can you hear me, Whittaker?"
"Yes, loud and clear. Your Excellency, the fact that you've contacted me like this means..."
"That's right. —I've slain Grideo Muzik. It is our victory."
"———"
Eugard activated the Dialogue Mirror from his breast and delivered the news to Whittaker, who had been waiting with bated breath.
Upon hearing it, the normally quick-to-react Whittaker fell silent.
Surprised by this rarity, Eugard raised one eyebrow.
"Whittaker? As I said, it is our victory. We should immediately—"
'—I offer my most sincere congratulations, Your Excellency Eugard Volorchia, Emperor."
"———"
As if the tables had been turned, this time it was Eugard who was rendered speechless.
In the mirror, Whittaker had placed a hand over his chest and was bowing deeply—a bow that carried even greater reverence than any he had shown before. Recognizing it as the deepest bow of respect, Eugard let out a small breath.
Yes, of course.
Until Whittaker said it, he had not quite grasped the reality—but Grideo Muzik had been the last enemy, and now only one prince remained who held the right of succession.
Which meant that Eugard was the victor of the Selection Ceremony.
"Eugard Volorchia."
*'You will be the sixty-first Emperor. To have been able to lend a hand—my heart swells with pride.'* "Whittaker Goldario, you too have served well. However..."
'However?"
"If I was to be congratulated for the first time, I wished to hear it from my star's mouth."
As he spoke that honest truth, Whittaker paused in surprise—then burst out laughing.
Eugard reflected that it had been a reckless thing to say, something that might well have drawn anger. But Whittaker managed to contain his laughter and— 'Ha ha ha, what an amusing man you truly are. That candor of yours is rather refreshing once one grows accustomed to it. And speaking of which, there is something I wish to tell Your Excellency."
"What is it? Something besides congratulations?"
'Naturally—I have prepared a rather 'dramatic' gift."
△▼△▼△▼△ What Whittaker Goldario's "dramatic" gift could be—Eugard Elcanty, who would become Eugard Volorchia after his coronation—did not yet know.
But it was a value that the capable and irreplaceable advisor Whittaker held dear, and Eugard had wanted to understand it if he could.
And perhaps, for the first time, he had come to understand what Whittaker's "dramatic" meant.
"———"
Stepping out of the Muzik household's castle, Eugard stood upon the vast, deserted plain.
His back to the castle, with no friend or foe left in sight, Eugard could make out in the far distance an ox cart—and a small figure descending from it.
He knew at a glance who that small, heat-haze-like figure was.
"—My star."
The woman who had been convalescing at the mansion, who had refused to speak through the Dialogue Mirror, who for months had been locked away as Eugard focused on the Selection Ceremony—the woman he had only been able to meet behind his closed eyelids—Iris was here.
The deserted plain, the ox cart that had delivered her—had Whittaker arranged all of this?
If Eugard had fallen to Grideo, it would have meant bringing Iris close to a place swarming with enemy soldiers—but that entirely reasonable fear was blown away.
Dressed in a blue gown, her flaxen hair gathered into one, back held ever so straight—Iris had turned her face toward him, catching the equally blurred Eugard in her gaze.
He could see those beautiful eyes glistening faintly, and Eugard began to run.
Kicking off the ground, with every step aching with impatience, Eugard ran toward Iris.
Iris, too, could not wait for the running Eugard and began to run toward him.
"———"
For a moment, he started to cry out in concern for Iris—but that was dispelled by the expression on her face, growing clearer with each stride: Iris's radiant smile.
She bore no trace of the anxiety from having collapsed from fever, and Eugard accepted it as her answer, driving his feet harder against the ground.
And the distance between them grew smaller, and smaller, and smaller, and smaller, and smaller— "My star... Iris!"
At a distance where he could see her face clearly, Eugard shouted her name.
Shouting, his heart decided to reach for Iris's hand—no, to embrace her body directly. Called by name, Iris's eyes widened slightly, and then her steps began to slow.
At this distance, the sprint was becoming difficult. It was frustrating, but that was fine. Eugard would close the gap himself.
And so, carried by the momentum of his heart, Eugard closed in on Iris— "—Iris?"
Panting, the expression on Eugard's face clouded over.
It was because Iris—who had been running toward him, gradually slowing to a walk—had come to a stop.
Had she overdone it? Had she reached her physical limit? Eugard's eyes searched Iris closely.
And he realized it was neither.
"—Ah."
Iris had pressed a hand to her chest, gasped as though in pain, and fallen to her knees.
He understood, as though it were placed in his hands, what had happened to her. —Because the expression on Iris's face was one Eugard knew all too well.
"—Whittaker! Send someone here immediately!"
'———"
Slamming his hand against the Dialogue Mirror's surface, Eugard issued the sharpest cry of his life.
The response from the other side—likely unexpected, likely not anticipating being summoned—was slow. Without waiting, Eugard called "Whittaker!" again and again.
Before long, Eugard, too, had stopped walking, and could close no more distance between himself and Iris.
He could not close it.
Because— "I can go no closer to Iris... to my star."
Eugard Elcanty had won the Selection Ceremony and claimed the throne he had promised Iris.
—And as the price of that throne, he had lost the right to touch the most beautiful star in the world.
△▼△▼△▼△ —The old story tells.
It is the story of a solitary king and a single girl.
The story of how a solitary king met a girl and was solitary no more.
The king who should have been solitary no longer was robbed of the time he was supposed to share with the girl who had freed him from his solitude.
The thorns' binding had at last bound even the girl's heart, and the two were denied their meetings.
The solitary king who had cut down his brothers and sisters and seized the throne.
The single girl who had been about to tell the king of the feelings she had finally recognized.
Solitary and single, their hands unable to touch, the land of the Sword Wolf engraved its history.
△▼△▼△▼△ —Mad War Disease.
It was the name of a terrible plague that had been deliberately spread throughout the Volorchia Empire during an era when the "Witch" had been wreaking havoc across the world.
In the Volorchia Empire, which even then upheld its iron-blooded creed, and in an era when human life was treated even more cheaply than now, fierce warriors who knew no fear were demanded on the battlefield.
The Mad War Disease was a plague created deliberately for the purpose of forging such warriors.
The disease served as a sieve from the moment of infection, testing whether the patient could cross the boundary between life and death. Those who survived manifested symptoms that gave the Mad War Disease its name.
Patients with Mad War Disease lost the ability to perceive pain beyond a certain threshold.
What made people cowardly on the battlefield was the fear of death, but the gateway to that fear was pain. In other words, cutting off pain had the effect of making one forget death until the very moment of dying.
Therefore, those afflicted with the Mad War Disease burned with fever and could rage wildly regardless of the severity of their wounds until the moment of death.
"Because of this, the disease gradually fell out of use after the Witch War ended, to the point where almost no records remain today, I say."
"———"
"It manifested in Lady Iris, we believe, through ancestral inheritance. That condition tormented Lady Iris for many years, and just now, with the medicine brewed from the herbs that were obtained, we achieved a complete cure."
"———"
"...And that resulted in keeping Lady Iris away from Your Excellency."
Sitting by the bedside, Rineck explained the chain of events.
Listening to Rineck's words, Iris lay on her back, touching her own chest, staring blankly at the ceiling.
The location was the Muzik household's castle, seized by the Elcanty army after the loss of its lord. Currently, Iris and others associated with the Elcanty family were making use of it.
And Eugard was no longer here. —He had to travel to the imperial capital
As the victor of the Selection Ceremony, the one who had earned the right to become the sixty-first Volorchia Emperor—as proof that he was the person the Empire most deserved to revere.
It should have been Iris who congratulated him on that victory from the closest vantage point.
"Nngh—"
Biting hard on her lip, Iris covered her eyes with her arm. If she didn't, the tears welling up would take out their frustration on Rineck, who was still there for her.
Rineck had done everything in his power, using every piece of knowledge he had, to save Iris from her intractable disease.
Who could have predicted that it would result in this?
"—I'm sorry, Lady Iris...!"
Yet at Iris's gesture of covering her face, Rineck blamed himself.
Feeling the weight of his deeply bowed head, Iris shook her head.
"Please—please stop, Teacher. You haven't done anything—anything at all—that you need to apologize for..."
"But I say...!"
"No one could have known! That the disease I'd had for years was the reason His Excellency's thorns had no effect on me—no one could have known. No one."
Yes, no one could have predicted it.
Everyone involved in the situation surrounding the Mad War Disease had acted out of good intentions. If one absolutely had to assign blame, it was not Whittaker, who had found the herbs, nor Rineck, who had brewed them into medicine.
The one at fault was Iris, for having contracted such a disease.
"But if I hadn't been a patient, I never would have met His Excellency."
"Lady Iris..."
"...It was like a dream. A village girl from the countryside like me, treated so kindly by a prince of the Empire as handsome and tall as His Excellency. And not just any prince—he went and became the Emperor. I can't believe it."
"———"
"He tried so hard, and I made him try so hard, and I ruined everything."
The relationship that had begun when she met Eugard on that hill and exchanged words beneath the starry sky—every last bit of it had been destroyed by Iris's existence.
She could no longer look at Eugard's face, touch his body, hear him call her name in his own voice, feel his touch, meet his gaze.
"How... what a terrible woman I am."
△▼△▼△▼△ "———"
In the empty throne room where no one remained, Eugard gazed at the Volorchia imperial standard.
Hung from the high ceiling behind the throne, the banner bore the imperial crest of the Sword Wolf—a wolf pierced by a sword—and flew as a testament to the nobility and pride of the Volorchia people.
If the Sword Wolf, as depicted on that standard, was the quality demanded of the Volorchia Emperor, then was Eugard a Sword Wolf?
Was he worthy of standing at the pinnacle of the people, who were so sternly commanded to be strong?
"To say such a thing would earn brother Grideo's curse."
Grideo, who had pursued the throne with vigor and ambition to realize his ideals.
It was not only Grideo. Two hundred and twelve princes had been eligible to participate in this Selection Ceremony—those who chose to fight and those who had no choice. Upon the lives of them all, Eugard had earned the right to sit on the throne in the Crystal Palace of the imperial capital Lupugana.
"———"
At his feet, the blood-red carpet seemed soaked in the blood of his two hundred and eleven siblings and those who had given their lives for them—even if no actual blood had stained it.
Treading upon it, Eugard sat with dignity upon the throne in the empty hall.
"Mad War Disease..."
On his lap, Eugard held a single letter.
It was a message delivered by arrow, and it detailed Iris's condition upon her collapse, the method of treatment, and the reason for the change that had occurred in her.
In brief, Iris had long suffered from a disease she had not been aware of, and that disease had been protecting her from Eugard's thorns. But no matter what it did, a disease was a disease—if left untreated, it would be life-threatening. They had treated it, and Iris had been freed from years of pathology.
The cost of that freedom was that she had lost the ability to escape the thorns' binding.
"—My star."
The image of Iris, gasping in pain, unable to even touch him, resurfaced in his mind, and Eugard rubbed his brow with a finger, quietly praying for her peace.
The letter stated clearly that she was already stable in the Muzik castle, with no aftereffects from the Mad War Disease, and was on the mend.
Even so, he earnestly wished that the memory of her suffering would fade as quickly as possible.
—Eugard would never again be able to touch Iris.
He could never again run his fingers through that flaxen hair, stroke her blushing cheeks with his palm, press his lips to the shyly gazing lids, or embrace that slender, precious body.
But— "If I can create a time when you can live at ease, that is enough."
That was the original reason Eugard Elcanty had challenged the Selection Ceremony.
Iris, whose village had been raided by bandits and whose family had been killed—even she, who showed mercy even to those who had destroyed everything, would have to live in the Volorchia Empire, where its iron-blooded creed was still revered after Eugard was gone. —He had to change that environment, the one Iris could so easily be trampled in, with his own hands.
For that, Eugard had chosen to win the Selection Ceremony and become Emperor.
To take Iris as his empress, to share her time, to live together for as long as possible—that was merely an accompanying desire, his own selfish wish attached to that first goal.
It was not something worth prioritizing at the cost of Iris's suffering.
"I have been blessed enough. —Now, I need only act in a manner worthy of those blessings."
△▼△▼△▼△ "Don't screw with me!"
A full-force sweep of his arm shattered the long table used for war councils into splinters.
Wood fragments scattered across the tent, and Whittaker, shielding his mouth with a white handkerchief against a fair number of them, narrowed his thread-thin eyes with a frown.
"No one is screwing with anyone. Please, calm down."
"Calm down?! How the hell am I supposed to calm down?! The lord-boy was finally about to become Emperor and then—this! This!"
It was Volcarus who bellowed, his golden pupils contracted to slits.
At the source of Volcarus's fury—at the reason he was raging—Whittaker rubbed his hands together in front of his face.
"How unexpected."
"Huh? What's unexpected? What the hell is unexpected about..."
"Well, think about it. From your perspective, His Excellency can no longer approach Lady Iris. For you, who cares for her—"
"—Shut up."
The words had barely left Whittaker's mouth before Volcarus's claws were at his throat.
It was a display of speed that defied the blink of an eye. Whittaker, who had not even trained in self-defense, could not track the movements of the Empire's most formidable warrior with his eyes.
Even so, Volcarus possessed enough reason not to actually sink those claws into Whittaker's neck.
"I owe that woman a debt. A huge, huge debt. That's all."
"Let's leave it at that, then."
"You..."
"—That's enough!"
With Volcarus's razor-sharp claws still aimed at his life, Whittaker provocatively continued. Then, between the two of them, a menacing aura that had been building was sharply rebuked by a clear, feminine voice.
It was Teriola, who had been present and had witnessed the entire rough exchange.
"Volcarus, please, calm down. You must not lose your temper. And Brother—you know full well what he's like, so please don't deliberately provoke him."
"Tch."
At Teriola's words, Volcarus clicked his tongue and shoved Whittaker away. "Whoops," stumbling backward, Whittaker could only raise both hands in the face of his sister's severe gaze.
Seeing them separated, Teriola let out a deep sigh.
"The one having the hardest time right now is His Excellency Eugard. He won the Selection Ceremony, and all that remains is to complete the coronation to claim the title of Emperor..."
"It's like a checkmate on a shatranj board, but you step into a pitfall right before delivering the killing blow."
"You're speaking as though it's someone else's problem. In the first place, the reason Iris ended up like that—and the lord-boy too—was because of the herbs you supplied."
"Then you're saying we should have ignored Lady Iris's illness? You're right—if we had, it might have been possible to let her pass away quietly, and the two of them could have spent their remaining time together."
"Brother—!"
At her elder brother's went-too-far words, Teriola's voice and expression turned fierce. If Teriola had been even a moment slower to react, Volcarus's claws might have taken Whittaker's head.
It was that severe a remark.
"Please don't say such reckless things. ...Volcarus, you're wrong to blame Brother for Lady Iris's illness."
"Then what the hell am I supposed to do!?"
Volcarus, driven by fury, ground his fangs and clutched his head.
And to Volcarus's blood-choking cry, tragically, Teriola had no answer. Perhaps no one in the Empire did.
"Brother..."
"Don't make such pathetic faces and voices, Teriola. As a member of this family, straighten your back. —Whatever the case, the Selection Ceremony is over. First, we must calmly prepare for the coronation."
"The coronation preparations... but His Excellency Eugard..."
"He needs to get up and attend. This isn't a game. He understands that himself."
Settling matters aside from the problem between Eugard and Iris, Whittaker turned to the subject of the ceremony that needed to proceed.
As Whittaker said, with the Selection Ceremony concluded, the throne could not be left vacant indefinitely. An absent Emperor meant defenselessness against neighboring states like the亲竜 Kingdom and the city-states. That was why the resolution of the Selection Ceremony had been rushed.
"Volcarus, my sister and I will advance the preparations for the ceremony. As for you..."
"I'm going to Iris. There's nothing I can do here now that the fighting's over. Besides..."
"Besides?"
"If the Selection Ceremony is over and someone tries to cause trouble, I'm the one who's most likely to be caught off guard."
With that parting shot, Volcarus rose, hunched his shoulders, and shuffled out of the tent, careful not to scrape his head against the ceiling.
After his retreating, rounded back, Teriola called out, "Volcarus..."
"...Could you please tell Iris that... well..."
"Hah. Neither you nor I have any right to say anything to her."
"—Take care of yourself."
Hit by a direct strike at her weakest point, Teriola held her breath and could only manage that much.
Without answering her pretense, Volcarus left the tent, and only the Goldario siblings remained.
"But truly, this is a mess. I never imagined that curing Lady Iris's Mad War Disease would backfire like this."
"No one could have predicted something like this. Brother, you mustn't blame yourself—"
"Yes. —No one could have predicted it."
"...Brother?"
Rubbing his hands together, Whittaker answered with something that caught Teriola off guard.
There was something hidden in his words, and once it lodged in her mind, Teriola recalled what Whittaker had said earlier—"backfire."
For something to "backfire" meant that one had taken action to produce some result.
Iris's Mad War Disease had been cured, and she had lost the ability to escape Eugard's thorns. But that was not all that had happened.
"—His Excellency Eugard's 'Thorn Curse'—its range has expanded."
Whittaker spoke as though a prediction had been confirmed.
His words pointed to the change that had occurred in Eugard immediately after his failed reunion with Iris—the expansion of the Thorn King's curse.
Until now, the rough range of Eugard's "Thorn Curse" had been a hundred-meter radius, give or take with some daily variance. That had now undergone a drastic transformation.
The curse's range of influence had exploded to several hundred meters, and it had even penetrated the Dialogue Mirror, binding hearts across physical distances regardless.
"As a result, all the Dialogue Mirrors we scattered for His Excellency's sake have become completely useless. If the curse's effect doesn't change, gathering all those magical tools was for nothing."
"I wouldn't say it was for nothing. During the Selection Ceremony, they served their purpose well. And His Excellency's curse may not remain in this state forever..."
"Are you, a member of this family, speaking with a hopeful forecast about the future?"
"———"
"The curse has grown stronger. I can imagine it growing stronger still, but I cannot imagine it weakening or disappearing. —His Excellency will only become more isolated."
At Whittaker's quiet, almost certain voice, Teriola was silenced.
Her brother was right. Teriola, too, understood this in her heart. But to acknowledge it was to accept that there was far too little, far too little hope for Eugard.
Even the Dialogue Mirror's remote conversations had been severed, and Iris—the one he could rely on—could no longer approach. Now, Eugard truly stood alone.
"The curse grows stronger, and isolation deepens. Is that so... yes, it is..."
As Teriola clenched her fist tightly, Whittaker stopped his hand-rubbing motion and murmured something under his breath. His thread-thin eyes opened slightly, and with those amber irises he showed so rarely even to his sister, he seemed to gaze at the world—or at something invisible.
"———"
"Brother?"
"—Ah, no, my apologies. Regardless, let us prepare for the coronation. We'll have to rely on old-fashioned means—arrow-letters—to communicate with His Excellency, but let's move forward. Gather everyone."
"Yes, I understand."
With a shrug and his usual tone, Whittaker nodded, and Teriola took her leave.
Even in unforeseen circumstances, the ability to stop one's feet and establish the next course of action was Whittaker's virtue. Teriola had always been helped by her brother's decisiveness. —Usually.
But at this moment, a small seed of suspicion had taken root in Teriola's heart.
"'Backfire,' he said."
The suspicion that Whittaker had treated Iris's Mad War Disease in pursuit of some specific outcome had not faded. If it had been done for Eugard's sake and Iris's sake, then fine.
But if it was not—then what?
In the moment before his final instructions, Whittaker's lips had moved as though to himself.
Tragically, it had been soundless—but Teriola, as a daughter of the Goldario family, had been able to read his lips.
Whittaker had murmured, silently: *"Now, what would be the most 'dramatic' development?"* △▼△▼△▼△ —The day of the coronation drew near.
Slowly, day by day, the Empire—having concluded its Selection Ceremony—now awaited with bated breath the moment a new Emperor would be seated upon the empty throne.
It could not betray that expectation. There was no reason to betray it. There was no justification for being forced to betray it.
Iris was waiting idly in the Muzik castle, watching precious time pass in vain.
"My physical condition has never been better."
Standing at the grand window of the lavish room she had been given—a window befitting the large chamber— Iris gazed at the clear sky with bitter resentment.
In truth, her condition was superb. Before she had known about the Mad War Disease, Iris had felt as though she were carrying a leaden weight inside her that made her tired at random moments even when doing nothing. Now, that had completely vanished.
And yet, the leaden weight that had disappeared from her body had now migrated to the depths of her heart.
She was being kept at the castle under the pretext of convalescence, but convalescence from what?
Her body was perfectly fine, and yet in this room—far too large for one person to inhabit comfortably—she had no idea what she was supposed to be doing.
At the Elcanty mansion, Iris had similarly caused Eugard headaches with her restlessness.
But at least then, she had been able to find a role—a task that only she could do, the excuse of looking after Eugard's daily needs.
"But now...?"
What could someone like her do— "—Well, well. Playing the tragic little princess, are we?"
"—!"
Startled by the voice, Iris looked up sharply.
Before the great window, a hand armed with keen claws had caught the window frame, and a massive black body was hauling itself up until a familiar face burst into view.
It was— "Vol... carus?"
"Who else would be climbing into your window but me?"
"...There's no need to brag about it."
With a sullen expression, Iris shot back, and then sidestepped to make room for the intruder.
Volcarus climbed in with complete composure, then glanced at Iris, who had moved aside, and grabbed her shoulder to turn her around.
"Kyah! What are you—"
"Your eyes are red. Don't tell me you've been sniveling away in here?"
"That's... that's none of your concern."
"The hell it isn't."
Volcarus leaned in, looming over her. At his growling, low voice, Iris's gaze faltered weakly.
It was not fear of his intimidation. She knew full well that Volcarus harbored no hostility or malice.
Iris averted her eyes because his golden gaze was looking straight at her, and in those eyes she could see her own pathetic, feeble reflection.
"...I'm sorry. It is your concern. I was lashing out."
"I know that, stupid. —My bad."
"Huh?"
"If I had killed the lord-boy's last brother a little sooner, you could have seen his face and heard his voice and congratulated him. That's why."
Still gripping Iris's shoulder, Volcarus hung his head. For an instant, Iris was stunned—and then realized he was bowing his head, which stunned her even more.
That Volcarus would ever bow his head and apologize to Iris like this— "What's with that face, huh?"
"I was surprised. ...A lot must have happened that I wasn't aware of."
"Nothing happened! The biggest thing was you and him—"
"Volcarus, it's not your fault."
"———"
"I understand. I think the result would have been different if the timing had been slightly earlier or later, that's all."
Eugard's thorns, and Iris's Mad War Disease.
This was, in essence, the outcome of the very things that had brought them together, that had let them speak to each other and touch each other. Volcarus bore no blame.
"Volcarus, why are you here? You're the greatest warrior in His Excellency's army."
"...There are no more enemies for the lord-boy. I have no reason to be at his side anymore. Besides—"
"Besides?"
"I was worried about you. Because I owe you a debt."
"That's been settled long ago..."
Volcarus murmured quickly, reciting his usual lines, and the corners of Iris's eyes softened.
The debt Volcarus kept claiming toward Iris—calling it "settled" was difficult. He had killed her parents. What would it take to repay that?
But Volcarus had risked his life, given everything he had, to accompany the fight Iris had started Eugard on, and to support him until he became Emperor.
Was that result not enough? Was that not enough to forgive Volcarus?
"—No, I haven't repaid a damn thing."
"———"
It was Volcarus himself who bluntly denied Iris's silent reasoning.
Baring his sharp fangs, still gripping her shoulder, his touch on the frail body he could easily crush with his strength, Volcarus continued: "I told you. I owe you a debt. One so huge I could spend my entire life repaying it and never come close. So..."
"Volcarus..."
"So you can use me for the rest of your life, Iris! You can use me for anything you want, for anything you want to do...!"
Clenching his teeth, Volcarus spoke as though he were coughing up blood.
Hearing the soul's cry of the wolf-man, Iris felt as though lightning had pierced her entire body.
And she finally understood—what had truly been behind the exchanges of debts and repayment they had shared, the exchanges that were supposed to be about not forgetting what was owed.
Volcarus had been crying out far more, far longer than Iris had ever realized.
"I'm strong. But I'm stupid. I don't know how to make you and him go back to the way things were. That's why you and Teacher need to think for me. And whatever answer you come up with, I'll do whatever it takes."
Volcarus declared bravely that he was stupid.
But in his words, Iris knew that was wrong.
Volcarus was not stupid. She was the stupid one. That was why, unlike Volcarus—who could read the wish before him clearly—she was twisting herself in knots.
Unlike Volcarus, who could find reasons not to give up, she could find only reasons to give up.
She had been trying to make her peace with never seeing Eugard again.
Iris had been about to make that gentle Thorn King—alone.
"—Ah."
Softly, tears spilled from Iris's eyes and trailed down her cheeks.
She herself had been unaware of the tears, and she held her breath slightly. —But it was in that moment.
Volcarus leaned in and licked the tears from her cheek.
"———"
The rough texture of a wolf-man's tongue—one designed for scraping flesh from bone—swept across her cheek.
She nearly felt as though the skin would be peeled from the bone. After the shock of that sensation, the act itself made her eyes go wide.
"You—you—what did you just—"
"Huh? You were crying. It's only natural for the adults in the pack to comfort a pup."
"Who's the adult and who's the pup?! You really are...!"
At Volcarus's nonchalant expression, Iris flushed red, wiped her cheek with her palm, and then let out a small breath, relaxing her shoulders.
As though confirming her change, Volcarus's hand released her shoulder.
Truly, this wolf-man, to the very end.
"Will you really help me with anything?"
"I told you, I owe you—"
"—A huge debt. Right?"
"Hah."
Volcarus snorted softly, the corner of his mouth twisting into a grin. And Iris, though weak, smiled in return.
Nothing had changed. Iris's Mad War Disease had healed, and she had lost the ability to escape Eugard's thorns.
Even so—she could not simply throw everything away. That was— "I have something I need to tell His Excellency..."
She would go to his side with this—herself, completely, the whole of Iris.
That was the moment Iris made her resolve.
"—Lady Iris! This is terrible!"
"Teacher?"
Screaming, Rineck burst into the room without even knocking. His face ashen, his gaze fell upon the room—and upon Volcarus beside Iris. "Volcarus!?" His eyes went wide.
But immediately, he shook his head and big nose from side to side.
"More important than that... Lady Iris, please, listen calmly!"
"Calm down? You're the one who can't calm down."
"Volcarus, please. ...Teacher, what's wrong?"
At Rineck's unusual demeanor, Iris stopped Volcarus and asked.
But before she heard Rineck's answer, a dark premonition gnawed at her chest. Just now, having only just decided to face forward—she felt a chill.
And that feeling, to her bitter regret, was not wrong.
"—Whittaker Goldario has launched a rebellion! He set fire to the detached palace in the imperial capital where Your Excellency was staying, attempting to assassinate His Excellency!"
△▼△▼△▼△ The Crystal Palace of the imperial capital Lupugana was a castle built from the pinnacle of Volorchia Empire technology and artistry, and was called the most beautiful castle not only in the Empire but in the entire world.
Constructed using vast quantities of precious spirit stones, the Crystal Palace's building knowledge had been lost to time, and in the modern era, nothing like it could ever be built again.
Therefore— "While we were preparing for the coronation, he had His Excellency moved to the detached palace, then struck there. That Crystal Palace is irreplaceable—it's Volorchia's treasure, you see."
"—His Excellency Eugard is also irreplaceable."
"You'd say that, wouldn't you? The man you love with devoted heart. To you, he's the world's only irreplaceable, perfect match. But then why does the Selection Ceremony exist?"
"———"
"There's no such thing as an irreplaceable person. Not even His Excellency Eugard Elcanty is an exception. I'd thought you, as a member of this family, understood that."
Behind the iron bars, Teriola lowered her face at Whittaker's words.
Forcibly thrown into the cell, Teriola had lost her usual graceful composure. Her dress was torn at the hem, her prized red hair was disheveled, and her makeup had smudged.
And it was with a cold expression that Whittaker gazed down at her.
That was only natural.
After all, Teriola had disrupted his greatest gamble.
"There's nothing more painful than betrayal by blood. You're a sinful woman, Teriola."
"If that's so, then I feel the same way about you, brother. His Excellency Eugard, too, must have been heartbroken to be betrayed by someone in whom he placed his absolute trust."
"His Excellency heartbroken? Come now, that's the greatest joke I've ever heard. From the moment he was old enough to understand, his heart has been crushed by thorns without cease—and yet he does not know pain. The heartbreak of betrayal by a vassal—how could he possibly feel that?"
"Brother—!"
Gripping the iron bars, her carefully maintained nails cracking in the process, Teriola glared at Whittaker with fierce intensity.
At her glare, Whittaker gave a slight shrug.
"Face reality, Teriola. His Excellency's 'Thorn Curse' is on nothing but an upward trajectory. He can no longer remain on the throne of the Volorchia Empire. If that's the case, then an alternative is needed."
"And that alternative is you, sitting on the throne yourself!? You'll go down in history as a treacherous minister who stole the crown!"
"There's no other way. The Selection Ceremony is over, and there are no other imperial princes left. If Grideo had still been alive before his death, we could have installed him—but that's no longer possible. So, in accordance with Volorchia tradition, the one who seizes the throne by force becomes the next Emperor."
"From the very beginning... you planned this from the very beginning, didn't you?"
"———"
Whittaker spoke as though it were unavoidable, but Teriola would not believe him.
Because Whittaker had said "backfire." He had acted with deliberate intent when he treated Iris's Mad War Disease, creating this very situation.
She did not know when. But Whittaker had wanted this outcome.
"Why...!"
"That's my line, Teriola. You let His Excellency escape right before the assassination was carried out, creating this unnecessary extra work. Of course, wherever he goes, he's spreading thorns around him, so finding him won't be too difficult."
"—!"
Whittaker dismissed Teriola's resistance as a trivial obstacle, then turned his back.
Even if she lunged at his retreating figure, only empty emotional arguments would come out—Teriola could not find the words to change Whittaker's mind.
She could only say through choked sobs: "I despise you, brother...!"
"———"
There was no reply from Whittaker.
△▼△▼△▼△ —Eugard had not detected a single sign of Whittaker Goldario's rebellion.
This spoke to Whittaker's thoroughness and cunning—his exceptional capability as a whole. But Eugard's own failings were not unrelated to how it came about.
No matter what excuses he made, Eugard had let his guard down.
On the verge of being crowned as the Volorchia Emperor, his heart was unsteady, not calm. The crushing weight of the great responsibility he was about to bear, coupled with the sense of loss from the support that should have been there but was gone.
No matter how much he tried to forge his heart from steel, there were gaps he could not conceal.
"If Teriola hadn't guided me, I'd be—"
Moments before the detached palace was set ablaze, Teriola, even while writhing in agony from the thorns' binding, had dashed to Eugard's side and helped him escape the imperial capital.
How much pain that had taken, how much anguish she had endured to make that decision—Eugard could imagine it, but he could not truly understand.
The pain of having his heart bound by thorns, and the pain of betraying a beloved sibling—both.
"A formidable opponent."
Fleeing the detached palace, evading those sent to pursue him by Whittaker's design, choosing to stay clear of populated areas—in the end, Eugard found himself in the forest.
In a forest beyond the walls of the imperial capital, sprinting along treacherous ground, Eugard was aware of the pursuers who were tracking him through his consciousness.
They were keeping at a proper distance beyond the range of his thorns' influence—likely the Empire's most elite warriors, the "Nine Divine Generals," appointed by the former Emperor Radocain Volorchia as the nine strongest fighters in the Empire.
The Nine Divine Generals should have been released from service upon the former Emperor's death, but they had likely been recalled to the imperial capital in anticipation of the next Emperor's coronation.
Whittaker had claimed them as his own, using them as assassins to eliminate Eugard.
"Cunning to the last. I was saved by that capability time and again, but this time it's a problem."
Because the Goldario family was understood to be an ally if they couldn't be won over, and a threat if turned against them—their treachery was proportionally dangerous.
What was truly remarkable, however, was that this rebellion likely had not been meticulously planned.
"I do not believe your devotion up to this point was a lie."
The change in Eugard's thorns—and the rebellion born from Whittaker's inability to accept it.
Cross-referencing Whittaker's work until now with the current situation, Eugard reached this conclusion. Or perhaps this, too, was a miscalculation on Eugard's part, and Whittaker had been eyeing this moment with calculating patience all along.
"Is this what you consider 'dramatic,' I wonder?"
That value Whittaker held dear—which Eugard could not comprehend.
Was this, too, an action guided by that principle? And in the aftermath, his sister Teriola had opposed him, and the two of— "I hope Teriola is safe."
Having assisted Eugard, the enmity between Teriola and Whittaker was clear.
When Eugard had slipped out of the detached palace, Teriola—her guide—had been sweating with pain but had still seen him off with a brave face. After that, she had surely fallen into Whittaker's hands, but would Whittaker's coldness extend even to his sister?
He didn't know. Thinking about it might be pointless.
In the first place, why was Eugard running? Wasn't Whittaker's judgment the rational one, designed to protect the Volorchia Empire?
"———"
Stopping his feet amid the thick undergrowth, Eugard looked down at his own hands.
—The Thorn King was not suited for the Empire's throne.
That was a conclusion Eugard himself had reached long ago, based on his position and circumstances, when he had been old enough to understand the world.
He had overturned that conclusion for Iris's sake—for her future peace of mind.
But now, with the Thorn King's danger growing and his threat far greater than before, could Eugard honestly arrive at the same answer to the same question?
"Perhaps I should surrender to Whittaker and explain my true feelings?"
What he wanted from Whittaker: the stability of the Empire, and Iris's lifelong security. A pardon for the punitive force that had aided him and fought with extraordinary valor in the Selection Ceremony, and a fitting reward and rank for Volcarus, who led them. Pardon for Teriola, who had aided his escape, and assurance that she would not be harmed.
As for the destruction of the Elcanty household—since it was unavoidable to ensure Eugard's existence ended in complete defeat, he would have to turn a blind eye.
If those demands could be met— "———"
Surrendering on the spot and bowing to Whittaker would not be the worst option.
Or perhaps he could make Whittaker promise something, and then take his own life to settle matters.
That struck him as the most rational, the most correct course.
"No matter what countermeasures I devise, I cannot think it best for me to remain on the throne."
The answer that any person other than Eugard might have noticed long ago.
Having finally arrived at it, Eugard let out a small breath. Needless to say, he would be relinquishing everything just as the coronation was about to occur, leaving the Empire in disarray.
It was Volorchia tradition to fight to the death, but this felt far too pathetic—as though all the Volorchia bloodline's struggle to survive had been for nothing.
Even so— "—My star, so long as you are blessed with happiness."
If only that could come true, then everything Eugard Elcanty had done would have meaning.
Behind his closed eyelids, Iris's smiling face, her angry face, her bashful face—all surfaced. He could hear her voice, feel her scent, recall her warmth.
With vivid, vivid clarity, he recalled.
Since the Selection Ceremony began, they had been separated, and when it ended, they had missed their chance to meet. Not once had they reunited—and yet Eugard could recall her this clearly.
"No, this is too—"
Too clear, too vivid.
And it was at that moment that Eugard opened his eyes and recognized reality.
"—Your Excellency."
"—Impossible."
A voice that should not have been heard, a warmth that should not have been felt, a face that should not have been seen.
There stood everything his soul longed for.
Iris—who should not have been there—was taking Eugard's hand, smiling.
"Why... why are you here?"
"Don't say strange things. It's my role to support Your Excellency by your side."
"But... but!"
It was no impostor. No illusion, no phantom.
Before Eugard's very eyes, the real Iris pouted her lips just like that. That precious gesture, voice, and form—but a warning bell was clanging in Eugard's head.
A reunion that should not have happened. A meeting that should not have been.
"What madness... my thorns will—"
Bind her, torment her, drive her away.
Or had Iris, knowing even that, come running—just as Teriola had? Enduring the pain with desperate stoicism, smiling bravely, for the sake of that inadequate Eugard?
Yes, Eugard's trembling blue eyes fixed on Iris— "Do I look like I'm forcing myself?"
At those words, Iris's face softened at the corners of her eyes—and Eugard could not find a trace of pain.
Stunned, Eugard searched Iris closely, determined to find even a hidden splinter of agony if she was concealing one. —But there was nothing.
Iris was touching Eugard, and once again had escaped the thorns' binding.
"How is this possible...?"
"Love."
"Love? Don't be ridiculous..."
"Don't you believe it? Or perhaps... you still don't understand how I feel about you, Your Excellency?"
"———"
Asked with such a clear voice, Eugard fell silent.
How did Iris feel about him? He had never heard the answer clearly from her lips. He had his hopes—hopes, but not certainty.
The only thing he could be sure of was that he was not hated— "I love you, Your Excellency."
Bursting with impatience, Iris confessed—and wrapping her arms around Eugard's neck, drew him close and pressed her lips to his.
"———"
Eugard's lips and Iris's lips met, and the two existed in the space between.
In word, in deed, in being—Eris had shown Eugard her feelings.
Then what should Eugard do?
"—My star."
Their lips parted, and close enough to see the faint blush on Iris's cheeks, Eugard called her by that name.
Called, Iris looked back at him. In her eyes, Eugard's face was reflected. —And how remarkably, it was the face of a man who had recovered his will.
And— "—I shall become Emperor."
As he spoke, Eugard's hand drew the crimson Sun Sword from its empty scabbard.
△▼△▼△▼△ "—It was a magnificent battle."
The crimson blade flashed, and the body struck by the diagonal slash burst into flame.
Enveloped in fire, the dual-blade warrior still tried to launch one final strike—but the searing flames consumed his twin swords before they could take his life.
And so, the man's body turned to black char, crumbling to ash and vanishing.
That was the end of the last of the Nine Divine Generals—and of the Empire's greatest swordsman.
"My, my... you are a truly extraordinary man."
Whittaker, having witnessed that spectacular end and lost every last one of his allies, looked upon Eugard—who now held the Sun Sword—while his pained breathing came in ragged gasps.
Whittaker Goldario's rebellion—the fight he had begun with the resolve to be called the "Emperor Thief"—had come to an end at the hands of Eugard's counterattack.
Eugard, who had once fled the capital, returned—and with the Sun Sword in hand, struck down Whittaker's supporters one after another, reclaiming the throne.
"To think even the Nine Divine Generals would be completely annihilated. You are truly beyond the standard measures."
"If we're going to start citing extraordinary things, I'd say your eloquence in turning all nine to your side is what deserves the praise."
"It really wasn't that difficult. They all simply objected to Your Excellency—rather, the Thorn King—becoming Emperor."
"—Yes, I suppose so. Your reasoning was correct."
"Was it not? The victor is right, and the defeated are wrong. That is the iron-blooded creed of this empire."
Placing a hand on his chest, Whittaker opened his narrow eyes and smiled with bitter irony.
At those words, Eugard closed his eyes—acknowledging that this was indeed the Empire's unshakable value system, and that Whittaker had fought to prove his own correctness, accepting defeat and error with dignity.
"Losing you is a pity. Do you have any final words?"
"What a thoughtless thing to say. ...What if I said I'd repent and serve you faithfully from now on?"
"I would regret it sincerely, but that is impossible."
"Ha ha, I should think so. That's more like you."
Laughing, Whittaker drew a deep breath and let it out.
In that span of several heartbeats, this brilliant mind worked furiously— "First, the Goldario family will be dissolved. Our generations-old business will be cut off, but as long as the Selection Ceremony tradition continues, some new arrangement will arise. The soldiers who followed me will surrender if called to do so. And while it may not be of immediate use in communicating with Your Excellency, there are some Dialogue Mirrors in reserve—their use is up to you. Oh, and there's something I wanted to advise after Your Excellency ascends: the water supply north of the capital should be managed more strictly. Before long, it will flood the city."
"You're rattling off one thing after another, as if this were your last. But I've noted every detail."
"I'm glad. Ah, and about Teriola—"
"Teraloa saved my life. If I were to give Teriola anything, it would be gratitude, not a blade."
"—Could you convey one more thing to her?"
Relieved that Teriola would not be punished, Whittaker added one final statement—and Eugard narrowed his eyes, sensing that this was the real message.
Until the very end, a man who preferred to hide his true feelings.
Eugard felt, and he inclined his chin. Whittaker let out a long breath, slowly knelt on one knee, bowed his head, and offered his neck.
"My family, the Goldarios, who operated in the shadows of history... to think I'd end up remembered in imperial history as a traitor. How wonderfully 'dramatic' fate can be."
"Whittaker Goldario, it has been a pleasure. —I commend your extraordinary service."
Whittaker's expression, his head bowed, was hidden from view.
But certain that he was smiling, Eugard raised the sacred blade.
—And with that, the rebellion of Whittaker Goldario, the "Emperor Thief," was settled.
△▼△▼△▼△ —The old story tells.
It is the story of a solitary king and a single girl.
The story of how a solitary king met a girl and was solitary no more.
All of it as fleeting as a blink, all of it as passionate as a flame that consumes everything, all of it vivid enough to be traded for anything, and all of it a story that leads to the future beyond everything that was sacrificed.
For ages to come, it will remain as a fierce, fierce flame in the hearts of all—the story of the king and the girl.
This is the ending of that tale—the ancient tale that bore within it the historical truth that was never written down.
△▼△▼△▼△ —The Crystal Palace of the imperial capital Lupugana. The throne room.
Red carpet stretched to every corner. Beneath the imperial standard of the Sword Wolf, which had watched over the turbulent Empire since its founding, Eugard Volorchia ascended as the sixty-first Emperor.
The crown—a symbol of the Emperor—was placed upon his head by the girl's hand. Taking his seat upon the throne with grand dignity, the ceremony was completed.
Having fulfilled her role in witnessing the event, Iris offered her deepest congratulations on the birth of Emperor Eugard Volorchia.
The applause that rang out belonged to Iris alone—the only person present.
In the throne room where only Eugard and Iris remained, the loneliest coronation in the world was held—and yet, neither wore a shadow on their face.
"Congratulations, Your Excellency."
"Yes. I don't know if it's a happy thing, but it's been accomplished. —No. It starts now."
"—Yes."
Wiping the tears that glistened faintly at the corners of her eyes, Iris nodded at Eugard.
Having concluded the great battle—and the even more painful fight that followed—Eugard had taken the throne. But as he had said, this was only the beginning.
The wishes and plans that Eugard had decided upon, that had driven him all this time—only now, seated in this place, could he set them in motion.
And the first thing he wished for, among the many things he had decided to do— "My star... no, Iris."
"Yes, Your Excellency."
"—I would like you to become my wife."
"———"
"I have one hundred and fourteen reasons. Shall I explain them one by one?"
"There's no need for all that. ...Just tell me the single most important one."
Eugard, who had been about to explain without pause, blinked at her words.
But it was only for a moment.
"I love you. Therefore, I want you to become my wife."
"—Yes!"
Tears welled in her round eyes, and Iris answered his proposal with that single word. At the sight of her smile, Eugard took Iris's hand and drew her into his arms.
And lifting her chin, they shared a kiss.
It was a moment that no one saw—the moment when the feelings of a solitary king and a single girl bore their fruit.
The Volorchia Empire's flag stirred in the faint breeze, and only the Sword Wolf, pierced by the blade, witnessed it.
And— △▼△▼△▼△ The coronation was complete, and Emperor Eugard Volorchia, the sixty-first of his line, was born.
The spectacle of the ceremony was not shared with anyone, but the fact of his ascension was immediately reported to those nearby, to the capital, and throughout the Empire. The Selection Ceremony had reached its full conclusion.
That a rebellion had erupted on the very eve of the coronation—as the last prince standing had secured his right to the throne—and that Eugard had personally suppressed it was also widely proclaimed.
The Goldario family, which had operated in history's shadows and ultimately left its name behind as that of a great traitor.
But had Whittaker lived, he would have used the fact of the rebellion to further bolster Eugard's authority.
It was, surely, a fitting conclusion—the right thing to have happened.
Of course, even with Eugard safely ascended, problems were piled high.
As always, the power of Eugard's thorns had not diminished. The inability to use the Dialogue Mirror, the inability to have anyone approach within several hundred meters—nothing had changed.
Under these restrictions, he needed to put systems in place so that Eugard could govern smoothly as Emperor.
Ironically, the loss of Whittaker—the one person Eugard had relied on most in such matters—was a tremendous blow to the new regime.
But the greatest problem of the Eugard regime was not Whittaker's absence.
It was— "Cough, cough—"
Having returned to her room, Iris pressed a hand to her mouth and was seized by a violent fit of coughing.
The coughing would not stop, and she was forced to her knees. She coughed again and again for dozens of seconds before finally calming.
Looking at her hands, her palms were covered in bright red blood.
"Lady Iris, you've pushed yourself too far, I say."
At the voice, Rineck had crouched beside her, and his hand was rubbing her back. She hadn't even noticed his concern, but Iris managed a weak smile.
"I-I'm fine. I'm not pushing myself at all, really."
"Coughing up blood and saying you're not pushing yourself is the very definition of pushing it! ...This method should never have been started, I say. Rather than His Excellency, it's Lady Iris who—"
"It's truly fine, Teacher. For his sake."
Wiping the blood from her lips with the back of her hand, Iris answered. Rineck could say nothing.
Watching him blame himself, Iris was acutely aware that she had exploited his guilt to create this situation.
—On that day, when Eugard's world had been shaken by Whittaker's rebellion and the possibility of an unprecedented political upheaval, Iris had been forced to make a great decision.
In that instant, her mind had worked with a speed it never normally possessed, and Iris had been granted a vision of Eugard accepting Whittaker's blade and meeting his end.
As the Thorn King whose influence had grown too great to allow him to fulfill the duties of Emperor, Eugard would have to choose death to withdraw from a Selection Ceremony that had already concluded.
Without Iris, Eugard would have declined the Selection Ceremony, settling only for the security of his territory—he was that kind of person.
And that vision of him accepting the blade— "Absolutely not..."
Eugard would lose his life.
Just imagining it made Iris feel the blood drain from her body.
The person she loved would be gone—a fact that would cast an enormous shadow over the world.
But it was more than that.
This world should not lose Eugard Elcanty.
Eugard was a man of extraordinary ability, a person worthy of respect, and if he ascended to the throne, countless things in the Volorchia Empire would change for the better.
Iris, who had lived in Elcanty territory, could vouch for that. The power Eugard had used to unite Elcanty territory into such a fine place could bring positive change to the entire Empire.
Therefore, therefore, therefore— "—Teacher, I have a request."
"I say...?"
"I've looked into the Mad War Disease, too. The herbs used to cure it... Teacher, you could use them another way, couldn't you?"
"That would be... I say!? Surely you don't—"
"What!? Hey, what are you thinking!?"
At Iris's opening, the perceptive Rineck's eyes went wide. And beside him, Volcarus, who supported Iris, raised his voice in alarm.
Iris placed her hand over the hand that supported her and declared: "I don't care what happens to my body. —Please, let me be able to touch him one more time."
—And so, what Rineck brewed was a decoction that would artificially recreate the effects of the Mad War Disease.
By drinking it, Iris could temporarily regain her ability to block out pain above a certain threshold, allowing her to approach Eugard without being affected by his thorns—but at enormous cost to her own body and mind.
It was not some medicine, I say. What I am brewing is... poison."
"Teacher..."
Rineck's shoulders shook, and bitter tears streamed down his face. Iris watched him with anguish.
She had forced him into this expression, had made him carry this guilt. And she was dragging him into her cruel, selfish desire—and knowing this, Iris opened her mouth to say something— "—Don't you dare apologize."
A rough voice came down from above, and then Iris was lifted into the air.
The arms that did it were wrapped in thick, powerful fur, and their owner was someone who knew she had been coughing up blood in her room.
"You shouldn't be here. You should be becoming the next of the Nine Divine Generals..."
"That ain't happening. I ain't joining the Empire. I'm following you."
"———"
"I told the Emperor that. He said it was fine."
Bluntly putting it, the black wolf-man let out an unreadable growl.
If it was anger, then where was its edge pointed? If it was sorrow, then again—where?
"I don't know what I can do for you."
"You don't need to know. Here—water."
Iris was settled on the bed, and a cup of water was pressed into her hands. She gulped the blood-tasting water down, let out a deep breath, and smiled with a colorless face.
"Mm, I feel much better now. Really, really much better."
"...Listen. The coronation's done. From now on, no one's going to be causing trouble for the Emperor. I ain't saying that slim-eyed bastard wasn't trouble, but—"
"—No. I won't stop."
"—Why?! Why do you keep—!"
"...I want to be by His Excellency's side."
Shouting, Volcarus who was genuinely worried about Iris's body and mind—heard her answer.
It had no justification, no consideration for the Volorchia Empire's future or for Volcarus and Rineck, who knew the truth. It was nothing more than Iris's selfishness.
The simple, singular desire of a woman named Iris to be beside the man she loved, Eugard.
For that alone, she was cutting her own life short, hurting the people who cared for her, and above all, deceiving the man she loved while continuing to drink poison.
"Despise me. Teacher—if you just teach me the brewing method, I can—"
"That's not—!"
"—This is a highly volatile medicinal preparation, I say! Even if I taught you, you couldn't make it. And more importantly, I bear responsibility for having responded to your request, I say..."
In agony, but refusing to release his sense of responsibility, Rineck rejected Iris's proposal.
Iris lowered her gaze at his words, then looked at Volcarus. In the wolf-man's golden eyes, she sought the penalty for her decision.
"I ain't going anywhere. Remember that."
"...Stubborn."
"You've got some nerve calling me that, dummy."
At the quiet voice—his gentlest insult yet—Iris smiled a little.
Then, slipping into the bed, Iris rested. She wanted to conserve what strength she had. —She could not spare time for anything other than meeting Eugard.
While awake, while asleep, waking or sleeping—her mind held only Eugard.
Not with the passionate longing of a girl in love, nor with the dreaming heart of a girl in love— "Eugard, Your Excellency, I—"
—Iris loved the Thorn King with a love worth dying for.
"I love you."
△▼△▼△▼△ —That day, the sky cleared as if the long rains of the day before had been a lie, and one felt that the stars, which had been hidden for so long, would blaze across the heavens at night.
She had never hated the stars.
Wherever she went, whatever she did, when she looked up at the night sky, the stars were there. That unchanging constancy—there was something that saved her about it.
Even the sun rose and set; even the moon waxed and waned.
The stars did not. That was why she liked them.
There was a woman he had called "my star."
He had never imagined he would call a woman that. How thick-skinned would one have to be to address someone that way without flinching?
He could not do it. He couldn't. But he understood the desire to call her that.
Strong and weak, men and women, humans and demi-humans—all were frightened to walk through the darkness.
Stars were guides. Guides that saved one from the most terrifying things.
Therefore, her existence was, for him, a star.
"—!"
His heart burst with pain, and Volcarus stifled a groan in the back of his throat.
The thorns—those barbs of the unbreakable binding that pierced the source of his life—were agony even for Volcarus, who had been praised as the Empire's greatest warrior. The pain was enough to shatter his consciousness.
But even that unbearable pain paled compared to the sensation of his heart going cold, cracking, and breaking apart.
"...You're an idiot."
Forcing back his groans, the truth he could not contain spilled from his mouth.
At his feet, a woman lay in a pool of blood.
Soft, flaxen hair. A face with a youthful cast, its poor complexion hidden behind unflattering makeup. The woman who had been drinking poison with this fragile body to endure the pain, and carrying on with a brave face.
Iris, her face drained of all color, lay collapsed—and Volcarus held her.
The cause of that drained pallor was the wound that ran from her back to her chest, sharp and deep. She had been gouged from behind by a blade of keen edge, and the light of her life was extinguished. —No, not by a blade.
It was a beast's claw that had pierced the heart she bore—the heart bound by those clinging thorns.
In his other hand—the hand opposite the one cradling Iris's body—he held something small and light: the source of her life.
"...Why?"
The weak, feeble voice of a man drifted away on the wind of the Crystal Palace's garden.
They had arranged to meet here. During the daily business of governance, the Emperor and Empress set aside time together once a day without fail, spending it in this place where no one would disturb them.
And into that place had come a black beast and a scene that should never have existed—and the man, Eugard Volorchia, stood frozen with wide blue eyes.
"Why"—the word contained a multitude of questions.
And just as many answers could have been given.
He had considered it, again and again.
If anyone should bear this claw's burden, shouldn't it be Eugard rather than Iris?
That, he had felt over and over, was far more in keeping with his own heart.
But—as he transitioned from the leader of a small pack to the leader of a greater one, Eugard came to understand the indispensability of his own existence, the existence needed to lead an even greater pack.
As Iris had said, the Volorchia Empire could not afford to lose Eugard.
After Eugard's death, the Empire would descend into chaos and ruin, and everything would be destroyed.
That was something neither he, nor Iris, nor Eugard, nor anyone involved wanted.
Therefore, that choice could not be made. He had not made it.
Instead, he had done this.
There were only two ways for her to stop suffering, to stop drinking poison.
Either there was no longer a reason to drink it, or she became unable to drink it.
For that— "———"
Opening his mouth wide, Volcarus dropped the impossibly light source of life resting on his palm into it.
He bit down on the blood-tasting thing, swallowed it, and let it settle in his stomach—then, staining his black fur with her blood, slowly stood with the slender body still cradled in his arms, and met the other's eyes.
If Iris was taken from him, Eugard might fall into despair.
To delay that moment even slightly, Iris had smiled and endured as her life was consumed—and Volcarus had ended it of his own volition. He had a plan to keep her going.
Fury. Rage. Rage upon rage, rage until he lost his mind. Raging, Thorn King.
That rage— "Why?"
"That's the wolf-man's nature. From the moment you first showed me mercy, I've been aiming for this moment, you fool."
"Volcarus—!!"
Baring blood-stained fangs in a mocking grin, Volcarus had barely finished speaking when the sword's wind was upon him.
The Sun Sword, drawn from its empty scabbard, descended upon him with a heat that could burn the world to nothing. Volcarus tightened his hold on the arm cradling Iris and braced himself.
But his proud claws—which could split iron—could not withstand a single clash with the Volorchia Empire's treasure of a sword. His fingers were sheared away, his wrist severed, and his right arm cut off at the elbow.
And the Sun Sword of Volorchia revealed its true power.
"—gh—"
Before the pain of his severed arm could register, Volcarus's vision was dyed red.
From the point of the slash, the wound erupted in flames, and the pitch-black wolf-man was engulfed in fire, his breathing cut off.
Within those raging flames, Volcarus looked down at Iris cradled in his left arm, confirmed that the flames touched her body not at all, and marveled at this sword beyond all measure.
Marveling, his consciousness nearly burned away, but he could not give up yet.
After this—there was still something he had to do.
—Volcarus had valued the pack.
The pack meant his belonging—everything. The Volorchia Empire, the Elcanty army, his companions like Rineck, being a wolf-man.
Those had been the first priority in every decision he made.
And now, he was changing that long-held order of priorities.
He had always put the pack first. —He was deciding, instead, to put the "star" first.
"Don't think it's over... just because of this."
Burning, using the last of the air in his lungs, Volcarus fixed his gaze on Eugard standing beyond the wall of flame.
The Sun Sword's fire would burn his soul to nothing—what could a dying man say that wouldn't be dismissed as empty defiance? Yet Eugard could not bring himself to cut off the words of the dying. That was the kind of man the Thorn King was.
"If you kill me... your star will be hated. My kin—their fangs will..."
"Now, at a time like this—"
Beyond the wall of flame, Eugard's expression twisted in anguish, his words cutting off.
The impulse to lash out emotionally, to scream at Volcarus, may have swept through him. But he crushed it— "If your malice relies on your kin, and those kin target the Empire, then let them come in whatever numbers they wish. I will personally eradicate that malice to the root."
"...Hah."
As Eugard forced out those words, Volcarus listened with a laugh.
Rational to the very end, the words of a new Emperor who already sounded like one. But the Eugard of old would have needed the patience of a saint to still manage such measured words at this point.
He had skipped past that stage entirely and swung the Sun Sword at Volcarus.
"You were just an ordinary man after all."
Watching the irrational Eugard, brought low by Iris's death, Volcarus murmured that to himself.
He had given him a reason to live. He had left him with something worth doing. He had chosen the star over the pack and drawn in the "wolf-men"—a pack that had nothing to do with any of it. He felt sorry for that, but he did not regret it.
And at most— "Take your time, you fool."
Because while he was being scolded, he could have her all to himself.
—That was the choice of Volcarus: the wolf-man who loved the girl who had loved the Thorn King.
△▼△▼△▼△ If there was one miscalculation Volcarus had made, it was that Eugard Volorchia loved Iris as a man far more than he had ever imagined.
Unable to bear watching Iris suffer, Volcarus had eliminated the cause at its root.
And in his own way, he had given Eugard a new way to exist—the way Iris had desperately wanted while drinking poison—attempting to save the Volorchia Empire from destruction.
He had done so by giving Eugard a reason to live.
That plan bore fruit—but it bore it differently than Volcarus had anticipated.
Eugard had made public the cause of Iris's death and what Volcarus had gained from it.
On that basis, he had ordered the capture and execution of every last wolf-man of Volcarus's clan—and the earth-rats who had assisted in the killing.
That fury-driven action becoming the reason for Eugard's continued reign meant Volcarus's plan had succeeded. In truth, it was half right and half wrong.
Eugard issuing a fierce decree against the wolf-men and earth-rats was as Volcarus had planned—but that it was not driven by fury was the miscalculation.
Eugard had not ordered the clan's extermination on the basis of anger alone.
He had used their lives to bind the beast even after his beloved star had died—so that even death could not destroy him.
And Eugard had done this because— "—Your Excellency, there exists a curse called the 'Soul Binding Curse.'"
It was Teriola who had spoken those words to Eugard, who sat immobile beside the coffin in which Iris lay.
Having been given a clean shaven bob, she had cut her long red hair short.
With Whittaker Goldario's rebellion as grounds, the Goldario family had been dissolved, and Teriola—its survivor—had been forced to shed the family name.
By that severance, she had expressed her intent to part from her former self.
Even so, Teriola continued to serve Eugard.
She had rallied the shinobi who had served the Goldario family, pledging to continue assisting Eugard's governance of the Empire.
It was she who had spoken to Eugard, who could not leave the coffin's side.
At the unfamiliar word, Eugard looked up. Teriola narrowed her sharp eyes, and for just a moment, a pained gaze flickered in their depths.
But that emotion was gone in the blink of an eye, and she spoke: "It is a spell that prevents a departed soul from being lost to the corridor, binds it to its place, and holds it there. A soul lost to the corridor, if it passes through, will be cleansed. But..."
"—What meaning would that have?"
"Lady Iris has passed away."
"———"
"However, the destruction of her soul may be prevented, and she may be reborn with the strong imprint of her presence intact."
Teriola's voice held no hint of jest, nor any trace of madness.
She was simply, in the same manner as when she had served him, presenting the information she had acquired so that Eugard could judge for himself.
"...Soul Binding Curse. It sounds like the