Editing Tytania:Volume 4 Chapter 8 (section)

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The translucent wall continued to reflect the ongoing skirmish between the kin outside Uraniborg without ever tiring.

The dancing interplay of light and shadow was, in itself, a brawl of life and death, but the man, clad in a silk gown and reclined deep within his armchair, kept his eyes closed, appearing entirely unexcited. Eventually, as two points of light flickered above the dark shadows, a heavy yet inorganic voice drifted out.

“Idris is likely fighting with all his might, but there is little excitement in seeing things unfold exactly as we predicted.”

The figure reached out a hand lightly, picked up an antique bell-shaped bell from the side table, and rang it twice. After replacing the bell, he rose leisurely from his armchair and continued to watch the battle through the wall, resting both hands lightly behind his waist.

It did not take long. The lights in the grand room brightened by two levels, and the figure of the Tytania Clanner’s butler appeared.

The butler, Oblon, bowed reverently towards his master’s back. As if his lord had eyes on the back of his head.

“I await your commands, Your Clanner Highness.”

“Change my clothes.”

“As you wish.”

Oblon showed no sign of being startled, nor did he ask any unnecessary questions. He had served Ajman for a quarter of a century. He knew what he needed to know regarding the Clanner’s private life, and he knew how to distinguish it from what he had no need to know.

“Prepare my formal attire.”

“As you wish.”

For the first time, he asked a question:

“Which of your formal sets should I prepare?”

“Let us go with the second one.”

“Very well. I shall attend to it immediately.”

Oblon withdrew, observing perfect etiquette.

After finishing his change of clothes at the hands of the four ladies-in-waiting Oblon had summoned, Clanner Ajman left the room, appearing entirely unconcerned by the fact that a life-or-death struggle was unfolding in the vacuum outside. Count Elman, the political secretary, the chief aide-de-camp, the chief scribe, and other high-ranking officials waiting at the doorway all saluted him in unison.

Ajman gave a slight nod before announcing:

“The private feud between those greenhorns must be nearing its limit. I am going to my office.”

“As you wish.”

“Your Highness.”

A woman’s voice rang out. It was Countess Theodora.

“If I may be so bold, should there be anything I can assist with, I shall accompany you.”

The Clanner gave a short laugh.

“What a cunning woman. Do you intend to instigate something in my name to protect your own interests? Since you presume to meddle in affairs beyond your station, perhaps I should have someone like Ariabert or Jouslain execute you.”

Even Theodora appeared to have lost her composure. Ajman passed before her, standing there like a living statue, without so much as a single glance.

Theodora cast a gaze filled with both terror and hostility at his arrogant back, but it proved entirely futile, as if a steel armour deflected her fury. She leaned against the wall and struggled to steady her breathing, letting herself succumb to the sensation of beads of sweat breaking out across her forehead, which looked as though it had been sculpted from marble.



Idris tossed the empty energy drink bottle over his shoulder. One of the soldiers barely managed to catch it. A small bitterness stung Idris’ stomach as he thought that his manners were becoming increasingly coarse. His hair and clothing were not as immaculate as usual, which instead lent a certain ferocity to the young nobleman’s beauty.

“Your younger brother has returned!”

Even upon hearing this, Idris did not react immediately. After a short pause, he looked back at the messenger with suspicion.

“My brother? Was Zelpha away?”

“No, well, I am referring to His Lordship Baron Radmoth…”

“Radmoth?”

It was a reaction as if Idris had completely forgotten he even had a brother by that name. Though he frowned overtly, he nevertheless proceeded to enquire.

“Is he wounded?”

“I wouldn’t call it a wound… He is sleeping, but he is perfectly well.”

“Then it is fine. We shall deal at a later date with his crime of failing to suppress those pirates. Do not allow Radmoth into the combat command room. Let him sleep.”

“Administer an injection and do not wake him for two or three days,” commanded Idris. To be honest, he felt as though he wished the man would simply sleep for eternity. Then, another urgent, important report was brought to him in haste.

“What is it this time!?”

“His Clanner Highness requests your presence, Duke Idris.”

“Now?”

“Indeed, he does.”

“But I cannot leave the combat command centre at a time like this.”

“I must reiterate that His Clanner Highness requests you attend him as soon as possible.”

''“What nonsense is that at a time like this!”'' roared Idris—although only entirely within his own mind.

Was it not only a few days ago that the man had refused Idris’ request for an audience? Whether his mood had changed or his supposed illness had improved, he had chosen, of all times, to summon him in the midst of combat operations. Just how far did he intend to manipulate others at his whim?

Even so, Idris possessed no option to refuse.

“I may be facing judgement regarding that matter.”

Idris felt a dark shudder run through him, but he shuddered once and shook off the fear with a self-deprecating smirk. If it were to come to that, then so be it. What would happen to the battles with Ariabert and Jouslain after his death? Would the Clanner himself fight them, or… No, let it be what it will.

“Furthermore, there is an order that you must bring your younger brother.”

“My brother… Radmoth?”

The moment the words left his mouth, he realised his nerves were beginning to fray. However, the messenger’s reply was unexpected.

“No, your youngest brother.”

“Zelpha?… Nevermind, I understand.”

Though he doubted the Clanner’s true intentions, he had no choice but to comply. Idris called out his youngest brother’s name and beckoned him.

“Zelpha, get yourself presentable. We are having an audience with His Clanner Highness. You are ordered that you accompany me.”

“With His Clanner Highness? Me?”

The boy seemed just as astonished.

“You have met him before, have you not?”

“A few years ago… when I was a child.”

Despite the situation, Idris gave a wry smile at Zelpha’s visibly nervous reply. It seemed the boy still believed himself to be a mere child.

Suddenly, a thought crossed Idris’ mind. It was entirely disconnected from the current situation and the events that had transpired thus far; it was a question so basic it was almost ridiculous.

He was on good terms with Zelpha. But what about Ariabert and Jouslain? Why were they killing one another? And why did the Clanner stand by and watch such carnage with such indifference?

The doubt quickly swelled into suspicion, battering at Idris’ heart from within. Being branded “incompetent” would have been far more bearable than this.

However, the voice of the Clanner, whom he was meeting for the first time in a long while, remained utterly calm.

“What is the progress of the battle?”

“Well…”

Suppressing the dark crimson flames that flared within his chest, Idris replied:

“It is truly a matter of great shame, but the situation is exactly as you behold. We have yet to succeed in annihilating the traitors…”

“It appears the battleship ''Golden Sheep'' remains intact.”

“I humbly believe that we have inflicted some degree of damage.”

Ajman curled one corner of his mouth slightly.

“If you begin to falsify your battle reports, you will only sink yourself into a mire of disgrace. I am fine with candid responses, Lord Idris.”

“You are too kind.”

Idris was certain he was being mocked, yet he replied with a steady tone. He resisted the impulse to laugh at his own endeavours.

Ajman’s gaze had already shifted to the side of Idris.

“Raise your head.”

In obedience to the command, Zelpha looked the Clanner directly in the eye.