Toaru Hikuushi e no Seiyaku:V8Part4

Part 13 (Part 4 of Volume 8)

The reflection in the mirror showed me looking more perfect than ever.

My sharp, confident features, paired with a high-collared shirt, bow tie, and a starched child's tailcoat, gleamed even more strikingly. The servants complimented my appearance one after another, adjusting my hair with a comb as they completed their final check.

“We’re ready, Balthazar, Simon.”

Urged by my mother, I nodded and stepped out of the waiting room. My eight-year-old brother, Simon, staggered behind me, his clumsy steps reflecting his simpleminded nature.

Honestly, I wanted to get rid of him. What if my hero, whom I was about to meet, confused me with this foolish little brother, slurping down potato salad without even chewing? I couldn’t bear the thought.

"Be sure not to embarrass yourselves in front of your grandfather. Behave until the meal is over and don’t say anything unnecessary," my father warned both of us. He could have said that to Simon alone, but for some reason, I had to endure it too. I found it insulting. After all, I was ten years old now. I knew better. There was no way I would show disrespect to my grandfather, whom I only saw once a year.

With my heart racing, I made my way toward my grandfather's mansion’s grand dining room.

My new leather shoes were so polished that they reflected the light of the chandeliers. As I walked across the marble floor, the sharp clicks of my footsteps echoed through the gallery, which felt like walking through the ribcage of a dinosaur. Every piece of luxury, wealth, and glory that my grandfather had built in his lifetime was embedded in the lavish decor around us.

The massive dining table could seat at least thirty people. Golden candelabras were already lit. The grand dining room, reminiscent of those seen in church paintings, was filled with butlers standing in line, welcoming the four of us with solemn reverence. As we approached the table, a butler pulled out the chair, and once I stood in place, they pushed the chair back in. As expected, Simon plopped down into his chair, which a servant had to lift him into. How much of a fool could he be? I couldn’t understand why I had such a simpleminded brother.

Soon, the ornate doors on the opposite side of the room opened, and my hero entered, accompanied by three attendants.

Renior Berner.

My grandfather. My idol. It filled me with pride to be the grandson of such a great man. I wasn’t sure if Grandfather even remembered my name, but today, I was hoping he would. After all, I had come prepared with a special plan.

Standing up with my parents, I waited for Grandfather to take his seat at the head of the table before sitting down again. My father offered a congratulatory speech in honour of Grandfather's birthday, followed by a prayer of thanks to Saint Aldista. Then, the waiters brought out the appetizers.

The only ones talking during the meal were my parents and the attendants. My grandfather didn’t speak a word. Every time he brought a bite of food to his mouth, he grimaced as if it tasted horrible, not uttering a single word.

The three attendants filled in for his silence, smiling and chatting endlessly. They were the president of Berner Heavy Industries, the president of Berner Petroleum, and the head of Berner Bank. These three were not men of independent will; they were merely instruments to carry out my grandfather’s orders. With a flick of his finger, my grandfather controlled industry, oil, and finance—an invisible force capable of shaping the world, rivalling the great powers of the archipelago.

In short, the man seated before me was the centre of the world.

The thought filled me with excitement. If I could prove my abilities to my grandfather, perhaps I could one day sit beside him as one of his trusted aides, helping to reshape this meaningless world.

My heart raced so fast I could hardly contain myself. Up until now, I had silently watched from the sidelines, bidding farewell to my grandfather once a year without a word. But now I was ten years old. With my natural talents and hard work, I was certain I could impress him. I could make Grandfather look up, make him finally notice me.

I wanted him to see me.

After all, he was my idol, my lifelong goal, and my one true hero.

"Grandfather."

Unable to suppress the feelings that welled up within me, I called out to him from my place at the far end of the table.

The adults stopped talking at once, all eyes suddenly turning toward me.

I had only said one word, but my father stared at me like a statue, eyes wide, while my mother shook her head quickly in disapproval. The three attendants exchanged confused, bitter glances as if signalling their irritation.

Don’t say anything.

The adults’ expressions silently conveyed their message, hitting me squarely in the chest.

What do I care? These adults, dressed in fine clothes and putting on airs, were just puppets, machines controlled by my grandfather. They had no chance of understanding the great man that Grandfather was.

Only I could understand him.

Only I, who had been born with the same brilliant qualities as my grandfather, could truly understand him.

So, summoning all my courage, I voiced the question I had been preparing for so long, directed toward the man I so admired.

"Why don’t we build jet fighters?"

My words froze the already tense atmosphere even further.

Not only my parents and the attendants, but even the waiters seemed to turn into statues, frozen in place.

Only Simon continued slurping his soup, and my grandfather, grimacing at his pork chop, chewed away.

There was no answer. My grandfather seemed more interested in his pork chop than in my carefully crafted question.

I cleared my throat and continued.

"Instead of focusing on improving piston engines, we should invest in jet engine development. Considering the potential, it’s clear that all aircraft will eventually be powered by jet engines."

This was the conclusion I had reached after reading book after book of specialized texts in preparation for today.

My parents had no idea what I was talking about, but I was sure Grandfather would understand.

And when he did, he would finally look at me, pat my head, and smile.

"Balthazar," he would say. "Such wisdom at just ten years old. The attendants are all fools, but you… You are the perfect successor."

I was sure he would say something kind like that.

And then, I would dedicate my life to him, using all my abilities for his glory.

I had made up my mind, but then—

Grandfather, still staring at the broccoli on his plate, opened his mouth.

"Hey, brat."

The raspy, gravelly voice hung heavily in the air. He didn’t even look in my direction, so it was unclear who he was addressing. But judging by the words, it had to be aimed at Simon.

Simon, the fool, didn’t realize he was being called and was cutting his lettuce with a knife for some reason.

• He’s calling you, Simon.*

I nudged him with my elbow and whispered, but Simon, still focused on his lettuce, muttered:

• Brat means you, brother.*

True to his nature, Simon spouted nonsense. That couldn’t be right. There was no way Grandfather would call me a brat.

"How old are you, piss boy?"

Grandfather addressed his boiled carrots in the same raspy voice. Since he still wasn’t looking up, it wasn’t clear who he was speaking to, but surely "piss boy" was directed at Simon.

• He’s asking you. Just say you’re eight.*

• You should say you’re ten, brother. It’ll clear things up.*

As we whispered back and forth, I glanced at the adults. They were all frozen in place, mouths agape like statues, while Grandfather continued chewing his green beans with a disgusted expression.

There was no way Grandfather had called me a brat or a piss boy. It had to be Simon. So, I answered.

"My brother is eight. I’m ten."

Grandfather swallowed his green beans with a bitter, sour expression, then stabbed a fork into his potatoes. He still refused to look at me.

"Why jets?"

That dried-out, grating voice echoed through the hall again.

It wasn’t the voice I had imagined. I had thought Grandfather’s voice would be gentler, more kind, something that would envelop me. But in reality, it was the rasping voice of an old, wicked hag from a fairy tale.

"To win the war," I answered without hesitation. I could feel the pressure of Grandfather’s presence growing, but I wasn’t about to back down. I had to make him recognize my talents.

"And what will you do once you win the war?"

That wicked old hag’s voice demanded.

After the war? I hadn’t thought about that. But if I considered why wars were fought in the first place, the answer was obvious.

"Conquer the world."

It was the natural answer. The strong would subdue the weak, force them to submit, and make them obey. That’s how the real world worked.

Grandfather finally raised his head.

But instead of looking at my intelligent, dignified face, his gaze fell on my father, who had been frozen like a statue.

"What is his name?"

"Balthazar, sir."

"Send this brat to the battlefield as a medic-in-training."

There was a sharp crack as the frozen tension shattered, and my father straightened his back and accepted the order.

"At your command."

"Correct his personality. It doesn't matter if the original one breaks. Train him thoroughly until the stench of the battlefield seeps into his bones. And don't let this brat cross my sight until it's done."

Grandfather wiped his mouth with a handkerchief, and without waiting for the main course, kicked back his chair and stood up.

As the chair hit the table, a dish fell to the floor, shattering with a loud crash. His attendants jumped to their feet, standing so straight that their backs almost arched, as if trying to touch the ceiling.

For the first time, Grandfather finally looked at me, capturing my terrified face in his gaze.

But the expression on my hero’s face was nothing like what I had imagined. There was no trace of the love or pride I had hoped for, no warmth in his eyes that would embrace me. Instead, overwhelming hatred, disgust, and contempt poured out of his eyes, his ears, his nose, his lips—from every pore of his body, flooding the room.

Just before he left, Grandfather looked at me as if I were filth in a bucket and spoke these words:

"Monster."

The ground beneath my feet crumbled, like pieces of a puzzle falling apart.

The marble floor beneath me shattered, and my body began to fall, sinking into a pit of darkness. Deep, cold, and endless, this abyss of despair seemed to have no bottom.

As I fell, tears rolled down my cheeks.

They glimmered like pearls, rising upward, reaching for the light above, as I kept sinking deeper and deeper into the dark void.

All I ever wanted was to be seen by you. I just wanted you to praise me. So why, why am I being cast down to the depths of this abyss?

"Grandfather, why?"

As I fell, I reached out my hand toward the light.

"Why won’t you acknowledge me?"

There was no answer. Only more tears, sparkling as they raced upward toward the distant light.

Swallowed by the darkness, I turned my unbearable emotions into a scream.

"Even though I admire you so much."

The echoes of his dream turned into words as Balthazar opened his eyes.

Cold sweat dampened his pillow. For a while, he lay there in silence, staring at the cracked stone ceiling, listening to the creaking sound of the three-bladed fan turning.

An unforgettable residue of fear lingered.

He ground his teeth, trying to swallow the stench of death from the battlefield that had seeped into his very bones as he stared at the ceiling.

"Damn old man..."

The curse he spat out was a feeble attempt to mask the pain that had lodged itself deep within his soul.

By Renior's order, at only ten years old, Balthazar was sent as a trainee medic to tour the conflict zones of the Vestelant continent.

Two medics acted as his instructors, and disobedience was not an option. Even when he vomited everything in his stomach and begged for mercy through tears, they paid no heed. He was forced to transport wounded soldiers and corpses, change bandages, and treat the gravely injured. They drilled into him every skill required of a battlefield medic.

The smell of death on the battlefield was beyond description. Amid the stench of decay and burning, Balthazar had to collect the dismembered remains of soldiers—limbs, torsos, heads. He assisted in caring for severely wounded soldiers at the field hospital, administering morphine to those with shattered jaws, collapsed skulls, and faces disfigured beyond recognition. The sight of shredded bodies, especially those wounded by artillery, was unbearable. He cried as he changed the blood-soaked bandages and applied disinfectant to soldiers missing ears, noses, and mouths.

One of the tasks he was ordered to perform was prying open the mouths of the dead and extracting gold teeth with a knife. The gold was given as a reward to his fellow soldiers who had risked their lives in battle. Watching his comrades stash their enemies’ gold teeth into their pockets with blank expressions made him realize just how far he had been cast into the darkest reaches of humanity.

He was also given the duty of putting down crippled warhorses. He injected a solution into their necks and watched as the light slowly faded from their eyes—ten, twenty horses at a time—until he could hear his own mind breaking.

Though he never served on the front lines, Balthazar was targeted by a sniper from a cliff while treating the wounded behind the lines. The sniper aimed directly at the medics, and one of Balthazar’s instructors was shot through the temple right before his eyes. The remaining instructor quickly pulled Balthazar down to the ground, using the body of his dead colleague as a shield. The man, who had moments before been a terrifying force, turned into a lifeless barrier, riddled with bullet holes. As Balthazar lay there, listening to the sound of bullets striking the corpse, he wondered why he had to endure such a fate. It all began with that innocent question to Renior—"Why don't we build jet fighters?"—which had somehow led to this horrific consequence. He swore then that one day, he would kill his grandfather for this.

When he returned home after two and a half years of wandering through battlefields, all that remained in his soul were the smell of death from the field hospital and a burning hatred for his grandfather.

"I will never forgive you."

"I will return the cruelty you threw at me a thousandfold."

"I will crush your 'empire' and laugh in your face as you cry."

Lying on his bed, Balthazar pressed his palm against his face, reaffirming his life’s goal. He channelled his rage into energy. It was the only thing that allowed him to endure the gruelling work of outmanoeuvring the fools in the advisory staff.

For the past two months, Balthazar had spent his weekends on Santos Island, serving as a military advisor to the Sylvanian Kingdom’s army, and during the weekdays, he flew to Air Hunt Island to join the United Operations Command headquarters. There, he worked closely with staff officers, planning counteroffensives. His intellect had become indispensable to both the Sylvanian Kingdom and the St Vault Empire.

September, Imperial Calendar Year 1351. Air Hunt Island, St Vault Empire, United Operations Command Headquarters.

Shaking off the remnants of his nightmare, Balthazar sat up and checked the time. Six in the morning. Today, all the St Vault Empire's senior staff officers would gather for a crucial discussion about the Southern River front line.

It had been eleven months since the catastrophic collapse of the Kukuana Line.

After a long period of confusion, the situation was finally stabilizing. Normally, the Empire’s forces would have been pushed all the way to the Great Waterfall and plunged into the abyss, but they had managed to survive this far thanks to the efforts of the Isla Fleet in the second Sierra Greed naval battle three months ago. The defeat inflicted on the Urano’s Multi-Island Fleet had forced them to retreat for repairs, giving the St Vault forces time to catch their breath. The St Vault army, which had been on the verge of collapse, was now able to kneel and catch their breath. Next, they had to stand up and get back into the fight.

But the damage was severe, and they were barely holding on.

Their ground forces on the Mitterland continent were nearly annihilated. The only reason they still had control of the Multi-Island Sea region was due to their navy. If they lost the upcoming battle against Urano’s new fleet, it would truly be the end.

The only way for the Empire to survive was to withdraw all 1.7 million troops stationed on the Akitsu continent and redeploy them to the Mitterland homeland.

There was no time to waste. They couldn’t afford to be pinned down by the Southern River front. The Empire’s survival depended on completing the withdrawal as quickly as possible.

But they couldn’t initiate negotiations for a ceasefire with the Akitsu Federation. If they did, it would reveal their weakness, and the terms of the ceasefire would be unfavourable. Worse, the Akitsu forces might take advantage of their vulnerability and strike. On top of that, if they delayed too long, the Urano fleet would regain strength, and the Empire would lose control of the seas.

Time was running out.

The only way to save the Empire was to somehow arrange a ceasefire with the Akitsu Federation without tipping their hand.

"We need to find someone within the Akitsu Federation who is in favour of a ceasefire, can keep a secret, and holds significant power in their government. There can’t be many, but we need to make contact with them."

Balthazar made this proposal at the meeting of senior staff officers.

Victor Khan, who had once been praised as the “brain” of the Empire’s military, responded:

"If there were such a convenient person, don’t you think we would’ve already found them?"

"What about the politicians? Any leads with the diplomats who’ve been in contact with the Akitsu Federation?"

"We’ve reached out to a few influential figures, but Akitsu’s decision-making lies with three key individuals on their War Council. Two of them are puppets of Prime Minister Kuonji. Unless we find someone who can sway Kuonji, any approach would be futile or, worse, counterproductive."

Balthazar reviewed the intelligence reports on the Akitsu Federation’s power structure.

The decisions were made by the War Council, and the Emperor merely approved them with an imperial edict. Although the Emperor had veto power, it had rarely, if ever, been used. The Emperor’s role had been largely ceremonial for over two centuries. Every edict had been issued at the recommendation of the ruling council or government officials.

However, while the Emperor had never independently issued an edict, there was nothing in the law that forbade it.

If they could engineer a favourable “imperial decision,” they might be able to withdraw the 1.7 million troops and secure their hold on the Mitterland mainland.

"Is there anyone who can influence the Emperor?"

"That’s even more unlikely. The Emperor is bedridden and no longer capable of sound judgment. At this point, he’s merely a figurehead used by Kuonji to maintain the appearance of authority."

Balthazar considered the possibility.

In theory, someone could forge a "divine decree" in the Emperor’s name.

"If I were part of the Akitsu Federation, I’d certainly use the Emperor’s authority to my advantage," Balthazar thought.

Whether the goal was to continue the war or broker peace, the Emperor’s name was key. Anyone seeking to achieve their objectives would need to utilize the Emperor’s authority. But with Kuonji monopolizing that power, any ambitious official would need to remove him to further their own agenda.

"If there’s someone in the Akitsu Federation who favours peace, we might be able to support them in removing Kuonji."

As Balthazar pondered this, a memory resurfaced.

Elisabeth had once said to him:

"Did you know that Kagura serves as a member of the Imperial Guard for the Akitsu Royal Family?"

"I heard it from Captain Sakagami. The Kagura family has been protecting the royal family for over a thousand years."

The conversation had taken place last June, during their first meeting at a high-end hotel in Selfaust after Elisabeth revealed her true identity.

"Kagura is close to the Emperor?"

A chill ran down his spine.

Someone close to the Emperor, who might be willing to broker peace, and who could be trusted with the Empire’s secrets.

There was only one person who fit that description.

The one who fits that description better than anyone else.

— Kagura.

Balthazar’s mind replayed the moment of their parting on the flying fortress Odin, when Kagura smiled at him.

"I love you, Baltha."

"We’ll meet again. We must meet again. When you’ve become even greater."

"Become a person strong enough to change the world, and then we’ll see each other again."

The memory of those words, along with the sweetness of their shared kiss, flooded back to him.

That was two summers ago.

And now.

Both Balthazar and Kagura had secured positions at the heart of power in their respective nations, standing on the brink of their countries’ survival.

What did this situation mean?

— Destiny.

The word Kagura had used during their daring escape on the Eriadore airship pierced through Balthazar’s thoughts.

Shivering from a sense of awe, Balthazar suppressed his trembling and asked,

"Do we have any information about the Imperial Guard?"

"They're stationed with the Royal Guard Division, protecting Misato. The Crown Prince, Daitoku, is commanding the Royal Guard in place of the Emperor and is in charge of defending the capital," one of the strategists answered, flipping through a report from the intelligence division. Balthazar fell into deep thought.

The Prime Minister Kuonji and the Emperor had retreated to the Kyonagi Palace, while the Crown Prince was commanding the Royal Guard in the capital. Kagura was currently serving as the Crown Prince’s personal bodyguard...

There was a crucial revelation hiding somewhere between these events. Balthazar had a feeling it was there.

He focused his mind, scrutinizing each detail, every event.

Somewhere, there was a sliver of light buried beneath it all.

His intuition wouldn’t let him rest.

— The path that the heavens demand of Kagura and I...

Even without concrete evidence or scientific rationale, Balthazar knew it was worth pursuing this hunch. If it could lead to the survival of the Empire and the future of the Multi-Island Sea, it was worth exploring.

— The meaning of my encounter with Kagura.

Normally, Balthazar would dismiss such thoughts as irrational, but this time, he didn’t resist the voice echoing inside his head. His eyes grew bloodshot as he listened half-heartedly to the heated debates of the staff officers around him. Meanwhile, he requested documents from the intelligence division concerning the Royal Family, the Imperial Guard, and the Kagura family, diving headlong into his research.

From between the lines of those documents, Kagura’s familiar smile continually surfaced in his mind. He knew it was sentimental, but occasionally, he allowed himself to indulge in those sweet memories. When he did, it felt as though the faint light of hope grew brighter.

— Kagura, I know you’ll choose peace.

Balthazar was certain. Knowing her character, she would undoubtedly choose a path that avoided unnecessary bloodshed. No matter how advantageous the war seemed for the Royal Kingdom, Kagura wouldn’t support prolonging it.

— If you’re near the Royal Family, then even a glimmer of hope becomes visible.

Calling out to her in his heart, Balthazar worked tirelessly, without sleep, poring over the materials and coordinating with the relevant departments, searching for any way to establish a secret contact with the Imperial Guard.

Amidst the flashes that burst in all directions, Elisabeth Sylvania held out the "Holy Staff." The emblem of Saint Aldista, inlaid with jewels at the staff's head, was exposed to the streams of light, radiating in seven colours.

She offered a pure, innocent smile to the reporters gathered from the Hydrabard Archipelago and the St Vault Empire, then proceeded to tell the grand lie she had prepared for this day.

"As you all know, the Holy Staff is a symbol of the Sylvania royal family's heir. Throughout the generations, kings have been permitted to wear the crown by raising the Holy Staff before Saint Aldista. Today, I must reveal another aspect of this sacred relic to you all."

The faces of the reporters brimmed with expectation and tension. Alongside rumours of Elisabeth's survival, speculation about the "Sylvania royal family's hidden treasure," amounting to 50 billion pesos, had long circulated but was considered unfounded. Today, the mystery that had lingered in people's conversations was about to be unveiled.

Empire Calendar 1351, October, Southern Archipelago, Tor Elres Island.

The location Elisabeth designated for the public press conference was Tor Elres Island, one of the small islands about 150 nautical miles northwest of Santos Island in the archipelago. The isolated island, where fewer than a hundred inhabitants lived through primitive fishing, had suddenly drawn the spotlight, with numerous reporters, Sylvania royal family members, and even high-ranking officials from the St Vault military gathering there.

They all stood atop a seven-meter-high cliff, on which an ancient stone shrine was built. Three large, ungainly boulders stood tall, casting their shadows downward, stretching toward the waves crashing at the base of the cliff as the sun from the southern sky shone upon them. At the edge of the cliff, there was a stone altar, and Elisabeth stood in front of it, addressing the reporters.

"The Holy Staff, while a symbol of royal succession, also serves to reveal the location of the 'heritage' passed down through generations of the Sylvania royal family. Today, I have invited you all to this remote island to share the joy of discovering this royal heritage."

With those words, Elisabeth solemnly inserted the Holy Staff into the central indentation of the altar. As if designed to fit, the staff stood upright on the altar, catching the nearly overhead sunlight, which illuminated the jewel at its head. The complex light refracted from the jewel and cast its beams beyond the cliff toward the sea.

"And now, I must show you why this treasure has remained unused until today. It is my belief that the discovery we make here today will greatly influence the outcome of the Second Archipelago War. Please convey this historic finding to your home countries."

As soon as Elisabeth finished speaking, the sun, despite there being no clouds, began to dim.

The reporters swallowed hard and turned their cameras toward the gradually darkening daytime sky.

The sun was being eclipsed.

Today was the day that the once-in-seventy-five-year total solar eclipse would be observed from Tor Elres Island.

Before the eyes of all present, the shadow of the moon completely covered the sun, and the sun, now reduced to a thin ring, burned brightly in the darkened sky.

Then—.

The jewels at the head of the Holy Staff cast a beam of light toward the sea.

There should have been no source of light, yet it seemed as though the jewels themselves had gathered and focused fragments of light, casting an eerie glow that pointed to a specific spot in the sea.

The beam landed on a strange reef. Gigantic, monster-like rocks jutted out from the sea, washed by violent waves, between which the light shone. Surveyors, equipped with sextants and telescopes, immediately pinpointed the location indicated by the Holy Staff and marked it on their maps.

Elisabeth, her expression sharp and dignified, turned once again to the reporters.

"The Holy Staff points to the location of a treasure that sank in these waters long ago. Approximately 270 years ago, a royal trade ship transporting vast amounts of precious metals from the Vestelant Continent sank here off the coast of Tor Elres Island. The sea here has strong currents and rough waves, and as you can see, dangerous rocks abound, making it impossible to recover the treasure with the technology of the time. In modern times, several secret attempts were made to salvage it, but all failed. Then, the Uranos invasion began, and the treasure was left behind in the sea. This secret was sealed in the Holy Staff, passed down only to the kings, and now I reveal the location to you."

With a pompous attitude, she continued her grand lie. The reporters, holding back their urge to fire off questions, listened to Elisabeth's tale, which sounded like a fantasy.

"Now is the time to bring the sleeping treasure into the light of day. The recovery will begin today, and the results will be shown to you all in due time. I promise that all the treasure recovered will be used to restore the Isla fleet. With greater strength, the Isla fleet will surely secure peace in the archipelago."

Elisabeth made her bold declaration, bowed slightly, and left the altar. The reporters attempted to ask questions, but the queen, surrounded by her aides, walked away quickly, cutting off all inquiries. A royal spokesperson stepped forward to field the barrage of questions from the press.

Why had the recovery been delayed until today? Why wait for the solar eclipse? What was the purpose of the ritual? They could have identified the location without the Holy Staff.

Most of the questions were along those lines. The spokesperson, anticipating this, responded with equally grandiose answers: "We must follow the royal tradition," "Knowing the exact location will help avoid dangers," "The Holy Staff is essential for protecting the secret," "This was to share the archaeological excitement with everyone," and so on, providing plausible yet evasive explanations. Meanwhile, Elisabeth quickly descended the cliff, boarded the waiting boat at the makeshift pier, and left the island as if escaping.

Seated in the cabin of the royal yacht, Elisabeth sipped tea and breathed a sigh of relief once Tor Elres Island was out of sight. Across from her sat Colette Avery, her aunt and advisor, lounging on a sofa, carelessly toying with the Holy Staff.

"That was more than enough. Your performance was impeccable."

Colette then removed the head of the staff and took out the lightbulb and battery hidden inside. The real Holy Staff was still stored in the treasure hall on Santos Island, and the one used today was a replica made for the occasion.

Elisabeth sighed, looking troubled.

"I've gotten so good at lying."

The Holy Staff and altar were all staged. Even choosing this island for the solar eclipse was part of the show. There was no sunken ship, and of course, no treasure. If there had been, they would have long since recovered it and converted it to cash.

"I feel like I'm becoming more and more of a terrible person."

Colette chuckled at this sigh.

"No good person can be a king. You have to be a skilled villain who can pretend to be good."

"I thought I understood that... but today, I realized how truly twisted I’ve become."

With the teacup at her lips, Elisabeth gazed out at the blue ocean. The pristine sky, with its billowing white clouds, was dazzling against her now-tainted soul.

She had gathered all those reporters and boldly pulled off this elaborate charade.

Reflecting on her own words, she marvelled at how easily she could spin such outrageous lies with a straight face.

The reporters weren’t fools. At best, they were half-believing, half-skeptical. Most likely, many of them had already seen through it as a political manoeuvre. But whether they believed it or not didn’t matter. The purpose of this theatrical display, timed with the solar eclipse, was to spread the story that the Sylvania royal family was about to recover 50 billion pesos worth of treasure to the investors of the international financial market. To ensure the message got across, even the most ridiculous play needed to be staged in a way that would easily catch people’s attention.

The legend of the Sylvania royal family’s hidden treasure, worth 50 billion pesos, passed down through the generations.

The other secret of the Holy Staff, the symbol of the Sylvania kings.

Elisabeth herself had started these two famous rumours, known even in the St Vault Empire, the Akitsu Federation, and the Hydrabard Archipelago.

Carefully, over time, with a public relations apparatus set up to spread the rumours, Elisabeth had constructed this "illusory treasure." Now, finally, the non-existent "50 billion pesos" was about to materialize through the "alchemy" Elisabeth had orchestrated.

Colette had long voiced one concern about this "alchemy."

"No matter how much effort and time you’ve put into this setup, it will all be for nothing without Balthazar Grim's cooperation. Aren’t we short on manoeuvring him?"

Elisabeth nodded. She understood that well, but still.

"He’s the type of person who’s always probing into the intentions of others, so if we set something up too blatantly, he’ll get suspicious. If he realizes our true motives, with his troublesome personality, he might even get spiteful. It’s better to hit him with a surprise attack that leaves him no time to think."

"Well... You know him better, so I’ll leave the persuasion to you. But it’s worrisome that the most critical part is still uncertain."

"I’ve already coordinated with Simon Berner. Now, it’s just a matter of getting the captain to meet with Chairmen Renior. Once those two meet, things will inevitably move forward."

Having thoroughly reviewed all the top-secret intelligence they had collected on the Berner conglomerate, Elisabeth had reached that conclusion.

Elisabeth had long understood that acquiring first-rate intelligence through her intelligence agency, which gathered, selected, and analysed it, was the key for a small country like theirs to survive in such harsh times. Like a rabbit hiding in the field, she had to sense all dangers and react swiftly to the sound of prey’s footsteps. By investing every last penny into intelligence, Sylvania had managed to gain precise knowledge—far ahead of other powers—about the Isla fleet’s arrival on the Vestelant continent last November, Balthazar's position as the head of the Berner conglomerate, and Renior's current illness.

Balthazar Grim held the key to the treasure chest.

If Balthazar moved according to Elisabeth's plan, the treasure chest would open. The non-existent 50 billion pesos would overflow from the empty chest.

Renior and Balthazar.

With the reunion of these two monsters, all of Elisabeth’s carefully laid plans would converge toward victory.

"But the captain seems to hate the chairman deeply. I can’t imagine he’ll willingly go meet him. Are you sure it will work?"

Elisabeth turned away from the window and flashed Colette a different kind of smile than before.

"I have an ace up my sleeve."

It was a smile that carried a hint of something almost devilish.

— When did this child start smiling like this?

Colette, feeling a touch of fear, gazed at Elisabeth's faintly tainted smile.

Balthazar, who had been dozing off at his desk, woke with a start, feeling as though he had been imprisoned by a witch. He arched his back and surveyed his surroundings.

No one was there. He sighed in relief. Thinking back to the nightmare, it seemed as though a girl with a devilish grin had restrained him and poured icy water down his back.

"I'm just tired," he said to himself. It was no surprise. He had been shuttling back and forth between the Unified Operations Command of the St Vault Empire on Air Hunt Island and the Sylvanian Kingdom's Operations Command on Santos Island for almost four months now. The only time he could get any meaningful sleep was during flights between the two islands, and once he was back on the ground, countless problems rushed at him. He used every bit of his knowledge and administrative ability to navigate the endless waves of issues, but no matter how many he overcame, new ones surged forward, crashing down with heavy spray.

This was what he had wanted. Without being bothered by the foolish staff officers, he could fully exercise his abilities to navigate through and resolve the barrage of challenges. Directing the bows of two armies, even by a slight margin, toward his desired course was gratifying. Although there was no time to sleep peacefully in a bed, he couldn't deny that this was the most fulfilling period of his life.

"Alright, time to get to work," he muttered, steeling himself as he glanced out the window to confirm he was in the Sierra Greed city hall on Santos Island. He then got to work on tasks related to the Sylvanian Kingdom's military.

Despite the accumulating fatigue, he continued to handle the flood of issues with precision. The only thing fuelling him was his hatred for Renior.

His goal was clear: rise in the ranks, seize power, and someday crush the Berner conglomerate.

Balthazar lived to destroy everything that Renior had built. For that cause, he could endure any amount of work.

“Cry and scream, old man,” he murmured while drafting plans for future joint operations between the Isla Fleet, the Sylvanian Kingdom's military, and the St Vault Empire's Archipelago Fleet.

"I grow closer to your throne with each passing day."

Lately, he had been talking to himself more frequently. His brain was constantly operating at full capacity, and the heated, expanding thoughts occasionally slipped out without him realizing. It didn't bother him much, as he was alone, and he continued to curse his grandfather, who he assumed was somewhere out there, unaware of his plight.

— My accomplishments are surely reaching your ears by now.

— Fear me. Tremble. Regret what you did to me.

— One day, I’ll send you on a tour of hellish battlefields as a gift.

Fuelled by hatred, Balthazar sought ways to ensure the seamless cooperation of the three forces. When on Air Hunt Island, he spent most of his time devising plans to withdraw the 1.7 million soldiers stationed on the Akitsu continent. On Santos Island, he focused on coordinating joint operations with the Isla Fleet. Both operations were critical and, if they failed, would lead to the empire’s demise. The weight of the responsibility bore down heavily on Balthazar's intellect.

Particularly concerning the Isla Fleet, urgent matters included repairing damaged ships after their long voyage, resupplying ammunition, and upgrading the armaments of certain vessels. Elisabeth had put on a ridiculous spectacle on a remote island two days prior, waving around the "holy staff" in a bid to secure the necessary funding. But judging by the newspaper reports, only the most naive investors would fall for such a charade. The idea that 500 billion pesetas worth of treasure was lying on a sunken ship at the bottom of the sea was no different from a drunkard's tall tale.

"Just a fool of a woman," Balthazar muttered.

He had briefly wondered if she might possess some political savvy, but it seemed that concern had been misplaced. She was still the same fashion-obsessed fool she had been during their days at Air Hunt Officer Academy. Without him, she was nothing more than a monkey. Only under his guidance would she ever be recognized as a proper queen.

Don’t worry, Elisabeth. Your job is to follow my lead, baring your teeth and clashing the cymbals when I direct you. When I lower the baton, you’ll shut up and stop clashing. That’s the only reason you exist in this world.

As he carried on with his less-than-charitable thoughts while working, there was a knock at the door, and a royal attendant peeked in.

"Excuse me, Major Grim. His Majesty urgently requests your presence. I apologize for the suddenness, but might you spare some time?"

"…I see. How unusual… Very well, I’ll be there shortly."

Balthazar wondered if something had happened. This was the first time Elisabeth had summoned him personally. He followed the attendant, leaving the operations room and ascending the stairs to the fifth floor of Sierra Greed City Hall, where Elisabeth resided.

He was ushered into a somewhat unadorned reception room that served as the queen's audience chamber. The former palace had been destroyed long ago, and no plans for reconstruction had been made. For now, the fifth floor of city hall served as Elisabeth’s palace.

After sitting on the sofa and waiting for a while, Elisabeth, dressed formally, emerged from her chambers. Balthazar stepped forward, right foot back, and bowed respectfully.

"I am honoured by your invitation. I shall dedicate all my strength to fulfill Your Majesty's will."

Elisabeth smiled gracefully.

"Thank you. I know you’re busy, Major, but this matter is urgent."

Balthazar tightened his expression, his eyes conveying sincerity as he spoke solemnly.

"I have always prioritized Your Majesty's requests above all else, and I always will."

"Oh my," Elisabeth blushed, her delighted smile widening.

Even Balthazar had to admit his flattery was flawless. He had prepared hundreds of different compliments for moments like this. The more he praised Elisabeth, the more she would get carried away and dance in the palm of his hand.

After offering Balthazar a seat, Elisabeth turned to the attendant standing by the door.

"This is a private matter between the major and me. You may leave."

The attendant acknowledged her orders with a gesture and quietly exited the room.

Now alone, with a glass table between them, Balthazar could sense what was coming. It had to be about money. And indeed, it was.

"Did you see the news about Tor Elres Island?" she asked.

"Of course. I was astonished. I never imagined such treasure would be hidden there."

He tried to inject as much emotion as possible into his words. Elisabeth tilted her head.

"You don’t believe it, do you?"

Of course not, he thought. There’s no way I’d fall for such a ridiculous show. But instead, he responded like the gentleman he pretended to be.

"No, of course not. I have never once doubted Your Majesty."

Elisabeth paused for a moment, then mischievously stuck out her tongue.

"Actually, it’s all a lie."

"What?!"

"There’s no treasure. Not even a sunken ship. I only chose that island because it was convenient for viewing the solar eclipse."

"I’m utterly shocked. I was completely taken in. You performed so well, Your Majesty. The entire world has been fooled."

Balthazar made a show of raising his hands in exasperation, shrugging his shoulders as if he were truly at a loss, which elicited a bashful smile from Elisabeth.

You’re blushing? Balthazar thought as he imagined throttling Elisabeth’s neck while yelling that even the chief strategist of Uranos couldn’t deceive him. After sating his mental appetite for destruction, he maintained his polite demeanour and asked a question.

"So, the purpose is to issue Balesteros bonds, correct?"

Elisabeth's smile did not falter.

"Yes. If people believe we have 500 billion pesos in reserve, investors will feel confident in flocking to Sierra Greed’s market."

"I see. That will surely fetch a high price."

As if, he thought inwardly, mocking the notion. Investors weren’t foolish enough to fall for such a simple ruse. If anything, it would only signal the Isla Fleet’s financial troubles, leading to the opposite effect. There was no way the bond prices would rise from such shallow scheming.

"No, this alone won’t be enough," Elisabeth quickly corrected him.

At least she understood that much.

"There’s one final touch of alchemy that will turn this non-existent treasure into reality."

Her words gave Balthazar an uneasy feeling. He decided to probe.

"Ah, so you plan to summon the world's greatest financial wizard?"

His bait worked, and Elisabeth’s lips curled.

"Yes. I intend to enlist the greatest wizard of all."

As Balthazar had suspected, his concerns were confirmed.

He instinctively rejected the idea.

"Moving Renior Berner is impossible for anyone."

He answered before she could even ask.

The smile faded slowly from Elisabeth's face. She was likely thinking the same thing Amelia Cervantes from the Isla Fleet's foreign ministry had thought.

None of them understood that man at all.

"Renior is not some magic charm. He’s a carnivorous plant. Approach him, lured by his sweet scent, and you'll be devoured and dissolved. If you get involved with him, it will bring a thousand years of misfortune to your kingdom."

Balthazar had already seen through Elisabeth’s plan. That farcical performance was just a stepping stone. The real goal was to involve Renior in the Balesteros bonds. If Renior were to take part, the myth of the 500 billion pesetas in treasure would seem much more plausible. Investors would begin to believe the treasure actually existed, and bond prices would rise accordingly.

And Balthazar was the perfect tool to make Renior move.

What a cheap ploy, Elisabeth.

Rage, contempt, and hatred seeped from the depths of Balthazar's expression.

Using your intelligence agency to dig into my past and thinking that makes you clever?

Don’t get cocky just because you learned a few secrets, fool.

There’s no way I’ll dance to your tune.

The most important thing was that Elisabeth had no authority to command Balthazar. He was an officer of the St Vault Empire, not a soldier of Sylvania. She could only request, not order him. His job now was to skilfully deflect her request and, in the end, gently refuse it.

After formulating his plan, Balthazar quickly masked his dark emotions and replaced them with a relaxed smile.

"Your Majesty. My grandfather despises me—loathe might be a better word. If I were to visit him and suggest he invest in the Balesteros bonds, he would immediately use all his networks to spread rumours and devalue the Isla Fleet, causing the bond prices to plummet. Some people in this world operate like that."

He delivered this line in one breath.

Elisabeth blinked innocently and replied, "Major, you may be jumping to conclusions a little too quickly. I do have a request for you, but I wouldn't dream of asking you to recommend the bonds to Chairman Renior."

"Oh, that’s a relief. Amelia from the Isla Fleet’s foreign ministry made a similar request recently, so I just assumed… What is it that you need from me, then?"

His relaxed smile remained unbroken as he asked.

Elisabeth, wearing her own sweet smile, replied, "I simply want you to meet with Chairman Renior. That’s all."

Balthazar maintained his pleasant expression, suppressing the deep hatred inside.

"With no particular agenda?"

"How about presenting yourself as a prodigal grandson returning after eight years as a staff officer for the St Vault Empire, having left home at fourteen?"

There was a flash of cold brutality behind Balthazar's smile.

"Your Majesty, that seems like quite an excessive jest, don’t you think?"

"No, of course not. I always think sincerely about the prosperity of both the kingdom and the empire," Elisabeth replied, her expression unwavering.

The two exchanged smiles, both hiding their true feelings, their verbal swords clashing as if in a delicate duel.

"I, too, sincerely desire the shared prosperity of the kingdom and the empire. That is why I must respond to your words. There is no future in getting involved with Renior," Balthazar countered.

"But isn’t he your family? Hearing you speak so ill of him saddens me," Elisabeth said, her voice tinged with feigned sympathy.

Balthazar suppressed the sneer that threatened to escape and maintained a disarmingly innocent smile.

"Family?" The hatred he had long repressed surged to the surface, shaping his words faster than his reason could control.

"I have never thought of him as family. Nor does he see me that way. The Berner family knows no such thing as familial love."

What kind of family throws a child onto the battlefield, forcing them to transport corpses and tend to the wounded? What kind of family makes a child euthanize horses with lethal injections? If such a thing is family, then he would rather have had cows and pigs as parents.

Elisabeth remained silent, staring intently at Balthazar.

He, too, maintained the facade of adult composure, keeping his simmering anger and hatred hidden as he endured her silence.

"Everyone makes mistakes," Elisabeth said quietly after a long pause.

"Perhaps you were hurt. Perhaps your expectations were betrayed, and you were punished instead. That happens," she continued, seemingly aware of everything Balthazar had endured.

Good, that would make things quicker. She knew why he could never cooperate.

"People make mistakes. They can fail to express their love correctly. All humans stumble and make errors on their journey through life. The question is whether you can accept others' mistakes and grow from them. That is what determines a person’s character," Elisabeth continued, her voice calm and measured.

Was she seriously trying to lecture him? Was she really attempting to offer him advice?

Fury surged within Balthazar. He would never, not in a million years, give her what she wanted.

"You are right. Forgiveness for the lower classes is indeed the mark of the noble," Balthazar said, his voice tight. "But Renior Berner is incapable of even the simplest decency. That monster cannot be reasoned with. To him, it’s only natural to repay kindness with betrayal. No, worse, the Berner family’s way is to parasitize benefactors and devour them whole. You must never get involved with them."

Elisabeth sighed deeply, raising her gaze to meet his with sincere-looking eyes.

"Major Grim, I must say this once more: I simply wish for you to go see the chairman."

"I didn’t leave my family on a whim. If I return now without having accomplished anything, I will be ridiculed."

"I understand your feelings. But right now, you need to return," Elisabeth urged.

"And why is that?" Balthazar asked, his tone sharp.

"Chairman Renior is gravely ill. The diagnosis gives him only a month to live."

Elisabeth’s words echoed through the room, and for a moment, Balthazar’s thoughts froze.

"Simon Berner contacted me personally, insisting that you must be brought back home, even if we have to drag you there by force. The airship is ready. Please, return home. Immediately."

It was as though his spine had shattered and fallen to the ground. In its place, a thick, icy pillar seemed to pierce through him.

Suppressing the trembling in his limbs, Balthazar forced out a response.

"It’s none of my concern."

He struggled to keep his voice steady as rage and restraint battled within him.

"Whether that man lives or dies is of no consequence to me."

"Captain…," Elisabeth began.

"He can die. Miserably. He should suffer the consequences of the countless lives he has destroyed," Balthazar spat out, feeling a burning pain stabbing into his temple, his mind unravelling. His attempts to control his emotions failed, and the bitterness he had long suppressed began to leak out as curses.

"There will be no one at his bedside. After ruling everyone with wealth and power, he will die alone. And I couldn’t care less. Let’s end this conversation. I will not leave. I’m far too busy to concern myself with the fate of one withered old man. Excuse me."

His body shook uncontrollably as Balthazar tried to rise from his seat. He was painfully aware of how agitated he was.

Renior is dying.

It was a simple fact, of course. People die. But the thought of that monster facing death had never crossed his mind.

"Captain," Elisabeth called again, standing up and quickly moving around the table to sit beside him. She placed a hand on his shoulder and gently guided him back down.

"Let me speak to you as Cecil, not as the queen," she said softly.

Balthazar felt as though his legs had lost all strength as he sat back down on the sofa, helpless.

"It’s probably just a misunderstanding, piled up over time. You should clear it all away… or you’ll regret it. I can take care of things here in the kingdom. Just go, even for one day."

Her words, spoken as Cecil Hauer, felt genuine. Balthazar took a deep breath, trying to collect his thoughts.

"I’m sorry, but no matter what you say, I will not move. My resolve is firm," he replied, gradually regaining control over himself. His lips curled into a sharp smile.

"No matter the situation, I must remain cold and logical. Emotions have no place in this. I must always act rationally and seek practical outcomes. If my grandfather taught me anything, it’s that principle. So, I will remain true to that."

In Cecil's eyes, there was a flicker of sympathy, sadness, and pity.

"Do you look down on me for that? That’s fine. But aren’t you the same, Your Majesty? You only wish to use me to manipulate Renior. Aren’t we just alike? No matter how much you try to dress it up, every human being acts out of self-interest. And there’s nothing wrong with that."

Unwittingly, Balthazar's innermost thoughts spilled out as words. He couldn’t stop them.

"What’s the point of talking about morality or humanity? What does it matter if I go to him, clear up misunderstandings, hold his hand, shed tears, and reconcile? He’s a wretched old man reaching the end of his life. Why should I care? I have work to do. The fate of the empire and the kingdom rests on my shoulders. I don’t have time to be bothered with the life or death of one man."

He continued to pour out his frustrations, knowing full well how foolish he must sound, but unable to stop. Cecil's expression hardened as she finally glared at him.

"Captain… You’re not a child anymore. What’s with the tantrum? It’s pathetic," she scolded, using the same tone as in their academy days.

"Deep down, you want to go, don’t you? You want to see your grandfather one last time and show him how much you’ve grown. There’s no need for false pride. No one will mock you."

Balthazar let out a fierce, chilling laugh.

"Your Majesty, you don’t know a thing about me. Do I really want to go? Am I just being prideful? Oh, how little you must think of me. Why should I return for something so pointless, a mere waste of time? If you want me to go, then show me what’s in it for me. I’m not a child. You’ll need to offer something tangible to move an adult."

The more he spoke, the clearer Balthazar's thoughts became.

Elisabeth had no authority to command him. Her only option was to appeal to his emotions. All he had to do was discard any trace of sentimentality, and the matter would be resolved.

I’m not going back. Let the old man die. Once I’ve destroyed the Berner conglomerate, I’ll write insults on his tombstone and finally be satisfied.

"Captain… are you serious?" Cecil asked, her voice sharp with displeasure.

Balthazar, now fully composed, responded with indifference.

"Naturally, that's the opinion of an adult," Balthazar responded smoothly.

"Is that so... Acting based on profit and loss is what makes an adult?" Cecil replied, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

"You may not know, Your Majesty, but that’s how the world works."

"Is that so? So if there’s profit to be had, you’ll act on it, right?"

"Of course. When the cost-benefit analysis is clear, acting for the benefit is only logical."

"Hmm... Then maybe I should do the same."

The warm, kind expression that had graced Cecil’s face moments ago was now gone, replaced by a cold, calculating look.

Good, Balthazar thought. This suits her much better. It's far less irritating when people focus on pragmatism rather than spouting morals or loyalty. It's much easier to deal with those who only care about profit.

"Indeed, for someone in your position, that is the rational approach," Balthazar said, fully composed now. His face betrayed no emotion as he responded.

Cecil stood up from the sofa and, with no warning, switched the conversation to an unrelated topic.

"By the way, Major, I know this is sudden, but I’ve actually been the target of terrible slander from one of the staff officers at the Operations Command Headquarters. Would you care to hear about it?"

Her tone had shifted back to that of Queen Elisabeth, the public figure. What a busy woman, Balthazar thought as he lifted his eyes to meet hers.

"Oh? A fellow officer of mine slandered Your Majesty?"

"Yes. I was both hurt and outraged... I don’t even know where to place these feelings. What do you suggest I do?"

"Hmm. Reporting this to General Rafael should suffice. Whoever it was, they’ll likely be demoted by tomorrow."

Elisabeth was a key figure for the Imperial Military Operations Command, especially in securing the Hydrabard Archipelago. The reason the imperial forces had managed to hold on after being driven from the Mitterland mainland was largely due to the support from the archipelago, which was aligned with Elisabeth’s will. Publicly slandering her, even as a senior officer, would undoubtedly result in harsh punishment.

"What exactly was this slander?"

"A letter was sent to me. Its contents were filled with crude insults," she said calmly.

Who could have been so foolish? Balthazar thought. Publicly insulting a queen, leaving written evidence, was a level of stupidity even he hadn’t encountered. If what Elisabeth said was true, the person responsible could easily be charged with treason against a monarch.

Curious to see this "idiot of the century," he asked, "May I see the letter?"

"Of course, here it is," Elisabeth said, walking over to a shelf, retrieving an old letter from a decorative box, and handing it to Balthazar.

The letter was slightly worn. As he took it and began to read, a sinking feeling overtook him.

“If you ever get into Operations Command, I’ll make sure you’re assigned to cleaning toilets. Your enemy won’t be Urano, it’ll be the stains on the toilets.”

For some reason, the contents felt familiar. It seemed as though he had written something like this to someone, a long time ago.

Suddenly, it came back to him. Yes, it was years ago when he had just started working at the Operations Command. A foolish girl from his academy days had sent him a ridiculous letter, and in response, he had written back, using these exact words to rebuke her.

Elisabeth pointed to the signature at the bottom of the letter.

“Balthazar Grim.”

It was unmistakable. His own signature, boldly inscribed at the end of the insults hurled at Elisabeth.

Elisabeth gently plucked the letter from his hand, cradling it against her chest as though it were a precious artifact.

"Whoever wrote this must be quite insane. Why on earth would they slander me like this? Perhaps I should ask General Rafael. Should we have this officer demoted? Or perhaps a rank reduction? Maybe even a trial for treason? Oh, Major Grim, what do you think would be the best way to handle this disrespectful officer?"

It had been about five or six years since that time. He recalled a trend back then of satirical cartoons in the newspapers. One, in particular, had a drawing of a man whose soul was escaping from his mouth, nose, and ears, a crude way of expressing shock.

Could that be what this is?

Balthazar felt as though his soul were drifting toward the ceiling of the room.

From above, he saw himself sitting on the sofa.

There he was, his mouth half-open, eyes rolled back, hands still outstretched in the same position they had been when Elisabeth had taken the letter from him. His mouth, nose, and ears seemed to be releasing white wisps of smoke.

Meanwhile, Elisabeth stood beside him, smiling as she clutched the letter to her chest like a prized possession.

Is this what it feels like for one's soul to leave their body? If so, I wouldn’t mind ascending to heaven right now.

Elisabeth’s voice broke through his daze.

"Or perhaps, Major Grim, you’d rather pay a visit to Chairman Renior? A demotion, imprisonment, or a visit—let’s see what the sender of this letter chooses, shall we?"

Balthazar’s body remained frozen, still releasing ectoplasm, as Elisabeth smiled down at him.

"And once you return from visiting the chairman, I’ll ensure this letter never sees the light of day. I’ll return it to you personally, without anyone else ever knowing," Elisabeth proposed, her smile as devilish as ever.