Tytania:Volume 2

Main characters of the Storm Arc

☆ Tytania Faction

• Ajman Tytania (40 years old)… Eight generation head of the Tytania Clan. Holder of the title “Landless Clanner”.
• Ariabert Tytania (27 years old)… Head of one of the “Tytania’s Five Families”. Duke.
• Jouslain Tytania (27 years old)… Head of one of the “Tytania’s Five Families”. Duke.
• Zarlisch Tytania (26 years old)… Head of one of the “Tytania’s Five Families”. Duke.
• Idris Tytania (24 years old)… Head of one of the “Tytania’s Five Families”. Duke.
• Theresa Tytania (50 years old)… Zarlisch’s mother.
• Balamy Tytania (18 years old)… Jouslain’s senior aide-de-camp. Viscount.
• Francia… Jouslain’s lady-in-waiting.
• Lydia (10 years old)… Princess of the Kingdom of Elbing.
• Donald Farah… Counsellor to Tytania’s Clanner. Election technician.
• Theodora Tytania… Aspirant to the rank of Countess.
• Radmoth Tytania (17 years old)… Idris’ younger brother. Baron.
• Harsha VI (35 years old)… Emperor of the Vardana Empire. Official ruler.
• Aisha (31 years old)… Empress of the Vardana Empire.

☆ Anti-Tytania Faction

• Fan Hyulick (28 years old)… Former commander of the Euria City Fleet. Became a hero after defeating the previously undefeated Tytania during the Battle of the Cerberus Sector, but was banished from the city of Euria. Currently on the run.
• Lira Florentz… A girl who helped Hyulick during his escape. Deceased.
• Mikhail Walenkov (27 years old)… Fan Hyulick’s former subordinate. Former aide-de-camp. Sub-Lieutenant.
• Louis Edmond Pagès (26 years old)… Fan Hyulick’s former subordinate. Former Intelligence Staff Officer. Sub-Lieutenant.
• Compton Casimir… Captain of the Honest Old Man. Miranda’s husband.
• Miranda (28 years old)… Former Princess of the Duchy of Casabianca.
• Lee Shanchen (27 years old)… Commonly known as Doctor Lee. Holds a PhD from planet Bargash. Currently the captain of the “Blaze Flag” army.
• Alan Mahdi (22 years old)… Former lieutenant of the Vardana Imperial Army. Currently on the run.
• Salam Amzekar (30 years old)… Former admiral of the Vardana Imperial Army. Defeated by Tytania during the Battle of the Syracusa System, currently living in exile on planet Bargash.

Chapter 1 – The Five Chairs

I

When a high-pitched and ear-piercing female shriek echoed, the servants of Duke Zarlisch Tytania exchanged glances in silent.

The voice had come from beyond a thick door, but the servants knew who it belonged to, as well as the reason of that scream. They had even anticipated it. In any case, knowledge and expectation only intensified their dread.

It was the 10^th of August SY 446.

In the mid-latitude forested part of Ryutehi, the capital planet of the Vardana Interstellar Empire, was a lake region by the name of Calvinia where stood the estates of the Tytania clan, the rulers of the Universe. Over 30 km², forests, hills, and lakes stretched, and several magnificent mansions could maintain some privacy through an invisible wall of distance. In a corner of a mansion, Duke Zarlisch Tytania was being berated by his mother.

“Mother, please calm down. The servants can hear you.”

The son’s voice and expression were filled with bitterness. Zarlisch, one of the Four Dukes, and a magnificent man with a beautiful beard, was no match for his mother. Theresa stood some 30 centimetres closer to the ground than her son, and yet, she was spitting forcefully at him.

Duke Zarlisch Tytania, exhaled a vast amount of airs from his lungs that befitted his muscular and imposing physique. With a slight movement of his hand, Theresa could be sent soaring in the sky. Of course, such a scene would not come to pass. Theresa continued to accuse her son in a high and metallic voice. She denounced the sins of the elder brother regarding the death of the younger brother, Arses.

“Zarlisch, you were jealous of Arses. You were jealous because he was gorgeous and talented, and you let him die. Ah, he was such a fin lad, worthy of becoming a duke!”

Have I ever deserved such unwarranted criticism? asked Zarlisch to himself deep in his thick chest. Had the person in front of him been anyone else, he would have probably yelled that question aloud. But it was impossible for him to do so.

Theresa was once a beauty. Rather, if the excess fat and sagging skin caused by her unhealthy lifestyle were to be removed, even now at the age of 50 she could pass as a mature and beautiful lady. But the current sight of her sagging flesh and rippling skin was she pressed with passion on her bewildered son was all but beautiful. There was no merit to her assertions. She was merely lashing out at her son her emotions that were erupting like a volcano.

Zarlisch was pelted with blows and couldn’t stand it. Indeed, Theresa didn’t simply lash out verbally, but also grabbed him by the collar and struck him with her fat fists as she berated him. Finally, Zarlisch answered. He had no choice but to do so.

“Very well, Mother. I swear I’ll bring the despicable criminal before you. You shall punish him to your heart’s content.”

Upon hearing the word “swear”, Theresa regained some composure. Panting heavily, she glared at her eldest son with oily eyes, and finally managed to say:

“You will. If you break that promise, I’ll curse you.”

… Upon later learning about this secret drama, the mid-rank Tytanian officers were stunned.

“Why, they say that Duke Zarlisch is a literal ‘ruthless general’, but it appears that the strongest person in the Universe might actually be the Duke’s mother,” they whispered to each other as they shrugged.

They weren’t necessarily looking down on Zarlisch, but they were somewhat disappointed. The late Count Arses had been extremely unpopular among Tytanian’s subordinates and soldiers. They were also aware of Zarlisch’s strained relationship with his brother.

To put it crudely, Tytania could confidently say that Count Arses’ death was “good riddance”. Surely, a man as dashing as Zarlisch would ignore his mother’s madness and act as a public figure that befitted his ability and rank?

“That Fan Hyulick should be declared a public enemy of all of Tytania. It makes no sense to turn it into Lord Zarlisch and his mother’s personal vendetta.”

In spite of these objections, no one directly condemned Zarlisch. He was a warrior who liked to surround himself with front-line warriors, and had a staff of officers who were often described as “valiant soldiers” or “seasoned captains”. While they did have sigh standards of courage and loyalty, these virtues came with drawbacks which hindered the broadness of their perspective and the flexibility of their strategy.

They sought to accommodate Zarlisch rather than rebuke him. The sight of a group united towards a single purpose could intoxicate people like a sweet illusion. That was particularly the case for soldiers, revolutionaries, and religious zealots.

Even before Tytania’s latest policy had been decided, Zarlisch and his men had already begun operations. To hunt down a man who went by the name Fan Hyulick, and his accomplices.

“I wish to be appointed as commander in subduing these insolent rebels who have risen against Tytania.” When Zarlisch made that request, Duke Jouslain Tytania perfectly understood the situation. What could compel Zarlisch to make such a demand? There must have been some personal conflict between him and his mother.

It was common knowledge in the Tytania clan that Zarlisch’s mother, Theresa, shunned her eldest son and favoured her second son, Arses. The latter had been murdered by Fan Hyulick, an insignificant figure in the eyes of Tytania. While the anger of a mother was natural, Theresa had lost her mind, and her son was manipulated in her fury.

“It appears that even after his death, Count Arses is still causing trouble for his brother.”

Half of it was pity, half of it was absurdity. Fan Hyulick and his men had harmed Tytania twice, but they were but ants before a giant elephant, and their defeat wouldn’t do much to increase Zarlisch’s prestige. At least not now. How powerful they may become in the future was unknown. According to Tytania’s traditional Machiavellianism, they had to be nipped in the bud before they grew too large, but…

Jouslain wondered what stance should they adopt at the Tytanian Supreme Council meeting that was shortly due to enter in session. His senior aide-de-camp, Viscount Balamy Tytania, watched him in silence as he pondered at his desk in his office.

For Balamy, Jouslain was both a relative and his commanding officer, which already made it a considerable bother. To make matters worse, Jouslain virtually held a power of life and death over him.

Balamy’s late father, the former Minister of Military Affairs, Marquis Estrade, was the half-brother of Tytania’s supreme commander, Ajman. He had been dissatisfied with his inability to become the supreme commander, and had harboured rebellious intentions, but he unexpectedly died before he could act upon them. It was his son, Balamy, who had instigated this rebellion, and Jouslain apparently knew about it. If Jouslain ever so desired, he could have Balamy punished for treason.

But on the other hand, there was probably no superior as ideal as Jouslain. Simply by being “Duke Jouslain’s senior aide-de-camp” earned him respect, reverence, and a generous treatment. Balamy himself, as a viscount bearing the surname Tytania, was already in an envious position, and the Clanner and the Four Dukes were yet on another level.

Balamy’s delicate position had also been offset by his status as Duke Jouslain’s senior aide-de-camp. By placing Balamy in such a crucial position, Jouslain had publicly shown his trust in him. Anyone who dared to harm Balamy would need to be prepared to make an enemy of his protector, Jouslain. Just the appointment as senior aide-de-camp itself involved multiple layers of political considerations and dynamics that were characteristic of the heart of Tytania.

Balamy had recently purged the anti-Tytania faction that infested the Vardana Empire’s court and government. He had executed 26 people, who held high ranks such as minister, general, clerk, councillor, senator, or knight, sent 40 others to penal colonies, and exiled 114 along with their families. The order had come through Jouslain from Clanner Ajman. Failure to carry out this slaughter would have meant that he was unworthy of being treated as a member of the Tytania clan.

Balamy understood this perfectly. He stormed the Vardana court, wielding his invisible mighty purging scythe, and beheaded key figures of the Emperor Harsha VI, including the Minister of Justice, Herawa, and the Minister of Civil Affairs, Nunes. After that, he washed the blood from the court’s political floor, appointed replacements, amended several rules of the court, and completed the matter in a remarkably short time. For a youth of 18 years old, his skills were truly impressive.

“Viscount Balamy appears to be a useful man.”

With that declaration from Clanner Ajman, Balamy’s achievements had been officially recognised. He had been responsible for his father’s accidental death, but Ajman’s words washing him from that responsibility. In the organisation of Tytania, decisions regarding personnel were often made on the basis that past sins could be atoned for with merit, and this was an example of it. In other words, Balamy had passed his personnel assessment.

The ministers who were the subject of that test certainly ended up being the butt of the joke, but it was nevertheless true that they had been plotting against Tytania. But they didn’t necessarily did it with kind of resolve. It could be said that they had played with power and schemes as if they were toys, and were now receiving their just deserts.

“I am certainly a subordinate of Duke Jouslain. But it doesn’t mean that I’ll be subservient to him.”

Balamy lifted his shoulders. Jouslain was well aware of his state of mind, and while he found it amusing, he also held some admiration for his spirit.

II

Duke Jouslain Tytania was the guardian of the princess of the small and remote kingdom of Elbing. Her name was Lydia, and she was 10 years old. She was staying at Uraniborg, Tytania’s stronghold, as collateral for a debt, as well as a political hostage, but was a cheerful and carefree girl nevertheless. She could come and go freely, and often visited Jouslain’s office.

“Lord Jouslain, if you have some time, let’s play.”

While a woman inviting a man to play usually implied something romantic, since the inviting party was only 10 years old, it was a genuine and literal invitation to play. She would often tour the vast interior of Uraniborg along with Jouslain, but he was sometimes too busy to accompany her. Princess Lydia would then say:

“In that case, Lord Jouslain, may I observe you working? I promise not to disturb you, and behave properly.”

“Do as you please. Let me have a chair prepared for you.”

Thus, anyone visiting Duke Jouslain would be met with the intriguing gaze of the young girl seated in a corner of the room. There were some who would lose their composure under her gaze. Someone commented: “I felt like I was being dissected”. Princess Lydia, a princess with a mighty spirit within a small frame, seemed to be discerning those who might be useful to the kingdom of Elbing, and those who might be harmful. In any case, the task of looking after Princess Lydia fell upon Viscount Balamy, the senior aide-de-camp.

For Balamy, being treated on the same level as a child like Princess Lydia was unacceptable. He was a member of the Tytania clan, and the nephew of the current Clanner, Ajman. His late father was a marquis, and he himself a viscount. Inwardly, he didn’t care about some small kingdom that couldn’t even repay it’s debt to Tytania. But according to social etiquette, he had to address Lydia as “Her Highness”, and since Jouslain himself addressed her with respect, Balamy had no choice but to follow such rules.

While “Her Highness” initially addressed Balamy as “Viscount”, she eventually came to see him as a friend and equal, calling him “Balamy” and eventually shortening it to “Bal”. Balamy was extremely dissatisfied with this, but he couldn’t object or correct her every time, and could do nothing but accept it. Whenever he was called “Bal”, he would reply “Yes princess”, and continue to attend on her.

In spite of hoping to be a schemer, Balamy may have lacked the necessary temperament to be one.

Jouslain’s attitude towards Balamy and Princess Lydia clearly demonstrated his qualities as an educator. Whenever he found outstanding qualities in someone’s individuality and talent, he treated them as extremely valuable, and wanted to nurture them.

It was a honed Tytanian tradition to seek out and generously treat talented individuals. But in Jouslain’s case, it seemed he had a strong inclination towards the individuality and talent of others rather than their ideals and policies. He went beyond practical matters such as politics, administration, military affairs, finance, and economics, to the realm of academics, and supported many scholars, writers, artists, and musicians. He established a fund and entrusted its management to experts, and a certain Mr Politt, a poet of the transcendentalist school who had benefited from it, once paid him a visit to express his gratitude. Jouslain did not meet with him.

“Artists and scholars need not bow to those with power and wealth. Let them be proud of their deserved lavish treatment. For Mr Politt to go out of his way to express his gratitude for something like this, I guess he must be a materialist after all.”

It is reported that when Mr Politt heard this, he blushed deeply and withdrew. The fact that Jouslain spoke in a way where he could be overheard might have been a sign of his immaturity. For one, considering his position, he didn’t want to increase the number of guests he had to receive any further.

That being said, while he treated artists with great generosity, Jouslain did not possess any particular passion or discerning eye for works of art themselves. His office and residence were adorned with works by renowned painters, sculptors, potters and furniture makers. Although the majority were gifts or offerings, their management was entrusted to one of his butlers who specialised in art and antiques, and Jouslain himself had little involvement in the process. Rather than the works themselves, it was the talent that produced these works that he favoured.

In practical terms, he used these works as gifts for dignitaries from various countries. This was why Jouslain was known as a “person who wasn’t stingy”, though that reputation was somewhat at odds with his true nature.

To Jouslain, Fan Hyulick as a rebel against the Tytania was also a great artist of his era. More precisely, he possessed the potential to become a figure worthy of being called great. Would should such a person allow himself to be killed so wantonly by Zarlisch and his mother? Jouslain wouldn’t help but lean towards the negative. That said, it was a fact that Fan Hyulick was a public enemy who had repeatedly inflicted damage on Tytania, and if left unchecked, Tytania’s prestige would be tarnished.

Jouslain was well aware of the folly of such a thing as prestige, yet at the same time he recognised the reality that it was precisely through prestige that a certain degree of order and peace was maintained. Furthermore, what made Jouslain unique was his wry realisation that it was Tytania herself who derived the greatest benefit from this reality.

“Peace, order and stability are not the ends of power, but its means.”

This is how Jouslain once characterised the reality of “Pax Tytania”. That said, he didn’t believe this to be an entirely accurate assessment. He was merely shedding light from a different angle on Tytania’s own assertion that “peace exists only because of Tytania”.

On the 15^th of August, Tytania’s Supreme Council convened at Uraniborg. Those in attendance were Clanner Ajman and the Four Dukes. Jouslain took his seat beside Ariabert.

Ariabert was generally regarded as the leading figure amongst the Four Dukes of Tytania and did not possess a mind as richly nuanced as Jouslain’s. Of course, Ariabert was by no means incompetent nor of limited intellect, and few in the universe could handle matters with his composure, whether as the commander of a great army or as an administrator of an organisation.

While he may lack a certain degree of originality, once he acknowledged another’s idea, he could flexibly accept it and adapt it in the best possible way. At the very least, he has never failed twice in a row, and he has proven to possess the calibre to make amends for his failures and grow as a result.

“Zarlisch would not have handled it this fashion. Compared to Ariabert’s talents, Zarlisch is merely a ruthless general.”

This was Jouslain’s assessment, although in Zarlisch’s case, even when considered as a mere brave general, he was still far from ordinary. Had Zarlisch been supported by a staff officer with outstanding strategic thinking, he might literally have conquered the entire universe through sheer force of ability and even established a unified dynasty. But Zarlisch’s likes and dislikes towards others were all too evident: he favoured simple, unassuming soldiers and detested those who possessed a more nuanced way of thinking without necessarily being schemers.

Consequently, Zarlisch’s ranks consisted solely of brave commanders and soldiers who, in a sense, were miniature versions of himself. This tendency to gather only a single type of person might be acceptable for a military commander, but it was unsuitable for Tytania’s supreme commander.

As for Jouslain himself, he was probably even less suited to the role of Tytania’s supreme commander than Zarlisch. Not because of a lack of talent or ability, but because of his temperament.

He saw too much, even things he needed not to see. Since it was an impossible for a human to perceive the entirety of all things, this meant that there were things he ought to see that he was failing to see. This was how Jouslain interpreted it. And that very tendency to engage in such thinking was likely to render him unfit to be the Tytania’s supreme commander.

Had he been incompetent in practical affairs, Jouslain could surely have stepped back from the mainstream of Tytania and taken up the role of a critic. However, Jouslain possessed extraordinary ability as a politician. Having been involved in the governance of more than ten nations, he had reformed administration and public finances, placed the right people in the right positions, and either appeased or neutralised opposition forces, thereby increasing and stabilising Tytania’s alliance network. In particular, his skill in intervening in countries in a state of civil strife to restore order and establish new systems was considered unrivalled.

Jouslain did not regard his own talents as particularly remarkable, nor did he place a great importance on the existence of Tytania itself. He recognised that they were merely passing through history, and that eternal glory was impossible.

“It is like a dinosaur. So mighty it cannot escape extinction,” he thought as he gazed into the distance, anticipating the day when that realisation would come to pass.

It was likely the ambitious mid-level executives who regarded Tytania as an absolute authority. To them, Tytania was not merely an organisation or a group, but a community bound by a shared destiny. Of course, Tytania was not a single entity, but rather a collective term encompassing the Landless Clanner’s domain, the retinues of the various dukes, the corporations and organisations they owned, and their private military forces. As personnel were exchanged between these entities, it was not uncommon for an unknown young man, once he sets foot on the ladder of advancement, to become a key figure at the level of a stellar system state by middle age.

Those who prided themselves on their talent, those harbouring ambitions of advancement, and those who wished to make their mark on the world, would all flock to gather under the Tytanian coat of arms. The abundance and quality of talent maintained there far surpassed that of groups of nations possessing only nominal sovereignty. This wealth of human resources was also one of the pillars underpinning Tytania’s might.

Tytania cherished talent and ambition. Provided they did not undermine her rule. Although a clear boundary existed, for the vast majority of people it lied beyond the horizon. At least in relative terms, Tytania was generous and remained a destination that held a certain allure for the talented.

Of course, there were differing views. Ultimately, Jouslain could not help but feel that it was merely a gathering of people who were simply seeking the shelter of a great tree. He was not generally regarded as a particularly difficult person, but he simply could not bring himself to feel any favour towards the sort of people who fawned over those in power. Given that was himself close to the pinnacle of power, this sentiment was clearly a contradiction in terms and at odds with the “virtue” of tolerance expected of those in authority.

For the time being, Jouslain had not yet been driven by the need to desperately reconcile that contradiction. He did not yet know what stance he would adopt should he ever be faced with such a necessity.

“Lord Jouslain , someone as overly fastidious as you will never be able to build a circle of advisors.”

Ariabert was the one who made that observation. Ariabert had his own perspective on the matter. In this world, there were many who possessed knowledge and talent yet were unable to put them to use. Was it not the duty of those in power and position to provide them with a platform on which to demonstrate their talents?

“We shouldn’t take issue of their character. It is up to us to provide them with a place to exercise their talents and provide them financial security. In turn, they use their talents for the sake of Tytania. I do not think that anything else matters more.”

“But Lord Ariabert, is it not character that ultimately governs over one’s talents?”

This was the counter-argument Jouslain had offered, though he was not seriously raising an objection. He simply fancied debating with Ariabert. In truth, until very recently, Jouslain had not held his relative Ariabert in particularly high regard. While he possessed well-organised and orderly talents in both the arts and martial arts, he had considered him nothing more than a model student lacking in individuality.

His view changed after witnessing how, following his defeat at the hands of Fan Hyulick, Ariabert had demonstrated extraordinary flexibility and resilience to regain the ground he had lost. He thought of it as Ariabert’s true worth finally coming to light.

However, they were given no time to continue their discussion. They fell silent, rose to their feet, and placed their right fists against their left shoulders, performing the Tytanian salute. Ajman, the Landless Clanner and head of the Tytania clan, had entered the room.

Ajman’s appearance was such that it could easily have been carved into a sculpture. The title of that sculpture would undoubtedly be “Dominion and Authority”. Both his gaze and the line of his mouth possessed a combination of sharpness and strength, while his demeanour embodied, so to speak, a dignified severity. It was the bearing of a supreme commander whom all of Tytania could not help but greet in solemn silence. Although he could still be described as young in terms of age, the gravitas of his bearing had the effect of adding years to his appearance, making him seem older than he actually was. He was forty years of age, yet possessed a certain air of solemnity.

The Landless Clanner Ajman was the uncrowned overlord of the universe; his power, strength and prestige stood above those of all other kings. While he led a family life as a working adult, he also maintained relationships with various mistresses.

If there were to be a prevailing cultural norm regarding romantic relationships in Tytania, it could hardly be described as progressive, and would inevitably be criticised as patriarchal. Since ascending as Clanner, Ajman had all but ceased sexual relations with his main wife, instead having beautiful women presented to him from the nobility and elite of various nations, filling his bedchamber with a profusion of blossoms. He already had sired children out of wedlock.

“I wonder what sort of expression that stern and caustic supreme commander of Tytania wears when he embraces a woman.”

Such rumours abounded both within and outside Tytania, but they never grew beyond mere whispers. Whatever Ajman might be like in his bedchamber, the fact that he was a stern and caustic ruler the moment he stepped out of it was beyond dispute.

Originally, the qualities required of a ruler of Tytania were leadership, foresight and decisiveness, not sexual morality. Whether one was lustful or the opposite, such matters were entirely unrelated to one’s competence as a ruler. However, if debauchery were to be taken to extremes, it would constitute grounds for disqualification from rulership. Someone who would use his position of power to take a subordinate’s wife would naturally incur hatred and resentment, and be deemed to lack the personal qualities required for leadership. Furthermore, to display nothing but a lecherous disposition while lacking any real ability would merely invite ridicule.

In any case, Ajman indulged in his amorous pursuits within the bounds acceptable to a man of power, and, as things stood, had not caused any disruption whatsoever.

III

After some ten agenda items and matters had been dealt with at the conference table, and following a short break, the most important motion of the day was tabled. It concerned Fan Hyulick, who had now become a major public enemy of Tytania.

For those who harboured hostility or antipathy towards Tytania, the name Fan Hyulick had come to carry considerable weight. Regardless of one’s personal feelings, this fact could not be ignored. It appeared that once a person has achieved great renown, they must bear that burden and tread a path somewhat different from their original intentions.

From Jouslain’s perspective, Fan Hyulick seemed less like a brazen rebel and more like a bewildered novice actor. The reality might be different, but looking at his career, this is what came to mind, and Jouslain couldn’t help but have a wry smile as he felt some faint sympathy. Of course, this was not an opinion he would voice aloud.

Ironically, under these circumstances, Tytania was also suffering the consequences. Whatever the sequence of events, it remained a fact that Fan Hyulick murdered a member of the Tytania clan, and for the sake of its prestige and honour Tytania had no choice but to arrest and execute him. If one would dare put it this way, all for the sake of one mere person, Count Arses Tytania.

Although Arses himself had voiced his discontent while alive, his character was not recognised as having any value whatsoever within the Tytania clan. Even an incompetent could be liked by others, and there were capable individuals who were disliked. Arses happened to be neither, and the only person who mourned his untimely demise was his mother.

For the supporters of Tytania, Arses’ death in itself was of no consequence. What mattered was the fact that his death had been imposed upon him by others. Those bearing the Tytania surname must have their lives and deaths determined solely by others bearing the same surname. It was that very pride that proved that Tytania was the sovereign ruler of the entire universe. This pride was to be strictly upheld. No matter the cost.

Zarlisch, having been granted the floor, leaned his massive frame halfway across the conference table as he petitioned the Clanner. He requested to be appointed the person in charge of executing Fan Hyulick, the man who had killed his younger brother.

“Lord Zarlisch, your wish is perfectly reasonable. You have a good reason to take this matter more seriously than anyone else.”

Hearing Clanner Ajman’s response, Zarlisch’s eyes sparkled.

“Then, may I be entrusted with the life or death of that lawless scoundrel, Fan Hyulick?”

“Well, it is most gratifying when hope leads to enthusiasm, but that does not necessarily guarantee success. Unfortunately, excessive zeal tends to render one’s abilities ineffective.”

Although Clanner Ajman’s voice was not exactly venomous, it lacked warmth. His almost inorganic coldness was by no means the product of personal malice, yet Zarlisch could not help but break out in a cold sweat. The vast expanse of skin covering the burly man’s body had hardened with tension.

“Your Clanner Highness’ concerns are entirely justified, but I, though unworthy, pride myself on being more suited to this task than any of the other lords. The sin of allowing that unscrupulous traitor Fan Hyulick act as he pleased lies with my brother’s inaction and incompetence. I therefore humbly request that you allow me, as his elder brother, to atone for his sin.”

“It is indeed a misfortune for this Fan Hyulick to be regarded as a direct enemy of the peerlessly valiant Lord Zarlisch.”

The Clanner’s voice flowed gently through the sea of silence in which the dukes sat. Even when disguised as a mere jest, his remarks often carried grave implications, so they could not react carelessly.

“It is inevitable that Fan Hyulick and his followers will be wiped out. Lord Zarlisch, there is nothing wrong with you taking on that task, but…”

“Is there truly no possibility whatsoever of welcoming him into the ranks of Tytania, Your Highness?”

It was Ariabert who voiced this opinion, but he was immediately met with opposition.

“It is too late to bring this up now. He has already rejected the hand of friendship extended by Tytania, and has even gone so far as to murder a man bearing the Tytania surname and title. If we were to seek reconciliation at this late stage, the authority of Tytania would be called into question.”

Idris’ tone had grown fierce, as if scorched by fire.

“Fan Hyulick must be made to atone for his crimes. There is no other option. Talents of the calibre of Fan Hyulick can surely be found in abundance as long as we look for them. There is no reason to put his talents to use if at the expense of Tytania’s authority.”

Rather, on this occasion, in order to further strengthen Tytania’s unity and to demonstrate Tytania’s resolve to the outside world, Fan Hyulick’s faction should be thoroughly hunted down and subjected to severe punishment. That was the gist of Idris’ argument. He excelled in passionate oratory, even more than Ariabert or Zarlisch, and although the was youngest, he appeared to be leading the proceedings.

Jouslain silently watched this scene unfold.

“He is even stiffer than Balamy.”

Just as Princess Lydia had remarked, Idris’ sharp edges were all too evident. If he could channel that fiery spirit and ambition, and embrace them with a mature character, might Idris not naturally become a figure of such calibre as to rule all of Tytania? Such were Jouslain’s thoughts, though there was no guarantee that his judgement of character was completely accurate.

“Mayhap Idris would have been happier had he not been born into Tytania’s ruling class.” sometimes thought Jouslain.

It was neither a paradox nor irony. Whenever he encountered Idris’ intense drive for self-improvement and competitive spirit, he couldn’t help but feel this way.

Had Idris been born into an obscure family, he would have thrown himself into Tytania’s affairs as his ambition dictated, achieved remarkable feats, raced up the ladder of success, and felt a deep sense of fulfilment in the process. With every step he climbed, he would undoubtedly have set his sights even higher, fuelling his vitality.

However, Idris was born into the main line of the Tytania clan, a house of great prestige, and was already one of the Four Dukes. Above him only stood the throne of the Landless Clanner, the supreme leader of the Tytania clan. Naturally, Idris had to think, act, plot and strive with that as his goal. It was probably Idris’ karma that he could not find fulfilment in the approach taken by Ariabert of calmly and steadily fulfilling one’s duties and doing one’s utmost within the current circumstances.

Jouslain didn’t believe that Idris possessed the talent and calibre he boasted of. But of course, Idris was not incompetent, and he possessed sufficient ability to have rise from nothing and become the sovereign of a star-spanning nation. A few days ago, he failed in his mission to use Count Arses Tytania as a decoy to wipe out Fan Hyulick’s faction. However, this had been a mere tactical blunder at the regional level, and there would be plenty of opportunities to make up for that lost ground in the future. The scale of the underlying power he has accumulated is simply on a different level to that of Fan Hyulick, who would be plunged to the brink of ruin were he to suffer a single defeat.

It would be no surprise if Idris were to become Tytania’s next Clanner. However, should that happen, the atmosphere in Tytania would become stifling, and it would become a truly difficult place for someone like Jouslain to live in.

The Clanner’s gaze turned towards Jouslain. Glancing at the young duke who was tapping the tabletop silently with the back of his hand as he pondered, the Clanner addressed him in a voice laced with a hint of sarcasm:

“What are your thoughts, Lord Jouslain?”

Idris’ pride that was stung by those words. Jouslain had been silent for some time now. One should simply leave those who wished to remain silent to their own devices. Yet, the Clanner was specifically seeking his opinion; was it because he held Jouslain in high regard? Idris could not help but wonder. The Clanner’s gaze flitted towards Idris’ expression for just a fraction of a second.

In that brief moment, Jouslain brought his thoughts back to the reality of the situation, withdrew his hands from the table and sat up straight. In this instance, there was no need to say much, nor did Jouslain have any intention of doing so. He understood the Clanner’s intentions and saw no reason to object to them. And, while feeling a touch of shame at his own insight, he replied:

“I concur with Lord Zarlisch’s proposal. I believe that amongst all of us, Lord Zarlisch is the most suitable for this task.”

With this, Jouslain had provided the desired response to Zarlisch’s prior proposal. It would, as the saying goes, mean that he had “gained a favour”. Yet, that was but a trivial matter.

For Jouslain, it was the true intent behind the Clanner’s expressionless nod that was truly frightening. By entrusting the matter of Fan Hyulick to Zarlisch, the Clanner had reduced it to the Zarlisch family’s private affair. This meant that, should the situation change in the future, he could set aside Zarlisch and form an alliance with Fan Hyulick. Of course, should Zarlisch succeed in eliminating Fan Hyulick, this would remove a future formidable enemy, and would not result in a negative outcome for Tytania.

With the matter of Fan Hyulick settled, the discussion moved on to the next agenda item. Emperor Harsha VI of Vardana, whose ministers had been purged, was, naturally, deeply shaken and spending his days in anxiety. The question was what to do, since the situation could not simply be left unaddressed. When once more asked for his opinion, Jouslain replied:

“I believe it would be best to present a gift and appease His Majesty Harsha VI to some extent. After all, it was the rebellious ministers who were purged. We ought to demonstrate that Tytania harbours no ill will towards the Emperor.”

“You want to curry favour with the Emperor?” immediately interjected Idris with a blunt expression of doubt.

Jouslain countered once more:

“No need to put it in such terms. We are simply reassuring Harsha VI. If His Imperial Majesty’s position and state of mind are stable, there will be less scope for ambitious individuals to act recklessly. If the Vardana Imperial House is of even the slightest use to Tytania, I believe it is only natural to treat it accordingly.”

Tytania had never disregarded formality and had always observed the proper etiquette towards the Vardana Imperial House. Legally speaking, Tytania submitted herself to being a vassal of the Emperor of Vardana, and since she had accepted this position, it was only proper to observe the courtesies that came with it. If others regarded this as hypocrisy, if was their prerogative. Indeed, it was undoubtedly hypocrisy.

“I endorse Lord Jouslain’s proposal. As far as Tytania is concerned, we have no intention of seeking a confrontation with the Vardana Imperial House.”

Clanner Ajman delivered his verdict, his voice tinged with a hint of sarcasm as he continued:

“There are many who criticise Tytania, but stinginess has never once been cited as a reason. We shall present His Majesty Harsha VI with a generous gift. When the opportunity arises.”

“Will money and gifts truly console the Emperor’s heart?”

Ariabert voiced his common-sense opinion, but Clanner Ajman laughed heartily and dismissed his concern.

“That is a matter for the Emperor’s own mind. Even if he finds no solace, that is a matter for him to resolve. It is none of our concern.”

IV

Many tribute gifts were delivered from Tytania to Emperor Harsha VI, the nominal sovereign of the Vardana Empire. This took place on the 20^th of August, which coincided with the anniversary of Harsha VI’s coronation. The Landless Clanner Ajman visited the court in person and delivered a brief congratulatory address, though this in itself was of no particular significance.

After the Clanner’s departure, a vast array of gifts remained at the court. Jewels, precious metalworks, paintings, sculptures, furs, a pleasure yacht, and two thoroughbred horses. A five million dakar donation was also made to the Imperial Museum. Truly, no one could accuse Tytania of being stingy. Yet the Emperor was not impressed.

“Hah, trying to win my favour with money and gifts? The usual Tytanian approach. Judging the hearts of others by their own values.”

Harsha VI attempted to infuse his voice with contempt but failed, his lips twitching insensitively. Tytania was simply too immense a presence to be treated with contempt.

If one could merely resign oneself to the status of a puppet of Tytania, the position of Emperor of the Vardana Empire might well become the object of others’ envy. Although merely formal, courtesy and respect were paid in full, and one could indulge in every luxury in one’s private life. Should any major national crisis arise, Tytania would handle it with her authority and military might. All the Emperor need do was to attend ceremonies and affix his seal and signature to imperial edicts.

Harsha VI’s father, Harsha V, who bore the same name, made no attempt to wrest real political power from Tytania’s grasp. He issued edicts as Tytania saw fit, appointed and dismissed ministers, and remained, from start to finish, a figure whose sole purpose was to legitimise Tytania’s interests and actions. Having renounced his desire for and attachment to earthly power, he found happiness in other pursuits. Tytania provided him with several beautiful women, and he devoted himself to the scholarly study of classical theatre, authoring eight scholarly works during his lifetime. All of these were regarded as masterpieces, underpinned by rigorous scholarship, extensive knowledge and keen analytical skills. While there was no doubt that he was gifted with intellect, he never applied it to the realm of state affairs. Was this something to be regretted?

However, during Harsha V’s thirty-year reign, the Vardana Empire enjoyed stability across all political, military, economic and social spheres under Tytania’s leadership. During his reign, not a single minister was murdered or executed, and the only punishments meted out were imprisonment and exile. There were only three military campaigns, large and small, all of which took place in outer space on the empire’s periphery, and they resulted in no civilian casualties. Apart from this, there were numerous instances in which Tytania’s private militias engaged in combat for Tytanian interests, but these need not be included in the count.

Thus, during the reign of Harsha V, peace was largely maintained, and there was no disruption to the lives of the people. Repression of the anti-Tytania movements was also eased, and, to use a conventional expression, “the people enjoyed an era of peace”. Harsha V once spoke indirectly about his position, which had been that of a puppet of Tytania from start to finish:

“The authority of the Vardana Imperial House is of no concern to the people.”

He never uttered any further words to justify himself.

His son, Harsha VI, was unable to adopt the same mindset as his father. The cracks in his resolve were reflected within the palace. Anti-Tytania movements were frequently instigated, and each time they were suppressed with bloodshed.

“That man, Fan Hyulick, perhaps he could free me from Tytania’s shackles. Might it be possible to win him over to our side?”

Harsha VI shuddered at his own thoughts. His resentment towards Tytania had been building up over a long period, and it now seemed as though the nebulous resentment within him had taken on a definite direction. The only person who knew what was in the Emperor’s heart was Empress Aisha, but she did not agree with her husband.

“Your Majesty, I understand your distress, but such thoughts are nothing but an illusion. Please cast aside these doubts.”

Empress Aisha was three years younger than her husband and was now thirty-one. During their six years of marriage, they had produced one son and one daughter. She was the daughter of a lower-ranking noble of the Empire, neither particularly striking in appearance nor exceptionally gifted. Recently, she had even begun to show signs of becoming overweight. However, it seemed that her depth of thought surpassed that of her husband.

“Let us speak hypothetically. Let us imagine that this man named Fan Hyulick were to succeed in overthrowing Tytania, what guarantee is there that he would not become a second Tytania? He may well hate Tytania, but he has no reason to feel any loyalty to our Vardana Empire.”

Inviting in a wild beast to drive out a thief. Such folly must not be committed. Empress Aisha offered this counsel, and Harsha VI was forced to acknowledge its validity.

However, as is the case with many humans, a rational conclusion failed to satisfy his emotions. Deep within the Emperor’s heart, a vague, formless discontent lingered, gradually intensifying and beginning to grow. It would not take long before this led to the rationalisation of his impulse: “If I am going to regret it anyway, better to regret doing it than not doing it…”

According to the sarcastic observation of Duke Jouslain Tytania, Tytania was a hotbed of second-rate talent. Among this gathering of talent was a man in his mid-forties named Donald Farah. He was a figure of the utmost ordinariness, with no distinguishing features other than appearing slightly younger than his actual age.

This man had become an indispensable figure in Tytania by virtue of specialising in a single skill. This skill was not diplomacy, administration, finance or military affairs, nor, of course, scholarship or the arts. His skill was elections.

His schedule detailed, down to the day, month and year, on which planets elections for heads of state or parliaments were to be held, extending as far as twenty years into the future. He gathered and analysed every last detail of information regarding the electoral landscape and the movements of candidates, and made predictions about the results. If his predictions favoured Tytania, that was sufficient; if they did not, he took action to turn the tide in her favour. He manipulated information, distributed money, offered inducements, and even resorted to intimidation and violence. He spent most of the year travelling between star systems where elections are being held, and Clanner Ajman even lent him a dedicated spaceship for this purpose.

Although Farah’s official title was merely that of a Counsellor of the Clanner’s Court, it was said that the number of politicians who had gained or lost their positions as a result of his interference in elections was enough to fill an entire biographical encyclopaedia.

Interfering in elections required vast sums of money. Farah was provided with an almost limitless supply of funds for his activities. A pipe was connected directly to Tytania’s vaults, and simply turning the tap would cause vast quantities of gold coins and banknotes to pour out. In the process of doling out those funds, there were countless opportunities to slip a certain amount into his own pocket. If he were to embezzle even just 0.1% of the campaign funds, Farah could live a life fit for a prince. Even then, the obstinate Ajman man would hardly take offence.

Yet, to this day, Farah had never slipped even a single copper coin into his own pocket. While it was true that, as a Counsellor of the Clanner’s Court, he earned a handsome salary, he must nonetheless be described as incorruptible. This served to heighten the trust placed in him by Tytania’s central authorities. There were plenty of petty, despicable scoundrels who exploit elections to line their own pockets and revel in the delusion that they are influencing the political landscape. Farah drew a clear line between himself and such scum. While he would utilise them to achieve his ends, he held them in contempt and never sought to become too familiar with them.

“Farah is the greatest democrat in the entire universe. There is surely no other man who loves the electoral system quite as much as he does.”

Clanner Ajman had once made this remark with a wry smile.

Farah’s passion and interest in elections were so pure that even the stern and dignified Ajman could not help but smile wryly. If the electoral system were to vanish from human society and the world were to descend into despotism, Farah would have no choice but to either take his own life out of despair or become a radical revolutionary to overthrow such tyranny.

It was this very Donald Farah who had discovered Fan Hyulick, Tytania’s public enemy, on planet Bargash.

Chapter 2 – The Lives and Opinions of Fugitives

I

Mr Fan Hyulick, widely known as Tytania’s public enemy, found himself in dire straits on planet Bargash. Having been driven from his home city for the sake of Tytania and having witnessed the murder of an acquaintance, he had taken his revenge on the Count Arses Tytania before going into hiding in the frontier star systems, where he was plotting on a galactic scale with his comrades to bring down all of Tytania…

If one were to reconstruct the past from the outcome, as in a heroic legend, it would be described in such terms. But the reality was decidedly prosaic. After boarding the spaceship Honest Old Man and arriving on the planet Bargash, Fan Hyulick had no idea what he should do, nor did he know what he was allowed to do, so he simply spent his days idly. There was no longer any choice in life other than to confront Tytania head-on. He understood that much, and he was prepared for it, or so he believed. Yet his mind was completely blank when it came to deciding where exactly to begin.

Fan Hyulick possessed a talent for practical matters, but at present, his capacity for conceptualisation was failing to provide any direction. Until now, his talent had manifested itself in the form of carrying out tasks. He had been ordered to engage Tytania’s fleet in battle, and so he won the Battle of Cerberus. He felt he had to avenge Lira Florentz, so he assassinated Count Arses Tytania.

“What comes after I have brought down Tytania?”

If the implication was that a new overlord would emerge to replace Tytania, then fighting with one’s life on the line would be sheer folly. Fan Hyulick would end up defeating formidable foes only for that person to seize power. It would be utterly ridiculous. That is what he thought, and yet, strangely enough, he had himself no notion of becoming a ruler himself. Consequently, the virtue of striving for one’s own sake was something entirely alien to him.

“I’ll have to set Admiral Hyulick some homework. He’s not the sort to do his own revision.”

Doctor Lee, or Lee Shanchen as he was known, was probably correct in his assessment. Once Hyulick had dealt with the immediate task at hand, he was reluctant to take the initiative and tackle subsequent matters.

One cannot simply conclude that he lacked ambition, but he might well be the sprinting type. Mental explosiveness aside, he seemed to lack endurance and stamina. Although, according to Doctor Lee, it was not so much that he lacked these qualities than he was holding them back.

“Due to various circumstances, the great Tytania and the lesser Fan Hyulick have been fated to clash and contend with one another…”

Doctor Lee described the ongoing situation as though it were an incident that had already been concluded in the past. According to him, it was a nuisance for Tytania to be forced to chase after a mere minor figure such as Hyulick.

“No one has gained any benefit from the emergence of this conflict, and all those involved are convinced that they are victims and passive participants. One must say, it is a rather peculiar state of affairs.”

Wouldn’t it be strange if Doctor Lee were different? While being analysed, Fan Hyulick found himself thinking this. To contribute to hastening the downfall of Tytania simply because one wished to make its rise and fall the subject of academic research, wasn’t that the very epitome of putting the cart before the horse?

In short, Fan Hyulick believed that this Doctor Lee was probably the most theoretically armed troublemaker in the universe. At least for the time being. Hyulick considered that it was far too early to draw any conclusions on any matter, yet there was no guarantee that this wasn’t an overestimation.

As for Doctor Lee, while he loved to judge others, he was indifferent to being judged by them. He possessed a mindset that was the envy of most people.

Planet Bargash was a strategic stronghold in the ever-expanding frontier sector, where spaceships, people and supplies flowed in and out in vast numbers, and where hope, vitality, success and failure danced together in a lively whirl. The Honest Old Man slipped into the ranks of tens of thousands of spaceships and remained fast asleep until the moment it was due to take off. However, the people on board could not afford to do the same. Depending on their respective moods and temperaments, they were either deep in thought or busy going about their business.

In any case, Fan Hyulick had become a celebrity quite against his will. To use Doctor Lee’s phrase, his “fame was riding upon the light”, and what is more, that fame carried monetary value. The other day, a bounty of two and a half million dakar had been placed on his head.

Upon learning of this from the news, he sat back in his chair and counted the zeros again. It was a sum sufficient to enable an ordinary family of four to live a comfortable life for a quarter of a century. Truly, whatever faults Tytania might have, stinginess certainly wasn’t one of them.

If such a colossal reward were to come his way, he would like to arrest himself. Just as he was about to say this aloud, Fan Hyulick stopped himself. He recalled having once made the same joke, and that the person to whom he had made it, the late Lira Florentz, was now deceased, and he was overcome by a deeply bitter feeling.

The matter of Lila belonged to the realm of the past, and Count Arses Tytania, who bore responsibility for her death, was no doubt now hosting a lavish banquet, whether it was in the aesthete’s paradise or the common man’s hell, none could say. Fan Hyulick had done everything within his power. All that remained was to pray for the repose of the soul of the deceased.

If only he could bring himself to accept that, but Fan Hyulick was unable to do so. It came as a surprise even to himself. Would he be freed from this obsession if he were to overthrow Tytania, as Lira had wished during her lifetime?

Fan Hyulick was pondering this earnestly, though to outsiders it must surely have appeared ridiculous. This young man was nothing more than the acting chief clerk on a smuggling vessel. He did not even rule a single planet. The idea of “defeating Tytania” was surely nothing more than a fool’s daydream.

Originally, his animosity towards Tytania had been directed solely at the late Count Arses Tytania. There had been a girl named Lira Florentz who had made him a herb omelette; she had been forced to her death for the sake of Count Arses Tytania. Hyulick had to avenge her. For him, that was all there was to it. After all, a revolution was supposed to be a struggle to secure one’s daily bread. What was wrong with fighting for an omelette!

“So an omelette can change the course of cosmic history. It’s quite something. One really ought not to underestimate the power of appetite.”

Doctor Lee, who made this observation, was not merely a man of research and commentary, but a man of action. Paying no heed to Fan Hyulick’s intentions, he was devising a plan to form an anti-Tytania united front.

When this united front would come into being, the Blaze Flag Army would be indispensable as the core of its military strength. When making a snowman, the core needed not to be large, but a core was essential nonetheless. However, the reputation of the Blaze Flag Army was now in steady decline. Anyone who heard its name responded by furrowing their brow and curling their lips.

“The Blaze Flag Army? They’re finished. They were nothing more than a foil for Tytania. No matter how much they try to oppose them, they simply don’t have anyone capable of rivalling Tytania’s Clanner or the Four Dukes, do they?”

That was the prevailing view, and it seemed that the Blaze Flag Army has been reduced to the role of a disillusioned Robin Hood.

“Well, it can’t be helped. We’ll just take it one step at the time. As they say, a journey of a thousand light-years begins with a single step.”

When Doctor Lee uttered this rather trite piece of civic morality, Hyulick, contrary to his habit, objected:

“I think there are more useful sayings than that, though.”

“Such as?”

“Something along the lines of ‘The world isn’t that forgiving’.”

As it wasn’t a particularly high-minded rebuttal, it failed to impress Doctor Lee. Described as “a space pirate who failed to become a university professor” or a “university professor who ended up becoming a space pirate”, Doctor Lee had arbitrarily decided to use Fan Hyulick as his subject to write a major academic treatise grounded in reality.

II

Was this an example of how, when people come together to form a group, areas of responsibility naturally fall into place? Within Fan Hyulick’s gang, the person who came to be in charge of the accounts was Alan Mahdi.

Although he loved his savings with all his heart, even this tender affection was thwarted by the power of Tytania. Unable to give full expression to his love for his own savings, he awoke to a spirit of universal love for money in general and began to raise his voice.

Regardless of the volume of Alan Mahdi’s voice, it was a fact that the party needed funds for its activities. The spaceship Honest Old Man was an armed smuggling vessel brimming with glory and pride, but, unfortunately, it was not brimming with wealth. Mahdi, who detested the God of Poverty far more than the God of Death, could not tolerate his fellow passengers’ lack of financial sense.

“Why don’t we raid a mining planet or a merchant ship to raise some money? If we’re serious about taking on Tytania, we’ll need military funds. Enough that even if every star in the galaxy were turned into gold coins, it still wouldn’t be enough!”

While there was some room for doubt regarding the “serious” aspect, the core of Mahdi’s argument was correct. As long as human society as a whole was based on a monetary economy, without war funds there was simply no way to pick a fight with Tytania.

“Yeah, right. Just do something about it then.”

As far as Alan Mahdi was concerned, while he had every reason to loathe Fan Hyulick, there was absolutely no necessity for him to feel any goodwill or sympathy towards him. He’d like to sell him off to Tytania, but it was all too clear that such an act would only end up cutting off his own nose to spite his face.

As someone who had once belonged to one of Tytania’s subordinate organisations, and had effectively defected from it, Mahdi knew that unless Tytania were to fall from grace, he would be unable to rescue his lost lover. Fan Hyulick was a man he detested down to his very cells, but it was a fact that an extraordinary military talent had taken up residence within a part of his genetic makeup, so he could not simply put this man up for sale at a bargain price.

Consequently, Mahdi was devising a plan of his own to convert Fan Hyulick’s military talent into economic value. Wherever Hyulick looked, meddlesome strategists were busy drawing up equations.

In any case, Fan Hyulick had grown weary of behaving like a fugitive on the run. Doctor Lee had observed as much. If that were the case, he was just a hair’s breadth away from his pent-up energy exploding, and as far as Doctor Lee was concerned, he needed to have the needle ready to burst that balloon.

Doctor Lee was a man who spared no effort in the pursuit of academic truth. And in the fairy tales that moralising adults were so keen to impose on children, it was always the diligent who triumphed over the lazy.

And so, while the leaders of the Tytania clan were debating about Fan Hyulick, the man himself made no attempt to devise a counter-strategy, merely squandering a great deal of time and a little money. Just when one might have thought he was deep in thought in the Honest Old Man’s cabin, he would shove his remaining money into his pocket and head out, without even contacting his comrades. It was a rather pathetic state of affair that his former subordinates, who had gone to look for him on the assumption he would be in the red-light district of Latour, spotted him almost immediately.

“Where is Admiral Hyulick?”

“Under the ceiling, atop of a woman.”

In that situation it could hardly even be called a joke. Fan Hyulick was not a young man who could be described as particularly lecherous or licentious. He was merely the possessor of a healthy body with ordinary cravings. If one could not find anything else to do, it was only natural for an ordinary person to choose pleasurable activities over painful ones. However, there was certainly an element of unconscious escapism at play. Whenever he was alone, he would inevitably find himself recalling Lira’s expressions and words, and Hyulick would become utterly despondent.

The two former subordinates accompanying Fan Hyulick, Mikhail Walenkov and Louis Edmond Pagès, expressed a decidedly optimistic view upon seeing the wanted poster of their superior.

“Well, Admiral Hyulick’s become quite the celebrity, hasn’t he? To think only a short while ago, he was just a hired commander.”

“We’d love to rise to a position where such a bounty is placed on our heads, wouldn’t we?”

Of course, despite their words, they weren’t actually optimistic about their own situation. After all, they had made an enemy of Tytania. It was tantamount to having the whole of human society against them. While they could not help but feel a shudder of dread, when they thought about it, a more terrifying situation was simply impossible.

Given that, the only way to maintain their mental equilibrium was to throw caution to the wind and remain defiant to the end. Both Walenkov and Pagès quite naturally chose to laugh it off rather than wail and lament. That said, as one’s jaw could sometimes dislocate from laughing too hard, both the burly Walenkov and the medium-stature Pagès were eagerly awaiting the day their superior would get serious.

Like them, there was a married couple waiting for the day when Fan Hyulick gets serious: Compton Casimir, the shipowner of the Honest Old Man, and his wife, Miranda.

Miranda possessed a spirited temperament, but she was by no means lacking in intelligence. Her husband, Captain Casimir, while appearing gentle and thoughtful at times, has also taken resolute action: he threw his lot in with the anti-Tytania faction, took Hyulick under his wing, and participated in the assault against Count Arses Tytania. His actions were nothing short of daring. “His boldest act was definitely marrying Mrs Miranda,” remarked Doctor Lee. But since Miranda herself agreed with a laugh, this could hardly be considered an insult.

One day, a man became entangled in the web of connections of Miranda and Captain Casimir. Having once been Her Highness the Princess of the Principality of Casabianca, Miranda possessed a rather extensive network of contacts.

“His name is Salam Amzekar. So? Does that ring a bell?” asked Miranda, her expression suggesting she was undoubtedly overestimating Fan Hyulick’s memory.

It took him a moment to recall the name, but in the end, Fan Hyulick managed to pinpoint it correctly. Salam Amzekar was a young admiral who had served in the Vardana Imperial Army and had acted as military adviser to the Duchy of Turanzia’s fleet during the Battle of the Syracusa System. Defeated by the flawless combat command of Duke Ariabert Tytania, he was unable to return to his homeland and had gone into exile from the battlefield. He had been given no opportunity to demonstrate his abilities, and the defeat could not be attributed to him. Even so, the fact that he was on the surface of the same planet as Hyulick was surprising.

However, this was likely less a matter of chance than the result of both parties making unremarkable choices. It was, so to speak, common sense for a fugitive to choose Bargash as their immediate destination. Upon arriving in Bargash, they made the decision whether to blend into the planet’s population or to set off once more on a journey to another star.

To cater to their needs, people from various professions and their respective groups thrived on this planet. Orthopaedic surgeons, document forgers, people smugglers, make-up artists, anyone who would certainly never be commended by those in power were all active here. It was through these channels that Miranda was able to make contact with the disgraced defeated general.

“Admiral Amzekar hates Tytania, and he’s got connections. I reckon we’ll be able to join forces in future. You’ve probably got your own plans, but why not at least go and meet him?”

Without a word, Hyulick nodded.

III

It was on Friday the 1^st of September that Fan Hyulick found himself forced to postpone his meeting with Amzekar, which was due to take place the following day. He had encountered a certain man.

The man appeared to be in his mid-thirties. Although his features were not unattractive, there was something about him that strangely aroused Fan Hyulick’s animosity.

They met at a pub called the “Chance Encounter Pavilion”. Hyulick and Miranda had gone there to book a table to meet Amzekar and to do some preliminary research, but although they had taken precautions, their preparations were not entirely foolproof.

While Miranda was negotiating with the innkeeper, Hyulick was sipping rye whisky at a table in the corner of the pub. Suddenly, a figure appeared from across the room and sat down without so much as a word. Hyulick was forced to look at something he would rather not have seen. A grey military uniform and a man who seemed to take pride in it. Observing his expression, the Tytanian confirmed in a drawling tone:

“So you’re the idiots who’ve rebelled against Tytania and are now playing heroes, aren’t you?”

“You’re the idiot who’s had a dog collar placed by Tytania around your neck and are pretending to be her loyal subject, aren’t you?”

Both finding the other’s vitriol tiresome, Fan Hyulick and the Tytanian exchanged hostile glances. Having missed his chance to flee, Fan Hyulick had no choice but to look for an opportunity to strike back. It was still unclear whether his opponent was armed.

Even if he were to live for five hundred years, there was no way he could ever become acquainted with this man. Fan Hyulick was well aware of that fact. He could never possibly get on with the sort of person who took pleasure in being collared and chained. That very temperament would in the end, shape his life, and influence the course of history. As Hyulick stood up, the man rose as well, as if to counter him, and introduced himself without being asked:

“I am the secretary to His Excellency Donald Farah, Counsellor to Tytania’s Clanner.”

“So he’s a retainer of a retainer of Tytania”, thought Fan Hyulick with malice. The malice was even stronger on the man’s part. The man licked his lips and issued a warning.

“Your run of devil’s luck is over now. Duke Zarlisch Tytania will tear you to pieces with his brute strength. He seeks revenge for his cute little brother.”

The word “cute” was laced with something that was neither poison nor miasma. The strained relationship between Zarlisch and Arses was a well-known fact within Tytania. Hyulick saw the man’s expression change drastically as he delivered this news.

Glancing over his shoulder, he saw Miranda. She had just finished her negotiations with the innkeeper and was leaving the office. Her eyes were ablaze with fury. The man suddenly staggered. He was trying to make a run for it.

“Wait!”

It was as if her voice solidified and was hurled at him. The man dressed in a Tytanian uniform, staggered, turned pale, and exuded panic and terror from every pore of his body.

With his eyes and mouth wide open, he tried to turn away but fell over with a thud. Miranda had grabbed a vase from the desk and hurled it; the vase roared as it flew through the air, striking the man on the head and shattering.

“Who the hell is this guy?”

When Fan Hyulick posed this obvious question, Miranda replied over her shoulder:

“Someone I need to take revenge against for my husband!”

With those words, Fan Hyulick understood.

Captain Casimir, Miranda’s husband, had his vocal cords destroyed on the orders of Count Arses Tytania. Although it was Arses who had ordered it, someone carried out that cruel command, and Miranda had been tracking him down. Although his affiliation within Tytania had changed, and he must have felt at ease, he had unexpectedly found himself face-to-face who wanted revenge. It was a one-in-a-million chance, but perhaps the name of the establishment had brought good fortune to one and misfortune to the other.

“Well, we finally met again. It’s a wonder you’ve managed to stay safe and sound all this time without having any accidents.”

No matter how carefully she chose her words, it was clear that Her Highness Princess Miranda was seething with a passion for vengeance. The Tytanian man dragged to his feet amidst shards of a vase and a small pool of blood, forgot the pain of his wounds and began to defend himself desperately.

“Wait! It was the Count Arses Tytania who did it. I was merely following orders!”

“That perverted count paid for his sins with his life. Now it’s your turn. In this world, we must stick to the proper order of things, right?”

As Miranda grabbed him by the collar and began to drag him away, the Tytanian lackey let out a scream. It was a truly pitiful, pleading scream, but it failed to lure Miranda into the trap of sentimentality. Miranda simply laughed off the man’s cheap theatrics.

“Ah, what a fine scream. My husband was made unable to scream, no matter how terribly he was being treated. I’m sure he’s longing for some company.”

At that moment, the wall of onlookers who had been laughing and watching from the sidelines suddenly crumbled. Amidst the violent clamour, shouts of “It’s the Tytanians” rang out.

Countless grey military uniforms surged forth. It was as though a gigantic, foam-like monster had appeared. Uniforms, discipline and obedience, these three elements had transformed the soldiers of Tytania into expressionless, semi-mechanical beings.

Miranda shot a sharp glance out of the window. Beyond the toughened glass separating the shop from the street, a sea of grey figures was thronging.

“Run, Hyulick! They’re after you!”

There was no doubt that Miranda was right about this. Fan Hyulick leapt aside. A hard rubber truncheon swept horizontally across the spot where his head had been just half a second earlier. He sharply swept his own leg out to stagger his opponent off balance.

The Tytanian soldier toppled to the floor like a rotten pillar. His scream was drowned out by another as Miranda took the blow of the rubber baton across the face of her prisoner. The unfortunate man had his nasal bridge shattered by a comrade’s rubber baton; his face stained red, he lost consciousness.

“Don’t shoot them. Keep them alive, it’s an absolute order. If you disobey, Tytania’s wrath will definitely fall upon your heads.”

The mere mention of “Tytania’s wrath” brought the soldiers’ movements to a halt. The one issuing this order from outside the maelstrom of chaos was a middle-aged man clad in a nondescript business suit. He muttered under his breath:

“Goodness me, what a tedious job. No room for ingenuity, nor any opportunity to be creative. Anyone would do that kind of job, not just me.”

Then, as if regaining his composure, the man raised his voice.

“It doesn’t matter if you shoot the others. They’re vermin who’d be of no benefit to society if left alive. Eradicate them thoroughly while you’re at it.”

This man was none other than Mr Donald Farah, Tytania’s foremost election strategist in Tytania, if not in the universe. As he held action and terrorism in contempt, this order felt crude and brutal compared to his usual election campaigns. He wanted to get this trivial task out of the way as quickly as possible so he could return to his proper duties.

Elections to renew half the delegates from the planet Bargash were due in twenty days time, and without Farah’s skilful intervention, there was a strong likelihood that the pro-Tytania faction would lose seats. Compared to that excitement and thrill, the action unfolding before Farah’s eyes was nothing but a noisy distraction.

Of course, for Fan Hyulick and Miranda, that commotion was directly linked to their fate. The pair swam through the crowd, punching and kicking, ducking to avoid blows, landing elbow strikes, and snatching their opponents’ rubber truncheons to land a blow of their own.

Farah was forced to click his tongue some forty times in all. Yet “being outnumbered” was one of the greatest truths governing the balance of power amongst men. The mass of grey military uniforms surged towards the rebels like a rising tide, engulfing them, bearing down upon them and pinning them down.

Although several were shoved aside and fended off, they ultimately succeeded only halfway in their mission. While they managed to pin the man to the floor, the woman slipped through the swarm of soldiers with the swiftness and cunning of a witch, and managed to escape.

Thus, following his recent capture by Count Arses Tytania, Fan Hyulick found himself seized once more, this time by the count’s elder brother, Duke Zarlisch Tytania.

IV

“I do get caught a lot,” thought Fan Hyulick, half in admiration of himself. He wondered whether this was simply bad luck or whether he was just a fool, but the correct answer lay elsewhere. Tytania’s organisational prowess had outmanoeuvred the fugitives’ calculations. To apply Lieutenant Mahdi’s line of reasoning, Tytania got serious before the anti-Tytanians did.

Although Hyulick was not subjected to any particular abuse as a prisoner, he was certainly not treated with courtesy either. The surveillance was extremely strict, with men who could only be described as burly constantly watching him in groups. On top of that, he had been fitted with a metal collar, and having been told that high-voltage current would be passed through it, he had no choice but to err on the side of caution rather than bravery.

Since Donald Farah never gave his full name to the prisoners, Hyulick had no way of knowing his true identity. It was an unnamed Tytanian who revealed his fate to him as follows:

“It appears that Duke Zarlisch has vowed to make you lose three kilograms while you’re still alive.”

“So he’s going to put me on a diet, then?”

Fan Hyulick’s reply seemed to lack imagination. The Tytanian laughed pityingly as he explained that the total weight of human skin was three kilograms, and that Fan Hyulick would have his entire body flayed alive by Duke Zarlisch’s mother. It was a story so horrifyingly amusing that Hyulick’s laughter froze on his lips.

As far as Donald Farah was concerned, capturing Hyulick and handing him over to Duke Zarlisch was nothing more than a side project born of chance. His passion and interest lay solely in the election.

With no opportunity to escape and no knowledge of events outside, Fan Hyulick ate about fifteen meals. They were by no means meagre, but the flavour did little to stimulate his poor appetite.

Even so, was it really acceptable to die in such a ridiculous manner as that Tytanian had suggested? The thought made Fan Hyulick seethe with anger.

He had always found himself in a position of opposition to Tytania, though this was not by choice. The reason he had defeated Ariabert Tytania at the Battle of Cerberus was simply because he held the post of commander of the City Fleet of Euria. As for the assassination of Arses Tytania, that was because that perverted count had caused Lira Florentz’s death. Hyulick had always been in a passive position and had never been the one to pick a fight.

However, Hyulick did not put this thought into words. He did not believe the term passive carried any profound significance.

A somewhat self-deprecating mood had taken hold of him. Striking back only when cornered, humm, wasn’t that the behaviour pattern of a herbivore? Of course, herbivores were not inferior to carnivores. That said, wasn’t it a convenient reaction for a carnivore to never tire of repeating the same pattern of defence and counter-attack?

The reason Fan Hyulick had been pondering these matters at length was simply that, as a prisoner, he had nothing else to do. Yet even this idle, unproductive life of confinement had an end. It came walking towards him of its own accord. Around the sixth day since Fan Hyulick had become a prisoner at the Tytania’s representative office on planet Bargash.

The cell door opened silently, and a middle-aged man in a grey military uniform appeared. The man, who appeared to be a mid-ranking officer in Tytania’s military, had extremely short hair and hard, cold blue eyes; he introduced himself as Lieutenant-Commander Kaits, a staff officer to Duke Zarlisch Tytania.

“Come. His Grace Duke Zarlisch Tytania wishes to see you in person. Consider yourself fortunate, given your lowly status.”

“I’m not particularly keen to meet him, you know.”

Fan Hyulick’s childish defiance failed to impress the officer in the slightest. The officer approached the prisoner with a cruel-looking smile, seized his arm as if to say he knew nothing of the expression human rights, and yanked him along roughly. Fan Hyulick was flung about two metres across the floor and planted in the midst of a circle of non-commissioned officers who were waiting for him.

Surrounded by grey walls, he was now forced to walk a distance of about eighty metres. He turned several corners, passed through a series of opening and closing doors, and finally reached a door that seemed unusually large in its two-dimensionality.

Following the standard formalities, the door opened before Fan Hyulick and closed behind him. As the procedure leading up to this point had been carried out with such perfect mechanical precision, Fan Hyulick had no time to feel any fear or anxiety; he had simply been transported in like a piece of cargo.

The figure standing before Fan Hyulick was a man who surpassed him by several degrees in both presence and intimidating aura. There was no need to ask his name. With his majestic build and thick musculature, he was the very embodiment of the word “valour”. Although this man was supposedly two years younger than Fan Hyulick, his appearance and bearing made him seem the elder.

This man, Duke Zarlisch Tytania, scrutinised the prisoner who had been brought before him for about ten and a half seconds. His gaze was the sort one might reserve for observing a panda walking upright. When he finally ceased his scrutiny, he spoke for the first time:

“Are you the lawless traitor known as Fan Hyulick?”

“I’m not.”

“You’re not? Are you trying to conceal your true identity at a time like this?”

Zarlisch cast a contemptuous glance at the prisoner’s face.

“If you are not Fan Hyulick himself, then who the hell do you claim to be?”

“His twin brother.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, you dunce!”

Zarlisch’s thunderous roar pounded against his eardrums, and it took Fan Hyulick five and a half seconds to gather himself to reply. Shaking his head to clear the lingering echo from his ears, he finally fired up his sharp-tongued retort:

“You’re the one being ridiculous. I have no recollection of ever committing treason. Treason, as I understand it, refers to a subordinate or vassal turning against their lord. I’ve never once drawn any kind of wage from Tytania.”

“You’re running your sharp little mouth.”

Zarlisch clicked his tongue but, contrary to Hyulick’s expectations, made no attempt to resort to brute force.

“Very well. Go ahead and sharpen your tongue as much as you like, and see if you can outwit my mother. It is not my inclination to inflict pain on those who are bound, but my mother is different. She is also Arses’ mother. I’ll just leave you with that.”

Zarlisch turned on his heel. His broad back made it abundantly clear that he had no intention of engaging in any further fruitless conversation with Hyulick. Hyulick realised that he was a figure of no consequence in that person’s eyes. To Zarlisch, Hyulick was nothing more than “someone to take revenge against for his mother’s second son”, a living tool to appease his mother’s paranoia and blind devotion. And eventually, he would become a dead tool.

Yet, at that moment, Hyulick had made up his mind. He had been driven into a corner far enough. He was determined to break free from his current predicament, a plight so dire that even a herbivore would fight back.

Chapter 3 – Sparks

I

The news of Fan Hyulick’s arrest and detention reached Uraniborg on the 10^th of September, and the first to receive it was Viscount Balamy Tytania.

In his capacity as senior aide-de-camp, he immediately relayed the news to his superior, Duke Jouslain Tytania. Or at least he should have, however, by the time he delivered his report, Jouslain was already aware of the matter.

“It appears that Admiral Hyulick has been seized by the collar by Lord Zarlisch’s massive hand.”

Realising he had been beaten to it, a faint disappointment flitted across Balamy’s eyes.

“How did you learn about that?”

“Lord Zarlisch has directly contacted His Clanner Highness.”

A reaffirmation of ownership, perhaps? surmised Jouslain with a touch of sarcasm. He had no small amount of interest in the matter, but for the time being, he had neither reason nor grounds to intervene. Residing in Uraniborg, he was kept busy with his duties as a statesman.

Between August and September of that year, Duke Jouslain Tytania, a member of Tytania’s Five Families, had interfered in the domestic affairs and personnel matters of eight nations, handling every one of them successfully. These matters—ranging from the determination of heirs to the throne to the legal resolution of the ownership of mining planets—involved a tangled web of conflicting interests and claims, much like the threads spun by a clumsy spider. Jouslain’s reputation soared as he brought them to a clear and decisive conclusion.

“Ultimately, it is all backed by power. It is not worthy to be called ‘diplomacy’ or ‘political manoeuvring’.”

Although Jouslain himself held this view, there was no need for him to reject the trust and goodwill placed in him. Since he could not withdraw from the world entirely, he should not shy away from having his reputation grow and his position strengthened, both within and beyond Tytania. As his senior aide-de-camp, Balamy had contributed to some extent to Jouslain’s achievements.

“Is it conceivable that Duke Zarlisch might exploit Fan Hyulick’s situation for political gain?”

The question asked by Balamy made Jouslain tilt his head slightly. Zarlisch was, after all, a man of arms through and through, and seemed far removed from political manoeuvring. Of course, at the same time, Zarlisch was no saint and could hardly be entirely indifferent to his own rights and interests.

“It is certainly possible that Duke Zarlisch might use the achievement of arresting Fan Hyulick to strengthen his political position.”

That said, from Zarlisch’s perspective, taking Fan Hyulick prisoner would likely be a matter of little consequence. It was possible that he might prioritise personal vengeance over his own interests.

Even so, was Fan Hyulick the sort of man who would allow his future to be sealed simply by falling into Tytania’s hands? On that point, Jouslain harboured a subtle mix of doubt and hope. After all, Fan Hyulick had a track record of escaping from the clutches of Count Arses and evading Duke Idris’ traps. He might well manage to slip away from Duke Zarlisch’s powerful grasp as well. Sooner or later, Zarlisch would have to bring his precious prisoner to the planet Ryutehi, and it was unlikely that nothing would go amiss during the long journey from planet Bargash.

As it was time for lunch, Jouslain decided to invite Princess Lydia of the Kingdom of Elbing to join him at the table. When one spent his time in a world of political manoeuvring and stratagems, a world that was neither pure nor humane, a mental respite was absolutely essential.

The ten-year-old princess seemed to bring a breath of fresh air, filled with the scent of chlorophyll and ozone, into the stifled atmosphere of Uraniborg, and Jouslain openly favoured her. Lydia was now regarded as “Duke Jouslain Tytania’s protégée”, and was treated with far greater importance within Uraniborg than she was by her grandfather, the king, back in her homeland.

However, the girl herself seemed not to care in the least about the adults’ attitudes. She was neither haughty nor pretentious, but behaved naturally and freely. On this day too, delighted to be free from her fussy tutor, she was eating her meal cheerfully and happily. It was her guardian who was moved by a peculiar feeling, and Jouslain found himself asking the young girl a question in the form of a general observation. What would she do if someone tried to make someone else fail? Her reply was as follows:

“I don’t really understand that question, but if there are people who take pleasure in seeing others fail, they might as well make them fail with their own hands.”

It struck Jouslain that Princess Lydia’s remark contained a not insignificant hint of insight. Once Princess Lydia had finished her yoghurt milkshake for dessert and retired to her room, Jouslain turned to Balamy and asked what he thought of her opinion. The young viscount’s reply was decidedly curt:

“It’s just child’s talk. Hardly worth taking seriously, isn’t it?”

“But she hit the nail on the head.”

Jouslain sipped his coffee and lost himself in thought amidst the lingering traces of the aroma as it cooled and began to fade.

Jouslain now looked forward with anticipation to seeing just how much mental growth and intellectual maturity that young princess would achieve in ten years’ time. Whether she would become a beauty was a matter of debate, but she would surely become a person rich in vitality and charm, one who would make mere physical beauty seem meaningless. A person—yes, for the distinction between men and women was of no consequence.

Meanwhile, Balamy’s musings took the form of words:

“So, Duke Jouslain, is this your view? That someone envious of Duke Zarlisch’s achievements might dare to help Fan Hyulick escape?”

Although he did not mention any names, Balamy was implicitly referring to Duke Idris, whose prickly nature was all too evident. Of course, Jouslain understood this.

“No, there is surely no one in Tytania so foolish as to resort to such petty schemes. However, there is a very real danger that someone might emerge who seeks to harm Tytania while claiming to act in her name.”

What Jouslain had in mind was the possibility that Idris’ name might be exploited by anti-Tytania conspirators. Just as, the other day, the name of Marquis Estrade Tytania, the half-brother of Clanner Ajman, had nearly been exploited by them.

Marquis Estrade was also Balamy’s father, but in any case, from the perspective of the anti-Tytania faction, it was only natural that they would seek to sow division and conflict within the Tytania clan. They probe the extremely robust walls of Tytania, seeking to discover a vulnerable spot into which to drive a battering ram. The Marquis of Estrade met an untimely death before he could bring his far-reaching plan to seize power from his half-brother to fruition. Had that plan come to pass, it would have been the Marquis’ son who would have played the crucial role.

Sensing Jouslain’s gaze, or, more accurately, the direction of his thoughts, Balamy stiffened his expression and a part of his neural network. He had almost fully recovered mentally from the blow of his father’s sudden death. He had thrown himself into the purge of the anti-Tytania faction stirring within the Vardana court, forgetting to eat and sleep.

After wiping away his blood and tears, he had devoured thirty hours of deep sleep; by the time he rose from his bed, an entire season had passed in his mind. His father’s death had become a thing of the past. Had he become a cold-hearted man, no longer tormented by grief and regret? He had wondered as much, but it was surely far better than being trapped in fruitless remorse.

Intense work could sometimes have the effect of compressing time and making it pass more quickly in a person’s mind. Jouslain knew this. Therefore, he relayed Clanner Ajman’s instructions to Balamy verbatim, thereby imposing upon him a task that would normally have been an unpleasant duty.

To Balamy, Jouslain was a figure to be overthrown or to overcome. If Balamy wished to claim the throne of the Landless Clanner, he would have to surpass this elder cousin, who was nine years his senior.

Of course, there was also Ariabert, and figures such as Zarlisch and Idris who stood between Balamy and the Clanner’s throne. Yet even the late Marquis Estrade had regarded Jouslain as his primary concern. Although Jouslain had not yet reached the age of thirty, his words and actions gave the impression of a strangely profound insight. This was likely because he alone, situated at the very heart of Tytania, was able to relativise Tytania’s raison d’être in terms of both time and space. From a tactical standpoint, too, Balamy was keen to understand this.

That day, Jouslain’s first visitor of the afternoon was a woman. Judging by the stereoscopic photograph, she was a woman in her early twenties with platinum-blonde hair tinged with a faint bluish hue and aqua-blue eyes; although she had a strong jawline, she was clearly of above-average beauty. Her name was Countess Theodora Tytania. Or so she claimed. In truth, her use of this surname had not yet been officially recognised.

II

Ultimately, this too was the result of political manoeuvring and arrangements within the Tytania clan; however, the reason this woman, Theodora, had come to visit Jouslain was in connection with an inheritance dispute within a certain count’s family.

The name of the county was Tytania. This was a fact that bordered on the absurd. Anyone bearing the surname Tytania was invariably a noble holding a title of nobility. Be that as it may, the head of this county had died suddenly, and as there were no legitimate heirs under the law, the county and assets worth one billion dakar were left in limbo.

Legally speaking, there were six eligible heirs. Three illegitimate children, each with a different mother. Two nephews, and one niece. Legally, these six possessed almost equal rights to the inheritance. While the assets might have been divided into six equal shares, the title itself could not be divided. The Tytania clan could not expand without limit, and the surname Tytania had to remain rarer than jewels. And this visitor was, in fact, one of the deceased’s illegitimate children.

It was Francia, Jouslain’s lady-in-waiting, who had escorted this female visitor. She had just returned after seeing Princess Lydia off.

Francia too, was technically a member of the Tytania clan, albeit a distant one. That said, she belonged to the very lowest branch of the clan, and was probably some twenty generations removed from Jouslain. Her surname was not Tytania either. Its use had been restricted to her maternal grandfather and his descendants. Nevertheless, someone had introduced her on the grounds of her tenuous connection to the Tytania clan, and so Francia came to serve Jouslain. That was two years ago, and so far, this encounter has not brought any active misfortune to either party.

The woman did not so much as glance at Francia. With an air of natural superiority, she dismissed the noble lady-in-waiting as if she were of no consequence. She recognised only Jouslain as an equal; indeed, she likely did not even have Viscount Balamy in her sights.

“It is a pleasure to meet you for the first time, Duke Jouslain” she greeted in the customary manner.

Jouslain was an ordinary man; consequently, when he saw a beautiful woman, he generally felt a certain fondness, but this was purely as an object of admiration. Any personal likes or dislikes, or feelings of respect or contempt, came only after the act of admiration has concluded. In such situations, the woman in question was also well aware of how to use her beauty as an effective diplomatic weapon; therefore, even if it was merely a thin layer of skin covering the skull, it could not be overlooked as a preliminary skirmish in negotiations or dialogue. Of course, there were countless exceptions. Princess Lydia of the Kingdom of Elbing, for instance, had shattered the psychological barriers that Jouslain had built up layer upon layer as though they were mere tissue paper.

Although Countess Theodora Tytania did not offer a particularly outlandish greeting, she was by no means a woman who could be dismissed as ordinary. In her gaze, Jouslain sensed a defiant attitude and a keen capacity for rapid calculation.

“Please make yourself at home, Milady. I shall have some coffee brought round shortly.”

Jouslain’s manners towards women, while technically polite, were not particularly refined. The same could be said of his appearance; it was difficult to discern his true character from his manners.

After two or three exchanges of the sort that one might find in a manual of upper-class etiquette, all rather bland and unremarkable, the visitor got down to business. As Jouslain had already anticipated, the visitor had come to ask for his support regarding the matter of the count’s inheritance. She explained that she had initially sought the Duke Idris’ assistance, but as he had failed to meet her expectations, she had decided to turn to the Duke Jouslain instead.

“Did Lord Idris refuse to help?”

It was a natural question, but the lady replied with a hint of displeasure, raising her eyebrows slightly.

“Lord Idris demanded my body.”

How blunt, thought Jouslain. Both towards Idris and towards her. As the lady fell silent, Jouslain felt compelled to say something.

“I see. You are indeed beautiful. Lord Idris’ instincts as a man must have been aroused. He is, after all, a young and energetic man.”

The lady was not satisfied with that response.

“Is that all?”

“What do you mean?”

“Lord Jouslain, I had expected you to react quite differently.”

“Were you expecting me to say that Lord Idris is despicable?”

A flicker of sarcasm passed through Jouslain’s eyes. In his psyche, magnanimity and cantankerousness coexisted. When goodwill or kindness were demanded of him from the outset, his brain waves seemed to gravitate towards a response pattern labelled “loss of interest”. Of course, Jouslain did not believe that Idris had acted with noble intentions, but he didn’t either believe that Idris was under any obligation to assist Theodora without compensation.

After all, when a young and thoroughly beautiful woman sought the cooperation of a man of her own age, was it likely that she would fail to factor in her own attractiveness to the opposite sex? Presumably, she must have gone so far as to hint at the possibility of entrusting her body and soul to Idris in the future. And for his part, Idris must surely have felt little resistance to transposing that future into the present.

“Should I have complied with Lord Idris’ demands?”

“That would depend on your own values, I suppose.”

“Values?”

“Indeed. It comes down to how much value you place on the surname Tytania and the lineage of the count’s family. If you consider what Lord Idris asked of you to be unreasonable or excessive, then you ought to refuse. As for me, I cannot say any more than that.”

Though his tone was gentle, his words clearly disappointed the beautiful visitor.

“So are you saying that Lord Idris’ demands are justified?”

“I am not saying that, Milady. I do not for a moment believe that the way things are in Tytania constitutes equality between men and women, nor do I believe that the current state of affairs is right. However, if you wish to attain status and privilege within Tytania, I feel that a commensurate price must be paid.”

Jouslain fell silent. He was no romanticist, so he did not delude himself into believing that the arguments of a young, beautiful woman were any more valid than those of a rival. Informal visits and requests made prior to formal mediation or arbitration tended, rather, to arouse suspicion in the opposite direction.

A brief silence prompted Jouslain to speak once more.

“Milady, Tytania is neither a champion of justice nor a knight of humanity. Otherwise, she would neither monopolise power within her clan nor eliminate her opponents by force. I’m afraid Tytania is the very epitome of worldliness.”

If she were to use her beauty and physique as weapons to manipulate the men of Tytania, he would have no objection whatsoever. Men who would allow themselves to be manipulated are those at fault. Furthermore, it was perfectly acceptable for those who rejected Tytania’s order and all that is Tytania-like to openly raise the banner of rebellion and oppose her with their own strength. Conspiracies and stratagems were all well and good. Provided they were carried out by one’s own power. Tytania paid respects to strength. A thief is respected, while a beggar is despised. Jouslain believed this to be the sole virtue of Tytania’s ethos.

“I heard that Lord Jouslain provided protection to the Princess of the Kingdom of Elbing without seeking payment. Does that not contradict your own principles?”

“I too, Milady, am prone to a whim or two from time to time.”

“Would you not indulge in a whim for my sake, Duke Jouslain?”

It would have been a sweet temptation, but Jouslain was not moved. He was not Idris.

“I’m afraid I have already exhausted my quota for the year. Besides, I cannot imagine you are the sort of lady who would seriously expect another man to act on a mere whim.”

Jouslain rose to his feet and courteously saw off the young woman who might well acquire the title of Countess Tytania in the near future. Just as the door was about to close, she looked him straight in the eye with a gaze so sharp it left a lasting impression on Jouslain, though it did not translate into any favour.

Have I made an enemy? wondered Jouslain as he returned to his desk, but at this stage, the outcome remained unclear.

Shaking his head slightly, Jouslain pressed the intercom button to summon his senior aide-de-camp. When Viscount Balamy appeared, suppressing any sign of curiosity, Jouslain gave his orders.

“Send a message to Lord Zarlisch expressing my congratulations. A standard formula will suffice. And please add just one line. ‘Please be wary of any schemes to rescue him’.”

“Will that suffice?”

In response to Balamy’s confirmation, Jouslain nodded with an expression that was little more than a smile. As far as he was concerned, there was nothing more he could do, nor anything else he needed to do. How Zarlisch would interpret Jouslain’s warning was a matter for Zarlisch’s own mind, and something Jouslain had no need to concern himself with.

III

Ever since Mr Fan Hyulick, that cosmos-wandering ill-fated hero, had been seized by Zarlisch Tytania, plans to rescue him had been drawn up at a pace that could well be described as subsonic. Within an hour of Miranda having escaped from the horde in grey suits and reaching the Honest Old Man, Doctor Lee’s plan had taken shape.

By any measure, Doctor Lee must surely be a more astute strategist than Zarlisch. He decided to follow the orthodox path of stratagems. First and foremost, he would create an enemy within the enemy’s ranks. However much Tytania prided herself on her unity, she could never be a completely monolithic entity. Otherwise, she would not be a normal human collective. There must inevitably be weak molecular bonds amongst the elements comprising the group.

Thus, the figure Doctor Lee chose was Idris; yet this selection had already been foreseen in Uraniborg, separated by thousands of light-years. Nevertheless, as this insight had not yet translated into action, Doctor Lee was able to proceed with confidence. He did not unduly underestimate the central nervous system of Tytania, but he knew that dinosaurs had perished precisely because of their immense size.

While those opposed to Tytania were forced to endure hardship and struggle, for ordinary citizens, matters of cosmic hegemony or the survival of national sovereignty were of no concern. The feuds and conflicts between Tytania and the Vardana Imperial House were nothing more than distant, ethereal disputes; as long as they lived in peace and had enough to eat, that was sufficient. It would be harsh to call that trivial. Was it really the case that, before Tytania’s system of rule was established, all of them were happier and more content? Was it not rather an era of inequality and disorder masquerading as freedom?

And it was precisely this passive conservatism that was a major factor in ensuring the stability of Tytania’s rule. Since ancient times, there had been a rule of governance known as “bread and circuses”. “Bread” signified stability of livelihood, while “circuses” signified entertainment. As long as the people were provided with bread and circuses, they remained content and would lose the will to criticise those in power or seek political reform. Since they were satisfied with the status quo, it was only natural that they should think, “What if things were to become worse than they are now?”, and wish to protect their present modest happiness.

When such a mindset became the unconscious current of thought within society, a somewhat peculiar situation arose. The pattern was that royalty and nobility of various nations harboured a deep hatred for Tytania because of the power and privileges they had lost, while the common folk who never possessed such things to begin with, were, for the time being, content with the order established under Tytania’s rule. Of course, Tytania’s hegemony had demanded enormous sacrifices. Yet the human imagination tends not to grapple with such sacrifices unless it is one’s own turn to suffer.

However grand the vision, however self-serving the motives, those aboard the Honest Old Man had no choice but to rescue Fan Hyulick. That tall carrot-coloured hair and a neckerchief young man was the very embodiment of their future. They were open enemies of Tytania, thus a minority in the current cosmos.

Even as a minority, they could not simply resign themselves to remaining so; they had to increase their numbers. The first step was to arrange a meeting between Fan Hyulick and Admiral Salam Amzekar. However, since the victor of the Battle of the Cerberus Sector had been captured by Tytania, the summit of the century was postponed indefinitely.

The news of Fan Hyulick’s capture etched a line of disappointment across Amzekar’s stern brow, though it did not last long. With no country to return to, and unable to turn back the hands of time at this late stage, all he could do was make the following proposal:

“If there’s a plan to rescue Fan Hyulick, count me in. I’d like to make those Tytanian foam at the mouth. However small the bubbles may be.”

“Very well, we’d certainly appreciate your help. It will be a somewhat awkward first meeting for Fan Hyulick, but that’s precisely why it’s bound to leave a lasting impression.”

Doctor Lee replied in this manner and welcomed Amzekar into their group. He was not as detached as he appeared; deep down, he felt that matters needed to be dealt with urgently.

There was no chance that Zarlisch Tytania would release Fan Hyulick alive; if that magnificent, bearded giant were to achieve his objective, a great possibility for history would be lost. Consequently, Doctor Lee would lose valuable material for academic research forever. This was a source of deep distress, and it would mean he, too, would lose his future. To prevent this, he had to exercise his omniscience and omnipotence. What he explained to his comrades was not the full picture of the plan, but a part of it was to issue a warning to Zarlisch Tytania in the name of the Blaze Flag Army.

“But if Zarlisch Tytania receives a warning from the Blaze Flag Army, won’t he be extremely wary? He might change his original plans, and even if he doesn’t go that far, his vigilance will be heightened and our opportunities may diminish.”

Amzekar put forward this opinion.

“Do you think Zarlisch fears the Blaze Flag Army in its current state? Absolutely not. Why should a lion fear lice?”

Doctor Lee employed a scathing metaphor.

“Duke Zarlisch would never change his original plans. To do so would be to deny his very character and raison d’être. Should he be informed of an attack by the Blaze Flag Army, he would simply stroke his massive arm and lie in wait. And that, precisely, is where a weaker foe can find an opening.”

If it were possible to set up a bold, head-on formation and crush Tytania’s army through skilful tactics, Doctor Lee would, of course, do so. However, as the physical conditions for doing so are not in place, he has no choice but to resort to stratagems.

Consequently, Doctor Lee decided to resort to stratagems, though, in his case, it could not be ruled out that he might employ such stratagems only after having prepared for a head-on battle. Yet, whatever the future might hold, it was certain that, at this very moment, there was no means of rescue other than stratagems.

“If humankind had fought honourably from the very beginning of its existence, it would have perished long ago,” said Doctor Lee.

These hairless apes, possessing neither the massive frame of an elephant, nor the claws of a tiger, nor the fangs of a wolf, had no choice but to fight the wild beasts with a single weapon. That single weapon was their cunning.

IV

Just as Duke Zarlisch Tytania was making preparations to depart from Planet Bargash to escort Fan Hyulick, a communication disc was delivered to the hotel where he was staying. The sender was listed as the Blaze Flag Army, and the message, delivered in a neutral, mechanical voice, was as follows:

“To Zarlisch Tytania. Admiral Fan Hyulick, whom you have unjustly and unlawfully detained, is our guest and a valuable asset of ours. We therefore make the following demand: you shall release him immediately. Should you fail to do so, you shall never make it back to Uraniborg, Tytania’s stronghold.”

This message made Zarlisch chuckle. He was never a man to yield to threats, but this was simply laughable.

“What a bunch of rats. To threaten me, Zarlisch Tytania? Did their nerve fibres burn out? But still, it is quite amusing. If they can manage even a tenth of what they claim to accomplish, that would be quite something. I suppose I shall make this a topic of conversation over a drink.”

“There is a hideout in the city belonging to a group calling themselves the Blaze Flag Army. Shall I have them raided?”

The question came from his aide-de-camp, Commander Granite. Zarlisch, who was naturally of a bellicose disposition, was tempted to act, but he restrained himself. Planet Bargash was not Tytania’s private territory, but a sovereign state in its own right, so he wished to avoid trouble if at all possible. Donald Farah, who had distinguished himself in the capture of Fan Hyulick, had submitted a petition to that effect.

As far as Farah was concerned, any situation that led to open conflict with the Bargash government would hinder his future work. Even Tytania could not rule the cosmos through force and violence alone. While it was easy for Tytania to resolve disputes by force, in any organisation, those who created unnecessary trouble were not regarded as capable or promising. Zarlisch decided to summon Farah to the hotel to hear the details of his account.

Donald Farah’s account was unexpected. To sum it up, the Blaze Flag Army had split internally, and a faction had emerged seeking to submit to Tytania. This faction had approached Duke Zarlisch to offer its services.

Zarlisch scoffed.

“Do they really think Tytania needs the assistance of the likes of the Blaze Flag Army? They ought to tone down their attempts to sell themselves yourselves short.”

“With all due respect, Your Grace,” countered respectfully Farah, yet without a trace of flattery, “it is common knowledge throughout the universe that the Blaze Flag Army has been engaged in relentless rebellion against Tytania. Should even a fraction of the Blaze Flag Army submit, the entire universe will once again be awestruck by Tytania’s might. Do you not agree?”

“Hum…”

“Moreover, this time it would be even without a fight. Duke Zarlisch, I believe a man with the political acumen to subdue the Blaze Flag Army in both combat and diplomacy would surely receive the recognition he deserves.”

The expression “political acumen” struck a chord with Zarlisch. He wished to become the supreme commander of all Tytania, and his military exploits were beyond reproach. However, a weakness that both he and others could not help but acknowledge was his lack of experience and achievements in politics and diplomacy.

In that respect, he was at a marked disadvantage compared to Ariabert and Jouslain. If a portion of the Blaze Flag Army were to surrender without bloodshed, it would be a major coup. Yet Zarlisch’s reply to Farah was as follows:

“Tell those who claim to be seeking to surrender the following: if they are truly intent on swearing allegiance to Tytania, they must bring me the corpses of ten influential figures from the opposing faction. Make sure you convey that message accurately.”

“So they must not be kept alive?”

“That Fan Hyulick must be delivered alive to my mother, but there’s no need to keep alive the rest of the rabble. If these so-called surrender advocates refuse to accept these terms, I’ll simply crush them all.”

Farah attempted to raise a further objection but gave up and bowed in silence. Zarlisch was no soft-hearted man; his reaction should be interpreted as stemming from his heroic spirit. Farah was not Zarlisch’s personal retainer, and he had no obligation to offer any stronger advice.

“All in all, his reaction was within expectations. We shall proceed with the original plan as is.”

Having learnt of Zarlisch Tytania’s reaction, Doctor Lee informed his comrades aboard the ‘Honest Old Man’.

He had learnt of Zarlisch’s reaction through Donald Farah. Of course, Farah had not become one of Doctor Lee’s accomplices; rather, he had been lured into the scheme with the prospect of the Blaze Flag Army’s surrender as bait. Doctor Lee’s network of contacts extended far and wide, with its tentacles reaching into Tytanian subordinate organisations and regional bodies.

“Zarlisch has demanded the heads of the Blaze Flag Army’s senior officers. It may seem crude, but it is, in fact, a demand that should not be taken lightly.”

“Wasn’t that all part of your plan from the start, Doctor Lee?”

When Miranda confirmed this in the form of a question, the pirate who had almost become a professor briefly let a mischievous glint flicker in his eyes, but quickly suppressed it. He cleared his throat and looked up at the ceiling. Captain Casimir wore a warm smile, as if looking at a younger brother who wouldn’t listen to reason.

Lee changed the subject.

“Well then, next up is the Blaze Flag Army. Since we’ve borrowed their name, we ought to pay them a courtesy call, at the very least.”

Although there were no neon signs, there were several open hideouts of the Blaze Flag Army on planet Bargash. Doctor Lee, though a maverick and a pariah, was undoubtedly still a senior member of the Blaze Flag Army. He was entitled to attend executive meetings and had the right to convene them.

Doctor Lee exercised his legitimate rights and immediately issued invitations to the sixty-five senior members. In more ways than one, he needed to ensure that all formalities were observed.

After issuing instructions to Miranda, Captain Casimir, Mahdi, Pagès, Walenkov and Amzekar respectively, Doctor Lee himself set off for one of the Blaze Flag Army’s hideouts. It was a club situated in a corner of the bustling commercial district, a three-minute walk from the red-light district Latour. A hideout in the middle of nowhere would be inconvenient to get to and leave one vulnerable to unrestrained attacks from adversaries. Such a place was nothing but foolish.

“Doctor Lee’s remarks are correct but lack persuasiveness” was an assessment that these men in question could not help but acknowledge.

Ultimately, his talents and vision found no outlet within the Blaze Flag Army, and Doctor Lee turned his back on the organisation.

From the Blaze Flag Army’s perspective, they considered it “a blessing to have been abandoned by such a guy”, yet, regrettably, the prodigal son who was supposed to have run away from home had returned. This exceptionally clever but sharp-tongued rover had not returned home repentant of his past misdeeds, but had come to threaten his family with a bomb.

Twenty senior members of the Blaze Flag faction had gathered in response to Doctor Lee’s invitation. This meant that forty-five of the invitations had been ignored. Even the twenty who had attended had done so reluctantly. It would be fair to say they were merely honouring a duty to Doctor Lee’s late uncle.

That sense of duty, however, was blown a hundred light-years away the moment they stood before Doctor Lee in person and heard him speak. After greeting those present and offering them drinks, Doctor Lee delivered a fiery, inflammatory speech, arguing that the Blaze Flag Army should be rallied to oppose Tytania with all its might.

When the assembled company, appalled by the radicalism and impracticality of his proposal, expressed their refusal, Lee’s expression grew stern. It was an abrupt change, as if boiling water had cooled and turned to ice in the space of two moments.

“I see. So none of you will respond, then? Well, I suppose there is no choice. To uphold the honour of the Blaze Flag Army, I shall resort to a final measure.”

“What do you mean…”

“A name as noble as the Blaze Flag Army is unworthy of you lot. To fear the military might of Tytania at such a late stage and forget your original resolve to resist is a shameful act of conformism. I hereby strip you all of the name ‘Blaze Flag Army’.”

The group, who had been staring at Doctor Lee in a daze, burst into roars of laughter the moment the shock wore off.

The male chorus of laughter continued for a good five movements, and just as it was beginning to fade from forte to piano, Doctor Lee’s calm voice, unshaken even by the mockery, rained down upon them.

“It seems people cannot laugh at a poor joke, but they can laugh at a nasty truth. Well, it’s better than having you cry, so I shall gratefully accept your reaction. We’ve all worked hard today. I think we’ll call it a day.”

The group exchanged glances, their faces too exhausted from laughter to form any expression, before looking away. Doctor’s retreating figure was obscured by the door as he prepared to leave.

And so, Doctor Lee cast aside any sense of duty or deference towards the Blaze Flag Army, flinging it far beyond the Andromeda Nebula, and the anti-Tytania faction’s operation to rescue Fan Hyulick was set in motion.

Chapter 4 – The Second Time Is Not the Last

I

Duke Zarlisch Tytania was staying at the Hotel Alhambra in the East Sant Joan district of planet Bargash. Naturally, he was no ordinary guest; indeed, the hotel itself was owned by Tytania, and the entire building had been placed at his exclusive disposal. However imposing his stature was, it was impossible for him to occupy every floor. Apart from the top-floor suite, which was reserved for him and his four mistresses, the rest of the hotel was used to accommodate his entourage and soldiers.

On Zarlisch’s orders, the club in the basement was opened to the soldiers free of charge, and they stepped into a garden of luxury with fine wine and women that they would normally never have been able to approach. Praising their lord’s generosity to the skies, they drank vintage wine straight from the bottle, sang and danced, and demanded kisses and embraces from the female companions. Indeed, even the very lowest ranks of Tytania had their own modest privileges.

Meanwhile, Mr Fan Hyulick, a guest of Zarlisch, was leading a life of confinement in a cramped single room. Although he had been granted the honour of sharing accommodation with the mighty Duke Zarlisch Tytania, he could not bring himself to feel the slightest sense of excitement. There were three surveillance cameras inside the room, half a dozen armed guards outside the door, and soldiers stationed in the lift lobby and at the stairwell entrances; from the guest room directly opposite, separated by the courtyard, a tear-gas launcher glared sullenly at Mr Fan Hyulick by the window.

Surveying the room, which could only be described as bleak, Hyulick has thoughts that had a touch of sarcasm in them. It seemed Zarlisch believed his prisoner possessed the brute strength of a Gargantua-class giant. Had Zarlisch been keeping watch on his own, Hyulick would have been utterly powerless to resist.

Hyulick’s thoughts, of course, did not reach the ears of the Tytanian great noble. It was Zarlisch’s mother, not Zarlisch himself, who harboured an obsession with Hyulick’s life and limb. Had ten thousand armed Hyulick gathered, it might have been another matter, but as things stood, for Zarlisch this was nothing more than a rather personal obligation.

Fulfilling such an obligation inevitably entailed various troublesome trivialities. For example, the Tytanian man who had directly subdued Hyulick came to see Zarlisch and asked him the following:

“No doubt, you will be paying the bounty, right?”

Zarlisch’s powerful eyebrows twitched in displeasure, possibly because he took offence at such a petty question. And that alone was enough to strike fear into the person he was talking with. The man turned pale, his gaze dimming with subservience. He bowed profusely and withdrew. To be regarded as a coward was the greatest insult to Zarlisch, but to be called stingy was no less unpleasant. He summoned his aide-de-camp, Commander Granite, and ordered him to pay the man his bounty. The fact that he specified, “In cash, mind you,” revealed Zarlisch’s true feelings.

As Granite was about to leave to make the arrangements, Zarlisch called him back and asked whether preparations were in place for a fleet battle in space. Satisfied with the reply that they were ready at a moment’s notice, Zarlisch pictured in his mind’s eye the scene of the near future, in which he would return in triumph after crushing the swarm of Blaze Flag Army forces closing in on him. A ferocious, triumphant laugh shook his magnificent beard.

That day, Mikhail Walenkov and Louis Edmond Pagès set out for the East Sant Joan district to conduct a visual reconnaissance of the security situation at the Hotel Alhambra. Zarlisch made no attempt to conceal his whereabouts, and it was clear that he was holding a prisoner in his custody. In that sense, the target of the assault was clear from the outset, but it was also certain that security would be extremely tight. To begin with, Zarlisch Tytania himself was an impregnable walking fortress.

In terms of both physique and physical strength, Walenkov wasn’t vastly inferior to Zarlisch. However, should it come to a fight, would he not be outmatched in sheer presence? That was Pagès’ observation. Walenkov was never a particularly belligerent sort to begin with. Like Pagès, he had become a soldier solely to earn a living.

“Doctor Lee suggested that we should feign an attack on Duke Zarlisch in space, while in reality we would rescue Admiral Hyulick on the ground, but…”

Pagès stroked his slightly pointed chin, furrowing his thin brows. He looked somewhat like a fox devising a strategy against a hunter and his hounds.

“At this rate, it looks as though the plan is going to fall apart. There isn’t the slightest opening we can exploit.”

At that, Walenkov nudged his comrade’s arm with his sturdy elbow. His thick fingers drew Pagès’ gaze. A poster was pinned to the wall beside them, announcing a gathering and listing the names of the guests of honour. Pagès read it and, as a sign of understanding, gave Walenkov a wink.

II

At the central spaceport of planet Bargash, some five dozen armed ships, their outer hulls bearing Tytania’s crest, were lined up bow to bow. Furthermore, warships were deployed in groups of one hundred in satellite orbit and in groups of one thousand at a point five hundred thousand kilometres from the planet. Zarlisch was serious. To anyone’s eyes, he was determined to crush his enemies.

“What on earth is going on? Is a war about to break out?”

The voice expressing this suspicion belonged to a middle-aged man who had alighted at the spaceport and settled into the back seat of a ground vehicle. He was dressed in a suit that, while lacking in individuality, was of refined quality.

“Milord Count, I’ve heard that Lord Zarlisch has mustered his forces in this sector,” replied the man in the front passenger seat.

“Lord Zarlisch, is it? That hothead certainly likes to make a big fuss of things.”

The man in the back seat let a hint of sarcasm play around his eyes and mouth. The ground vehicle began to move. The lights of the spaceport streaked past the windows in a band of light.

“Milord Count, you are speaking rather loudly.”

The man in the front passenger seat furrowed his brow and lowered his voice. He was a slender, somewhat nervous-looking young man in his early thirties, presumably a secretary of some sort.

“If anyone under Lord Zarlisch were to hear you, your position would be compromised. Please be careful.”

“Good heavens, am I not even allowed to speak my mind? Even though we both bear the name Tytania, there’s a world of difference between us.”

The man’s name was Elman Tytania; naturally, he was a nobleman holding the title of count. At the age of forty-two, he possessed some three dozen titles, including court adviser and royal counsellor to several countries, as well as honorary ambassador, foundation trustee and university councillor. Neither his appearance nor his talents or achievements had ever been particularly noteworthy. He was regarded as a harmless, unremarkable figure. This was not merely a matter of prejudice.

Count Elman Tytania could well be described as a man of an enviable and carefree status. Within the Tytania clan, he was neither of the main line nor a distant branch; having secured a moderate position and wealth, he lived a leisurely and self-sufficient life.

If one aspired to great power and high office, members of the Tytania clan were required to possess superior intellect, diligence and achievements compared to ordinary people; however, once removed from such competition, they needed not worry about going hungry and could lead a comfortable life while holding a number of honorary posts. Even Count Arses could have been considered thoroughly ordinary, and he would likely have avoided an untimely death had he not possessed that strangely distorted sense of aesthetics.

Among members of the Tytania clan who have stepped away from power, there were often those who achieved distinction in academic or artistic pursuits. A major factor in this was that, free from financial worries, they could devote themselves entirely to their favourite pastimes. Although Count Elman lacked creative talent himself, he ran several schools and foundations, and there were expectations that a number of talented individuals would emerge from them. This was not necessarily limited to artists or creators: there were also those who rise through the ranks of Tytanian organisations as technocrats skilled in practical affairs.

The following day, a seminar organised by the Locator Association was scheduled to take place, and it was Count Elman’s duty to deliver a congratulatory address at the opening ceremony. Tytania’s nobility was considered ideally suited to attending ceremonies and festivals to deliver congratulatory addresses. Even if these were merely formalities or empty rituals, as long as multiple groups and organisations coexisted within society, it was necessary to issue invitations and accept them; and since the formalities must be observed anyway, just as a vase requires flowers, it was deemed fitting for Tytania’s nobility to occupy the guests’ seats.

Among those holding the title of baron and managing to occupy a place at the very bottom of the aristocratic hierarchy, there were some who travelled the frontier, making an appearance even at minor ceremonies, and eked out a living on the fees and lodging they were offered. Tytania was a mighty and opulent world, but it was an inescapable reality that the blessings of the starlight grew fainter the further one strayed from the centre of power.

Count Elman Tytania spent his time in the ground vehicle in silence, but this did not last long. An incident occurred immediately after the ground vehicle had passed the halfway point between the spaceport and the city centre. Four ground vehicles, emerging from the depths of the night, surrounded the Count’s vehicle from all sides, pressing their bodies tightly against it.

The driver panicked and attempted to escape, but after a desperate struggle lasting about five minutes, he gave up resistance. The vehicle was forced to stop in a coniferous forest off the main road. When several figures armed with guns appeared, the secretary, his voice trembling, belatedly demanded to know who they were:

“Who are you, you knaves?!”

“Are you committing this act of insolence in full knowledge that I am Count Elman Tytania?”

Having been calmly pre-empted, the secretary was at a loss for words. Looking flustered, he cast a glance at his master in the back seat.

The count stood with his arms folded, observing the situation in silence. As one of the attackers, Doctor Lee, was about to speak, looking him straight in the face, the count calmly cut him off:

“I do not care for being ordered about or threatened. From the looks of it, you are younger than I am. Show due respect to your elders. If you do, I shall respond in kind.”

Upon hearing this, Doctor Lee scrutinised the count closely. The count’s demeanour was unhurried, his voice composed; he did not appear to be putting on a show of strength. As there was no time to spare for observation, Doctor Lee had to decide on his course of action within the space of a couple of moments. He holstered his incapacitating gas pistol, instructed his comrades to sheathe their weapons, and then respectfully asked the count to step out of the carriage.

Doctor Lee, Miranda, Pagès, Walenkov, Amzekar and four others made up the group that had ambushed the count. Their objective wasn’t to kill him. As part of Doctor Lee’s multifaceted parallel operations, they intended to kidnap Count Elman and hold him hostage, so hey could demand to exchange him for Fan Hyulick.

Upon hearing this, Count Elman gave a gentle chuckle.

“I’m afraid I hold no value as a hostage. I am indeed a count of Tytania, but there are like… nearly a hundred of my rank, I think? Do you really think Tytania would yield to blackmail over a mere one percent?”

“You are quite right.”

Doctor Lee could not help but be taken aback. Was Count Elman not a harmless and unremarkable man, one who never came anywhere near the centre of power in Tytania, and who, for that very reason, had never had his talents put to the test, content to remain a mere ordinary man in what was commonly termed a “dead-end” position? Yet the middle-aged man standing before Doctor Lee possessed a profound intellect beneath an air of natural dignity, and seemed to be a figure whose true nature was far from easy to fathom.

“Never mind that, there is a far more effective strategy. Why not make me your negotiator and let me have a word with Tytania’s leadership?”

This proposal took the attackers so completely by surprise that their only response was silence.

“Here’s the reason, and I realise it might seem abrupt, but…”

Count Elman’s explanation was as follows: If Count Elman were to establish contact with the anti-Tytania faction and build up a network of contacts now, it would create scope for diplomatic negotiations in the future. While there might be no immediate results, if this channel were to remain open for generations to come, it would provide both factions with a greater range of options in their political and military strategies as the times change. Should that come to pass, it would be a fortunate outcome for both sides; moreover, it would free him from the inactivity that had characterised his life thus far, allowing him to imbue the remainder of his life with meaning. Would you not consider it for a moment…?

“I understand your point. It is quite a sound argument.”

As far as Doctor Lee was concerned, this was the highest possible praise. It was only then that he revealed his true identity, introducing himself as “Doctor Lee of the Blaze Flag Army”. As a precaution, the others did not reveal their names.

“But, Count Elman, even if these are your intentions, what might the others in Tytania think? Duke Zarlisch, for instance, might brand you a traitor to your clan, an unforgivable betrayer. Are you making this proposal while taking that risk into account?’

“Lord Zarlisch isn’t the Clanner of Tytania. At least, not at the moment.”

It was a reply laden with implications. Doctor Lee ordered his thoughts, coursing through his neural circuits, to accelerate. Was Count Elman, by saying “at the moment” was in fact speaking of the future? This Tytania noble might intend to use the “channel of dialogue with the anti-Tytania faction” as a weapon to increase his personal power and establish a firm position for himself as a diplomat at the very heart of Tytania’s power structure.

“A ruling party without an opposition becomes corrupt and diminished. An enemy incapable of overthrowing Tytania is necessary to keep Tytania in check. That, in the end, will ensure Tytania’s longevity.”

“Is that your view, Count?”

“I’m not the only one who thinks so.”

At this point, Miranda interjected.

“So, in the end, everything exists for the sake of Tytania? How arrogant.”

“Indeed, it is arrogant,” nodded gravely the Count, “But that arrogance is underpinned by facts and truth. The truth goes without saying. As for the facts, lo and behold: Tytania is alive and well, and invincible.”

Count Elman laughed maliciously, and neither Doctor Lee nor Miranda could refute him.

It was true that Tytania had not asserted its dominance over the cosmos by military force alone. While the icy whip flashed several times, sweet nectar was scattered. Even towards the Interstellar City League, its greatest public enemy to date, it had never severed the channels of diplomacy and dialogue. Whether in peace or war, Tytania had continued to hold the reins of human society, increasing its allies and creating enemies as necessary. Did this mean it was now time to create enemies?

Amzekar gathered a bitter glob of saliva at the corner of his mouth.

“So we’re merely performing a sword dance on Tytania’s palm, are we? How pathetic.”

“The sword might well pierce that palm, though. When that happens, Tytania will fall. Count Elman, surely you are aware of that.”

Under Doctor Lee’s gaze, Count Elman showed no sign of being unsettled.

“Let me make this clear: I am a member of the Tytania clan. I will not plot against Tytania’s interests. I have neither the intention nor the obligation to do so. I believe this goes without saying.”

“Indeed.”

Responding briefly, Doctor Lee set his thoughts racing once more. Although the decision had already been made, there was something he wished to confirm, if possible.

“If I may be so bold as to speculate, it would appear, Count Elman, that you have certain ideas regarding the next Landless Clanner.”

Count Elman gave no reply, nor did Doctor Lee expect one. At that moment, they might well have been gazing into a mental mirror. Doctor Lee bowed silently, signalling his intention to accept Count Elman’s proposal. Thus, a most unexpected agreement was reached.

III

About an hour later than scheduled, Count Elman Tytania arrived at the hotel. This was a different establishment from the one where Duke Zarlisch Tytania was staying. Had they been lodging together, Count Elman would undoubtedly have found the situation rather cramped.

Once settled in his room, Count Elman instructed his secretary, whose face was still flushed, to send a message of greeting to Duke Zarlisch. He had chosen to avoid a direct call of his own accord, but also out of consideration for Duke Zarlisch’s convenience. Duke Zarlisch was a man of passionate temperament and would surely have been displeased to have a formal call brought into his bedchamber.

“Count Elman? Ah, I do recall there was such a gentleman.”

Just as the Count had anticipated, Duke Zarlisch, who received the message in his bedchamber, had no greater awareness of him than that. Although the difference in rank between a duke and a count is merely the insertion of a marquis, a duke bearing the surname of Tytania was, in essence, a ruler of the universe, standing above all kings and emperors. In contrast, a count, taken to the extreme, existed solely to preserve the bloodline; the gulf between the two was as vast and deep as the distance between the Milky Way and other nebulae.

Zarlisch sent a formal letter of thanks to Count Elman, and with that, he forgot all about his kinsman on the same planet. He was preoccupied with another member of his clan: Idris Tytania. He was no mere count, but a Celestial being of equal standing to Zarlisch. A message of congratulations and advice arrived from Lord Jouslain; at the same time, information of unknown origin was also received, suggesting that Lord Idris was envious of Lord Zarlisch’s achievements.

“What can a mere child like Idris possibly do? Even Lord Jouslain surely isn’t at an age where he would concern himself with withered grass,” spat out Zarlisch.

Although he was only two years older than Idris, his appearance suggested an age difference of some ten years. Zarlisch, too, had consistently emphasised his seniority in his words and deeds. Although Zarlisch was one year younger than both Dukes Ariabert and Jouslain, he had grown a beard to bridge that gap and crafted his appearance so that, at first glance, he would appear older than them.

Observing these details, it became abundantly clear that Zarlisch had taken meticulous care to turn the delicate factor of age to his own advantage. It was likely that Zarlisch was a far more politically astute figure than either Ariabert or Jouslain realised. That said, he was fundamentally classified as a military leader, and the matter of growing a beard, for instance, was probably a tactic designed to intimidate rather than a matter of political strategy.

In any case, Zarlisch did not attach much importance to Jouslain’s communication. He was determined to become the most powerful being in Tytania, which meant becoming the greatest entity in the universe.

Although Zarlisch held Jouslain in some regard, it could not be said that he fully understood his elder blood relative’s true worth. However, the same was likely true of Jouslain. History was replete with countless examples showing that even those who share blood and genes did not necessarily share a spiritual bond.

Zarlisch was displeased, but his captive’s displeasure was also quite pronounced. Not only had his physical freedom been taken away, but his freedom of taste had been stripped from him as well. He had demanded to be fed a herb omelette, yet his request had never once been granted. Even now, all that lay before him was a cutlet made from gluten, a portion of frozen mixed vegetables, and a mysterious stew, the only certainty being that it was not made from stewed human flesh.

It was quite possible that tranquillisers had been slipped into his food. There was a very real possibility of it. Fan Hyulick was not, or at least should not have been the sort to give up so easily, yet even when devising an escape plan, his thoughts lacked any kind of cohesion. Whatever one might call intellectual stamina had clearly deserted him.

“I’m in a bit of a slump. Perhaps I’m lacking calcium,” he muttered, plunging a synthetic resin knife into the gluten cutlet.

He did so, then pretended to be deep in thought for about two and a half seconds. Then he tried moving the knife again, before finally flinging it aside and resorting to his fingertips like a caveman.

Just as he was about to continue, muttering under his breath about the cutlet’s heat, he suddenly stopped and stood up. “How can anyone eat this!” he roared, hurling the other plates and cups at the surveillance camera. “I’ll chuck this rubbish down the toilet,” he declared before grabbing the cutlet and dashing into the restroom. Three minutes later, when he emerged from the toilet, his face was deathly pale.

Fan Hyulick was vomiting violently. He tried to support himself by placing his hands on the table, but failed and knocked the tray over. The crockery and food still on the tray played a loud, discordant symphony. The surveillance camera captured the image of the prisoner sprawled on the floor, transmitting the footage to the optic nerves of the guard who had been sipping his coffee.

The guard was flustered. If this important prisoner were to die, he would be held accountable. He flung his coffee cup aside, but as he had already swallowed its entire contents, a minor flood was avoided.

“Fan Hyulick was poisoned.”

The four words “falling into a panic” swept through the hotel like a gale, and even His Grace the noble Duke Zarlisch Tytania, leapt to his feet, pushing aside the beautiful black-haired princess with whom he had been sharing his bed. A report had just come in suggesting that, while it had initially appeared Fan Hyulick had attempted suicide, he had in fact been poisoned by someone.

Hastily changing into his military uniform, he revealed his imposing figure before his terrified subordinates.

“Who ordered such a thing? Find the criminal who has committed this unnecessary act at once!”

In response to the Duke’s roar, the hotel’s resident physician stepped forward. This came as a surprise to everyone present.

“With all due respect, Your Grace, it was an order from your mother.”

As this was both a confession and an accusation, even the resolute Zarlisch fell silent for a moment, glaring at the medium-stature, frail-looking doctor.

“Don’t lie to me!”

“No, it is no lie. Your mother’s orders were to make a man named Fan Hyulick suffer without killing him. Therefore, it was not a lethal dose of poison, and there is no danger to Fan Hyulick’s life.”

Zarlisch’s thick eyebrows twitched. Just as he thought, “That’s exactly the sort of thing mother would do,” he found himself compelled to accept the man’s explanation. Calming his breathing, he finally gave voice to his suppressed anger and spat out the words:

“Very well, I understand. If you let Fan Hyulick die, you will have disobeyed my mother’s orders. At that time, as her son, I shall hold you accountable for your crime!”

Zarlisch struck out at the air with his massive fist. It was such a powerful blow that one might have thought the wind pressure alone would make people stagger.

Nothing about the situation pleased this imposing young nobleman. Turning his broad back on the cowering assembly, he stomped back to his bedchamber, his footsteps echoing across the marble floor.

IV

The gastric lavage had been carried out while he was unconscious; it was the sound of a voice calling his name that dragged Fan Hyulick back up from the depths of unconsciousness.

“Admiral Hyulick, Admiral Fan Hyulick!”

“I’m not an admiral, I’m a colonel. I’m only paid a colonel’s wage. And yet they just keep piling all the responsibility on me…”

He vented his grievances with the petty grumbling of a commoner, hardly befitting a public enemy of Tytania.

“I’ve come to save you.”

The meaning of those words seeped into his subconscious and exploded there; at last, the ill-fated hero opened both eyes. He was lying on a stretcher used for transporting corpses, with a white cloth draped down to his chin. His vision was hazy, and the face of his saviour lay beyond a white, ethereal veil.

“Was it you who put the note in my meal?”

“Yes. It seems you followed our instructions to the letter.”

The low, subdued voice stripped away any trace of individuality.

“Yeah, but honestly, it was agonising.”

“It was merely an emetic. Please consider it far better than being brutally murdered by Duchess Zarlisch.”

“Yeah, I suppose I’ll take your word for it. But I haven’t asked yet, who are you?”

“An enemy of Tytania.”

“I see. That’s all I need to know.”

Although he was not entirely free of unease, Fan Hyulick forbade himself from asking any further questions or harbouring any further suspicions. Whatever the doctor’s true identity might be, one thing was certain: he was not on the side of Zarlisch Tytania.

As the hotel lacked the necessary facilities, Fan Hyulick was transferred to a hospital. It was, of course, a Tytania-affiliated hospital, but no one had anticipated that a half-dead man might attempt to escape, and security had been relaxed.

Everything had gone exactly according to plan. As far as this incident was concerned, the mastermind had accurately read Zarlisch’s mind. They had predicted that the very person who had “poisoned” Fan Hyulick would be held responsible for his treatment. The probability was not necessarily high, but the outcome proved favourable.

“Shall we then raise the curtain on the second half?”

“I do have one concern, though.”

“What is it?”

“What if I start hiccuping?”

In response to this question, which lacked any sense of urgency, the doctor’s reply was cold.

“It simply means you’ll stop pretending to be dead. Don’t worry, I’ll make a swift getaway if that happens.”

And so Mr Fan Hyulick was covered from head to toe in a white sheet and wheeled away in a trolley towards the mortuary. For the living, it was an experience hard to describe; specifically, it was the sensation of the dead people’s bodies against his skin, and it was by no means a pleasant one. Just as he had counted about 140 sheep, the doctor whispered:

“It’s the guard. Go limp!”

He’d meant what he’d said to the doctor earlier as a joke, but it seemed his prank had angered some deity or other. A strange sense of unease welled up from Fan Hyulick’s chest to his throat.

Before he could even think “this is bad”, a sensation exploded within him as if a dwarf had kicked him deep in the throat, and a sound like “Hic!” escaped him, as if his name had been compressed too much. The soldier in grey standing in the corridor stirred and cast a suspicious glance over the white cloth. Just as the masked doctor, without slowing his pace, was about to pass in front of the soldier, the soldier’s suspicion overcame his hesitation, and he let out a threatening growl.

“Show me that corpse…”

The soldier’s words trailed off as a wave of sound, louder than his own voice, flooded his ears. It was the sound of an explosion. The doctor had pressed the detonator switch in his clenched fist.

The explosion occurred in the unoccupied linen room, sending a spectacular burst of fire, smoke and sound into the air. It was a type of explosive designed to intimidate rioting crowds; while it caused no real harm, it was more than enough to throw people into a panic.

The soldier’s suspicions were blown away on the edge of the blast, and he grabbed his holster and ran off in the direction of the explosion. At the same time, the doctor also began running, pushing the trolley, and just as he was about to break through the maelstrom of chaos and disorder and emerge from the hospital, he was spotted by another soldier.

“Hey, wait, stop!”

Stringing together three very short syllables, the soldier aimed the muzzle of his incapacitating gas pistol at the doctor. However, the muzzle failed to fulfil its intended purpose. With his finger still on the trigger, the soldier’s expression went blank; without uttering a sound, the intruder slumped to the floor and was forced into an unwanted kiss with the marble.

Shaking off his momentary bewilderment, the doctor pushed the trolley, flung the hem of his white coat behind him, and dashed off. Left behind was the unconscious body of the hapless soldier. It was then that Louis Edmond Pagès appeared.

“I’m not quite sure what’s going on, but it seems a rival in our line of work has beaten us to it,” muttered Louis Edmond Pagès, tucking his short-barrelled pistol into the inside pocket of his work coat.

Out of every hundred shots he fired, he could demonstrate the skill of a master on about seventy-seven occasions. Relieved that this time he had avoided becoming another example from the seventy-eighth onwards, Pagès crouched low and began to run down the street.

The streets were teeming with ground vehicles, half of which bore Tytania’s crest. Around the hospital, grey military uniforms formed a living wall, radiating hostility and a sense of duty, much like white blood cells that had detected the presence of pathogens within the body. As he ran, Pagès shrugged inwardly. Tytania was not incompetent. On this occasion, a matter of seconds and a matter of milligrams of luck had not been on her side. That was all. That was all there was to it, yet someone would surely be held accountable for this situation. It would be quite a spectacle if that someone were Zarlisch Tytania himself, though…

And so, the wandering hero, Mr Fan Hyulick, was freed from the jaws of the God of Death which had closed in upon him. It was the second time this had happened, but there was no guarantee that this would be the last.

Chapter 5 – The Full Course of Ambition

I

Although Duke Zarlisch Tytania had at one point captured Fan Hyulick, the latter managed to escape. News of this reached Uraniborg a day later, causing a subtle tremor in the eardrums of the three young dukes who remained there. Ariabert, Jouslain and Idris exchanged views on the matter in their private lounge. As they would inevitably be called upon by Clanner Ajman for their opinions, it was necessary to organise their thoughts.

“Hupf! If he’s going to go out of his way to lower his own standing, that’s his problem. Lord Zarlisch really ought to assess his own capabilities more accurately,” sneered Idris.

On this occasion, Zarlisch would have no choice but to accept derision. Having reported his achievement to Uraniborg the moment he first captured Hyulick, he had made it impossible to conceal the prisoner’s escape. Having highlighted that point, Idris went on to point out Zarlisch’s weakness.

“This incident has laid it bare. Should Lord Zarlisch ascend to the throne as the next Clanner, the supreme authority over the universe will fall into the hands of that hysterical mother of his. Isn’t that quite a delightful prospect?”

“I find it hard to imagine Lord Zarlisch being such a weak-willed man, though…”

Ariabert tilted his head slightly, but Jouslain’s opinion was actually closer to that of Idris’. While Zarlisch was unrivalled in his resolve when facing direct enemies, he clearly prioritised emotion over reason when dealing with allies or family. That might be acceptable, but the real problem was probably that his approach lacked tenacity.

If his mother was in a fit of rage, Zarlisch ought to have reined her in, yet he had simply let the situation persist. Fed up with his mother’s words and behaviour, he attempted to throw Fan Hyulick to her like bait before a wild beast. By doing so, Zarlisch ultimately insulted several people. His mother was deemed someone beyond the reach of rational persuasion, and Zarlisch himself undermined his reputation for valour in both fleet battles and single combat.

Idris’ criticism of Zarlisch, though motivated by malice, was, in the end, remarkably accurate. Zarlisch had shown a tendency to back down in the face of his mother; and if the Clanner could not respond to her demands with integrity, the authority of Tytania’s Clanner would be called into question. Though it might seem minor, Zarlisch’s misstep was, in fact, significant.

It was reported that Zarlisch himself was furious. He had believed that the Blaze Flag Army would launch their operation to recapture Fan Hyulick in outer space. The fact that he had not anticipated an ambush on the planet beforehand was certainly a lapse in judgement on his part. However, if one were to trace the root cause, it lay in the single fact that he harboured preconceived notions about his mother. The implication was that he believed her to be “the kind of woman who would go so far as to poison her son’s killer”.

Ariabert asked the intelligence officer:

“Still, are we certain that it was the Blaze Flag Army who seized Fan Hyulick?”

“There are certain aspects that make it difficult to conclude with certainty that this was the work of the Blaze Flag Army…”

Upon learning that Hyulick had been seized, Zarlisch immediately decided to resort to force and put his decision into action. Every spaceport on planet Bargash was shut down, and the Blaze Flag Army’s hideouts and the homes of its senior officers were raided by groups of armed soldiers. Gunfights broke out in various locations, and more than twenty senior officers of the Blaze Flag Army were shot dead. Hideouts were blown up or set ablaze, and although on a small scale, the situation took on the appearance of all-out war.

The government of planet Bargash, however shaken it may have been internally, was compelled as the administrative authority to protest against Tytania’s outrageous actions. As Zarlisch ignored their protest initially, the Bargash government changed its strategy and lodged a protest with Donald Farah, a Tytanian executive who was staying in the area.

Farah was even more embittered than the Bargash government. Zarlisch had allowed Hyulick he had captured to escape, and was now attempting to exert force to adversely influence the outcome of the delegate elections. He rushed to Zarlisch’s side and pleaded with him to cease using force.

For his part, Zarlisch would have liked nothing more than to deal a heavy blow to the presumptuous Donald Farah, but Farah was a counsellor to the Clanner’s court, not Zarlisch’s personal vassal. He could not simply mete out punishment as he saw fit, and for that very reason, Zarlisch’s anger was simmering within him. Then, a complaint was brought to his attention, and at last he exploded.

“What kind of arrogant nonsense are you spouting! It is only because you ran your mouth so much about the Blaze Flag Army that I held back and that things have turned out this way. I will eventually hold you formally accountable for your crimes!”

The sheer force of his voice sent Farah flying, but it did not completely strike fear into him. Though he was frightened, his personal and public indignation outweighed his fear, and he found himself compelled to seek outside help to restrain Zarlisch. Ultimately, of course, Farah had no choice but to appeal to the authority of Clanner Ajman, but in the meantime, he needed an influential figure within the clan who would speak on his behalf and defend his position.

Thus, Count Elman Tytania made his dignified appearance. Having travelled at great haste from planet Bargash to Uraniborg, the count, after undergoing somewhat cumbersome formalities and ceremonies, was granted an audience with the Clanner.

Within the limited time available to him, the count explained the situation in a methodical manner. His focus was not on reproaching Duke Zarlisch for his blunder, but on offering to act as a liaison with the anti-Tytania faction.

“Spending one’s life in idleness is not a bad thing, but it seems my blood, surprisingly, sometimes stirs with a fervent desire for turmoil.”

“That is indeed surprising.”

Clanner Ajman’s gaze sliced like a blade through the face of the count, who, though of the same generation, was slightly older. The count appeared flustered, yet his demeanour seemed as though a core of iron were encased within cotton. After a few moments of silence, the Clanner continued with a questioning tone.

“But there is always the risk of being devoured by the very beasts one has raised. Whether it be the Blaze Flag Army or any other faction claiming that name, I cannot imagine they will accept sustenance from your hand forever. What are your thoughts on that, Count?”

“With all due respect, Your Clanner Highness, the human world would lack interest if it were nothing but predetermined harmony. I, for one, am well aware that I exist only because of Tytania. Should those ferocious beasts ever snap their chains, it will be my own body that shall first fill their stomachs.”

He was, in other words, prepared for that outcome. Clanner Ajman fell into deep thought, though not for long.

“Very well. We have never once closed diplomatic channels with the Interstellar City League. There is no harm in establishing a new one. I shall accept your proposal, Count.”

Count Elman was to become the head of the diplomatic channel to be established between the anti-Tytania group known as the Blaze Flag Army and the Principality of Tytania. That single decision had been officially sanctioned by the Clanner. The count’s days of inactivity were thus brought to an end.

II

In days gone by, there had been a prediction that humanity, having ventured into space, might achieve an explosive spiritual evolution that would outpace the rate of scientific and technological progress. This prediction, imbued with mystical aspirations, proved to be wrong; humanity was no different spiritually from when it crawled across the surface of the Earth. Ambition boiled over, desires exploded, and hatred clashed. People felt anger and sorrow; they envied others, suspected their loved ones of changing their hearts, and agonised over whether their own talents were lacking. While anticipating their own ruin, they wallowed in carnal desires and wore themselves out with a thirst for power and wealth.

But why should that be a bad thing? Jouslain, as an observer of civilisation, history and humanity, was of this opinion.

After all, a group of saints, virtuous gentlemen and chaste women could hardly be of any interest as subjects for observation or criticism. To begin with, Jouslain could not believe that anyone incapable of hatred could truly love anything. This could well be interpreted as a rather scathing self-criticism. Jouslain had never harboured a deep hatred for others; conversely, he had never experienced a love so intense as to drive him mad. At least, not yet.

Where was Tytania heading, including himself? Nurturing this curiosity within his heart, Jouslain grew from a boy into a young man. Now a member of the Four Dukes, his power had grown to the point where he looked down upon the monarchs of other nations; yet while he devoted himself to strengthening and maintaining the Tytania regime, the habit of observing the workings of Tytania as a whole, including his own, with a cynical gaze had become second nature to him. Even if Jouslain were to have his body and mind consumed by a maddening love, his reason would undoubtedly scrutinise and analyse his own passions with a frosty detachment.

For the time being, however, it was enough for Jouslain to observe his relatives around him. If he was anything but ordinary, it may well have been because he was fully aware that he, too, was the subject of others’ observation.

Now, following his father’s sudden death, Viscount Balamy should have been in a position to succeed to his ancestral title and become the head of his marquisate. However, he was still only eighteen years of age, and, judging by past precedent, the Clanner would not grant him succession to the marquisate until he reached the age of twenty. Nevertheless, his inheritance of the estate would naturally be recognised.

Viscount Balamy’s late father, Estrade, had not been particularly greedy in seeking out financial interests, yet he left behind a vast fortune, the total value of which would likely exceed five times that which Theodora was to inherit. This would have to be divided amongst the deceased’s wife and four children, and further distributed to his officially recognised mistresses and their illegitimate children. The responsibility for administering this estate fell upon Balamy, the deceased’s legitimate son.

However, this did not mean that Balamy could manipulate the inheritance as he pleased to his own advantage. Should Balamy’s actions be found to be grossly unfair, those with grievances may appeal to the Clanner’s Court, and the matter of the inheritance will then be referred to the Clanner for a ruling. At this stage, Balamy’s reputation would already be in tatters; indeed, there have been past instances where, as a result of protracted disputes over the estate, a family line was outright abolished and its assets confiscated by the Clanner’s Court. While the Clanner’s ruling was, of course, expected to be fair, he was the holder of autocratic power and often opted for severity rather than conciliation.

Balamy was fully aware of this. Setting aside the question of power, he had no particular attachment to his assets, and at a time when he was seeking to consolidate his position within Tytania, he had no intention of expending his energy on futile private strife. He intended to grant a substantial share to those who desired it. As Balamy had not consulted Jouslain on this matter, Jouslain refrained from any unnecessary interference.

“Still, there are so many inheritance issues.”

Recalling Lady Theodora Tytania, Jouslain gave a faint, wry smile. Lord Idris had submitted a petition to Clanner Ajman requesting that her succession to the earldom be recognised.

Around the same time, several rumours had reached Jouslain. It was said that, prior to visiting him, Theodora had paid a call on Lord Ariabert to request his cooperation regarding her succession to the earldom. Jouslain did not find this surprising.

“Unless His Clanner Highness recognises my succession, my county will become extinct. I humbly request that Duke Ariabert lend his support.”

Although Theodora had argued as such,

“Provided the legally correct procedures have been followed, I have no reason to object. There is no need for me to concern myself with this,” is what Ariabert is reported of having responded to Theodora with the utmost solemnity.

This was something Jouslain could accept.

In such situations, Ariabert displayed a far more resolute and principled response than Jouslain. It was precisely because she realised this that Theodora, too, withdrew without making any political manoeuvres. Or perhaps Theodora had become disappointed in Ariabert and had come to look down on him; but that would mean she failed to understand Ariabert’s true worth.

Jouslain was summoned by Clanner Ajman and asked for his opinion regarding the inheritance of Countess Theodora Tytania.

“If a single night of intimacy was enough to secure herself the title of countess and the inheritance, then she certainly sold herself at a high price. One must say she was far wiser than those who sell themselves cheaply.”

Clanner Ajman’s voice carried his characteristic venom. Although he made no mention whatsoever of Zarlisch’s blunder, it was clear that he did not take kindly to it.

Jouslain replied as cautiously as possible, keeping his response to a minimum. As far as this matter was concerned, he had no particular views to put forward; he would leave it to the Clanner’s discretion.

“In that case, Lord Idris’ request will likely be granted. If the other three dukes have no valid arguments to put forward, there is no need to go out of my way to reject Lord Idris’ request. Is my line of thinking unreasonable, Lord Jouslain?”

“No, I consider it only natural.”

Jouslain could offer no other reply. The underlying circumstances were all too clear, but putting them into words would have served no purpose. Theodora had chosen an alliance with Idris, and in the course of that, a physical relationship had developed between them. That was all there was to it.

Given the current balance of power, it might appear that Theodora was dominated by Idris and has been forced into submission; yet, having chosen an alliance with Idris of her own free will, she will surely strive to build her own strength and endeavour to stand on equal footing with him, or even surpass him. Or would she be content with a modest position and influence? In any case, Theodora was an independent individual, and for the time being, there should have been no need for Jouslain to interfere.

Now, strictly speaking, the task of purging the anti-Tytania forces dwelling both within and outside the court of the Vardana Empire should have been entrusted to Idris. As commander of the Vardana Guard, he was responsible for monitoring both the Emperor and the court officials. A complete list of anti-Tytania factions had been drawn up, and arrangements were in place to capture and execute every single one of them the moment the Clanner’s orders were issued. However, the execution of this task was entrusted to Balamy, and Idris could not help but feel that his credit for the achievement had been stolen.

It was the Clanner’s appointment that appeased Idris’ discontent. The sudden death of Marquis Estrade had left the important post of Minister of Military Affairs of the Vardana Empire vacant, and it was Idris who filled that seat. At twenty-four years of age, he was the youngest Minister of Military Affairs in the history of the Vardana Empire, excluding members of the imperial family. Moreover, the great purge had forced the replacement of all the key cabinet ministers through death. Idris had thus succeeded in becoming the most powerful figure at the Vardana court.

Consequently, Idris had every reason to take great pride in his own splendour and glory. Although he was admittedly somewhat prickly in his manner, he was undoubtedly a young man of great talent; proactive in both thought and action, he possessed a drive befitting his youth far more than someone like Jouslain. In this respect, that a gifted young man should desire the power and influence befitting his talents, there was nothing in Idris’ way of life that others could justifiably criticise.

However, in the course of pursuing his own path, his sharply protruding edges inevitably caused harm to others. Such incidents occurred frequently, and it was only natural that those who had suffered as a result could harbour no goodwill towards Idris. Idris himself was not unaware of his sharp edges, but as far as he was concerned, they were also a powerful weapon. A gentle, contented way of life might be permissible for those of a rank lower than an count. But Idris was already a duke, standing in a position from which he could set his sights on the Clanner’s throne. Aiming for the heights was the only way of life permissible for him. At the very least, Idris believed this without a shadow of a doubt.

It appeared that Countess Theodora Tytania was, thanks to Idris’ recommendation, set to inherit the title of countess. By January of the following year, she would bear the title of countess. On one occasion when Theodora was a guest in Idris’ bedchamber, something which happened more than once, she whispered the following to him:

“Lord Idris, please do become the Clanner.”

“So you think that if I were to become the Clanner, it would benefit your life as well? You are welcome to believe that, but the future may not necessarily be on your side.”

The ice clinked in his glass, a sound that befitted the coldness and thinness of the smile playing on Idris’ lips.

The sweet words of a beautiful woman were pleasing to the ear, but Idris was not one to have his soul stolen by them. He did not grant women dignity equal to, or even greater than, his own. For him, the Goddess was the supreme authority of Tytania; flesh-and-blood women were, at best, mere objects for the satisfaction of his desires. At least, that had been the case until now. Consequently, the fact that Zarlisch could not resist his mother, or that Jouslain protected the princess of the Kingdom of Elbing, was nothing but a laughing matter to Idris.

Theodora gazed down from the sumptuous bed at Idris, clad in his robe and guzzling wine.

“Lord Idris, do you consider Duke Zarlisch a potential rival to the title of Clanner?”

“Zarlisch is valiant, but that’s all there is to him. In the Bronze Age, he might well have established a kingdom on Earth. But we are no longer in the Bronze Age.”

“What about Lord Ariabert?”

“Had he been born in an age of goodwill, he would surely be called a great ruler. But ever since humanity began to reign supreme over other living creatures, such an age of goodwill has never once existed.”

Theodora seemed intrigued by Idris’ scathing assessment. With a strange gleam in her eyes, she uttered the name of a third man:

“And what about Lord Jouslain, then?”

There was no immediate reply; Idris stirred the ice cubes in his glass, creating a frenzied clatter.

“Hmph! It seems you’re all strangely preoccupied with that man. But in truth, what remarkable feats has he actually accomplished that are worthy of astonishing others? I, for one, know of none.”

Pouring another cascade of amber liquid into his glass, Idris scorched his throat in a single gulp. Theodora brushed her dishevelled hair from her forehead with a finger and altered the tone of her voice ever so slightly:

“Lord Idris, you have bestowed upon me the title of countess. Naturally, I shall use my status and power for your sake.”

“I’d rather not be in your debt.”

Offering this matter-of-fact reply, Idris set his glass down on the table. Once this moment of pleasure was over, his duties as a public figure awaited him.

III

Even after assuming the post of Minister of Military Affairs, Idris had shown no intention of relinquishing his position as Commander of the Imperial Guard. However, in late September, he chose his successor. He appointed his younger brother, Baron Radmoth, as Commander of the Imperial Guard; however, since the individual in question was still only a seventeen-year-old boy, the appointment was met with disapproval not only at the Vardana court but also within Tytania herself.

Yet Idris haughtily asserted the legitimacy of his appointment.

“Some became senior aides-de-camp to members of the Five Families of Tytania at the age of eighteen. I do not believe this warrants any particular objection.”

Emperor Harsha VI of Vardana, though pale with anger and humiliation, could not refuse to sign the letter of appointment. The pen with which he signed trembled violently, the result of his hatred for Tytania as a whole and his hatred for Idris in particular amplifying one another’s vibrations.

Nevertheless, managing to maintain a tenuous hold on his composure, the Emperor pressed the nib against the paper and scrawled his signature as if scratching at the surface. The realisation of his own powerlessness must surely have afflicted Harsha VI’s mind and body more severely than any pathogen. It seemed that half-hearted ambition brought misfortune to no one more than to the man himself. What, then, must have been Idris’ state of mind towards Emperor Harsha VI at that moment? The general view is that he paid no heed to the Emperor’s feelings whatsoever…

As for the so-called “Baron” Radmoth Tytania himself, the unanimous opinion was that he was a mud puppet moulded from nothing but his elder brother Idris’ flaws. No, in terms of brutality, he clearly surpassed his brother.

To begin with, Idris had never been fond of this half-brother, but he had witnessed the example of Zarlisch, who, as head of the ducal house, had been called to account over the matter involving his younger brother Arses. As far as he was concerned, he needed to skilfully keep Radmoth under his thumb.

“Might not Lord Idris, through his excessive favouritism, end up tying his own hands and feet? Can that younger brother be of any use to his elder brother?”

A wave of such derisive whispers swept through Tytania, both inside and out, but Idris remained unperturbed. Ariabert and Jouslain, feeling no inclination to offer advice, simply watched the youngest duke’s actions; yet before long, they were forced to admit that Idris’ political acumen was beyond their comprehension. Idris had petitioned Clanner Ajman to select the vice-commander of the Royal Guard who would assist Radmoth among the senior officers directly under the Clanner’s command.

“As my younger brother Radmoth is still inexperienced and lacking in talent, I would like to entrust the actual authority to the vice-commander, and furthermore, I would like him to provide my brother with training as a military officer. I wish to ensure that he will certainly be of service to Your Clanner Highness in the future…”

In other words, by making the vice-commander the de facto commander of the Guard and entrusting him with the authority to instruct and educate the younger brother of the Fourth Duke, this was effectively the same as appointing an officer directly under the Clanner’s command to the post of commander of the Guard. At the very least, the Clanner could not help but acknowledge the thoughtfulness Idris as the new Minister of Military Affairs.

“Lord Idris’ proposal is quite commendable. Very well, I shall accept it.”

Naturally, Clanner Ajman had no choice but to agree. However, this personnel decision was by no means a simple matter.

By placing his younger brother in a prominent position at such a young age, Idris had, first and foremost, fulfilled his responsibility as head of the ducal house to promote his brother. However, Radmoth was an unworthy younger brother who, far from assisting his elder brother, might well end up holding him back. Idris knew he must keep a close watch on his younger brother and provide him with guidance to ensure he did not commit any blunders or missteps; however, Idris himself was extremely busy both in his official and private life, and, to be honest, he simply did not have the time to act as Radmoth’s chaperone. Indeed, merely acting as a chaperone would have been one thing, but the thought of being held jointly responsible for any blunders Radmoth might commit was unthinkable. Therefore, Idris decided to put a safety net in place.

Should Radmoth prove unable to shoulder the heavy responsibility of commander of the Royal Guard, the vice-commander would, naturally, assume the commander’s authority in practice. That position is defined as holding the authority to educate and guide the underaged commander, and a senior military officer directly under Clanner Ajman was appointed to it. In other words, the responsibility for Radmoth’s education and guidance was also placed upon the Clanner.

By arranging matters in this way, even if Radmoth were to cause trouble, Idris alone would not be held accountable. Furthermore, Idris had laid all the groundwork in full knowledge that Radmoth would, sooner or later, prove unable to bear the weight of such a heavy responsibility.

“Duke Idris is certainly shrewd. The one to be pitied for the time being is the person who will be saddled with the post of vice-commander. I wonder who will be the one to suffer the consequences.”

Ariabert made this observation with a wry smile. Jouslain nodded in agreement, yet could not help but feel that everyone was overlooking something important. Radmoth’s own state of mind.

Although Radmoth was described as immature, unworthy and incompetent, it was by no means certain that he viewed himself in that light. As he undoubtedly possessed ambition, desire and pride, might he not wield the power and influence he had acquired without his own merit, and use that very blade to wound others, his elder brother, and ultimately himself?

Jouslain had met Radmoth on several occasions, but had never felt any fondness for him. He seemed more the brother of Zarlisch than of Idris, with his imposing frame and well-developed muscles, he had already outgrown his boyhood. His eyebrows were thick, his jaw strong, and his gaze defiant, so much so that he appeared older than the eighteen-year-old Balamy.

In a different sense from the late count Arses, he seemed to embody the impurity of the Tytania bloodline. It seemed certain that, sooner or later, he would inevitably cause no small amount of trouble.

However, the catastrophe befell them in a manner and at a speed that defied everyone’s expectations.

It was the last day of September, a time when the Duke Zarlisch Tytania was still unable to re-arrest his prisoner and, naturally, could not yet make his triumphant return to Uraniborg. Viscount Balamy Tytania was engaged in the task he found most distasteful amongst his various official and private duties. Acting as a companion to Princess Lydia, the princess of the Kingdom of Elbing.

Balamy disliked fussy children. He was well aware that Princess Lydia was not merely fussy, but serving as a companion to a young girl was hardly a task befitting an ambitious man who aspired to rule over the entire universe. He also recognised that periods of lying low were necessary in life, but he would have preferred to be entrusted with a somewhat more rewarding duty at this juncture.

Balamy himself was unaware that Princess Lydia’s presence acted as a vent, sustaining his mental well-being to such an extent. Since the sudden death of his father, Marquis Estrade, it would have been no surprise if his nervous system had been frayed to the point of collapse by grief.

Princess Lydia was keen to see every corner of Uraniborg, so that day Balamy took her on a tour to the Second Spaceport. A shuttle from planet Ryutehi had just docked.

Lydia was delighted to be shown the docking procedure from the control room, but a problem arose immediately afterwards. As the two left the control room and were about to step onto the walkway, they came face to face with a passenger disembarking from the shuttle. It was Baron Radmoth, who had just left the Vardana court.

“I’ve seen your face somewhere before. You’re Duke Jouslain’s aide-de-camp, aren’t you?”

By addressing him neither by name nor by title, Radmoth was, of course, seeking to wound Balamy’s pride. Although the two had never been on good terms, this was an unthinkable act of discourtesy. Balamy outranked Radmoth in both age and title. Even if Radmoth had now been appointed commander of the Guard, the hierarchy within the family had not changed.

Without a word, Balamy kept walking. From his perspective, it was a natural reaction to such discourtesy. Radmoth, however, did not see it that way.

Radmoth resembled Idris in that he reacted excessively when ignored, but he was far more brutal and thoughtless when putting that reaction into action. He strode towards Princess Lydia and suddenly seized her by the arm.

“Well, well, so this is the Duke Jouslain’s ward? Allow me to have a good look at your face. The face of a poor princess, no better off than a beggar.”

As he yanked her upwards, Lydia found herself half-suspended in the air.

“Be quiet, you insolent wretch! Let me go!” retorted defiantly Princess Lydia to his abuse.

To remain silent in such a situation would have been to accept an insult not only to herself but also to her guardian, Jouslain. As Radmoth held fast to the young girl’s arm and showed no sign of letting go, Lydia took a great step back and resorted to force to regain her freedom.

Radmoth let out a discordant cry and clutched his groin. Lydia’s small foot had sprung up with such force that it had dealt a severe blow to his privates. Having freed herself, Princess Lydia leapt swiftly away, escaping her opponent’s grasp.

Rather than a tragedy, this incident undoubtedly belonged to the realm of comedy. However, it had occurred at the very heart of the clan that ruled the entire universe, and those involved were young men occupying positions close to the very top of the clan hierarchy. Authority was an entity that rejects comedy, and matters invariably tumbled down a slippery slope towards escalation and gravity.

“You little wench! You dare lay your hand on the Tytania clan. I’ll teach you a lesson.”

It was Balamy who seized Radmoth’s raised arm. He had always aspired to be a cold-blooded schemer, but it seemed there was simply too much hot blood coursing through his veins for him to remain thoroughly calculating and far-sighted.

As he seized Radmoth’s arm, he swept one leg out to the side; thrown off balance, Radmoth fell face-first onto the floor under his own weight. There was a muffled thud, and the body of the commander of the Vardana Imperial Guard lay sprawled on the floor. Balamy spoke for the first time:

“Show some respect for this place. You are in the presence of His Clanner Highness. Do you think it is acceptable to resort to violence indiscriminately?”

It was a valid point, but as a remark made after resorting to force, it lacked persuasiveness. Radmoth rose from the floor, fury swirling in his eyes. Blood trickling from his nostrils scattered dark red spots across his grey military uniform.

Just as he let out a groan like the rumbling of the earth and lunged at Balamy, the circle of onlookers parted and a tall young nobleman stepped forward. It was Ariabert.

“Both of you, hold your ground! Is it the behaviour of a noble of Tytania to come to blows in full view of everyone? Have some sense of shame!”

At that moment, Duke Ariabert Tytania displayed his character as a warrior, and both Balamy and Radmoth were so overwhelmed that they froze in their tracks. Already, the inhabitants of Uraniborg, mostly clad in grey military uniforms; were crowding around them.

Balamy, shielding Princess Lydia’s petite body behind him, could do nothing but stare in astonishment at the sheer scale of the commotion that had unfolded.

IV

A dispute had broken out between members of the Tytania clan within Uraniborg. News of the incident spread through every level of Uraniborg at almost the speed of sound. Initially, the news put everyone affiliated with Tytania on edge; however, once it became clear that no public conflict had arisen regarding political or military policies or tactics, a sense of relief and wry amusement dispelled the tension.

“It seems that the eighteen-year-old Viscount Balamy and the seventeen-year-old Baron Radmoth have quarrelled over a ten-year-old girl. Apparently, Uraniborg has been reduced to nothing more than a playhouse.”

Rumours grew and swell through malice. As the inflated rumours mocked Tytania’s authority, the Clanner’s Court could not simply ignore them, nor could either Jouslain or Idris remain uninvolved.

For the time being, Balamy and Radmoth were placed under house arrest, and under Ariabert’s command, security measures were tightened while witness statements were gathered. Princess Lydia’s testimony was clearer and more accurate than any of the adults, but it was regrettable that, as she was considered a party to the incident, the value of her testimony was deemed to be low.

Clanner Ajman, who summoned Jouslain and Idris to pass judgement, cast a cold gaze upon the two young dukes.

“I never imagined that two Dukes of Tytania would come to dispute over such a trivial matter. I cannot help but feel taken aback.”

Jouslain did not consider it a trivial matter. It was an issue concerning Princess Lydia’s legitimate rights and personal dignity. As for Balamy, he had acted to protect Lydia, and believed that Radmoth’s brutality and insolence were what deserved censure. However, if it came down to a confrontation between Balamy and Radmoth, it was Balamy who had, technically speaking, struck first. Idris would undoubtedly press this point strongly.

Even for Clanner Ajman, it must have been impossible to imagine himself adjudicating such an incident in the first place. While a dispute between dukes inevitably required the Clanner to step in as the sole superior authority and settle the matter, on this occasion a sense of futility seemed to prevail.

Duke Idris’ expression was also bitter. He had always considered it inevitable that he would eventually come into conflict with Jouslain over the succession to the title of Clanner. However, it was unexpected that Radmoth, who was only just granted a title, should cause such a disturbance before the ink on his letter of appointment had even dried. Had he at least clashed with someone of greater stature, it might have been one thing, but with Princess Lydia and Viscount Balamy as his opponents, it was nothing more than a childish squabble.

In his heart, Idris vehemently reviled his younger brother’s brutality and thoughtlessness, yet even so, in the presence of the Clanner’s judgement, he had no choice but to fulfil his role as the advocate for his brother’s interests. This double reluctance lent a sharp bitterness to Idris’ handsome features.

Jouslain accurately discerned what was in Idris’ heart. And he could not help but reflect: however deeply reluctant one might be, it was the duty of the head of a ducal house to defend the family’s interests. This “incident” was surely the most foolish possible commentary on that very folly. Wouldn't the “Authority of Tytania” be appalled to hear of it?

In any case, a fierce debate raged between Idris and Jouslain over where the responsibility lay.

“There is no need to take the nonsense of a ten-year-old child to heart.”

“One would not expect such a remark from Lord Idris. Pray tell, who was it who judged that a seventeen-year-old minor was fit to hold the post of commander of the Vardana Imperial Guard?”

“That’s a different matter altogether!”

“It is not. Lord Idris, the root of the matter lies in your inadequate supervision. It is common knowledge throughout Tytania that Princess Lydia is a guest of my ducal house. She should have been treated with due courtesy. Is it the sort of behaviour expected of the Tytania clan to lawlessly seize her by the arm?”

“No, had Viscount Balamy returned the greeting properly, this would never have happened. The fault lies with Viscount Balamy.”

The debate continued for two hours, but it only served to exhaust everyone with its futility, including the Clanner presiding over the matter. Even Clanner Ajman, who seemed to possess boundless vigour for intellectual pursuits, must surely have been appalled by the sheer absurdity of the situation. Though he never let his stern expression waver, his true feelings were clearly reflected in the ruling he delivered.

“The appointment of Baron Radmoth as commander of the Guard is hereby revoked and set aside. Duke Idris shall select a replacement within five days. Furthermore, Baron Radmoth is ordered to undergo two weeks of confinement. Meanwhile, Viscount Balamy is relieved of his duties as Duke Jouslain’s senior aide-de-camp and ordered to take up a post as counsellor at the resident mission on planet Tyron. He shall assume this post within two weeks. Furthermore, regarding Princess Lydia of the Kingdom of Elbing, while she cannot be held accountable given her age, it is unnatural for her to reside in Uraniborg in the first place. I therefore advise Duke Jouslain to consider repatriating her to her homeland.”

Idris accepted the ruling on the spot, but Jouslain found it hard to accept and requested a day’s reprieve. Jouslain could not bring himself to accept this superficial fairness; however, that night, Ariabert visited Jouslain’s quarters and offered the following advice:

“Viscount Balamy is still young. He should be able to endure this period of biding his time. Furthermore, regarding Princess Lydia, if you are anxious about sending her back to the Kingdom of Elbing, I could take her in myself. In any case, Lord Jouslain, now that Lord Idris has accepted the ruling, if you refuse to do so, it will leave a poor impression on His Clanner Highness. I do hope you will exercise due restraint.”

Jouslain acknowledged the validity of Ariabert’s words. He understood, intellectually, that there was no alternative but to accept the Clanner’s ruling. In the circumstances, he had no choice but to let reason take precedence over emotion. Jouslain expressed his gratitude for Ariabert’s advice.

“Nonsense, it’s no trouble at all. Lord Jouslain, it gives me great pleasure to be able to do you a favour. I shall expect you to repay it in due course, though you’d best be prepared to pay a little interest.”

Ariabert laughed, thereby lightening the psychological burden on Jouslain. Jouslain truly felt what might be called Ariabert’s magnanimity, and he was once again convinced that, barring some unprecedented catastrophe befalling the Tytania clan, Ariabert was indeed the most suitable candidate to be the next Clanner.

Chapter 6 – A Stranger in the Desert

I

Planet Bargash lay at the heart of the Frontier Sector. While this may not strictly be true from a physical geographical perspective, it was an entirely accurate assessment from a sociocultural standpoint; communications, passenger transport, the distribution of goods, finance, information, the training and employment of personnel—in short, the vast majority of socio-economic activities within the Frontier Sector were conducted with this planet as their hub.

Although the sophistication and elegance of the planet Ementhal were absent here, a wild vitality permeated the very fabric of the planet, right down to the molecular level. The diplomacy and strategic manoeuvres centred on this planet are also rather crude, the sort that the people of Ementhal derided as “a club in the right hand, a wad of banknotes in the left”. That said, whether it be diplomacy by intimidation or diplomacy through financial influence, a certain degree of formality and protocol was still required, and the sovereignty of planet Bargash had been respected by others. Duke Zarlisch Tytania’s approach to ignore this and run roughshod over the planet by force could hardly be commended.

“Bargash is not Duke Zarlisch Tytania’s fief. We must insist that at the very least he shows respect for the flag of Bargash.”

It was Donald Farah who received this request from the Bargash Government Office.

Donald Farah had long since resigned himself to the fact that the Tytania faction would prevail in the Bargash delegate elections. Every political and social factor were pushing his efforts in an unfavourable direction.

Although the inhabitants of Bargash generally accepted Tytania’s rule, they did not revere her as an omnipotent deity; consequently, if she were to flaunt her power too openly, they would inevitably feel compelled to resist. Fully aware of this, Farah initially devised various strategies in an attempt to temper Zarlisch’s belligerent fervour, but he was forced to realise that it was an impossible task. With tears of regret, he abandoned his battlefield, drowned his sorrows in drink, and, after beating Zarlisch half to death in his imagination, left planet Bargash.

As for Zarlisch, he did not give a second thought to the troubles or resentment of someone as insignificant as Farah. His mind was occupied solely with saving face before Clanner Ajman and appeasing his mother’s fury. He was convinced that the wrath of a mere provincial planetary government could be quelled by Tytania’s authority and financial might.

He spurred his subordinates on to search for the fugitive, Fan Hyulick. And finally, they succeeded in locating him. It happened on the 7^th of October.

“A special operations vessel in satellite orbit has taken some 400,000 photographs of the surface, and among them was this one.”

Glancing at the stereoscopic photograph presented by his aide-de-camp, Commander Granite, Duke Zarlisch Tytania exhaled deeply. The surface of the planet Bargash could not be said to have been fully colonised; a barren expanse of 40 million square kilometres, comprising cold regions, arid lands and high-altitude zones, stretched out before him. As a result of photographing every 10-kilometre square and analysing the images by computer, signs of life had been detected in that region which was supposed to be uninhabited. This was said to be a corner of the Desert called Tarhari, where small armed groups opposed to Tytania had been known to operate for some time.

“That special operations vessel is capable of operating within the atmosphere, right?”

“Of course, Your Grace.”

“Then dispatch it to that location immediately. Track down and capture Fan Hyulick. Should it prove too much to handle, even by a thin hair, send reinforcements.”

Although he spoke in hypothetical terms, “even by a thin hair”, Zarlisch’s eyes had already become a smelting furnace of passion, revealing his intention to command the fleet himself. Commander Granite, while concerned that the Bargash government’s anger and resentment would intensify, had no choice but to prioritise the wishes of his lord, Zarlisch.

Immediately stepping in front of the videophone and issuing orders to five or six locations, Duke Zarlisch gripped his grey military cap in his enormous palm and strode out of his room at the Hotel Alhambra with strides nearly twice as long as those of an ordinary man.

Doctor Lee had been in a foul mood for the past few days. Although he was no match for Duke Zarlisch Tytania, the plan to rescue Hyulick that he had painstakingly devised had evaporated at the very last moment because of a third party whose motives were unclear. Who on earth, and from where, had gone and spoiled Doctor Lee’s brilliant blueprint with such a crude stroke of the pen? It would be reasonable to assume it was a small independent faction opposed to Tytania, but it might be dangerous to jump to that conclusion.

In any case, Doctor Lee had no intention of leaving the identity of the individual or group that had outmanoeuvred him a mystery. Having finally heard from Pagès, who had returned, about the direction in which the person who had taken Fan Hyulick had fled, he was keeping a close watch on Tytania’s movements while conducting his own analysis. As long as he kept an eye on Tytania’s movements, Hyulick’s whereabouts should become clear. It was then, and this time for certain, that Doctor Lee intended to slip past Tytania’s ferocious snout and rescue Hyulick.

Mr Fan Hyulick, pursued by both friend and foe, was nowhere to be found on the surface of planet Bargash. The skies above Bargash were under almost complete air superiority by Zarlisch Tytania’s forces, and it was virtually impossible to escape this strict surveillance and encirclement. So where was he? He was, quite literally, in hiding, underground.

Beneath the Tarhari Desert lay a cavern formed by volcanic activity in the planet’s distant past. A million years ago, lava had flowed through the area, leaving behind a winding cavern that resembled the intestines of a giant dragon. It was into this cavern, near the surface, in the region corresponding to the giant dragon’s oesophagus, that Hyulick’s rescuers had carried him. The small group of about twenty men gave no particular introduction, and Hyulick, after offering a brief word of gratitude, found himself compelled to ask:

“I still haven’t heard the reason why you saved me.”

“It’s fine to ask, but why not try to work it out for yourself first?”

“Is there a reward for that?”

After replying this, Fan Hyulick was seized by an ominous suspicion. Could it be that this man had rescued him merely to claim the bounty placed on his head? Yet, even if that were the case, he had risked his life and fate to carry out the mission; his resolve and ability to act were extraordinary. For the time being, Fan Hyulick put forward a highly probable explanation.

“Someone who bears a grudge against Tytania.”

That suggested answer was met with a mixture of wry smiles and derisive sniggers.

“It’s like striking the ground with a hammer. You can’t go wrong with that.”

“So, in other words, it’s the correct answer?”

“You can’t say that. It’s an insult to the very meaning of the expression ‘correct answer’.”

The doctor, having removed his mask, appeared to be in his late thirties. He sported a black moustache beneath his nose, which resembled the bristles of a small brush. Hyulick still did not even know his benefactor’s name, and just as he was about to ask, hurried footsteps echoed from the entrance to the cavern, the area of molten lava forming the dragon’s front teeth. A man clutching an old-fashioned heat-ray rifle and clad in nondescript field uniform burst in, his face etched with tension.

“It’s a Tytania special operation vessel!”

The doctor and Hyulick stepped out to the dragon’s front teeth and looked up at the sky. The setting sun bathed their view, transforming the sky into a vast crimson silk cloth. A black shadow, resembling a monstrous bird, descended while slicing through the waves of the fiery atmosphere with its bow.

Although special-purpose ships were neither enormous nor heavily armed, this one was nonetheless over one hundred metres in length and equipped with no fewer than twenty guns. In this place and at this moment, it was a symbol of military might without equal. Turbulence caused by frictional heat enveloped the ship in faint crimson ripples, but as these faded with deceleration, Tytania’s crest emblazoned upon the hull shone out with haughty splendour.

Forgetting for a moment the situation he found himself in, Hyulick found himself transfixed by the sight. Truly, one could say that the people of Tytania, from top to bottom, were a pretentious lot.

The special operation vessel, suspended in midair, extended gun barrels from the underside of its hull. It looked as though three slender needles had been thrust into the ground, yet it was a grim harbinger of death and destruction. A moment and a half later, a portion of Fan Hyulick’s field of vision glowed. Three streaks of fire shot up from the ground.

With a deafening roar, a column of sand rose high and thick into the air. Thousands of tonnes of sand were swept into the air, obscuring the sky and the earth; when it reached the limits of gravity, it fell as a dry rain upon the very place where they had been living just moments before. The ground was shrouded in a cloud of sand, blocking out even the light of the star as it prepared to set.

The restraint in their firepower was clearly intended as a warning. They had no intention of annihilating them. Had that been their intention, they would have opened all their gun ports and concentrated their fire.

The Tytania special-purpose vessel had made its intentions clear with a single volley. It was demanding submission from those who had witnessed this. Hovering above the subsiding sandstorm, the vessel seemed to be lying in wait for the defiant rebels to emerge from the surface and prostrate themselves. The doctor clicked his tongue.

“How grand, as befitting of Zarlisch Tytania. It seems they intend to turn this entire rocky desert into a barbecue grill.”

“Are they looking for me?”

Fan Hyulick uttered this daft remark, causing his companion to roll his eyes at him.

II

The hull of the Tytania special operation vessel, hovering in the air, opened, and five shuttles, gleaming with a dull greyish-white sheen, descended to the ground. It was a sight reminiscent of silver cocoons being laid by adult insects. Amidst the settling dust cloud, the landed cocoons split open and human figures emerged.

Fully armed soldiers stepped onto the surface one after another. Even at a glance, it was clear that the force numbered at least two platoons. Although no tanks or heavily armoured vehicles were in sight, should reinforcements arrive, they might well encounter such machinery. For the time being, the mere fact that there were enough heat-ray rifles and laser guns to go round each soldier meant they constituted an overwhelming force. At the very least, it seemed unlikely that Hyulick’s benefactors—whose identities remained unknown—would be able to put up a proper fight against them.

“I heard that the ‘strategy of sheer numbers’ was Duke Zarlisch’s speciality. How shall we deal with this?”

At Hyulick’s question, the doctor groaned.

“But this is not a fief of clan Tytania. It is a sovereign state in its own right. Tytania cannot simply exercise military force as it pleases.”

“There’s no point telling me that. Go and tell Duke Zarlisch. And do so with the utmost courtesy.”

The government of planet Bargash would undoubtedly lodge a strong protest with the court of Tytania’s Clanner. But by then, it would all be over. Only the fact that the Bargash government had protested would remain in the diplomatic records. Or perhaps Tytania would pay compensation or a settlement to Bargash, and neither side would hold a grudge. As for Fan Hyulick by then, far from holding a grudge, not even a single bone of his would remain in this world.

It was the wake of an airship piercing the sky that tore apart that bleak vision of the future. As it rapidly approached the Tytania special operation vessel, it came to a halt in the air at a distance of approximately one-three-hundred-thousandth of a light-second, and transmitted a signal.

“This is the Armed Peace Force (APA) of the Bargash Government. Any person engaging in illegal or unlawful armed activities in this area will be dealt with in accordance with national law.”

The flashing signal lights were interpreted as such by Fan Hyulick’s eyes as well.

“Cease fire immediately and submit to an inspection by the authorities. I repeat, submit to an inspection immediately!”

The Tytania special operations vessel showed no reaction. It was clearly hovering in the air, displaying hesitation and indecision. It would be possible to “deal with” a mere Bargash light patrol vessel using less than half of its total destructive power, but that would constitute an act of outright hostile act towards the Bargash government. Even if Tytania were to plunge into all-out war with Bargash, it would certainly not be defeated; however, such a conflict would spell the collapse of Tytania’s foreign policy.

Tytania’s core diplomatic principle was to crush any enemy that arose without mercy, while avoiding the creation of new enemies wherever possible. This was well understood by the lower-ranking members as well. Hence, their hesitation; yet, they finally sent a signal in reply. It was a refusal.

“A Tytanian obeys only the orders of his Tytanian superiors. Your vessel should report this matter to the Government Headquarters and await further instructions. This vessel will comply solely with the orders of its superiors.”

In short, the Tytania special operations vessel feared the wrath of Duke Zarlisch more than any legal action by the Bargash Government Headquarters. And as if to shake off its own hesitation, it extended its gun barrels once more.

Adjusting the angle of the muzzles and reducing their firepower, it fired all three guns simultaneously. Thick, dark-orange streaks of fire sliced through the sky at a 20-degree depression angle, grazing the patrol vessel’s hull before exploding on the ground some five kilometres away. It was a blatantly overt act of intimidation.

“Cease fire!”

“Shut up, we won’t listen.”

Though it did not voice these words, the Tytania special operations vessel made its intentions clear through its actions. While maintaining a posture ready to continue firing warning shots at the patrol vessel, it sent orders to the infantry unit awaiting on the ground. Emerging from the cocoon that had birthed them, the infantry unit began to advance.

“They’re coming…!”

The hushed voice not only stated the fact but also conveyed the tension in his mind. They mounted their sole large-calibre machine gun on the giant dragon’s oesophagus. An old-style thermal rifle was also handed to Fan Hyulick. It was handed to him by a female soldier with short, sepia-coloured hair who was for some reason wearing a sun visor, and clad in camouflaged field uniform. She was a young woman, just over twenty, with rare gentian-blue eyes. She was beautiful, though not quite a stunner.

As a sniper, Fan Hyulick’s skill were neither particularly good nor bad. Whether in shooting practice or in actual combat, he was an unremarkable figure. Nevertheless, once the firefight began, he took careful aim and picked off the intruders.

He certainly hit one of them, but the wound did not appear to be fatal, as the enemy dropped his gun and retreated. Instead, a barrage of gunfire focused on Hyulick, and he hastily concealed his tall frame behind a rock. The enemy was using a scope, and despite being inside the cave, their shooting was extremely accurate.

Just as Hyulick was about to stand up, the sound of rapid fire rang out once more, and red and blue sparks scattered across the surface of the rock face. A ricochet grazed Fan Hyulick’s eyelashes. Under normal circumstances, he would have taken a ricochet just above the ear, and his personal history would have come to an end. But he narrowly escaped death when a woman’s voice shouted “Watch out!”, and his left wrist was grabbed and pulled away.

At that very moment, the cave was filled with a blinding, pure white light. Someone had detonated a flare. The panicked screams that followed were caused by the light destroying the amplifiers on their scopes. The Tytania infantry unit was left temporarily blinded.

In that split second, as they stood frozen in confusion, a barrage of fire from the anti-Tytania forces rained down upon them. Gunfire echoed all around, and few shots missed their mark. These were well-trained marksmen. Having suffered around ten casualties, the Tytania infantry unit was forced to retreat.

After catching his breath, Hyulick introduced himself and thanked the female soldier who had saved his life; she looked at him with interest.

“Fan Hyulick? You’re that man who’s said to be wage a war with Tytania all on his own?”

“I have no intention of waging a war. They’re setting the price on their own.”

“Well then, make sure you sell yourself for as high a price as possible. Otherwise, it would be a shame, wouldn’t it?”

The young woman laughed, and as she did, an expression of astonishing vitality lit up her face. Hyulick could surmise that her beauty stemmed less from her physical features than from the vibrations of her inner vitality.

In any case, he had managed to repel the Tytania infantry unit once. This was due to the advantage of the terrain and, more importantly, the enemy’s excessive caution. From the perspective of the Tytania infantry, however, despite having scopes, they were unfamiliar with the terrain inside the cave and had no idea of the enemy’s numbers or deployment. They could well imagine the wrath of Duke Zarlisch if they were to kill Fan Hyulick by using large-calibre firearms. They decided, therefore, to retreat for the time being and devise a plan for a renewed attack.

This was, one might say, a reasonable course of action, but an unexpected sight awaited them as they emerged from the cave onto the surface. The sky looked as though it had been smeared with human blood; apart from their own mother ship and the Bargash patrol vessel, there should have been no other ships floating there, yet now a single vessel was rapidly expanding its dark silhouette. Judging by its speed and direction, it was clear that it intended to engage the Tytania special operation vessel. It was the Honest Old Man.

The ‘Honest Old Man’s’ armament was slightly inferior to that of a Tytania destroyer-class vessel, yet surpassed that of a special operation vessel. The true strength of such an arms-smuggling vessel lay in its speed and manoeuvrability, as well as the skill of its crew in handling their machinery as if it were their own steeds. It was through this that the crew of the ‘Honest Old Man’ had succeeded in assassinating Count Arses Tytania. Although this encounter took place under the unusual conditions of the atmosphere, it was a one-on-one ship-to-ship duel, and the ‘Honest Old Man’ held the upper hand in terms of firepower. Precisely for that reason, Captain Casimir was all the more cautious.

It brought to mind a duel between heavily armoured knights of the Middle Ages Not for its splendour, but quite the opposite. While they moved with complete freedom in the airless expanse of space, now, deep within the high-pressure depths of the ocean, their movements appeared almost sluggishly slow. Circling gently through the air in wide arcs, they bided their time, waiting for an opportunity to drive a spear of energy into their opponent’s vital points.

The valiant patrol vessel Bargash continued to send out frantic warning signals, but these were completely ignored by the two lawless combatants.

The first flash came from the Tytania special operation vessel. A glittering beam of energy lunged at ‘Honest Old Man’. It missed. Or rather, the ‘Honest Old Man’ had dodged it. This time, the ‘Honest Old Man’ fired a beam of its own, striking the special-purpose vessel. A white plume of smoke rose amidst a flash of light, and the special-purpose vessel appeared to stagger slightly in the air.

At that moment, four new silhouettes of ships rushed into the airspace where the one-on-one duel was taking place.

III

These were four armed vessels under the command of Doctor Lee. Through skilful coordination, they sought to form a ring of encirclement on either side of the Tytania special operation vessel.

For the Tytania special operation vessel, there was no means of escape other than to climb. Whenever it showed signs of preparing to climb, the armed vessels, having detected its intended direction, moved to intercept it. The skirmish between the two sides appeared to last quite a long time, but in reality it probably lasted less than a minute.

Having lost its escape route, the Tytania special operations vessel attempted a forced breakthrough and charged forward horizontally. With all gun ports open, it ploughed straight through the sea of atmosphere, firing in every direction. The encircling forces returned fire fiercely while dodging the enemy’s barrage.

The streams of fire tore through the crimson canvas of the sky, shattering against the hulls of those that failed to evade and scattering a mist of iridescent light. Light and flame erupted from the hull of the Honest Old Man. However, in the time it took to land a single hit, the Tytania special operations vessel had been struck by ten rounds. A chain of small fireballs encircled the special operations vessel like a band of jewels.

A garish flower of explosive light bloomed above the Tarhari Desert. It was as though the sun, having once sunk completely below the horizon, had shifted to the zenith. By the time the sound of the explosion rippled across the ground, the light had already dissipated, the resulting cloud of smoke had scattered, and the space where the special-purpose vessel had once stood had been reduced to nothing.

As fragments of the special-purpose vessel rained down like a feeble shower of metal, a new explosion occurred on the ground. Doctor Lee had fired upon and destroyed the shuttle on the surface.

The situation changed completely. Tytania’s infantry units were now exposed to a one-sided attack from the air. They lost their will to fight, abandoned their heavy weapons, and broke away from their organised chain of command. Acting as a group would only lead to their complete annihilation. Each soldier had no choice but to rely on their own wits and courage to escape the predicament. Doctor Lee did not pursue the infantrymen as they scattered in all directions.

Mr Fan Hyulick, the fugitive with the highest bounty in the universe, was finally reunited with his comrades aboard the Honest Old Man. There was no time to linger and catch up at leisure; they had to set off in a hurry. The group that had been operating a small-scale anti-Tytania resistance from their hideout in the underground caverns also seemed to have gained a new sense of confidence after managing to join forces with a contingent of the Blaze Flag Army.

Out of the corner of his eye, Fan Hyulick watched as their leader, the doctor, and Doctor Lee were discussing something, and he offered a sheepish apology to Pagès and Walenkov.

“Well, sorry to have caused you worry. Mind you, being captured by Tytania three times is quite enough of a life experience for me.”

Fan Hyulick offered this piece of sour grapes, but it was the Honest Old Man that could not get away with such a remark. The Tytania special operations vessel fought exceptionally well, firing two shots at the enemy, both of which struck the Honest Old Man.

Doctor Lee addressed Captain Casimir in a voice that could hardly be described as calm.

“I’m sorry to say this, but we’d better give up on the Honest Old Man. We can carry out cosmetic repairs, but it won’t withstand interstellar flight.”

Captain Compton Casimir responded to that remark with silence. It was not merely that he had lost his vocal cords and could not speak; even if that had not been the case, it must surely have been a question to which he could not have replied immediately. The Honest Old Man was not merely an inanimate object in his possession; he was his favourite partner and the very embodiment of his life itself. This was not a unique case limited to Captain Casimir; such was the nature of seasoned independent merchants. For people like that, scrapping a ship was tantamount to drawing a curtain on one’s own life.

Miranda placed her fleshy palm on her husband’s shoulder.

“Darling, it’s about time we let the Honest Old Man have a rest. He’s worked hard enough for us. He’s reached the age where he ought to hand over the reins to his son or grandson and take a well-deserved rest.”

It was not a particularly rational argument, but Captain Casimir nodded slowly. This thoughtful middle-aged man understood that this was not a situation to be swayed by personal sentiment.

“How are we going to get a new ship? As with everything else in this heartless universe, without money, you can’t even breathe.”

Alan Mahdi, who prided himself on his financial acumen, let a prosaic question roll off his tongue laced with sarcasm.

“Isn’t it your job to figure that out? What’s happened to the ingenuity you displayed back when you were a lowly foot soldier on the Tytania? It’s a pitiful state of affairs that the moment you left the organisation, your ingenuity vanished, leaving you with nothing but grumbling and sarcasm.”

Just as Mahdi was about to launch a further counterattack against Miranda’s scathing retort, Fan Hyulick interjected:

“I’ll sort out the ship.”

It wasn’t as though he had a specific plan in mind. Captain Casimir had damaged his beloved vessel to save him, so Fan Hyulick felt he had to repay that kindness.

Perhaps sensing his feelings, Captain Casimir began to form a gentle smile, but his expression changed abruptly as he cast his gaze towards a corner of the darkening sky.

Black clouds seemed to be gathering on the horizon. Both reason and instinct recognised that this was the Tytania fleet, yet even so, those who witnessed it were left momentarily dazed.

The number of vessels must have exceeded one hundred. While this represented only a fraction of Tytania’s total military might, it was more than enough to wipe out the anti-Tytania faction gathered here. Even Doctor Lee could not help but speak in a voice on the verge of losing its composure.

“It seems Lord Zarlisch Tytania is finally making an appearance in person.”

“So, what are we going to do? Are we going to fight?” asked Pagès, though he was merely asking the question.

There was no way they could survive a battle; they had no choice but to abandon the ship and flee underground. A frantic retreat began, and the sound of footsteps echoed chaotically from the giant dragon’s mouth down into its oesophagus.

“What are you all so scared of? It’s a golden opportunity that Zarlisch has come out this far. If that massive body were holed up deep within Uraniborg, we wouldn’t stand a chance, but hasn’t she come within range of our bullets?”

The voice that echoed through the cave belonged to a woman wearing a visor; in the dim light, Fan Hyulick realised she was near him. At this point, the total number of anti-Tytanian rebels who had taken refuge in the cave was around three hundred, and they had to rely on the cave’s original inhabitants to guide them. As there weren’t enough scopes to go round, they had no choice but to rely on old-fashioned torches.

Perhaps because he was an optimist at heart, Hyulick was happier to have a young, pretty woman by his side than a scruffy bloke. Once he had settled down and set his weapons and ammunition down on the ground, he asked her:

“Are you here because you’re trying to avenge your parents’ deaths or something?”

“My parents? Well, it does have something to do with them, actually.”

Lowering her voice slightly, the young woman peered into Hyulick’s eyes.

“My father is Ajman Tytania, the current Landless Clanner. My mother was an unknown woman. Nothing more than a wildflower the Clanner plucked on a whim.”

The shock seeped silently into Hyulick’s mind. In his twenty-eight years, he’d often been at a loss as to how to react, but this was the first time he’d found himself in a position where he didn’t know how to respond to a woman’s background. Ultimately, however, in such situations, one could only apologise for prying too deeply into the other person’s affairs.

“I didn’t know that. I’m sorry. I’d be grateful if you could forgive me.”

As Fan Hyulick bowed his carrot-coloured head, the young woman gazed at the wandering hero with an expression of utter sincerity.

“Hmm, just as my grandmother said. Why are men so weak when it comes to illegitimate children? It’s because they all have a guilty conscience.”

“Eh? So…?”

“It’s nonsense. My father was a pianist in a no-name pub. It’s a common enough story, but his opportunities were snatched away by a rival backed by Tytania…”

The woman sighed, and her expression changed slightly.

“Are you disappointed that I’m not a wandering princess?”

“No, not at all.”

With a wry smile playing around his eyes and mouth, Fan Hyulick waved his hand dismissively.

“It made me realise just how shallow I was, but now that I’ve had a moment to think about it, I rather feel it’s a good thing you aren’t one of Tytania’s illegitimate children.”

The woman didn’t ask why he felt that way.

“I’m sorry for spouting such nonsense.”

“I don’t mind.”

After answering so clearly, Fan Hyulick searched somewhat awkwardly for a topic of conversation, but there was nothing around him that had any connection to romanticism.

“So, does everyone harbour hatred or resentment towards Tytania?”

“That’s right. Everyone harbours negative feelings towards Tytania. After all, someone who achieves power and success can’t possibly be loved by everyone of their time.”

“Does that also apply to your leader?”

“Yeah. He lost his wife, child and hospital all at once. It was an accident at a Tytania-affiliated chemical plant. Even though it was entirely a human error, those responsible were never punished.”

She told Hyulick that her leader’s name was Doctor Ibn Kasim.

“I don’t think Tytania is deliberately picking on the weak. When an elephant walks, ants get crushed. That’s all there is to it. But ants aren’t alive just to be crushed by elephants.”

That’s a good line, thought Fan Hyulick. He hadn’t been born to fight Tytania, but he had certainly been born to be chased by her and forced to flee. Since he had no choice but to be born an ant, and given his temperament and circumstances meant he could never become an elephant’s servant, he had no option but to refuse to be crushed and fight back. Fan Hyulick’s mind began to race.

As long as Zarlisch Tytania remained determined to capture him alive, there would be plenty of opportunities to strike back. The desire to capture him alive was their own convenience; there was absolutely no need for them to show any restraint. He had begun to seriously consider how to bring down the approaching giant elephant.

IV

“Damn thieving rats. I’ll chop their flesh to pieces and mix it into the desert sand.”

Zarlisch rose from his command seat. Although the ground was being enveloped by the twilight, the screen clearly displayed the grey-brown terrain.

“The new dish Your Grace has devised is sure to become a Bargash speciality,” said Lieutenant-Commander Kaits, one of his staff officers, in order to flatter him.

Zarlisch was fond of this sort of boisterous, or perhaps crude joke. He opened his mouth wide, framed by his thick beard, and roared with laughter. The staff officers around him laughed in response to their commander’s laughter, but the one man who did not join in was his aide-de-camp, Commander Granite.

If there was anyone aboard Zarlisch’s flagship, the Typhoon, who prioritised reason over emotion, it was surely this man, who had served as Zarlisch’s aide-de-camp for three years. Shaking his brown head streaked with a few grey strands, Granite dared to dampen his master’s enthusiasm.

“I say this precisely because Your Grave refers to them as thieving rats. Is it really necessary for Your Grace to take it upon yourself to subdue such scum? You are a pillar of Tytania; I implore you to exercise restraint.”

Although Zarlisch gave a perfunctory nod in response to Commander Granite’s advice, he had no intention of heeding it. A born warrior who never shied from a fight, he had, moreover, once had a prisoner snatched from his grasp. He could find no peace of mind until he had once again taken Fan Hyulick prisoner, this time until death, and wiped out the pesky vermin swarming around him.

He was by no means incompetent, but at this moment, at the very least, he cast aside any effort to control his emotions with reason and charged forward, driven solely by his instincts as a warrior. Had this been a battle against a vast enemy fleet in outer space, Zarlisch would undoubtedly have utilised his formidable strength to shatter the enemy forces and achieved a spectacular military feat. But now he was swinging a club intended to slay a giant elephant, attempting to exterminate a swarm of flitting mosquitoes.

Zarlisch was unaware that vast amounts of energy were spinning uselessly, their radiant heat turning into turbulence that was being reflected back at him, gradually evaporating his reason. His staff had already been infected by this frenzy, and one of them, staring intently at the screen, cried out in excitement. It was Lieutenant-Commander Kaits.

“Shall we deploy an ultra-low-frequency missile and bury them alive, Your Grace?”

“Don’t. It would prevent me from dragging that Fan Hyulick before my mother.”

With that single remark, he dismissed his staff’s proposal. The one who had offered this advice was his aide-de-camp, Commander Granite.

“Your Grace, surely it would suffice to simply report to your mother that Hyulick has been killed. Would it not be best to proceed as proposed?”

“Granite, do not interject for no reason!I have already made my decision.”

“M-my apologies.”

The reason Granite withdrew without protest was that he was becoming increasingly aware of his own lack of passion for his duties as an aide-de-camp. What he was engaged in was not an official military operation, nor even a private war waged by the Zarlisch family; it was nothing more than a cruel hunting game. Granite recognised this fact with bitterness.

He was a military specialist in his mid-thirties who had graduated from the Vardana Imperial Space Force Academy. After completing secondary school, he had joined the crew of a Tytanian carrack, where his valour in combat against space pirates had earned him the captain’s recognition; it was on the captain’s recommendation that he had secured a Tytanian scholarship and been admitted to the Academy. Although he was a loyal soldier who had served the Tytania clan for twenty years, he was no mindless organic robot. He could not bring himself to support Zarlisch’s actions, which appeared to reveal personal feelings and undermine the interests and honour of Tytania as a whole.

One thing lead to another. This man would always prioritise emotion over reason. While that might be acceptable for an individual, it was fatal for the head of a vast organisation. Should this man become the Clanner, Tytania would be unable to avoid the peril of dancing on a pile of eggs. That was the conclusion Commander Granite was forced to reach in his heart. Even so, for the universe’s greatest ruthless general, whose name was adorned with countless military exploits, to become entangled in such a trivial matter and lay his weaknesses bare!

“Your Grace, that Bargash fly that has been hovering about for some time has begun to buzz again. What should we do?”

The communications officer’s report, as befitted a subordinate of Zarlisch, was brimming with contempt for a weak enemy. They were a group in grey military uniforms who worshipped the power of Tytania in its most physical form.

Zarlisch shook his fine beard with an exasperated expression and, without so much as a moment’s thought, issued a casual order.

“Attack it.”

“Yes, but it is an official vessel of the Bargash government; if we attack it, it will be a hostile action against them…”

“I told you to attack it. We’ll sort things out with the Bargash government in due course. Do those fools really have the guts to go head-to-head with Tytania?”

Commander Granite opened his mouth to speak but closed it again, so there was no one left to stop his master. They were, after all, the most belligerent group in Tytania. No one took offence at being ordered to attack.

Even so, they did, of course, refrain from hitting their target with the very first shot. As two energy beams burst from the gun barrels and pierced the air at close range, the patrol vessel reacted like a small animal terrified of a thunderclap, tracing a chaotic wake across the dark sky as it fled at top speed.

The Tytanian fleet watched it depart with renewed derision, then turned their guns towards the ground. A dilapidated vessel lay crumpled upon the dark Tarhari Desert. Soon, those inside the cave witnessed several streams of fire converging on a single point.

“The Honest Old Man…” sighed Miranda, her ample bosom quivering.

The dilapidated vessel, abandoned on the ground, was being cremated, its yellow and orange flames illuminating a corner of the twilight. The wind carried the flickering of the flames and the sound of burning deep into the underground cavern. This was the funeral of the Honest Old Man.

Miranda placed a comforting hand on Captain Casimir’s arm as he stood there in silence. Though not quite to the same extent as the couple, the anti-Tytania ruffians who had made the Honest Old Man their home for several months gazed at the reflection of the flames with an uncharacteristic solemnity. Some muttered that it was a shame to waste such a vessel, even if it was a ramshackle old ship. There was no need to name them.

“Night has fallen before we expected, but we ought to be seeing some movement by now.”

Shaking off the grains of sentimentality or whatever emotional state lay close to it, Doctor Lee voiced a practical concern: The man he was attempting to elevate as the leader of the anti-Tytania faction had been silent for some time, deep in thought.

“It is a sorry state of affairs for someone who’s supposed to be vying with Tytania for supremacy in space to find himself being chased through an underground passage on a remote planet like this.”

As Doctor Lee muttered this, Miranda exhaled a large amount of carbon dioxide from her lungs.

“If we were just being chased, it wouldn’t be that bad. I wouldn’t mind dying out in space, but I’ve no desire to die underground.”

For everyone except Fan Hyulick, their current situation was but a hair’s breadth from certain death. Tytania had not a single milligram of reason or necessity to keep them alive. Even if they were to surrender, the only possible outcome would be to be lined up before Hyulick and shot.

“I have an idea.”

With those words, Fan Hyulick spoke up, and the group fixed their gaze on him, listening intently to his proposal. The sole exception was the ninety-something-year-old chief steward of the Honest Old Man, who, ignoring both the flames and the commotion, leaned against the rock face and continued his solo performance of snoring, rising and falling in pitch.

Duke Zarlisch’s intention to take Fan Hyulick prisoner and keeping him alive was not born of compassion. Nor was it out of any intention to subject him to a fair trial. Nor was it out of any magnanimity to win over and appoint such a valuable talent to his side. It was solely to have Fan Hyulick brutally murdered by his own mother’s hand.

Now that this was clear, Hyulick had absolutely no need to show any deference to his opponent. And, as if in response to his combative resolve, the situation on the ground and in the air was beginning to shift one more time that day.

Chapter 7 – Conflict

I

There was just one person who had foreseen this turn of events. No, that person was the very one who had orchestrated it. Before reaching this location, Doctor Lee sent a communication to the military headquarters on planet Bargash, informing them that the Tytania was about to engage in combat within Bargash territory. Of course, there must also have been reports from patrol vessels; as a result, over a hundred points of light appeared in the sky as the last glimmer of the setting sun faded.

“The Bargash Regular Army!”

The watch officer’s cry filled the bridge, and a low murmur rose amongst the crew of Zarlisch’s flagship, the Typhoon. It was neither fear nor even tension. With very few exceptions, Zarlisch’s men had absolute faith in their lord’s valour and their own military might.

“Well, I’m surprised. It seems the Bargash government is serious about taking us on.”

“Good grief, they really ought to be more honest with themselves. They shouldn’t go out of their way to provoke a tiger just for the sake of their petty pride.”

While the staff officers vied with one another in their derision, only two remained silent: Zarlisch himself and Commander Granite.

Before the wave of mockery had subsided, the communications officer spoke up. A message had come in from the Bargash military requesting negotiations.

“I am Rear-Admiral Turbil of the Bargash Regular Army. If His Grace Duke Zarlisch Tytania happens to be present, I request to speak with him.”

The Bargash commander who appeared on the communications screen stated this solemnly. He was a man in his sixties with streaks of white hair on either side of his head, and gave the impression of an elderly university professor rather than a military officer. Although Zarlisch’s expression blatantly conveyed his distaste for such roundabout discussions, he did not refuse and agreed to the request.

Admiral Turbil, in a polite manner, asked the Tytanians to withdraw.

“Bargash is an independent nation, however small it may be. We have always endeavoured to maintain goodwill and courtesy towards Tytania; I wonder if that has failed to be understood?”

“It is you, whom I would ask to show understanding. We have no intention of any hostilities against Bargash. Our sole aim is to apprehend a public enemy who disrupts the order of the cosmos. We are not forcing you to cooperate. We merely ask that you stand by and watch. Can you not even grant us that much?”

“If disrupting the cosmic order is a crime, then what Tytania is currently doing here must also be a crime. You are disrupting the legal order of our nation. Do you not agree, Duke Zarlisch?”

“It appears that there is no room for discussion.”

Spitting out these words with displeasure, Zarlisch signalled to the artillery officer. It was an order to fire a warning shot, and it was carried out immediately.

Over fifty gun barrels roared in unison. The decision to use projectiles rather than energy beams had been made specifically to maximise the intimidating effect of the noise. Hundreds of projectiles were fired into the ground directly beneath the stationary Bargash fleet, exploding and sending up a torrent of flame, smoke, debris and deafening roar.

The night, which should have been silent, was invaded by a deluge of light and sound, torn to countless fragments. The atmosphere, now a riot of primary colours, swirled as a heatwave, causing the Bargash fleet’s vessels to sway. Yet this did not prompt a retreat, nor did their formation break.

“The Bargash fleet shows no sign of retreat.”

“Very well, that’s enough. I must say, we’ve shown remarkable patience.”

Baring his strong, white teeth, Zarlisch laughed and rose from his command seat. A command, brimming with power, was issued.

“Ignore the Bargash army and the like. They are nothing but cowards who merely hurl accusations from afar. Pay them no mind and carry out your original orders.”

This bellicose order further galvanised almost all of his subordinates. There were even shouts of jubilation.

As about ten ships from the Tytania Fleet, carrying ground combat personnel, began to descend, the other vessels also lowered their altitude slightly and trained their guns on the Bargash Fleet. They intended to provide operational support for their sister ships. Naturally, this manoeuvre was clearly visible to the Bargash side as well.

“It appears that Tytania has removed the term ‘peaceful resolution’ from its dictionary,” muttered Admiral Turbil, looking disheartened.

“Those who consider themselves strong seem to take pride in breaking the laws through the use of force. It cannot be helped.”

The elderly admiral shook his head, then composed himself and addressed his subordinates.

“You must resign yourselves to the misfortune of having served under my command. As a military officer of Bargash, I cannot stand idly by while Bargash’s laws are broken by force of arms. We shall engage Tytania!”

A current of tension ran through the staff. Unlike the men under Zarlisch Tytania, they did not place unconditional faith in their own strength.

“But Admiral, Tytania has not yet opened fire on our forces. If we launch a pre-emptive strike, Bargash itself will be held responsible for starting the war in the following days.”

A young staff officer in his early thirties raised that objection, his face pale. Meeting the old admiral’s gaze, he pressed his argument further.

“Moreover, this man named Fan Hyulick, who is being pursued by Tytania, is not even a citizen of Bargash. To plunge the nation into civil strife for the sake of a mere foreigner is, with all due respect, the height of overstepping one’s authority; I would ask you to exercise restraint.”

“Well said, Lieutenant-Commander Irk.”

Rear-Admiral Turbil did not grow angry; on the contrary, he praised his subordinate. The old admiral believed that the existence of those who opposed the decision to go to war was a sign of the organisation’s soundness. This might suggest that Turbil’s way of thinking was not that of a typical military man.

Be that as it may, neither Turbil nor Irk had the leisure to expound on their views any further. The screen emitted a white light, and a shock-wave of unprecedented magnitude shook the fleet. A Bargash destroyer, which had approached in an attempt to disrupt Tytania’s descent operation, had collided with a Tytania destroyer that had moved out into its path; upon witnessing this, another Tytanian vessel had finally opened fire.

Thus, hostilities finally broke out between the Tytania clan and the Bargash government. This occurred in October SY 446, and it marked the first instance of armed conflict between these two sides in history.

It cannot be said that sparks of regret did not flicker deep within Zarlisch Tytania’s thick chest. Yet that flame burned out in less than a half-instant, replaced by a seething explosion of defiant victory and a thirst for destruction. For him, the Bargash government forces were no longer mere obstructions, but full-fledged enemies.

“Let our ground forces slaughter those vermin and capture Fan Hyulick. Command is entrusted to Captain Atlasov. As for the fleet…”

Zarlisch’s figure seemed as though his fierce spirit were rising like a heat haze. Even if the enemy were a hare, to strike it with all one’s might is surely the mark of a lion.

“The fleet will annihilate those presumptuous fools from Bargash head-on. Commodore Salamanca’s group is to climb to cut off their escape route upwards. Commodore Veichter’s group is to advance clockwise and launch a flanking attack. Thereafter, upon receiving your orders, you shall proceed to engage each enemy vessel individually.”

The fact that he was able to issue such a complex set of operational orders in such a short space of time meant that, as a combat commander, Zarlisch was far from mediocre. Commander Granite could not help but acknowledge this.

Following Zarlisch’s orders, the Tytanian fleet began to act as if it were a single organism with a unified nervous system. To be precise, the Tytanian fleet numbered 220 vessels, vastly outnumbering the Bargash fleet’s 160. For Zarlisch, accustomed to commanding large armies, this was a force so small that counting them would have been a trivial task; nevertheless, it was a numerical advantage over the enemy, allowing him to direct the operation with ease.

Meanwhile, the Bargash fleet had no choice but to engage the enemy, gripped by dread. The Tytania fleet’s main force held the Bargash fleet’s front, while extending one flank upwards and the other to the left in an attempt to encircle them.

The countermeasure Admiral Turbil devised on the spot was to retreat while fighting. This was his only option, and an extremely dangerous one at that. There were countless examples where a tactical retreat had led directly to a full-blown rout. However, Admiral Turbil appeared to have complete control over his forces; he skilfully countered the Tytanian manoeuvres to maintain the distance between the two sides, demonstrating exquisite timing in his retreat and return fire, thereby preventing the encirclement from being completed.

The tactical manoeuvring between the two sides continued for about half an hour, but it was enough to test Zarlisch’s patience. He ordered his direct command units to advance rapidly. The plan was to descend and rain fire upon the enemy fleet from a low angle of fire, then coordinate with Commodore Salamanca’s forces who were moving upwards to pincer the enemy from above and below. While not necessarily a flawed tactic, this order led to fateful consequences.

Zarlisch Tytania paid no heed to the past of the adversary he was pursuing. He took no interest in such trivialities as what Fan Hyulick had been doing before he became Tytania’s public enemy. Consequently, he overlooked the following entry in Fan’s service record: “Former artillery officer”.

It was because this artillery specialist had devised and executed artillery tactics that defied conventional wisdom that Duke Ariabert Tytania, who was neither a mediocre nor a foolish commander, was defeated by Fan Hyulick. Zarlisch had forgotten the lesson taught just a few months earlier. Or rather, it would be more accurate to say that he had never taken it seriously in the first place.

Just as Zarlisch, leading a fleet of forty escort vessels, was gliding at low altitude to launch an attack from directly beneath the Bargash fleet, a violent shock rocked his flagship. Desert sand and debris spewed upwards, and a massive fork of flame pierced the ship’s hull.

“…In the sand!”

As fragments of a scream pierced his ears, Zarlisch realised the truth. The pirates’ vessels had been lurking in the sand and had opened fire from below just as the Tytania fleet was passing at low altitude. One of the pirates’ ships had been abandoned on the sand, and Zarlisch had ordered it destroyed as a show of force. This, in short, was the end of the ‘Honest Old Man’, but from Tytania’s perspective, they should have been suspicious that there was only a single ship of theirs. No, there were those who did harbour suspicions, but the Bargash Fleet arrived at that very moment, and they were forced to prioritise dealing with them.

A number of factors had intertwined like fine threads to weave the current situation; had either Fan Hyulick or Doctor Lee been present alone, such an ingenious stratagem would never have come to fruition.

“Engine room damaged!”

The voice over the comms was drowned out by the roar of explosions, while alarms warning of danger assaulted their ears with a shrill, hysterical wail.

A barrage of fire from the Bargash forces rained down upon Zarlisch’s flagship, the Typhoon. Concentrating fire on the enemy flagship was a natural tactical move. Fireballs of varying sizes exploded in several places on the hull, and the metal and ceramic armour peeled away like a thin film.

“What a disgrace!”

Zarlisch gritted his teeth. The bridge’s floor and walls trembled as if in a fever, while the alarms rang out, tearing at his nerves. It was a dramatic turn of events that he could not have imagined even a minute ago.

The walls were bursting and spewing out tongues of bluish-white sparks as the power circuits triggered a chain reaction of explosions. The Tytania Fleet held its breath as it watched the flagship, reeling in the dark sky, descend while emitting an ominous red and blue glow.

“The flagship! Lord Zarlisch!”

As a scream rippled through the Tytanian communications network, the flame-spewing flagship Typhoon lost its ability to levitate; deprived of control over its speed and balance, it had been reduced to a metal drunkard.

“Land it!” roared Zarlisch. There could be no other order. Since the atmosphere of the planet Bargash could not support the ship’s hull, it had to be supported by the crust itself.

More akin to a sinking than a descent, the flagship Typhoon approached the surface helplessly, its surroundings filled with bursts of energy. The Bargash Fleet targeted the flagship, while the Tytania Fleet attempted to hinder the descent, concentrating their fire on the confined airspace. The atmosphere had turned into a hot, murky soup of energy, on the verge of boiling over. Amidst the sandstorm and scorching winds, the Typhoon descended, its hull writhing in agony as it was tossed about, until it finally came to rest.

Scattering vast quantities of sand and a wisp of smoke into the heart of the night, Zarlisch’s flagship crashed to the ground. Had the shock-absorption system not been activated, the majority of the crew would have perished at that very moment. Yet survival came at the price of agony. Amidst the screams and groans of pain that assaulted their ears, Zarlisch’s command, still brimming with authority, thundered out, overwhelming those around him.

“Evacuate urgently! It’s going to explode!”

A gash across his forehead had torn through the thin skin, and the flow of blood stained half the giant’s face. The suffocating smoke overwhelmed the ventilation system’s capacity, assaulting the crew’s lungs and airways. The sound of violent coughing mingled with the screams, becoming part of the frenzied cacophony of chaos. From the three emergency exits in the hull, figures in grey military uniforms poured out one after another.

Zarlisch surely deserved the admiration of all. Despite being wounded himself, he had rescued two of his men. Carrying one on his left shoulder and gripping the other by the belt, the imposing man with the magnificent beard strode purposefully towards the exit. That sight instilled in his men a courage filled with almost religious elation. Indeed, just before the evacuation, the signals officer relayed the following message to the entire force:

“Lord Zarlisch is alive and well. Therefore, Tytania stands firm. To my comrades, I say: do not lose heart.”

As emotion overpowered reason, an unexpected reaction ensued. While the Tytanian forces sought to rescue Zarlisch, the Bargash forces, upon learning that their enemy commander was still alive, moved towards the surface in an attempt to eliminate him.

The Tytanian fleet had brought this disadvantage upon itself. As they attempted to descend, enemy fire concentrated on them from above. Explosions and smoke spread overhead as Zarlisch and his men began to run across the ground, and a rain of fire and shrapnel rained down upon them.

The Bargash forces capitalised on their momentum. It had been a battle with little hope of victory. However, the fact that Zarlisch had been rendered incapable of commanding sent them into a state of utter frenzy. They had now cast their tactical retreat far into the past; showering the enemy with fierce artillery and gunfire to heighten their confusion, they sent one ship after another up in flames.

“Your Grace! Admiral! If it appears that we have colluded with the anti-Tytania faction, it will put us at a disadvantage later on. Please hold off on the attack,” advised Lieutenant-Commander Irk.

In response, the elderly admiral, who resembled a university professor, did not say, “Oh, well said”. Glancing over his shoulder at the staff officer who was about to leave, he bellowed:

“Enough you little coward! Preaching caution at a time like this is of no use whatsoever. We must launch a resolute, all-out attack. Charge! Charge!”

It was as though the university professor had suddenly transformed into a pirate chieftain. Ignoring Lieutenant-Commander Irk, who stood rooted to the spot, speechless, Rear-Admiral Turbil slammed his cap onto the floor and let out a frenzied cry.

“Come on, take out the cruiser at two o’clock! Can’t you see how flustered they are? I’m telling you to concentrate your fire on the main turret!”

“…Goodness, so this is his true nature? I always thought of him as a dignified old gentleman, but it seems he’s actually a hot-blooded war veteran.”

Shaking his head in disbelief, Lieutenant-Commander Irk uncrossed his arms and, with an expression that suggested he had cast all reason to the wind, roared:

“In that case, in for a penny, in for a pound. Kill them! Don’t let a single one of those Tytania dogs return alive!”

Now that the most cautious among them had changed his stance, there was no one left to rein in the Bargash Army’s frenzy. They charged at the enemy with the ferocity of enraged herbivores.

Zarlisch was indeed the god of war and victory. The moment his flagship withdrew from the battlefield, the Tytanian fleet lost all confidence in victory. Should they continue the battle and settle the outcome with the Bargash army? Or should they rescue their lord, who had lost his flagship? For better or worse, the entire army had relied entirely on Zarlisch’s personal character and ability; their morale was shattered, and they found it difficult even to stand.

Zarlisch was an absolute dictator within his army who recognised no second-in-command, either in terms of ability or within the institutional structure. There was no one to take overall command in Zarlisch’s stead, and the fact that the Tytanian military’s chain of command was extremely archaic was laid bare at this moment of crisis.

“What a bunch of good-for-nothings. Is this not precisely the moment when you should demonstrate your true worth as soldiers?”

Just as Zarlisch let out a cry of fury, Captain Atlasov’s ground forces, who had already completed their descent, joined him. They attempted to protect Zarlisch by laying down a barrage of fire to counter the aerial strafing, but there was only so much they could do.

“Your Grace, please take cover in the cave. If you remain on the ground, you will be swept by fire from the Bargash Army!” shouted Commander Granite.

Zarlisch nodded, his fine beard swaying. It was clear that Fan Hyulick and his band were hiding inside the cave, but there was no way to avoid being swept by fire from the air other than to enter the cave.

Even if it came to a fight, Zarlisch could not imagine himself being defeated. The rebels were few in numbers to begin with, and the ground combat personnel surrounding him alone should have been enough to subdue them.

II

Never in the history of Bargash had such an obscure underground cavern welcomed so many people. Unfortunately, these were guests who were entirely devoid of friendship or courtesy.

The army that had invaded the underground cavern under the command of Duke Zarlisch Tytania numbered eight hundred men, two and a half times the size of the defending force. Moreover, the defenders included a man in his nineties; they stood no chance of resisting a head-on assault. Amid sporadic gunfire, they were forced to retreat every minute.

For their part, the Tytanians refrained from using heavy weapons or explosives, mindful of the risk of cave-ins; however, it appeared they would be able to corner and subdue the enemy deep within the underground cavern using only light weapons. After having a medic administer first aid to a wound on his forehead, Zarlisch, in true form, took his place at the head of his troops and advanced deeper into the cavern.

The advance of one side and the retreat of the other continued for some thirty minutes, punctuated by gunfire. However, a strange turn of events occurred after the retreating enemy had climbed to higher ground within our underground cavern and withdrawn their makeshift plastic bridge. Tytania’s troops were now forced to advance through a low-lying hollow within the cavern and climb the cliff face, but their pace suddenly slowed. Worse still, their formation began to break down, and even to Hyulick’s eyes, it was clear that their previously unified order was falling apart.

“What on earth is going on with them?”

“Hypoxia,” replied the voice of the woman wearing a sun visor.

“A large amount of highly concentrated carbon dioxide has accumulated at the bottom of that cave. It’s not uncommon in enclosed caves. Although we have made various artificial alterations to it ourselves, of course.”

“So it’s the giant dragon’s appendix, then.”

The woman let out a short chuckle, seemingly amused by Fan Hyulick’s turn of phrase.

“It was our last stronghold. The fact that the one who fell into our trap is Zarlisch Tytania is a stroke of luck beyond our wildest dreams. I suppose this means we’re in for a desperate counterattack now, isn’t it?”

The woman’s hand gripped her heat rifle. Hyulick also seized the rifle assigned to him; just as they were about to exchange a few whispered instructions and press forward, he realised something.

“I’ve forgotten something important. There’s one thing I’d like to ask you while we’re at it.”

“What?”

“I haven’t heard your name yet.”

In the dim darkness of the cave, the woman blinked.

“If you were a first-class womaniser, you’d make a more clever pass.”

“Well, I’m not first-class. I don’t even have the sense to choose the right time and place. You can see that for yourself, can’t you?”

“I’d rather not.”

Suppressing her laughter, the woman raised her voice.

“So I won’t tell you now. Once we’ve left this underground cave and can walk proudly beneath the open sky, I’ll let you call me by my name.”

Leaving those words behind, the woman began to move forward, almost crawling. Without a word, Hyulick followed suit. About ten paces away, a voice rang out.

“Capture Lord Zarlisch! He’s a valuable hostage. Don’t kill him.”

What a hideous battle this had turned into. There must surely be a direct passage to purgatory beneath this planet. As he thought this, Fan Hyulick, as a direct participant in the events; had clearly lost his grip on reality. It wasn’t that he was experiencing symptoms of claustrophobia, but while underground, his powers of thought and emotion felt as though they were veiled by a membrane, leaving him unsteady.

“I see. It seems I really am a man of the cosmos after all.”

It was rather foolish to only realise this now, but perhaps it was better than not realising it at all. He realised he should leave the underground as soon as possible and throw himself into outer space. But that would have to wait until he had dealt with Tytania’s underground forces.

The firefight had resumed. The Tytania forces were at a geographical disadvantage, and their ability to resist was severely diminished by acute hypoxia. They were little more than sitting ducks, mowed down as they huddled at the bottom of the hollow.

After about ten minutes of fierce fire, gunfire and a raging storm, the return fire from the bottom of the carbon dioxide well had all but ceased. Zarlisch was still alive. Aiming for him, anti-Tytania soldiers, driven by a thirst for glory, scaled the cliff and surged forward.

“You thieving rats!”

The lion in human form roared, unleashing a burst of fury and brute strength. Three of Doctor Lee’s men were sent flying as if swept up by an explosion. One was slapped across the cheek, another kicked in the stomach, and a third struck in the collarbone with an elbow; all three fell in different directions.

It seemed that not even hypoxia could dampen this man’s vigour and fighting spirit. The fourth man to lunge at him ducked to avoid the blow and, in the same motion, swept Zarlisch’s knee with the butt of his heat-ray rifle. But the colossal figure merely wavered slightly before kicking Lieutenant Pagès to the ground. Without so much as a glance at Pagès, Zarlisch turned his attention to the fifth man.

The fifth man, that is, the colossal figure of Walenkov, proved to be the perfect target for Zarlisch. An onlooker might have thought he would do well to make a swift escape, but Zarlisch’s pride would not allow it; moreover, his judgement was likely impaired by hypoxia.

“Show a bit of appreciation. A Duke of Tytania is deigning to grapple with a lowly rat-thief such as yourself. Consider it a once-in-a-lifetime honour.”

“I wasn’t particularly looking forward to grappling anyone,” muttered Walenkov, looking annoyed.

He forcefully fended off Zarlisch’s grasping arm. He managed to fend him off twice, but on the third attempt, he was seized.

Zarlisch clamped his hands around Walenkov’s collar, crossing his wrists to apply a powerful stranglehold. Walenkov’s face flushed rapidly, and he clenched his fists, pounding Zarlisch’s stomach repeatedly. After half a dozen heavy blows landed on the same spot, Zarlisch’s grip finally loosened, perhaps he’d had enough, and Walenkov was able to catch his breath. However, as the air he inhaled was predominantly carbon dioxide, he felt dizzy and staggered.

Gasping for breath, Zarlisch crouched down, hoisted a stone the size of a child’s head, and attempted to smash it into Walenkov’s face. Walenkov swam through a pool of heavy, stagnant air and fell to his knees. The fighters’ movements lacked speed, lending the scene a touch of the comic, yet both were fighting for their lives.

It was a foolish dilemma. Either Duke Zarlisch Tytania or Lieutenant Walenkov would have to meet a senseless death. In that case, as a man far from saintly, Hyulick had no choice but to prioritise his friend’s life and fate.

“Don’t move, Lord Zarlisch! Put down the rock and raise your hands!”

Standing on the cliff top, looking straight down into the hollow below, Hyulick raised his thermal rifle. In the very next instant, something unbelievable happened. Just as Zarlisch’s eyes seemed to emit an eerie glow, a rock flew through the air and struck Hyulick at his feet. Hyulick was thrown into a state of utter panic, both mentally and physically; he lost his balance and tumbled down the steep slope of the cliff, swept along by a cascade of gravel. He struck every part of his body and found himself gasping for breath.

Just as he was finally managing to get to his feet, Zarlisch’s massive form loomed before him, his enormous hand gripping his collar. A growl filled with terrifying intensity delivered its verdict.

“You were, after all, destined to be killed by me. I shall now allow you to fulfil that destiny.”

“You clever boy, won’t your mummy tell you off if you don’t bring the big baddie back alive?”

It was impossible to have imagined beforehand just how much fury this single remark would unleash within Zarlisch’s colossal frame. In the blink of an eye, the Tytanian nobleman was transformed into a savage. Explosions of light shot from his eyes, and without a moment’s delay, his massive arm flashed into action.

A hard fist drove itself directly beneath Hyulick’s solar plexus. The young man with carrot-coloured hair was forced to endure excruciating pain in the name of defending freedom of speech.

He feared his stomach lining might have ruptured, but it had not come to that. However, the pain was mingled with a wave of nausea, and Fan Hyulick doubled over, coughing violently. With eyes literally bloodshot, no doubt from burst capillaries, Zarlisch watched his prisoner’s agony, laughed like a beast, and hurled him to the ground. With a sense of triumph, he shouted defiantly:

“Get up! I’ll keep beating you until you’re on the brink of death.”

Even at this stage, Zarlisch hadn’t given up on the idea of taking the prisoner back to his mother alive. This was not merely a matter of obsession; it was also accompanied by a practical calculation. His calculation was that, should a gun be pointed at him, he could use the prisoner as a human shield. It was this combination of brutality and strategic acumen that had made Zarlisch one of the most formidable ruthless generals of his time.

Not wanting to die while crouched on the ground, Hyulick struggled to get to his feet. Having fought in the thick carbon dioxide, a severe headache began to torment him.

Just as Hyulick finally managed to stand, Zarlisch was about to deliver another heavy blow when his entire body froze. A heat-ray rifle had appeared in Hyulick’s hand. It seemed like magic, but it was not. The woman in the sun visor had thrown the rifle from the top of the cliff into Hyulick’s hands with astonishing precision.

III

“Impossible…”

Fan Hyulick thought he heard Zarlisch groan. But was it actually a voice? It might have been a hallucination caused by a tiny sprite darting into his auditory field.

With his mouth half-open, Zarlisch’s expression frozen, he glared at Hyulick. No, to be precise, he was staring at the muzzle of the rifle in his enemy’s hand, which was now threatening him.

“Surrender, Duke Zarlisch!”

Hyulick issued his demand in a tone devoid of any personal flair. The moment he spoke the words, he realised his demand would not be accepted. Zarlisch, his eyes bloodshot as he continued to glare at Hyulick, stretched out his massive arm, intent on squeezing his throat, this time until he was dead.

Fan Hyulick pulled the trigger of his old-fashioned thermal rifle. The proud grey military uniform burst apart against the thick chest of Duke Zarlisch Tytania. Not confined to a single spot, five holes were pierced through the Tytanian nobleman’s massive torso in the blink of an eye.

It was not a deliberate act, but as the heat ray had been set to a low temperature, the wounds did not char; instead, they gushed forth as fountains of blood, staining the grey military uniform a crimson-black. The spatter also splattered onto the assailant’s own clothes, where the ruler’s noble blood painted bizarre patterns upon the rebel’s fabric. The sense of unreality intensified further when the blood-soaked giant stretched his powerful arm out almost horizontally and seized Hyulick by the collar.

Any ordinary person would long since have collapsed and ceased breathing. Yet in reality, thick fingers reeking of blood closed around Hyulick’s throat and began to squeeze. Hyulick’s finger remained on the trigger, and the muzzle pressed tightly against Zarlisch’s torso, continuing to fire deadly heat rays into his body.

His field of vision dimmed, and when it returned, Hyulick coughed softly and rubbed his sore throat. At his feet lay the corpse of the giant man who, mere seconds earlier, had been one of Tytania’s great nobles.

Dragging Walenkov and Pagès to their feet, and with the help of the others, Hyulick finally climbed out of the dangerous well of carbon dioxide. The woman in the sun visor handed him a water flask. As Hyulick, finally feeling human again, thanked her, she murmured:

“I never thought you’d kill Duke Zarlisch with your own hands…”

“I didn’t believe he was the sort of man who’d survive being captured. I’m not judging whether that’s right or wrong; it’s just that there are people like that, and I don’t have the capacity to change the way they live or think.”

Hyulick fell silent. He felt he had spoken too much in the presence of the dead. The woman stared at his face as she put the lid back on the water bottle.

“So Zarlisch Tytania is dead, huh?…”

Doctor Lee’s voice, as he confirmed the fact, reached Hyulick’s auditory nerves with a sound that was incredibly distant and impersonal.

Zarlisch could never have imagined he would meet such an end in a place like this. He must surely have believed that a more spectacular and heroic death awaited him, one more befitting him. One of the Four Dukes of Tytania, a man who prided himself on being the mightiest commander in the cosmos, had ended up lying dead on a remote planet, no less, beneath the barren wilderness. It was hard to imagine a more unwelcome way to die.

“If he’d been killed by an opponent weaker than himself, he’d surely want to come back as a ghost one day.”

Hyulick replied to Doctor Lee and stood up. He still felt tired and drained, but his headache had gone.

In one corner of the cave, a group of captured Tytanian soldiers in uniform stood huddled together. From among the two hundred or so men, Hyulick and Doctor Lee selected a figure who appeared to be an officer and asked his name.

“I’m Commander Granite. I served as Lord Zarlisch’s aide-de-camp.”

As he spoke in the past tense, a shadow of anguish silently swept across the officer’s face. Hyulick and Doctor Lee exchanged glances and conferred briefly.

Doctor Lee addressed the late lord’s aide-de-camp.

“We shall hand over your master’s remains. It would be fitting for them to be transported to your headquarters and given a proper burial.”

“Are you asking me to bring shame upon myself and live?”

“To live is, in itself, to heap shame upon oneself. If you believe it is less shameful to leave your master’s remains abandoned in a place like this, then do as you please. Flee or take your own life.”

Having dismissed him, Doctor Lee ordered the prisoners to stand up. They simply did not have the financial means to support them. Having escorted the prisoners who were crushed by a sense of defeat and now disarmed to the entrance of the underground cavern, Doctor Lee asked Hyulick:

“Do you think the Bargash government is now fully on our side?”

“If we go by the logic that the enemy of my enemy is my friend…”

Before he could finish, Fan Hyulick realised a new danger was looming. If the Bargash government were to attempt to make up for its military failure through diplomacy, there would be only one option: to crush Hyulick and his men with their own hands. There was no other way to appease Tytania’s wrath.

Hyulick and his men had dragged the Bargash government into the conflict with Tytania, but this might well result in them gaining more enemies rather than allies. That said, having already made Tytania their enemy, even if their number of foes increased, they had long since exceeded their capacity to cope. Worrying about it was nothing but a waste of mental energy.

By this time, the outcome of the aerial battle had also been decided. The Tytanian fleet had begun a disgraceful rout. Having exposed the weakness of a private militia that relied on individual prowess, and having been reduced to half their numbers, the Tytanians had fled. The night air was thick with the stench of death, and on the ground, the wreckage of downed vessels still blazed with orange flames.

Floating in the night as the enemy vanished, Rear-Admiral Turbil and Lieutenant-Commander Irk exchanged stunned glances.

“We’ve done it.”

“Yeah, we’ve gone and done it.”

The two looked at one another and let out a deep sigh in unison. With that, the rationality that had been banished from their minds returned, and Lieutenant-Commander Irk, acting on his commander’s instructions, ordered all ships to land and begin assessing the damage.

“Does this mean we’re heading for all-out war with Tytania?”

“Probably. If so, I’ll be a shining example of an A-class war criminal. I suppose I’d better write my will while I still can.”

“Don’t be so pessimistic.”

Lieutenant-Commander Irk vigorously brushed back the fringe that was clinging to his sweat-drenched forehead.

“At this point, we have no choice but to rally not only the Bargash government but all anti-Tytania factions across the universe to face Tytania in a decisive battle. Otherwise, all that awaits us is execution or a flight that will end in death. Shall we take a gamble on whether we can overthrow Tytania?”

“You’re quite the radical yourself, aren’t you?” remarked the exasperated old admiral.

Having cast his own concerns aside, the aide-de-camp shrugged with a wry smile.

“I’ve already eaten the plate. At this rate, I’ll have no choice but to gnaw on the table next.”

He made no attempt to comment on the taste or nutritional value of the table.

Chapter 8 – The Three Remaining Cards

I

The news of Zarlisch Tytania’s untimely demise sent enormous and profound shock-waves through Uraniborg. Since the time of the first lord Neville, Tytania’s rule had been subject to ceaseless military challenges, and there had been numerous instances in the past where the heads of the Five Families had fallen in battle.

Consequently, Zarlisch’s untimely death was by no means an unprecedented tragedy; yet there were indeed those who felt that, since the accession of His Highness Ajman, the current Landless Clanner, the authority of Tytania that had remained unshakeable until the previous year, was beginning to waver.

“First the younger brother, now the elder. What an ill-fated lineage.”

Some sighed in this manner. However, rather than indulging in sentimentality, many were discussing future political and military developments. Both within and outside Tytania.

“Even so, isn’t Tytania’s military organisation rather fragile? To lose to the Bargash army of all people, the very moment they lost their commander…”

“No, perhaps the true strength of Tytania’s Army is actually only of that calibre. Come to think of it, wasn’t it only about half a year ago that Duke Ariabert suffered defeat at the Battle of Cerberus?”

“So Tytania is by no means invincible, then?”

“Perhaps we have simply been intimidated by Tytania’s false image. There have been far too many instances of this lately.”

“It might be a sign that a crack is forming in the mirror. If that’s the case, I’m looking forward to seeing how Bargash plays its hand…”

Amongst those who harboured resentment or bitterness towards Tytania, such whispers were being exchanged with growing fervour. They shared the experience of having been let down time and again after raising their hopes. It would be unthinkable to destroy themselves in an attempt to shatter an illusion. Initially, they would likely confine themselves to observing from the sidelines.

It was said that the Dowager Duchess of Tytania, Teresa, who had lost both her sons Zarlisch and Arses within a short space of time, has been driven to madness. Although she presumably did not love Zarlisch as much as she did Arses, perhaps the instinctive bond between mother and child is ultimately unbreakable. While this naturally aroused sympathy, many had frowned upon the fact that the widow’s frenzy has been directed at her retainers and ladies-in-waiting, with one maid sustaining serious injuries after having a vase smashed into her face.

“Surely we cannot fail to invite his mother to the funeral, but if she were to display such wild behaviour, it would tarnish the prestige of Tytania. How will His Clanner Highness handle this?…”

The eyes of those loyal to Tytania were fixed upon the despot, Ajman. Come what may, the Clanner set the overarching policy, and others must abide by it. Ajman, for his part, maintained public silence for twenty-four hours after announcing Zarlisch’s sudden death.

Although Zarlisch’s disappearance should have been a tragedy, the first emotion Clanner Ajman felt was bitter anger. That, however, did not last long; it was replaced by cold calculation and reason. The dead cannot be brought back to life. It was impossible to revive Zarlisch. Yet his death had to be exploited to its fullest possible extent so that Tytania may secure the greatest political advantage.

To put it bluntly, Zarlisch’s life as an individual was not worth sparing. Though he was an unparalleled military commander, his seat on the Tytanian leadership could certainly be filled by another. Duke Ajman, the military strategist, and Duke Jouslain, the political tactician, were both still alive and well; and, above all, Clanner Ajman himself stood unshakeable. Tytania remained the greatest power bloc in the universe, and Zarlisch’s death was nothing more than a minor sunspot.

Meanwhile, Viscount Balamy Tytania has been posted to the planet Tyron.

For Balamy, having to leave Uraniborg at such a critical juncture must surely have been a source of deep regret. Moreover, this was the result of a punishment, in the form of joint punishment with the Duke Idris’ unworthy younger brother, that could almost be described as exile.

Planet Tyron to which Balamy had been banished, was home to one of the Interstellar City League’s four major trading posts; economic activity there was thriving, and it was by no means a barren wasteland. Furthermore, the planet was not necessarily well-disposed towards the Interstellar City League; as a reaction to this, it tended to lean more towards Tytania. As a counsellor at the Tytanian delegation and a holder of a peerage, he would undoubtedly be treated as a man of distinction. Although he was fully aware of these circumstances, Balamy could not shake the feeling that he had been exiled to a foreign land.

Only two people saw Balamy off at Uraniborg’s second spaceport. Duke Jouslain Tytania and Princess Lydia of the Kingdom of Elbing. The lively ten-year-old princess seemed somewhat less boisterous than usual that day. She felt a child’s sense of responsibility.

“Bar, I’ve done a terrible thing. You saved me from that brute, and yet things have turned out like this…”

“No, please don’t worry about it, Your Highness. I’ve never liked that Radmoth guy anyway. I rather think I should have given him a proper thrashing.”

It was clear from the string of uninspired lines that Balamy did not mean what he was saying. However, the fact that he was taking care not to burden Princess Lydia’s heart suggested that the eighteen-year-old Balamy might have developed a certain maturity of character compared to before. Jouslain thought this must be a welcome change for his younger cousin, and felt renewed admiration for Princess Lydia’s refreshing influence on his character.

“Viscount Balamy, I shall summon you back to Uraniborg as soon as possible. But be sure not to rush things.”

Jouslain’s own farewell was not particularly original either. In fact, he believed that as long as Balamy did not act hastily, there would be plenty of opportunities for him to regain the ground he had unjustly lost.

In response to the words of his superior and elder cousin, Balamy made no attempt to reply at length and merely said, “Very well, I shall be off,” saluted, and turned on his heel to walk towards the boarding ramp of the transport ship.

Watching his receding figure, Princess Lydia spoke thoughtfully.

“Might my presence be a burden to you, Duke Jouslain? Bar has gone far away, and it is all my fault.”

It was no pleasure for Jouslain to see this usually vivacious princess looking so dejected. He placed his hand on Princess Lydia’s shoulder and patted it gently.

“Princess, do not worry needlessly. If a beauty frets too much, she will age prematurely.”

It was a poor joke.

“I shall certainly summon Viscount Balamy back before long. After all, he confronted that insolent man in order to rescue you. If you say you are to blame, it would make Balamy’s struggle unjust.”

“I see. I understand.”

The astute Princess Lydia seemed to find Jouslain’s reasoning convincing. Seeming to have regained some of her spirits, Princess Lydia’s curiosity was reawakened, and she posed a question to Jouslain.

“But, given what has happened, wouldn’t it cause you some trouble, Lord Jouslain, if Lord Idris were to become the next Clanner?”

“Well…”

Jouslain was evasive. It was a question he could not answer lightly.

Strictly speaking, this was not a question but Princess Lydia’s observation; yet the fact that even a child, however perceptive she might be, held such a view surely proved that, in the eyes of adults, the discord between Jouslain and Idris was glaringly obvious. This was not a welcome realisation for Jouslain. While Ariabert’s relationship with Idris was by no means friendly, the fact that rumours of discord between them had never circulated left Jouslain with no choice but to offer a wry smile, thinking, “I suppose that means I lack personal virtue”.

“Princess Lydia, do you dislike Lord Idris?”

Jouslain posed this somewhat unfair counter-question. Princess Lydia’s reply was frank and clear:

“I do not like him.”

Having asserted this emphatically, Princess Lydia seemed to pause for a moment’s thought.

“I do not like him, but that is not Lord Idris’ fault; it is simply that I dislike him of my own accord. So, well, it may not be fair. But in any case, Lord Jouslain, I prefer you and Bar.”

“I am most honoured,” replied Jouslain with a serious expression.

II

“I had expected someone to be absent eventually, but I never thought the first one would be Lord Zarlisch.”

The Clanner’s voice resonated with a heavy tone. Five chairs stood at the table in the Supreme Council Chamber, one of which remained empty. Without speaking any further about the occupant of that empty seat, the Clanner changed the subject.

“The government of Bargash has requested negotiations. It is only natural that they wish to avoid all-out war with Tytania, but I would like to hear your opinions on this matter.”

“It is a little too late for that, isn’t it?” immediately replied Idris.

True to form for this spirited young man, his tone was relentless and sharp. Jouslain thought to himself that his attitude, completely dismissive of the Radmoth incident, remained as unchanging as ever.

Idris must be rejoicing inwardly, for one of the thick walls standing between him and the title of Clanner had been removed. Without getting his own hands dirty, Idris had managed to secure the sweet fruit of victory.

As he thought about this, Jouslain was overcome by a sense of self-loathing. While his insight into Idris’ psychology was likely correct, the very act of forming such an insight could hardly be described as a noble mental process.

“Lord Idris, do you wish to commence hostilities immediately?”

“Indeed.”

Idris’ argument was clear. He pointed out that this was a war of vengeance for Duke Zarlisch, and that the chances of victory would be high if they struck swiftly while the Bargash government was in disarray and had not yet completed its preparations for war. He argued that hostilities should commence as soon as possible.

Having heard Idris’ views, Clanner Ajman then sought Ariabert’s opinion. While Ariabert’s view was also in favour of going to war, it could be said that it was more cautious than Idris’.

“I believe that, in order to contain the unfriendly actions of Bargash within its own borders and prevent them from spreading to other nations, we cannot refrain from the use of force on this occasion. Should Your Clanner Highness issue the order, I, Ariabert, shall immediately draw up a draft war plan.”

“Hmm. Do you believe that there is no room for a non-military response?”

“No, I believe it will depend on how Bargash responds, but I think it would be wise, at the very least, to demonstrate our resolve not to shy away from the use of force.”

“How roundabout…!”

Idris spat out these words blatantly, and Ariabert reflexively shot him a sharp glance. At that delicate moment, Jouslain spoke up. His opinion was even more cautious than Ariabert’s, though this was by no means synonymous with advocating unconditional peace.

“I suggest we begin by making a formal request to the Bargash government. We should demand that they arrest Fan Hyulick and his followers and hand them over to us.”

“Do you think the Bargash government will agree to that demand?”

“If they do not, it will simply lead to all-out war. The Bargash government must do its utmost. Should they fail to do so, we may well use that as a casus belli.”

“I suspect they will simply try to play for time,” interjected Idris.

Ariabert’s calm voice replied:

“We only need to set a deadline. That will give us time to make our own preparations for war.”

He straightened his posture and bowed to Clanner Ajman.

“In that event, I would humbly request that command of the army be entrusted to me.”

The Clanner nodded. There was one further issue. A matter pertaining not to diplomacy, but to domestic affairs.

“Does Lord Zarlisch have a child who might succeed him?”

It was a serious issue. Legally speaking, Zarlisch was unmarried and therefore had no legitimate heir. One of the five families of Tytania was missing, and his seat was vacant. Someone would have to fill the vacancy. Zarlisch had many mistresses, and several illegitimate children were still alive. Even if one of them were to be recognised as heir, it would be unthinkable to entrust the highest authority in Tytania to a child. Should a regent be appointed until the heir came of age, or should the seat be left vacant?

Suddenly, Jouslain recalled Balamy’s late father, Marquis Estrade. Had he been alive, he would likely have taken a seat on the Tytania’s Supreme Council, if only temporarily.

Father and son were rather unlucky. Even if this was merely a matter of the present circumstances, Jouslain could not help but think so. The funeral of Marquis Estrade had been conducted with the utmost simplicity; Balamy himself, as the chief mourner, had been so preoccupied with the purge at the Vardana court that he had been unable to devote himself fully to organising the funeral. Although Marquis Estrade was posthumously awarded the title of fleet admiral, this was nothing more than a formality.

The Clanner ordered Ariabert to draw up plans for an all-out war against Bargash, and adjourned the meeting for the time being. As they left the conference room and walked side by side down the corridor, Ariabert spoke quietly to Jouslain:

“Until just the other day, I could never have imagined that Lord Zarlisch’s massive figure would never appear before us again. Human life is truly fleeting.”

“There is nothing in this world that remains constant. The universe itself is destined to return to nothingness one day; human endeavours are hardly worth mentioning in comparison. Unless met with untimely death, we simply grow old and frail.”

Jouslain’s remark gave Ariabert a slight start.

“So, Lord Jouslain, do you believe it inevitable that Tytania will fall?”

“No, that is not what I mean, Lord Ariabert. If Tytania’s current state is the result of human endeavour, then so too are the conspiracies and actions of the anti-Tytania faction. At the very least, I do not believe Tytania need to lose to an opponent inferior to her in strength.”

Jouslain regretted his rashness. Had Idris heard his remarks, he would undoubtedly have denounced them as defeatist sympathies with the enemy that were unbecoming of a Tytanian noble. Although Ariabert was a man of integrity, and it would be rash to take that for granted and lose one’s caution.

Jouslain changed the subject.

“Duke Ariabert, if you were to lead your army into battle against Bargash, what are the prospects?”

“I believe I could win the battle itself. The problem is whether we can maintain the gains of that victory.”

The question was: having won the battle and forced the Bargash government to swear an alliance, what diplomatic benefits could be secured thereafter? The aim of the battle was not to destroy Bargash.

“Those who remain in Bargash will hardly be at ease either. Granite has been given a thankless task.”

Commander Granite, who had served as Duke Zarlisch’s aide-de-camp, had transported his lord’s body to the Tytania branch in Bargash and reported his death to Uraniborg. A petition has been submitted in which he humbly accepted the Dukes’ judgement and offered to serve his sentence for having failed to protect Duke Zarlisch’s safety as his aide-de-camp.

“How we treat Commander Granite will be a test of Tytania’s magnanimity. While it is only natural to hold him accountable, if the punishment is too severe, it will cause our staff to become timid. If they cease to offer advice for fear of punishment, it will not serve Tytania’s interests.”

On that point, Jouslain expressed his opinion clearly, and Ariabert supported him. Idris raised no objection, and so the Clanner issued an order for Granite to remain in Bargash for the time being to command the remnants of Zarlisch’s forces.

Should Tytania and Bargash actually plunge into all-out war, the Tytanian combat units under Granite’s command would find themselves in a rather delicate position. Tytania would have to utilise them as valuable assets in both its political and military strategies against Bargash. Both Ariabert and Jouslain were fully aware of this, and in that respect, they were by no means merely espousing a naive, lenient stance.

III

“Lord Idris, are you not considering using the Emperor for your own ends?”

Theodora Tytania, the woman who had only recently been formally promised the title of Countess, asked this question in Idris’ boudoir. Theodora was a guest in Idris’ bedchamber two nights a week. While they might well be the most ambitious couple in the universe, it did not mean that they were on the same wavelength.

Idris retorted mockingly:

“What do you mean?”

“To put pressure on the Emperor, corner him, and provoke him into hostile acts against Tytania. Then, on that pretext, you would depose him. Aren’t you considering this?”

Emperor Harsha VI was still only thirty-five years of age; should he be deposed, his six-year-old son would ascend the throne as a child emperor. Naturally, he would be unable to rule in person, and the office of regent, to whom full authority would be entrusted, would have to be established. Furthermore, it goes without saying that the person to assume the regency must be a member of the Tytania clan, and indeed, Idris, the Minister of Military Affairs, would be named as the most likely candidate.

Of course, Idris did not desire the office of regent for its own sake. Backed by the state apparatus and military organisation of the Vardana Empire, he sought to establish his position within Tytania and emerge victorious in the fierce competition for the next Clanner.

Ultimately, it would surely matter not if the positions of Supreme Commander of Tytania and Emperor of Vardana were both held by the same individual. Eight generations had passed since the founder Neville; it was a time when a complete fusion of substance and form might well be achieved.

However, Idris did not share his grand vision of the future with his new lover. He merely gave a cold, brief laugh and dismissed her.

“You impertinent woman.”

“Have I offended you?”

Theodora smiled. It was a radiant smile, yet it stirred a subtle sense of unease and displeasure in Idris. He could not help feeling as though she had read his innermost thoughts. Idris did not seek a bond of comradeship with women. He attached no greater significance to this affair with the woman who was to become a countess than that of simply carrying on a romantic liaison with her.

Theodora studied Idris’ expression; shifting her position on the bed, and uttered a bold request:

“Would you not be so kind as to arrange for me to inherit Lord Zarlisch’s title?”

The reply was not immediate. At least not in words. Idris’ expression as he stared back at Theodora, utterly dumbfounded, spoke volumes about his inner thoughts. For the first time, Idris had encountered someone whose ambition to rise in the world was even more intense than his own.

“What an astonishing woman. Have you not only just laid claim to the title of an count’s house? Would you rather be a duchess than a count, then?” finally said Idris, his words sharp and laced with anger. “Don’t get too big for your boots. The Dukes of Tytania are in a league of their own compared to other nobles. Even within the Tytania clan, a count is merely granted a share of glory and wealth. But a duke is something quite different.”

“I am well aware of that. The Tytania clan rules the universe, and the Five Families rule that clan. But surely, even the Five Families are not set in stone for all eternity?”

“Hey…”

“Lord Idris, had Lord Zarlisch still been alive, he would surely have stood in the way of your grand ambitions. But if it were me…”

Waving his hand brusquely, Idris silenced his mistress’ eloquence.

“If you want to become a duchess that badly, ask His Clanner Highness. No matter how much of a good word I put in for you, it will ultimately rest with the Clanner alone.”

“With His Clanner Highness…”

“His Highness may seem cold and stern, but he’s actually quite keen on the pleasures of the flesh. If you’re willing, he’ll welcome you into his concubine’s quarters. They’re far more spacious and luxurious than my own bedroom.”

With a deliberately loud laugh, Idris ordered Theodora to get dressed and leave. She complied, but Idris, left behind, remained reclining on the bed which had now doubled in size, and, with a look of unease, muttered as he gazed up at the ceiling:

“I can’t imagine that His Clanner Highness would take that woman’s nonsense seriously, though…”

A shadow of mild confusion and suspicion fell across Idris’ handsome face. What he had said to Theodora was, of course, not what he truly meant. It was merely a parting shot, intended to show her that her ambition was impossible. Yet Theodora’s ambition seemed to have been spurred on by Idris’ single remark, as if it had been given a new direction.

If Theodora were to act as Idris had suggested, and succeed in currying favour with Clanner Ajman to reap the fruits of her ambition, Idris would have effectively created a powerful rival through his own assistance. Repeatedly dismissing the thought with “Surely not”, Idris could not help but click his tongue at his own blunder: taking on an unnecessary worry at such a critical juncture.

IV

On the 5^th of November, Corvin, the Minister of Foreign Affairs of the Bargash Government, visited Uraniborg accompanied by Count Elman Tytania. He was a middle-aged man who appeared utterly unremarkable; he seemed to have been struck by terror from the moment he arrived at Uraniborg, and could not conceal his pallid face and trembling hands. In a pitiful display, he took out a handkerchief to wipe away the cold sweat, only to drop it; as he bent down to pick it up, he lost his balance and fell to the floor.

Tytania’s junior and mid-ranking military officers and staff could not help but chuckle. Initially, when Ajman had pointedly refused to grant him an audience, he had rushed about Uraniborg in a state of panic and confusion, pleading for assistance from numerous influential figures, only to then come down with a fever and be confined to his quarters. Even when he finally managed to meet the Clanner, he could scarcely speak, merely bowing his head and stammering incoherently.

“How dare they send such a good-for-nothing. It would seem the Bargash government has no genuine intention of seeking peace.”

It was hardly surprising that Idris curled his lips in derision, but Jouslain’s mind was preoccupied with Count Elman, who had accompanied Corvin.

“That count is quite a shrewd character.”

It was said that Count Elman would henceforth act as a mediator in diplomatic negotiations between Tytania and the anti-Tytania armed factions. While there was certainly a need for someone to fulfil such a role, the manner in which the Count had secured the position by offering his services directly to the Clanner struck him as somewhat calculating.

Jouslain did not believe that the Minister of Foreign Affairs Corvin was the feeble and incompetent figure he appeared to be. The representative of the Bargash government appeared to be a truly feeble and insignificant figure. But might that timid, pitiful display simply be an act? If that was indeed the case, was the Bargash government such a collection of dullards that a man of such incompetence could occupy the key post of Minister of Foreign Affairs? Upon reflecting on this, Jouslain could not help but reach a single conclusion:

Bargash was desperately resorting to tactics to buy time. This was only natural, for it is only through peace that Bargash could continue to prosper and develop as the capital of the frontier star sector. Even if it were to plunge into all-out war with Tytania, Bargash would have little chance of victory. Even if it were to avoid war, it would take time to establish a diplomatic policy and devise various strategies. For the time being, might Corvin not have volunteered to play the role of a figurehead, merely for show, in order to prevent Tytania from opting for a swift campaign?

Meanwhile, on Tytania’s side, a large fleet was always on combat alert, ready to open hostilities the moment the Clanner issued his orders. Legally, however, Emperor Harsha VI would have to declare war through the Minister of Military Affairs. Without the Emperor’s declaration of war, any military operations by Tytania would be regarded as private warfare waged by a private army, making it impossible to mobilise the Vardana Empire’s military or logistical support organisations. Of course, there was no precedent in history for the Vardana Imperial Household to have refused a request from the Tytanian Clanner’s Court to issue a declaration of war. At the very least, there has never been a single instance where such a refusal has been made public.

The declaration of war was not written by the Emperor himself. It was drafted by the Chief Court Clerk, reviewed by the Chief Imperial Secretary, and signed by the Emperor. As both the Chief Court Clerk and the Chief Imperial Secretary were individuals thoroughly under the influence of the Tytania clan, there was no possibility of any problems arising.

Although Harsha VI found the presence of Tytanian loyalists within the court intolerable, his late father remained unperturbed. His father’s view was that, since he had absolutely no intention of coming into conflict with Tytania, he did not mind in the slightest having members of the Tytania faction on either side of him so long as they fulfil their duties as courtiers.

As with other matters, Harsha VI was unable to follow his father’s policy on this issue. Every time Tytania demanded a declaration of war, his pride as Emperor was wounded, and deep down he could not help but wish for Tytania’s defeat. It may seem underhand, but for a man as powerless as he was, it was the only means of taking revenge on the tyranny of the powerful ministers. Consequently, Ariabert’s defeat at the Battle of Cerberus and Zarlisch’s untimely death on this occasion gave him a deep, bitter joy.

Harsha VI both detested and feared Duke Idris, who had become Minister of Military Affairs. These two emotions each possessed a dual structure, with those directed at Tytania as a whole and those directed at Idris personally inextricably intertwined.

The former Minister of Military Affairs, Marquis Estrade Tytania, was, even as a member of the Tytania clan, mindful of the courtesies to be observed and the formalities to be followed, and never subjected Harsha VI to any more psychological pressure than was necessary. Idris, however, was a harsh, rude and merciless young man. Every time he came face to face with him, Harsha VI felt as though his nervous system was being rubbed with sandpaper. Had this been someone like Ariabert, Harsha VI would have rejoiced in his defeat without being driven by a personal desire for revenge.

However, a different perspective was also possible.

Harsha VI was devising a strategy to overthrow the Tytania clan in his mind. He would topple the arrogant and tyrannical Tytania clan and reclaim the power that had been unjustly taken from him. The military might, wealth, organisation and diplomatic influence that the Tytania clan had accumulated would all return to the hands of the Vardana Imperial House. He, Harsha VI, would leave an immortal name in history as the illustrious ruler who revived the Vardana Empire, and Vardana would continue to flourish for all eternity.

Amidst those vivid visions, Idris had been assigned the role of a pliable pawn. Idris was the youngest of the four dukes; he harboured an unusually strong competitive spirit towards the other three, and his ambition for the title of Clanner was both intense and clear. Perhaps that very trait would make him easier to control. That, at least, was Harsha VI’s assessment.

As for the other three dukes, Zarlisch was intimidating and made one shrink back merely by looking at him, while Jouslain gave off a strangely unfathomable aura that aroused suspicion. Ariabert behaved as a mild-mannered man of common sense and, at first glance, seemed easy to deal with; yet, at the core of his being, there was a quality that kept conspiracies and political manoeuvres at bay, making him a formidable opponent.

Idris was eleven years younger than Harsha VI, a fact that further aroused the Emperor’s antipathy. This stemmed from the humiliation of having absolute power over life and death held in the hands of a greenhorn like Idris. And so, before long, Harsha VI came to devise the following plot:

“What if I were to tell Ajman that Idris has his sights set on the title of Clanner? Surely Ajman would think that this is consistent with Idris’ character? If Idris were to be purged by Ajman, that would be a great step towards my goal…”

Harsha VI continued to ponder this with a dark fervour. He even went so far as to imagine the very scene of the plot succeeding, with Idris, who continued to protest his innocence, being bound and led away to the place of execution, and Harsha VI was almost entranced by that thought. However, for the time being, this “conspiracy” could exist only within the mind of the ill-fated emperor. He lacked the concrete means to bring it to fruition; and above all, Harsha VI had no subordinates worthy of his trust.

Meanwhile, Clanner Ajman had a fairly accurate insight into Harsha VI’s innermost thoughts.

“He cannot help but harbour such thoughts. Whatever the nature of his conspiracy, it will remain nothing more than a delusion until it is put into practice. If we were to take issue with every single one, we would likely have to depose and reinstate a new Emperor every month.”

In this instance, the Clanner’s tolerance stemmed from his contempt for Harsha VI. Ajman knew full well that, no matter how audacious the conspiracy he might devise, Harsha VI possessed neither the power nor the subordinates to carry it out. In that case, he might as well let the Emperor roam freely in his inner space as he pleased. Whether he chose to burn or hack to pieces the entire population of Tytania within his own delusions was none of Ajman’s concern.

The dead are gone and will never return. Such nonsense as reincarnation should be left to religious figures and religious entrepreneurs. What Tytania had to do was to exploit Zarlisch’s death to the fullest extent possible at the political and diplomatic levels. This was something recognised not only by Clanner Ajman, but also the three surviving dukes.

“If you have time to weep, think instead.”

These were the words with which Neville, the founder of Tytania, chastised when he lost his youngest son at a young age. Neither Clanner Ajman nor the other three dukes shed a tear over Zarlisch’s death. Idris regarded the other three dukes as nothing more than potential rivals, while neither Ariabert nor Jouslain harboured any particular animosity towards Zarlisch, but they did not consider him a close friend with whom they shared a bond. The manner of his death, too, was, if anything, of the sort that dampened their spirits. At the very least, within the five families of Tytania, there was no custom of feigning grief that did not genuinely exist.

Zarlisch’s funeral was to be held with great pomp, involving the entire organisation of Tytania. The ceremony would serve as an eloquent proclamation of Tytania’s intentions to the entire universe. That Bargash was to be regarded as a public enemy and vanquished. Meanwhile, would the government of Bargash send a delegation to pay its respects? And if so, what rank of official would they dispatch?

As this was the death of the head of the household and the heir apparent was absent, Clanner Ajman himself was to act as chief mourner, while the diplomatic protocol department of the Clanner’s Court was to handle the practical arrangements for the funeral. A flurry of activity filled Uraniborg, amidst which Bargash’s Minister of Foreign Affairs, Corvin, was rushing about.

By this stage, it was clear that Corvin was an investigator masquerading as a diplomatic envoy, but Corvin Ajman had turned a blind eye to his presence. Rather than fearing a single investigator, he had chosen to demonstrate Tytania’s true strength to him. However, he summoned Corvin and handed him a formal proclamation of wartime embargo.

A wartime embargo was a legal measure prohibiting military personnel and high-ranking government officials from enemy nations from boarding ships of neutral nations. In this instance, should a military officer from Bargash attempt to board a neutral vessel to join his own country’s forces, Tytania would have the right to sink that neutral vessel. In such cases, legal action could be taken against anyone seeking to cooperate with the Bargash military, even if they were not officially part of the Bargash armed forces.

While it is, in practice, impossible to monitor every hostile actor, this serves to publicly signal Tytania’s stance. From Ajman’s perspective, it was intended as a precursor to a declaration of war, and Corvin understood this. His complexion changed so drastically that one might have thought he was about to faint; yet, managing to steady himself, he staggered away from the Clanner’s presence.

It was on the 10^th of November that Duke Ariabert Tytania’s operational plan for the war against Bargash was finalised. This was the day before the magnificent funeral of Duke Zarlisch. The following day, six thousand vessels of all sizes, fully armed, gathered in the airspace surrounding Uraniborg to hold an aerial procession in mourning for the deceased, striking fear into the hearts of the Bargash people across the vast expanse of space.

Chapter 9 – War Outbreak

I

From November to December SY 446, the political sphere of planet Bargash was gripped by a level of bewilderment and confusion rarely seen before. It was facing the threat of all-out war with Tytania.

The root cause lay in the fact that Duke Zarlisch Tytania had disregarded Bargash’s sovereignty and laws and forcibly carried out military operations. However, there was no prospect of Tytania admitting its wrongdoing or offering an apology. The Bargash government was thus forced to face a dreadfully grave dilemma: either plunge into all-out war with Tytania, or exhaust every diplomatic resource in pursuit of peace. It was clear that even if they sought peace, they would be presented with extremely harsh terms. Terms that would likely threaten the very survival of their nation.

Entrusted to Admiral Turbil and placed under house arrest in one of the military barracks, the comrades of the Honest Old Man exchanged the following conversation:

“If we’d let Zarlisch Tytania live back then, was there a way out for us?”

“No, probably not. It might even have led to a worse outcome.”

Let us suppose that Fan Hyulick and his men had taken Zarlisch prisoner and spared his life. Even if they had then made some demand of Tytania, there was no way he would have meekly accepted it. The Bargash government, suddenly thrown into disarray by the turn of events, would have been blackmailed into returning Zarlisch. Or they might have had Hyulick and his men arrested, or even killed. Zarlisch himself would have devised various means of escape, and the Tytania branch would undoubtedly launch a rescue operation.

To begin with, had they not shot Zarlisch dead in that underground cavern, it would have been Hyulick who would have had to accept his fate of being strangled.

“Well, in any case, what’s done is done.”

Walenkov summed it up matter-of-factly.

“The question is what we do from here on. What are your thoughts, Admiral Hyulick?”

“For the time being, we’ll buy some time,” replied Hyulick nonchalantly, crossing his legs leisurely.

“If Tytania invades with a large army, Bargash will have no choice but to steel themselves. And if they want to increase his chances of victory, they won’t kill us off that easily. No need to be pessimistic.”

In truth, Fan Hyulick was not quite as detached as his expression and tone might suggest. He wondered whether his judgement might be flawed. While he weighed the pros and cons, might a disgraceful end, be it arrest or assassination, be creeping ever closer to him and his comrades? That anxiety lurked in his shadow, constantly accompanying him. Even so, he had no choice but to stake his own and his comrades’ fates on a single possibility.

“If Tytania mobilises a large army for a head-on clash with Bargash, the commander would be no one else but Duke Ariabert. I am the only person in the universe who has ever defeated Duke Ariabert, even if it was a fluke. The Bargash government knows this. Unless they are 100% certain of peace, they won’t harm me.”

He had calculated this and double-checked it time and again. That said, in terms of lacking 100% certainty, Hyulick was no different from the Bargash government.

At times, Hyulick could see things too clearly. If he were to speculate on the inner thoughts of the Bargash government’s high-ranking officials, he realised that their lack of certainty regarding victory was even greater than their lack of certainty regarding peace. After agonising in a cold sweat, they might end up short-circuiting their thought processes and throwing themselves into the easiest option.

He tried to imagine such an ominous scene, but for the time being, Fan Hyulick was under house arrest and was not even permitted to meet with senior officials of the Bargash government. Given that, there was only one way to avoid being consumed by boredom and unnecessary anxiety: to try his luck with a woman.

“You could tell me your name by now, right?”

One day, in the great dining hall, he tried asking a certain woman.

“Well, yes, but I must be careful. If any evil spirits are listening in, my whole life will end up in a dark tunnel.”

The woman who laughed was a female soldier from the anti-Tytania faction who had been stationed in the underground caverns of the desert. Here, she was not wearing her sun visor, but she was still clad in her camouflaged field uniform.

Setting aside her laughter, Hyulick asked:

“Your name?”

“Seraphine Coopers. My friends call me Sera.”

Just as Mr Fan Hyulick had finally succeeded in learning the name that interested him, the Bargash government found itself at the very opposite extreme of peace of mind. Ajman, the Landless Clanner of Tytania, had presented them with terms of peace. The document comprised no fewer than forty clauses, which were not merely stringent but utterly Draconian.

Leaving aside the handover of those responsible for the war, the clause that nearly drove the Bargash government into collective cardiac arrest was the following:

“Permanently transfer to Tytania authority to conduct qualification assessments for Locators.”

It was impossible for Bargash to accept this condition. Locators were a professional body responsible for planetary development and administration in the frontier star systems. To cede the authority to assess qualifications would mean relinquishing the status of “Capital of the Frontier” for all eternity. Compared to this condition, matters of territory and reparations seemed as light as a spring breeze.

“Tytania has no genuine intention of making peace. From the very start, they’ve been imposing unreasonable conditions. They want to force us into war.”

“The untimely death of Duke Zarlisch is no cause for sorrow to them. It is nothing but a stroke of good fortune.”

“Isn’t that typical of Tytania? They would even exploit the death of a relative for their own gain. It is in their very nature to gnaw on the very bones of the dead.”

“We cannot coexist with the likes of them. The only reason we have managed to maintain peace until now is because Bargash has upheld common sense and decency. But we have learnt that decency is only something to be upheld towards human beings. It is powerless against beasts. The only way to discipline them is the whip!”

Voices of fierce indignation surged both within and outside the Bargash government.

“There is still room for negotiation. If we act rashly, we’ll fall right into Tytania’s trap. We must remain calm and seek the best course of action.”

The peace faction desperately tried to appease their fellow citizens, but their numbers and influence were rapidly dwindling. Tytania had fired a bullet straight into the Bargash people’s patience. Their forbearance had evaporated, and they were on the verge of exploding.

However, the Bargash government could not simply cry out “This is War!” so easily. They tried to find a way out of the impasse, but there was no such thing as a miraculous solution. They held repeated discussions, postponed reaching a conclusion, and in the end were criticised by the hawks for being “indecisive”, it was nothing short of a thankless task.

Admiral Turbil, however, was full of vigour, oblivious to the confusion and anguish of the senior government officials. Such was the advantage of being the one who had already crossed the river.

“If it comes to a humiliating peace, there’s no doubt I’ll be killed by Tytania, but I shall not die alone. I’ll take a hundred of those self-important politicians in Parliament down with me.”

“Why not blow up the whole Parliament building to smithereens with cannons? Once we’ve gnawed through the tables, all that’s left is to smash up the canteen.”

Lieutenant-Commander Irk took off his cap and fanned his face. He and Rear-Admiral Turville had once been regarded as the cautious, level-headed faction within the Bargash military establishment, but as a result of Lady Fortune’s negligence, they now found themselves forming the most hard-line wing of the anti-Tytania faction.

As the Bargash government had become mired in endless debate and was unable to reach a resolution, it decided to summon anti-Tytania figures both civil and military who had been placed under house arrest, such as Admiral Turbil and Fan Hyulick, to the Supreme Council’s Security Committee to hear their views. Naturally, they were all unarmed, with four soldiers assigned to monitor each of them. They ought to count themselves lucky not to have been handcuffed.

After about 500 seconds of perfunctory questioning, the Chairman of the Supreme Council, leaning back in his chair, addressed Hyulick, who remained standing:

“Do you have the confidence to fight Tytania and win?”

It was a question that was crude rather than frank. Fan Hyulick felt under no obligation to satisfy the kind of person who’d hurl such a question at him.

“It depends on the conditions.”

“Conditions… you mean the reward, right?”

Hyulick was dumbfounded by this reaction. It was the sort of remark that would have delighted Mahdi, or maybe it was simply the result of watching crude space-pioneering dramas on 3D Solivision day in day out. Within the sixty-minute slot, complete with adverts, the hero of justice would invariably vanquish the evil aliens. All one had to do was sip a beer and enjoy the action from another world. No harm ever befell those who watch 3D Solivision.

“You are the man who defeated Duke Ariabert Tytania. You must have some sure-win tactic even if the enemy outnumbers you ten to one, right?”

“No such thing exists in this world.”

Hyulick replied with an icy detachment verging on indifference. Even if the Bargash government were dismantled by Tytania and wiped from the cosmos, it might not be all that lamentable in the grand scheme of history. He was even beginning to feel that way.

“So you’re saying you’re going up against Tytania without any prospect of victory?”

Ignoring the Chairman’s exaggeratedly wide-eyed expression, Hyulick replied:

“Duke Ariabert Tytania is a famous general. I won the Battle of Cerberus because I caught him off guard, but I don’t think such a tactic will work a second time.”

This was his true feeling, though it was sprinkled with a few crumbs of acting. He couldn’t afford to have people think he could easily defeat Duke Ariabert in military strategy and tactics by making an enemy of him.

Doctor Lee, his gaze lingering on Hyulick’s profile, interjected casually:

“There is no need for Fan Hyulick to defeat Ariabert Tytania in person. The point is simply that the anti-Tytania faction must defeat Tytania, am I wrong?”

The fact that he referred to them as the anti-Tytania faction rather than planet Bargash was a sign of Doctor Lee’s cunning, or perhaps his craftiness. Doctor Lee had no intention of promising to secure victory or save Bargash alone.

One of the councillors, who had been casting disapproving glances at Hyulick and the other “irresponsible outsiders”, clenched his fist and slammed it down on the desk, presumably in an attempt to intimidate them.

“This matter is crystal clear. These men should be chained up and taken to Tytania’s headquarters. They are the ones who must bear the responsibility for the war against Tytania. If we simply hand them over, Tytania will not dare to resort to force.”

“The first part of your argument is entirely correct. However, the second part is nothing more than a fool’s fantasy.”

Doctor Lee gave him a failing mark. His expression was that of a sarcastic and merciless interviewer.

“Compromise and concession depend on the other party. Having lost Duke Zarlisch, Tytania cannot restore her prestige unless she completely subjugates your Bargash government. If you take a step back, they will take two steps forward. You can’t possibly fail to understand that. You are merely pretending not to.”

When the councillors fell silent, Doctor Lee also fell quiet, and Amzekar took up the argument in his stead.

II

“I am Amzekar, a former soldier of the Vardana Empire. I was defeated by Duke Ariabert.”

Having introduced himself thus without a hint of shame, Amzekar glared at the councillors with a fierce gaze.

“Is there anyone in Bargash who can defeat Ariabert Tytania in battle? None, am I wrong? The only one who can is a foreigner. You must entrust command of your entire army to Fan Hyulick. That is Bargash’s only path to survival.”

With a sneer, one of the councillors countered:

“It is not simply a matter of going to war. The Tytania clan is not a Demon King clan. Even if we were to yield to them, they won’t annihilate us.”

“What have you lot learnt from history? The Vardana Empire was once a great power on a par with the Interstellar City League. But now, it is a colony of the Tytania clan!”

"…"

Surveying the high-ranking officials of the Bargash government as they sank into a silence as dark and heavy as a deep-sea fish, Amzekar sharpened his tongue even further:

“If you surrender to Tytania, you will likely be granted a nominal independence. Tytania does not care about such formalities; they are satisfied as long as there is tangible benefit. The real problem lies with you. The question is whether you can wag your tails while wearing Tytania’s collar and still have the face not to be ashamed of it.”

This scathing metaphor robbed the peace faction of any rebuttal.

“Then let me ask you this: do you stand any chance of winning against Tytania!?” finally shouted the peace faction, cornered.

“What’s the point of fighting without a chance of winning? These exiles are simply trying to drag Bargash into a private feud between themselves and Tytania!”

“That’s quite right,” muttered Doctor Lee in a very low voice, yet with utter brazenness.

It was true that they were attempting to drag Bargash into a war against Tytania for their own sake; they had no defence against being accused of selfishness.

However, from the outset, Fan Hyulick, Doctor Lee and the others had never been apostles of absolute peace, nor heroes of justice; they were merely “liberationists” in the sense that they continued to refuse to be ruled by Tytania. Fully aware that they were in the minority, they knew that in order to continue resisting Tytanian rule, it would certainly be better to have at least a few allies on their side. And so, as a result of a strange puzzle game of chance and necessity, they had set their sights on Bargash.

Bargash, the one they had set their sights on, was a blessing in disguise. But as for Fan Hyulick, he felt like saying, “Don’t start whingeing at this stage. If you don’t want to grovel before Tytania and beg for mercy, you’ll just have to fight!” That said, more than half of that was him talking to himself.

The peace faction shouted once more:

“Do you really think you can face tomorrow without regret, having entrusted the nation’s fate to such a rabble of vagabonds!”

“It is far better to face a tomorrow filled with regret than to die today with a sense of satisfaction,” retorted Admiral Turbil, standing tall with his chest thrust out.

Knowing there was no other recourse, the old military man had completely resigned himself to his fate. At one point, he had even been prepared to take responsibility and take his own life, but even if he had done so, there was no way Tytania would have accepted it and laid down her arms. In that case, there was nothing left but to fight. After all, if Zarlisch Tytania had withdrawn her forces in accordance with Admiral Turbil’s gentlemanly advice, no one would have had to die.

It was also true that there were criticisms levelled at Rear-Admiral Turbil along the lines of, “At his age, he really ought to show a little more restraint”. Political judgement, unlike a sixty-minute space exploration drama packed with adverts, involved various factions engaged in a bitter struggle, each clinging to their own subjective sense of righteousness and possessing reasons to reject the claims of the other side. In this instance, both the pro-peace and pro-war factions in Bargash regarding Tytania believed themselves to be historically in the right, and were convinced they must prevent the opposing camp from leading their homeland in the wrong direction.

However, the reason their footing occasionally wavered was, ultimately, because they feared Tytania’s power. It was precisely because of this fear that one side sought peace, while the other yearned for liberation from oppressive rule, and so the conflict had continued.

Amidst this unresolved conflict, chilling news arrived from Corvin, the Minister of Foreign Affairs, who was still staying at Uraniborg.

“It is said that the Tytanian Army, under the overall command of Duke Ariabert, is planning to mobilise at least twenty thousand vessels.”

“T-twenty thousand!?”

The Chairman turned pale and lost his voice.

Although Tytania’s total naval strength was said to be 100,000 vessels, there had been no instance in the past quarter-century of a force exceeding 10,000 ships being mobilised. If they were now mobilising 20,000 vessels, one had to recognise the intensity of Tytania’s resolve.

“I-it’s just a bluff. Mobilising a large army doesn’t necessarily mean anything. Isn’t it like the old saying, just ‘a big murder of crows’?”

“Hoh? Are you calling the elite forces of Tytania commanded by Duke Ariabert a big murder of crows?”

With considerable malice, Doctor Lee used sharp words to pierce through his opponent’s bluster.

“That is reassuring. In that case, it would be utterly presumptuous of us to even consider cooperating with the Bargash army. Please do repel Tytania with your own strength alone. We shall pray for your victory.”

Having thoroughly tormented the Chairman’s nerves, lungs, stomach and heart, the group took their leave.

They believed they had made good use of the time allotted to them, but no sooner had they returned to their lodgings than they were confronted with an unexpected danger. One can never tell what a cornered herbivore might do when it flies into a rage; on this day, it was a faction of the peace camp that had lost all rationality upon learning of Tytania’s plan to mobilise twenty thousand vessels. Deeming Fan Hyulick and his faction to be the root of all evil, they organised a demonstration, and some fifty of them, armed with firearms, stormed the quarters.

They filled the ground-floor hall to capacity; with so few of them and no weapons, it seemed Hyulick and his companions had no means of defending themselves. However…

“You fools! Do you not understand the way of the world?” bellowed Fan Hyulick, looking down at the hall from the atrium on the first floor.

Channelling all his energy into his voice and his gaze, he glared at the storming mob. The mob were intimidated and halted their advance.

“Do you really think Tytania fears Bargash’s military might? I am the one she fears. The only man to have ever defeated Duke Ariabert.”

He thumped his chest. He was well aware it was a cheap act, but he was certainly risking his life. The rioters flinched and exchanged glances. Seizing the moment, Hyulick pressed his advantage.

“If you so much as lay a finger on me, Tytania will immediately invade Bargash with a massive army. Since Bargash will be destroying its own protective walls with its own hands, there could be nothing more welcome to Tytania. What you are about to do is playing right into Tytania’s hands!”

The rioters let out groans. Ninety-nine per cent of those who commit such acts of violence are convinced they are ardent and sincere patriots. Accused of aiding the enemy, they were thrown into a state of agitation and confusion.

“You there! How much did Tytania pay you to sell out your homeland!?”

It was Mahdi who suddenly shouted this, jabbing his finger at one of the rioters. On the spur of the moment, he too had joined in with Hyulick’s act. The man he pointed at was a young man of medium height; his face remained contorted, and he could not bring himself to utter a word of protest. This was, of course, not because the facts had been pointed out, but because he had been falsely accused of an outrageous crime.

“W-we’re not like that. We have our country’s best interests at heart…”

While he struggled to defend himself, Lieutenant-Commander Irk arrived with his men and scattered the mob. Had they opened fire the moment they spotted Hyulick and his companions, they might well have achieved their original objective; it was a pitiful affair that they had been driven off by mere words. Doctor Lee thanked lieutenant-Commander Irk and clapped ostentatiously for Fan Hyulick and Mahdi.

“Well, that was quite the performance. The two of you could make a living as a comedy duo.”

“Say whatever you want.”

A sudden torrent of sweat broke out on his skin, and Fan Hyulick slumped back into his chair. Mahdi slumped into the chair beside him and shrugged his shoulders.

“It wasn’t even a single dakar’s worth of acting, yet I got carried away. We’ve got through today, but what are we going to do from tomorrow?”

“I suppose the Bargash government will decide that for us.”

Doctor Lee’s prediction had proved accurate. The Bargash government had finally made its decision. It had been forced to do so.

“Now that it has come to this, there is no other course of action. We should grant Fan Hyulick and his men a certain degree of military authority and allow them to participate in the fighting, while also forming an alliance with the various nations and factions that harbour animosity towards Tytania to tackle this crisis.”

A Grand Alliance against Tytania! It was a plan that countless strategists and diplomats had yearned for and dreamt of ceaselessly over the past two centuries.

The reason it had been conceived only to falter midway through implementation was due to Tytania’s cunning political and military manoeuvres, and also because the Grand Alliance itself could not avoid the fragility inherent in a coalition of disparate interests. If A sought to seize the initiative, B would push back; if C asserted its own interests within the Grand Alliance, D would obstruct it. Should Tytania prick that vulnerability with a needle, the sandcastle would collapse in an instant.

Yet, fully aware of the difficulties, or rather, left with no other choice, Bargash had no option but to pursue the Grand Alliance. Thus, once Bargash’s political and military strategy had finally been established, Hyulick, Lee, Amzekar, Mr and Mrs Casimir, Mahdi, Pagès, and Walenkov were incorporated into Rear-Admiral Turbil’s forces as temporary staff officers.

III

Although not quite as boisterous as in Bargash, rumours were rife even at Uraniborg, the headquarters of Tytania.

“Duke Jouslain is well-regarded for his political acumen, but how does he fare as a commander in actual combat? He’s unlikely to measure up to Duke Ariabert or the late Duke Zarlisch.”

“However, since Duke Zarlisch’s passing, Duke Ariabert has been the crown jewel of the Tytanian Army. Before he sets out on campaign, might Tytania not dispatch some other commander instead?”

“What about Duke Idris?”

“…About him. For the time being, rather than commanding a large army, that gentleman’s more pressing task is probably keeping his younger brother in check.”

The remark ended in a quiet chuckle. Idris had never been a figure of immense trust and respect to begin with, but his standing had diminished further because of his unworthy younger brother, Radmoth. Public opinion clearly blamed Radmoth and sympathised with Balamy, who had been exiled to the planet Tyron.

Radmoth, having finally had his house arrest lifted, went to visit his elder brother.

“Brother, I intend to do my utmost in everything so as not to bring shame upon you as your younger brother.”

“How very commendable. Work hard and do your very best.”

There was no trace of brotherly affection in Idris’ voice. Even if Radmoth were banished to a frontier even more remote than that of Balamy, it would not cause Idris the slightest pang of conscience. Whether he was aware of his brother’s true feelings or not, Radmoth spoke in an earnest tone, saying:

“I have a request. When Lord Ariabert sets out on campaign, I would like to be allowed to serve as a staff officer.”

Facing Idris, who raised his eyebrows without a word, Radmoth continued:

“I’m not asking for anything extravagant. Being a senior aide-de-camp or a chief of staff would do. In any case, I want the chance to earn military honours on this campaign.”

Idris’ reaction was one of utter insincerity: “A senior aide-de-camp or a chief of staff would do”? The nerve to spout such nonsense! It struck Idris that Radmoth seemed to be under the impression that these two posts were particularly easy roles. He lowered his raised eyebrows and turned the conversation back to him:

“Radmoth, I believe I granted you the position of Commander of the Vardana Guard the other day. It is a prestigious post that any Imperial soldier would covet. What on earth have you done with that position?”

Faced with his elder brother’s stern words, it was Radmoth who fell silent this time. Neither his features nor his build suggested he was a seventeen-year-old boy; he was brimming with a kind of ferocious vigour, to the extent that Idris himself appeared frail by comparison. His sullen silence gave the impression not so much of fear as of petulance.

“If you were not of the Tytania clan, there would have been no way you could have attained such a prominent post at the age of seventeen. You ought to be fully aware of this, conduct yourself with due respect, fulfil your duties properly, and ensure you do not invite the censure of others. Yet to get into a brawl with the likes of Balamy and incur the displeasure of His Clanner Highness. What utter folly!”

As he spoke, Idris’ anger grew. As his younger brother, Radmoth ought to understand his elder brother’s ambitions and cooperate to help achieve them; yet, instead, he was trying to hold Idris back.

One of the reasons Idris had looked down upon Zarlisch during his lifetime was that he had been unable to keep even his own younger brother, Arses, under control. Yet, upon reflection, Idris himself was at a loss as to how to deal with his unworthy younger brother. The more he recognised this fact, the more he found himself unable to suppress a bitter rage.

Had Radmoth’s calibre and ability surpassed Idris’, the ducal title would have fallen into Radmoth’s hands. The standard of judgement for the Clanner of Tytania was to prioritise talent over seniority. In that sense, Idris ought to be grateful that Radmoth lacked talent, but it would be even more troublesome if his utter incompetence and lack of judgement were to hold his brother back.

“When I was seventeen, I had far more resolve and a greater sense of responsibility. I strove to prove myself worthy of being a member of one of the Five Families of Tytania.”

As Idris paused briefly, Radmoth looked back at his elder brother with a strangely intense gaze.

“If I were to become head of the ducal house, I’d make at least that much of an effort.”

“What? Such impertinence!”

As his brother shouted angrily, Radmoth fell silent once more, his eyes alone gleaming.

Suddenly, Idris felt a chill run down his spine. His younger brother, Radmoth, seemed to him like some unidentifiable monster. Though he was his own brother, this was a man capable of running amok, disregarding common sense and restraint. The other day, it had merely been a fistfight with Viscount Balamy, but there was a possibility he might eventually cause trouble on a much larger scale.

If that were the case, maybe losing his position as Commander of the Royal Guard was actually a stroke of good fortune? Not for Radmoth, but for Idris. Perhaps it would be for the best to send Radmoth to serve on Ariabert’s campaign, as he himself wished, and shift the responsibility for supervising him onto Ariabert.

Below Radmoth, Idris has one younger brother and two younger sisters. His youngest brother, Zelpha, respected his eldest brother and was of good character, but at merely twelve years old of age, he was still too young to assist his elder brother. It seemed that for the next five years or so, Idris would have no choice but to shoulder the responsibilities of the family alone.

Idris’ pride would not allow him to bow his head to Ariabert and ask for his younger brother’s appointment. In that were the case, there was only one course of action.

Idris sought an audience with Clanner Ajman and implored him to grant Radmoth an opportunity to clear his name. Ajman fixed Idris with a piercing gaze, but nodded silently and promised to convey the matter to Ariabert. The following day, Idris heard that Ariabert had said the following:

“I hear that Baron Radmoth is a valiant young man, if not the most courteous. Should he distinguish himself in battle, he might well achieve a reputation that surpasses even that of Lord Idris, his elder brother. I hope he will do his best.”

These words spurred Idris in a negative direction. He brooded sullenly, though not for long, and in the end withdrew his petition to have Radmoth join the expedition. Ariabert feigned disappointment, though this was nothing more than a superficial pretence.

“It seems to have turned out well. I am glad I sought Lord Jouslain’s counsel.”

Ariabert thanked his adviser, and Jouslain nodded with a wry smile.

Ariabert was about to command his first large army and embark on an all-out war against Bargash. Just as he was preparing to devote all his wisdom and power to planning and executing the campaign, he could not bear to have the front lines disrupted by a member of his own clan, someone like Radmoth who lacked both foresight and a spirit of cooperation.

He could have flatly refused Radmoth’s request to join the war, but that would have subtly undermined morale before the outbreak of hostilities. Ariabert consulted Jouslain, and, following Jouslain’s advice, managed to appeal to Idris’ complex feelings towards Radmoth.

“It must be quite a burden for Lord Idris, too, having to deal with a good-for-nothing brother. Well, I wonder if Lord Radmoth will be satisfied with this?”

Jouslain could not help but reflect on the weight and taint of the blood they bore.

IV

On their father’s side, Ariabert and Jouslain were first cousins of the same age. This was recorded as such in the official genealogy. No other facts were acknowledged. Yet there existed a bloodline that would never be officially recognised.

Tytania was, in essence, a system of power dominated by blood ties; should the bloodline die out, the system would collapse. Consequently, alongside customs such as marriage between blood relatives and adoption, there were also many unofficial instances of childless couples resorting to extreme measures to achieve conception. It was not uncommon for the legitimate son of House A to be, in fact, the genetic son of the head of House B within the span of eight generations of the Clanner. When the rule of the bloodline elevated the single principle of “not letting the bloodline die out” to an absolute justice, it bred a murky folly that left ordinary citizens speechless.

Ariabert was even more averse than Jouslain to discussing his private life with others. As he was no saint, it was certain that he had one or more mistresses, but even Jouslain knew nothing beyond the rumours.

Jouslain himself had no interest in the amorous affairs of others; if he took any notice of the relationship between Idris and Theodora, it was purely in a political context. Even so, Jouslain sarcastically observed that Idris had his hands full of his younger brother Radmoth and his mistress Theodora who were both rather turbulent characters.

When Ariabert visited Jouslain’s flat to thank him for his assistance with the matter of Baron Radmoth, he brought along some peach bavarois and éclairs for Princess Lydia.

“I don’t really understand women’s tastes, but I wonder if the princess will be pleased with these?”

The young Tytanian commander handed the box of sweets to Francia and clinked glasses of whisky with Jouslain. Naturally, the conversation turned to the upcoming campaign. As far as military tactics were concerned, Ariabert’s prediction was clear:

“Bargash will likely entrust Van Hyulick’s faction with a certain degree of authority as mercenaries. However, unless he assumes overall command of the Bargash army, Tytania will not be defeated. Even if we concede ground in local skirmishes, we will undoubtedly prevail in the grand scheme of things.”

After pausing for a moment, Ariabert added quietly;

“Overwhelmingly so.”

Jouslain did not regard those words as exaggerated. Ariabert was not the sort of man to indulge in empty boasts; the gap between his track record and his confidence was remarkably narrow. Although he had once been defeated by Fan Hyulick, Clanner Ajman’s trust in his consistent military prowess had never wavered.

After about an hour, Ariabert took his leave. In the few hours before he went to bed, he would no doubt continue to refine his tactics, racking his brains to the limit to work out how best to manoeuvre his troops.

“Duke Ariabert is a fine man.”

It was not merely because she had been given some sweets, but Princess Lydia spoke with genuine admiration. Jouslain naturally agreed with the Princess’ assessment, but what pleased him most was that his personal judgement of the man coincided with hers. However intelligent he might be, the fact that he placed himself on the same level as a ten-year-old child was undoubtedly a peculiar aspect of Jouslain’s character.

While the practical responsibility for the large-scale mobilisation rests on Ajman’s shoulders, Clanner Ajman, as the ruler of all Tytania, also had to approve various matters. Amidst a wide range of duties, including personnel matters, organisational structure, supplies, and court intrigues in Vardana, Ajman, accompanied by Count Elman, inspected the facilities at the military spaceport. Count Elman had come to report on the matter of repatriating Corvin, Bargash’s Minister of Foreign Affairs.

Gazing down at the vessels in the spaceport over the high railing, Ajman addressed his escort:

“Count Elman, having visited Uraniborg for the first time in a while, I trust you have gained some valuable insights.”

“May I speak my mind?”

“By all means, do so.”

“Then, with all due respect, it is my humble opinion that the future of Tytania will be guided by the cooperative relationship between Duke Ariabert and Duke Jouslain.”

“So Duke Ariabert will conquer the outside world, while Duke Jouslain governs the realm from within?”

“Precisely.”

Count Elman’s reply, which seemed to put on an air of insight, appeared to put the Clanner in a sarcastic mood.

“But as the saying goes, two heroes cannot stand side by side. If the two share the people’s trust, a faction will form. And once a faction forms, petty men will seek to exploit its power to stir up conflict.”

“That would indeed be unfortunate for Tytania. Therefore, undermining the cooperative relationship between the two of them would surely become a matter of urgency for ambitious people with anti-Tytania sentiments.”

“Ambitious people? Surely such men do not exist solely outside Tytania?”

A smile like a blade played at the corners of the Clanner’s mouth A blade that was both cold and thick.

“What of you, Lord Idris? As far as I can see, your ambition and obsession with the Clanner’s throne surpass even those of the other two dukes.”

There was a slight pause before he replied.

“With all due respect, Your Clanner Highness, I must say I agree with your observation.”

He said no more. He did not voice his own opinion.

Ajman cast a glance at the face of Count Elman who sat below him. The smile he now displayed resembled the thin blade of a rusty razor. Count Elman even felt a physical pang of pain.

“Never mind. It concerns matters after my death, after all.”

Had anyone else uttered such words, they would surely have been regarded as the height of ill omen and disrespect. This was freedom of speech permitted only to Ajman.

“The great river of time contains many waterfalls. In the space of just a year or two, the situation may change dramatically, ushering in a new era beyond imagination. Those who cannot keep up will have no choice but to drown.”

The Clanner walked across the well-polished floor. His gait was full of power and authority, yet accompanied by an elegance reminiscent of a feline predator. Keeping a distance of about seven paces behind the Clanner, Count Elman wore a blank expression. The Clanner knew that this was proof that the Count was deep in thought. He knew it with such precision as if he had eyes in the back of his head.

“Count Elman.”

“Yes, what is the matter, Your Clanner Highness?”

“Accompany Lord Ariabert. When he accepts the enemy’s terms of peace, assist him in his capacity as a diplomatic adviser.”

“As you wish.”

The count bowed respectfully, and the sound of the Clanner’s footsteps faded away beyond his head.

V

Mid-December. Viscount Balamy Tytania found himself on the surface of planet Tyron. While there were variations in temperature depending on latitude and altitude, it was, on the whole, a planet with high humidity, and a chill dampness pressed against the young man’s cheek like a wet palm.

Walking out of the spaceport gate, on his ninth step, Balamy came face to face with a fellow counsellor who had come to greet him.

“You must be Viscount Balamy Tytania, who has taken up post as counsellor.”

“That is correct, have you come to welcome me?”

By the time he replied, he had steeled himself. The person who had addressed him was a woman, though she lacked both youth and beauty. A thin, pale woman in her forties, she lacked physical beauty, yet her small grey eyes seemed to brim with intelligence. To the young Balamy, she would hardly be the object of romantic affection, but she might well be someone worthy of trust. At the very least, Tytania should not be the sort of organisation where an incompetent woman with no public support could hold such a key post as counsellor.

But that would only be the case for someone who did not bear the surname Tytania. As he climbed into the ground vehicle, Balamy thought this with bitterness. There was the fact that a foolish and brutish young man like Baron Radmoth Tytania had risen to become Commander of the Vardana Imperial Guard simply because of his family name. Was this not the first step towards decadence and corruption?

“If it had been Duke Idris, that might have been one thing, but to be lumped together with the likes of Baron Radmoth? Was that all the Clanner thought of me?”

A sense of humiliation seared through his nervous system like hot grease. His cheeks flushed, and the female councillor seated beside him cast a discreet sidelong glance his way.

The ground vehicle was driven by a non-commissioned officer in a grey uniform. Power did not lie in mechanisation or automation, but in the deployment of greater manpower. Tytania wielded the greatest power in the cosmos and was, consequently, the cosmos’ largest employer.

The ground vehicle wound its way gently through the city streets, heading towards Tytania’s Tyron Representative Office.

“That is the Interstellar City League’s kontor.”

The female counsellor pointed with her bony finger at a majestic edifice featuring a high wall of Tyron sandstone and a massive iron gate. The gate faced a square paved with permeable ceramic tiles, while the building at the front displayed a string of lights from its windows, glistening like jewels. There were so many of these jewels that it was impossible to count them at a glance; they stretched to the left and right, continuing into the depths of the building, all framed by the outlines of several other structures. Amidst the rapidly deepening twilight, its grandeur made a powerful impression on Balamy’s vision.

“It’s a city in its own right,” he marvelled, though deep down, Balamy harboured a different impression.

This magnificent urban structure spoke not so much of the Interstellar City League’s authority as of its vulnerability on this planet.

Looking back at the history of humankind on Earth in ancient times, one finds examples where it was often the rulers of fallen nations, rather than those of powerful states, who built sturdy fortresses. They could not ensure their safety unless they barricaded themselves within high, thick walls. Traditionally, the inhabitants of planet Tyron were said to be unfriendly towards the Interstellar City League. Consequently, the fundamental stance of the Tyron government and its people towards Tytania had been one of benevolent neutrality.

“Viscount Balamy, you are sure to become the darling of Tyron’s high society in no time. I expect that, before the year is out, dozens of local dignitaries will be vying to offer their daughters to you.”

“I look forward to it,” replied Balamy replied in a voice devoid of both enthusiasm and sincerity.

For a Tytanian noble, it was one way of life. To marry the daughter of a local dignitary, attain wealth and influence on that planet, and live out one’s days in leisure.

But that did not sit well with Balamy’s values. To burn slowly and gently over time, turning from warm ashes into cold ones. If that were another’s way of life, he would have no intention of interfering; but if it were to be forced upon Balamy himself, he would resist it even at the cost of his life, choosing instead a way of life that burns with such intensity it eventually explodes.

“I shall ensure you return to Uraniborg as soon as possible,” had said Duke Jouslain. Could he really be trusted? Ever since being banished from Uraniborg, the sense of loneliness, his sole companion, sounded a faint whistle of suspicion. Could it be that, to Duke Jouslain, Balamy was nothing more than a nuisance?

Seated in the gently rolling ground carriage, Balamy remained silent, and the female councillor sitting beside him, perhaps sensing something too, made no move to speak.

“War has broken out! War has broken out!”

But suddenly, a shrill voice staggered into his ears.

“Tytania and Bargash have plunged into all-out war! The Emperor of Vardana has declared war on Bargash!”

A man was shouting on a street corner, his fingertip pointing at the screen of a street-side news TV. Citizens exchanged glances and quickened their pace, flocking towards the TV.

Balamy tapped the back of the driver’s seat to bring the ground vehicle to a halt. He stepped out. He had taken two or three steps towards the crowd when the female councillor called out to him. She explained that if he went to the Tytania delegation, he would be able to obtain far more comprehensive and accurate information than from the street TVs. After a moment’s hesitation, Balamy nodded and began to turn on his heel.

Suddenly, an extraordinary sense of breathlessness seized Balamy. He took several deep, ragged breaths and closed his eyes. His sense of balance faltered slightly, and Balamy found himself on one knee on the ground. A non-commissioned officer cried out and tried to help his young superior to his feet, but Balamy brushed his hand aside and remained in that position for a while. The non-commissioned officer seemed to think it might be anaemia, but it was not.

He knew the reason. Or, at least, he felt he knew it. It was the opposite of anaemia. It was an excess of blood. The blood of Tytania, swirling and coursing through Balamy’s veins, yearned to leave the planet’s surface and soar into space, surging like the tide. At this very moment when Tytania and Bargash were on the brink of all-out war, what a bitter disappointment it must be to be chained to a remote planet far from the heart of the cosmos.

“The Universe exists along with Tytania.”

So boasted the founder, Neville. The phrasing was of little consequence. It was only within the vast ocean of stars that the blood of Tytania could find fulfilment. Just as birds are not creatures of the earth, so too is the Tytania clan not a race of the earth. Balamy felt this truth with every fibre of his being.

At last, Balamy sat up and gazed at the night sky, a thin trickle of sweat glistening on his brow. The Milky Way, like white sand, cast a bewitching band across the heavens. He had to return to the depths of that night sky as soon as possible. With every passing moment, the blood within his body would grow thinner. He was a Tytanian, and to remain so, he required the very existence of the cosmos.

SY 446 was drawing to a close amidst turmoil and chaos. It seemed likely that the fleets of both the Tytania clan and the Republic of Bargash would clash head-on as the New Year’s bells rang out.

Translator's Notes and References

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