Tytania:Volume 3 Chapter 4

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Chapter 4 – A Double Withdrawal

I

During the “Phoney War”, it was difficult to judge whether it was Tytania or the anti-Tytania faction who committed the most mistakes. In the first place, the anti-Tytania faction shared nothing more than a single commonality: their dissatisfaction with Tytania’s rule.

While the Bargash government hated Tytania, it could not help but harbour resentment towards the meddlesome rogue elements that had brought about the national crisis. Unlike Fan Hyulick or Doctor Lee, Bargash possessed much that was at stake.

The commander of the Bargash Regular Army who was travelling with Fan Hyulick and the others known as the “rejects of the Blaze Flag Army” was the seasoned Rear-Admiral Turbil. His aide-de-camp was Lieutenant-Commander Irk. Having experienced the tyranny of Duke Zarlisch Tytania, he possessed a strong will to fight against Tytania and a deep sympathy for Hyulick’s group, yet his primary sense of loyalty remained with his homeland, Bargash. The first mission entrusted to them was the preservation of their fleet’s combat strength.

“The people in the Bargash government care more about tomorrow’s breakfast than today’s dinner,” thought Fan Hyulick to himself, but he remained silent, for it would be troublesome if he upset his patron and was told, “Fine, then fight Tytania on your own.” However, according to the explanation Doctor Lee had provided to Miranda, the methods employed by the Bargash government were even more ruthless than that.

“We have been bundled together onto this single ship. In other words, if this ship were to be sunk in an emergency, the Bargash government would have an excuse to present to Tytania.”

“So that is why they did not have us board in separate groups?”

“Because for the Bargash government, it is a cheap price to pay if it can be settled with just one cruiser.”

“But doing something like that would only weaken their own position. For instance, there is no way Tytania would withdraw their demands to be granted the right to vet locators.”

“Even if they were to accept Tytania’s demands, Bargash would have no need to follow through.”

Doctor Lee stated this with absolute clarity.

“That is an extreme way of putting it, but there are countless ways to delay implementation, and there are even strategies to invalidate the very qualification of being a locator to establish a different system. As far as this particular matter is concerned, Bargash possesses more tradition and authority than Tytania.”

Fan Hyulick blinked and looked back at Doctor Lee.

“If you understood that much, then why…”

Why had he not shown the Bargash government a way to avoid war? Lee laughed at Hyulick’s question.

“It was only natural. If I had told them such a thing, the Bargash government would not have taken arms against Tytania.”

To him, it was a logical and clear-cut fact. They could not oppose Tytania on their own. He had to involve the Bargash government. To do that, he needed to drive the Bargash government into a corner. It was as simple as that.

In short, they were not some “resistance movement bound by beautiful comradeship”. If anything, the label Tytania used in their propaganda—“vicious terrorists who disturb the peace and order of the universe”—might have been more accurate. At the very least, one could certainly not claim they were people of pure character.

Doctor Lee went on to further explain the enemy’s psychology.

“Lord Ariabert has long since achieved victory in terms of war as a political tool. However, being an excellent soldier and a man of uncompromising integrity, that alone is not enough to satisfy him.”

He desired to compete against the enemy head-on, proving his superiority in strategy and tactics to achieve a victory that was clear to all eyes. Yet, while Ariabert hungered for such a feat, his restraint as a prominent figure of Tytania outweighed his personal desires. Even if he could not find emotional satisfaction, as long as he could secure political victories that brought benefits to Tytania, Ariabert would not persist in useless displays of force. At the very least, he should not.

The reason he sought to pursue the fugitives to the very end and desired a complete victory through the use of force this time was that the cowardice of the Bargash government and the way Fan Hyulick’s faction continued to run away were a provocation to Ariabert’s sense of aesthetics. He simply could not allow such a disgraceful group to go unpunished, nor could he offer them a half-hearted pardon. Ariabert believed that for the sake of the honour of the Tytanian military and for the sake of future order, they had to be dealt with thoroughly. It was precisely within that fact that the only remaining path for Hyulick and his men lay.

Alan Mahdi interrogated him, his voice sharpening with tension.

“So, what do we do now?”

“What should we do, you ask?”

“We’re at war! How do you intend to fight against Tytania’s army? You have a plan for victory, don’t you?” shouted Mahdi.

His interference in tactical matters stemmed not from a high fighting spirit but from his lack of desire to perish alongside Hyulick and Doctor Lee.

“I have left everything in the hands of Admiral Hyulick.”

Doctor Lee replied with composure:

“My late uncle used to say that the secret to a healthy life is delegating to others what one is bad at. I ought to heed the advice of my elder.”

“A fitting pair, that uncle and nephew. Did this uncle of yours never teach you that fulfilling one’s responsibilities is the true way of a man?”

Mahdi himself limited his own duties strictly to the group’s financial management. Consequently, regarding combat command, he believed he could simply hold others accountable, having no intention of devising tactics himself. Doctor Lee was being sarcastic regarding that attitude, but of course, Mahdi failed to realise it.

It was Miranda who noticed. This robust woman, who had once been a princess of a nation, let out a hearty laugh, despite her sarcasm.

“Mahdi, just as you pave your path with cheap copper coins, Doctor Lee and Fan pave theirs with gold coins stamped with deep foresight and prudence. How about you be a little more humble and just wait?”

“Gold coins?! How do you know they aren’t just gilded fakes? Trust requires proof.”

It was a valid point, but since Mahdi’s lack of popularity surpassed even that of Doctor Lee, his trivial bickering failed to escalate into an internal conflict.

… At that moment, an event occurred that left the Tytania Fleet headquarters in a state of bewilderment. A transmission had been received from the very enemy they were pursuing. Ariabert failed to immediately grasp the contents of the message, which had been sent under the name “Bargash Regular Army”. He knitted his brows slightly and glared at the intelligence officer.

“What does this mean?”

“It is… exactly as the transmission says. They intend to sink the ship carrying Fan Hyulick and his companions with their own hands, provided that we accept their request for an immediate ceasefire.”

A stir arose among those surrounding Ariabert.

“Have they lost their minds?” groaned Rear-admiral Paulsen.

To Ariabert and his staff officers alike, it was an unbelievable proposal.

Had he been Clanner Ajman, he would have laughed derisively, accepted the filthy offer, and subsequently denied that such an offer had ever existed. But Ariabert was not Ajman.

“We received no such communication. Erase the records. For the sake of everyone’s honour.”

Ariabert’s voice was restrained, but he could not entirely hide his feelings regarding the hideous proposal. It was Rear-Admiral Paulsen who voiced his agreement loudly.

“It would be a pity for Fan Hyulick to die in such a manner. Let us destroy this heroic rebel with our own hands.”

Ariabert felt a faint, strange sense of distaste toward this young, loyal soldier. It was the same sensation he had felt towards the late Zarlisch. Ariabert did not like those who expressed their confidence with exaggeration, content to dwell within a self-made illusion.

Nothing sat well with him. He felt as though he were being lured into some unpredictable, sinister trap. This uncharacteristic suspicion weighed heavily upon Ariabert, leaving him with a dull ache in the pit of his stomach.

Throughout the previous year, he had exerted the full extent of his intellect as a commander, devising the strategies and tactics required to engage the Bargash fleet in a decisive battle in outer space. Instead, all of that effort had come to nothing, and he found himself instead chasing a mere handful of troops fleeing across the seabed of a single planet. This was the height of frustration. Victory was an absolute certainty, yet it was equally clear that even in triumph, he would gain not even a milligram of satisfaction.

He was not fighting for personal gratification. But even though he told himself this repeatedly, he could not dispel the sense of unease. Furthermore, given his position as commander-in-chief, he could not afford to expose his private inner turmoil to the eyes of others.

“Commander Granite, do you have any opinions?”

Ariabert sought input from another person.

“I would ask you to be wary of the seabed. There is a possibility that explosives or missiles have been placed on the ocean floor. Furthermore, enemy vessels may be lurking within the seabed sands. Please remain vigilant.”

As for Commander Granite, he could not help but recall the untimely death of his superior, Duke Zarlisch. Zarlisch had tasted an unexpected bitterness when struck by fire from an enemy ship that had been hiding beneath the sands. Granite’s warning possessed an undeniable persuasiveness, and Ariabert ordered each vessel to conduct depth charge attacks against the seabed. However, since it would be foolish to waste depth charges before the commencement of full-scale combat, he limited the number of uses to ten per ship. Even so, a vast number of depth charges detonated upon the seabed, kicking up tens of millions of tonnes of sand that had accumulated since ancient times.

Ariabert watched with a heavy heart as the image on the screen shifted from a dark clarity to a dark turbidity. It was more than just a half-measure; he felt as though what he was doing was utterly pointless.

II

The change was sudden. The hull jolted violently. For the Tytania soldiers on board, it was almost like being tossed into the air. More than one person barely managed to avoid falling and let out a cry of alarm. A coffee cup, placed at the edge of the command desk, slid into the air along with its saucer and smashed against the floor with a crash of protest.

Ariabert gazed at the screen. The computer-corrected image showed delicate glimmers dancing wildly within the pitch-black depths of the sea. It was a decoy released by the enemy to disrupt the Tytania military’s reconnaissance systems. The Tytania formation had fallen into disarray, and an operator, clinging to the control console, reported the presence of an intense current reaching speeds of sixty kilometres per hour.

Rear-admiral Paulsen cried out:

“Impossible! There’s no way such a strong current could exist in a basin, let alone near the seabed.”

Yet the current was a reality, and it was violently sweeping the Tytania fleet away. Ariabert issued instructions to Captain Chen: “Don’t place too much trust in the data from the Hydrographic Bureau. Calculate backwards from the direction and speed of the current to deduce the seabed topography.” Captain Chen immediately had the operator perform the task, and forty seconds later, the screen began to render the seabed topography as estimated by the computer.

Groans erupted around Ariabert, and the young duke etched a pale smile onto the corner of his lips. They were positioned within a deep-sea corridor where ridges towered high on either side.

“Your Grace, this is…!”

“Did the Hydrographic Bureau deceive us?”

At the cries of his staff officers, Ariabert shook his head.

“No, the people at the Hydrographic Bureau likely know nothing. They probably believe that Tytania simply seized the correct data from them. Otherwise, this stratagem would be unusable.”

Ariabert realised that he had been caught in a ruse.

“Damn it, they got us!” The angry shouts of the subordinates rang out in vain. Navigational assistance from satellite orbit could only reach depths of two thousand metres below sea level, leaving the Tytania fleet with no choice but to act based on the data provided by the Hydrographic Bureau. Furthermore, the enemy had scattered metal and non-metal decoys to confuse Tytania’s search systems. It was not intended to hide the enemy’s location but rather to obscure the seabed topography.

The seawater expanded and exploded. One of the search officers screamed, ripping the headphones from his head. Because the unfortunate man had been engaged in acoustic searching, the intense blast had damaged his eardrums.

It was not a missile that had exploded. The enemy had launched unpropelled explosives, allowing them to surge forward on the ocean currents. The Tytania fleet had been clustered in the centre of the deep-sea corridor formed by these currents. They had been left with no other choice. It was a success for the “vicious terrorists” who had driven the Tytania forces into such a position, rendering Ariabert’s tactical vision and command abilities useless.

A dull vibration and sound were transmitted from outside the hulls, and they continued without interruption. As the pressure from the explosions pressed against the currents, and as each ship began individual manoeuvres to avoid contact with the explosives or the hulls of other vessels, the chaos expanded all at once. Though they were accustomed to piloting within the asteroid belts of outer space, they were caught between the narrowness of the space and a subtle distortion in their sense of time, driven towards catastrophe without the ability to demonstrate their true strength.

“Cruiser Bramante III, communications lost!”

“Battleship Beaufort, heavily damaged! Surfacing to withdraw from the combat zone!”

Digital communications flashed erratically as every ship became shrouded in panic and confusion. Ariabert appeared somewhat pale at his command seat, yet he remained the most composed member of the entire fleet. Staring at the flashes of explosions blinking across the dark screens, he steadied his breathing and issued orders in a voice unchanged from his usual tone.

“All ships, ascend. Break away from the current, and regroup thereafter.”

In this situation, such a conventional command proved effective in curbing the panic. Each captain regained their composure and ordered their ascent. It appeared, for a moment, that the Tytania forces had restored order and were about to resurface to reconstitute the entire fleet. However, even that was merely part of the enemy’s deception.

One of the Tytania ships that had begun its rapid ascent was struck by a thunderous explosion. Fragments of metal and non-metal were ejected in six directions from the fireball, drifting slowly through the dark abyss as they spun, carried away by the intense ocean currents.

Ariabert realised that the enemy’s treachery was double or even triple-layered. The enemy was making the utmost use of the natural environment. They launched explosives towards the far heights, leaving them to sink via gravity. As the Tytania forces ascended sharply, they were effectively charging straight into the explosives themselves.

High-pressure seawater surged into the shattered hull, crushing the crew. Driven by gravity and ocean currents, the vessel careened towards the friendly forces. A vicious cycle of contact, evasion, and re-contact ensued, forcing an unwanted concentration of ships, right at the moment when explosives were hurled into the fray. In the eternal darkness of the deep seabed, orange flashes chained together in spherical bursts.

The successive explosions caused the seawater to boil. The Tytania forces, waiting at low altitude, sensed the anomaly when the sea surface burst and escape pods, resembling large bubbles, began to surface one after another. If they attempted an immediate dive into the ocean, they risked colliding with their surfacing comrades. While working to recover the escape pods, they transmitted communications in search of an accurate report.

An explosion occurred in the immediate vicinity of Ariabert’s flagship, the Golden Sheep, and a torn companion ship collided with the flagship while spinning. This triggered a chain reaction in the engine room, sending flashes of light and vibrations through the entire flagship.

Ariabert’s field of vision changed instantly. He felt his tall frame being flung up the walls towards the ceiling. His flagship was being violently spun by the invisible, massive hands of the ocean currents and the pressure from the explosion. Inside, the crew were tossed about like laundry in a dryer, slammed against the walls, ceiling, and floor. Even those who had remained strapped into their seats were injured by the bodies of flying comrades and loose equipment.

It was not until twenty seconds later that Captain Chen finally managed to stabilise the ship’s orientation.

“Duke…!”

The screams of a staff officer battered his ears, and Ariabert regained consciousness. At first, his sense of up and down was so disrupted that he could not grasp his own orientation. The faces of his staff officers formed a ring around his field of vision. A thin trickle of lukewarm liquid ran past his right ear, and he felt a point of pain at the edge of his forehead.

Once he confirmed he was lying on his back and attempted to sit up, an intense pain exploded in his ribcage. He managed to stifle a scream, but he could not prevent his face from contorting. His ribs were broken.

He had been slammed against the walls and ceiling at least four times. Compared to those who had suffered broken necks or had shards of instruments driven into their eyes, Ariabert’s misfortune could be considered a small one.

Barely able to pull himself upright, and while receiving treatment from the army surgeon, Ariabert ordered his staff officers to announce his injuries to the entire army. Rear-admiral Paulsen, whose face was marred by a dark bruise, voiced his concern.

“But if the enemy intercepts that, it will lead to a disaster.”

“Let it be so. If they give chase, we shall counterattack. If they deem it false intelligence and refrain from pursuit, then we shall return safely. Follow my orders.”

This, too, was a deceptive scheme uncharacteristic of Ariabert. It served as proof of his state of mental instability during this “Phoney War”.

However, Ariabert had sincerely hoped that the enemy would press their advantage and pursue him. He had intended to use his flexible military genius to launch a cunning counteroffensive, thereby clearing the stain of the “Phoney War”. In the end, however, his martial spirit remained unfulfilled. The enemies within the sea had launched no attack. At that time, it was impossible to confirm whether they had intercepted his communications.

… Four hours later, Ariabert entered a private room in a hospital that had been seized by the Tytania forces. The Tytania army had lost sixty vessels, seen twenty-six heavily damaged, and suffered eight thousand battle deaths, only to be driven from the sea, having gained nothing at all.

III

Ariabert’s injuries were diagnosed with a recovery period of three months. Although his mental acuity and vigour showed no sign of waning, his endurance was closely linked to his physical health. It was difficult for him to maintain the absolute authority over the expeditionary force that he had exercised until the day before.

From his sickbed, Ariabert issued instructions to divide his authority in two, delegating the negotiations and dealings with the Bargash government to Count Elman, while the management and operation of the military organisation were entrusted to Vice-Admiral Baldren. It was unavoidable that the authority of those in charge of the day-to-day operations should diminish in such circumstances. As Ariabert himself devoted himself to convalescence, he expressed his condolences and compensation to the fallen and their bereaved families, and thereafter remained confined to the hospital.

The planet Bargash was thrown into quite an uproar. While most were delighted by Tytania’s defeat, once the initial joy had faded, a sense of foreboding began to quietly knock at the doors of their hearts. People spoke in low voices to one another. For anxiety was something that ought to be passed from mouth-to-mouth, spreading to others rather than being kept to oneself.

“That is why we should have driven those troublesome sorts to the edge of the universe as quickly as possible. At this rate, they will pollute the seas of our planet. Don’t you agree?”

“Are you then planning to indict Lord Ariabert and his ilk for violating environmental protection laws?”

“Stop with this nonsense.”

“It is not as nonsensical as you fear. Duke Ariabert is still very much alive, so how exactly do you propose we drive away the Tytania army?”

While Ariabert himself was not disliked by the people of Bargash, there was, fundamentally, a sense of resentment and hostility towards Tytania. It was only natural that many reacted with “serves them right”, and it was equally understandable that cheers were sent to the forces that had dealt Tytania a bitter defeat.

The Tytania army’s responsibilities were divided such that Vice-Admiral Baldren was stationed in the capital to manage the headquarters’ functions, Rear-Admiral Paulsen continued sea searches while plagued by fury and self-reproach, and Vice-Admiral Silas commanded and supervised the mobile units in satellite orbit. Barring the occurrence of some urgent crisis, this arrangement should have been perfectly sound.

The dignitaries of the Bargash government who visited the hospital to pay their respects were politely brushed off and sent away. Even those who attempted to meet Ariabert in person to gauge his expression failed to achieve their purpose.

On the fourth day of his hospitalisation, Count Elman, who had taken on responsibilities far beyond anything he could have imagined a year prior, brought news regarding Uraniborg to Ariabert. It was then that Ariabert learned for the first time of the matter in which Duchess Theresa Tytania was causing bewilderment among the Clanner and the dukes by claiming she would succeed her late son.

“It must be quite difficult for Lord Jouslain as well.”

Ariabert’s voice sounded as if he were discussing someone else’s business. Count Elman politely observed the young duke’s expression. Surely, Ariabert himself must be facing greater difficulties than Lord Jouslain. Despite the fact that he could not possibly be unaware of this, Ariabert remained detached. It struck Count Elman that the man’s composure was almost excessive.

Ariabert received several reports from Count Elman regarding the negotiations with Bargash, gave his approval to the Count’s course of action, and then changed his expression.

“Lord Elman.”

Called upon, Count Elman braced his heart and waited for Ariabert’s words.

“I must take responsibility for the numerous failures, blunders, and errors in judgement I committed during this current expedition. I intend to submit my resignation to His Clanner Highness Ajman within the week. When I do, Lord Elman, I would like to ask of you to sign as a witness.”

“You wish to resign?”

Count Elman wasn’t completely feigning denseness through political acting. In truth, he was somewhat bewildered. Until now, Ariabert’s handling of his own failures had been nothing short of perfect. Count Elman had believed that the convalescence in the hospital was merely a way to buy time to devise a strategy to avoid being held accountable by the Clanner. However, Ariabert was now announcing his withdrawal not only from his position as commander-in-chief of the expeditionary force but from all public offices.

“A letter of resignation is merely a written expression of one’s intent to step down.”

Whether consciously or not, Ariabert had given an evasive reply. Count Elman suppressed a click of his tongue.

“But once Your Grace has relinquished your military authority, whom are we to appoint as the supreme commander of the Tytania expeditionary force?”

“That matter rests solely with His Clanner Highness. It would be inappropriate for someone in my position, a remnant of a defeated force, to presume to say otherwise.”

To Count Elman, Ariabert’s response seemed perfect. Or perhaps the man truly desired a life of quiet seclusion. Unable to judge his true intentions, Count Elman attempted to probe Ariabert’s heart.

“However, once Your Grace has relinquished your military authority, it is likely that Lord Idris will succeed you in that position. Even so, will you still step down?”

“I will.”

Ariabert responded dispassionately, and then, for the first time, a sardonic smile flickered across his face.

“I do possess a certain amount of self-confidence. If Lord Idris is capable of doing more than I can, then I should very much like to see him prove it.”

“Lord Idris is young, but because of that, one might expect great potential from him. I suppose that is all we can hope for.”

Count Elman had deliberately taken a risk. Had the person he was speaking to been Zarlisch, such a remark would likely have been met with a thunderous roar of fury and a display of strength pushed to the very limit. Ariabert, however, merely gave a light laugh.

“Then so be it. It would be a joyous occasion for Tytania, and it would simply mean that my loss of position is only natural.”

“But…”

Count Elman met that bland conjunction with silence. Was Lord Ariabert’s attitude that of a defeated man who had lost both tension and spirit? Was he a political strategist, awakened to intrigue, plotting something? Or was it some high-minded philosophy? No, perhaps it was merely the naive observation typical of a young man of high nobility, believing that his time would inevitably come again.

Beneath his gentle expression, Count Elman’s mind worked through a whirlwind of thoughts, yet he could reach no conclusion. Ultimately, Count Elman had never truly understood this noble admiral, who was some fifteen years his junior.

IV

On the 10^th of February, Ariabert’s resignation reached Uraniborg.

Idris, who had taken such pleasure in gloating over the failures of others and had never ceased his relentless pursuit of Ariabert’s accountability, curled his lip in a sneer upon hearing that Ariabert was resigning his post as commander-in-chief of the expeditionary force. His brow twitched slightly when he heard that Ariabert intended to relinquish all military authority. Finally, when he learned that Ariabert was also withdrawing from the Council of the Five Families to devote himself entirely to house arrest, Idris could no longer remain silent.

“What on earth is he thinking? Does that bastard Ariabert intend to become a hermit? Does he think he can simply punish himself and call it settled, without even waiting for His Clanner Highness’ verdict!”

Primarily, Idris might have been frustrated at being robbed of the pleasure of berating Ariabert, but that was certainly not the only reason. It could be said that the abrupt and absolute nature of Ariabert’s withdrawal had sent shock-waves through all of Uraniborg.

Lord Ariabert resigned from all public offices, relinquished his military authority, and withdrew from the Council of the Five Families, the supreme decision-making body. This meant that Ariabert was retreating significantly from the race amongst the dukes vying for the next position of Clanner.

The high-ranking officers of the Tytania military exchanged heated opinions in their excitement.

“They say Lord Ariabert failed in his mission, but then who exactly could have succeeded?”

“He did not fail in the first place. He forced the Bargash government into submission without bloodshed through sheer display of military might. It was a magnificent success.”

“It was unfortunate that he was outmanoeuvred by those bandits, Fan Hyulick and his gang, but that is a small matter. His past achievements more than compensate for it.”

“Even so, I wonder what will become of things from here on.”

In the end, this opinion served as the final summary, and the soldiers merely shrugged their shoulders and fell silent. To verbalise and express anything further was dangerous within Tytania. Yet, in truth, who could possibly replace Lord Ariabert?

Under normal circumstances, Idris should have gone to the planet Bargash in Ariabert’s stead to command from the front lines. This was even more pertinent given that Idris himself had explicitly stated his intention to do so in the past. However, Idris had no choice but to avoid such an occurrence.

Of course, it was not that he lacked the courage to go to the battlefield. Rather, it was political calculation that constrained his actions. With Zarlisch permanently removed from the Council of the Five Families, if Ariabert were to withdraw indefinitely, and if Idris himself were to depart for distant Bargash, then only Clanner Ajman and Jouslain would remain in Uraniborg. For Idris, such a move would be tantamount to leaving his own fate in the hands of his political rivals.

“I cannot simply stand by and allow them to decide whatever they please in my absence. I cannot leave Uraniborg.”

Idris had made his decision. However, that left the question of who would succeed Ariabert.

“Perhaps I shall simply nominate Jouslain as Ariabert’s successor. Whether he is truly up to the task or not will be amusing to see.”

It seemed like a good idea. However, Idris found himself forced to hastily reject his own proposal. If Jouslain were to become the acting commander-in-chief of the expeditionary force, he would naturally have to travel to the planet Bargash to meet with the bedridden Ariabert. There is no telling what the two of them might plot at that moment. Idris, being a man possessed of many political machinations himself, had a tendency to view his rivals through such a lens.

As far as he was concerned, he absolutely had to prevent an alliance between Ariabert and Jouslain. Nevertheless, he found himself unable to employ the tactic of siding with one to oust the other. He had shown far too much hostility towards both of them up until this point. Even if he were to propose a joint struggle to either of them now, he would likely only be met with a derisive rejection. Perhaps he should have been more cunning by concealing his competitive spirit more effectively. Idris wanted to click his tongue in frustration.

“Damn that Ariabert, he is far more difficult to deal with than I anticipated. Even though he was thoroughly defeated by Fan Hyulick’s faction and failed his mission, no one even points that fact out.”

On the contrary, sympathy both within and outside Tytania was concentrating on Ariabert, and his reputation was actually rising. Had Ariabert calculated things that far in advance? If so, he was far more than just a mere warrior; he was a considerable strategist. For Idris, who had regarded Ariabert as easy to handle, this was a source of unavoidable anxiety and bewilderment.

It was his younger brother Radmoth who went out of his way to provoke that bewilderment. The younger brother had a knack for saying exactly the wrong thing at the wrong time.

“It simply means that Lord Ariabert lost again and was forced to take the blame. Since your competitor has been removed from the race, shouldn’t you be celebrating, brother?”

“You are the one who should be celebrating.”

Idris spat the words out in the height of displeasure. While Radmoth’s simple optimism irritated him, Idris was, above all else, angry with himself.

In any event, Ariabert had moved one step away from his supreme position. Seizing upon this opportunity, Idris wished to devise a plan to widen the gap between the Clanner’s throne and Ariabert even further. However, the reality was that he could not grasp Ariabert’s true intentions, nor could he predict Jouslain’s response; as a result, he found himself unable to actively employ stratagems to strengthen his own position. Idris was dissatisfied with his own somewhat regressive attitude.

Even so, during the meeting of the Council of the Five Families on the 11^th of February, Idris interrogated Ariabert with sharp intensity, demanding he take responsibility. He argued that Ariabert had fallen headlong into the bandits’ cunning schemes, resulting in a defeat—albeit a small-scale one—that cost the lives of subordinates and, above all, tarnished the honour of Tytania. Furthermore, Idris claimed that Ariabert’s attempt to abandon the position and authority entrusted to him by His Clanner Highness was utterly preposterous. He asserted that such irresponsibility was unforgivable and that appropriate disciplinary measures should be imposed. That was the argument he put forward.

In such instances, the Clanner usually remained silent and let Jouslain handle the matter. Having listened to the conclusion of Idris’ argument, he slowly opened his mouth:

“At first, you demand that Lord Ariabert take full responsibility. But you also criticise him for resigning from his public office. I wonder, Lord Idris, what manner of actions from Lord Ariabert would earn praise from you?”

Watching the colour drain from Idris’ face, Jouslain self-reflected. His own nature was even more ill-tempered; he knew exactly how to say things that would wound others, yet he made no effort to avoid doing so. That said, it was also an undeniable fact that he could not bring himself to feel any true affection for this cousin who was three years his junior.

After three or four rounds of fruitless exchange, the Clanner declared the morning meeting adjourned, announcing that proceedings would resume at five in the afternoon. Lately, the Clanner had shown a tendency to avoid reaching immediate conclusions.

Idris left the room with a hint of indignation, and as Jouslain prepared to follow, the Clanner called him back. While that steel-like expression had not yet shown any cracks, one might have been able to detect a microscopic trace of bewilderment in the voice that addressed him:

“To submit his resignation before even facing censure; I do not believe such a notion was ever present in Lord Ariabert in the past…”

“It is as you say.”

“Did someone plant ideas in Lord Ariabert’s head?”

“Who can say…”

Jouslain did not state it aloud as a certainty, but he suspected that was not the case. He thought that perhaps it was the utterly unwelcome defeat and the subsequent time spent in his sickbed that had caused Ariabert to undergo a psychological metamorphosis.

Ariabert had fallen victim to the wiles of Fan Hyulick for the second time. Compared to the first defeat, the stage was smaller, and the losses were less significant. However, it must have delivered a fatal blow to the loser’s pride; had the person involved been Zarlisch or Idris, they would surely have been tormented by frenzied rage and humiliation.

Ariabert had managed to weather it. He accepted defeat with composure and took responsibility in a manner that no one could have ever imagined. More precisely, he had managed to convince others of his method of taking responsibility. While Idris’ opinion, “Can this really be called taking responsibility?” was correct in one respect, the fact that anyone hearing it would perceive it as nothing more than Idris’ malice was perhaps a reflection of Idris’ own lack of virtue.

Jouslain returned to his office. He had intended to approve eight documents during the morning, write a letter to Ariabert, and have lunch with Princess Lydia and Francia. However, at 10:50, his modest plans were interrupted. A guest had arrived.

A woman once beautiful, now adorned like a peacock. It was Duchess Theresa Tytania. By protocol, she was Jouslain’s aunt. Upon being formally ushered into the drawing room, the Duchess opened her garishly painted lips:

“It seems Ariabert has finally found the courage to act like a man and take responsibility. He really should have taken responsibility after his first defeat. He truly is a boy devoid of any decisiveness.”

This noblewoman, who enjoyed the greatest freedom of speech in this vast space city, prattled on, the excess flesh of her cheeks and chin trembling as she spoke. Though she had come to seek Jouslain’s assistance in securing formally her duchy, she spoke of the absent Ariabert as if she had forgotten her primary purpose.

“His mother’s upbringing must have been poor. She was a most slovenly woman, after all.”

“Duchess, please, let us not speak of the deceased so lightly.”

“Oh, Jouslain, what a polite boy you are. Though, one could argue that politeness is merely another name for hypocrisy.”

“…”

“Jouslain, I don’t believe you would ever defend that woman, would you? After all, she forced both you and your mother to swallow bitter pills. In the first place…”

“Duchess!”

Jouslain’s voice struck Lady Theresa’s lips like an invisible whip. After a momentary shudder, the Duchess glared at Jouslain with dissatisfaction, but as she sensed the strength of will embedded in his deep eyes, she shuddered once more. She let out an exaggerated cough to shake off her dread.

After a silence of about two seconds, Jouslain restored a polite mildness to his voice.

“More importantly, there is something I wish to ask you, Duchess.”

“And what might that be?”

“You have never before made any political demands, so why are you suddenly seeking power of late? It seems to me quite unnecessary.”

Theresa Tytania did not answer immediately. A cunning light flickered in her eyes, and once it had vanished, she spoke in a voice that sounded performative.

“That is quite unlike you, Jouslain. It is obvious, isn’t it? It is because my dear Zarlisch met such an unhappy end. Had that boy only lived, I could have entrusted him both my house and the Tytania Clan as a whole with peace of mind.”

For the very first time, Jouslain felt he was hearing the words of a mother lacking in sincerity. Nearly everyone in the clan knew that Lady Theresa favoured her second son, Arses, and remained cold towards her eldest, Zarlisch. The expression “dear Zarlisch” carried an immensely grotesque ring to it. That grotesqueness likely ran through the very lineage of the entire Tytania Clan. Rule by blood. The politicisation of selfish genes. The monopoly of power by a single family. That horror stood before Jouslain, expressed through a garish symbol.

Furthermore, she was undoubtedly a broken mirror, reflecting distorted images of Jouslain himself and Ariabert. He allowed the image of Ariabert’s mother—the woman who was, to Jouslain, his mother’s own sister—to flicker through his mind before using his will to cast the vision out of his consciousness.

“So, Duchess, is it that you have awakened to your sense of mission as a member of the Tytania main line?”

“In any case, it is impossible for just the three of you to decide the supreme will of Tytania, Jouslain. If we do not fill the vacancies with the correct individuals, a rebellious opportunist will surely appear. For the time being, why not let me, a member of the legitimate bloodline, sit in that seat, and then we can carry out a proper, permanent appointment later?”

She has a point, thought Jouslain. And ironically, it was that very point that aroused his suspicion. Lady Theresa was not lacking in intelligence, but she was a person who could not restrain her emotions and desires with reason.

Unlike Ariabert, there was little possibility that Lady Theresa would achieve a meteoric growth or awakening. The only conceivable explanation, to borrow the phrasing of Clanner Ajman, was that “someone had planted ideas” in her. It was at this moment that Jouslain clearly perceived that there was someone standing behind Lady Theresa.

… At almost the same time, Idris, who viewed Jouslain as an obstacle to his succession to the Clanner throne, sat ensconced on the sofa in his private room, lost in thought as he warmed a brandy glass in his palm.

To form an alliance with Zarlisch’s mother, that noblewoman driven by nothing but obsession and greed. It filled Idris with such dread that the mere thought of it sent a wave of nausea through his stomach, as if he had been forced to swallow cheap alcohol.

What Idris desired was the supreme power of Tytania. It was the throne of the cosmic hegemon, the seat of the ruler of human society. It was a position so magnificent and sublime that it inspired dread, and the struggle to attain it ought to be equally magnificent and sublime. Be that as it may. So how pathetic it was that he had to establish an alliance with someone who could not even grasp the true value of the Clanner’s throne.

Yet, if that was the best way to obtain it…

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