Chapter 61: Chancellor

The sun slowly rose through tears in the clouds clinging low to the earth. From its orange-yellow rim, sunlight spread out like wide fan blades, slanting downwards. These thin, spear-sharp rays in the vast sky broadened into torrential floods as they neared the ground, illuminating the soaring exterior of the Gothic structure.

“Dawn brought joy to the whole city; places that looked ugly and suspicious at night now smiled too. Sparkling sunlight danced on bedroom windows, piercing through curtains and canopies, shining right into the eyes of sleepers, even invading their dreams, driving away the shadows of the night.”

Constantine stared at the immense building of massive stone blocks bathed in the morning light, softly murmuring a description whose author he couldn’t recall… Yet clearly, the view before him brought no morning cheer. Falkens Palace, bathed in this brilliant crimson dawn, looked like a colossal, nameless beast. Its blue-grey outer walls were stained a strange, fiery red by the light shafts, staring serenely and terrifyingly at the square before it. Constantine’s gaze swept over the impossibly deep, dark doorways at the base of the wall. Suddenly, those black holes seemed like gaping monster mouths, and an uncontrollable flicker of nervousness rose within him.

Like everyone else in this world, Constantine still felt awe in the face of such a stark symbol of imperial power. But awe didn’t mean blind obedience. That was perhaps always where he differed from everyone else in this world.

Constantine’s purpose in entering this castle today was simple. His Most Supreme Majesty, three weeks after eagerly announcing him as his granddaughter’s betrothed, had finally remembered he needed to see what this youth joining the royal family actually looked like – though naturally, this was merely a formality. At this stage, unless Constantine resembled something as bizarre as a Warsaw mercreature or other inhuman creatures, it was unlikely anything would shake the viability of that decree.

Though the aim was simple, the process was complex. Long before the sun had fully cleared the horizon, the youth had been dragged from his warm dreams, dazedly completed his ablutions, and rattled the last of his sleep away in a carriage. Then came waiting obediently outside the ancient castle. The worst part, undoubtedly, was having to do it all alone.

Theoretically, such a “private” audience could allow an elder or attendant. But of course, with Duke George, who disdained these formalities, one couldn’t expect him to come. And the Old Steward, who usually guided him, was reportedly busy with important matters requiring his attendance. Angelina had kindly offered a servant of hers to accompany him, but someone of that caliber naturally couldn’t offer any useful advice. Reluctantly, the youth could only follow the pre-arranged steps from memory.

He passed through the ancient, heavy city gate, crossed the Moat fed by branches of two great rivers. Only after a detailed yet polite inspection by the palace guards, who nodded with a touch of pride, did Constantine receive their permission to enter. He returned a smile, then traversed the garden like a Labyrinth. More inspections at its entrances, more guards with proud nods he acknowledged with smiles… Six sets of procedures just like this.

Falkens Palace’s history predates even the Phoenix Empire itself. Ancient maps mark “Falkens” as a small town. How it became this near-autonomous, thirty-three-hectare castle complex almost separated from Hayton over layers of renovations is lost to time. The current Falkens Palace remains as it was after its final expansion by the sixth Emperor, fully inheriting the characteristics of that era.

The main structure, built from bluestone, was immensely thick and strong. Combined with the surrounding walls and towers, Falkens Palace was effectively an independent city. Though centuries of remodeling altered it, traces of its fortress origin remained: encircling walls over eighty feet tall, made of solid white stone blocks; the stronghold facing west with its back to the east; sections of solid, thick foundations exceeding Hayton’s city walls; over a dozen tall towers rising from the walls; two perfectly symmetrical watchtowers flanking the broad, lofty fortress gate. The mechanisms controlling the iron gates resided within them.

The immense Shadow cast by the walls induced a strange feeling of unease. Even with morning sunlight everywhere, a chill seemed to drift within those shadows…

As everyone knew, any kingdom’s court was the most dangerous place. Whether it was a result of reading too much about conspiracies, Constantine constantly felt knives hidden in unseen corners of this palace, poison slipped into his food at an unknown time. For a royal court, this was commonplace – countless souls met their end this way, haunting every royal palace.

Constantine twisted his neck. What he found most uncomfortable, really, was being unable to carry his Soul Amulet. Checks within the palace were far too strict; he’d even left his wrist-cracker belt and gloves for dexterity at home. The Amulet, wafting a permanent aura of Necromancy, was naturally impossible to bring. In fact, the moment he stepped through that deep gateway, he felt the air thicken – clearly the effect of some grand protective spell. It was expected, yet it made Constantine feel like something was missing, unusually unpleasant.

Finally, led by an attendant, the youth entered one of the castle’s sitting rooms. After being respectfully informed that His Majesty the King was occupied, he was served Rose Tea. Then… nobody disturbed him anymore… or rather, nobody paid him any attention.

True, an attendant stood right outside, able to respond instantly to a call, but the noble etiquette of this Plane didn’t include provisions for attendants chatting with guests.

But this also gave Constantine a chance to relax.

In truth, the youth felt he’d reached his limit. His light blue coat sporting dazzlingly bright buttons, black trousers, and highly polished, thin leather boots, fitted tightly to achieve the best lines. The fabric felt firm in a way he didn’t understand, restricting movement as much as a suit of Armor. His shirt was undoubtedly the whitest, best quality… and stiffest starched – every motion produced a sandpaper-like scrape. His semi-long hair, slicked to achieve the brightest platinum, was thickly coated in some unknown oil… completely blocking heat; even this early winter day felt stifling. The oil’s fumes made his head feel like wearing a helmet, only one filled with ants.

What really tested the nerves, however, was maintaining that perpetual polite smile. Smiling at every person he saw… This seemed beneficial for reviewing noble etiquette too. But after over ten minutes, Constantine felt his facial muscles had fixed into that smile. He wondered how it actually looked to others – the nerves in his face felt almost numb, his expression muscles far beyond his control.

The cloyingly sweet drink made his mind feel sluggish. He couldn’t help but yawn… Glancing at the delicate Hourglass on the table, barely half an hour had passed… Obviously, he’d arrived far too early. Even though the Emperor’s schedule was a strict secret, Constantine could guess easily enough: this Emperor of the Tranquil Dynasty probably wasn’t more diligent than the Chongzhen Emperor of the Ming Dynasty he remembered – unlikely to sleep at two AM and still rise at five. Rumors confirmed the King possessed considerable charm and passion… especially concerning women.

Despite this, Constantine obeyed Walter’s prescribed plan without complaint… The summoned can wait; one never heard of a King willing to wait – those “thirsting for talent” figures not yet on the throne might be exceptions, but Constantine was no sage, merely an idler.

Struggling against sleep, Constantine looked around to distract himself. But just then, the door opened again. An attendant entered respectfully, leading someone in.

The man appeared around fifty, relatively tall and slightly portly, with broad, high shoulders that made him seem perpetually slightly stooped. Yet his suit was elegant and comfortable, the most fashionable style among Hayton Nobles. Holding pristine, delicate gloves in one hand, he actually carried a fine cane in the other. With every step he took, its tip tapped distinctly on the floor: thump, thump.

His broad face was amiable, with high cheekbones. Blue eyes seemed perpetually calm, deep in thought. A scarlet mouth indicated not only good health but showcased vigorous internal organs. Only his pale-blond hair, though still thick, showed traces of white streaks; his neatly trimmed beard was even paler than his hair.

Notice was mutual. As Constantine saw him, the man looked at the youth too. Then he smiled. The smile was incredibly kind, even carrying a childlike innocence that could forgive even the nastiest acts. But when their eyes locked, Constantine felt his heart palpitate. Within the other’s pupils, narrowed by his smile, lurked a piercing cool gaze. It felt like being stripped naked; some secrets seemed plucked right out under that gaze. Constantine hurriedly lowered his head again.

“Marquis Albert Merry… This is Lord Constantine di Friedrich Connarivis.” The lisping attendant bowed promptly, also offering Constantine a much-needed identifier of who he was facing. The youth hastily bent down with sincere politeness.

“Good day, Lord Marquis. I am Constantine di Friedrich Connarivis…”

“Oh, oh, I know, I know. The first heir of Connalyvis… the newly recognized Sorcerer by the Mage Tower. No need for such formalities.” Cutting short the youth’s introduction, Marquis Merry made an expression of sudden realization. Laughing kindly like many Elders meeting family youngsters do, he patted Constantine’s shoulder. “Ah, my memory has been fading lately. I heard you came to Hayton with your father, but simply haven’t found the time to visit…”

“You honor me far too much, Lord Marquis…” Constantine visibly staggered slightly with the pats, inwardly wary. This genially smiling figure was far more than just a Marquis. He was among the most powerful political figures in the Phoenix Empire, wielding authority beneath the throne and above ten thousand men.

Albert Merry – Imperial Chancellor. He had another unflattering nickname: the Gold Weasel.

The Chancellor’s origins weren’t glorious. Though from a noble line spanning over ten generations, by his lifetime, little beyond the insignia decorated with wisteria supported his House’s nobility. Without aid from distant acquaintances of paternal elders, he might have even failed to retain his third-rank Baron’s title. Consequently, throughout his youth, he shifted among various family connections: officially residing under protection, but typically doing minor chores like copying or running errands for others – tasks usually handled by young pages.

Unbelievably, this unknown descendant of a declining Noble lineage rose: starting as a clerk, then head of the Hayton Senate Chancellor’s Office Secretariat, Vice Minister of the Law Enforcement Office, then head of logistics in the Southwest Army, head of the military affairs office… Sitting in the Chancellor’s Secretary position for ten years, before astonishingly standing out over thirteen higher-ranked candidates to reach the summit of civil officials – Chancellor, first beneath the Emperor and above ten thousand men – especially after his predecessor resigned due to the Duke George… incident.

Actually, observing the positions held by this Chancellor reveals much: he held civilian posts, military roles, and appointments within judicial bodies. Though his positions varied constantly across almost every bureaucratic division, he climbed upwards slowly but steadfastly.

Such a person, rising from obscure Noble decline to become the kingdom’s highest-ranking bureaucratic officer… navigating treacherous political tides without sinking – indeed, this baffled many… besides which, this Chancellor possessed every Noble’s malicious cruelty. Estimates suggested his bribes alone could sustain one-third of the Southeast Military District. His political maneuvering against Noble interests also netted him countless opponents; thus his reputation among both powerful officials and Commoners was poor.

Nevertheless, he remained firmly seated upon that position.

Over decades, he built an extensive network throughout the ruling system. While aligned with the King, he maintained close ties with countless figures within the Senate. Many venerable figures counted among his intimate friends. Despite innumerable secret intelligence reports of conspiracies to impeach him – countless whose private mentions evoked unanimous curses – publicly, everyone unanimously preserved noble decorum.

Simply stated, this man was the very archetype Constantine least wished to confront alone.

“I was just going to see His Majesty… Constantine… Oh, I hope my address doesn’t offend.” After several banal exchanges, the Chancellor watched the tightly wound youth and chuckled pleasantly: “If you’re wearied from waiting, why not accompany me there?”

This was his privilege. As powerful Chancellor, he enjoyed unrestricted access to His Majesty – whether the King granted audience, supped, slept… or was being intimate with the Queen. Naturally, a proper reason was expected.

“Well… I humbly accept your invitation…” The youth hesitated momentarily, pondering implications. Pre-visit intelligence indicated no particular closeness between the Chancellor and his family; this sudden goodwill seemed odd. Unfamiliar with the political currents, he found reasoned judgment difficult. Finally, gritting his teeth, he accepted the request.

Then, they stepped through corridors onto endless stairs, starting a hopeless round of climbing.

Their goal lay atop the northern wall tower: the Emperor’s favorite study and workplace. This peak within the entire city stood higher than ancient castle towers. Architecturally, this location served as the fortress’ artillery station. Should defenses fall to this point, attackers discovered capturing the castle didn’t control these high towers; deadly arrows and some spells from windows surrounding these towers caused fatal troubles.

Constantine recalled a joke concerning a faded celebrity lady who preferred dwelling high up. Visitors invariably ended breathless after climbing her stairs. Asked why she dwelled so high, she answered: it was the only way she could make hearts race now.

Perhaps His Majesty shared this hobby? The climbing youth speculated unkindly.

During the climb, guides changed several times; uniformly, their presence simply aggravated the youth. Beyond voices evoking creamy cakes, identically effeminate gestures – despite knowing the Western Continent avoided castration for court security – Constantine felt convinced these figures lacked proper male hormones… Especially the current guide; Constantine kept his head lowered, fearing he couldn’t restrain his anger: a powerful urge exploded inside him to shatter the tightly clothed, jiggling rump currently before him with a Magic Missile spell.

Maintaining an elegant smile towards this Chancellor proved strenuous; Constantine even suspected this old man possessed legitimate Knight status. Ascending such long stairs without showing signs of fatigue appeared nearly superhuman.

After dizzying loops upon loops, that endless spiral staircase concluded before an ordinary wooden door.

Surprisingly, no heralds or guards stood outside. Only the guide knocked gently, using that nauseatingly lispy voice to announce: “Your Majesty, Marquis Albert Merry has arrived. Accompanied by Lord Constantine di Friedrich Connarivis.”

“Enter.” A gentle voice emerged from within; simultaneously, that door slid sideways automatically.