In the Kingdom’s royal capital, within Saint Mist Palace.

No matter how the war with the Empire progressed, and no matter how much manpower, material, and wealth the Kingdom had poured into it, this exalted royal palace itself still remained steeped in peace.

The royal gardens were bursting with flowers. Saint Peron V reclined in an open-air hot spring pool, letting water infused with the medicinal essence of dozens of rare herbs soak through his whole body.

Those herbs had all been personally refined by the finest potion masters in the royal capital. ⊛ Nоvеlιght ⊛ (Read the full story) Their medicinal strength was long-lasting and gentle. Even a body as old and rotted as his could still draw a trace of vitality from them.

That vitality could not truly reverse the decay of his flesh, but it could slightly delay death’s approach. And the longer Saint Peron V sat on that throne, the more clearly he understood that in this world, death alone was the one enemy he could never utterly defeat.

Fortunately, before true death arrived, he had finally been given the chance to sweep aside another great enemy.

"Has the banquet begun already?"

The feverish heat from the medicinal effects gradually faded from his body. From the distant ceremonial hall came the airy, pleasant sound of instruments. The Kingdom’s royal orchestra was performing the famous national piece The Glory of Saint Perod. Tonight, an important state banquet would be held in the palace, and every great figure in the royal capital would attend.

As the ruler of this nation, Saint Peron V would naturally appear at the height of the banquet to read aloud the glorious victories won by the Kingdom’s great army at the front over this recent stretch of war, reassuring the increasingly restless hearts in the capital as supplies began to grow tight.

"Your Majesty, it has already begun."

A palace maid bent low and wiped Saint Peron V’s arm with a soft silk cloth.

"All the guests have arrived. First there was a performance by the royal orchestra. Next will be a court dance and a poetry recital."

"Is that so? How long have I been asleep here?" Saint Peron V asked again.

"Your Majesty, if counted from the moment you entered the sacred pool, thirteen hours have already passed."

"Thirteen hours? Has it truly been that long already?"

Saint Peron V finally opened his eyes. Starlight from the sky reflected in his clouded pupils, and under the influence of the medicine, even his withered, hollow cheeks had taken on a faint flush like that of an infant.

"Last time it was only twelve..."

Saint Peron V murmured to himself, and then his eyes suddenly fell on the maid beside him.

To be chosen to serve at the side of a king like him, she naturally came from a noble house. She was pretty, youthful, and bright, and even the black-and-white palace maid’s uniform could not conceal the full curves of her chest.

Good family, it seemed. Well nourished too.

"Come here."

"Yes."

The maid obediently moved closer. Before she could understand His Majesty’s intent, Saint Peron had already reached out a hand and slipped it inside her collar.

"Y-Your Majesty..."

The maid’s cheeks instantly flushed red. As a noble daughter who had received the finest lady’s education since childhood, when had she ever been treated with such casual impropriety?

But faced with the majestic gaze of Saint Peron V, she did not dare resist. She could only let the outline of that hand move and shift beneath the fabric over her chest...

Gradually, the maid’s eyes grew more and more unfocused, and her two long legs beneath her skirt slowly began to twist together...

"Your Majesty..." the maid called softly, full of anticipation. She even took the initiative to pull aside her clothing, revealing skin that was fair and supple, utterly unlike Saint Peron V’s own.

Whether from body or mind, she longed to go further.

But...

"Get out."

Just before the springtime scene could spill fully through the garden, Saint Peron V suddenly withdrew his hand, his face cold.

"Your Majesty?"

The maid looked utterly lost, unable to understand what she had done wrong. Had she failed to be forward enough and ruined His Majesty’s mood?

But Saint Peron V gave her no chance to salvage the moment. Rising straight from the hot spring, he flung her aside as casually as if he were tossing away a rag.

"I said get out."

The maid staggered from the throw, but did not dare say anything. After hastily bowing, she covered her thoroughly disordered chest and hurried away in tears.

Not far off, the knight standing guard did not move at all, like a statue. Within the garden, only Saint Peron V remained, looking down impassively at his own reflection in the hot spring water.

"As expected, the medicine’s effect is growing weaker and weaker."

He sighed. For all that he had spent his life towering above others, a trace of helplessness still escaped him now.

Those expensive herbs, those vanishingly rare treasures—every single refinement cost hundreds of millions of Aimier, yet the results grew worse and worse...

No. It was not that the results were worsening. His body was.

This aged body of his could absorb less and less of the medicine each time. With every soaking, he needed materials that were more expensive and more rare just to achieve the same effect as before.

"What was it Olive said the next batch of ingredients would cost? Nine hundred and seventy million Aimier, was it?"

Saint Peron V tilted his head in thought. For him to remember something he ordinarily cared so little about was already no easy thing.

The sheer sum was enough to leave ordinary people dumbstruck. Yet that was only the tip of the iceberg. The money spent on "slightly delaying old age" alone had already reached into the tens of billions of Aimier.

But Saint Peron V did not care.

For a strong nation like this, a few hundred billion was no more than a drop in the sea.

A few more drops would not dry out the ocean. Besides, had it not been by his hard labor over decades in that seat that this nation had reached such heights of power? If he received a little repayment in return, was that not entirely reasonable?

Not to mention that he was about to bring this nation one step further still and make it the true hegemon of the continent...

"Unfortunately, Olive is the only one now who can still remind me of how things used to feel."

At the thought of the black-robed woman’s smile, more exquisite than the flower gardens, her embrace more wonderful than the hot spring, her bearing more richly intoxicating than fine wine, the young maid seemed unbearably insipid by comparison.

Saint Peron V’s severe expression softened once more.

As a great ruler, he was not a man who wallowed in lust. But human nature was difficult like that. The closer one came to the end of life, the harder it became to let go of that moonlight from long ago, of things once lost, things once missed.

Of course, more important still was that Olive... and the people behind her... were also one part of his path to supremacy.

"Judging by the timing, Olive should have received some progress on the front by now as well."

Saint Peron V rose. Assisted by a newly arrived palace maid, he put on a splendid robe and at last made his way toward the palace where the banquet was being held.

At this time of year, the royal capital already carried a bite of cold. But the palace remained warm as ever. A vast magic formation covered the grounds, making it feel like spring all year round.

Not only that, but maids walked beside Saint Peron V carrying braziers filled with a certain costly aromatic wood. The burning wood warmed the surrounding air even further and released a delicate fragrance.

That fragrant wood had also been brought by Olive. It too was a kind of medicinal material. Saint Peron V liked its scent very much. Now it was burned at his side every day, as though Olive herself were always with him.

"Jared."

Yet no matter how pleasant that warmth and fragrance were, as a great ruler Saint Peron V never fully surrendered himself to such external pleasures. Even during the short walk to the banquet, he had not forgotten that there was still serious business to handle.

"The war reports from the front have already arrived, haven’t they?"

"Yes, Your Majesty."

Jared, Saint Peron V’s trusted confidant and the palace’s chief steward, stepped forward, both hands holding a stack of letters marked with gold-threaded crests.

"Several war reports have already come in, all of them urgent dispatches. They did not go through central administration but were delivered straight to the palace. At the time, however, Your Majesty was tending to your health, so I temporarily held them back and did not disturb you."

"Several?"

Saint Peron V gave a slight nod.

"It seems there is more good news. The last one was two days ago, was it not? The report Aurier sent, saying that his flanking maneuver had been carried out successfully."

He did not think there was anything wrong with Jared privately holding back the reports. He truly did not permit anyone to disturb him while he soaked in the spring.

And the front was distant. There would naturally be some delay before reports arrived. The last dispatch had been two days ago, yet now, after nothing more than a short sleep, he had received several in succession. That meant the battlefield situation had undergone major changes one after another.

It seemed his son—still tolerably capable for the moment—had, with Olive’s assistance, broken Notasia Fortress and was now writing to claim credit for the deed.

Saint Peron V smiled faintly, indifferently.

"Read."

"Yes."

Jared tore open the first letter in chronological order and quickly scanned it.

"This one is from Prince Aurier. He says the Kingdom army’s tactics have been very successful, and that the magic of that honored envoy has also proven extremely effective. At present, Notasia Fortress has been completely encircled and will soon be taken."

"Oh? It still hasn’t fallen yet?"

Saint Peron V was somewhat surprised. A full two days had passed. He had assumed the first letter would already contain that good news.

"His Highness says the Empire’s soldiers have very high morale, and in addition the pass at Notasia Fortress is narrow. Even with a siege, it requires time."

Jared hurried to add,

"His Highness sent this letter specifically so that we would rest easy and await the good news to come."

"Hm."

Saint Peron V nodded.

He had never seen that fortress with his own eyes, but he had read of Notasia’s terrain in the royal archives. Both its front and rear truly were extremely easy to defend and hard to attack. The topographical records had been drawn more than a hundred years ago, back when Notasia still belonged to the Kingdom.

"Very well. One day sooner or later makes little difference. It is still all within my expectations. But tell Aurier to pay close attention to the time. He must take Notasia Fortress before Imperial reinforcements arrive. He does not have much time left."

"Yes."

Jared silently took note, then tore open the second letter. After scanning it, even he looked somewhat startled.

"This letter is from Grand Duke Borgia. It concerns not the battle, but rather that part of the military mage contingent in his army rebelled and intended to defect to the Empire. He says he already sent out his elite anti-magic cavalry, along with mages loyal to the Kingdom, and suppressed them."

"Heh. That bastard is purging dissent again."

Saint Peron V was far too shrewd a man not to see through Grand Duke Borgia’s supposedly well-hidden scheming at a glance.

A rebellion among the military mages? In any nation, army mages were pampered with food and comfort. So long as ordinary soldiers could be thrown into a task in an offensive, no one would trouble the mages to waste their magic for nothing.

With treatment like that, what mage would revolt under normal circumstances? Had they eaten themselves stupid? The lowborn rabble were more likely to rebel than they were.

Some faction among the military mages must have refused to submit completely to Borgia, and he had found some convenient excuse to cleanse them.

"Your Majesty, this..."

Jared hesitated, cautiously studying Saint Peron V’s expression.

No matter what, for a commanding general to wield public authority for private ends, suppress rivals, and gather power to himself was a grave offense, one more than enough to provoke a sovereign’s towering fury.

"Let it be."

Saint Peron V only sighed and waved a hand.

"This is not the time to move against him. To replace a commanding general in the midst of war is a grave taboo, and besides, the western wing army is indeed tangled and complex. Too many of them are the private soldiers of various nobles. Given Borgia’s standing, moving against him now could cause great disorder."