There had been exactly eight people to bear the name ‘Senuart’ throughout history.
It was an honor reserved solely for the Tower Master.
And among those, the ones who were skilled in black magic could be counted on one hand. As for someone who could actually wield the Dragon Staff…
There would only be one.
But why did Sion Senuart want such a dangerous object in the first place?
In the end, he would only end up being controlled by it.
Riersha made her way directly to the dining room where supper would already be waiting.
When she stepped inside, she found Pernoa and Sion already seated. There were additional guests as well — Rosinante and Basen.
It seemed they intended to bring all outstanding conversations to a full and final close tonight.
“Welcome, Miss Riersha. Please, sit here.”
“…I thought our young lady’s seat was beside mine.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
Rosinante replied with characteristic bluntness as he pulled out a chair.
“Here you are, miss.”
Then he turned to Riersha with a bright, warm smile.
It was her usual seat — the one that might as well have been designated hers.
“Mm, thank you.”
She settled into it promptly and began scanning the table for something worth eating. Far down the spread, a glossy, perfectly set pudding caught her eye.
Without quite meaning to, Riersha’s hand began to reach for it — and Pernoa’s stern voice cut through the air.
“Dessert comes after the meal, Riersha.”
“…Yes.”
She withdrew her hand and placed it obediently in her lap.
At that moment, Sion, who had been watching her with idle curiosity, reached out and picked up a spoon, angling it toward the pudding.
Riersha’s eyes went wide.
She watched in silent horror as the plump, tempting pudding disappeared into Sion’s mouth. He savored it for a moment, then smiled pleasantly.
Riersha stared at him with an expression of pure betrayal.
“Dessert is something you eat after you finish your meal!”
“I’m an adult, so I can do as I like.”
“…”
“Our little Miss Riersha is still a child, so she doesn’t get to eat whatever she wants.”
“…”
Riersha’s mouth fell open in stunned indignation, her chin beginning to crinkle in that telltale walnut shape.
At the same moment, Pernoa’s expression cooled to something sharp and still, and Rosinante, still wearing his pleasant smile, quietly readjusted his grip on his knife.
“Ah, that’s deli— ugh.”
“For the love of — would you please just behave yourself. You absolute menace.”
Basen muttered through gritted teeth.
Beneath the table, he was grinding his heel thoroughly into the top of Sion’s foot.
Pernoa watched it unfold and allowed himself a quiet smirk.
Then he cut a small piece of steak and held it to Riersha’s lips as he spoke.
“Even when you grow up, that is not something you should learn to do, Riersha.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Now then. Let’s all eat.”
And so the peculiar dinner of five began.
By the time the meal was drawing to its close, the dishes had been cleared away and the desserts were beginning to arrive. It was Pernoa who opened the conversation.
“Let’s continue where we left off yesterday.”
“Ah, has it already come to that? Then let’s skip the pleasantries and go straight to the point.”
Basen, who had been quietly appreciating the Arachrene family’s tea, answered quickly — partly out of concern that Sion might find another way to derail the mood.
“You have your work cut out for you.”
Pernoa remarked offhandedly.
“If only my master understood that as well as you do.”
“The Arachrene family always welcomes talented individuals.”
“…What exactly are the two of you doing right in front of me?”
Sion objected with visible displeasure. Pernoa tilted his head toward him with a cool, sideways look.
“Then perhaps the Tower Master should speak. Is there any reliable way to determine whether black magic has been used on someone?”
“Honestly, there isn’t.”
“…There isn’t?”
“To be precise — there is no way for an ordinary person to detect it. It’s impossible without a mastery of magic at a very high level.”
“…”
“That is precisely why it is forbidden.”
Sion smiled brightly, as though stating something perfectly simple.
But the words sent a chill crawling across Riersha’s skin.
If someone had decided to use that black magic for wicked purposes, did that mean they could spend their entire life committing those crimes without ever being caught?
“Then you, Tower Master, are capable of detecting it?”
“Yes.”
“…”
The answer was so unhesitating, so completely matter-of-fact, that Rosinante momentarily lost his words.
It was not the answer anyone had expected. Because that meant—
“Then why, all this time…”
Why didn’t you know?
A silence settled over the dining room.
It was commonly understood that Sion had held the seat of Tower Master for more than ten years. The exact timing of a Tower Master’s appointment was never publicly disclosed — it was an internal matter, decided entirely within the tower itself — but Sion Senuart had first appeared to the outside world roughly a decade ago, so people simply assumed it had been around that long.
“The Crown Prince was born eight years ago. The fact that nothing was known all that time is rather strange.”
“…But at that time, I had not gone to see the Crown Prince.”
“You had not been invited to.”
Basen supplied the answer from beside him.
Everyone turned to look at him.
He set down the walnut tart he had been happily eating and let out a slow sigh.
“There was an oracle delivered at that time.”
“An oracle… I remember hearing of it. But the temple never disclosed its contents publicly, did they?”
“What’s an oracle?”
Riersha tilted her head in curiosity.
“It was an oracle delivered long before you were born, miss. At the time, an intense pillar of light descended from the sky above the Declair Temple. No one who witnessed it could ever forget that day.”
Rosinante explained it as though tracing the memory from a great distance.
Basen gave a slow nod.
“That is correct. The oracle came down that day, and as a result, the tower was not invited when the Crown Prince was born.”
“…Every circumstance seemed to work in the Empress’s favor.”
It was truly a staggering coincidence.
On the very day the Crown Prince was born — the day his bloodline was concealed through forbidden means — the one person capable of detecting the use of black magic happened not to be present.
“Why were you not invited?”
“The temple had indicated they would personally oversee the celebration of the Crown Prince’s birth… and a request came directly from the imperial family for the tower to stand guard around the perimeter instead. We had no grounds to refuse.”
There had been an oracle. The temple itself was overseeing the ceremony. What could they have said?
And with the imperial family making the request directly, the tower had no choice but to comply.
As Basen turned the events of that day over in his mind, he tilted his head slightly.
“Come to think of it, that is rather strange. Tower Master.”
“What is.”
“Well — Pope Christia is said to possess extraordinary holy power. Strong enough to purify corrupted water in an instant, by all accounts.”
“And?”
“Then why didn’t he know that the Crown Prince’s appearance had been altered through black magic?”
At that, Riersha’s expression stiffened.
The implication was clear: a person with sufficiently powerful holy power should have been able to detect black magic as well.
Which meant — did Pope Christia already belong to the Empress?
“Perhaps his power is not that strong after all.”
Sion replied, utterly indifferent.
“Holy power is difficult to contain outside of those with Declair imperial blood. It’s genuinely remarkable that a common-born person rose to become Pope at all, but…”
“…”
“Conversely, that also means the current Emperor’s holy power has all but dried up entirely.”
To put Sion’s words plainly: neither the imperial family nor the temple had anyone capable of seeing through the black magic placed on the Crown Prince.
The absence of holy power.
And through that absence — Adrian Declair had taken his seat as Crown Prince.
“Does that mean… if someone has strong enough holy power, they can tell whether black magic has been used?”
Riersha asked again, and Sion gave a light shrug.
“Is that all it would do? Depending on how powerful the holy power is, the person might be able to see the subject’s true appearance as well. Black magic simply cannot take hold against it. That is why holy power is so remarkable — and why people hold it in such reverence.”
That meant…
Riersha turned slowly to face Pernoa, something shifting in her expression.
The moment their eyes met, she whispered.
“Could it be…”
“Interesting.”
Pernoa smiled quietly.
Both of them, in the same instant, seemed to be thinking of the same person.
The one who had purified the Arcmund poison in a single breath, with nothing more than a trace of holy power.
Isierd Declair.
The true imperial prince that the Empress had so desperately wanted to keep hidden.
