The Grand Council Hall of Arachrene.
This was a place of enormous importance — where the great and minor affairs of the family were deliberated and decided.
With all ten elders in attendance, fierce arguments were hardly uncommon.
“What could we possibly gain from standing against the Imperial House? Disbanding the army would be to our advantage. Haven’t we spent years clashing with the Empire over this very issue — to the point of exhaustion?”
“Absolutely not. The reason we’ve been able to grow at all is precisely because we possess an army and hold exclusive rights over military supplies. If we disband the Arachrene forces, every justification we have disappears along with them.”
The first voice belonged to Marquess Crender; the second to Countess Charlotte, in that order.
The Arachrene Ducal House was the sole noble family in the realm permitted to maintain a private army, and it operated the largest military supply enterprise in all of the Declair Empire. That distinction was more than sufficient reason for the relationship between the House and the Imperial throne to grow distant.
After all, possessing military strength that could rival the Empire’s own was enough for the Imperial House to regard them as a genuine threat.
And unlike the turbulent era when the previous Emperor had ruled over a fractured realm, the Declair Empire of today was almost unsettlingly peaceful. It was only natural, then, that the Imperial pressure bearing down upon House Arachrene grew heavier with each passing year.
“The Empire is at peace now. Shouldn’t House Arachrene be seeking a new path forward? I find myself in agreement with Marquess Crender.”
Marquess Asili, who had been listening to the elders in composed silence, spoke with a gentle unhurriedness. He smiled with his eyes in that soft, amiable way of his — but behind the warmth, his gaze was razor-sharp.
“It’s thanks to all of this that we’re struggling to make any inroads toward the capital, isn’t it?”
“I’m at my wit’s end as well. The subtle pressure to surrender our exclusive trading rights over military goods has created no small amount of trouble.”
Count Atran, who had been sitting hunched and tentative, watching for an opening, chimed in in agreement.
Those advocating for the disbandment of the private army were, for the most part, the collateral branch elders who ran their own military supply trading houses.
Arcmund, who had been quietly enduring the elders’ litany of grievances, felt a dull ache building behind his eyes.
This particular subject had never once been absent from any council meeting. But today felt different — today, they all seemed to have come prepared with a purpose.
It’s because the Crown Prince’s birthday is approaching.
They intended to extract the answer they wanted before that day arrived, by whatever means necessary.
“When the Young Duke was stationed at the border front, at least we had our arguments to stand on. Now, I’m afraid, our position is rather uncomfortable.”
Marquess Crender murmured loudly enough to ensure he was heard.
It was, in part, precisely why Pernoa had remained at the front lines for as long as he had. In a peaceful Empire, questions had been raised about what role House Arachrene was even meant to play.
“Perhaps this is the very moment to consider befriending the Imperial House.”
Count Atran ventured carefully, opening his mouth once more.
“The Crown Prince’s birthday is approaching… and wouldn’t the timing be rather fitting?”
The moment the words finally escaped someone’s lips — words no one had dared to say aloud before — a hush settled over the Grand Council Hall.
The expression on Arcmund’s face turned cold.
The current Emperor was the sort of man who harbored deep resentment toward the extraordinary abilities carried in Arachrene blood. There was no bowing first before someone so dangerous. Who could say what he might demand as proof of the House’s loyalty to the Empire? It might very well place House Arachrene in peril.
“I refuse.”
“…This is the kind of issue that could permanently seal off House Arachrene’s path to the capital, if we’re not careful.”
Marquess Asili offered cautious support for Count Atran’s position.
As matters stood, House Arachrene’s access to the capital had been effectively blocked. The Imperial House had made a public declaration that any ducal house that refused to relinquish its military authority would be barred from exercising influence over the Empire’s broader affairs.
The reasoning was, on the surface, sound enough — preventing any excessive concentration of power in a single quarter. Under pressure from that Imperial proclamation, ducal houses had surrendered their military rights one by one. House Arachrene now stood as the only family in the Declair Empire that still possessed an army of its own.
Of course, they had not simply absorbed the Imperial pressure without response. The ducal house had numerous collateral branches, and if they chose to, they could exert influence at any moment.
“Admittedly, there is something to that. If the road to the capital were to be sealed off permanently, it would become a very serious problem indeed.”
It was then that Pernoa, who had been watching the proceedings in silence, finally spoke.
The moment he offered that measured agreement, several of the elders brightened visibly and began nodding along.
“Yes, precisely. So attending the Crown Prince’s investiture ceremony, which is to be held in celebration of his birthday, would not be an entirely unwise idea.”
Rosinante concurred and replied in kind.
The sudden exchange between the two, who had both been so quietly withdrawn, made Arcmund furrow his brow as if to ask what on earth they thought they were doing.
“How nice, that someone still finds the time to celebrate his own children’s birthdays. Must be pleasant, living without a care in the world.”
At that moment, Pernoa threw out the sardonic remark and let out a quiet, dismissive laugh.
The room fell silent again, unable to read his true intentions.
The elders exchanged glances, wondering whether this was another trap. It would not be the first time. They remembered all too well the things Pernoa had gotten up to when he was still the Young Duke.
He had a remarkable talent for appearing to take their side, only to deliver a devastating blow from behind. Whenever they let themselves be pleased that he seemed to agree with them — without fail, the hammer would fall. And when they guarded themselves against it—
“Oh? That’s a shame. I was actually prepared to go along with your wishes this time.”
Something like this would happen instead.
How could I have forgotten that!
Count Atran pressed his face into his hands with a pained grimace.
A heavy silence began to settle over the Grand Council Hall.
Pernoa, arms crossed, said nothing — whatever was turning over in his mind wholly unreadable. Then he let out another hollow, humorless chuckle.
In response, the elders flinched in unison.
“Still, I suppose it wouldn’t be a poor idea to consider a push toward the capital with this as an opportunity.”
“…Do you mean that?”
Marquess Crender leaned forward, his disbelief plain on his face.
“It might also be worth making perfectly clear just who it is that has been responsible for preserving the peace of this Empire all along.”
Pernoa smiled pleasantly.
The Imperial House would come to understand, all at once, just how much House Arachrene had restrained itself — and who, precisely, it had deigned not to move against.
“The Crown Prince will be absolutely delighted.”
Pernoa remarked with a casual shrug of his shoulders.
Up until now, House Arachrene had never once expressed any intention to attend an Imperial event that did not involve the Emperor himself.
If word of this were to reach the capital—
We need to move quickly, before it does.
The elders’ minds began racing at once.
Arcmund, who had been observing how the council unfolded from the moment it began, clicked his tongue quietly.
Good grief.
Fools.
There they sat, practically glowing with satisfaction, with no idea what move Pernoa had just made.
With a single declaration of intent to attend the Crown Prince’s investiture, Pernoa had just secured three things at once.
First: the elders who had been secretly collaborating with the Imperial House were, at this very moment, wrestling with a quiet conflict inside themselves. Until now, they had been willing to accept the risk of maintaining contact with the Imperial House because the gains outweighed the danger. But if House Arachrene were to establish a foothold to advance toward the capital—
They would stand to gain far more than anything the Imperial House has ever offered them.
Working openly alongside House Arachrene would yield incomparably greater rewards than the covert dealings they had been carrying out within the limits of their individual means. Pernoa was guiding them, naturally and without coercion, toward letting go of the hand they had been quietly holding with the Imperial House.
The second thing he had gained was a clear, unobstructed view of those whose first and last loyalty was to their own interests.
Marquess Crender, Count Atran, and Marquess Asili were the obvious examples.
And as for the one among the elders worth keeping close—
Ian Charlotte, wasn’t it.
The young count who had stood firm against those three, arguing to the very end for the well-being of House Arachrene.
Arcmund made a quiet note to watch him.
And the last thing Pernoa had secured—
“Come to think of it, if you attend the investiture ceremony this time around, the Crown Prince would surely be quite pleased to see you. Word has it that House Arachrene’s support for the Crown Prince is widely spoken of, after all.”
Rosinante offered the observation with the air of someone simply making conversation.
The moment the word vote was implied, the expressions of the elders hardened.
