Northern stayed still and observed as the soldiers approached the King. The atmosphere was stiff, charged with something unspoken. It was easy to guess that something was wrong. 𝘧𝑟𝑒𝑒𝘸𝘦𝘣𝑛𝑜𝘷𝑒𝓁.𝘤𝘰𝓂

But he did not want to guess that. In fact, he suddenly felt the wholesome spirit of optimism drench him like a downpour.

’They certainly aren’t in trouble. It’s good news, they’re sharing good news. The atmosphere is like this because the news is so good—too good to be true, really.’

He turned away, putting one hand over Ellis’s shoulder, the other over Shae’s—who glanced at him, honored and awed to be touched in such a friendly manner. Northern didn’t even notice.

"Let’s go, guys. The long road awaits us."

"WHAT?! Envoys from the Empire?!"

Even if he wanted to ignore it, the King’s throat was apparently equipped with powerful voice projectors.

Northern grimaced and paused.

’Envoys from the Empire?’

He narrowed his eyes and turned back. Even though he badly wanted to leave this instant, he couldn’t shake the bad premonition settling into his gut.

’So much for optimism.’

He sighed and walked toward the King, weaving through clusters of soldiers. They parted for him without question.

"Ha, Lord Northern." The King addressed him with visible respect, though tension lined his jaw. "Envoys from the Empire have landed on our port. But don’t worry yourself about this. Your monsters shall be with you shortly and you can be on your way—I will not let them disturb you."

Northern looked at the King, head tilted slightly.

"Does this happen often?"

The King answered immediately. "During my grandfather’s era was when it last happened. He had been sure to set the record straight with them, boldly declaring our stance as an independent nation and vassal to no one."

Northern nodded, thinking.

’His grandfather’s era. So not within living memory for most of the court, then.’

"Is there any reason why they would choose now, of all times... I mean, to send envoys?"

The King’s expression darkened, his voice dropping into something grim.

"Of course. Those leeches—star-damned. They must have surveillance everywhere. They know we just recovered from a siege." He clenched his hands. "The Empire has always wanted to get its hands on our aetherium. There is no place in the world where it can be mined except here. And it is undoubtedly one of the strongest lightning conductors and insulators in existence. They have a similar mineral, but they’re greedy. They want ours too." The King’s voice dropped with malice toward the end, barely restrained.

Northern stayed silent for a few seconds, processing. The King’s anger was righteous and defensive. But something felt off. There was more to this.

’It couldn’t be that they’ve caught wind of me... right?’

That thought sat uncomfortably in his chest. It was either that... or the Empire was beginning its crusade earlier than anticipated. They clearly had an agenda to march toward Ryugan, but Northern suspected the timing wasn’t coincidental. Too neat and convenient.

He looked at the King with a serious expression.

"I know it’s too much to ask. But is it okay if I come with you to the court? I promise not to be a nuisance. I simply wish to observe."

Even as the words left his mouth, Northern was busy berating himself internally. Because hadn’t he told himself—moments ago—that he just wanted to do a quick extraction? That nothing was going to get in his way?

’And yet here I am, volunteering for court intrigue. Outstanding decision-making as always.’

But he couldn’t let this opportunity pass. Not when the stakes might be higher than a simple diplomatic visit.

The King glanced at his officials, then at the Admiral. None of them seemed to object—though a few exchanged curious looks at the foreigner’s sudden interest.

He turned back to Northern and exhaled slowly.

"Alright then, Lord Northern. There should be no issues, as long as you don’t interfere in any manner."

Northern nodded solemnly. He turned to Ellis and the rest.

"You guys collect Abyss Tyrant and move onto Thunderhead at the port. I’ll be there."

Ellis nodded. So did the others.

Roma’s eyes lingered on him a moment longer—questioning, assessing. Northern pretended not to notice.

Northern, Roma, the King, and his officials walked out of the arena through another route. They entered the throne room and took their positions.

Northern stood on the right side with the officials, all dressed in different exquisite robes and ceremonial armors. Despite the lack of uniformity, the air was sharp and expectant—a court braced for confrontation.

The large doors of the throne room groaned open, and figures began to march inward beneath a banner of deep red. There was no insignia, no coat of arms. Just crimson. A flood of it, rippling with each step.

They marched forward in measured cadence and stopped about thirty meters from the King’s dais.

They did not bow.

’Ah. So that’s how it’s going to be.’

Three rows of armed men in heavy armor stood in formation, extending from the dais to the doors like a corridor of gleaming metal.

Their armor was a sculpted shell of gold plates, layered and sharpened like the plumage of some metal war-bird. Broad pauldrons flared over their shoulders, and their breastplates curved in sweeping segments, reinforced by darker under-layers that locked together like interwoven scales. Each helm was the centerpiece—a visor of tapered plates framing cold, watchful eyes, crowned by a tall, swept-back crest the color of deep crimson.

The soldiers were impressive enough. But the ones in front demanded attention.

There was a black-haired man in silver armor with a blue shoulder cape, posture rigid and alert. Beside him stood another figure in casual black rags—deliberately understated, which somehow made him more unsettling. And in front of them both, at the head of the entire envoy, stood a striking man with sharp, aristocratic features and pale, almost ethereal blonde hair that fell in swept layers around his face.

He carried himself with the elegance of someone born to power but tempered by experience. There was a regal quality to his posture—relaxed, yet commanding. The kind of ease that came from never having been refused.

He was dressed in rich, formal garments—a deep crimson high-collared coat adorned with ornate golden embroidery in flowing, decorative patterns that caught the torchlight.

With rows and columns of Empire soldiers filling the throne room, their banners raised high enough to nearly scrape the vaulted ceiling, the atmosphere shifted. Settled. Became something owned.

And certainly not by the Ryugan Royal family.

But by the envoys of the Empire.