Mess 181

181.

For such a perilous incident—a carriage nearly veering off the road—the outside world was remarkably serene.

The passersby hurried along, oblivious as though nothing had happened.

The horses were calm. There was no sign of damage to the road or buildings anywhere.

‘…Did something really even happen?’

Ex, embarrassed to find himself agitated alone, sheepishly scratched the back of his neck.

“I apologize.”

Startled by the sudden sound, he turned to find a cleric watching him with an apologetic expression.

The white veil drawn deep over the stranger’s head made their face hard to see, but to Ex’s eyes, it seemed filled with regret.

“No, are you alright yourself?” Ex asked. Seeing the apology, he guessed this cleric must have been the one nearly injured.

“Thank you for your concern.”

“If anything, it is I who should apologize. Are you sure you aren’t hurt?”

“Yes. I’m quite all right.”

“…….”

Something gentle in the faint smile glimpsed beneath the veil soothed Ex’s mind.

The grip of tension and anxiety that had choked him a moment before began to melt away like ice under sun.

A quick glance at his palm—once slick with nervous sweat—showed it had dried.

“Your Highness.”

A knight, after confirming the carriage’s readiness, signaled it was time to depart.

Nodding in acknowledgment, Ex turned back to the cleric.

“…?”

But there was no one there.

‘He’s gone already?’

He looked again, but the street ahead was empty. After a brief pause, Ex climbed back into the carriage.

“May as well review these documents one more time…”

Even with the Consilium so near, Ex decided to go over his papers again in the interim.

Though there was still a hint of tension in the way he focused, all trace of that anxiety was gone.

His legs no longer shook.

Immersed in his work now, he barely remembered the cleric from moments before.

“…….”

But the black-haired cleric remained where he had stood.

He did not take his gaze off the carriage as it departed.

“This time,”

A single white feather slipped from the cleric’s sleeve.

“We shall be recorded as the victors.”

As the feather caught the breeze and drifted away, the cleric’s figure vanished.

The feather rode the wind, following the carriage toward the Consilium.

---

“Before the council session begins.”

The meeting chamber, unlike the grand and ornate facade of the building, felt rather cramped.

“I have a few matters to announce.”

Nobles were packed close around the long, oval table at the center.

Seated at the head in the presiding chair was the Marquess Castane, with the Emperor’s faction to his left and the Crown Prince’s to his right.

This was Seraphie’s second time attending, and she now sat rather close to the Duke of Felicia.

Considering how she’d been stuck in a remote corner at her first meeting, it was quite a change.

It spoke to how much Seraphie’s status and influence had grown.

‘Oh dear…’

Of course, such a change was not entirely welcome.

Now, being near the seats of honor, the Crown Prince was uncomfortably close.

The nobles before her, the Prince’s close associates, looked distinctly ill—likely still reeling from their losses in recent events.

‘What a sour mood he’s in.’

Especially the Crown Prince himself.

Today’s council was his first official appearance since being so publicly humiliated at the banquet.

He had withdrawn from all public activity, virtually becoming a recluse.

And while he secluded himself, accounts of the banquet spread not only through the capital but the whole empire.

The Prince’s reputation had shifted dramatically.

Now, he was derided as a scoundrel, caught cheating and disgracefully cast aside.

In fact, the truth had come out: it hadn’t even truly been an affair.

Meanwhile, the tale of Duke Felicia’s daughter—who was secretly helping the captive white mage, only to be jilted for her efforts—became a legend.

Stories of the duke’s daughter and the white mage running off at night, united by their friendship, became a staple of street performances.

‘So he’s stopped bothering to keep up appearances?’

He’d never had a particularly good reputation to begin with, but at least made some effort to wear a public mask.

Now, the Crown Prince didn’t even try to hide his displeasure—in fact, it was blatant.

So, though summer’s heat baked the air, it was frigid with tension by the Prince; everyone nearby seemed busy minding his mood.

“…….”

“…….”

Seraphie’s eyes met the Duke of Felicia’s several seats down.

He seemed of like mind, only shrugging with an enigmatic smile.

The Duke of Felicia looked utterly drained from dealing with the Crown Prince’s tantrums.

So did Seraphie. In her eyes, the Prince was no more than an ill-mannered child.

‘Still, seeing him so often, he does feel…’

Almost familiar, oddly enough.

The truth was, Seraphie didn’t find the Crown Prince nearly as frightening as before.

‘Though it’s this one who concerns me now.’

Unfortunately, seated directly across from her, was Count Loria.

‘…There really is something different about him.’

To the eye, Count Loria still came off as frail and ineffectual.

But an indefinable sense of wrongness radiated from him.

It wasn’t just prejudice, born from her suspicions about his identity.

‘More importantly…’

In truth, her biggest concern today was elsewhere.

Ex was in attendance.

“Ugh…”

“Are you alright?”

Ex looked about to be physically sick, his face ashen. The Duke of Felicia, unable to watch any longer, kindly offered him water.

“…….”

Seraphie quietly watched Ex.

The Third Prince attended the council, ostensibly to gain administrative experience.

But few believed that reason alone.

Everyone knew.

This gathering, this moment of facing one another across the table, marked the beginning of the succession struggle—a contest for the next Emperor.

‘But…’

Seraphie darted a sidelong glance at Ex.

‘He seemed fine when we came in.’

Yes, he’d been nervous, but not nearly so deathly pale.

“…That concludes the announcements.”

At that moment, the Marquess finished his speech. When he’d outlined all the points, he picked up his gavel.

“Let the council session begin.”

Bang, bang—the gavel struck twice.

The first order of business was the reestablishment of the Validus Count’s knighthood.

---

The discussions progressed smoothly.

The first motion—the founding of the Validus knighthood—passed unanimously.

It was, from the beginning, a mere formality, as it concerned an order founded by imperial command. No noble dared oppose the Emperor’s will.

“The next order concerns the fate of the Baglosa family…”

As he introduced the second item, Marquess Castane spoke with caution.

“…The Count of Baglosa is still on trial.”

With so many damning pieces of evidence now public, conviction was all but certain.

While the Baglosa would be punished according to law, their aristocratic status remained to be judged.

That, the Emperor reserved for himself.

And so, he sought the council’s advice.

“His Majesty has requested that the opinions of this assembly be heavily weighed in his final decision.”

With that, Marquess Castane concluded his commentary.

“…It’s a delicate thing to discuss,”

Luni whispered from her seat at the rear. Orkis nodded faintly in agreement.

“His Majesty has already made his intentions plain.”

The Emperor’s agenda called not for punishment of the individual Count, but of the Baglosa family as a whole.

In other words, the family’s eradication was all but assured.

‘Handling of the family, he says…’

Everyone, including Seraphie, quietly pondered the ulterior motive hidden in the agenda.

‘But is total eradication truly the right move?’

A single finger of Seraphie’s clasped hands shifted ever so slightly atop the table.

‘No.’

It was what the Emperor wanted—but not just yet.

That was why he’d thrown the question to the council, to buy time.

Because the true crimes were not yet fully uncovered.

Counterfeit gold.

A new explosive.

‘…And even the Crown Prince’s misdeeds.’

The Emperor meant to use Baglosa as bait to draw other crimes into the light.

This council was only a front to delay for that purpose.

Seraphie unclasped her hands.

Right now, Pura and the others were infiltrating the West to seek out the counterfeit gold operation.

Until they returned with results, she had to hold all eyes here and stall for time.

‘So it all falls to me in the end.’

For all the affection she enjoyed from the Emperor, the burdens laid upon her were correspondingly heavy.

“We ought to strip the title.”

But it was not Seraphie who spoke.

“C-Count Loria!”

One of the Crown Prince’s faction slammed the table and shot to his feet. He barked at Count Loria, fuming.

“What do you mean by that?”

“Yes, what is this? Stripping the title…?”

“There have to be limits, surely—”

In an instant, the tension at the table erupted.

‘What on earth is happening?’

Seraphie recalled that the council’s usual atmosphere was a messy brawl of insults and finger-pointing.

But at least then, the fights were with the opposite side.

It was never with one’s own.

‘Don’t tell me…’

A deeply uneasy premonition flashed through Seraphie’s mind.

“…I understand your feelings well.”

Just then, Count Loria, until now silent, spoke up. His voice was soft and mellifluous.

But to Seraphie, it sounded nothing of the kind. To her ear, it was the gentle lull of a lullaby, masking the affectionate whisper of a devil wielding a hidden, blood-drenched dagger at her back.

“Nonetheless, let us think carefully on this.”

His tone was soothing, almost coaxing.

“The Count of Baglosa has betrayed His Majesty’s trust and sullied the honor and morality expected of a noble.”

Therefore, he implied, stripping the title was only proper—and treated those who hesitated as if they were the odd ones.

“Count Loria.”

Duke Felicia, rarely seen so displeased, interjected.

“Revoking a title is among His Majesty’s gravest prerogatives.”

If Seraphie had broached the topic first, the duke would never have spoken such words.

On the contrary, he might well have backed her.

But it was different when Count Loria was the one to say it.

And that was something he could never be permitted to say.

“His Majesty asked for your advice—not for you to decide.”

“But of course…”

Count Loria, faltering mid-sentence, glanced briefly at Seraphie.

“As the saying goes—”

His gaze soon dropped, but Seraphie caught the faint, cold arc of his lips aimed her way.

“Punish one, and a hundred will heed the warning.”

“…….”