Chapter 64: The Gathering Storm

Inside the carriage returning from Chimjeon to the Boronia Palace.

“The Imperial Palace where His Majesty lives really is something else, isn’t it? Wow, I’ve never seen such amazing things in my life.”

Rohan gave a small smile at her face, as if she were still lost in a dream.

“But this... you’re really going to have to pay me a lot for this, you know? That illness—this is no ordinary sickness.”

“I know. Don’t worry about your reward. I’ll make sure you’re generously compensated. All you need to do is focus on the treatment.”

“That’s exactly the answer I was hoping for!”

Eirene grinned brightly, a “Hehe” escaping her lips.

“Hah, I guess I’ll have to put in some real effort this time. I’d look so silly if I said I could do it and then failed.”

She opened the wooden box, fiddled with this and that, and slipped once again into her own world. Watching her, Rohan laughed as if amused.

---

A quiet alleyway in the western part of the capital.

Zennon stopped in front of an old bookstore, its gray bricks stacked haphazardly, as if by habit.

The small, faded sign read ‘Monterre Bookstore’ in handwritten letters, but the ‘Open’ placard hanging beneath it had been flipped over for days.

“Closed again.”

The door was tightly locked, and the interior glimpsed through the window was dark and silent.

Zennon carefully grabbed the doorknob and rattled it. As expected, there was no response.

He’d asked other members of the old book club, and they all said in unison that it had been quite a while since anyone had seen him.

“Sigh, I’ve been too busy to attend the book club lately.”

If he’d known this would happen, he should’ve kept attending and gotten closer to him.

If he had, at least he would have known what happened to him.

He took a deep breath and sat on a small wooden bench in front of the bookstore.

“It wasn’t open yesterday, or the day before…”

His gloved hand slowly curled on his knee.

He’d been stopping by after work for a week now, but the door had never once been open.

Goofy Monterjac.

He always looked a bit absent-minded, but occasionally threw out sharply perceptive remarks about reality—a unique kind of bookstore owner.

His only interest was old books.

Zennon was a rare-book enthusiast himself, but Goofy was the kind of man who had spent nearly his entire life buried in them.

And ironically, Zennon often found key insights from this man, whose perspective differed from most.

“Where on earth did he go? Is he unwell?”

The bookstore’s second floor was the room he lived in alone.

Zennon couldn’t help but worry—what if he had died alone, unnoticed?

And just then.

“…You looking for the bookstore lad?”

At the low, husky voice, Zennon turned his head.

On the bench beside him sat an old man with a small tobacco pipe—someone who sat in front of his house every day, puffing away and watching passersby.

“I’ve seen you coming here for days. Haven’t missed a single day, have you? That’s quite a peculiar hobby!”

Zennon was silent for a moment, then his face turned awkward.

“Wh-what do you mean? It’s not like that.”

“Not like that, but you come by every day with that forlorn look?”

“I… He’s a friend from our book club. I came to ask about something, but he hasn’t shown up for days…”

“Hmm, I see.”

The old man chuckled and set down his pipe.

“He said he was going far away.”

“Excuse me?”

“He said he’d be going far, and even gave me a present!”

He tapped the ground with his pipe.

A crystal ashtray sat there.

“That’s…!”

He had seen it every time he’d visited the bookstore.

It was definitely Goofy’s.

“Did something happen to Goofy? Did he return to his hometown?”

“Hometown? What hometown? His family’s ruined—he’s an orphan with nowhere to go back to.”

Was that so? He hadn’t known that.

“…Ahem, then do you know where he went?”

The old man took a long drag from his pipe and exhaled slowly.

“Said there was nothing more to learn from humans, or something like that. The name of the place he was going sounded odd, though. Silvermoon, or Silva… something like that.”

Suddenly, Zennon’s eyes sparkled.

“Could it be… Silvaren?”

The homeland of the Elphyrians, a closed-off land.

Did he go there?

“Are you sure?”

“Well, how would I know? Would he tell the old man next door exactly where he’s going?”

The old man returned to puffing on his pipe, and Zennon quietly stood up.

He tightened the glove on his hand and steeled his gaze.

‘Goofy went to Silvaren…’

He had always liked old books about other races’ civilizations.

But Silvaren wasn’t somewhere you could just decide to go, was it?

He glanced once more at the bookstore door, then turned to leave.

He didn’t understand the full situation, but he had to report this information to Rohan immediately.

If it was Rohan, of all people, he wouldn’t overlook even the smallest clue.

Just then.

“Huh? Mr. Zennon, is that you?”

Someone appeared in front of him.

---

At that moment.

Rohan was receiving a special guest.

In the Boronia Palace’s reception room, around noon.

The thick doors opened, and a middle-aged man stepped inside.

“Aimon Lorance, at your service, Your Highness the Crown Prince.”

“It’s our first time meeting alone. Welcome.”

Short in stature, with a solid build.

His brown eyes, bright and clear, seemed to hold a subtle flame.

He looked nothing like Zennon, who took after his maternal side and appeared fair and gentle.

“It seems I’m much too late in paying my respects. I apologize.”

Back when Rohan was just a prince, Lorance hadn’t even glanced his way.

In fact, he’d once passionately argued that Rohan wasn’t fit to be crown prince.

But after recent events, the conservative noble faction, including him, had changed their minds.

“I was quite surprised by the recent council vote. I hear the appearance of the northern grand nobles was due to your influence… is that true?”

“In a way, yes.”

Rohan smiled lightly, sipping his tea.

‘So he took this long because of his pride, I suppose.’

Count Lorance.

A noble at the heart of the conservative faction, and the head of a house that had served the emperor for generations.

Rather than amassing wealth, he was known for his dedication to the people, earning him the most public support among nobles.

For someone like him to support a common-born Rohan must have taken a lot of consideration.

He valued legitimate succession above all and had immense pride in that conviction.

“If the proposal had passed, Marquis Fabien would have run amok again, blind to fear. You really did accomplish something extraordinary.”

He did, but he wondered why Lorance was being so roundabout about it.

‘No wonder Zennon ended up with that kind of personality.’

Zennon was a clever fellow, but often seemed strangely timid.

“I was lucky. There were people who helped as well.”

“Your Highness is truly humble. Unlike certain others.”

He spoke with an unpleasant expression.

“The recent actions of Marquis Fabien were outrageously arrogant—even that phrase doesn’t do it justice. How could he challenge imperial authority and speak such nonsense before His Majesty…!”

“Don’t let it trouble you. His Majesty already expected him to act that way.”

“What do you mean by that?”

Rohan gave a slight smile.

“When the marquis suggested a vote—didn’t you think His Majesty agreed a bit too easily?”

“Well…”

He had, actually.

That’s why they’d been a bit suspicious themselves.

They’d wondered if perhaps His Majesty had been persuaded by the marquis.

“Then… are you saying it was all planned?”

Rohan nodded.

“You could say it was all to set up a counterattack. The greater the expectations, the more bitter the disappointment.”

“Ho!”

Fascinating.

He’d heard rumors, but seeing the crown prince before him gave him an odd feeling.

A boy’s face, but not a boy’s heart.

“If you arranged for the northern nobles’ visit, then you must have coordinated with His Majesty in advance. It’s clear the credit goes to you, Your Highness.”

His expression softened a bit.

“What will Your Highness do next?”

“What do you mean?”

“The marquis, of course. We can’t just let him be.”

It seemed he was determined to use this chance to bring down the marquis for good.

“I think the same. I have no intention of letting the marquis go unpunished.”

“As expected!”

At Rohan’s prompt reply, the count’s eyes sparkled.

“I hope you will become the general who leads from the very front. If you do that, both I and the nobles who stand with me will swear loyalty to Your Highness.”

“I gladly accept your advice to become a great ruler.”

Rohan smiled and set down his cup.

“And now, there’s something I must tell you in secret.”

---

A small garden in the capital.

The lamps by the edge of the pond flickered in the wind, and the bare winter trees cast faint silhouettes.

There, two figures, half-melted into the darkness, faced each other.

It was Rohan and Lucretia.

She wore a thick cloak, her breath forming white clouds.

“A piece of urgent intelligence just arrived today.”

As she spoke, she took out a small document sealed in leather.

While Rohan read it, she sharply scanned the surroundings.

“It’s an order placed by a merchant house attached to the marquis’ estate. The demand for leather armor has tripled in the last ten days. What do you think that means?”

Lucretia brushed her forearm.

“I have goosebumps right now. Your Highness, how did you know?”

She was this startled because of the secret order Rohan had given her a week earlier.

“Demand is up, but all the goods are in our hands, so prices have skyrocketed.”

Rohan had previously instructed Lucretia to use the merchant group they’d established to buy up all available leather armor.

Everything that came on the market, no exceptions.

“His Majesty’s health is not well.”

“What? His Majesty?”

“The marquis’ side must have found that out. After the proposal was rejected, they were desperate to find a breakthrough.”

Rohan’s gaze turned dark.

‘He knows for certain.’

Just how bad His Majesty’s condition is.

That he can’t last much longer.

“It’s better for covert movement than steel. Even untrained people can use it, and it’s easy to mass-produce. For short-term skirmishes, leather armor is perfect.”

“Wait… Do you mean they really intend to raise an army?”

After the council, the marquis had seemed to step back, but rumors had quickly spread that he was rapidly reorganizing his forces behind the scenes.

And now, those rumors were starting to become reality.

Quick—very quick.

As fast as Rohan moved, the marquis was acting even faster.

In his previous life, this had never happened. Back then, he hadn’t interfered with the marquis nearly as much.

And the marquis’ current actions…

Regrettable as they were, Rohan had already anticipated them.

The marquis knew Rohan well, and Rohan knew the marquis just as well.

“I’m still holding out for now, but… they keep offering even higher prices to buy the armor. What should we do?”

“Sell it to them.”

“What?”

Lucretia jumped in surprise.

“You want to sell armor to people who are clearly going to rebel?”

“Did you think I meant to give them armor in good condition?”

Rohan laughed.

“We’ll take their money and let them walk right into their own trap.”

They were so blinded, they’d inevitably make mistakes.

“Let’s send the marquis a little gift. It’s time he learned how we do things.”

Rohan’s lips curled upward.