Reinhard sat quietly within his black carriage, adorned with golden patterns, gazing through the half-opened window at the bustling streets of the capital. The wheels rolled smoothly over the perfectly paved road, laid with pale stone that shimmered under the sun. Along the wide avenue thronged crowds of people: shopkeepers, townsfolk, servants of the nobility. Luxurious carriages, emblazoned with the crests of noble houses, sped up and down the street. Aristocrats, draped in lavish fabrics and adorned with jewels, strolled past glittering shopfronts, conversing with airs of practiced importance. The city lived, boiled with life, like a mighty river that knew no rest.
This was Agarum — the great capital of the Kain Empire, which had reigned supreme over the continent for more than three thousand years. A city where history breathed from every corner, where the weight of centuries lingered in every stone. Here, in the very heart of the empire, ruled the one they called the Father of the World — Emperor Lagar Kan Veilo.
Reinhard narrowed his eyes thoughtfully, watching a street musician play a silver flute. His thoughts jumped restlessly from one to another.
Lagar Kan Veilo — the thirty-five-year-old sovereign, whose hand gripped not only this boiling life but also every duchy, principality, city, and village within the Empire of Kain. His father, Simon Deri Veilo, had abdicated the throne only recently, retreating into seclusion after fifty-seven years of rule, retaining the revered title of Keeper of the World.
The current Emperor's wife, Maria Kan Simila, was a princess of the neighboring Kingdom of Sil, securing a vital alliance. Together, they had three children: Garmund Yoma Veilo, the first heir — a strong and confident young man; Alexander Kon Veilo, the third son — a silent and cold youth; and Ceri Kin Veilo, the daughter whose name echoed even in the most distant corners of the Empire.
Yet, power weaves a web of many threads. The Emperor also had two concubines: Emila Ren Astel and Rabiga Ren Hazil. Their children — Silivan Kon Veilo, the second son, and David Kon Veilo, the fourth son — were also pieces upon this intricate chessboard. Not to mention the bastard, Neylo Ner Sagil, born of a servant girl — unacknowledged officially, yet too real to be entirely ignored.
Reinhard calmly marked the crucial points in his mind. The current struggle for the throne was waged between three figures: the first prince, the second prince, and the first princess. Although the princess surpassed the others in personal qualities — a peerless sword talent (ranked SS-), a razor-sharp mind, and innate charisma — she catastrophically lacked support. Her allies comprised no more than five percent of the nobility, whereas each of the elder princes commanded forty percent of the influence. At present, it was a ruthless balance of forces.
"Hm." Reinhard chuckled quietly to himself. "I'll deal with that later."
Meanwhile, the massive palace loomed ahead — a magnificent, solemn structure of white stone, crowned with a blood-red tiled roof. Though it fell short in size compared to the Crimson Palace, its grandeur and authority were undeniable. The residence of the Second Prince. A place where the fates of those who dared dream of power were decided.
The carriage slowed, surrounded by crowds of servants, guards, and guests arriving for the grand celebration.
"Milord, we have arrived."
The coachman's voice rang from outside, and at that same moment, the carriage door swung open with a muted sound.
Reinhard rose slowly. His face, calm as if hewn from marble, did not change even for an instant. He stepped onto the stone path, casting a fleeting glance over the gathered throng.
"Well then," he said coldly, "time to deal with the ball."
He strode forward, paying no heed to the eyes that turned toward him from every side — envious, wary, admiring.
His path was straight.
And nothing would divert him from it.