"Your Majesty, Chernobog has lost all contact with the Empire."
"…"
"According to some who managed to escape, one of Kashchey's vessels appeared there as well. I fear that—"
"There is no need for fear. I've already made contact with Duke Kashchey."
"Your Majesty, could it be that—"
"Otherwise what? Do you truly believe Duke Kashchey would join a rebellion?"
"…"
"Chairman Witt, the ties between the Ursus throne and that Duke run deeper than you realize. You would do well to cast aside such doubts about him."
"…As you command, Your Majesty. But what of the people of Chernobog?"
"…They are a necessary sacrifice. To break free from the shackles of the late Emperor, such measures cannot be avoided."
The Emperor sighed as Witt's figure receded from the chamber.
Did he truly not care for his people?
No—that wasn't it. He was simply powerless.
The late Emperor's shadow still loomed too heavily.
To sever it completely, to truly grasp power in his own hands, Kashchey had offered him a plan…
One that he could not refuse.
---
For over a thousand years of Ursus politics, Duke Kashchey had always occupied a peculiar position.
So peculiar, in fact, that scholars had coined an entire field to study it: The Politics of the Immortals.
Though his rank was "Duke," anyone with eyes knew his influence far exceeded that title.
The founding of the Ursus Parliament, the decline of absolute monarchy—none of it diminished the standing of the Eternal Duke in the slightest.
Many believed that, should he ever desire it, Kashchey could crown himself Emperor of Ursus without resistance.
Indeed, a small but steady number of Ursus citizens had supported that very idea throughout history.
But Kashchey had never done so.
Even when a certain Emperor, dissatisfied with the Duke's overwhelming power, sought to weaken him, Kashchey did not resist. Instead, he calmly returned authority to the throne.
Later, when that same Emperor attempted to interfere in Kashchey's domain and curtail his authority further, he was suddenly toppled by a mysterious palace coup…
Surely nothing more than coincidence. (Heh.)
In short, Kashchey's role in Ursus politics had always remained in this strange equilibrium.
When an Emperor opposed him, the Duke would quietly retract his influence, withdraw to his own lands, and begin what many wryly called "single-player governance."
Then, as Emperor and Parliament struggled to manage affairs, they would inevitably seek the guidance of this timeless ruler, requesting once more that Kashchey assist in governance.
And slowly, the Duke would extend his influence again.
Until the next succession of power, when a new Emperor or nobles once again grew uneasy with how much Kashchey held. But, remembering the fates of their predecessors, they could only cautiously ask him to retreat.
Kashchey, never offended, would oblige, return to his lands, and resume his solitary rule. Of course, not without collecting his due fees.
Over the centuries, this cycle solidified into several unspoken rules of Ursus politics:
• When a new Emperor first ascends and his power is unstable, Kashchey may temporarily exercise imperial authority.
• You may contend with Kashchey, but you must never strike at his domain.
• Kashchey will not interfere in Ursus reforms—unless they threaten his territory.
• Kashchey accepts orders only from the people of Ursus. To secure his support, one must win over the populace.
And as for how Kashchey himself viewed these rules…
"After all, only a Kashchey bound by limits and taboos can give them a sense of security."
---
"…Doctor, you're awake."
"…Who are you?"
"Doctor?!"
---
"Quick, look—there's a group of kids over here!"
"…Forget the kids! Our goal is vengeance against those high-and-mighty bureaucrats and nobles!"
"…You're right."
The rioters cast a glance at the frightened children, then moved on.
Not every rioter had fallen so far as to strike at children.
No crowd can be understood through a single lens—terran nature is always tangled, always contradictory.
But these rioters who showed a sliver of conscience had no idea: it was precisely because they spared the children… that they kept their lives.
"Heehee~ what a shame."
"The toys ran away~"
"Don't forget our true purpose. These minor NPCs can wait."
As the rioters left, the children's fearful expressions twisted into mocking, manic grins.
These children had already killed more than a few rioters who blocked their path.
And many of those rioters had been persecuted Infected themselves—weak of body, driven by desperation, emboldened only by the panic of ordinary citizens.
But these "children" had no such emotions.
They felt no pain.
They knew no hesitation.
Armed with the combat instincts temporarily granted by Koshelna, and wielding tools with unnatural precision, they could easily cut down rioters—people who, for all their ferocity, had no formal training.
Of course, no real child could do such things.
But they weren't real children.
They were personalities fabricated by Koshelna, pieced together from fragments of the children's own memories and traits like innocence, ignorance, and purity.
They now inhabited the children's bodies.
Only purity remained.
Every moral compass, every notion of good and evil learned after birth—stripped away.
Perhaps they were nothing more than beasts, beasts that had learned to use tools.
---
"…"
The four Emperor's Blades still stood, weapons drawn, encircling Koshelna as she perched upon the ruins.
The tension between them held—a fragile, unnatural balance.
Koshelna pondered how best to slip away with the least expenditure.
The Emperor's Blades, for their part, sought only to keep this vessel of Duke Kashchey contained.
They knew that if they could secure Chernobog's emergency activation codes, half their mission would already be complete.
But direct conflict with the Duke was the last thing they wanted.
Ridiculous as it seemed, they genuinely believed themselves to be serving Ursus.
And when war inevitably came, Kashchey's power would be indispensable.
They wanted no "civil strife" to sap the Empire's strength.
---
I'm getting hungry.
Koshelna felt both fatigue and hunger gnawing at her.
This body was nothing more than that of an ordinary Liberi. It still had its needs.
Her Originium Art, The Absurd Pen, allowed her to twist reality itself—though only for limited spans of time.
The more absurd the effect, the smaller the cost… but the shorter its duration.
Yet even when its effects faded, the traces it left behind did not vanish.
And her quill was no ordinary pen. Crafted with special methods, it was in truth a staff, its core infused with an ultra-high concentration of Originium solution.
She could, if she wished, write herself into peak condition again. But her "ink" would be steadily consumed.
At first, she had been extravagant with it—wasteful, even—for the vessel's purpose had been to flaunt the existence of "Duke Kashchey."
But now Kashchey had discovered a far more elegant stage on which to display his presence.
Which meant she had to conserve both her "ink"… and her Black Snakes.
Catastrophe… when will you come?