The palace was alive.
From the outer courtyards to the inner halls, everything moved with purpose. Ministers gathered in clusters, their voices overlapping as they debated policies and decisions. Documents passed from hand to hand, ink still fresh as scribes hurried to record every order.
Servants moved swiftly through the corridors, carrying trays, scrolls, and messages. Soldiers stood guard at every entrance, their presence firm and unyielding as they watched over each corner of the imperial palace.
At the very center of it all—
The Emperor's office remained controlled.
Quiet.
Focused.
Reinhardt sat behind his desk, posture straight, his emerald eyes scanning through layers of documents placed before him. His assistant stood beside the table, organizing reports into precise stacks before passing them one by one into Reinhardt's hand.
But Reinhardt's attention soon shifted.
A map lay open across his desk.
His gaze moved slowly across it, sharp and calculating. Every border, every trade route, every neighboring kingdom was etched clearly into his memory.
His finger paused.
A kingdom to the west.
Vulcan Kingdom.
It lay between the former Demon Kingdom's territory and the Emestrild Empire. Small. Isolated. Surrounded by mountains.
A kingdom ruled by a queen.
Reinhardt narrowed his eyes slightly.
Vulcan was ancient—older than most nations that still stood today. Its people held onto traditions and religious beliefs that had existed for thousands of years. They rarely communicated with outsiders, rarely traded, rarely involved themselves in global matters.
There was nothing of value there.
No strategic ports.
No fertile land worth conquering.
No military strength worth considering.
It had never been on Reinhardt's list of priorities.
Until now.
His fingers moved unconsciously, pressing lightly against his lips as he thought.
The report from his shadow network echoed in his mind.
Kael's bloodline originates from Vulcan Kingdom.
Reinhardt's gaze sharpened.
If that was true… then nothing about Kael's existence was ordinary.
He had already sent a delegation—masked as a diplomatic mission—to propose the construction of a new trade road. A harmless excuse. A way to open communication.
But there had been no response yet.
Why?
If Kael truly carried the blood of Vulcan royalty…
Why was he abandoned?
Was it because he was a cursed child?
Or something worse?
Too many questions.
And none of them could be asked directly.
Even before Kael lost his memories, he had never known his own parents. Reinhardt had never pressed him about it—and he wouldn't start now.
Not when Kael already carried enough burdens.
Reinhardt picked up his pen.
With steady strokes, he wrote a decree.
Advance the diplomatic planning with Vulcan Kingdom.
Open formal discussions regarding infrastructure and budget allocation.
Simple.
Harmless.
Just another political move.
But behind it—
A step closer.
Reinhardt leaned back slightly.
He had no intention of starting a war.
Not now.
Not when the world had just learned that Kael was still alive.
And not when he refused to let Kael see him as a war-driven ruler.
This had to be done quietly.
Carefully.
Like moving pieces on a chessboard.
Then—
His assistant stepped forward and placed a sealed letter on the desk.
Reinhardt's hand paused.
The seal was familiar.
Robert's.
For a brief moment, something flickered in his eyes.
Concern.
He broke the seal carefully and unfolded the letter.
As always, it was written in code—one only he and Robert understood.
Reinhardt read it once.
Then again.
Slowly—
A smile formed on his lips.
Not the cold, calculated smile he wore in court.
But something lighter.
Genuine.
Reinhardt stood.
"Prepare a discreet carriage to Delcra," he ordered calmly. "I will be visiting my dear friend immediately."
There was a hint of cheerfulness beneath his tone.
The assistant bowed and hurried out without question.
Reinhardt turned slightly, catching his reflection in the tall mirror across the room.
He adjusted his collar.
Smoothed his hair.
Practiced the curve of his smile—softening it, making it real.
Not the Emperor.
But Reinhardt.
Before he could move further—
A knock echoed at the door.
"It is I, Theodore, Your Majesty," a voice came from outside. "I have come to deliver a report."
Reinhardt's smile faded.
The door opened without waiting for permission.
Theodore stepped inside, composed as always. He approached the desk and gave a formal bow.
"Your Majesty," he said, his tone calm but serious, "the southern gate has been ambushed by the Demon Cult."
Reinhardt's gaze sharpened instantly.
"…You reported pirates before," he replied coldly. "Now you claim it's the Demon Cult?"
Theodore placed a document on the table.
Reinhardt picked it up, scanning through the pages.
"My forces intercepted them during an attack on the port," Theodore explained. "Their methods were similar to pirates at first. But their weapons—coated with demonic mana—confirmed their identity."
Reinhardt's brows furrowed.
It was rare.
The Demon Cult did not act openly.
They moved in shadows.
"Did you capture any of them alive?" Reinhardt asked.
Theodore shook his head.
"We tried," he said. "But they used a self-destruction spell upon capture."
His voice remained steady.
"Fifteen of my men were killed."
Reinhardt leaned back in his chair, the paper lowering slightly.
"So you captured no one," he said sharply. "Useless."
The insult was harsh.
But even Reinhardt knew—
There was little Theodore could have done.
Still, he said it anyway.
Theodore remained calm, unshaken.
"My soldiers lack experience in dealing with the Demon Cult," he replied. "Their methods are unlike any conventional enemy."
Reinhardt's eyes narrowed.
"…How rare," he muttered. "For you to admit difficulty."
His voice turned colder.
"You held onto your pride even after killing my mother."
The words landed heavily.
Theodore met his gaze without flinching.
"But now you struggle against a mere group?" Reinhardt continued mockingly. "What a disappointment."
Silence lingered for a moment.
Then Theodore spoke again.
"My forces were prioritizing civilian protection," he said. "However…"
He paused.
"Perhaps we could seek guidance from the Archduke."
Reinhardt's gaze sharpened immediately.
"Kael has experience fighting them. He could train my soldiers."
A beat.
"It has been five months since we last saw him," Theodore added. "Is he still stationed at the western gate?"
Reinhardt remained perfectly still.
His expression unreadable.
He had never revealed the truth.
To the world, Kael had simply been busy—guarding the western front.
Not lying unconscious for months.
"…He has his duties," Reinhardt replied calmly. "I will speak to him myself."
His tone left no room for further questioning.
And behind that calm—
A quiet decision had already been made.
He would go to Delcra.
Immediately.
-----------------------------------------
Theodore walked out of Reinhardt's office in silence.
His steps were steady, measured, echoing faintly along the polished hallway. To anyone watching, he appeared unchanged—calm, composed, unshaken as always.
But beneath that exterior—
His thoughts were restless.
Reinhardt's words lingered.
Useless.
The insult was not new. Reinhardt had never hidden his disdain, not since the day Theodore killed the former queen. Harsh words were expected.
Yet this time—
It lingered.
The failure at the southern gate weighed heavier than he cared to admit. His army was strong, disciplined, experienced in countless battles.
And still—
They had been outmaneuvered.
He clenched his jaw slightly as he continued walking.
His assistant followed closely behind, careful not to speak. He could sense the shift in Theodore's mood and chose silence over unnecessary risk.
After a few moments, Theodore spoke.
"How is the progress on locating the Demon Cult's base?"
His voice was calm—but sharper than usual.
The assistant immediately stepped forward to match his pace.
"We've traced their movements to a small island near the southern port," he reported quickly. "They've concealed it using camouflage magic. From a distance, the island appears nonexistent."
He handed over a folded map.
Theodore took it and examined it carefully.
The island was small—barely large enough to sustain life. According to official records, it was considered uninhabitable. No known settlements. No strategic value.
Yet now—
It was marked.
Occupied.
"Have you sent anyone to investigate?" Theodore asked without looking up.
"We have," the assistant replied. "And we've received new information."
He reached into his bag and pulled out another sealed report.
"There is a structure beneath the island," he continued. "A basement—deep underground. It appears to have been artificially constructed, not naturally formed."
Theodore unfolded the document, scanning the details.
"And…" the assistant hesitated briefly, "there are traces of Demon Cult symbols along the passage leading downward."
Theodore stopped walking.
The hallway fell quiet around him.
He studied the markings on the report.
The symbols were unmistakable.
The same as those used by the former Demon Kingdom.
His gaze hardened slightly.
Then—
A thought surfaced.
Kael.
Theodore folded the document slowly.
"How is the investigation at the western gate?" he asked.
The question was deliberate.
He had long suspected something was being hidden. Kael, who had reclaimed his title as Archduke, should have been visible—active.
Instead, he had vanished again.
And Reinhardt—
Reinhardt had been avoiding the topic.
The assistant stiffened.
He glanced around quickly, ensuring no one else was within earshot. Then he stepped closer, lowering his voice.
"…We've found something," he said quietly.
Theodore didn't respond.
He simply waited.
"There has been no sign of Archduke Kael at the western gate," the assistant continued. "Not even once. Contrary to His Majesty's claims."
Theodore's brows furrowed.
"Then where is he?" he asked.
The assistant hesitated.
Then—
"…Our sources suggest… that he attempted suicide five months ago."
The words hung in the air.
"…and fell into a coma."
Theodore's eyes widened.
For the first time—
His composure cracked.
"That's impossible," he said immediately.
His voice was low, but firm.
"There is no reason for him to do that."
He remembered clearly.
The last time he saw Kael—when the young man reclaimed his title—he had been weak, yes. But that weakness came from poisoning. From injury.
Not despair.
Not something that would drive him to take his own life.
"…Is that why His Majesty has kept this hidden?" Theodore asked slowly.
The assistant shook his head.
"We don't know the truth," he admitted. "But that is what our spies have reported."
Silence fell between them.
Theodore raised his hand to his chin, deep in thought.
Pieces began to connect.
Reinhardt's reaction during the poisoning incident.
The panic.
The urgency.
The way he had since avoided every conversation related to Kael.
Theodore's gaze darkened slightly.
Something was wrong.
"First," he said at last, his voice returning to its usual calm authority, "we will conduct a proper investigation of that island."
The assistant straightened immediately.
"Yes, sir."
"And as for Archduke Kael…" Theodore continued.
His eyes narrowed slightly.
"I will see him myself."
The assistant blinked in surprise.
"Prepare for a trip to Delcra."
There was no hesitation in his command.
No room for argument.
Theodore resumed walking.
This time—
With purpose.