The Great Wind is Rising

Tales mentally snapped his fingers.

Begin.

"Lord Hansen," Tales said hesitantly, "that night I ran to the Red Quarter, and in a Chess and Card Room, I met a strange man in blue."

Morat nodded, smiling to encourage him to continue.

Partial truth.

No lying.

Tales repeated in his mind.

"He said he had no one left to talk to, and wanted me to look at his 'chessboard.'"

"After I looked, he started rambling nonsense, saying they'd fought a war with humans, but lost." Tales put on a frightened expression.

Connect part of the truth to what Morat already knew.

That way, he could dodge this "human lie detector."

"Then he went crazy—he wanted to crush me into a ball!" Tales trembled, shivering.

"Child, it's alright, you're safe now—and then?" Morat watched him with reassurance, urging the boy to continue.

"I felt so scared, so awful, like I couldn't breathe." Tales's memory returned to that night on the Red Quarter, that suffocating feeling as vivid as if he were reliving it, utterly real.

So far, he hadn't lied—Morat sensed Tales's emotions.

To have gone through something like that, to survive the hands of such a calamity, the child had indeed been through a lot.

Tales curled up, hugging himself.

"Finally, I vaguely heard him say he'd found someone who had 'Loss of Control'—and that after the Ending War, their kind were fewer and fewer."

Morat's expression finally turned solemn.

Loss of Control?

So that newborn Elementalist was only in the first stage, not yet...

"Who?" the Black Prophet asked gravely. "Child, did he say? Who was that person who 'lost control'?"

Tales shivered and shook his head: "The strange man didn't say—he just boasted that he would guide that person, and that person couldn't refuse him!"

"Then Yordel appeared and stabbed him."

Morat exhaled, picturing a smug madman rambling to himself before killing.

It seemed Yordel hadn't held back.

Morat let out a breath through his nose, his wrinkled, ugly face twitching slightly.

Tales, meanwhile, breathed a quiet sigh.

Partial truth—looks like I got away with it. No, the act has to keep going.

"—But Yordel said he wouldn't die, that he'd come back in a dozen years." Tales added with a tremble.

"Lord Hansen, they say you know the most—is that true? Will the strange man return?"

Morat was preoccupied, nodding perfunctorily: "Yes, the Supreme Sword is incomplete; it can only seal an Elementalist for a short time."

"But rest assured, the Kingdom Secret Bureau won't let him near you." The Black Prophet frowned, his thoughts already drifting beyond Mindis Hall.

Tonight's goals were met.

First, confirmation from Yordel about the Air Elementalist, plus a bonus—the existence of a newborn Elementalist.

Second, a firsthand look at the Star Kingdom's future heir.

Third, leaving a deep, unforgettable impression worthy of his age.

"Thank you for your candor and cooperation," Morat said with a deep bow, lifting his head with a serious, earnest gaze. "Please be prepared."

Be prepared?

Tales was puzzled.

Morat gave him a long look and nodded: "The timing is hard to pin down, but I have a feeling—it will be soon."

His cold, hoarse, aged, and solemn voice echoed through the noble banquet hall:

"Your Highness Tales."

In that moment, the boy's mouth fell open, his whole body jolting!

Your... Your Highness?

So that meant...

But Morat offered no explanation. He swept his black robe around and turned to leave.

"Thump—thump—thump!" The rhythmic sound of his cane striking the floor.

Tales finally snapped out of it.

"Wait! Lord Hansen!" He stood from his chair, shouting at the Black Prophet's retreating back. "The three children in XC District, and the bartender's news..."

"They're still alive. Someone in the Brotherhood seems to be sheltering them." Morat didn't pause his steps, nor did he turn his head.

He had more important things to do.

"But, can you tell me—" Tales hurried forward two steps, speaking anxiously. He wanted more details.

"They're all my friends—"

"Child!" Morat's voice suddenly rose, jolting Tales to a halt.

"You are not the king, not even the prince yet! The blood of the Brilliant Star!"

"Wait until you become the Star's heir, until you're strong enough—then talk about protecting them. Otherwise, these past ties will one day become your weaknesses." The Black Prophet neared the great door, his aged voice ringing out, seemingly laced with—resentment?

"And my sixty years in the Secret Bureau have taught me the only way to keep your enemies from sniffing out your weaknesses." Morat stopped, turning back with a grim smile.

Tales's heart tightened.

"Is to thoroughly eliminate every single weakness on your body," Morat slowly raised a hand, gently clenching it into a fist amid his wrinkled grin. "Completely."

"Do you understand, Your Highness... who is not yet Your Highness Tales?"

Tales stared at him, dumbfounded.

Morat turned again and slapped the door.

The guards outside opened it in unison, revealing Gilbert and Lady Jinnie's anxious figures beyond, with the Masked Guard Yordel standing alone to one side.

The first two both looked over urgently; Jinnie even ignored Morat outright, rudely striding across the foyer toward Tales.

"Don't worry, you three," Morat chuckled, tapping the ground. "The Star has an excellent heir."

"One day, the Kingdom Secret Bureau will become his arm, serving his use."

Gilbert frowned, watching the Black Prophet hobble past him.

"Lord Hansen!"

Just then, Tales suddenly spoke up from inside the hall!

"What about you? Have you eliminated your own weaknesses?"

Morat froze, lifting his head to look at the little boy across the hall.

In that moment, Tales felt a strange emotion ripple through the aloof Black Prophet.

"Of course," the Black Prophet, Morat Hansen, said decisively under everyone's gaze:

"Thoroughly, not a single one left."

Then he left Mindis Hall.

Only Yordel, unnoticed, clenched his fist.

"Lady Jinnie, Mr. Gilbert, I'm fine!" Tales shook his head with a smile at their anxious inquiries, then turned to Yordel seriously. "Speaking of which, there's something I need to do first."

Under Gilbert's furrowed brow and Jinnie's surprised look, the seven-year-old boy extended his right hand toward the Masked Guard who had just returned.

"Yordel! I need your protection," Tales said firmly.

"Please escort me to Ms. Serena Corleone's room."

"No heir?"

"That's fitting coming from a man with only one daughter." His Majesty Kessel propped his arms on the table, letting out a soft breath.

"I rode two days and two nights—barely minutes slower than a messenger crow—not to trade barbs with you, Kay." Val's tone was equally harsh, carrying the straightforward roughness of a Warrior. "Though I'd still love to see you tumble off that damned throne."

"If things come to the worst, how are you prepared up north?" Kessel ignored Val's tone, lowering his head to trace his fingers across the map of the Western Continent on the long table.

"Dragonbreak Fortress is on emergency alert," Duke Arendell said, tossing his chainmail gloves onto the table. "But Sonya insists that the Crown's three hundred regulars and five hundred local levies are nowhere near enough to handle that dragon's fury... She needs reinforcements."

"How many?"

"Given the war potential of the three Grand Dukes in southern Exeter, she needs at least eight thousand well-equipped, trained soldiers to hold the fortress. To also secure the roads from the North to the Central Territory, fifteen thousand. Plus a thousand skilled cavalry—light horse will do, heavy is better—for flexibility beyond static defense."

As Val spoke, Kessel's brow furrowed.

"I know it sounds like a tall order, but you have to admit she has a point—Dragonbreak Fortress has been breached once before. And Exeter is better at winter warfare than we are; those three Grand Dukes bordering us have been recruiting and arming for years."

"The night before I left, I summoned my vassals. Within ten days, they'll be streaming in with soldiers to reinforce the fortress, plus my own direct troops—at least five thousand, including three hundred cavalry. Quality's not guaranteed, though." Val pulled off his other glove, warming his hands over the Eternal Lamp.

"It's not just those three Grand Dukes." Kessel stood silently, walking to the window. From the lofty Revival Palace, he looked down on the myriad lights of the Royal Capital's nightscape. "From the Eternal Oil of Northport to the Pitch Crystal Mines of the three counties in the Southbank Territory, they've waited too long for this day since the Fortress Concord. And on top of that... it involves the heir of the Dragonlance in the Clouds."

"So it's unavoidable, Kay. Send your messengers, and sharpen your sword." Val, more Warrior than noble, the City Lord of Cold Fortress, rubbed his reddened, frozen hands and gritted his teeth.

"So, that line was really left at the scene?" Kessel the Fifth's gaze was deep, his sky-blue pupils reflecting the night view of the Royal Capital. "If the Star endures, the Empire endures?"

"Yes, that damned, blood-stirring family motto of yours—though I've sealed the news, you know what the Dark Chamber can do. I reckon that as soon as King Noon gets word, he'll at least start mobilizing his vassals and troops publicly, or he won't be able to placate his lords. Given Exeter's full war potential—" Duke Val Arendell snorted, pulling his hands back from the lamp, his face dark:

"—I still suggest you first summon your direct vassals from the Central Territory, then prepare to call up all the great lords, even the Schukader Family way out in the Southern Sea Isles. Once war breaks out, from the Holy Tree Kingdom to the Serra Duchy, Steel City and the Free Alliance, even Suye on the Eastern Continent—mobilize every ally we have."

"But we're far from the last step yet," Kessel said, gazing at the Royal Capital's nightscape outside the window, gently clenching his fist. "King Noon isn't some hotheaded Youth."

"You think there's still a chance for a peaceful resolution? You know it's far more than just that line!" The Duke of the North slammed the table in fury. "Both sides have people who want this to happen, so damn it, it happened!"

The two fell silent for a moment.

"Hmph." Kessel let out a light snort, lowering his head to draw in a breath of the winter air. "Tell me, if Midir were still here, what would he do?"

"Why can't I get through to you?" Val stood up in undisguised fury. "Or have you gone stupid since sitting on that throne? Now's not the time to mourn your saintly elder brother, Kai! Our country, our land, our people are facing the threat of war!"

"What do you think I rushed back for? You know how much I despise you! But when you—when the Star is in peril, by oath and by honor, the entire North stands behind you—this time, in front of you!"

Kessel stared at Val, at this companion he had grown up with, without moving a muscle.

"I've already returned, right here in front of you! I hear Kurun's Old Sword is recuperating in Everstar City, the Cavendish boy lives not far off, and the One-Eyed Dragon of Nanshuister can ride in from Junlin City within a day. Only Falkenhaus and Terbach, Wasteland Ruins and Blade Ridge City, are a distance away—we'll need to send urgent summons. Get the six of us sorted, and the Thirteen Prestigious Families will all come without missing a single one."

Val glared wide-eyed at the Supreme King.

"It's time, Kai."

"Issue the Star Summons."

"The Nineteen Noble Houses will once again gather at the Royal Capital, to fight for you."

"To fight for the Star."

The little climax is about to begin.

To—1 Book Drought 1 and cm4.15:

Thank you for your votes, and for your tireless, chapter-pressing reviews!

Readers asking for extra chapters is a sign of love for the work and recognition of the author—it makes Wu Jian very happy.

But Wu Jian scratches his head and still feels that quality comes first, money second.

Wu Jian's writing style isn't really one for padding too much (doomed to a life of poverty T_T). In fact, the last few chapters have felt quite padded to me, and I'm a bit annoyed at myself. I can only reluctantly turn down the request for extra chapters.

By the way, (drooling) thanks to the two patrons, Broken String's Chord and Glory of the Iris Pattern, for your tips!

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