The Royal Palace of the Kingdom of Loen, the king's study.
Rain drummed against the glass, its sound dull, like the beating of funeral drums in the distance.
George III had not lit the lamps.
The only source of light in the room came from the flames dancing in the fireplace. They cast shifting shadows over the portraits of past monarchs on the walls, and the eyes painted in oil seemed to be silently watching him from within the gloom.
He had lost.
A king should not entertain such thoughts.
For there was only victory in a king's dictionary—or temporary concealment for the sake of an even greater victory.
But he no longer had a future—
The plan had been perfect.
Years ago, his attempt to advance through the ritual of the "Black Emperor" had been inexplicably ruined. The allies lurking in the shadows had scattered like birds and beasts in an instant.
He had become utterly alone, nailed to the throne beneath the unblinking gaze of the three major Churches.
So he began laying his plans, like the most patient chess player.
He could not use the royal family's power, nor could he draw upon the resources of Military Intelligence Section Nine. There were too many eyes in those places.
He could only rely on the most secretive, most unsavory channels.
Through those channels, he had fed some of Howard Industries' lower-tier technical blueprints bit by bit to Feysac, Intis, and the pirate generals of Feneport—through the black market, defected officials, and smugglers driven solely by profit.
He had made those people realize Edwin's threat, ultimately bringing about this hunt.
And this was his only chance to break the deadlock.
First, he would use those outside powers to create chaos great enough within Loen itself.
Chaos capable of dragging