Lance Charge on the Arkship, but No Mount

The entire city did not cease functioning because of the Emperor's wrath. The soldiers continued to faithfully carry out their duties, while the people still bustled about for their livelihoods. At this moment, the only person the Emperor could confide his emotions in was his closest minister, Witte.

Witte was a middle-aged man with a thick mustache on his upper lip. Dressed in an immaculate suit, he stood in the audience hall with his head lowered, listening to the Emperor's furious tirade.

The Emperor's scolding poured forth without end. Thanks to his excellent physique and lung capacity, his rebukes did not pause for a single moment throughout ten full minutes. On closer listening, it became clear that he was not berating just one target. There were the rebels who had seized Chernobog, the Fourth Army Group that had remained idle for foolish reasons, and Duke Koschei, who had devised this idiotic scheme. More than anything, he was enraged that they had intended to start a war without his approval.

But as the Emperor's most trusted minister, Witte knew there was only one thing that truly angered him. The nobles and officers of Ursus could treat the Emperor's authority and power as though they were nothing, acting as they pleased. He was furious that imperial power had become so weak within this empire, and furious at his own helplessness in being unable to unite the entire empire.

Witte raised his head toward the enormous portrait in the audience hall. Created by Ursus's most outstanding artist, every brushstroke had been infused with its creator's devotion. The figure in the painting seemed vividly alive, and even his gaze carried such immense pressure that anyone looking upon it could not help but wish to kneel before him.

The man in the painting was the late Emperor of Ursus, the greatest Emperor Ursus had ever known. Ursus possessed its current territory and might only because of that great Emperor. Without him, Ursus would have been nothing more than a weak nation amid ice and snow.

Witte looked toward his own Emperor. Rather than monarch and minister, they were more like comrades. They shared the same ideal: restoring Ursus to the strength it had possessed under the late Emperor and reclaiming its supreme glory. To that end, they were willing to pay any price.

But accomplishing that was simply too difficult. Ursus was plagued by countless problems, and the Emperor's authority was far inferior to that of his father. Even the regions where imperial orders could be fully enforced were pitifully small. Having an excessively great father was not always a good thing. Everything the Emperor did would be compared with the late Emperor, leaving him forever beneath his father's shadow. He desperately wanted to change that situation, which was why this incident enraged him so deeply. It cruelly tore open his wound: what he had achieved so far was nowhere near what his father had achieved. At the very least, no one had dared to pay lip service while defying orders in his father's time.

Witte also knew that the Emperor was, at heart, an exceptional man. He would soon suppress these emotions and calmly discuss the issue with him. Witte only needed to wait quietly.

Sure enough, as the sound of the Emperor's boots striking the floor gradually softened, his breathing also began to steady. Then, looking utterly exhausted, he collapsed onto his throne. The hem of his lavish coat folded beneath him, unnoticed. Witte knew that now was the time for him to speak.

"Your Majesty, our most urgent task now is to come up with a solution. A mobile city has been seized by rebel forces; the impact is far too great. We must deal with it properly."

"You're right, Witte. You're right... But I'm thinking this may not be entirely a bad thing." The Emperor covered his eyes and slowly spoke those words.

Witte kept his head lowered. He knew the Emperor had not finished speaking.

"If those Reunion Movement rebels had not truly seized the city and caused their plan to fail, war would have broken out between us and Yan. All the efforts you and I have made would have been wasted. Ursus's chance to cut away its true festering tumor and rise again would have been lost forever."

"Those idiots!! They think only of war! War! Why don't they look at what Ursus has become?! By the time our country is completely destroyed, I doubt they'll have come to their senses! This country is barely functioning because the two of us are constantly patching it together! If those madmen truly take control of this country, that will be the day Ursus perishes!!"

Witte seized the moment and spoke at once.

"But, Your Majesty, we must respond to that infected organization calling itself the Reunion Movement. At least for now, weakness is more frightening than decay in Ursus. We absolutely cannot reveal even a trace of weakness."

Yet those words only rekindled the Emperor's anger.

"They were originally just a weak infected organization. Thanks to those fools, they now have a mobile city with a fully developed industrial system! Do you understand, Witte? I can already imagine how those infected will use the factories inside to produce an endless stream of equipment, arm their soldiers, and cause even more trouble for our empire."

"The Reunion Movement can no longer be easily destroyed. It will take an entire army group giving its full strength to crush them. But the Fourth Army Group, the closest to them, is not entirely under our control. Getting those people to willingly attack the Reunion Movement will require some effort."

Without hesitation, Witte dropped to one knee and saluted the Emperor.

"Your Majesty, if you trust me, please leave this matter to me. I will press the commander of the Fourth Army Group to launch an attack as soon as possible. With me there, I trust they will not dare do anything too excessive."

The air fell silent. After a long while, the Emperor spoke softly.

"Witte, my Witte. If I cannot trust you, then who else in this place can I trust? This is a troublesome matter to begin with. If you are willing to handle it, then of course I am pleased. It is time to give the Fourth Army Group a couple of lashes. They have gone too far where they are."

The Emperor let out a sigh. He was supposed to be a young man at the height of his vigor, yet he often felt exhausted now. The burden of this empire was truly too heavy. It did not merely threaten to crush his body; it threatened to grind away his soul.

He could not help turning back to look at his father, the late Emperor of Ursus, hoping to draw strength from him.

The Emperor in the portrait merely surveyed him coldly, as though reminding him that the one person in Ursus who could least afford to be weak was the Emperor.

Claude's Confusion

Amiya stood on the bridge of Rhodes Island, looking at the immense Chernobog ahead. It blotted out the sky, even blocking the moonlight that shone toward Rhodes Island and leaving her figure in darkness. Her long, broad ears swayed and curled in the night breeze, then bounced lightly in the wind with their natural elasticity.

At that moment, Doctor stood in the shadows watching Amiya. Somehow, though he did not know this child, she gave him a deep sense of familiarity. As he watched that small figure standing alone on the vast bridge, he felt inexplicably sad.

After gaining a basic understanding of Rhodes Island, he knew just how much pressure rested on this child's shoulders. He also vaguely sensed that she bore an even more important mission, that she would have to shoulder far more in the future than she did now.

Unable to resist, he quietly approached her, then reached out and lightly tapped one of Amiya's ears. Amiya jolted as though shocked, and the fur on her ear instantly stood on end.

"Ah!!... Doctor!"

Amiya shot Doctor an annoyed glare, then covered her ears. Her ears were incredibly long, long enough to droop down and cover her eyes, which looked rather convenient.

But Doctor had only one thought in his mind.

So cute!!

He sincerely thought so, but still asked his question.

"Amiya, it's so cold here. What are you doing out here? Why don't you go back to your dormitory and rest?"

Amiya rubbed her face, easing some of the cold numbness brought by the night wind. Then she turned to look at the enormous Chernobog.

"Doctor, I was just feeling a little sentimental. This city has finally become the only city in the world willing to accept the infected. We were the ones who witnessed this moment firsthand. It also made me realize that Rhodes Island is not alone. There are others who keep striving for the liberation of the infected. Thinking about that, even the wind does not feel so cold."

"Amiya."

Hearing Doctor's voice, Amiya turned toward him.

"What is it, Doctor?"

"Was I... really amazing before? Was I really as amazing as Scout and Ace say? My mind is completely blank right now. I can't remember anything. Can I... really be of help to you?"

Amiya stepped forward and took Doctor's hand. Doctor's hand was quite slender. It was not a hand meant to wield weapons, but one meant to hold a pen or a scalpel.

Amiya raised her head to look at Doctor. Though his face was hidden behind a mask, Amiya could feel his gaze.

"It's all right, Doctor. Don't put any pressure on yourself. As long as you can stay by our side, everyone will be happy."

Moonlight seemed to dwell within the girl's azure eyes, shimmering with a gentle radiance.

Doctor nodded slightly, so faintly that it was almost imperceptible.

"I understand, Amiya."

A figure in a green dress turned away from the bridge's porthole beneath the moonlight. She held two thick garments meant for keeping out the cold, one of which appeared to be sized for a petite girl.

A beam of moonlight happened to fall across her face, illuminating the faint upward curve of her lips.

―――――――――――――――――――――――――――――――――――――――

Claude was doing something very important now, something he had never imagined doing for himself... combing the fur on his own tail.

By Kuranta standards, his tail was exceptionally beautiful, smooth and light like silk. Back when he had been in Kazimierz, his elegant tail had always drawn many eyes. But since he had never had the awareness to groom it, it had become a complete mess after all this time.

Now he faced a dilemma: he did not have a suitable long-handled brush, so he could not reach his tail with a short comb. He tried challenging the limits of human physiology, but as expected, it was impossible.

Just as he was considering going out to buy a brush at the supermarket, the office door was suddenly flung open with great force. He stared in surprise at Centaurea, who had barged in, unable to understand why this usually graceful young woman was so agitated. Instinctively assuming she had run into trouble, he immediately tossed the comb in his hand onto the desk and began straightening his clothes.

Since he was in a private space, he was not wearing his full armor. He only had on his breastplate and leg armor. Just as he was about to quickly armor himself, he saw Centaurea staring at him in astonishment, as though he had frightened her instead.

"Claude, where are you going?"

The white-haired Kuranta girl voiced her question.

"Isn't there an emergency? You look so anxious. Stop standing there and come help me tie this strap."

"An emergency?! Since when?"

The confusion on Centaurea's face deepened.

Claude stopped in the middle of fastening his shoulder armor and looked back at Centaurea in confusion.

"Then why were you in such a rush? You did not even have time to knock. I thought there was an emergency."

With a dark expression, Centaurea walked over, stopped him from putting on more armor, and shoved him into his chair.

"I have something to ask you."

Claude sighed in relief, adjusted his sitting posture, picked up the short comb again, and resumed the work he was not good at. Every so often, he pulled out several long strands of tail fur, making him frown.

"Go ahead. I am willing to answer any question you have."

Centaurea gathered herself slightly, then spoke.

"When I came to your office yesterday, you weren't here. I asked the soldier standing guard outside, and he said you went out with Talulah and that knight lady. What exactly did you go do?"

Seeing Centaurea's sharp gaze, Claude was puzzled. Was this really all she wanted to ask?

But then inspiration struck him. She must have learned about what they had done yesterday, which was why she was expressing her dissatisfaction so indirectly.

With a smack, he slapped the comb onto the desk, startling the white-haired girl. Claude, meanwhile, wore a confident smile. He was certain that he had figured out the truth.

"Come with me. I'll show you."

Centaurea's face instantly turned red, and then Claude seized her and dragged her away.

The Calm Before the Storm (1)

The black warhorse thundered across the ground, bursting forth with astonishing speed as it raced back and forth across the field. Claude wore a helpless expression as he rubbed his neck, feeling the tightness there.

"Don't be scared. It won't throw you off, so... could you loosen your grip a little?!"

"Ahhhhhhh!!..."

His only answer was a scream. Centaurea, like a little girl, had been frightened into screaming by the warhorse's speed and instinctively wrapped her arms tightly around its thick neck. Even Claude found it difficult to breathe. After all, those arms that could draw a powerful bow had never lacked strength.

Fifteen minutes later, Centaurea stood on the ground with weak legs. Her hand was still clutching the warhorse's mane tightly, making Claude feel a dull ache at the roots of his own hair. That was right, he and the creature before him actually shared sensations. Although the warhorse being injured would not harm him, he would experience its pain in full. He had no idea how that worked.

He stepped forward to support Centaurea, making her release the mane she had been gripping so tightly. He had never expected this nimble assassin, who could leap between high-rises, to fear such a thing. It revealed an unexpected side of her.

"How does it feel? I think this form has incomparable advantages over my usual state."

Claude reached out and stroked the warhorse's silk-smooth coat, but it could not possibly react. It was part of him, after all. Still, in this state, he could fully unleash his strength.

"Aren't you tired? That thing ran for fifteen minutes just now. It ran at that speed for so long, and your stamina still hasn't run out?"

"Not at all. I don't even have any sensation associated with the word tired right now. It feels like I only took a slow walk for a few kilometers. I can't feel any fatigue at all." Claude stroked his smooth chin, deep in thought.

"...I'm starting to suspect you could run all the way back to Kazimierz in this form, and do it very quickly too."

Centaurea reached out to comb through the warhorse's mane. Feeling the soft, smooth hairs slip through her fingertips, she suddenly fell silent. She was beginning to suspect that even this horse had better hair than she did.

But Claude's next words quickly dispelled that little frustration.

"This thing seems to reset itself. Every time I summon it, it is in perfect condition. It does not even have any dust on it, which is convenient."

As he spoke, Claude grabbed the warhorse's mane. The mane was exceptionally long, covering its entire neck. It certainly looked elegant, but while the horse ran, it could easily obstruct the rider's view. Yet there was no way to cut it, because the next time he summoned the horse, the long mane would return exactly as it had been, while the cut hair would vanish into thin air.

An idea suddenly came to him. He pulled a rubber band from his pocket, something he had removed from a newspaper that morning when reading it, where it had been used to bundle the papers together. His fingers moved deftly, quickly tying the long mane together. It looked rather ugly, but he did not care. As long as it was practical, there was no need to pursue aesthetics.

Sure enough, once the mane was tied up, its swaying became manageable. A large bundle of brown hair was tied together and hung heavily along the warhorse's neck, resembling a huge dead fish.

Claude was quite satisfied, but Centaurea beside him now had lifeless eyes. Her instinctive love of beauty as a woman could not tolerate such a discordant element on such a perfect creature. She simply took matters into her own hands, found a black ribbon, removed the rubber band Claude had tied on, and began attempting to braid the mane.

Her slender fingers deftly did their work, transforming the warhorse's flowing mane into something orderly and beautiful. It reminded Claude of the horses in Western films he had seen in the modern world, the ones used to pull royal carriages. Their manes were all carefully braided by specialists, carrying the beauty of an artwork.

Before long, the Kuranta girl finished her work. She looked with satisfaction at the newly transformed warhorse. Compared with Claude's casual handiwork from earlier, it was like comparing a master's artwork to a child's scribbles.

A pleased expression could not help appearing on her face, and the delicate ears atop her head began to twitch, as if saying:

"Praise me!! Praise me!"

Claude immediately responded in the proper manner. He praised the results of her work with elaborate and clever words, making Centaurea blush with embarrassment. In the end, she was the one who stopped Claude first.

Everything Claude said was merely laying the groundwork for what came next. He was not sure whether the exquisitely braided mane would revert back once he dismissed the warhorse. If it did, their work might have been for nothing, which would only prove that Claude's method was superior.

So, under Centaurea's tense watch, he slowly made the warhorse disappear. But unexpectedly, the ribbon did not fall to the ground. Instead, it vanished along with the warhorse.

Delight appeared on his face, and he was just about to say something when he felt an unusual tightness on his scalp. A sense of foreboding immediately rose in his heart.

Sure enough, after looking in a mirror, he found that the ribbon had appeared on his own head, tied into a beautiful bow that looked utterly out of place.

But Centaurea's eyes lit up as though she had discovered a new continent. She found that Claude looked stylish in a different way with his hair tied up. Even a bow with feminine elements looked remarkably fitting on his head.

Claude's vision went dark. He immediately reached up, intending to untie the ribbon from his hair.

"Don't, don't, don't! It looks good, it really does! Don't be in such a hurry to take it off!"

Centaurea's attempt to stop him failed. Claude still removed the ribbon from his hair. He could accept tying his hair up, but a bow was too much. He did not want to become a laughingstock.

Standing nearby, Centaurea secretly felt regretful. She had not taken a picture or two; those would have been precious collectibles, the only ones of their kind in the world, and they held an especially different meaning for her.

Claude, meanwhile, had been inspired. His hair had grown quite long and now reached his shoulders. He had originally wanted to find a hairstylist to trim it, but now it seemed that tying it up could solve two problems at once. Wearing a helmet would be a little troublesome, though, and he would need to deal with his hair first.

Seeing him start fussing with his hair, Centaurea volunteered once again. Having witnessed her excellent skills, Claude confidently left it to her.

PS: I just bought Kingdom Come: Deliverance today. The horse riding in it feels the closest to reality, as though you are actually riding a horse.

The Calm Before the Storm (2)

Claude walked out of the training ground. It had already been requisitioned by the Reunion Movement military and turned into a weapons testing site, guarded strictly. No unauthorized personnel were allowed within three hundred meters.

Centaurea followed behind him, covering her mouth as she laughed softly. His hair was still tied in a ponytail, but delicate braids now extended from both sides, making it look quite refined. Still, it differed considerably from what Claude had envisioned, leaving him somewhat disappointed, though he could accept it.

What puzzled him was that when he summoned the warhorse after tying up his own hair, its mane was tied as well, yet the black ribbon could not be seen. It was as if the mane had been restrained by the air itself, which seemed utterly absurd. But as Centaurea had said, any unreasonable phenomenon could be explained by Originium Arts. Since every person's Originium Arts were different, no one had yet been able to clearly determine how many types of Originium Arts existed.