Archive of Our Own ^beta

Like all his worst days, this one began with Joshua asking him a question. "Why are they calling you all, brother? Are the rumors true?"

Julius ran a hand through his hair. He’d woken to a regular day, just like any other in the Juukulius manor—the sun streaming through the curtains, the lavender carpet greeting him as he got out of bed, and the normal routine he went through before getting breakfast. However, when he’d gone for his meal, Joshua had been waiting outside his door with a letter. As soon as he’d finished reading it, Joshua had asked him that…impolite question. 

His response, "Don't speculate on such things.”

Joshua dipped his head. "Yes brother, I'm sorry."

He rested a hand on the sheath of his sword. "It's alright, keep being curious, and polite."

The man—who barely even possessed the vigor of youth—smiled. "Thank you. Do you know anything about the meeting?" 

As they began walking, he shook his head and took up his best posture, Joshua doing the same. 

Despite Joshua’s best efforts, however, he could never hold it for longer than a few steps, as his constant coughs soon brought him into a slouch. Yet it was Julius’s job to provide an example, so he stood taller for Joshua. “I know nothing of it at all. It’s the most secretive letter I’ve ever received from Captain Gildark.”

“Really…” Joshua rubbed his chin, holding himself back from asking about the rumors. 

If he was being honest, Julius was curious about it as well. It was some of the most worrying information he’d heard in his career, and had certainly brought about much discontent among the citizenry, even if the truth remained veiled. 

Joshua slid his hand along the wall while they passed a painting of their father. Well, Joshua’s father, his adoptive father. 

Joshua stopped there, leaning against the frame. He looked from the painting, then to Julius, and sighed. 

“Are you alright?” Julius inquired.

“Of course,” Joshua nodded. “I can make it to the door today. I must see my absolutely wonderful brother off.”

Julius kept watch on Joshua anyway. They never knew when all the illnesses and infirmities that wracked his body would take over, and force him into bed once more. Although it didn’t seem like he’d need to catch Joshua today: his skin may have been pale, his form gaunt, and his tiredness overwhelming, but there was a spirit to him, a vigor. 

And yet, he still couldn’t stand firm, still failed in his attempts to be polite, still had to cough before the painting of their long dead father. But once he’d finished, he straightened out a tiny bit, refined his gaze, and took a deep breath. Maybe there was a tiny bit of a knight in there, after all.

Some pride slipped into Julius’ chest, and he felt like a real older brother.

It was nice to be able to stand together. Joshua out of bed, him off-duty—for the moment—and this painting to admire. The brush strokes were truly beautiful, the style the very definition of elegance. A painting befitting a noble of the past Juukulius’ status. He wanted to stay longer, though Joshua only had so much energy in him. 

So like always, Joshua forced Julius to drag him away, and toward the door. 

“Come on,” he said to Joshua. “Marcos worded it as if I’d be completely expelled from the knights if I missed this meeting.”

Joshua replied, giving a somewhat strained smile, “As if they’d ever expel you from the knights. You’d never have to struggle with such injustice.”

“Maybe you’re right…” he whispered, trying to be polite for his brother. If only he could be the exemplar, if only he could be greater, if only he could give Joshua someone worthy of rooting for. Julius stood taller. Julius refined himself further. Julius exuded elegance. Julius made himself better, to lead his brother from beyond his current nature.

“I’m right, my brother is truly exceptional, beyond measure. Unmatchable.” Joshua said as they got to the door. His grin did little to obfuscate his infirmities. “Now, have a good day, brother. Tell me the news when you get back.”

“If I can, I will,” Julius said, and opened the door to the capital. He waved to his brother, buds coiling around his fingers. When he turned, he let the smile on his face melt away. If only Joshua’s parents were still alive, maybe they’d have really been brothers, instead of just pretending. 

***

Nearly half an hour later, with the morning sun climbing toward its zenith, he came upon the Royal Castle. It was a massive construction, raised above the bustling metropolis that was Lugunica’s capital, ancient yet sturdy stone making up its spires and intricate mosaic windows lying above the entrance way. The light from said rising sun coming in at a favorable angle, the illustrations held within were illuminated for all to see—the magnificence of which could barely be contained within simple glass.

There were three images, each depicting one of the nation’s greatest heroes and historical figures, things he’d been reading accounts and legends of since he could understand the written word. The first, of the Divine Dragon Volcanica—wreathed in blue flames, as he looked down upon the bridge, with his eyes closed as if meditating—the second, the Sword Saint Reid Astrea—long red hair falling all the way down his back, the great Dragon Sword within his grip; his gaze turned away, focused on the sky and not the bridge—and third, the Lion King Farsale Lugunica—the man who’d through the fire of his will and steel of his spirit, allied himself with Shaula, and forged the Covenant with the Divine Dragon. He stood focused, with a scroll in one hand, gold scepter in the other, and red eyes peering upon the bridge. 

Julius met the gaze of the greatest king in Lugunican history, and for the hundredth time wondered, what lay in Farsale’s mind? What created that glint in his eyes? What set the man so far above the other forty kings of Lugunica?

He had no idea, yet the man still glared at his soul, weighing his worth, staring at his deepest desires, and judging him. Something about it awed him, intimidated him, made him feel as if he must strive to be greater than he currently was.

“Julius!” a familiar voice called.

He turned to the side, where the current Sword Saint stood. “Reinhard.”

Reinhard—dressed in his uniform—stepped toward him. The loose group of knights who were also walking to the meeting, moved out of his way, like they’d been pushed. Even Julius wanted to step back as the Sword Saint got near him. To give way before this being, who held strength greater than any storm, power superseding all who’d come before, or those who’d come after, and a simple disarming smile, which did so little to hide his true nature. After over a decade of drinking with the man regularly, sharing stories with him, and fighting alongside him, Julius barely held back the urge to rush to the side, like a pebble before a flood. 

“Do you know what this meeting’s for?” Reinhard asked, staring off in the direction of Reid Astrea’s mosaic. Their hair was the same bright crimson, their eyes the exact shade of blue. 

Julius forced his attention off of the figures of the past, and back towards the present. “No, do you?”

He nodded, a sad smile on his face. With a tinge of shame, Reinhard said, “I overheard the discussion.”

“When?”

“Last month.”

“And how’d you manage to overhear it?”

“I walked too close to the castle while they were having the meeting.”

Julius looked to the building; they’d almost walked the entire length of the bridge to the doors. “How close is too close, Reinhard?”

His friend looked straight ahead. “About five kilometers.”

Julius clicked his tongue. He wasn’t even surprised, having long since realized how wide the barrier between the two of them was. His six buds sang a soothing note while they floated over his head. He took their words to heart, and forced himself to breathe. 

“I’m guessing you won’t tell me anything,” Julius said. 

Reinhard looked at him, then focused back on whatever thoughts were in his head. 

“Hm.” He redirected the subject, realizing how impolite he’d become for a second. “Have you seen Felix?”

A smile slipped across Reinhard’s face. “Not yet.”

“Yet?”

A little wet sensation started on the back of his ear. What in the—

“Hey nyow, don’t look so startled,” Felix said, the uniform of a knight draping his body. Somehow the man made it appear more like a dress. The feline ears atop his head twitched, and he smiled, sly about his prank .

Julius glared at Reinhard. “That’s what you meant, huh?”

Reinhard chuckled, as Felix poked him in the shoulder. “Nyow don’t get too mad, I’ve only been behind you for a minute.”

“A minute?” Julius asked, feeling out to his buds; had they known? Apparently, all six had, for the entire time. They just hadn’t thought of Felix as a threat.

“C’mon nyow, calm down, Finest Knight,” Felix joked, putting his fingertips together, grinning.

“I don’t recall it being normal for the Blue to act so improper,” he shot back.

“Oh please, the Green, Red, and Yellow is the most eccentric guy in the world.”

Julius tried to speak, but found himself without a good response. He just pulled out a handkerchief to dry off his ear. 

“Awwww, you’re no fun,” Felix huffed. 

“I think that’s enough, Felix,” Reinhard said. “Julius is just a better knight than us.”

Julius stared at Reinhard. “I don’t think—”

Reinhard set a hand on his shoulder. “Far better.”

Thankfully, before his silence became too pronounced, Felix turned to the Sword Saint, then sidled up next to him. “So, Reinhard.”

“Yes?”

“Have you told Julius what the meeting’s for?”

Julius sighed. “Am I the only knight who doesn’t know?”

“No, don’t worry,” Reinhard said. “I think it’s only us two, though I thought it was only me five seconds ago.” 

“Not something I really wanted to talk about, but I guess the time’s come.” Felix looked at the ground, his humor suddenly draining away.

So both of them knew, and were carrying weights on their shoulders. So that’s why Felix’s jokes were far weaker than normal. He didn’t like to…but he had to admit a lick on the ear was tame for the man. And Reinhard, who always took everything onto his shoulders, wasn’t walking perfectly straight. Faltering, just a bit. It was like Volcanica failing to remember a basic fact of the world.

Were the rumors really true, then? The Spirit Knight got one last look at the mosaic of Farsale. Was the man’s entire bloodline truly gone?

He got no more time to wonder, as they’d reached the doors by then, held open by two guards. Within, a massive gathering of knights waited, their white cloaks contrasting against the red carpets and golden mountings of Lugunica’s symbol. At the back of the room, lay the Royal Throne, on a raised platform, with stairs on all sides. Both dais and chair were completely empty. For the first time in a thousand years. Completely empty. 

Marcos Gildark stood below the steps, in the middle of the room. He had no weapons, but he wore a fine set of armor. It lacked any flair or artistic luxury, built entirely for practical defense, a gray coloration, against his green hair. The man fit it perfectly, and it fit him better. The knights all stood before him in two blocks, defenders against the consequences of a crown with no bearer. 

When Marcos saw the three of them, he stretched his arm out. Everyone quieted immediately, to the point that the clinking of Marcos’ gauntlet echoed. He pulled his hand back toward himself, gesturing. 

“You three, up at the front.” he said, in a tone which lacked any hint of distraction. At his order, they took their spots. Reinhard, moving with such purpose it was a wonder the world didn’t shake beneath him. Felix, with such sadness he had no idea how to help. And then himself, trying his best to hold up the virtues of knighthood.

Was it really true? Could it be true? 

It grew harder to hold his posture. Especially as the minutes stretched on, and the knights waited in silence. He couldn’t say how long had passed before Marcos drew himself up, and looked out over the crowd. A moment later, the Captain of the Royal Knights raised his gloved hand, and made a little nod. The side doors opened at a glacial pace, the bottoms of them sliding across the red carpeting. Upon the motion’s completion, a group of men stepped through.

It was true, then.

The Sage Council, every member, dressed in black robes which lay over their entire body, but left their heads exposed. The garments held no decoration, no symbols, no deviations. Just solid black. There was only one possible thing which the entire Sage Council had to mourn. His heart started thudding, and questions fell upon him. If the Royals were really dead, who in the world would be king? What would happen with Volcanica and the Covenant? Would the cult start making moves? Would the populace riot? Would warlords rise across the country in bids for power? Would…Lugunica become no better than Vollachia?

Servants came out alongside the sages. They set down a large table and chairs for each sage. When the furniture was in place, the councilors waved them off while they took their new seats. In the middle was Miklitov MacMahon, with a white beard running down his entire front—wisdom lay in him, and respect swelled in Julius’ chest for the man. At his right, sat Bordeaux. No respect emanated from his heart toward the hulk of a man, who possessed naught but blue eyebrows for hair. The group had set up right next to the throne, at the top of the dais. Two years ago, that would have been enough to cause a scandal.

From all the men at once, a whisper rose, it sounded like birds in the morning, chirping back and forth to one another.

Marcos’ jaw flexed, and he spoke, crushing any idle conversation before it could start. “Men of the Royal Knights.” He didn’t yell, but his voice carried across the entire hall. “You have all heard the rumors, that the Royal Family is dead.”

No one made a sound.

“The rumors are true.”

Somehow, it got quieter. 

There was a touch of sadness on Marcos’ face as he continued. “A little less than a month ago, a plague took the last royal life. Every member of the Lugunica family is dead. Soon after, the Dragon Tablet updated. It gave a short explanation, telling the future actions of the nation.” He paused, looking back at the sages. They nodded, and Marcos continued. “The Dragon has requested we begin a selection, for the next Lugunican King. The ruler will be selected from among five candidates.”

After he finished the sentence, Miklitov, in all his ancient slowness, stood, lumbering toward Marcos. He wasn’t a big man, but his age lent him a certain presence. At his movements, another servant came, carrying a small crate. He set it upon the carpet, pulling it open.

Then, Miklitov spoke. “The Dragon Tablet has foretold that five men will come, lay their hands on these,” he stretched out his palm, and a servant put an insignia within, “and they’ll glow for those five men alone.” He showed it to the gathered knights. The red gemstone in the center of the Lugunican symbol was dull. Miklitov chuckled. “It seems I’m not worthy for the Dragon. We’ll of course have everyone here hold one before they leave.”

Everyone here…

Julius’ eyes scanned the room. Five candidates. 

Marcos took back the reins of the speech, and explained what was going to happen. The doors would be locked until everyone in the room had touched an insignia, then they’d all be able to leave. “Come forward whenever you please; the sages would rather I not force you all.”

Not a single knight stepped forward. 

Marcos grunted, leaned over to the box, and fetched an insignia. It didn’t glow in his hands. 

Julius took another peek around the room. Felix had shied away from the crate, and the responsibility it presented. Reinhard, on the other hand, was staring directly at it. 

The Sword Saint exhaled. It carried far, thanks to the silence. When he breathed in, he took a step forward. Then another, then a third, and a fourth. All the way until he was standing before Marcos, who offered the insignia to him. Reinhard lifted his hand, slowly. 

Julius reached out to In, his Yang spirit, and drew on her abilities. All of his senses heightened, till he could hear Reinhard’s breathing from even here, see the tiny creases on his face, and feel his trepidation. 

Reinhard held his hand out flat.

Marcos set the insignia down in his waiting fingers.

And it glowed a bright red, like the sun had hit it just right. 

“Of course,” someone in the crowd said. The knight next to them chuckled. And with such a tiny interaction, the spell over the room broke. Men descended into conversations, and started heading for the crate. Yet Reinhard remained where he’d been, completely frozen. Julius hadn’t missed what happened when the insignia had glowed.

Reinhard had cracked the gemstone, and the very foundations of the castle trembled. 

Even with his earlier reluctance, Felix headed up to Reinhard and threw a few verbal jabs at him. “Sword Saint’s gonna be King Astrea now, eh?” Then he made a second joke, and a third, and a fourth. Until a tiny tiny smile snuck onto Reinhard’s gace.

“Maybe,” he said to Felix, and tossed the insignia at him.

The Blue caught it on reflex. 

It lit up in his hands.

“I see the Blue will be King Argyle now.” Reinhard said.

Felix just stared at it.

The response to that was a bit different from the knights, but nobody said anything mean. And Julius only caught one comment about his ears. But other than that, everything proceeded as normal from there. People went up to hold the insignia, failed to make it glow, and started milling around near the doors. However, Reinhard and Felix were standing apart—the sages all watching them. Neither man made any jokes for the rest of the event, as if reality had set in on them. Julius stopped In from enhancing his senses, and decided to go talk to them.

A hand slammed down on his shoulder, holding him in place. “Sir Juukulius.”

He turned. “Captain Gildark.”

“You haven’t held an insignia.” The brute of a man said. “You’re one of the last. I’ve been keeping track.”

Julius looked around at the hundreds of knights gathered. Of course Marcos knew them all well enough to keep track of each.

“No one’s leaving till you hold it,” Marcos said.

Julius’ buds pulsed, sending kind words his way. “Alright.”

He held every emotion in, and followed the Captain. Two of his friends had been chosen to be Royal Candidates…would he? How would he feel when it inevitably didn’t glow? How would he feel if it did? Hopefully he wouldn’t have to worry about that second one. He was a knight, not a king. 

When they got to the box, someone with a relieved look on their face handed an insignia to Marcos, who offered it to Julius. 

“I won’t rush you,” Marcos said, his voice hard, but not harsh.

“Thank you.” Julius steeled himself, and grabbed the insignia.

It shone, just like the glint in Farsale Lugunica’s eyes.

***

Hours later, Reinhard, Felix, and Julius were all sitting in their usual bar, drinks in hand. Reinhard only stared at his cup, while Felix downed the contents of his. Within seconds, the man was already asking for another. Julius, meanwhile, just nursed his own. 

Both his friends had sat on his left, with Reinhard between him and Felix. The owner had turned off the bright metia-powered lights that were normally on, instead providing a candle-lit drinking experience—likely as a sign of respect towards the Royal Family. Marcos had released the information to every knight and said there was no punishment in discussing the Royal Family’s death. They just weren’t to discuss the new candidates, or the selection itself. 

That was for the official announcement ceremony in three months. 

Just thinking about it made him take a long pull on his drink, until half was gone. When he set it down, he truly considered that figure. Three months. Ninety days. Such a short amount of time before he was officially in the running as a candidate for the position of Dragon King of Lugunica. 

It was a race in which he’d have to compete with the Sword Saint, the greatest hero currently alive, and with the current Blue, pinnacle of healing magic, considered the best healer now walking the world, and one sometimes said to be the best who’d ever lived. And then there was him, Julius Juukulius. 

The Spirit Knight.

That was it. No great titles. No wondrous deeds. No real name for himself. 

He took another long sip of his drink, finishing it this time. He raised his hand, signaling for another. The bartender nodded, and was quick to pour one out. His buds floated above the cup. They played no song, pulsed no rhythm, and said nothing. All six knew the situation, and how…he couldn’t even decide whether it was horrible or fucking terrible. 

What could he even accomplish as king? What did he even want to accomplish? He’d been just a knight for so long. Now he had to become king. Now he had to run on some platform. Now he had to fight for political change.

And he didn’t have a clue what he’d do.

Years as the ‘Finest Knight’ and he didn’t even have an answer to what he stood for. 

He slumped down, sipping at his new drink.

None of the three men uttered a word for the entire night.

***

Julius sat up straight in a luxurious chair. It held lush cushions, supporting him but giving way just enough. He struggled to keep his elegance perfect, instead just wanting to rest and melt into the comfort. Joshua had insisted he be taken care of in all areas of life, especially after he’d learned of his new status. 

Royal Candidate for Dragon King of Lugunica.

It was still…so daunting. And even after a month, he hadn’t answered that question, just buried it deep within his psyche. One day, he’d sit down and think on it. One day, he wouldn’t be able to find other work that needed doing. One day, he wouldn’t do things like find coaches on how to portray the air of a noble, then hire and use them as an easy way not to think about it. One day, he wouldn’t do things like accept offers to meet from foreign business owners. 

But today wasn't that day.

“Master Juukulius,” one of his butlers leaned down and whispered in his ear. “She’ll be here shortly.”

Of course he’d done a little information-gathering on this Anastasia Hoshin. She’d probably come to offer him some company deal for expanding her company into Lugunica. Many in the business world of Kararagi had been whispering about a move like it for a while. Or that was what his few spies said. Funny to think some whispers had turned true, and brought him out to his meeting room. 

In the time it took for her to arrive, he sipped at a bit of the tea set out for the conference while he ran his other hand along the suit he now wore. He’d taken off the Royal Knight’s uniform after that night of drinking, and never put it back on. Marcos had said he didn’t need to return to duty until after the selection, unless he became king, then he never had to come back. He took a deep breath, suddenly not wanting to think about how quickly his dreams of knighthood had fallen by the wayside. 

Maybe it was partially his fault. He had been fast in adopting a luxury suit, getting new reading glasses which were inlaid with a bit of gold, and acquiring shoes which practically glowed thanks to the sheer quality of the leather. The outfit had cost a small fortune of the family’s money, but everyone had insisted on it. A Royal Candidate was the second highest noble in the country, and…he had to look the part. 

It had been strange to him, but he hadn’t found himself protesting. All these little alterations to life. This position was like the wind, it’d come and changed every part of his existence, while he’d never once seen it coming. And it was only now he noticed the effects.

He took another sip of tea. Some of the best he’d ever had. Some of the best that existed in the world. It was difficult to pace himself while drinking it. Yet he set it down with a light touch. At the clink, his butler came from the side of the room, and refilled his cup. While the liquid poured, he turned to Julius.

“She’s likely on her way through the hallway, Master Juukulius,” the butler said. When the cup was filled, he retreated back to the side of the room. His words were followed soon after by the door opening, and Anastasia Hoshin striding in. Her movements were swift, and held back a spirit he’d never expected. Her clothes fit her perfectly, and around her shoulders lay a majestic fox fur scarf.

Then that gaze in her eyes. His spirits sung when they looked upon it. 

This Anastasia Hoshin she…could she really…? 

She sat down in the chair opposite his, and immediately found a position she could relax in. Once comfortable, she reached out and took a small sip of tea. After she set it down, she smiled and said, “I’d like ta make a request.”

“Yes?” he said, overcoming his surprise at his buds reaction to her. 

“Can we have this discussion in private?” Her eyes shifted to the butler for a moment, then settled back on him.

“My apologies, of course.” He waved to the man, and the butler left the room swiftly. “Although, a second apology is in order, Miss Hoshin.”

“Oh?”

“We won’t be truly alone, even now.”

“Ya got someone watching us?” She looked at the room’s walls, then took another sip of tea.

He raised his hand, and his six buds manifested, becoming visible to the woman. The lights of the girls reflected off her lilac hair in a way that made him feel so…light, like he’d found something to… Maybe she really was what he’d been looking for. No, she wasn’t it…but could she have brought it? 

Her eyes shimmered. “Oh, I getcha.” 

She rubbed her scarf, studying the six quasi-spirits in his hand. Her expression made it seem a tragedy when he set his arm down and the buds vanished.

However, her voice was light as she said, “Ya know, I normally don’t wait this long before talking about business.”

“Why?” he wondered, curiosity filling his chest. He must know.

She grinned. “I’m a greedy gal. I wanna make everything mine fast.”

But he also had to hold himself back, had to remain the exemplar. He breathed, calming himself. “Then why come to me?”

Anastasia leaned forward. “I want to move the Hoshin company to Lugunica, and I want your full support in the endeavor.”

Julius considered it for a moment. “What’s in it for me?”

“A five percent share of any profits made in Lugunica.”

He tilted his head. “No.” 

Anastasia grinned. “Ten percent.”

“No.” There was no point in having a share in the company, that wasn’t what he wanted. It wasn’t good enough at all. And his buds knew it too, they sang their disapproval so loud. 

“Fifteen.”

“No.”

Anastasia leaned back. “Hm. Maybe we should be a bit more honest with each other.”

He watched her, waiting for the next offer. 

“Ya know, I’m aware that you’re scared of what your full support will mean.”

He made a fist, more delaying. But he had to understand. Had to be magnanimous. Had to be the epitome of dignity.

“Of course I know. I’m a smart gal, with a spy network more numerous than the Great Rabbit. So, Julius Juukulius, Royal Candidate of the Dragon Kingdom of Lugunica, let’s be a bit more honest with each other.”

He uncoiled his fist. “You managed to find out, then?”

She nodded, and he sighed.

She didn’t say anything.

“Unfortunately, I don’t see any reason why I should support you. Your profits aren’t of interest to me.”

“I get that. Ya aren’t a money guy, are ya?”

He didn’t move, just watched her. She had to have it. She had to give it. She had to be it . His spirits had seen her nature in that moment, they must have.

“How about this,” she said, “I’ll help you become king, as long as we can do a few things. And you give me some support with moving the Hoshin company into Lugunica. No monopolies, just some help establishing businesses.”

“What would you want us to do?”

“When ya become king, ya’ve gotta crack down harshly on any slavery that crops up.”

“Slavery’s illegal in Lugunica.” Hope burned in him, but he had to remain calm. 

“I’m aware, just don’t ignore the illegal activity. Then we’re gonna fix this place’s shitty economy, it’ll be better for me. No more demi-human persecution and discrimination. And I don’t wanna see a slum by the time ya die.”

“So you help me with all that, and I help you with your businesses?” 

There it was, something to stand for, something that sounded so admirable.

Anastasia raised one finger. “Just one other thing.”

“Hm?”

“I’m gonna be your closest ally and advisor, alright. I’m still greedy, so I’m ya number one, got it.”

Julius chuckled, and reached out his hand. “I believe we have a deal.”

“Good,” she smiled, and took it.

***

For the first time in three months, Julius stepped through the doors of the Royal Castle. The previous occasion, he’d left as a candidate, known only to the knights. Now, he strode in, soon to be known to the entire nation. 

Anastasia was walking on his side, right up next to him. She’d been content to leave her guards from the Iron Fang at the Juukulius manor, especially since she was with him. He still carried his sword, strapped to his belt. 

Instead of just knights, like last time, the castle was bustling with all sorts: nobles invited from every corner of the kingdom, a few rich citizens, businessmen who’d made their living through commerce. Some, naturally, were Anastasia’s spies, though he didn’t know all the specific ones. He intended to learn them all soon. There was even a man with black hair. Didn’t see them every day. And why was he with the western margrave? So many different individuals here. Thankfully, Reinhard was easy to pick out. 

The Sword Saint, in the uniform he wore when he was off-duty from the knights, was making his way toward the dais, where the empty throne still sat. 

Julius ran his eyes along the men on the platform, finding only two individuals: Felix, wearing a suit befitting a noble, and a man he’d never seen before. The individual possessed a single arm, and was covered in a massive array of muscles, interspersed with white scars all over his exposed stomach—he was clad in a simple vest. On his head, lay a steel helmet which hid his face from the world. Why would Volcanica choose such a man for candidacy? No, that wasn’t for him to speculate on, the Divine Dragon no doubt knew exactly what he was doing.

Soon, Reinhard arrived on the platform, taking a spot between Felix and the man. Surprisingly, the black-haired boy he’d noted earlier, stepped forward as well, joining the other candidates. 

Anastasia grabbed his arm. “Looks like it's ya time, let’s go.” She walked alongside him, as they headed up to the rest of the candidates.

“What are you doing?” he whispered. “I don’t think anyone will take kindly to me bringing someone as back up.”

“Ah, no fun,” she said, and dropped his arm, heading into the crowd. He was surprised at how fast she managed to join another conversation. It took him a second to regain control of his thoughts, then march with dignity toward the others. 

At some point in his journey, a woman, glowing like the sun—upon closer look, Priscilla Barielle—was staring up at the candidates, and said. “To hide one’s face at a meeting such as this…how…interesting…” He didn’t know if she uttered anything else, as he’d already moved on. 

Before coming in, he’d enhanced his senses with Yang magic, so he heard even the whispers. Though, he focused only on the weird ones. Like when one man whispered to another: “You hear about the silver-haired half-elf?”

“The fuck, what do you mean?” another replied.

“Apparently the margrave had her at his house a while back.”

“Huh, didn’t even know about her.”

“She doesn’t really matter anyway, I guess Mathers wised up, sent her back to wherever the fuck she came from.”

He’d have to ask Anastasia about that one. He switched his focus to something new. 

“You hear about the Sword Demon?”

“Right, he’s joining the Sword Saint, yeah?”

“Nah, they hate each other. Apparently he’s helping the margrave.”

Julius would certainly need Anastasia to look into Roswaal L. Mathers. The clown himself—who loomed over nearly everyone else—was watching the room, analyzing. It was a look his leadership coaches had advised him to fear, or at least feel caution toward. The gaze of an experienced ruler, someone used to turning people into tools to further their agenda. Is that what he’d become? 

There was no time to answer. 

After just a few more steps, he got in the line with all the other candidates. Upon his arrival, Marcos introduced the Royal Selection to the people, the requirements of it, and how it’d all be decided in the end. He ended his speech with the sentence: “I’ll let the candidates address you all now.”

Reinhard stepped out of line and toward the people first. There was a great reluctance to the way he moved, as if he was yanking his body forward. Julius stared out into the crowd, searching for Heinkel Astrea. By the time Reinhard spoke, he’d yet to spot him. 

“Men and women of Lugunica,” Reinhard said, his voice projecting perfectly. “I…” the man completely froze, just for a brief moment before he recovered. “I’d like you to listen well to the words of my competitors.” 

And then he got back in line.

Julius wasn’t even surprised. Reinhard had never been the speech type, or even that good of a conversationalist. He could make people feel at ease, but other than that… 

Maybe this wasn’t an impossible battle, after all. 

Next up was Felix. 

“I am Felix Argyle, and I’ll be ending the Covenant with the dragon. Lugunicans have grown too stagnant, we need a change.” 

He said it like someone else had fed him the words. He rambled on about needing change, and improving the lack of personal strength in Lugunica. Julius quickly picked Crusch out in the crowd. Maybe she hadn’t intended it, but Julius knew these were all the things Crusch wanted, and not what Felix wanted. But was Julius any different? He still didn’t have a clue what he stood for. Would he come off like this? Wishy washy and soft-spoken?

When Felix was finished, the one-armed behemoth of a man stepped forward. He stood there for a second, then waved. “Yo, I’m Al, still got no fucking idea why I’m here.” He turned to Miklitov, head of the Sage Council. “Hey, old bro, you got anything to drink, or any bar recommendations?”

“I have a few,” the sage responded, his eyes holding regret. He tugged on his beard. “I certainly have some…”

“Nice,” Al said, and walked over behind the line and went to talk to Miklitov about places he could go to drink. 

After Al, the black-haired boy stepped up, stood still for a moment, and said, "My name, is Natsuki Subaru, and I'm going to fix this country! Slums fill every city, Vollachia is bearing down on the southern border, and nobody's done a thing about it. All your royalty did was mint more coins and debase the currency."

In the crowd, Roswaal Mathers had a wide grin on his face.

"For every single citizen of this nation, I'm going to change it! No more discrimination. No more shitty decision making." He touched his chest. "And no more White fucking Whale! Anyone who wants to help, come to the Mathers mansion. I already have the Sword Demon ready to help in its subjugation."

Most of the nobles were staring at him, and Reinhard was gaping. 

Yet Natsuki Subaru continued, "This country's going to be better, this country's going to be the safest, most equal, and greatest place to live! We'll hunt down the Witch's Cult, we'll kill every Great Mabeast, and we're going to scare Vincent Vollachia off, with Volcanica's help."

The man quieted, and stepped back into line. How…arrogant.

Yet Julius couldn’t think further, the nation was waiting for him to speak. He pulled off his glasses, setting them in his pocket, and stepped out in front of the other candidates. "I am Julius Juukulius." 

He ignored the whispers of 'Finest Knight' and 'Spirit Knight.' 

"And I must be truthful, in that I have little to espouse.” He breathed. “A few months back I was merely a knight. Yet in that time I observed many things. Injustices, titanic and miniscule, I'm going to put an end to all those. Laws will be enforced. The economy will be better. And the knights will be even greater, more righteous, than they are now." 

He droned on for a few more minutes, running through all the points Anastasia had told him of. In general, he said a lot in a fancy way, with very little substance. 

But it seemed to satisfy the nobles and knights; they nodded and clapped when he finished. It was a better response than anyone else had received, though it felt hollow. Especially since, as he was getting back in line, Subaru was glaring at him.

Before he could try to guess why, Miklitov started to speak, marking an end to the ceremony. The gathered nobles and citizens started walking around the room, discussing the candidates. A few left, but most remained behind. Important deals happened in places like this, or the groundwork laid for them to be made. 

"Julius."

"Yes?" he asked Al, who didn't say anything more, just watched, hidden behind his helmet. It was like an abyss, gazing at him. His buds readied themselves for a fight.

"Al." a woman said.

"Hm?" Al grunted.

To their side, Priscilla Barielle stood tall, holding a fan before the lower half of her face, "Come, we have much to discuss." 

"Nah, I'm good." Al said, messing with a screw on his helmet.

She glared at him. "That was an order."

Al chuckled. "You're an odd lady.” He thought for a moment, before saying “What are we discussing?" She pulled him off to some other part of the room after that. 

Julius took his hand off the hilt of his sword. When had he even grabbed it? There was no time to wonder, with Al gone, a crowd of people descended on him, each vying for his attention.

"Master Julius."

"Master Julius!"

"Sir Juukulius."

Anastasia somehow made her way to the front of the crowd and grabbed his arm. "Ya look like ya need some help."

"Thanks," he said as she led him out of the group. Her presence and reputation holding everyone else back. 

"I'm billing ya for this by the way."

"Of course," he said. "What do you want?"

"Ta get ya out inta the city, talk ta some people."

"But…" Julius looked around, searching for Reinhard or Felix. When he found them, they'd been swarmed by dozens. Felix was managing to bring people right to Crusch. Of course. And Reinhard was successfully navigating nearly a dozen conversations at once without even breaking a sweat. He easily managed to put everyone at ease just with his strength and a small smile. All of it was so easy for him. But that was just the way of the world. Nothing would ever be difficult for Reinhard van Astrea.

Julius shifted his focus back to Anastasia, forcing a smile onto his face. "Alright, where to?"

***

“You still haven’t told me where we’re headed,” he said.

“Ta make sure my investment works out. Ya always gotta check on stuff like that.”

“Why bring me along, then?”

She looked back at him and smiled. “Ya should be able ta figure it out.” 

He followed her without any more protest. She was his partner now, in all areas that mattered for his candidacy and her company. Huh, her company. Maybe she’d already begun her ventures in the nation, and started a few small businesses under the Hoshin company. Or she could just be joking and actually mean going to get food. Though, she hadn’t seemed like she was joking…

As they walked, the buildings around them grew more and more run down. The road beneath their feet turned from neat and well-fitted cobblestones, to a patchwork of rock and tall grasses. What kind of business was Anastasia getting herself involved in here? To come to the slums for an investment? There’d be little point under the current administration. These people had no money to buy anything.

“Anastasia.”

“Julius,” she said, stretching out the last syllable of his name.

“Are you getting into…illegal enterprises?”

“Nope. Ya couldn’t be farther from the truth. My business here is completely legal, some would even call it divinely ordained.”

“I…don’t think the Dragon’s called you here.”

“Really?”

Why would she bring up Volcanica…? Oh. “I’m your investment, aren’t I?”

“Ya got there,” she said, patting him on the shoulder.

“So why bring me here?” he asked as Anastasia led him deeper into the slums. People turned toward them, gaping. It wasn’t hard to take notice of how thin every single one of them was. Their eyes held a deep envy, their lips curled into sneers, and yet they shied away from the two.

Anastasia moved slowly, her eyes passing over each of the people watching. She whispered something under her breath, then said, “Ya know, Julius.”

“Yes?”

She sighed. “I ain’t blind. I know ya don’t really care about all of this stuff.” Her head turned to the people again. “About them. They’re good people, you know. Most of them anyway.”

“I know, I care,” he said, putting a hand on his breast. “Truly, I care, deeply.” He couldn’t hold back the guilt slipping in, undermining his words.

Anastasia stopped walking, and looked to the nearest building, a barely held together shack. Moss had grown all over the wood, though a single window, albeit a broken one, remained. She gazed back at him, her eyes wet. 

“Anastasia, are you okay?”

“Yes, all this just reminds me. Anyway, ya got the pity, Julius, but ya don’t got the empathy.”

“I care…” he said, far weaker than last time.

She frowned. “I spend half my time making deals. I gotta know what people care about.” Her hand ran along the scarf wrapped around her neck, and her next words were warmer. “Ya maybe want to care about these, but ya don’t, not really.”

“What do I care about?”

“Dunno, maybe hiding. Ya seem like one of those types.” The slight smile she gave took away all offense he might have taken from it.

Julius rubbed the back of his neck. Even without being vicious, she was probably right. He might really be a coward, he’d avoided Felix and Reinhard, and headed off with her. 

“I—”

“Sir,” a woman said, her voice sounding so small. What he found to his left, was a short girl—even shorter than Anastasia—who was holding out her hands to him. “Can you…?”

Julius looked right into her eyes, full of tears. Desperation shone in them, though the tears didn’t fall down her face. Anastasia, to his right, crossed her arms. “Show her ya spirits.”

“What?” the woman asked.

Julius trusted Anastasia, and reached for his buds. At his request, they grew visible, all six circling over his head like a halo. The woman’s eyes flicked up to it. She rubbed her stomach, which let her ribs show through her shirt. “Oh…you’re…sorry to bother you.”

She turned and headed away, down an alleyway. 

“What was she asking me for?” he asked.

“Money,” Anastasia responded immediately, then started looking around. 

“Shit…I should have given her some.”

“Nah,” she said, her eyes scanning across the space above his head. 

“Too greedy for charity?” 

“Not at all. She was just trying to see if ya actually had money on ya.” Anastasia pointed up behind him. “Then that one was gonna take all ya shit.”

“What?” Julius wheeled around. Up on the top of the building, standing next to the chimney, was a short girl with blonde hair. She leaned forward, and with a rush of wind was standing in front of him. Her hand snapped out, grabbing his coin purse. Julius almost gasped at her sheer speed. 

“In, Nes!” he called. The girl’s eyes went wide, and she started staring around. He took the coin purse out of her frozen hand, then released his spirit’s spell on her. 

“Why ya so desperate?” Anastasia asked. 

The girl, hair the shade of a lion’s fur, glared at both of them. Her eyes shimmered in the sun’s evening light. They were red, darker than even Reinhard’s hair. 

“Dumbass,” she said, already gone. She moved with such an incredible speed that even he could barely keep track. 

“Ah, smart. She knew ya wouldn’t kill her.”

“What do you mean?”

“Ya probably missing a coin, those fast hand tricks only let ya get one most times.” She shook her head.

“What the…” Julius whispered, and a little thought occurred to him. He immediately crushed it. There were more important matters, like Anastasia’s words. She was his partner, he had to listen.

“Ya know why she did it, dontcha?” 

“She needed money.”

“Ya need to learn some lessons, Julius.” She grabbed his arm. “Come on, and try to not get robbed again.”

He remained silent, and followed the woman. How did she have so much experience with places like this? She’d spotted the scheme immediately, and apparently even knew why that girl had acted in the way she had. 

“The thing about that girl,” Anastasia explained as they walked through the overgrown and rundown part of the city. “Is that she didn’t steal from ya because she wanted money.”

“That’s not logical, of course she wanted money.”

“Yep. But everyone kinda wants money. I want money, a lot. Ya want money, at least somewhat.”

“Then why?”

“She was hungry.”

“That’s…” he didn’t really know what to say. Other than ‘obviously’.

“Ya never been hungry have ya.” She took another look at him. “Definitely not. Ya gotta know what it’s like to be hungry, Julius.” 

“So that’s what this is all about?” he asked.

She nodded, “Yep, I’m gonna be your teacher, gonna fix that look in ya eyes.”

Anastasia took a few more steps, and sighed. What was that about? He followed her line of sight to a great building. 

“What’s that?” he asked. The structure was entirely destroyed, as if a monster had torn through it.

“I’m told it was called the loothouse. People’re gonna be extra hungry with it gone. And that’s why we’re gonna come out here, everytime I’m in the city.”

At the thought of that, Julius barely suppressed a sigh, and couldn’t suppress the guilt that followed.

***

He tipped the bottle of wine. A soft and steady stream poured down into the glass. When it was filled, he returned the bottle to its normal orientation and set it down. Joshua reached over and took hold of his glass of water, while Julius grabbed the newly filled glass of wine. The two were sitting on rocking chairs, out in the lawn of the Juukulius manor. An umbrella and a table had been put out for them, which the alcohol and water now rested on. Although they didn’t really need the shade, the dark overcast of clouds already provided that.

“Brother.” Joshua said. 

“Yes?” Julius responded. 

Joshua sipped his water, leaning out to the side to get a better look at the sky. “Do you think it’ll rain?”

Julius sighed, a deep exhaustion running through him. The same one he hadn’t been able to shake for the entire year. “I don’t know, Joshua.”

He took a sip of his wine, and resisted the urge to not just down the entire glass. It was such a tempting thing, but not at all proper for a Royal Candidate. A Royal…Candidate. Again, he sighed. Even a year into the selection, it felt so…not unreal but… He still didn’t even know how he felt about it. A burden maybe. And yet he didn’t even shrug at the crushing responsibility that being the king brought with it. Something about the position was appealing. Was there one thing big enough to counteract that nebulous appeal? These days, he didn’t think that to be the case. Just a hundred, maybe a thousand, different things all weighing down on him. 

“Brother,” Joshua said, interrupting his thoughts. 

“Yes?”

Joshua set down his glass with a light thud. “Are you okay, brother?”

No. He was tired all the time. He always had to hold himself from snapping at people and criticizing them, even though he had no place to. There was a little creeping feeling of disdain whenever he saw any citizen of Lugunica. His own brother didn’t feel like an actual brother, and never had. Both of his two greatest friends hadn’t talked to him in months. Reinhard was always busy, rushing around the Astrea domain, taking no breaks for himself. So he had to be concerned for a friend who probably got five minutes of sleep a night, and he was pissed at the same friend for never giving anyone a shred of time with him. Then there was Felix: the man who’d become a mouthpiece for Crusch, who herself was all the while barely aware of what was going on. She couldn’t see Felix hanging on her every word. She didn’t believe anything was wrong, and she just continued talking about severing the contract. Did she really believe he wanted to be king for his own reasons? Or did Felix really have a will of his own, simply wishing for the same things she did? Was Julius the one underestimating him? Yet everytime Felix gave a speech, he made himself a laughingstock of a Royal Candidate. Any time he showed up in Lugunica’s papers, it was just to say he should get back to healing. And Julius couldn’t even say anything to the man because of this whole damned selection. Oh, and then there was Natsuki Subaru, who’d managed such great feats. He’d killed the White Whale, was rumored to have done the same to the Great Rabbit, and had liberated some place called Sanctuary. But that wasn’t even what bothered him. No, it wasn’t that Natsuki Subaru had turned out to be a big hero. It was that every time anyone ever interacted with him, he was too odd for anyone to trust him. Natsuki Subaru had become the candidate who everyone was too reluctant to openly praise. A big hero, who’d probably just end up a mad king. Then Al flagrantly ignored all Lugunican traditions, with nothing of benefit to say about him as a candidate. Finally there was him, Julius Juukulius, the fancy blowhard who barely believed in anything he said, and everyone could feel it in his speeches too. 

He turned to his pretend brother and said, “I’m fine.”

Joshua nodded. “It’s okay to take a break now, brother, you’re not king yet.”

“This is about all I need,” he said. Once, six months back, he’d tried taking a break. It had only made everything worse. 

“I’m worried, brother,” Joshua said, his words cold. Maybe it was just Julius’ exhaustion, but there seemed to be a touch of anger in Joshua’s frown as well. “Miss Anastasia’s told me breaks are important.”

Julius bit his lip. 

“You need to take care of yourself.”

A bit of blood spilled from his lip, filling his mouth with iron. 

“Brother,” Joshua said, grabbing his arm. 

Julius held himself from pulling away, and took a deep breath. Just like those rulership coaches had told him, before he’d fired them. He counted to ten and then backwards from there, not listening to Joshua’s continued insistence. Although it was hard not to focus on his brother’s face, he managed it. Just breathing, that’s all he did. In and out. In and out. In and out. A Royal Candidate had to be calm. A Royal Candidate must be composed. A Royal Candidate needed to be regal.

“Joshua,” he said, voice soft. “I’m truly alright. There’s no need to worry for my well-being.”

Joshua nodded, forcing his mouth closed, drawing his lips into a line as well. The two brothers sat in silence after that. Occasionally, one would reach for their drink, or a worker would step through the grounds on the way to their duties, but aside from that, absolutely nothing. And yet, that weariness remained. Soon, little droplets of rain slapped down against the umbrella’s top, sending streams down the sides, like waterfalls. They poured so easily, so freely. 

“Master Julius,” a butler said. He was familiar, the man personally assigned to caring for Joshua’s needs. The man was stocky, yet graceful. His hair was a rich orange, with flecks of gray mixed throughout. 

“Yes, Sven?” Julius said.

“It’s unhealthy for Master Joshua to be out in weather like this.”

Joshua sighed, whether from relief or disappointment he couldn’t tell, then stood up and followed the man. All he did for a goodbye was offer Julius a wave, then he was off, back into the manor. Julius couldn’t watch him; his chair was facing away from the residence. All he could do was listen to his brother’s footsteps. 

His buds were humming a faint rhythm. They had been this entire time; there’d just been no reason to pay attention to it. A Royal Candidate couldn’t be perceived as weak of mind, always distracted. So, he waited, in silence. In a few minutes, he’d get up and get back to work, but for now, he’d enjoy a small break. Maybe Joshua’s words had rubbed off on him a little too much. Either way, Julius remained.

Until one of his maids, a rabbit demi-human, walked through the rain and under his umbrella. “Master Julius.”

“What is it, Mel?”

“Mistress Anastasia will be returning to the city shortly.”

He rubbed his eyes. Another walk through the slums, and another bout of acting as the absolute pinnacle of royal decorum. Why couldn’t he just go back to being a knight? Maybe he should, maybe that’d be better for everyone, just let Reinhard take the throne, be a good knight under his rule. 

“Master Julius, there’s another thing.”

“Hm?”

“Natsuki Subaru and Roswaal L. Mathers have a proposition for you.”

“Tell me, or are they coming themselves?”

“No, they’ve told me.”

“What do they want, then?”

“Your camp’s aid, in a joint expedition.”

***

On a boundless sea of white, they floated. 

Simply being. A content existence, a peaceful one. Yet never happy. Never enjoying anything, never finding entertainment. Simply existing, then more existing, then more existing. All arms had long since been perfected to the point of redundancy. All mentalities discarded in lieu of ultimate instinctual transcendence. All things perfected; all fun had. 

Now, they existed. 

They existed.

They stood.

They existed.

They had no thoughts. They had no wants. They had no desires. They had no anything. Just a boundless white sea, stretching to infinity. It was all theirs; it was meaningless. For they’d seen all, done all, had all. Nothing lain before them remained, and nothing lain to the earth sprung back up. All was content. They were all, in this vast realm of white, which they comprehended in its entirety. They understood all, they understood this home of theirs, and they understood themself. Beyond any shadow of a doubt, they understood. Which was simple, for there could be no shadows in them. They were pure. All goodness expunged; all evil purged. They simply were. They had no eyes, for they had no need to see. They had no ears, for they had no need to hear. They had nothing, for they had no need. 

They merely drifted, floated, bobbed. 

Bobbed, floated, drifted.

They’d become all they’d wanted, all they’d needed. Yet they’d done it early. They weren’t sad about it; they had no emotion. They only held a light awareness that they’d found all this before they were supposed to. 

They didn’t have the memories of that anymore. There was no need for memory, they were them. They could come back. They didn’t need to. They didn’t want to. 

They continued to exist. 

Peace.

Serenity.

Silence.

Placidity.

Ease.

Equanimity.

Ataraxia.

They were idle, yet ready.

Time passed, meaningless, merely a concept they were aware of, as all other things. Minutes ticked, a thousand happening alongside another thousand seconds. Ten thousand became a thousand, then merged to eight thousand, then slid to a year, then slipped back to a day. Time was, like all other things in this realm, completely and entirely pointless.

…

…

…

Sensation exploded, blasting their peace to nothing.

Encounter established.

Something had found their vast sea.

If yes, grasp; if no, weep beneath the light. 

Something grasped them.

Answer registered. Guardian located.

They’d been idle. They’d been pulled.

Guardian assessed; result: placid. Conditions fulfilled. 

They were active.

Generate existence.

They were standing, tall, with a body.

Draw context.

He lived.

Allow action.

He was fully clothed, ready.

Take command.

He shouted, words booming from his throat. 

Force action.

He took the sentence up, a chant.

Manifest awareness.

Why was he shouting? 

Allow sentience.

He trailed off.

Keep requirements in place.

He knew he was chained, yet he didn’t care. Seven lay before him. 

Start-up process finished.

He snapped his greatest weapons together, generating a loud crash across the silent room. 

Begin, oh she who mourns for Troy.

“Don’ jus’ fuckin’ stand there, I’ve got sticks t’ swing, you pricks!” Reid Astrea shouted, using his throat for the first time in centuries. 

The seven reacted. The two hot maids nodded to each other—one didn’t have any tits though, a shame. The fancy motherfucker in the suit drew his sword—held it like a bitch too. The black-haired pussy with those damn eyebags started counting something—what a pathetic existence, at least the fancy fuck had something interesting hiding deep down; this guy was just a bitch ass loser. The hot one with the purple hair grabbed her scarf—what kind of idiot brought a scarf to a fight with him? Was she trying to cover herself up? If he wasn’t chained, he’d yank it off, show her what a real sword was. Then there was that little girl with a braid—nah, he wasn’t into that shit. But the big girl with the braid, oh she had some damn big knockers! Reid grinned, on all the fucking dragons he’d killed, he’d grab those up nice. 

Unfortunately, the girl just screamed out something and hid behind the black-haired cunt. 

It couldn’t be the hot one that came to fight him no, it had to be the fancy fuck and the bitch without a tit on her who came for him first. 

“El Fula!” the maid shouted. Weak ass spell to start off a fight with. 

“Al Clauseria!” the fancy dick shouted, not better in the slightest.

Reid stood in place, and swung his pair of chopsticks. The wind split before his strike. Then, he pulled one of his hairs out, and used it to cut the light down. The floor beneath rumbled. 

“That’s it, you. That’s all you can fuckin’ manage?” he shouted his question. Even Hauroy damn Rallior could do better than that shit!

The woman, with pink hair, gave him a cold expression, and held up her hand. 

Reid glared back. “I ain’t into that cold look, you. Get fuckin’ serious, smile. If ya ain’t got any tits at least smile good, you.”

The woman stayed in the same place, watching him, biding her time. Oh, she was that fucking type of fighter! He’d killed some dragons like her, each one so boring he’d nearly ripped all his hair out. 

“Ya ain’t gonna put up a fight like that, you,” he called out her dumbshit method. “How ‘bout ya find a better strategy, you. This ain’t going anywhere, come t’my bed later.”

“How brash,” she said, looking to the others. The blue-haired maid joined her, a flail in her hand—at least she had some boobs. The fancy fucker stood behind her, his sword ready—not even appealing, barely any fight out of him in his current state, and Reid wasn’t into getting his dick sucked by a dude. Or sucking a dick, that was for women with big tits and a nice ass face. 

Such a damn dissapointment that the attractive girl and the fucking smoking hot girl stayed back, along with that black-haired bitch and the little girl. Those last two could stay back. 

Anyway, big tittied maid, that was more important right now. He could get to the others later. 

“If I wasn't chained, ya’d already be in that bed, you.”

Her eyes passed over him, filling with anger. The no tit maid held her back, all the while analyzing him. He grabbed his hair. “Stop study’n, you. Let me grab somethin’ first, eh.”

“Ram won’t be allowing that to happen. I’ll be beating your forgiveness out of you.”

“Forgiveness, fuck ya on ‘bout, no tits?”

That fancy ass stepped in to answer, his sword at the ready, his glare poised. “The tower said we must gain the forgiveness of the fool who’s attained the Heavenly Sword.”

“Who th’fuck cares ‘bout some Heavenly Sword bullshit.”

“Because you seem to be the fool,” the dude answered.

“Who the fuck said anythin’ about some damn Heavenly Sword. I’m a damn fuckin’ stick swinger. It ain’t difficult to understand, you. Me’s me and you’s you, you.”

“Who are you, then?” the fancy ass asked.

Reid slapped his chopsticks together, finally making the connection. “Yer soundin’ exactly like my fuckin’ follower.”

The man tilted his head. “I’m not your follower.”

“Ya talk like’em, you.”

“That doesn’t change anything.”

“Eh, doesn’t fuckin’ matter anyway, fancy ass.”

“I’m what I must be,” he said.

Reid nearly vomited at the very statement. What fucking bullshit. “Don’t fuckin’ lie ‘bout it, fancy fuck.” Bitch was wearing that suit like a kid clung to a blanket, boring as fuck in other words.

He’d punish him for that. 

Within an instant, Reid crossed the distance between him and the asshat. The two maids raised their arms, and began incantations. He punched the blue one across the face, and stabbed his chopstick into pinkies’ complete lack of tits. Both flew back, thrown by his strength. 

Turning on the bitch who’d brought glasses to a fight, he slashed his chopsticks, so fast the man barely brought his sword up in time. Wood met steel, and they equalled, mostly because Reid was holding back. If this fucker wasn’t so boring, he’d be able to fight harder. 

“If you aren’t the one who held the Heavenly Sword, then who are you?” the man asked from behind his blade. 

Reid glared at him. “Just a stick swinger, you.”

He lunged back, and put a hand up to his chest, saying in a pitiful voice, “My name is Julius Juukulius.”

“Don’t fuckin’ care, ‘s just a paper tiger.” He swung his sticks. The liar barely got his blade up in time again, and weathered the attack thanks to Reid being bored instead of furious.

“C’mon, you!” he shouted, looking deep into the man’s eyes. He was wearing a stupid ass suit, with reading glasses hanging from one of the pockets. And the way he stood, his shoulders drawn up so high, spreading out his strength. His elegance, covering up his lack of skill. His magnanimous face, which did a damn bad job of making him seem like a leader. Fucker couldn’t lead shit. Dumber than a bag of rocks the size of a dragon’s ass. 

The guy dodged Reid’s strike, and stood in place. He breathed deep, taking a solid grip on the hilt. Reid smiled, readying himself for the good shit hiding beneath all that filth.

The guy raised his blade to the sky, and belted out, “Al Clarista!”

A radiant light, like a rainbow, came at him.

One furious cleave with that blade. The potential was there.

Still fucking buried!

Reid snarled, pissed the fuck off. He was holding that beast of a thing back. Disgusting!

He caught this dumb cunt’s blade in between his chopsticks, reducing the force entirely. Maybe his follower would’ve called it, ‘the most skilled block in the history of the world’ but that was fucking stupid. He’d just moved his damn chopsticks. It’d’ve been harder if this fuck wasn’t holding back. 

“Learn from this, ya prick!” And Reid Astrea let loose, just a bit.

***

Julius woke to a faint humming, and an earth-shattering headache. Sweat beaded on his skin from all the pain. It came in waves, agony, then down to a horrible ache, then back up to agony, down to a horrible ache, back up to agony, down to pain, up to agony, down to pain, up to a terrible ache, down to annoyance, up to pain, down to barely anything, up to annoyance, a slight throb.

“By the Divine Dragon,” he cursed after it was nearly through. Guilt washed through him. Cursing by the Dragon? He couldn’t do that. Had to be better than every expectation. He breathed, making himself up to par, getting his mind in order, and focusing back on the world.

Were there plants around him? Was this the green room? Why’d he be there? 

“Ah,” he groaned when he tried to move. Everything on his body hurt. The bones of his fingers were bent out of shape, one of his feet was twisted backward, his hand was practically bone dust held in by skin, and his ribs were all snapped.

“Julius, don’t move so much,” Anastasia said, concern filling her tone. She put her fingers on his cheek, gentle enough not to hurt. 

He reached up—with his intact hand—to feel hers. By Vol—he held back that swear—what in the fuck had happened? It was all so fuzzy, or foggy, he couldn’t decide which.

“Are you okay?” another voice asked, Natsuki Subaru’s. 

The man stood away from the bed. There were great bags under his eyes, visible even in the shade of the green room. His desert clothes were still covered in sand, tainting the once verdant green coloring. His hair was an uncombed mess, to the level that Julius would have to set an example for Joshua if he followed suit. Especially with Subaru’s slouched shoulders, which were so egregious they were close to touching each other at the front. 

Then he met the man’s eyes, and remembered what had happened on their journey through Sand Time. Natsuki Subaru had kept them all relatively clean by taking on the brunt of sand from a massive gust of wind. Thousands of grains had poured right into his eyes. The other candidate had never even flinched, and his eyes were still redder than Reinhard’s hair. But he couldn’t fault the man’s methods; they’d gotten them all here in one piece. 

“Are you okay?” Subaru asked again, breaking him from his thoughts.

“I’m fine,” he responded. “What happened?”

Anastasia stared at him, her eyebrows coming together. “Did ya get hit that hard?”

“Oh,” he said, then let out a massive groan. Some combination of the green room’s healing, and her words, led his mind to stumble upon the memories of that stick swinger, and the beating he’d taken at the man’s hand. It all came rushing back. The punches, the kicks, the attacks from those chopsticks. Then there was that blue-eyed glare, one which had pained him more than any strike. 

“Do we have any idea who he is?” he asked, hoping his assumption was wrong.

Subaru remained silent, and started tapping on his leg. Each second, a tap of his index finger. Every minute, one of his middle. Every hour, one of his ring. Julius had studied it on one of the long days of traveling through the Augria Sand Dunes. The man’s eyes didn’t stay on Julius or Anastasia, instead darting around the room, taking in every little detail. When he was done with that, he looked over his shoulder to take in the parts he couldn’t see. He did that once every minute, without fail.

Anastasia was just as silent, though with her eyes remaining on him. He was left to watch the sand slip off her jacket as she breathed. 

It wasn’t even a few moments before the silence grew too oppressive.

“He’s Reid Astrea, isn’t he?” And he’d annihilated Julius in every sense of the word. Strangely, he was more humiliated by that than every poor speech he’d given. “Somehow.”

“Yeah, that’s what I was thinking,” Anastasia said, holding a hand up to her forehead. 

Subaru stopped his tapping, just for a brief instant. “No, too dangerous.”

“Subaru?” Julius asked.

The man waved his question off, sand falling from his sleeves. “Just thinking about some books. I’m gonna go check on Shaula and Rem.”

“Ya getting attached to the fake sage?” Anastasia asked, a smile beginning at the edges of her mouth. “Ya just met her.”

Subaru, who’d already managed to make it to the door, stared off into the distance. “Yeah, just met her…” he said with such exhaustion, such weight. “Just met Shaula…earlier…today…” 

Julius watched him go, as he kept whispering about shadows and doors. 

“Are ya okay?” Anastasia asked after the other candidate had left.

“The green room’s healing me,” he said.

She gave him a wry smile. “I know that, but how are ya feeling?”

Like every single bit of training he’d done as a Royal Knight and as a Royal Candidate had just become utterly worthless in the face of a single individual. “I’m feeling fine. We’ll discover a way past Reid.”

For some reason, he knew it was true. 

There was a way past Reid, and he’d find it.

***

In the dark of night, which had hours ago descended upon the tower, Julius waited. He held his hand on the hilt of his sword, ready for what would come next. Everyone had set their beds up near each other in the halls of the first floor. Of course, a Royal Candidate like him was expected to sleep alongside the others, defend them, and yet… A Royal Candidate also had to be decisive, take initiative, and overcome the greatest obstacle before the group. 

Maybe that’s why Natsuki Subaru had snuck along behind him. 

Julius adjusted his tie, perfecting its position. “I know you’re there.”

"Never can stay hidden longer.” Subaru sighed, his voice shaking. He stepped out from behind one of the nearby pillars, and headed toward Julius. The man's boots scrunched against sand the whole way. It truly did get everywhere. 

"What do you need, Subaru?" he asked, trying to determine the ideal action a king would take.  

Subaru’s eyes darted around for a moment, his lip quivering. "Can…can I ask you something?" 

"Go ahead."

"Are you…" Subaru rubbed his face, and sucked snot up his nose. "Are you tired?"

"What?"

“You’re tired, right?” the man asked again, a little louder. 

“Why does it matter?” Julius delayed. What would the pinnacle of kings do?

“Because…” Subaru hiccupped. “Because…” he stepped forward. 

“I don’t understand.”

The man tripped, grabbing onto Julius’ coat. "Please." His voice cracked. "P-please just tell me you're tired."

"I'm…" Julius stopped himself, surprised at the display of emotion. He had to rein himself in and remember, a Royal Candidate would never tire. "I'm fine."

Subaru pushed his fist into Julius' chest. "Stop lying. Why does everyone keep lying? I can't be alone, right? Are you people really this crazy?"

"No," Julius said, trying to not say anything, keep hold of his persona. This was a competitor, someone who stood in the way of Anastasia’s agenda. 

Subaru deflated. "Oh, sorry." With his head hanging, he shambled back toward the beds. No one woke up alongside the candidate as he stood on his bedroll, got underneath the covers, and stared up at the ceiling. 

Julius watched him go, tried to keep back the guilt that came from lying to him so quickly. 

Thankfully, he had the perfect solution. Like always, he busied himself with something more pressing, beginning his climb up the stairs to Electra. Along the way, his mind slipped back to justifying himself. It was only a white lie, he’d just told Subaru he wasn’t tired. The man was a Royal Candidate, he could think for himself, take care of himself. He didn’t need his competitors looking out for him, right? 

When he looked to his buds for an answer, they gave nothing. Did they even know why he was feeling this way? He’d barely talked to them in… in… well, he didn’t even really remember the last time he’d spoken with them. Was it…a month ago? Two months? He held out his hand, letting them hover over it. 

Where did he even start?

Should he talk to Ia first? Or Kua, or Ake, or Alo, or In, or Nes? Did he talk to two at once? Three, four, five? Maybe all six, talk about everything, catch up on all they’d missed from one another. 

Julius grimaced, biting his lip till blood dripped onto his tongue. They’d helped him so much, allowed him to do so much. Now, all he could do for them was hold his hand out. But a Royal Candidate had to focus on every citizen of Lugunica. None of his six buds counted.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “But even if I’ve neglected you, I must ask your support once more.”

His buds were so quick to assent. 

He breathed deep, in and out, and started counting in his mind. Not up to ten and back, but his steps. The consistency helped alleviate everything a little. Yet he still…he still… What was the point in even trying to think about it? 

He’d climbed the stairs; he’d reached Electra and passed through the door; he’d arrived in the massive room, with white walls in every direction. Right in the middle of the chamber, with his head bowed, was Reid Astrea. The greatest hero Lugunica had ever known, the first Sword Saint, the one who transcended all barriers of the sword and became Heavenly. A man that referred to himself as a simple stick swinger, not even seeming to care about his own name. The same man who’d beaten him half to death, so hard he hadn’t even been able to remember it. 

Now, Julius had to overcome him.

He took a far deeper breath, ensured his glasses were secure on his face, straightened out his suit, and checked that his sword was still in its scabbard. His buds were singing a soft tune above his head, ready for the battle. So was he.

After another step forward, Reid raised his head, cracking his chopsticks together. “Come back, you?” he called from where he was standing.

Julius drew his sword. 

“Why the fuck do you think you deserve to come back, you?” Reid asked, his voice harsh. 

Julius strode forward. “Support me, my buds.”

They supported him, without hesitation. What wonderful companions. 

He lifted his sword, his spirits circling around the steel. Julius grasped all the strength they offered, shouting, “Al Clauseria!” 

A glimmering light consumed his blade, forming a rainbow which stretched across the room in an instant. 

Reid moved his chopsticks, a simple display; one without flourish, without formality, and without bravado, yet suffused with skill. 

The first Sword Saint cut down the light. “Yer so fuckin’ borin’, you.”

Julius dashed forward. He’d overcome that skill—for the kingdom, for his position, for Anastasia’s goals. 

“Al Clarista!” His voice was flat as he cried out. 

“You can’t even fuckin’ shout right, you.” 

Julius brought the blade down. Powerful, effective, elegant. 

Reid touched his chopsticks to the side of Julius’ sword. The Sword Saint’s movement was that of a god, his that of a maggot. The man’s face was blank as he kicked Julius right in the chest, shattering one of his ribs, and cracking most of the others. “What a shitty joke, you.”

He called upon his buds again, drawing all the strength they could give him. “Al Clarista!” The aurora consumed his weapon.

Reid didn’t even take a step as he caught the steel in between his thin chopsticks. “How fuckin’ boring, you.” Reid’s punch threw him back. “Stop being so fucking boring, you.” Another kick from the Sword Saint, right into his knee, dropped him to the floor. “This ain’t fuckin’ fun, you.” A final impact, right to the back of his head. His chin slammed into the ground. 

The roots of his teeth ached, and…he wanted—

No. He was a Royal Candidate to the Dragon Kingdom of Lugunica. Selected by Volcanica himself, seen as worthy of kingship. Julius couldn’t falter now, couldn’t abandon his principles, couldn’t lose sight of who everyone needed him to be.

Julius pushed himself off the ground, got his feet out under him, and rested his hands on his knees. “Fucking…”

He straightened his back, brought his sword up again, and breathed deep. 

Reid’s lips pulled back in disgust, and he shoved Julius. He stumbled, yet managed to stay upright this time. A Royal Candidate couldn’t fall. A Royal Candidate—

“Why th’fuck’re ya standin’?”

Julius raised his sword, his six quasi-spirits spinning around the length of it. A Royal Candidate. He was Julius Juukulius, a Royal Candidate. Someone who must be the absolute pinnacle of propriety.

Reid pointed his chopsticks at him, his kimono rippling with the movement of his arm. “Are you really putting on a fuckin’ front, you? Do you think I fuckin’ care, you? You’re fucking disgusting, you.”

“I’m not putting on a front,” Julius said.

“Then why the fuck are you here, you?” Reid demanded, sounding so furious Julius was surprised the man hadn’t cut him down yet. 

He gripped his sword tighter; the guard was encrusted in gold, as per Joshua’s suggestion. “I’m here because…it’s where I must be. As a Royal Candidate, I can’t allow you to stop us.”

Reid pushed his hand into his hair. “Can ya really fuckin’ lie like that, you? So fuckin’ boring. I can’t believe you think anyone cares, you. No one’s looking at you. No one gives two fucks about what you do. And even if they do, so fuckin’ what?”

Julius shook his head. “None of that matters, I’m doing this because I must.”

“If that’s really yer fuckin’ conviction, then fuckin’ hit me, you!” Reid screamed, furious. “Push me back, shove me back, force me back, swing your stick at me and triumph, you!”

Julius glared at the first Sword Saint, the man he’d heard stories of. The man he’d respected, and still somewhat did respect. “I won’t hold back.”

“Oh stop bein’ fuckin’ honorable, you. Hit me! You! Don’t be so fuckin’ borin’! Hit me, put yer fuckin’ conviction into it, you!” Reid screamed it all, his voice raw with sheer rage. 

Julius set his knees, and tried to shout as loud as the Sword Saint. “Al Clarista!” 

It was barely louder than his normal speech, yet he attacked anyway. 

For he was a Royal Candidate, and it was his duty.  

He moved with all his elegance and grace. For the air he gave off, for the imperious light that shone through his gaze, for every expectation he had to meet, he struck. His muscles were hard, taught as steel. His throat tightened; breath came so hard. Yet he had to breathe, had to remain calm, had to remain rational, had to remain the leader, had to remain the Royal Candidate.

“So boring, you!” Reid couldn’t even communicate all his rage, but made a valiant attempt at it, shoving his fist right into Julius’ stomach and knocking the wind out of him. 

Couldn’t breathe, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t breathe. Needed to breathe, needed to breathe. Had to, had to, had to…breathe! 

“If you ain’t gonna fight, then why’d you fuckin’ come up here, you?”

He had to get air in his lungs, had to be able to tell Reid to focus on the match. He needed breath to say something appealing to those who watched. If he had any oxygen, he'd throw out some grand line to make an impression, even if only on Reid. Had to breathe!

“So damn fuckin’ borin’! YOU! What is it yer came to fight fer, you?”

For Anastasia’s goals. Reid punched him in the shoulder. For the Kingdom of Lugunica. Reid punched him in the gut, forcing the air from his lungs just as he was getting breath back. For everyone in this tower. Reid kicked him in the shin. For every citizen of Lugunica. Reid shoved his chopsticks up Julius’ nose. For everyone who starved! Reid bashed his shoulder right into Julius’ sternum. For the…for the…for the Dragon! 

“Stop being so fuckin’ borin’! At least tell me why yer fuckin’ fightin’, you prick!”

Say the reasons, he had to say all those reasons. He had to say them all. But they were… SAY THEM! But they—breathe. Calm down. Count to ten and backwards. SAY THEM! Be the Royal Candidate he’d been chosen to be! Be… 

“I’m fuckin’ done, you.” Reid punched him across the face one last time, and turned away. 

He wheezed, trying to breathe, as tears welled up in his eyes. Say all the reasons. Recite them. Find a way to make them impactful. But…he couldn’t…

He didn’t care about a single one. 

Julius sucked in as much air as he could, and let loose a great scream. A howl, a shout, a cry, a bellow. He crossed the distance between him and Reid, raised his sword up, and swung it down. Reid barely got his chopsticks up in time. But it didn’t matter. Julius swung his sword down, again and again and again and again. Over and over he swung. And swung. Like a machine. No…not at all. Like a living, breathing, fighting human being.

He screamed even louder, the great sound ripping up his throat. 

For the year spent lying. For the year spent putting up a front. No, for the lifetime of putting up a front. For pretending every minute of every day that he was something else. 

“YES!” Reid shouted, ecstatic, his face fucking glowing.

Julius’ response was an unintelligible battle cry. He hit Reid’s chopsticks with his sword over and over again, his buds funneling power into him. Everything was red. Everything was so fast. Everything was so…alive! To fight, to feel his blade slamming down in his hands; it was so fucking intoxicating. Julius screamed again, louder than ever before. Yet it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t enough. Not when he wanted to keep fighting. Not when he wanted to win! To triumph. To prove himself greater. To be the better stick swinger!

He grabbed his buds. He’d never neglect them again. 

The only word they heard out of him was a scream: “BLOOM!” 

It came with all the rage and pressure of a man who’d only ever wanted to win, yet forced himself to be a Royal Knight and a Royal Candidate. All the while both had been nothing more than fronts, mere paper tigers. Reid had been right, he’d been lying, he’d been so fucking boring. 

“BLOOM!” he screamed again, filling it with all the desire of a man who loved his buds, honestly and openly. They were the greatest things in his entire life, and he’d do anything for them. 

“BLOOM!”

They bloomed, from wonderful buds, into radiant flowers. 

Julius took hold of them, his touch awash with love for the six flowers who’d bloomed this day.

“AMAZING, YOU!” Reid shouted, his lips curled into a smile. 

Julius’ were the exact same. “IA! KUA! AKE! ALO! IN! NES! LEND ME YOUR STRENGTH!” Not to be a more traditional candidate. Not to pretend. Not to put on a false face. But to win a fight. 

He burst out with laughter, and his heart pounded with such joy. 

Every one of his flowers sent love right back. 

“AL CRANVEL!” And he was the aurora. It consumed him, like armor wrought of rainbows. 

“Now this’s a fight, you!” Reid shouted. “What’s yer name?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Julius said. “I’m just another stick swinger.” 

The words took all the weight from his chest. No one was watching him. No one expected anything of him. And if some few really did, they didn’t matter at all. 

Reid threw his head back and laughed, a full-bellied roar. 

Julius laughed even louder than the first Sword Saint.

A brilliant white light came from Reid’s strike, while Julius brought a radiant rainbow along with him.

The two met in a beautiful clash.

Within it, Julius found what he stood for.

***

In the end, Natsuki Subaru had returned to Electra, and snuck past Reid while he was engaged in that final struggle with Julius. The tower had been subjugated—its many secrets open to investigation and its barriers lost. 

By the second day after the liberation, Natsuki Subaru and Rem were gone, leaving behind their camps, as well as the Royal Selection itself.

How… intriguing. 

***

Felix waved to him. “Hey, Julius!”

“Hello, Felix,” he said, closing the sliding door behind him and sitting down at the table. He’d reserved a private room in a restaurant for this meeting; doing this at the old bar didn't feel right. It was annoying to try and cover that emotion up, but he’d had years of practice pretending. He could do it for a little while longer. 

Felix leaned forward, the bottom half of his face entering the candle’s light, while the top remained shadowed. “So, what’s up?” 

Hm, the man was excited. Julius sat back in his chair, sighed, and set his fist on the table. “You should drop out of the Royal Selection.”

Felix chuckled. “I’m good, Julius. How about you drop out?”

“Felix, I’m serious.”

“Alright,” the man commented, his smile widening. “What do you mean by that? What joke are you pulling on me?”

“You should drop out of the Royal Selection,” he repeated, noting—thanks to his maidens—that the man’s ears had drawn back. 

Felix’s eyes narrowed. “Julius. What are you talking about?”

“That you should drop out of the Royal Selection.”

“What’s gotten into you?” the man reached out, trying to grab Julius’ cheek. “Are you hurt?”

He grabbed Felix’s arm, the man was just delaying. Boring. “No. I’m better than ever. And I’m telling you to drop out of the Royal Selection.”

He let go of Felix’s hand. The other candidate snapped his arm back, touching Julius’ skin along the way. “Oh…” Felix breathed, making a fist. “You really are fine, and serious… aren’t you?”

“I am.” What a boring reaction. 

Felix took a deep breath, in and out. Was he going to put up a real fight? Or even any fight at all?

“No,” he said. “I’m not dropping out.”

Ooh, Julius perked up. “Why not?”

“Crusch needs me to make her dream a reality.” Felix set his arms on the table, leaning forward again, all the joy absent from his expression. 

Felix was the same as always. This wouldn’t be a long struggle, still, it’d be a struggle. “So, you just want to end the contract with Volcanica?”

“Yes,” Felix said. “And I’m going to do it.” 

Julius waved his hand. “Don’t worry. I’ll end it when I win.”

“I’ll end it when I win,” Felix responded.

“You won’t,” Julius said, smiling. “It’s unfortunate, but you’re a demi-human. You won’t win. Crusch will never achieve that dream.”

“I’ll win,” Felix set his hands flat on the table.

“I’m sorry, but even if you stay in the selection, this nation will only grow more dangerous.”

“What?” Felix’s voice had grown hard. “What are you insinuating? Are you going so far as to start a riot?”

“Nothing so extreme. Either way, no matter how that plan pans out, I’m willing to make it more dangerous personally .”

Felix stood up, slamming his hands down on the table. “Julius, don’t you fucking dare make that threat.”

Julius crossed his legs, sat back in his chair, and grinned up at the man. Maybe some part of him felt bad, but most of him relished in his next words. “It’s not a threat.”

“Isn’t it?” Felix’s hands glowed. 

“Hm,” Julius grunted. “I suppose you’re right. It is a threat. It’s just not an empty one.”

Felix’s hands tightened into fists, he leaned down, putting his face closer to Julius’. “It is empty. You can’t kill me, or hurt me. And no matter how much you hurt Crusch, I’ll heal her.”

“You can’t heal death, Felix.”

Felix shied back, repelled. “You wouldn’t…”

“Will you make that bet, old friend? Crusch’s life is what you’re putting on the line.”

“It doesn’t matter, I can heal death.”

Now it was his turn to be surprised. “Hm, really?”

Felix nodded, his lips pressed together.

The hairs on his neck stood up. Julius was willing to take a few risks. His goal was worth it. “Ah, you really can.”

“No matter what you do to Crusch, cut her head off, burn her, turn her to ash, I’ll make her live again.” Felix said it with such determination. 

Time to truly prove his superiority. Even if it was easy, it was still satisfying. He just had to ask, “Then why is Fourier dead?”

Felix froze.

“Were you lying, Felix?” A twist of the knife.

The man remained silent. 

“Did you just not care enough?” A second twist. Something about this repulsed him.

“Are you so weak you can only do it once? Is that it, you’re saving it for Crusch?” Julius tilted his head, watching the effects of his twisting.

Tears dripped down Felix’s cheeks. “You’re…” he sputtered. “Y-you’re w-wrong, wrong about all of this.”

“Am I?” It may have been horrible, but it was necessary…and he was good at it. “Tell me what I’m wrong about.”

“It’s not Crusch’s goal.” Felix grit his teeth. “It's ours .”

“If so, then it changes nothing.” 

“It changes everything!” Felix shouted, looming over Julius, hands shimmering with blue light. 

Yet Julius still didn’t rise from his seat to respond. “Felix. Let’s not pretend we’re strangers. I’ve known you for years. Been your friend for years—”

“Then why are you doing this? You fucking bastard!”

Julius looked up at the ceiling, then back down at Felix. “I realized something about myself, up in that watchtower.”

“What, that you’re a cunt?” Felix demanded, voice echoing against the walls.

Julius gazed at Felix. “No. Anyway, I’ve known you for a long time. And I know that without Fourier, and without Crusch, you’ll fall apart.”

“That’s—” Felix tried to protest.

“Don’t deceive yourself.” Julius set his jaw. “You have no willpower. You have no discipline, no true strength of your own. You are entirely dependent on Crusch’s strength, Crusch’s discipline, Crusch’s determination. And even with her, you’d be a complete failure of a king. You’d demolish what little organized defense Lugunica has, leaving us with nothing but Reinhard. There is nothing about you that has the makings of a king. For your own good, which you don’t even care about, and for Crusch’s good…” Julius leaned forward. “Drop. Out. Of. The. Royal. Selection.”

“No! I’m going to win!”

Julius let him talk.

“I’m going to stop your threats! I’ll bring back Crusch. You can’t do anything. You’re just a fucking bastard. There’s nothing special about you, Julius. You’re not Crusch. You’re not Fourier. Why do you think you can talk to me?” the man took a breath, before raving on, tears in his eyes. “You can’t talk about willpower, you’ve never struggled. You’re just some knight who the Dragon thought might be worthy! You’re just a failure. There’s nothing special about you! You’re weak. You’re a moron. You’re a disgrace. You’re nothing!”

Julius sighed, relieved that it was done, yet happy he’d won. “Which one of us are you talking about?”

“I’m…” the man looked down at the floor. “I’m not…why are you doing this, Julius?”

Julius had won. 

“Because I’ve found a purpose. A goal far greater than everything anyone else has in mind.” Finally, he leaned forward in his seat. “And I will stop at nothing to fulfill that purpose.”

The man—no, the boy—was sobbing now. But through his cries, he managed to speak. “Please…just…please sever the contract with Volcanica. Please make Crusch’s dream come true.”

With a dispassionate voice, he responded, “I will.”

He cursed himself. He wouldn’t. 

***

The next day, Felix Argyle dropped out of the Royal Selection.

Julius had triumphed, in the first battle. Today, he’d win the second. In preparation, he stood before his silver encrusted mirror, buttoning up his dark gray shirt with calm hands and rubbing the wrinkles from his slacks. Before, he’d’ve been trembling at even the thought of something like this. Now though, he simmered with excitement rather than fear. 

One of his last remaining butlers, Sven, stood behind him. He’d fired all the others, only keeping a few maids in the staff to keep the manor clean. This was just the butler that normally took care of Joshua. His brother was having a good day though, so the man was looking after Julius. 

“Master Julius,” Sven said, his orange hair reflecting some of the sun’s rays.

“Yes?” he asked.

“I humbly urge you to dress more nicely. The people will not take comfort in seeing you like that.”

Julius remained silent.

“They will believe you shirking your duties, master Julius.”

“None of them care.”

“Sir, I believe they will.”

“Stop being so boring. Don’t act like appearance really means that much,” Julius said to the butler dressed in ornate and well-tailored clothes. 

“Master Julius,” he bowed. “Please reconsider, should I ask Anastasia to talk to you?”

Julius turned, looking away from the mirror. “If you must cover up your own failings with a front, then I have no need of your services… Take care of Joshua.”

The man said nothing more, and left, barely making a sound. 

While Julius combed his hair—it was satisfying to feel the strands fall into place—Anastasia stepped into the room. She wore the same scarf as always, hanging around her shoulders. A fox with eyes too real to be just another article of clothing. Something was special about it, but it was unimportant to his goal, so he finished up combing his hair.

“Hey Julius,” she said, a tall hat laying atop her head. 

“Did he send you in?” he asked, setting the comb down on a mahogany stand next to the mirror.

“That butler? Nah, I wanted ta see ya.”

“Why?”

She waved her hand, sitting down on the foot of his bed. Her face rested in the corner of his mirror, expression dour. “Ya need ta get with the times, Julius. Felix Argyle just dropped out of the Selection.”

“I’m aware,” he said, hooking his sword to his belt. 

“Huh.” Her face lightened up. “That’s more up ta date than ya normally are, I’m impressed.”

“I suppose that I knew before you this time,” he chuckled a little, making sure to check on his flowers, and catch up with them on their night. 

“I doubt that,” she said.

Julius let his spirits float around his index finger, then turned to the door, seeing Anastasia out of his periphery. “I knew before Felix himself did.”

“Oh…ya got him ta do it, then,” she said, catching on. He couldn’t tell what she was feeling, not at all. 

“Yes.” He walked toward the door.

“I see,” she rubbed her scarf, frowning again. “We need to renegotiate the terms of our deal, by the way.”

He stopped, rested a hand on his sword, and nodded. “Alright, let’s do that now.”

She smiled. It was so easy to tell how strained it was. “I’m going to need a soul-binding contract from you now.”

“No, you won’t.” He was as confident in his words as he was in his spirits.

She tilted her head, digging her fingers into that scarf. “Ya sure?”

“Yes. Anastasia Hoshin,” he said, standing over her. “Our deal is at an end. You and the Iron Fang are no longer welcome in my home.”

Her lips hung open just a bit.

“When I become king, you may enter the kingdom. I will grant you no aid. I will grant others no aid against you. That is all, I’ll be leaving for something today. Be gone before I return.”

Anastasia laughed. “Huh.”

“What?”

She shook her head, the corners of her mouth drooping. “Ya really don’t stand for anything, do ya?” 

Julius drew himself up. “I stand for something even greater than all your goals.”

“I doubt that,” she put her hands to her sides, and sighed. “I was wrong ta try and convince ya of anything.”

She punched herself in the leg. “Should’ve gone to Reinhard.”

Julius curled his lips up at that. “The only way for you to achieve what you wanted, was to be the king yourself.”

Anastasia chuckled again, her next words. “Yeah, but the Dragon stuck us with you .”

“Regret it all you like, Anastasia, but the Dragon’s made his will clear. And there’s nothing to change the past. It simply is now.”

“Are ya happy, with how the past’s gone? Really?” She glared at him, bitter.

He smiled back at her, the victor. “Exceptionally.”

He left her behind in the room.

As he strode through the hallways, over purple carpet, alongside paintings of Juukulius men. How odd, to need a painting of oneself to feel accomplished, but he wouldn’t denigrate the dead. It was impolite, and he’d just be lying if he tried to make it seem like he didn’t appreciate politeness. However, one needed no fancy suit, no golden glasses, no jewelry, and certainly no merchant to give him motivation. He had everything he needed: just his spirits, his blade, and his freedom. 

His goal’s fruition was already in reach. 

He opened the door to find Joshua sitting on the manor’s porch in a luxurious rocking chair. Well, as luxurious as one of them could be. The man rocked back and forth, a glass of water on his leg. “Brother.”

Julius looked to him, meeting his eyes. Again, he saw the fluttering at the corners of Joshua’s smile. 

He had the gall to say, “Brother, we have to talk. I’m… concerned.”

He responded with harsh words. “Joshua. Let’s stop pretending like we’re actually brothers. You’ve never even really liked me, and I’ve never really loved you. Your parents are dead and maybe if they’d lived longer, we’d be real brothers, but, as it stands, we aren’t a family.”

The man glared at him, silent.

But Julius wasn’t finished. “I’m sorry, but I will no longer be providing you with an example of how to become a better man. If you can’t find someone in those stories of yours to model yourself after, then stay this bedridden nobody who’s never felt the joy of triumph.”

Joshua gaped, his lips hanging open. Till he grit his teeth, balled his hands into fists, and spoke, “It’s not my damn fault I’m too sick to even stand.”

Julius continued looking down upon him, in that chair, doing nothing. “Then read something other than stories. Become a scholar. Make something of yourself.”

Joshua slammed his fist down on the arm of his chair. “I don’t want to be a damned scholar! I want to be a fucking knight!”

Julius chuckled. “Idiot.”

Joshua sucked air through his teeth, then forced it out his nose. “ Fuck you, Julius.”

“Goodbye, Joshua,” he said, and turned away.

By the time he got down the steps and onto the grass, Joshua called out. “Don’t fucking come back! It’s my house! I’m father’s real son!”

Julius looked over his shoulder, at the diminutive little runt of a man with no ambition or dignity, only self-pity. Instead of stopping to say anything, he merely set a hand down on his sword.

Joshua flinched. In that moment, he felt true pity for someone so hated by life, and who hadn’t been born with the spirit to overcome circumstance. 

But it wasn’t his problem. He turned back, and headed toward his destination, leaving behind the brother who’d never been one.

It was a nice leisurely walk, absent of any pretending. He could breathe free, without having to use the oxygen to keep his rage down. The only question that remained on his mind after that battle with Reid, was why hadn’t he done this sooner? Why had he continued putting up fronts for so long? Why had he always pretended to be something he wasn’t? He rubbed his chin. Again, he came to the same answer. Which was that the answer didn’t really matter. He’d kept pretending back then, and it had taken the first Sword Saint to make him honest. 

He truly had to thank Reid Astrea for all this. It was so euphoric, to not pretend anymore.

That’s why he’d come here. To this area of the city, with its patchwork roads, and overgrown grass eroding the stone, with homes that were more tents made of wood than anything solid, where men, women, and children—all with tattered clothing, and ribs showing through their skin—barely even subsisted. In the center of it all, lay the loothouse, a building destroyed by some monster’s wrath. 

“Ey, the fuck’re you doing here?” A woman’s voice.

Over his shoulder, was the same girl who’d robbed him over a year ago, on his first visit to the slums with Anastasia. Her blond hair was covered in mud, and she was so skinny he worried she’d collapse at any moment. Instead of healthy peach-colored skin, hers was pale, blanched. The only red she had was the color of her irises. Most of her clothes were riddled with holes, except for the big sheepskin jacket she was wearing. It almost reached all the way down to her knees, obviously stolen then. 

“Are you cold?” he asked.

“No shit…” she said. Maybe it would have sounded angry, once, when she was full of youthful energy, brimming with honest, unfiltered determination.Now, though, it just sounded tired, in a painfully truthful way. “What are you doing here?”

It was the first time he’d visited the loothouse since the day she’d tried mugging him. 

“I need to ask you for something,” he answered.

She tried to glare, but just looked hungry. “Not for free.”

“No,” he said, taking a few coins from his pouch. He tossed them to her. “The rest later.”

“What do you want me to do?” she asked, snatching them from the air.

“Two things. First, what’s your name?”

“Felt.” Rubbed the coins, barely even looking at them while she checked over their validity. 

“Second, go around the slums, and the city, everywhere but the noble district. Tell all the people you find that Julius Juukulius is giving a speech here. Tell them if they’re angry, they must come.”

“They aren’t gonna trust me,” she said, cynicism baked into her words.

“Tell them to look for the light, it’ll come in the evening.”

She rubbed her stomach. “Alright, when am I getting the money?”

“Come back here tonight, I’ll have it for you then.”

Felt nodded, heading off toward the rest of the city. Julius sat down on the steps leading up to the loothouse’s door. So many had ignored it , deeming it so insignificant as to not even notice. He understood now, though. He knew how to see beyond all the fronts.

As the sun set in the evening, Julius rose to his feet. His maidens coiled around him. He drew his sword from its sheath, and pointed it toward the sky. 

“Al Clauseria!” 

A great beacon connected heaven and earth. In that moment, for the great city of Lugunica, he outshined even the sun. 

It was a symbol for those who were angry. Angry at the horrible policy of the previous Royals. Angry that the Sword Saint wasn’t doing his duties anymore, and instead was focused on Royal Selection matters. Angry that the Divine Dragon had taken the greatest knights, and forced them to be candidates, when they were clearly unfit. Angry that two candidates had dropped out like cowards. Angry that one candidate cared more about what he’d eat for lunch that day than the kingdom. Angry Julius himself was a blowhard. Angry that Roswaal L. Mathers had largely become despondent and self-destructive, a worthless drunk who raved on in his domain. Angry that the nation felt so weak and vulnerable. Angry that the most popular noblewoman wanted to end the contract with Volcanica. Angry about the constant growling of their stomachs, and their children’s stomachs. 

It was those people who would look up in the sky, see his light, and find him.

He knew he was right when, by the time night had fallen, a crowd tens of thousands strong had gathered. Each one was hiding their disgruntlement, their hunger, their fear, their paranoia. They looked up at him, likely expecting some stupid speech from a paper tiger of a candidate.

A challenge, excellent.

“Men and women of Lugunica,” he said, using spirit arts to project his voice across the entire slums. “You have suffered for too long! Under the weight of a Sword Saint who shirks his duties in favor of trying to play at rulership! Under the ire of a Blue who’s too driven by his hatred of Volcanica to try and heal this nation’s problems! You’ve been betrayed by Natsuki Subaru! He killed the White Whale, he destroyed the Sin Archbishop of Sloth. He helped to unlock the mysteries of the Pleiades Watchtower. Then he left you all to starve, like a coward! Like the Royals who hoarded their dragon’s blood so much they couldn’t even heal themselves, or give any of their members a working mind! Their solution to your problems was to make them all worse. To double the slum’s size! And now the Dragon has left me, some spoiled noble, Reinhard van Astrea, someone who should be busy as the Sword Saint, some lazy former gladiator who’s too much of a weakling to even show his face, a healer who just wants to burn the Covenant, and a random coward, to run this nation!”

A few people nodded, most remaining silent out of skepticism.

“All you want to know is why. Why do you have to starve so the dragon can have his little election? Why?”

Everyone was silent.

“Why must you be hungry?” he shouted. “When there’s such an easy solution to all this!”

People were staring at him, some whispering to others. “What should we do?” one woman shouted out.

“What you must. To feed yourselves, to feed your children. Look at the nobles, who get rich off their exploitation of you! Just because the nobility are born in the right place, doesn’t mean they should prosper while you starve! You must take what you deserve! Because if nothing else, you shouldn’t have to feel your stomach rumbling all the time. And you shouldn’t have to hear your children's stomachs rumbling!”

Julius held his sword up, point to the sky. “So I come to give you this simple answer: take! Take from those who stand to lose nothing! Take their food, take their warm fires, and take their money! It’s time for the men and women of Lugunica to live, without fear of collapsing thanks to their empty stomachs.”

Not a soul moved.

“Are you all just going to sit there, hungry? Or will you live strong, and take food from those who deprive you of it?”

“What about your house?” a man screamed, bitter and filled with an honest resentment.

“Take whatever you see fit!” he shouted back with a smile. “Make me poor, make me a peasant, make me a pauper! So that when I rise as Dragon King of Lugunica I understand your struggles! Make me hungry! Make yourselves full off my inherited riches! Take what I never earned! Take what you’ve worked your whole lives for!”

A murmur of assent ran through the crowd. 

He knew he’d won, when many started shouting themselves. More and more every second. Shouting, screaming, swearing. The masks were melting away, the fronts coming undone, the paper tigers falling apart. Most would simply head home, he understood. But a small few, maybe only a hundred, would actually fight for what he’d said. That was enough; he had over a year and a half to keep whipping more Lugunicans into a frenzy. 

No matter what, he’d win the Royal Selection. 

Though, first things first: get Joshua out of the manor. It was possible some would really come to take his riches. He was willing to let it happen, but Joshua hadn’t consented. And it’d only harm his candidacy if he left the boy. 

As he walked through the place the crowd had been, he asked his spirits to get to Felt for him. He intended to make good on that promise. They quickly found her, in an alleyway off to the side of where the crowd had all stood. When he walked inside the damp alley, overrun with grass, weeds, and crickets, he found her.

With a bloody slash across her neck, and red wounds all over her stomach. All her clothes had been ripped off, leaving her naked. Her face was twisted in a scream. Tears were caked on her cheeks. And when he kneeled down to her body, he found little flecks of gold under her fingernails. She’d spent her last moments holding onto those gold coins he’d given her.

So he truly had brought the worst men in the city out, then given them a cover for their actions. 

Julius looked up at the stars, remorse pumping through his veins…but his goal…

It was great enough…

***

Reinhard van Astrea stood within the throneroom of the Lugunican kings—the embodiment of the sovereignty innate to the millenia old bloodline. Just three years ago, the last of those kings had perished, leaving behind a nation on the precipice of war, an economic crisis in their wake, prejudice and discrimination upon their graves, and their final legacy a simple tablet, which told of a dragon’s will. 

That will was for five men to run in a Royal Selection, to take the crown left behind. And he’d been one of them, chosen to one day lead Lugunica to peace, prosperity, and greatness. Him. Reinhard van Astrea. The man who had no business being anything more than a tool to craft peace. He’d have to take charge of himself, of an entire nation. He’d have to take power. So much of him had just wanted to abandon the position, drop out. But Marcos had made that difficult, and dismissed him from the Royal Knights for three years, unless he became king. So he’d done all he could. 

He’d been a Royal Candidate, in the only way he knew how. By sprinting across his domain, helping anyone who needed it. Chopping wood for a family, then running to the next farm. Working, fighting some Witch Cultists, helping. Doing everything in his power to make life easier. He’d just helped everyone. Maybe he’d made a mistake, leaving the laws the way they were in the Astrea domain, but he had no education. No training in how to make decisions of such magnitude. And no member of his family had aided him in picking out people to teach him.

It had taken all he had, but he’d pressed on, and saved as many as he could. Now he stood, upon the dais where none but kings had trod merely half a decade ago. 

Only two other men were there. Julius, in a button down shirt and dress pants. And Miklitov, clad in a stylized robe with Lugunica’s draconic seal emblazoned on the front. Al, Subaru, and Felix had long since dropped out of the Royal Selection. Before them, the great hall was filled with noblemen and knights. Outside, the castle was surrounded by peasants. They were clogging the bridge, and he could hear carriages attempting to make their way up to the official ceremony. Yet whenever a noble tried to get the peasants to move, they just screamed at the nobleman. Even in all his failings, Reinhard could feel the rage in those voices, from all the way up here at the top of Lugunica. 

“Julius,” he whispered to his friend. “The people…they’re angry.”

“Yes,” the man said, a sword buckled to his belt, it was nice, but nothing special. 

Reinhard took a step closer to the man, not quite lifting his feet completely off the red carpet. “You’ve told me you were trying to calm them down with your speeches.” Over the past year, Julius had given numerous addresses to the men and women of the nation.

“I said I was addressing their worries.”

“I’ve been doing the same,” Reinhard said. His actions hadn’t caused that, it had been his failure to do more which had.

“You’ve been saving them, yes, but you haven’t given them a way to feed themselves.”

Reinhard grimaced. “I know, I’m a failure.”

“Then drop out of the Selection, allow me to win,” Julius whispered back. Both of them speaking so low none could hear over the shouts from outside. The people were just screaming and chanting, making so much noise it meant nothing. He didn’t want to think about why he smelled so much smoke. 

“You’ll likely win anyway,” Reinhard said. “But if I win, I’ll help them.”

“Really?”

“Yes,” Reinhard nodded. He’d have to do something. He’d been chosen as the nation’s tool, and he’d be it. Even if it meant being the Dragon King and not the Sword Saint. “I’ll teach everyone how to feed themselves.”

“With what?” 

Reinhard looked down. “I’ll find a way. I’ll be what they need.”

Julius tilted his head, a frown on his face. “Old friend, you’re not what people need when they need it. You’re a hero, whether they need it or not.”

“Then…I have to save them.”

“What can you do?” Julius asked.

“Save them,” he said again.

“And what will that do? You’re a hero, not a king. You stand for nothing.”

Reinahard stayed silent this time, just remembering what he was. A tool. A tool. Not a man. A tool. As the minutes passed, and the final votes of the kingdom were tallied, he repeated it, again and again. For every millisecond, another confirmation of his nature. 

As he thought, the people outside continued growing louder. Till a single chant rose. 

Julius’ name. 

Repeated with such a power it made the Royal Castle tremble, and sent the nobles within the throne room toward the knights. They asked after their own safety, the ability of the knights to put down revolt, and the proper procedure of the Royal Selection. Reinhard took it all on, into himself. He’d be able to keep them safe. He’d be able to keep the revolt from escalating. He’d ensure the proper procedure of the Royal Selection remained in place. Reinhard could—

“I have the results,” Miklitov said. Reinhard’s hands balled into fists. He flexed his muscles. The ground beneath shook.

Julius leaned over to him, his hair combed and neat, though not perfect like it had once been. “Reinhard, what will you do if your victory causes a riot?” 

“The knights will stop it.”

“Will you let them kill the populace to stop it?” Julius asked, his voice soft. So soft it stabbed right into Reinhard’s chest. So soft it forced him to picture the scenario. So soft he wanted to scream.

Yet he contained himself. “They won’t have to. The people will stop.”

“Are you certain that everyone among them will stop? It is your duty to save every single one of them. If you’re selected, you’ll fail in that.” It came as more a warning than a threat. 

“That’s not true.”

“Which part?”

“The people won’t riot.”

“Listen to them,” Julius whispered, putting his hand on Reinhard’s shoulder. “I know you can. Listen.”

While Miklitov was handed the paper with the results, Reinhard listened. 

To the people chanting, to the ground dragons still trying to cart nobles to the palace, and to the men trying to steal those ground dragons. He focused as hard as he ever had, on a specific instance.

“Grab the fucking dragon,” one of them said. 

“Can you cook it?” a second asked.

“I can’t cook what I don’t have!” a third shouted as they undid the straps lashing it to the carriage. The noble within was weeping, a woman. Her guards were standing around the carriage itself, and not the ground dragon, which was screaming, like it knew what would occur. They were so desperate they were robbing a member of the nobility, with her guards around, in broad daylight. 

These people weren’t angry, they were furious. Women were already crying, and the few children who’d been brought along were being shielded by their parents. Some had been abandoned, and had taken up sobbing for their mothers and fathers. Husbands had begun looking for wives, who’d already begun screaming as other men took what pleasure they wished from them. 

And every single one of them viewed Julius as the only man who could fix their problems. If Reinhard won, they’d explode into a harsh riot, and he’d have to put it down. Without killing a single individual. An impossible feat.

“Julius,” Reinhard whispered, knowing what must be. “Do you stand for something?”

Knowing he was just a tool, not a man. 

“I do,” Julius nodded. “The greatest thing of all.”

A tool couldn’t be placed above other men. A tool had to be wielded by another man. 

Miklitov stepped up in front of the last two candidates. From up here on the dais, they stared out of the mosaic windows of Farsale Lugunica, Reid Astrea, and Volcanica. Beyond were the people, the ones which chanted Julius’ name so furiously Miklitov had to scream to be heard.

“By the will of the people and the dragon!” he shouted.

“Miklitov!” Reinhard yelled. 

The man turned. “Reinhard?” he said, somewhat fearful.

He took a deep breath. His existence was something to be commanded, not something to command. “I hereby renounce my candidacy in the Royal Selection.” He should have done it years ago.

Miklitov deflated, and whispered under his breath, so quiet only Reinhard caught it. “Volcanica, what have you done?” Then he forced himself to stand upright. 

The gathered nobles, and knights, watched on in shock. Each one frozen, as if a Gustekan wind had roared through. The head of the sage council dropped the piece of paper. 

It had Reinhard’s name on it; by the will of the people and the dragon, Reinhard van Astrea had been crowned Dragon King of Lugunica. 

“By the will of the people and the dragon!” the sage bellowed, his voice empty. “Julius Juukulius has been crowned Dragon King of Lugunica!”

Reinhard turned to the new Dragon King, and dropped to his knees, bowing. Julius laid a hand on the back of his head. 

“Julius.”

“Reinhard,” the man’s voice was breathy.

“You’ll address their worries, won’t you?” Reinhard was just on the edge of weeping.

Julius was silent.

“You’ll give them a way to feed themselves, right?” He barely held it in.

Silence.

“You’ll help them? Please.” It was hard, but he managed it.

Silence.

“You’ll…” He almost couldn’t stop the tears from dripping down. “You’ll save them, yes?”

Reinhard grabbed Julius’ shirt, still not looking up. “You’ll stand for the greatest thing of all, right?”

Silence.

He gazed up at the new Dragon King. “Please…please tell me you’re a king and nothing else.”

Outside, a massive mob chanted their celebrations. Inside, the nobles were absolutely terrified, shaking, trembling, as the city roared with jubilation.

Julius looked down at the petrified Sword Saint. “Fools.”

Under the weight of that word, the city smoldered, Reinhard wept, and Julius grinned.

***