[277] 1. Hostile Friendship (6)
"Fine. If you're that curious, I'll introduce him specially."
"No, I don't really—"
Before Shirone finished, Jion reached toward where the sword hovered.
"Come, Armand."
A clear ring of steel filled the room.
The moment Shirone turned toward Armand, the hovering blade lifted on its own and slid into Jion's hand.
Following the sword's trajectory, Shirone spun around and stopped short. The blade was already at his throat. Cold metal vibrated against his skin, a high-frequency hum buzzing by his ears.
Woorin, whose leisure had been interrupted, complained indignantly.
"Brother! Why are you doing that all of a sudden?"
"Stay still."
This time Jion wouldn't back down.
Seeing Shirone, his lips curled. Even with a blade at his throat, Shirone's unflinching gaze annoyed him to no end.
"What's with you? Suddenly quiet. Don't tell me you think I'll actually kill you?"
Shirone tensed at the vibration under his jaw.
The Spirit Zone was already active. Armand's nature, transmitted through that synesthetic sense, was genuinely strange.
Is this really a sword—or is it a living thing?
"Why aren't you answering? You're supposed to be a genius mage, right?"
It was a petty taunt to spit out after ambushing someone.
Of course Shirone trusted his ability to teleport faster than Jion's reflexes. But he couldn't guarantee he could evade a flying magic blade.
Interpreting Shirone's silence as surrender, Jion laughed and withdrew the sword.
"Hahaha! I knew it wouldn't work. My guess was right. All those magazine articles are overblown. 'Greatest talent' my foot—he's just a student."
Woorin put her hands on her hips and scolded, "Brother, that's too much."
Jion ignored her and threw Armand away.
The cold-blue magic sword shot back to its original spot, stood upright, and waited.
Only then did Shirone realize there had never been a sword stand beneath it.
"Do you know why I won't kill you? Because you're not worth it. Even if I don't, there are plenty in the castle who hate you. You probably felt it this morning."
Shirone didn't understand what Jion meant. That morning he'd been busy with the paternity test; nothing else had happened.
If anything had happened on Reina's end, the castle would have been buzzing by now.
"What are you talking about? What happened this morning?"
Jion cocked his head.
Unlucky as he was, Jion knew better than anyone that Shirone wasn't stupid.
In short: Reina, as Shirone's legal guardian, must have cut off information going to him in advance.
"Huh. She's no ordinary woman."
Not being a family head didn't make her easy prey—she was craftier than he expected. Then again, that was exactly why the Ozent family sent her.
Clearly she didn't want last night's incident to surface.
An enemy, yes—but a sound decision.
"Ha. Now I see—what a pathetic guy you are. Even your allies don't trust you. You're probably the only one in the castle who doesn't know about last night."
Shirone choked and demanded an explanation.
"So what happened? I asked."
From Jion's words it sounded like Reina knew. How could she know something he didn't?
It wouldn't be a matter of failing to notify the palace. But he couldn't imagine circumstances where even Amy couldn't be sent.
"Fine. I'll go ask her myself."
Thinking he couldn't learn anything from Jion, Shirone moved for the door. Woorin, who had been listening, suddenly spoke.
"You probably won't be able to meet her. I heard she moved accommodations last night."
Shirone turned back, hand still on the doorknob.
This was news to him. What on earth was going on around him?
"Moved? To where?"
"I don't know. His legal guardian added a gag order at dawn. Maybe you'll find out if you go to the audience chamber."
She was telling him to go straight to the highest authority.
And a gag order—while not a formal diplomatic sanction—was an aggressive move for someone in Reina's relatively weak position.
Sensing the danger, Shirone left the gallery without looking back.
@
An awkward silence fell over the gallery after Shirone left.
Jion glared at Woorin. Whether she sensed the tension slicing through the space or not, she kept sipping her tea without missing a beat. Even if an hour passed like that, she wouldn't so much as raise an eyebrow. That was his younger sister.
"Whose side are you on, anyway?"
"What do you mean? Side?"
Woorin blinked with an innocent expression.
Finally Jion's temper snapped.
"Why are you being nice to Shirone? He's my enemy! An enemy trying to steal the throne! Of course you should be helping me!"
Faced with that blunt demand, Woorin felt pressured.
"Why are you like this, Brother? We've never talked about this before. You really think I've been sweet to you just for that? Because I'm Teraje's daughter?"
"No, not that—"
Jion's face burned.
People wouldn't understand how humiliating it was to hear that from his sister.
The truth was, her mere existence was useful.
If she showed a card claiming to be Jion's sister, no noble would withhold support. With that backing, he'd crushed countless foes.
Woorin must have known. Yet she'd never brought it up.
He liked that. But now it had come back to sting him.
"Tch. So that's the game, huh?"
Feeling wounded, Jion turned away and snorted.
Woorin sighed at his sulk and patted his back.
"Alright, alright. Do you think I don't have my own thoughts? It's just awkward for us to talk about this. This is the number one reason royal families split. There's nobody here who can threaten you. What are you so afraid of?"
Even Jion hesitated.
What was he actually afraid of?
Shirone was an illegitimate with no ties or base—his only claim being a flimsy reputation in the mage community. The power of an archangel? This castle was crawling with archmages.
"Okay. I was narrow-minded. Sorry."
Jion immediately softened. He liked that his sister understood.
Woorin gave him a few more of the comforting words he wanted and returned to her seat.
Jion's grin stretched wide, but she, looking tired, stopped pouring tea and exhaled toward the ceiling.
"Huh. Men, really."
2. The Trap of a Dilemma (1)
Shirone went to the administrative offices and requested an audience.
Permission arrived within ten minutes. The speed made him wonder if there'd been direct orders.
At the audience chamber a guard knight opened the door. Orkamp, properly dressed, waited inside.
"I was just about to call for you. Come this way."
Shirone sat opposite Orkamp.
He was about to ask where to begin when Orkamp answered himself.
"We moved your family's lodgings to the annex. I'll have the steward escort you."
The quick explanation sounded almost like an excuse.
But Shirone hadn't come merely to ask about lodgings. He wanted to know something far more central.
"What is it I don't know?"
Orkamp sighed.
A king is pushed into tight corners. Reina could dodge difficult questions; he could not.
"From last night until dawn there were five assassination attempts: three poisonings and two attackers. Lethal doses were found in food meant for family members. At dawn, assassins were captured at one-hour intervals near a royal apartment. They committed suicide before we could get a lead, but anyone could tell they were after you."
Shirone felt as if his head had been struck with a hammer.
Assassination is a human deed, but its suddenness made it feel like a natural disaster.
"Why would they try to kill us?"
"What did you expect? That nothing would happen?"
To be honest… that was exactly how he'd felt.
It wasn't pure negligence. But to expect enemies to act within two days of his arrival—that was another matter.
"Do you think they're foolish? No, Shirone. This was a very rational, clever decision. It targeted a blind spot in thinking."
"A blind spot in thinking?"
"Assassins fall into two kinds: traditional assassins and hitmen. There's a saying among the traditional: 'It's not people who kill—it's the situation.' Avoid a blade and you live; you can't avoid the situation. If someone had to be eliminated, yesterday was the perfect moment."
Shirone corrected his own flawed assumption.
He hadn't ignored the danger of assassination. But he'd also harbored a quiet thought of 'surely not now.'
"Assassins don't just wield blades—they shape situations. That's why, in a castle, one assassin can be scarier than a hundred guards. They strike the blind spots of thought. Once trapped, you'll hand over your neck even knowing it."
Orkamp was right.
Why had he felt safe?
No—you can't live checking every thought. Fix one thought and they'll find another blind spot to enter through.
"Shirone, don't try to analyze everything with your head. The castle is full of predators. There's no place here for cowards who miss their moment because they fear the cost of failure."
Orkamp stood, walked to the desk, poured a harsh spirit into a crystal glass, and said, "Reina judged correctly. In three days you become the formal heir. Getting dragged into a mud fight would only hurt us. So act like you don't know anything."
Shirone clenched his fist.
He accepted that Reina's choice made sense. But his parents might have been killed.
"So we just take it? We could use this as an excuse to strike back."
Orkamp gave a wry smile.
"Then tell me—who do you think is behind it?"
"Obviously the Teraje faction—"
Shirone stopped himself.
Was it only the Teraje after him? That was another blind spot he'd missed.
"…I don't know."
"Yes. It's unknown. Changing the heir mobilizes every interest in the kingdom. Even if it isn't the Teraje, anyone could have motive to remove you."
Shirone ran through possible culprits.
Countless faces flashed by—some he trusted, some he didn't. Even Orkamp crossed his mind.
"Does everyone want me dead?"
Orkamp returned to his seat with the crystal glass.
"If the backer is Teraje, it's a warning. If it's a neutral faction, it's to see how we react. They want a source that reveals precisely what kind of person you are."
"A warning? Lethal poison. If Amy had eaten it, she would have died. An innocent person almost perished just by following me."
Orkamp swallowed the spirit. Shirone was overly agitated—but perhaps that was the sane response.
For ordinary people, assassination is a distant concept. They can be robbed or hit by a carriage, but living each day knowing a professional killer is targeting you would drive anyone mad within a month.
He had lived that life—sharing a world with assassins his whole life: eating, going to the bathroom, even raising children around them. That he could try to wash it away with a sip of strong liquor was perhaps the abnormality.