Back at the royal palace, the fell dragon king had destroyed half of the Saintess’s Spire with his fiery breath, and Second Prince Figaro, who had run out into the garden, had been engulfed by the rubble. But with heavy debris scattered all around and smaller dragons prowling the area, going to his aid was impossible.
“Did that monster just say we protected the kingdom for its return?” asked Lord Giesz, bewildered by the beast’s words. “What does that mean?”
Albert cast him a sidelong glance. “I can’t claim to understand, myself, but that dragon emerged from the Sacred Garden. It’s quite possible we’ve made a terrible mistake.”
“A terrible mistake...”
“Regardless, the dragon seems to be after the saintess. If she falls into its claws, I fear the worst will come to pass.”
“Oh, Lady Artemisia, Prince Figaro,” lamented Lord Fennel, whose composed demeanor couldn’t hide his dismay. “What a tragedy this is...”
“Does anyone have any ideas on how to turn this around?” Albert asked, speaking quickly.
Only Lord Fennel, holding his head, replied. “I can’t think of anything,” he said quietly. “What about you, future Lord Baycladd?”
Albert shook his head weakly and looked out toward the capital, where black smoke was rising.
“Unfortunately, neither the Royal Guard nor the Capital Defense Corps would be able to hold their own in this situation. Even skilled adventurers would likely struggle.”
Despair swept across the room.
“But I haven’t given up hope yet.”
“You...have hopes?”
“Not ‘hopes.’ Hope. Just one,” Albert said, looking up at the Saintess’s Spire. But he sounded like he was trying to convince himself as well as everyone else.
✦ ✦ ✦
Chaos also reigned at Ledelucia Academy, the school attended by children of the nobles of the special district. The knights stationed there were struggling to fend off multiple small dragons attacking the grounds while the students huddled within the buildings. Soft sobs of fear could be heard here and there.
“Quiet. We are the children of the upper class. It is disgraceful for us to lose composure like this,” said a girl with bright chestnut curls—Charlotte Fennel, the only daughter of Lord Fennel—to her fellow students in Class F. “Ilya, please tend to the injured.”
“Y-Yes, Lady Charlotte!” Ilya replied.
“Ryan, Eleanor. Keep the panicked students calm.”
“You got it,” Ryan said.
“All right,” Eleanor said.
The three ran off, their eyes aflame with purpose.
One of the students still in the classroom, who was hugging her knees to her chest and looking as though she was about to cry, asked, “How can you stay so calm, Lady Charlotte? We don’t know when those dragons will come for us.”
“Who do you think I am?” Charlotte said indignantly. “Such a pitiful crisis cannot shake me.”
It was a lie, of course. Her legs had been trembling for a while now, and she felt as though she might collapse at any moment. Still, the image of a certain man lingered in her mind, keeping her from giving in to despair.
A few months ago, he’d come to this classroom as an instructor. Though the students had met him with hostility, he had saved them all, earned their trust, and then left. Charlotte had heard he was now imprisoned in an underground mine; she’d immediately requested a visit, but since the imprisonment had been ordered by royal decree, her request had been denied.
Given the circumstances, the man couldn’t be expected to come to their rescue. Even so, Charlotte had a feeling he might just save the capital, still wearing that nonchalant smile of his.
Wiping away the tears forming at the corners of her eyes and biting her lip, she gazed up at the royal palace.
“Until then, I must keep my composure. I refuse to embarrass myself.”