After a short wait in the antechamber, Kanalayka led Ras into the audience room.
When Ras entered the grand and imposing hall, he saw that several court ministers and imperial guards were already inside. On a raised platform at the back were three men.
The central figure, sitting on a throne, was the emperor of Argyll, His Imperial Majesty Uragan Greva Argenteia III. He was a capable leader, having swiftly united the fracturing realm in the wake of his father’s death, and the people respected him greatly.
However, an attempt on his life during the war had left him with a debilitating illness, and to Ras now, the emperor was a mere shadow of the man he had met two years earlier. While still as strong-willed as ever, the emperor had been appearing in public less frequently.
He was flanked by an aged man of impressive stature who had striking white hair. This was the realm’s prime minister, Davrota Aluarche, and his service extended all the way back to the time of the previous emperor. He was a shrewd and keen-witted individual, and some said it was only him and his army of pencil pushers who stood between Argyll and the chaos of anarchy.
The third and final figure sat at the emperor’s left hand, and it was the very man responsible for Ras’s presence here: the crown prince, Auriol Ref Argenteia. A peculiar black mask covered the lower half of the boy’s face. When he saw Ras enter the room, his sapphire gaze seemed to soften in relief.
Ras sighed inwardly, then kneeled before the three figures. The prime minister leaned over and whispered Ras’s name into the emperor’s ear, whereupon the man nodded gravely.
“Are you Ras Talion Veredica, son of Count Veredica?” he asked.
“I am, Your Imperial Majesty,” replied Ras, keeping his head bowed. He thought he could hear the ministers and guards whispering to one another in the wings. Though Ras was of noble birth, he was still only a mere border guard. It was difficult for them to imagine what circumstances resulted in him attracting the emperor’s personal attention.
It was an honor, to be sure, but for Ras, it was an unwelcome one. He could only wonder where on earth this conversation would go.
“I commend you on your heroic deeds during the Yura Uprising two years ago,” the emperor said. “Our victory rested on the back of your slaying of Kiha Zenri, the Greater Dragon.”
“…You are too kind, sire,” Ras muttered, stifling his objections.
Two years ago, an international dispute had broken out on the border between Argyll and the Padyne Federation of City-States. It was during that conflict that the Greater Dragon appeared, but it wasn’t to secure the empire’s victory that Ras had slain it.
The dragon had already done that by itself. After it appeared, it massacred the ranks of the city-state alliance. If the empire’s victory rested upon anything, it was the dragon itself—or to be precise, the cunning individual who had summoned it.
Foreseeing the empire’s defeat, this individual had lured the dragon to the battlefield, where it proceeded to lay waste to allied and enemy forces alike. They were so committed to this plan that they even used the imperial princess as bait.
And the person who came up with and executed this ruthless scheme was none other than Princess Fiarca herself.
After learning what she intended to do, Ras hurried to the battlefield, but all that awaited him were the battered husks of dozens upon dozens of ruined Chasseurs and a maddened beast attacking anyone who tried to escape.
So Ras slew the Greater Dragon, all for the sake of Princess Fiarca.
But he was too late.
The dragon slew the princess, and Ras slew the dragon. That was all there was to it. That was the truth of what had happened two years before.
“Your great deeds should have brought fame and honor to your name. I can only regret this nation was not able to pay you the proper respects in reward for your service.”
“I understand, sire.”
Ras uttered a hollow response to the emperor’s trite words.
The empire’s “victory” nonetheless robbed the realm of its princess and left its armies in tatters. Far from hailing him as a hero, many people instead blamed Ras for failing to protect her.
However, no one was more devastated by her loss than he. Fiarca had been a lifelong friend, a classmate at the same academy, and she and Ras had been due to be wed in a public ceremony. Before he could receive his honors for defeating the dragon, Ras resigned from Central Command and vanished from public life.
Even so, the empire could have recognized Ras’s deeds publicly, but they hadn’t. Ras couldn’t blame them, though. No doubt they were just as eager to put the whole miserable mess behind them.
And yet here the emperor was, heaping praise on Ras’s achievements. Something seemed off. What was the meaning of this?
“I admit the time has long since passed, but I would see your brave efforts rewarded. I hereby bestow upon you one of the empire’s most treasured Chasseurs d’Acier, the Vildhjärta, to be used as you see fit.”
“You honor me, sire.”
Ras breathed a sigh of relief. It was an age-old tradition to bequeath a custom-made Chasseur to a knight who slew a dragon. It was a great honor, but an unenviable responsibility. The costs associated with keeping a top-of-the-line Chasseur in prime working condition were no laughing matter.
Still, it was a far sight better than receiving some bothersome title with all its associated headaches. The ministers on the sidelines seemed to think so, too, as they all breathed a collective sigh upon seeing the nation’s debt to Ras settled.
However, they stiffened when the emperor next spoke.
“Furthermore,” he said, “as of today, you will be bestowed the title Guardian of Silver, and you will report directly to Crown Prince Auriol.”
“Um…pardon?”
Ras’s ill-mannered response should have earned him a stern rebuke, but nobody said a word. Save the crown prince and the prime minister, the emperor’s words had stunned the whole room into silence.
On paper, Guardian of Silver was a purely honorary role, with no place in the chain of command. However, the position afforded its bearer enormous privileges. Guardians of Silver were the elite of the elite, the most skilled knights the empire had to offer, and in terms of the palace hierarchy, they sat at the same level as the prime minister. They held the right to inspect any part of the empire’s military, and in times of national emergency, they could even issue orders on behalf of the emperor.
Usually, only imperial legates or army generals were appointed to the position, and they needed to be distinguished aura knights of long-standing service.
Ras wasn’t even a member of the Imperial Guard and, despite his feat, had no track record to speak of. Appointing him to such a lofty position was practically a breach of national security.
Before anyone could react, the prime minister spoke up and signaled that the audience was over.
“Auriol will explain the particulars to you,” he said. “That is all. You may go.”
The ministers were all shown from the audience room before any of them had a chance to question His Imperial Majesty’s judgment. Likewise, Kanalayka came up to Ras and swiftly escorted him from the chamber.
And so Ras left the meeting with more questions than when he’d entered. All he understood was that in the span of a few minutes, he had suddenly become the most important aura knight in all of Argyll.