Chapter 58 - St. Jansk University and the Chamber of Secrets (1)

Ivan opened his eyes, clutching his head. Consciousness returned in a pale haze, accompanied by a prickling headache.

It felt like a hangover after a bout of drinking. But, surprisingly for someone of this era, Ivan hardly drank. He had no reason to suffer a hangover.

He pushed aside the soft velvet covers and sat up in bed.

“What...?”

Velvet covers? A bed?

Ivan's thoughts abruptly settled. He was not someone who could wake up in a bed like this. He never slept anywhere except the sofa in the director's office. (Seeing that had sent Enrique into a fury.)

The more flustered you were, the slower you should move. He rose unhurriedly and surveyed his surroundings. It was a caution ingrained through years of training.

A person thrown into confusion in unfamiliar surroundings was prone to mistakes and misjudgments. Maintaining a semblance of composure, Ivan tried to recall how he had come here.

“...”

Extravagant gold-leaf fabric wallpaper, a magnificent tapestry on the wall, an enormous solid-wood table, and clothes scattered across the floor. Red carpeting underfoot, and a bed where velvet covers lay in soft folds.

And at its far end, a figure lying with her back to him.

A woman. Curled up, she appeared to be around 160 centimeters tall. Slender build. The covers wrapped around her made it difficult to gather any more information.

“Hmm.”

He examined his own condition. Half-naked, bare from the waist up and wearing only a pair of light cotton trousers.

An inspection suggested that nothing “untoward” had happened. That was both reassuring and puzzling.

But taking the situation as a whole...

A succubus.

Yes, those mosquito-like things that burrowed into dreams, forcibly unleashed unwanted desires, and sucked away mana and vitality.

It had to be one of them. Obviously. Ivan had encountered those mosquitoes several times while escorting the Hero's Party to the vicinity of the Demon King's castle.

Where had he encountered it? His memories of last night were hazy. He was sure...

“Ugh...”

The headache struck again. Clearly the sort that interfered with memory. Ivan shook his head, then slowly, carefully got up and approached his coat.

He reached into the sleeve of the coat on the floor. Something clinked as his hand found a dagger and a water bottle.

Dreams were illusions constructed from reality. Naturally, things one always carried and routines one regularly followed would appear in dreams as well. And when it came to regularity and preparedness, no one was more thorough than Ivan.

Silently, he drew the blade from his sleeve and laid it against his forearm.

He must not touch the woman in the bed. If this was a succubus's dream, there was no telling what traps it had laid here.

However, he could immediately attempt one of the two sure ways to wake from a succubus's dream: shock himself by acting in direct opposition to the dream's intended design, or have a priest cast a purification spell. Since there was no chance of a priest standing beside his sleeping body, he chose the first method.

SLICE.

A cold pain accompanied the deep cut in his forearm. He swiftly glanced around, but there was no sign of the dream collapsing.

That was fine. As an agent trained to dull his perception of pain, he might not have found a mere slash to the forearm enough of a shock to wake him from a succubus's dream. In that case, he simply needed a different approach.

“Whew...”

He had sworn never to use it on himself again.

Had it been fifteen years? He remembered being forcibly “treated” in the unit infirmary, all four limbs bound, after taking a spear to the abdomen.

Ivan stared at the water bottle in dread, then slowly... very carefully tilted it.

The horrible, viscous red liquid came oozing out onto his profusely bleeding forearm.

The instant it touched the wound, it hissed, and the gaping cut began sealing shut. There were no groans or sighs. His breathing remained steady.

But thunderous pain tore through his head. A pain he could call familiar, buried deep in his memories, came surging back.

The sensation of a healing potion at work. (He chose to think of it that way.)

With a short exhalation, he righted the potion bottle and sealed the cap again. His movements were delicate and cautious, as though he were sealing a cursed ancient demon inside a jar.

Once securely sealed, the healing potion ceased to be the conceptual embodiment of hell's malice in viscous liquid form and became a reassuring piece of essential equipment again. He stowed the bottle in his sleeve, picked up his clothes, and dressed.

“...?”

Even after all that, the dream had not broken.

He looked at the dagger again, debating whether to slice his forearm, when a small hypothesis occurred to him.

What if this wasn't a dream...?

Ivan settled back into the enormous sofa beside the table and pondered, his dagger pointed at the woman lying in the velvet bed.

Who was that woman, where was this place, and why had he been here? What on earth had happened yesterday?

He distinctly remembered searching the school for the academy's chamber of secrets...

* * *

To turn back the clock briefly, this was the situation in Prizhenkaya immediately after the rescue of the Hero's Party's sons and daughters.

Elizaveta ultimately declined to accept the throne.

[“We cannot establish the royal family's authority before setting right the nation's troubles.”]

[“My royal father is still so hale. How could I dare lay claim to his royal title?”]

After proclaiming that she would completely root out the “unidentified foreign enemy” that had impersonated the “false Crown Prince” and burrowed deep into the royal household, she generously opened the national treasury to the people caught up in the terrorist attacks.

The crucial point was that she had opened the national treasury. Not the Princess's private purse. In other words, she had made it clear to every noble that the royal government's treasury was now in her hands.

[“The Foreign Minister has been abducted by villainous enemies.”]

Astonishingly, these villains had abducted a nation's Crown Prince and impersonated him to manipulate its government.

The unprecedented disappearance of the first in line to the throne had severely damaged the royal family's authority. Naturally, Counterintelligence Command, which should have prevented such an incident, ought to have found itself in dire straits...

[“As one of royal blood, I feel a profound responsibility for this situation and shall relinquish all my authority at court.”]

But the matter was resolved when the Princess, who also headed Counterintelligence Command, personally stepped down, lamenting her failure to protect her own elder brother.

[“Lord, protect Krasilof. Henceforth, the royal house shall no longer wear the scarlet robes of worldly power. Royal blood shall serve only as a symbol of national dignity, a beacon to dispel our nation's troubles.”]

All those of royal blood would step down from direct command to become cultural symbols. In short, this was the beginning of a constitutional monarchy.

The Crown Prince's talk of the “royal family's divine right” had become meaningless, at least within Krasilof. The world was wicked? Who would you blame? The king no longer governed the nation directly, so throw your stones at your nobles.

In the people's eyes, power now belonged to the House of Nobles and the senior administration.

But all power came from military might, wealth, and intelligence. And in Prizhenkaya, all three now belonged to one person.

“Your Majesty, ask what you will.”

“You jest too much, sir. My royal father remains on the throne, and I no longer involve myself in affairs of state. Why speak as though I were questioning a subject?”

“Ha ha ha! My apologies, Your Highness!”

Dmitry and Elizaveta were laughing over tea. On this summer afternoon after the rain, the rear garden of the eastern palace was filled with the gentle fragrance of opening blossoms.

“How are the old men in the House of Nobles?”

“The sight of them all nervously darting their eyes about is quite amusing. They get no response when they reach out to the military administration. It must be frustrating.”

“Let them suffer a little longer. Perhaps one of them will prove brave enough to draw a sword.”

“That would make them easier to deal with. A welcome development.”

Every Guards Division near Prizhenkaya had already sworn loyalty to the Princess, and Counterintelligence Command controlled all sources of information leading to the rest of the military administration.

The announcement that the Crown Prince had suddenly vanished was suspicious enough. The tale of a “false” Crown Prince daring to attempt a coup and falling overnight was equally baffling.

The House of Nobles must have been burning with anxiety. All the more so for those who had belonged to the Crown Prince's Faction.

Naturally, the nobles were no fools. Anyone could see that this was merely the beginning of a vast purge.

The Princess had stepped down as court minister? Would the garden she had personally cultivated for over ten years betray its owner simply because of that?

The Princess had given up Counterintelligence Command? She had been their mistress since the days of the Extermination Unit. No noble with any common sense believed that.

That both the national treasury and the royal family's private coffers were now subject to the eastern palace was no longer even a secret among the nobles. The Princess had intended it that way.

The Princess was unilaterally declaring a “constitutional monarchy” while the current king still sat squarely on the throne? Wasn't it obvious that she had stripped him of all authority and power and brought him to heel?

That left the nobles with only one real course of action.

“Your Highness, Count Yusup requests an audience.”

The Princess smirked at the attendant's words.

“A bold choice of vanguard. The cavalry commander has come in person?”

“They must be growing desperate themselves. I shall take my leave, then.”

“Now, now. How would it look for a sovereign to govern in person with no subject in attendance? Stay where you are.”

Elizaveta smiled and nodded at the count as he opened the door and entered.

Seeing the lieutenant colonel who ran Counterintelligence Command's day-to-day operations in Elizaveta's office would make it that much easier for the House of Nobles to adopt a more accommodating attitude.

Thus Count Yusup, Prizhenkaya's cavalry commander, dropped to his knees and bowed deeply the moment he opened the door and stepped onto the office carpet.

“Raise your head. Such excessive ceremony embarrasses me.”

Elizaveta waved a hand, smiling.

Krasilof was now a constitutional monarchy. All thanks to Alexander's machinations.

Royal blood was now subordinate to the nation's constitution. But the constitution, and those who administered it, obeyed one person.

It could therefore be said that royal power in Krasilof had become stronger than at any time since the previous king's reign. All the people's discontent would fall upon the nobles, while the sweet fruits of authority would go only to the royal family. No, to the Princess.

Prizhenkaya was now in Elizaveta's hands.

She would need to show her favor to everyone involved, but instead, her thoughts were on one man. What would be a fitting reward for her woodsman, who had contributed more than anyone?

* * *

The foremost contributor to making the Princess the power behind the throne (an assessment somewhat colored by personal feelings). Ivan Petrovich, who had averted international conflict by successfully protecting the Hero's Party's children, was at that very moment...

“Uncle, I really can't let this go. I can understand the stalking, and I can accept the way you talk, but this is just wrong. Will you stop right there?!”

...slipping into the darkness to evade Esidisi, who was chasing him with a dagger and shaving foam.

Perfectly concealed, as befitted a veteran of the Extermination Unit, he calmly slipped out of her sight.