TLRP 24

chapter 24

Fire!

“I miss you, Adelle.”

A young man muttered. His fiery red hair was damp with sweat, clinging to his face. Wisps of it stuck to his soft, pale cheeks like a child’s, lending him a strangely pitiful look. His hazy green eyes, his tearful voice like a boy yearning for his mother—everything about him seemed sorrowful.

No. No. Don’t be fooled. That’s a lunatic. A monster who won’t even flinch if someone drops dead right in front of him.

Seycia Gulf, Lady of Morgon—a port city on the western coast of Marma—shut her eyes tight, repeating this to herself.

Her two secretaries, who had been working on documents in the office, were already half-bewitched by the wretched fellow. They dug through their bags to hand him candy and chocolates fit for children, and kept gently asking him if he needed anything else.

“Adelle…”

The young man hugged a portrait of a woman to his chest and crouched on the floor like a beggar. The secretaries shifted nervously, itching to rush over and cradle him like a child.

Finally, Seycia couldn’t hold back.

“Go home!”

“Pardon, my lady?”

“Go home! I’ll finish the rest of today’s work myself, so leave! Go home, play with your kids, buy your husband something nice!”

“But why? We haven’t finished yet…”

They looked at her, bewildered. Seycia jumped up from her chair, stomped across the floor, and yanked the door open.

“Just leave it for tomorrow.”

“Yes, my lady!”

The delighted secretaries quickly grabbed their coats and bags and hurried out. Seycia even saw them out the door before turning back toward the young man still squatting in the corner of her office.

“Vladimir.”

In his hands was the portrait of Adeline Vita, daughter of the emperor. Vladimir lifted his head and rolled his eyes at Seycia.

See? Madman!

A tremor ran across her lips. Forcing herself, Seycia tried to imitate Adeline—the tone, the voice, the expression.

“Vladimir, aren’t you hungry? Should we go out for something to eat?”

“Not hungry.”

“I’m about to go home for the day. But no matter how long you wait, Adeline won’t come here. Why not go home, eat, maybe write her a letter instead?”

“Shut up, Seycia.”

The tremor spread from her lips to her whole face.

“Hey!”

Seycia of Morgon was impatient, loud-voiced, and a workaholic. Her staff rarely left so early in the afternoon, with plenty of work still undone. But right now, she just wanted this brat out of her sight.

“Go home.”

“No.”

This infuriating brat was twenty years old now—the same lunatic who had once trailed after Princess Adeline like a peeping chick.

“Vladimir!”

“I said shut up, Seycia!”

“This is my office, you nutcase! You get out!”

“How petty.”

Vladimir suddenly stood and dusted off his pants. The weepy, pitiful child was gone. His face went blank—eyes dry, devoid of emotion. He wiped his damp cheek with the back of his hand, then held out his palm toward her.

“Give me money.”

You little— Seycia cursed Adeline in her heart for sending this brat to Morgon.

Once he’d wrung enough allowance out of her, Vladimir hummed a tune and left the estate building. Even the swagger of his departing steps was infuriating.

Biting her nails at the window, Seycia stared at his retreating back. It was a bad habit from childhood she thought she’d fixed long ago, yet it still haunted her whenever she was anxious.

“Hopefully he doesn’t cause trouble… No. He should cause trouble. The right kind. Big enough.”

Should she follow him? But even if she did, she couldn’t keep up. He was twenty. She was forty now. If he so much as picked up his pace, she’d lose him.

Don’t worry, Seycia. You’ve managed this long. You’ll manage again. Calm down. Breathe.

After all, he was the first magician.

The word magician first came into use when Nova’s king, Aizen Balzac, coined it. He’d long obsessed over gaining powers others dismissed as legends—or calamities. A near-mad obsession.

According to his research, magic was fickle, with a will of its own. Reckless use demanded catastrophic price. So even those with talent hid it, or died never realizing it.

But Vladimir was the first to wield magic without cost—Aizen Balzac’s first success in making magic real. Yet Vladimir didn’t follow Aizen. He followed Princess Adeline of Marma.

Seycia still remembered the first time she saw him. He was soaked in cold water—ice-cold, it being mid-winter. Yet heat shimmered off him like a mirage. The entire stone chamber, unheated, felt like a sweltering seaside in midsummer.

His limbs were thin, his face boyish, making him look younger than his age. His big eyes brimmed with moisture. Grown men surrounded him, dousing him with buckets of water. To a stranger, it looked like abuse. Seycia wanted to stop them, training or not. But the fearful ones weren’t children. They were the men.

Once nearly all the water was dumped, Vladimir shook himself like a wet pup. Steam hissed up from his hair, his body, the floor. The puddles dried instantly. The air itself burned.

The men fled. He stood alone, expressionless. No hurt, no mockery, not even curiosity. Just a blank doll.

The boy born with a miracle: the power to burn everything he touched to ash. A fire mage, branded a devil, a disaster, uncontrollable. But when Adeline was near, he changed completely.

“Adelle!”

Whenever she entered the training hall, Vladimir bloomed into smiles, like a rose opening in an instant.

“Little brat.”

“Yes.”

No one else ever got a straight answer from him. But when Adeline called him snot-nosed brat, fool, or stubborn mule, he only beamed and ran to her.

“Have you been good?”

“Yes. I missed you.”

The scorching heat calmed instantly. When she offered her hand, he scrubbed his palm dry on his clothes before carefully taking hers.

“What happens if you misbehave?”

“Adelle punishes me. I have to do penance.”

“You must never torment someone weaker for fun. If you do, I’ll make you cry your eyes out.”

“Okay! I’ll never do that!”

Adeline was the only one who could scold him. Seycia wanted to ask in his place: So what about tormenting someone stronger? For his eyes seemed to ask exactly that.

That night, Morgon’s harbor suffered another great fire—one of the worst yet among the many mysterious blazes lately. Rumor said the culprit was targeting the crown prince, for the blaze consumed his temporary lodgings. Prince Cesare Dixon reportedly flew into a rage, berating his men mercilessly.

Seycia was certain Vladimir had watched from afar, snickering.

“Can I kill him?”

“Who?”

“The crown prince.”

Chills ran up her arms. No one—not even Adeline—had told Vladimir about her past. Yet somehow he knew Cesare was one of her enemies. And now, with a vacant look, he asked:

“If I burn him, will Adelle be happy?”

Please, Adeline, Seycia prayed. Take him away before he burns Morgon to the ground.

Seisia asked, but Vladimir didn’t give her a proper answer.

“What’s going on? I’m sleepy.”

“You slept late this morning too.”

“Because I was wandering around at night…”

Right—how could she forget? The fact that the Crown Prince had nearly gone bald was already the talk of the entire city of Morogon. Seisia shook her head, dragged a chair over to the side of Vladimir’s bed, and sat down. After making sure the door was properly shut, she whispered:

“Stop tormenting the Crown Prince now.”

“Did Adele send word?”

Vladimir, who had been lounging about, suddenly sprang up, his face peeking out. The smell of burning hit Seisia’s nose, and she gave him a worried look.

“You need a wash. Just being near you, people will think you’re an arsonist.”

“So if someone smells of smoke, they’re an arsonist? Then anyone who bakes bread in a kitchen must be guilty too.”

“They say the Crown Prince is going around like that now. Anyone even slightly suspicious gets dragged off. They might even arrest you just for looking insolent.”

“He’s crazy.”

Who was calling whom crazy, really? Seisia barely swallowed back the words rising up her throat. Instead, she tried to persuade Vladimir, who had already lost interest.

“Enough of your pranks. What if they catch you by the tail?”

“They won’t. And even if they did, I’d never give your name.”

“Vladimir!”

“I’m kidding.”

He grinned mischievously as he got up. Seisia decided not to nag further, though it wasn’t clear whether he understood.

“If I do this well, Adele can come here sooner, right?”

Vladimir’s face brimmed with expectation. Seisia answered reluctantly.

“Probably.”

“Then I’ll take care of everything tonight.”

“What do you mean?”

“What Adele asked me to do.”

Vladimir stretched long and wide as he stepped out of bed.

It was a dark night. Even the soldiers guarding the harbor late at night were gossiping about Crown Prince Cesare’s freshly shaved head. An old soldier laughed, saying it was a stroke of luck to see such a lofty person so up close. The younger soldier beside him muttered that it didn’t matter if he was a prince—he was still a poor excuse for a man.

“Royalty are always like that. If they grew up like ordinary folk, how could they govern such a vast country? Sitting high on their thrones, sentencing people to death every day. It takes a touch of madness to live that way.”

“Bah, old man. That’s not right. A king isn’t someone who’s good at killing, but someone who’s good at letting people live. Like our lord.”

“Ha! Even angels from heaven couldn’t do that. Our lord’s a strange man. Never married, never had children, barely visited his parents, no hobbies, no leisure… yet he makes sure all of us live well.”

“That’s why we mock the Crown Prince. How can the man destined to be emperor not measure up to a mere city lord?”

Laughter rippled among the soldiers. Their watch captain, who had been puffing on a strong pipe in the corner, ground the ember out, lifted his spear, and said:

“Time to make a round. Come with me.”

“Huh? All of us?”

“We’ll grab noodles from a stall along the way. I’m starving.”

“You’re paying, Captain? Lucky day!”

“Our lord pays me more than you, brat.”

The soldiers laughed, standing up one after another. Their job was mostly to keep an eye on accidents around the harbor, but at this hour there was rarely much to do.

The captain and three soldiers headed off together toward a noodle shop. Moments later, someone appeared at the empty watch post.

It was Vladimir. He vaulted over the high wall with ease. Because of Seisia’s nagging, he’d hidden his red hair under a headscarf, but he kept tugging it up with his fingers, clearly annoyed.

“That must be it.”

He looked toward a large fishing vessel moored at the edge of the harbor. Opening his palm, he read the name painted on the hull: Romantic Shark No. 11. Seisia had made sure he wouldn’t forget by writing it down. He remembered chuckling in his sleep at the ridiculous name.

“That’s the one.”

It was huge but terribly old. After scouting around, Vladimir crept over, climbed the ladder left by the captain, and boarded.

Moments later, a blaze roared up from inside the ship.

Scarlet flames shot into the sky. With a loud boom, an oil barrel lid flew into the air, followed by billows of black smoke and rolling fire. The ship was so large that the inferno could be seen across the city.

The soldiers, just finishing their noodles, ran back in shock.

“What the—! Hurry, raise the alarm!”

“The Romantic Shark? Where’s the captain?”

“You, run to the lord’s manor! The rest, fetch the harbor managers. Put that fire out now!”

The captain’s orders set them scrambling.

But it didn’t stop there. After the empty vessel was reduced to flames, a public warehouse under the city lord’s care caught fire. Thankfully it was deep night, so there were no casualties, but large stores of flour were destroyed.

Finally, Cesare’s carriage burned. Though the frightened prince had secretly moved lodgings, Vladimir—tipped off by Seisia—tracked him down and set fire to the carriage. Cunningly, he only scorched the banners, curtains, and roof decorations, making it look like a prank gone wrong.

Prince Cesare nearly lost his mind, screaming that assassins were trying to kill him and crying “treason!” His noble attendants could not calm him.

“Fun, isn’t it?”

Vladimir whispered from a distance, with Seisia beside him. After rewarding the soldiers who had spotted the first blaze, she had rushed to help put out the warehouse fire herself.

“Tomorrow it’s the pirate ships. You know that, right?”

She handed him a piece of dried squid. He sighed, roasted it with a flicker of flame, and she chewed noisily, the salty smell wafting.

The Crown Prince would report the fires as an attempted rebellion targeting him, demanding the Emperor send guards to search the city. But soon, pirates would appear off the coast of Morogon, forcing Cesare aboard a warship to face them.

How anxious he would be, beset by unseen enemies on all sides.

“You can handle it, right? Until the Emperor calls for Adele instead of trusting Cesare.”

“Just trust me.”

“You little brat… you’ve grown so much.”

Overcome, Seisia handed him the thickest squid leg, as if granting him a special favor. But Vladimir, staring at her, simply took the entire body instead.

“Hey! That’s the expensive part!”

“There was plenty in the warehouse. You made sure to pull out the dried squid before torching it.”

“Well of course! It’s the snack of my soul!”

“Old as you are, shouldn’t your gums hurt?”

“Why you—!”

“They say the pirates call you a troublesome hag. Morogon’s pride, the old maid?”

“You little brat—”

Seisia grabbed his hair, yanking hard. He flailed, finally scorching her coat by accident.

Now both of them reeked of smoke. With a singed coat and soot-blackened face, Seisia returned to the manor. Cesare, arriving later in a fury, found her standing stunned before the burned warehouse and couldn’t bring himself to scold her.

The next day, Vladimir set fire to a pirate ship.

Seisia had hand-picked skilled sailors to take him out on a swift little boat. Soon, word spread among the pirates of a small, speedy vessel that would set ships ablaze and vanish. No pirate ship could catch it.

Furious, the pirates chased him, never suspecting a fire mage was aboard. His boat fled back to Morogon, the pirates following and staging an armed demonstration off the coast.

Fear gripped the city. With a mad arsonist loose and pirates blockading the sea, panic spread.

The incompetent Crown Prince Cesare could do nothing. That day, Seisia Gulf, lord of Morogon, wrote a long letter to Emperor Hugo VI of Marma.

“Second dispatch.”

Ringo pointed to the window, grinning. A messenger, caked in dust, waited for Adeline.

The Emperor had ordered her to go to Morogon and resolve the crisis in Cesare’s place. Faster than expected. Apparently the foolish prince was not even trusted by his father.

Adeline had already tried to decline once, humbly begging to remain quietly on the frontier until the chaos subsided. But the Emperor ignored her, insisting this was her chance to oppose the Crown Prince directly.

“Wait here,” she told the messenger, then, after sending her reply, went to find the Lion King.

“Lach, let’s go.”

“I thought you’d refuse again.”

“Things are moving fast. The pirates are already off Morogon’s coast. Cesare’s forces won’t be enough. We need to arrive before the city suffers more.”

“I see.”

The Lion King was lounging on her bed, smelling faintly of the bath salts Navi had prepared. The towel around his neck and the drink in his hand were both Adeline’s.

“Hey.”

“Mm?”

“Get your own attendants. Stop stealing mine.”

“What? Why would a man need handmaidens?”

“Because you’re a king!”

He looked at her as if it made no sense at all. Navi, packing their things, pursed her lips, trying not to laugh.

Their departure came swiftly, as if they’d been waiting all along. With light travel gear, the Lion King and his men mounted up, gazing back once at Brovi Fortress.

…

(And so on — the chapter continues with their long journey to Morogon, Adeline reminiscing about Seisia and Vladimir, the Lion King realizing his feelings, and the dawn conversation on the cliff where he admits he wants to be Adeline’s “only one.”)