Round One: City of Vatan
The City of Vatan.
It is an ancient city that existed on the southern coast of the continent even before the establishment of the Agus Empire. On the map, it resembles a brilliant diamond embedded in the graceful coastline of Victoria Bay, like a young maiden.
Since its inception, the City of Vatan has endured many hardships—fierce attacks by shark-like humanoids, harassment from southern pirates who regarded Victoria Bay as their backyard, and hurricanes and storms sweeping in from the Storm Ocean. Yet Vatan has persevered. It has not been destroyed by war nor submerged by the sea. From a small fishing village with just a few dozen households to its present form, with towering prismatic walls stretching for miles, straight streets lined with shops, a busy port filled with white sails, numerous sturdy fortresses, and mage towers that pierce the clouds like swords—everything bears witness to Vatan’s glory, the glory of the Agus Mage Empire. This is the City of Mages, the City of Constructs. Whenever people with even a basic understanding of the continent speak of magic and related things, one of the images that comes to mind is surely the Agus mages riding various marvelous creations under the protection of silver-armored soldiers—often even more so than the Red-Clothed Tattooed ones, who are famous for manufacturing and selling magical artifacts and potions in almost every major city.
To the east, a massive gate entirely made of steel faces the vast Tanori Plains, open day and night, almost never closing. The tranquil Tanori River, like a beautiful ribbon, bends east of Vatan City and flows from the south into Victoria Bay. The Agus people dug artificial channels to bring the water of the Tanori River into Vatan City, using it as a water source and for canals, even for constructing palace gardens. However, they never considered using it as a moat—did the Land of Mages need such primitive defensive measures? Villages and towns are scattered across the vast plains, with numerous farmlands, orchards, farms, and workshops surrounding residential areas, forming satellite cities. The empire’s commoners and serfs work hard on this fertile plain, not only to meet the basic needs of Vatan City but also to supply various luxuries. Every day, wooden ships laden with goods sail down the Tanori River to Vatan City, satisfying the proud and almost neurotic nobles and mages.
Although there are increasingly more imperial cavalry traveling along the roads these days and fewer merchant caravans from afar, and sometimes terrifying construct machines and battle mages can be seen passing by, overall, the people living in Vatan City and the Tanori Plains have not been greatly affected by war. As long as one is willing to spend enough money, what’s the difference between ice from the northern snow mountains and ice created by mages with magic? Luxurious banquets are held frequently, and the lives of prostitutes in the slums and noblewomen in the aristocratic districts continue as before, without any signs of disruption.
Inside the palace at night, a court banquet celebrating Emperor Stanley III’s birthday is in progress—just as an entertainment act; the main events have already been completed over the past few days.
“His Majesty the Emperor seems much better in spirit,” O’Sullivan said softly to a lady beside him, standing among a group of respectful nobles and watching the young emperor, accompanied by his beautiful queen, walking toward the center of the hall.
“Shh~” A man dressed in splendid attire signaled O’Sullivan to stop talking. O’Sullivan pursed his lips and fell silent.
“His Majesty the Emperor has arrived!”
The mage presiding over the celebration raised his staff, and the crystal at its tip emitted a faint white glow. Instantly, all the lights in the hall flared brightly, illuminating the entire space.
The men in elegant robes knelt on one knee, the mages bowed with their staffs in hand, while the noblewomen and young ladies gracefully bowed their heads. All eyes were fixed on the shiny floor of the hall, as if hoping to discover some treasure there.
“In the name of the great gods, may blessings be upon His Majesty the Emperor! Your glory envelops every citizen of Agus, and your kindness benefits every land of Agus! Under your leadership, the empire will forever thrive and grow strong. Long live the Emperor! Long live Agus!”
“Everyone, please rise. There’s no need for formalities…”
The mage who led the chant lowered his hands and stepped back, while the Emperor smiled and raised the pure gold wine cup in his hand.
“Here are fine wines and music, everything we need. We gather in this magnificent hall to receive the gifts of the gods, to broaden our horizons, to gain wisdom, to become stronger, and to enjoy happiness. Because of you… I want to say that the empire is grateful for everything you do. Cheers!”
“Long live the Emperor! Long live the Empire of Agus!” Everyone raised their cups and cheered again. Men and women alike wore proud smiles, their enthusiastic shouts echoing as their cups clinked together.
After the necessary ceremonies and speeches, the nobles became lively. The older ones formed small groups, while the younger nobles searched for dance partners or companions for an evening of pleasure. The noblewomen and young ladies kept changing dance partners and danced passionately in the crowd…
His Majesty the Emperor merely danced a few ceremonial dances with a few of the most noble ladies before leaving the hall. He likely went to a side room to meet with his ministers. The young emperor had never been very enthusiastic about such lavish ballroom events, and everyone was used to that. Some of the young nobles could hardly hide their excitement—who would want to pay attention to bowing to the emperor or politely giving up their desired dance partner while dancing with a woman whose waist was soft and delicate?
O’Sullivan entered the elegant side chamber after being granted permission to see the emperor. Valuable and magnificent tapestries hung on the walls, brought from the distant East after an unimaginable long journey; their intricate embroidery was truly masterful. The noise from the next room was almost completely unheard. Several mages and ministers surrounded the emperor, but strangely, the old mage with white beard and hair standing beside him seemed unremarkable, dressed only in a plain white robe without any proper runes. Yet, anyone who saw this scene at first glance might have the illusion that it was this old man with the white beard who was the center of it all—perhaps it wasn’t an illusion after all.
The young count stepped forward quickly and knelt on one knee before the young emperor.
“Uri O’Sullivan greets His Majesty the Emperor,” O’Sullivan said before lifting his head to gaze up at the emperor’s face.
“Count O’Sullivan, rise.” The emperor’s young and handsome face remained calm as still water, his tone carrying authority.
“Regarding trade relations between the empire and the Pearl Islands, negotiations have been conducted in accordance with His Majesty’s orders. The sea creatures living there, fearing the strength and might of the great Agus Empire, have agreed to supply us with various deep-sea minerals we urgently need for a long time.”
“The ignorant and primitive sea dwellers have also felt His Majesty’s authority! Once the material issue is resolved, research on super-armored weapons can make great progress! Long live the great Emperor!” A court mage of high rank, evident from the golden light on his robe, spoke fervently and somewhat out of control. Had he drunk as much as the others outside?
“Quiet… you talk too much,” the old mage said in a slow, aged voice. His thick, long white eyebrows covered his deep eye sockets, but they couldn’t hide his eyes, clear as those of a youth.
“Please forgive me; I spoke so because of my joy…” The once confident court mage shuddered as if struck by a north wind, immediately stepping back and lowering his head, as if sentenced to death.
The other mages, who seemed to be of similar rank, mostly wore expressions of schadenfreude.
“Your Majesty, please forgive my audacity,” the old mage continued slowly.
“How could I? Council Leader Singh. The development of armored weapons is top-secret, and the royal family has directly entrusted the entire responsibility to the Mage Council. I fully understand that,” the emperor said nonchalantly, waving his hand.
“Your magnanimity is a blessing to the empire,” Singh said, lowering his gaze.
“Then, Count, do you have any requests for this reward?”
“I once again implore His Majesty the Emperor to allow me to join the campaign against the Night Elves. As a warrior, there is no better way to serve the empire and His Majesty than on the battlefield,” O’Sullivan said in a humble yet dignified and confident tone, which seemed to anger some people.
“Be careful with your words, Count O’Sullivan! Are you accusing His Majesty of not letting you utilize your talents?” The nearly disfavored court mage decided to fight to the end. He understood his master’s thoughts well. Singh’s eyebrows did twitch slightly, but only if you watched closely could you notice it.
“You are still in a period of reflection. His Majesty the Emperor has spared you out of mercy—do not forget that!” Justice Lucas, who had recently joined the cabinet, spoke frantically, holding the code in his hands.
“His Majesty will surely make the proper decision regarding the campaign!” Who said that? It seemed like a court jester without makeup, or perhaps the Finance Minister?
“I have spoken rashly. Please forgive me, Your Majesty.” O’Sullivan unclenched his fists pressed tightly on his knees.
“It’s alright. This time you went alone to the Pearl Islands to negotiate with those barbarians and resolved the situation successfully. The royal family will grant you appropriate rewards. You may take some time off first. You’ve been traveling abroad so often these years; I should give you a few days off.” The Emperor himself didn’t seem too concerned, smiling gently.
“Thank you, Your Majesty.” It was already too late to say anything else.
“As for rewards for Count O’Sullivan, let it be submitted to the Council of Elders for their consideration… I’m a bit tired. I’ll return to my chambers.” The young Emperor ended the meeting at that moment.
The empire’s leaders surrounded the Emperor and Empress as they left the side hall, with O’Sullivan following at the back, head bowed—
It seemed as though some all-seeing gaze was upon him, easily seeing through the calm appearance of O’Sullivan’s boiling inner self.
O’Sullivan raised his head and saw only the slightly hunched back of the old mage.
Singh—he gritted his teeth silently.
The hall remained opulent. The nobles were either dancing in pairs on the dance floor or standing aside chatting with glasses in hand. In this luxurious banquet, an atmosphere of laziness and comfort permeated everything, making it impossible to feel that they were still in a state of war, as if it were another country attacking the sleeping forest.
O’Sullivan rudely cut through the dancing crowd and headed for the door. He didn’t want to stay here for another moment.
“Isn’t that Lord O’Sullivan? How rare!” A sweet yet cold voice reached O’Sullivan’s ears. He turned to find the source of the voice, but it didn’t seem to be coming from nearby.
O’Sullivan glanced toward a corner of the hall. In a slightly dim corner shaded by crimson curtains, a noblewoman sat alone on a tiger-skin sofa as magnificent as her court gown. A veil hung beneath the wide brim of her hat, and her hands, covered in white elbow-length gloves, held a delicate folding fan. Whether it was adorned with jewels or enchanted, the fan’s gleam made it even harder to see her face.
“Hello, Lady Isabella!” O’Sullivan hesitated slightly before stepping forward and bowing slightly.
“It’s pleasant to see you, Lord O’Sullivan!” Isabella removed her right glove, revealing an arm even whiter than pure silk gloves.
O’Sullivan carefully took Isabella’s hand and kissed it gently on the back.
Isabella retracted her arm and lifted her head slightly. Through the gauze, O’Sullivan saw a face of noble beauty tinged with seduction. Aside from her striking, alluring eyes, the blood-red Aiolite on Isabella’s forehead cast a glow that seemed like a third pair of eyes staring at the young count, hiding a strange, mesmerizing charm beneath her dignified appearance.
“I heard Lord Count has just returned from the Pearl Islands—a truly chaotic place!”
“Yes, the unpredictable weather and currents made it a difficult journey,” O’Sullivan said as he sat down on the sofa. With a casual wave of his hand, a court servant quickly brought over a tray. O’Sullivan randomly picked a drink from the tray filled with various strong liquors. He had no intention of drinking it; he never touched such things that could strip one of their will and lead to addiction.
“Hehe, that must be terrible… Only someone as strong as you, Lord Count, could adapt to it. I’ve been seasick since I was young,” Isabella said, laughing with her body trembling slightly as she covered her chin and mouth with an fan. Apart from her eerie gaze and voice, she appeared to be an elegant noblewoman. O’Sullivan found it hard to associate her with the Isabella who was one of the eight elders of the Red Robe Mage Council and also its representative in the Agus Empire.
“It’s nothing, madam. You’re joking. It’s all for the empire.”
“You’re truly a loyal warrior. Would you like to invite me for a dance?” Isabella changed the subject, but O’Sullivan suddenly felt a chill, as if this invitation were a ticket to hell.
“I’d be honored, but unfortunately, I’m not good at dancing. After such a long journey, I’m quite tired—causing injury to your feet would be a crime on my part,” O’Sullivan politely declined, ready to leave.
“You’re very polite. Well, perhaps another time. I still want to have a proper talk with the Count,” Isabella said, putting down her fan and seemingly casually picking up O’Sullivan’s untouched glass of wine.
“By the way, your student—Morrill—seems to have performed well in the empire’s recent large-scale attacks. She’s been officially appointed as the commander of the northern theater. Are you already aware of this?” O’Sullivan, who had stood up and taken a few steps, suddenly turned back and spoke to Isabella, who had taken a sip of red wine.
“Oh? Lord Count is well-informed. Morrill is just a young girl who’s just starting out. Besides, that position should have been yours, if not for—” Isabella smiled meaningfully.
“Madam, you’re overreacting,” O’Sullivan thought. He hadn’t been provoked after all.
That cunning, tricky, and terrifying woman.
Back at Lord O’Sullivan’s residence, he immediately went to his room. Normally, the Red Robe Mage Ale would be waiting there.
“Any good news?” O’Sullivan murmured to himself as he flipped through the documents on his desk.
Shortly after Mishima and Ale betrayed O’Sullivan in Rain City and directly approached Singh, the powerful archmage in charge of the Supreme Council, O’Sullivan was practically imprisoned at home for a long time without going outside. Later, he was sent to the distant overseas territories, specifically the tropical region of Maztica, the empire’s largest colony, to conduct inspections, while also visiting those island tribes that were either under the empire’s protection or deliberately defied or ignored it. During this time, with the support of the Council, Mishima obtained what he wanted; Rain City could now be considered his personal castle. Ale, on the other hand, was unlucky—he failed to get Morriel and couldn’t return to the Red Robes Mage Order. As a traitor, what meaning would it have even if he returned? Without persisting, Ale naturally entered the empire’s mage hierarchy under Agus, serving as a minor subordinate to Archmage Singh. Singh accepted him readily for some reason—certainly not out of respect for O’Sullivan’s family.
It was by no means out of kindness.
O’Sullivan’s family indeed suffered disgrace as a result, and the young count was powerless to do anything about it.
The conflict between the empire and the elves had lasted for centuries, with many wars of expansion, large and small. The O’Sullivan family had always been like lions on the battlefield, yet all that remained was a desolate, silent manor.
Now, aside from himself, there were no true male members of the family left. This made Yuri O’Sullivan feel utterly desolate.
Yet he still had to spare no effort to maintain his family’s honor, even if it was merely the fading remnants of its past glory.
Just because he had misused his authority to deploy troops near Rain City and lost several silver-armored knights and mages to the Ironskin people, the empire stripped him of all his important military positions and left him idle at home. Worse still, he was later sent to Maztica, a tropical region full of poisons and barbarians, for some so-called inspection, forced to engage in what passed for diplomacy with those foul-smelling sea creatures… All of this was actually a despicable trick by the Mage Council—everyone understood what it meant to send a military commander to handle such superficially glorious diplomatic tasks.
Still, O’Sullivan obeyed the orders. He went alone, traveling from island to island, eating half-cooked fish all day long, dealing with endless difficulties and criticisms, and even thwarting an assassination attempt orchestrated by the sea elves… He finally lived up to the reputation of the O’Sullivan family’s lions—a non-royal family that had earned its countship through outstanding military achievements.
After instructing the butler to prepare a carriage early the next morning, Yuri went alone to the top floor of the manor.
The unadorned hall was filled with portraits of his ancestors. The first O’Sullivan, Rabitley O’Sullivan, had once been the empire’s commander-in-chief. His troops conquered most of the western regions, laying the foundation for the empire’s establishment. But the process of accumulating power also cast a shameful shadow over his descendants.
In any case, O’Sullivan was granted the title of Earl by the royal family at that time, and no subsequent heir had the authority to revoke it—essentially a guarantee of safety, a sort of immunity. This was seen as some compensation for Marshal Lebitli, the former Demon King, and later, they were even allowed to bring a certain number of members of the royal bloodline into their family. Though both of these things seemed as uncertain as building buildings in a desolate desert.
Yuri’s great-grandmother was a legitimate royal princess.
As the empire stabilized, there was no longer a need for so many generals—plus Lebitli had always disdained associating with mages, believing those who hid behind their strong bodies to manipulate politics and use strange spells were not true warriors but merely despicable scoundrels. Thus, this former Demon King Marshal spent far more time tending his garden at home than fighting on the battlefield.
In fact, Yuri agreed with this view; in that regard, his ancestors were completely right.
Due to this kind of prejudice, the O’Sullivan family often had unpleasant conflicts with the mages, which almost became a tradition within their family. So when the mages gradually seized power, the disgraceful deeds of the O’Sullivans’ ancestors became a pretext to drive them out of high positions of power. Eventually, under pressure, the royal family acquiesced to this.
This reminded him of his father, Count Fei-ET O’Sullivan.
Soon, his portrait would be displayed alongside those of his sons, as part of the corridor, a page in the O’Sullivan family chronicles, to be firmly remembered by their descendants—if there were any left.
Yuri stroked one of the portraits, his white glove gliding over the textured canvas. The young man in the painting smiled brightly; his dark complexion and black eyes exuded vitality. Beneath his luxurious court robes lay a strong and robust physique. He was the strongest warrior Yuri had ever seen and his idol from childhood—Julian O’Sullivan, the most suitable heir to the countship.
Now that he had become the count, his respected elder brother could only freeze his smile in a painting, without even the title of count being added to the plaque.
He had been sent to the battlefield by the mages, who also pushed him into a desperate situation—his brother killed every enemy who attacked him but could not defend against poisoned arrows.
In the dim room, Yuri wandered slowly, the portraits of his brother, grandfather, and earlier ancestors silently watching him, waiting for this young man who might join them at any moment.
“Your Lordship, the carriage is ready,” the old butler, Nauf, carefully interrupted O’Sullivan’s thoughts.
“Thank you. I’ll be there right away.”
Nauf bowed slightly and left. Aside from him, the old man who had raised O’Sullivan since childhood, no one else dared to disturb Yuri here.
Yuri gave one last look at Julian. His brother was still smiling at him.
“One day…” Ending his almost entire night of memories, Yuri O’Sullivan turned resolutely and walked out of the corridor, the doors to the O’Sullivan family’s history slamming shut behind him.
“Where are you going, sir?” On the unadorned four-wheeled carriage, the coachman Light raised his long whip. “To prison,” O’Sullivan replied, pulling down the carriage curtains to block out the cold morning mist on the road.