The Ducal Conclave and the Dragon Calamity

The Norman Empire was governed by three esteemed dukes:

Mourinho, the embodiment of wisdom, who managed the Empire’s cabinet affairs.

Padilla, the symbol of public welfare, who ensured the smooth flow of the Empire’s economic lifeblood.

Cavendish, the Empire’s sharpest blade, who cleared all obstacles from its path.

A century ago, they collectively answered the call of the First Norman Emperor, sweeping across the Western Continent to establish the Norman Empire as it stands today.

Whenever grave matters arose concerning war, diplomacy, or disaster, the Upper House held the ultimate authority for emergency rulings. This power was granted because, by the time the Lower House’s multitude of councilors finished their endless wrangling and deliberation over pros and cons, the opportune moment would have long since passed.

However, the Upper House had historically served only as a forum for consultation between the royal family and the dukes. In other words, when the nation’s security was at stake, they possessed the right to act with absolute autonomy.

Now, an urgent meeting concerning a dragon calamity was being held simultaneously in the conference rooms of each ducal residence, with images transmitted via magic crystal balls.

“These are images of the dragon calamity currently unfolding in the southwestern counties—”

Duke Apard Padilla, already past sixty, was the first to speak, projecting a recording from his crystal ball. The screen displayed a count’s territory, now utterly devastated.

Homes lay in ruins, corpses littered the ground, and hundreds of gray-winged wyverns circled above the castle, while smaller dragonkin gnawed and feasted upon the remains of the townsfolk.

“According to intelligence from the front lines, during the fall of the city, soldiers witnessed the silhouette of a black dragon. With a single breath of purple flame, it shattered the city gates. Fifth-tier Grand Knight Juan Sanchez perished at the ruined gate, fighting valiantly until his last breath. Regrettably, his body was dismembered and devoured by countless beasts, making its recovery impossible.”

“This matter is of grave importance. The subjugation of the black dragon cannot be delayed. We owe an explanation not only to the terrified citizens of the various counties but also to the soldiers who bravely fell in battle.”

Hassan Cavendish, his voice laden with a profound gravity, forced the words through gritted teeth.

No further words were necessary; this was their solemn duty.

“Yet, the three of you are well aware of the state of my county. A rare beast tide swept through the Ancient Zhi Forest not long ago. Barely a month has passed, and now our knight order, having already suffered casualties, is expected to journey to the southwest for war…”

“Is Cavendish suggesting—assistance beyond mere support? When did the Empire’s blade grow so dull, so fearful of conflict?”

Mourinho made no effort to conceal the derision in his words; antagonism between the civil and military factions had long been customary.

“Put aside your petty schemes. It has always been my Cavendish family that brings an end to these campaigns, while you Mourinhos merely play your little tricks and reap the benefits. When have you ever held greater sway than I on such critical matters?”

Mourinho merely smiled and shook his head.

“Times have changed. The duties among us dukes are no longer as clearly delineated as they were a century ago. Cavendish handles commerce, Padilla oversees internal affairs, and we Mourinhos manage military deployments. The Norman Empire has long since ceased to be indispensable to any one of us.”

His words stunned everyone present, the unspoken implications resonating clearly.

But before a scowling Hassan could retort in anger, Mourinho tapped the table and continued:

“For this dragon-hunting operation, the Mourinho family will deploy eighty percent of its military might.”

Although military affairs were not their family’s primary domain, a duke’s declaration carried far more weight than that of a marquis.

Hassan understood; this was a blatant, overt maneuver. If the Cavendish family’s contribution to this endeavor proved less than Mourinho’s, it would inflict an unavoidable and immense blow to their family’s long-standing reputation and honor.

For nobles, honor was obligation.

He gazed intently into Mourinho’s wisteria-colored eyes, which symbolized foresight, and then abruptly brought up an unrelated matter.

“A few days ago, our family’s second son, Daniel, was subjected to an assassination attempt in the arena. Are any of you privy to the details?”

“We know some, but not all.”

“You claim to have no clue about this matter? Who would believe that?”

“Is Duke Hassan implying that we were involved in the assassination?”

“I never said that, but some things are tacitly understood by all. No one wishes to be a fly in your Mourinho family’s web.”

“Ridiculous. If someone harbored political motives to murder our family, they would never target a second son. I believe Duke Hassan is perfectly clear on this basic logic.”

“Duke Mosis, everyone here understands this ‘basic logic.’ And precisely because we understand it, it cannot serve as a reason to avoid suspicion.”

The conversations of these old foxes always conveyed three times the meaning of ordinary words in a single sentence.

Finally, the figure seated behind the high curtain of the crystal ball rose.

“The dragon arrives for the fate of the Norman nation. I command you to deal with it swiftly, to eliminate future troubles.”

Norman VIII issued his command with absolute sternness.

“All three Divine Retribution Knights of the Royal Court will be dispatched. I hope the three dukes will also do their utmost.”

Hassan sighed deeply inwardly. With the Emperor’s declaration, he could no longer advocate for his family’s interests.

“The Rimehawk Knight Order will also be fully deployed to eradicate all obstacles to the Norman Empire.”

The following day, the residents of Lanburg County gathered at the West City Gate to send off the knight order, who were embarking on their distant campaign to the southwest, with songs and dances.

Lively folk dances were popular in Lanburg County, so the venue was filled with many beautifully dressed young ladies in colorful skirts.

Duke Hassan personally attended, raising his cup of wine to toast Ferren, who led the expedition.

“My decision is made. I appreciate your concern over the years, Duke.”

Ferren’s tone remained sincere and resolute, yet when Hassan met his gaze, it reflected an unquenchable, blazing inferno.

The ashes of his homeland, his cherished possessions, and his beloved ones, all consumed by the dragon calamity, still burned perpetually within the knight’s heart.

“Just do your best; don’t push yourself too hard. That is a black dragon, after all.”

“Duke,” Ferren smiled. “I did not reach this position for myself, nor to prove anything. I merely envision a day when the same tragedy befalls another’s homeland, and I will be able to do more than simply witness it with detached pity; I will be able to guard what is precious with my sword, protecting the beauty cherished by countless others.”

“…I understand. As you look up and watch the sun rise from the east, the glory representing Cavendish will also imbue you.”

Hassan drained the strong wine in his cup, raising the empty vessel towards his friend of over two decades.

“Return alive; that is my personal wish as a friend. May your journey be smooth.”

Ferren poured wine onto two longswords, carefully sheathing them on either side, then swung himself onto his horse’s back.

“I shall return victorious.”

From the balcony of the ducal manor, Rhine, who chose not to personally bid farewell, held a spyglass, watching Ferren’s figure disappear with his steed beyond the city gates.

Someone was simply too prideful, or perhaps unsure how to begin. The wicked Archmage shook his head in self-deprecation, silently offering a blessing to the knight who had once defeated him—

‘I hope you find your own piece of the starry sky.’