I was thinking about death. Not in the philosophical sense.
I was thinking about how easily a person could die because the wrong man had decided to attend the wrong banquet.
The royal banquet had been supposed to be an insignificant event in my life. I would attend, endure a few hours of noble conversation, avoid making an impression, and return to my estate with my dignity mostly intact. It was a modest plan. No grand ambitions, no political entanglements, and certainly no desire to become involved in an attack on the royal palace.
Somehow, I had managed to get caught up in one anyway.
Worse, the protagonist had appeared.
I shifted against the couch and immediately regretted it when a dull ache spread across my body. The room around me was quiet, furnished with pale curtains, an ornate table, and a vase of flowers that looked far too expensive to be left in the care of someone who had recently been involved in an attack. Sunlight filtered through the windows, lending the room an almost peaceful appearance.
Almost.
I sat up more carefully, waiting for the lingering dizziness to subside. My head felt heavy, but I could think clearly enough. That was reassuring. I had no desire to discover that the banquet had left me with a permanent injury, particularly when I had no idea what might happen next.
A knock sounded at the door.
Before I could answer, a palace guard entered. His uniform was immaculate, his posture straight, and his expression professionally blank. He looked like the sort of man who could announce a family execution without allowing his voice to rise above a polite murmur.
"You’re awake, Lord Valerian."
"That does appear to be the case."
His gaze passed briefly over me, checking that I could sit upright without assistance. "You were unconscious for a little over an hour. The palace physicians have examined you. There doesn’t appear to be anything seriously wrong."
I let out a quiet breath. "That’s encouraging. I was beginning to worry that waking up in strange rooms might become a habit."
The guard gave no indication that he considered this worth answering.
"The palace guards have secured the banquet hall," he continued. "The investigators are taking statements from those who witnessed the attack. Your father and Lord Aldren remain at the palace, and they have been informed that you’ve regained consciousness."
"And what about me?"
"Your examination is complete. Since you were unconscious when the physicians brought you here, your statement has not yet been taken. The investigators may contact you later if they require your account, but you are permitted to return to your estate."
So that was it. The investigation would continue, but I wasn’t being held for questioning. Considering the circumstances, I could hardly complain.
"I understand. Thank you for informing me."
The guard inclined his head. "Please take care on your way back."
I nearly asked whether that advice applied to the journey or to my life in general. Instead, I decided that the man had done nothing to deserve being burdened with my problems.
Once he had left, I straightened my clothes and checked that I had everything I had arrived with. My body protested when I stood, but the pain was manageable. I would have preferred a more dignified recovery, preferably in my own bed, with a warm meal waiting beside it. Still, I wasn’t about to reject the opportunity to leave the palace simply because I had a few bruises.
My father and Aldren could handle whatever remained. If the investigators needed my testimony, they could send someone to the estate.
I had already contributed more than enough to the day’s entertainment.
The carriage ride back to the estate was quiet. Its wheels rattled over the road while the buildings of the capital drifted past the window in a blur of stone, timber, and afternoon sunlight. Merchants continued arranging their goods, pedestrians crossed the streets, and carriages moved through the traffic as though nothing unusual had happened.
The city looked normal.
I found that reassuring, although I couldn’t say why. Perhaps some part of me had expected the entire capital to descend into chaos after an attack at the royal banquet. Instead, the world had carried on without asking my permission.
I leaned back against the seat and closed my eyes, trying to recall what I knew about the original novel.
The banquet had been important enough to appear in The Dragon Kingdom Slayer, but I couldn’t remember the protagonist being involved in the incident in the way he had been today. Perhaps I’d forgotten a detail. My memories of the novel had never been complete, and I wasn’t about to pretend that I could recall every minor event from a story I’d read in another life.
What bothered me was that I hadn’t expected to see him there at all.
I couldn’t explain why he had appeared, what had drawn him into the incident, or whether his presence had anything to do with the attack. I had no evidence that it did. The only thing I knew was that an event I thought I understood had turned out differently from what I remembered.
That was enough to make me cautious.
Until now, I had treated my memories as a rough map of the world. They were incomplete, certainly, but they had given me some idea of which roads to avoid. If I knew that a particular event would become dangerous, I could stay away from it. If I remembered that a powerful character would appear in a certain place, I could make sure I was somewhere else.
It had seemed like a reasonable way to survive.
Unfortunately, a map was only useful if it bore some resemblance to the territory.
I opened my eyes and watched the capital pass by.
Perhaps the story hadn’t changed at all. Perhaps my recollection had simply been wrong, and I was only now discovering how little I actually knew. Either possibility left me in much the same position.
I couldn’t plan around information I didn’t possess.
My ambitions remained modest. I wanted a comfortable place to live, enough money to avoid worrying about every expense, and the freedom to spend my days without being dragged into someone else’s struggle for power. I had never wanted to become a central figure in the kingdom’s affairs, and the banquet had done nothing to change that preference.
If anything, it had strengthened it.
I rubbed my forehead, feeling another dull ache behind my eyes.
The problem was that avoiding trouble required recognizing it before it arrived. If my memories could no longer tell me which dangers were coming, I would have to rely on what I could observe and what I could actually verify.
It wasn’t an especially reassuring prospect.
Still, I had survived the banquet. That was more than I could say for some of the people who had been caught in the attack, and I had no intention of treating my continued survival as an invitation to take greater risks.
The carriage slowed as we approached the estate. Through the window, I saw the familiar gates and the stone path beyond them. Something in my shoulders loosened before I could stop it.
Only then did I notice how tightly I had been gripping the edge of my seat.
I released it and flexed my fingers.
The estate wasn’t necessarily safe. I knew that better than most. But it was familiar, and at the moment, familiarity was about as much comfort as I could reasonably expect.
For now, that would have to be enough.
Edwin was waiting near the entrance when I arrived.
He stood with his hands folded neatly before him, his expression as composed as ever. His eyes moved over me as I stepped inside, lingering briefly on my face and shoulders before returning to their usual calmness.
"You appear to be alive," he observed.
"That was the general objective."
"I see you have retained your sense of humor."
"I’m not sure I’d call it humor. It may be a symptom of exhaustion."
Edwin accepted this with the same restrained expression he used for almost everything. He didn’t demand an account of the attack or ask why I had returned without my father and brother. If he had heard anything about the banquet, he had the good sense to wait until I was ready to speak.
I appreciated that.
I also appreciated the fact that the moment I crossed the threshold, I no longer had to wonder whether someone might burst through the next door carrying a weapon.
My fingers had begun to ache where I’d been pressing my nails into my palms. I straightened my sleeves, partly to conceal the small movement.
"Your room has been prepared," Edwin said. "Would you like something to eat?"
My stomach chose that moment to remind me that I hadn’t eaten properly in hours.
"Eventually. Is the library occupied?"
"Not at present."
"Wonderful."
I started toward the corridor.
Edwin watched me go. "Would you like me to have your meal brought to the library?"
I paused. "That would be appreciated."
"Very good, Lord Kain."
There were a number of reasons I liked Edwin, and his willingness to ask one practical question instead of six unnecessary ones was becoming one of the more important ones.
The library was quiet when I entered. Tall shelves cast long shadows across the floor, and the familiar scent of old paper and polished wood greeted me. I closed the door behind me, letting the silence settle around me.
Then I spotted the black dog resting near the window.
Asura had stretched himself across the cushioned seat as though the estate belonged to him. One ear shifted at the sound of the door, but he didn’t bother to raise his head.
"You look miserable," he remarked.
I stopped beside the table. "It’s reassuring to know that my suffering has become entertaining to you."
"I wouldn’t go that far. Your suffering is usually too ordinary to be entertaining."
"That’s very kind."
"I am known for my kindness."
I stared at him. He stared back with the smug indifference of a creature who had never once considered that the world might disagree with him.
Somehow, I had ended up living with an ancient being who possessed the temperament of a tyrant and the physical presence of a particularly self-satisfied dog. It wasn’t the arrangement I would have chosen, but circumstances hadn’t consulted me before making it happen.
I pulled out a chair and sat down.
"I need to ask you something."
"How unusual."
"Can we attempt a conversation without you making every sentence unbearable?"
"No."
I sighed. "Fine. I’ll endure it."
Asura lifted his head, apparently satisfied that the proper order of things had been restored. "What is it?"
I considered where to begin. There were plenty of questions I wanted answered about the attack, but Asura was unlikely to know anything useful about the people involved. The problem I could actually investigate was closer to home.
My connection to the Grimoire. His current condition. The extent to which either of us could rely on the power we possessed.
"You told me that the Ancient God Grimoires contain parts of the Ancient Gods’ authority," I said. "How much of your former power can you still use?"
For once, the amusement left his expression almost immediately.
"Very little."
I waited, hoping he might offer more than two words.
Asura lowered his head onto his paws, looking thoroughly displeased with the necessity of explaining himself. "My current state places severe limitations on what I can access. The body I inhabit cannot accommodate the authority I once wielded, and my imprisonment has left me further restricted."
"That sounds inconvenient."
"It is an insult."
"Of course. How inconsiderate of the universe."
His eyes narrowed. I decided not to pursue that particular line of conversation.
"So even if you wanted to intervene during the attack," I said, "you might not have been capable of doing much."
"I did not say that I was incapable of everything."
"Naturally. I wouldn’t dare suggest that."
"I could hear you thinking it."
"Then perhaps you should stop listening."
He bared his teeth in what I chose to interpret as a smile.
Despite the familiar exchange, the answer troubled me. Asura had once possessed enough power to earn a reputation among beings that apparently considered themselves above ordinary mortals. Now he was trapped in a dog’s body, unable to access most of his former authority. Whatever strength remained, I couldn’t simply assume he would be able to protect me when something went wrong.
Not that I had been counting on him to begin with.
Mostly.
I leaned back in my chair. "You mentioned that the Grimoires are connected to what you lost. Does that mean finding yours would restore your power?"
"Not immediately. The Grimoires contain portions of an Ancient God’s authority. Their relationship with their respective owners is not as simple as retrieving a misplaced possession."
"That’s a surprisingly elaborate way of saying no."
"It is a precise way of saying that you know nothing about what you are discussing."
"I was hoping to learn something."
"Then try listening instead of interrupting."
I gestured for him to continue.
Asura seemed pleased with himself. "Each Grimoire is tied to powers that mortals can scarcely comprehend. Their existence is connected to the path toward godhood, but possession alone does not grant someone everything they desire. There are conditions, limitations, and consequences."
He spoke with a certainty that made it difficult to dismiss the claim as mere arrogance. The library seemed quieter while he talked, the shadows between the shelves growing longer as the light outside began to fade. For all his current limitations, Asura still spoke about the ancient world as someone who had belonged to it.
I had no doubt that there was considerably more to the subject than he was telling me.
For the moment, however, I had a more immediate question.
"Then where is yours?"
"Missing."
I waited.
Asura stared at me.
I stared back.
"That’s it?" I asked. "You don’t know where your own Grimoire is?"
"If I knew where it was, I would hardly describe it as missing."
"Fair point."
The irritating part was that he had a point. I had been hoping that an ancient being with centuries—or perhaps considerably longer—of experience would possess a more useful answer. Instead, we had a powerful but weakened entity, a Grimoire that had vanished somewhere beyond his knowledge, and a host who had no idea how to make any of this less dangerous.
It wasn’t an ideal partnership.
"But you can sense other Grimoires, can’t you?" I asked. "You mentioned something about detecting them nearby."
"Yes. To a limited degree."
He sat up, his attention sharpening. "The Grimoire you recovered is here. I am well aware of that. I am speaking of another Grimoire. If one lies within roughly a hundred kilometres, I may be able to sense its presence."
I frowned. "May?"
"The strength of the trace and the conditions surrounding it can affect what I detect. Even when I sense a Grimoire, I cannot identify its exact location. It is an indication of presence, not a map."
That was a relief of sorts. I had been imagining a convenient ability that would point toward the nearest Grimoire like a compass needle. Apparently, even an ancient being’s supernatural senses came with the sort of qualifications that made them much less useful in practice.
"So, if another one happened to be nearby, you might notice it, but you wouldn’t know exactly where to find it."
"Correct."
"And your own?"
"I have not located it."
"Because you haven’t sensed it?"
"Because I do not know where it is." His tone grew sharper. "If it is beyond my range, I cannot detect it from here. If the trace is obscured by the conditions around it, I cannot promise that I will recognize it. I know that my Grimoire is missing. I do not know where it lies, and I will not pretend that the ability to sense a nearby Grimoire gives me the power to locate one anywhere in the world."
I sat quietly for a moment.
That explained the limits of what we could do without pretending to solve the mystery of where his Grimoire had gone. Asura could recognize the one already in my possession, and he might sense another if it came within reach. Neither fact meant he could magically recover the one he had lost.
A hundred kilometres was a tremendous distance anyway. Even if we knew a Grimoire was somewhere within that radius, we could spend days searching and still fail to find it.
"So what happens if you sense another one?" I asked.
"We investigate."
There it was.
I should have known.
"We?"
"Do not look so surprised. You are the one who possesses the means to communicate with me. Our circumstances are connected."
"I don’t remember agreeing to become an adventurer."
"You have a remarkable ability to misunderstand your own situation."
"I understand it perfectly well. You want to recover what you’ve lost. I want to avoid dying while helping you do it. Those are two very different objectives."
Asura’s expression suggested that he considered my priorities a personal insult.
I rubbed my forehead. There were eight Ancient God Grimoires, each tied to a portion of an Ancient God’s authority and the path toward becoming a god. That alone would have been enough to make them dangerous objects to pursue. The original protagonist had never managed to gather all eight, even by the end of the novel.
If the person at the centre of the story hadn’t accomplished that, I saw no reason to volunteer for the same undertaking.
"So here’s what I propose," I said. "If you happen to sense another Grimoire nearby, tell me. We’ll consider what to do once we know the circumstances."
"And if the circumstances are dangerous?"
"Then we’ll consider them very carefully."
"You mean you will find an excuse to avoid it."
"I mean I would prefer not to charge blindly into something that could kill us. I’d appreciate it if you learned to recognize the difference."
Asura’s ears flattened slightly. "You are letting fear govern every decision."
"Yes," I replied. "And so far, it has kept me alive."
He watched me in silence.
I didn’t try to dress the answer up as courage or cleverness. I was afraid of dying. I was also aware that I lacked the strength and knowledge to confront every danger that might cross my path. Pretending otherwise would accomplish nothing.
I wasn’t refusing to consider an opportunity. I was refusing to promise that I would chase it before I even knew what it was.
If another Grimoire appeared within reach, I would have to make a decision then. Until that happened, I had no intention of wandering across the kingdom in search of one.
Asura turned his gaze toward the window. The last light of the afternoon rested along the edge of his black fur, leaving his expression difficult to read.
"The world you remember," he said, "is no longer the world you are living in."
For once, I couldn’t find an immediate sarcastic response.
I had spent so much time thinking of the original novel as a map that I had forgotten one inconvenient detail: I was no longer reading about the world from a safe distance. Whatever happened next would happen to the people living in it, including me. My memories might help me recognize danger, but they couldn’t guarantee that I would always see it coming.
I pushed my chair back and stood.
"Then I’ll worry about it tomorrow."
Asura turned his head toward me. "That is your answer?"
"It’s the only one I have right now."
I left him by the window and headed for the door. I still had questions about the Grimoires, the attack, and the protagonist’s unexpected appearance. Unfortunately, I had no useful answers to any of them, and sitting in the library until nightfall wasn’t going to change that.
Edwin would have food ready by now. After that, I intended to rest.
Tomorrow could bring its own problems. I didn’t see any reason to invite them in early.
The youngest princess had expected the palace to become quieter after the banquet.
Instead, the corridors seemed busier than before. Servants moved between rooms carrying messages, guards stood at the entrances to restricted areas, and conversations grew noticeably quieter whenever someone important passed by. The palace was trying to restore order, but the hurried movements of its staff suggested that the incident was far from settled.
Whenever the princess asked about the attack, she received a careful answer that told her almost nothing.
She was accustomed to being treated delicately. She was less accustomed to being excluded from matters that had taken place in front of her.
By the time she heard that Kain Valerian had returned to his estate, her curiosity had only grown.
"He has already left the palace?" she asked.
The attendant standing nearby bowed her head. "Yes, Your Highness. Lord Valerian was permitted to leave after regaining consciousness."
"Was he questioned about the attack?"
"I don’t know, Your Highness. I was told that the investigators were taking statements, but I haven’t seen a list of witnesses."
The princess turned toward the window. Beyond the glass, the palace gardens lay beneath the fading afternoon light. She had only spoken to Kain briefly, and there had been nothing particularly remarkable about the conversation. He hadn’t tried to impress her, nor had he offered the flattering remarks that noblemen seemed to consider an essential part of speaking with royalty. He had answered her questions without pretending to be more charming or agreeable than he was.
That alone had made him memorable.
Most people approached her with something already decided in their minds. Some were eager to gain her favour, others were careful not to offend her, and a few treated every exchange as an opportunity to display their cleverness. Even those who meant well often seemed more concerned with her position than with what she was actually saying.
Kain had been different. Not especially warm, and certainly not eager to please, but straightforward in a way she rarely encountered.
More importantly, she remembered what he had done during the confusion at the banquet.
When her attendant had been caught in danger, Kain had helped rather than simply walking away. He hadn’t looked like someone eager to play the hero, either. If anything, he had seemed thoroughly aware of how much he wanted to escape the situation. That made his decision more interesting, not less.
She couldn’t say that she understood him. They had exchanged only a few words, and a brief encounter was hardly enough to judge someone’s character. Still, the memory had stayed with her.
"Where is his estate located?" she asked.
The attendant answered, providing the name of the district and its general location.
The princess considered the information, then asked, "And when will I be allowed to leave the palace?"
The attendant’s expression became cautious. "That will depend on His Majesty’s decision, Your Highness."
"Of course it will."
She turned back to the window, hiding her disappointment behind a calm expression. There were always reasons she could not go somewhere, meet someone, or make a decision without permission. Most restrictions were presented as matters of safety or propriety, and perhaps some of them were necessary. But it was difficult to feel reassured when the explanations she received were little more than polite requests to stop asking questions.
The attack had taken place in front of her. She had seen the confusion, heard the cries, and watched people hurry to secure the hall. Yet the only information reaching her now was that the situation had been brought under control.
That wasn’t an explanation. It was merely a conclusion someone else had decided she ought to accept.
She looked back at her attendant.
"Please find out whether Lord Valerian has given a statement to the investigators."
The attendant blinked. "Lord Valerian, Your Highness?"
"Yes. He was present during the attack, and he helped you when things became dangerous. I would like to know whether anyone has asked him what he saw."
"Should I request his account directly?"
"Not yet. First, find out whether the investigators have spoken with him. If they have, I would like to know whether there is a report I may read."
The instruction was modest. She wasn’t ordering an investigation of her own, nor did she expect the authorities to reveal everything they knew simply because she asked. She only wanted an account from someone who had been there—someone who had seemed more interested in escaping the danger than in using the incident to improve his standing.
It was a small step, but at least it was something she could do herself.
"Of course, Your Highness," the attendant replied.
The princess nodded, then looked toward the gardens once more. She still wanted to speak with Kain again, though she wasn’t entirely sure why the prospect had remained in her thoughts. Perhaps she wanted to understand the person who had helped her attendant without making a performance of it. Perhaps she was simply tired of receiving answers that had been polished until nothing useful remained.
Whatever the reason, she had decided not to let her curiosity end with a passing conversation.
For now, she would wait for the attendant to return with whatever information she could find.
The palace might decide which doors she was allowed to pass through, but it could not stop her from asking what lay on the other side.