Main Citadel of Astreion — Residence of the Sub-Lord.

Andromeda had finished preparing the paperwork for Kyrie’s formal adoption.

Letters of recommendation from three elders, the compiled report on mutant-beast evidence, my own letter of recommendation. Done.

Political justification was indispensable for adoption, but practical necessity weighed just as heavily.
Most adopted members these days were taken in precisely for such practical needs.

In a world where the constellations — and the families blessed by them — tangibly existed, only those who could bring peace and stability to the eastern Empire under the Thunder Star’s blessing could wield authority within House Astreios.

But the main bloodline had always been thin.
The purer the blood, the rarer the child.
To fill the high offices required by the house, they had no choice but to bring in capable adoptees.
And those capable adoptees, trusting in their own merit, were now clawing their way up the main branch.

What is Father thinking?

Such circumstances were possible only when the lord was a puppet, or when the head of house had died without an heir.

Yet the current Lord was Pelleus, one of the strongest Astreios lords in history.
He knowingly allowed Trisan — and the schemes of the collateral adoptees under him — to run their course.

There’s no way he’s simply sitting back to “see how far they’ll go.”

She couldn’t tell why.

And Kyrie nearly died for it. Damn. There I go again. I need to sleep tonight.

Andromeda gathered her scattered thoughts.
She’d been working alone too often lately and exhaustion weighed on her.
Dozens of maids and attendants, trained from birth in the capital’s old noble houses, served her night and day — yet she trusted none of them.

Trisan.

That nauseating relative who styled himself her “elder brother.” She had no idea how far his hand reached.

It’s a race against time.

If she could only deliver these documents — along with the evidence Kyrie had secured — to her father, the Lord, she was confident she could secure Kyrie’s adoption without fail.

But if Trisan intercepted Kyrie or seized the evidence first, everything was over.

Then he’d be accused of defying a main-branch Knight’s orders, desertion of post, and countless other crimes. Ruin.

The southern Empire was in monsoon season.
Messenger pigeons couldn’t fly, and even courier dragons were grounded.

Kyrie. Hurry.

Both she and Trisan were blind and deaf to what was happening in the south.

I’m uneasy.

A dry laugh escaped her.

Sub-Lord of the great House Astreios — yet all she could do now was tremble in anxiety.

Knock knock!

“Sub-Lord! My lady!”

The head maid was pounding the door.

“What is it?”

“Hari—Hari is missing! The girl who handled your letters!”

“She’s defected then.”

Andromeda wasn’t surprised.

“It’s fine. I expected as much. I’ve kept all the letters myself, so—”

“That’s not it! She knows a letter arrived!”

“…!”

So much for not being surprised.

Right. Trisan isn’t targeting me right now. He’s struck elsewhere.

Whatever letter had come for Kyrie, Trisan’s options were the same.

I was careless.

If the news was good, he’d intercept it to block Kyrie’s adoption.
If the news was bad, he’d use it as pretext to arrest him — also blocking the adoption.

“That can’t happen.”

Either way, as long as he captured Kyrie first, he’d get the contents of the letter.

Too late. Even if I send a courier dragon now, it’ll take weeks. And what would I even say? If Trisan already knows, unless Kyrie arrives today there’s no way…

Andromeda dropped the document envelope from her hands.

Short of a miracle, this situation couldn’t be overturned.

“Sub-Lord!”

A Blue Knight from her faction burst in.

“What is it?”

“Kyrie of Astreios has appeared at the outer-city gate!”

“What?”

Andromeda couldn’t believe her ears.

How?

A miracle had happened.

“Bring him at once! Who’s commanding the outer gate guard?”

“Portreus — Portreus of Saxe Astreios.”

“Of all people!”

Saxe.
Several members of that collateral branch had been adopted into the house — among them Prochus and Epichus.

They would never open the gate.

“Ready my carriage! Secure the inner-gate and main-citadel passage!”

Even knowing that, Andromeda ran.

Such things did happen in the world.

Jo and I reached the capital around the same time.

Shhhhhh.

Rain poured here as well.

I left Jo and the soldiers waiting outside, rejoined Gabeng, and gathered the major pieces of evidence — the salted mutant-beast remains and related proof.

“This is Kyrie of Astreios. Open the gate.”

We reached the outer gate.

“Yes, please wait a moment.”

But the guard blocked me.

An ill sign.

“This is urgent. Do you doubt who I am? Do you need me to prove it with lightning?”

“Well, it’s just that…”

The soldier faltered and glanced aside.

‘Huh?’

A large carriage drew up and stopped.

Pulled by two unicorns and four horses — not Andromeda’s.

“Kyrie of Astreios?”

“Yes, that’s me.”

“I am Portreus of Saxe Astreios, Commander of the Outer Guard.”

A middle-aged Blue Knight with cropped hair, energetic and scarred, showed his face through the window.
True to his Astreios blood, his eyes were bright blue, and his ornate plate armor gleamed with gold and lapis.
A brooch shone on his chest like a miniature sun.

“May I have a word?”

Planetary Rank — a division-commander.

The worst possible situation.

Saxe supports Trisan. Portreus himself may be nominally neutral, but having worked under Trisan’s administration, he can’t help but be aligned. He’ll try to detain me.

I drew a slow breath.

“This is my evaluator, Inspector Gabeng.”

A man unbeatable by either sword or argument.
Hence, I had brought the law as my weapon.

“Hmm?”

“As you can see from his face, he’s petty and holds grudges forever. If I leave him standing in the rain, I fear what he’ll write in my evaluation. You’re welcome to make him kneel on the carriage floor as a footstool, but please let him ride with us.”

I kept my tone courteous yet bold enough to please a high-ranking Knight.

“One doesn’t use an evaluator as a footstool. Let him ride beside you. The carriage is roomy enough.”

Portreus opened the door himself.

Clank.

Gabeng and I climbed in, and the door shut.

It sounded exactly like a prison door closing.

Inside the carriage.

Portreus rested his chin on his hand, gazing out the window.

Pitter-pat.

Rain drummed on the roof like a percussion rhythm.

“Good weather.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I saw you carried out blind and later hurling lightning from the sky. Impressive.”

“Thank you. To hear that from Your Excellency Portreus of the Planetary Rank is an honor.”

To my ears, his voice was the drumbeat of abyssal devils.

I could get indigestion just breathing.

I had to reach the main citadel somehow.

The adoption is likely lost. But Rykenta’s crimes must be known.

I had to see Andromeda.

“But even for a brilliant young knight, there are limits to audacity, aren’t there?”

“…”

“A Blue Knight’s mission can’t use regular reporting channels. It’s officially denied, so how could you report to the patrol captains? Yet to act without any reporting or supervision at all would be absurd. That’s why the central house assigns direct kin or adoptees to oversee such missions.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And yet a Blue Knight cast off that oversight and acted alone, abandoning the mission zone entirely to march to the capital. As commander of the outer guard, how should I interpret that? Shouldn’t I stop a man clearly harboring ulterior motives?”

At least there was hope.

“With respect, Your Excellency.”

“Hmm?”

“My actions have followed House Code to the letter.”

“This situation?”

First, Portreus was, to some degree, reasonable.
The very fact he had come himself instead of sending guards to break my back put him in the top fraction of Blue Knights for decency.

“Yes, Your Excellency. I intend to explain which articles of the Code justify my actions. If detailed citation is required, may I consult my evaluator?”

Second, I had prepared for a need of legal backing.

“Go ahead.”

It began.

“From start to finish, I held independent command as a Blue Knight of the Falling Star. ‘Finish’ here means not mere return but completion of the mission’s purpose. In this case, that purpose includes reporting directly to the Sub-Lord or the Lord himself.”

“Your basis?”

I flicked my eyes to Gabeng.

“The eleventh Lord’s decree on Blue Knight operations: ‘When two or more forces clash at the border, summon witnesses directly to obtain accurate reports.’ Since the connection between mutant beasts and House Rykenta remains uncertain, they must be treated as two separate forces.”

Gabeng adjusted his glasses with a finger and spoke.

“Then why disobey the rightful orders and supervision of Prochus and Epichus?”

Portreus turned from the window.

“As a centurion, I have the right to command my unit; as a Blue Knight, to cross the border and conduct missions. The brothers have authority to oversee me as a Blue Knight but not to command me as a centurion. Yet they summoned me and other Blue Knights to Baron Helix’s domain and tried to subsume all Knights under their own unit — acts of overreach.”

“Your basis?”

Again I looked to Gabeng.

“‘Oversight of Blue Knights must respect the nature of their special post. To mass them for large-scale marches or summon them for over-elaborate operations undermines that nature and cannot be deemed a legitimate order.’ This was agreed upon by the Elder Council and ratified by the eighteenth Lord.”

Gabeng delivered smoothly.

“Shouldn’t you at least have filed a report?”

“That—”

“No, let the evaluator answer. I’d like to hear how he interprets his Knight’s numerous irregularities.”

Portreus shook his head.

I vowed that if Gabeng said something foolish, I’d cut his throat and drag him to hell with me.

“The southern border is in monsoon season. Messenger pigeons can’t fly, rivers have overflowed and severed roads, and lizardmen and merfolk are rampant. To preserve evidence and personnel, under such exceptional conditions, even direct superiors may be delayed in receiving reports.”

Gabeng had read my thoughts and answered correctly.

“There’s also a rumor of direct combat with the brothers. Wouldn’t that constitute rebellion?”

“The Thunder Star’s doctrine is clarity and illumination. Anonymous letters cannot be used to condemn one of its Knights. Even if their contents proved true, such testimony was deemed inadmissible evidence — a conclusion settled a thousand years ago in the Great Doctrinal Debate with the Celestial Church.”

A few more exchanges followed.
Portreus’s lips curved slightly, amused, and he turned again to the rain outside.

“According to your evaluator, all your actions were within the Code.”

“Yes, Your Excellency.”

“Then the outer guard has no grounds to detain you.”

Then he added, almost idly,

“The rain’s heavy outside. Must you really go on? When the weather turns rough, isn’t it wiser to find shelter — even in a poor hut — than to press on in discomfort?”

The words carried heavy implication.

“You’re right, sir. If there’s nowhere to go, one should at least throw on a cloak against the rain.”

I answered respectfully yet firmly.

“But if a splendid castle awaits ahead, it’s better to get a little wet and reach it quickly.”

“Is that so.”

He opened the carriage door himself.

Shaaah!

I ran through the rain toward the inner gate.

Before the gate — a familiar carriage.

The door burst open and a figure leapt down.

“Kyrie!”

“Your Excellency?!”

Long navy ponytail.
Straight-cut bangs, layered sides.
A radiant beauty with starlight in her eyes.

Andromeda.

She was drenched from head to toe, proof of how fast she had rushed here.

“I’m sorry.”

The apology slipped out instinctively.

“I didn’t prepare properly for the adoption. It’ll take at least a year to—”

“Come! Dear my brother! The adoption’s ready. We’re going to see the Lord today. You brought the evidence you mentioned, right?”

“What?!”

As always, she said something far beyond what I expected.

The adoption is ready? How—?

It felt like being struck in the head.

For a moment I looked up, searching for the invisible Thunder Star.

Shaaah.

Rain streamed down my face.

I couldn’t tell whether what I felt was relief or sorrow.

Or whether what flowed was rainwater — or tears.

It was summer.

Chapter 40

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