At dawn that Sunday,
the scratching of a fountain pen on paper filled the quiet streets with noise.
The light had flooded the library all night, and the candles had never gone out.
Inside, Hyunkel was still writing—copying the constitution from Eritrea, from the days of Apollo the Great.
Hyunkel: "And now, here we are. I believe this is the final article we've been searching for, Beatrice—the General Tax Law."
The weary girl sighed with relief, tossed the records aside in joy, and collapsed onto the table, exhausted.
Beatrice: "At last, I can get some sleep. You should do the same, Hyunkel—you've been awake far too long."
Hyunkel gathered the piles of papers that would become the new constitution.
Hyunkel: "Actually, there are only two hours left before our journey to Arsia begins. I could never rest in such a short time, Beatrice."
The slender girl relaxed and sighed.
Beatrice: "Yes, you really are a busy man, you wis—"
She suddenly stood up, shocked and flustered.
Beatrice: "What?! Us?! Sir, please think about this for a moment! I mean—Master Diogenes is far more educated than I am. He probably knows more about economics. And I haven't had any rest; I might be a burden to you!"
Hyunkel laughed and smiled gently.
Hyunkel: "Uncle Diogenes and I make a great team in free enterprise, but I doubt he's very fond of mathematics. And I don't think I could synchronize with anyone as quickly as with you, my lady—you have a remarkable way of speaking."
Beatrice stopped complaining the moment she heard Hyunkel's words.
She stood there for a moment, then laughed proudly.
Beatrice: "Well, if you put it that way, I can't possibly refuse your request, my good sir."
Their charming little exchange was interrupted by the coarse voice of an elderly man.
Diogenes: "Sir Hyunkel, forgive me for interrupting your work atmosphere, but I've come as you requested."
Hyunkel: "Perfect timing, Diogenes. You'll guard the library while Beatrice and I travel to Arsia. It will be a difficult journey for us, and a heavy responsibility for you—but fear not. All this is for the sake of a new dawn of virtue over Eritrea."
Hyunkel then felt a weight on his shoulder.
He turned to see Beatrice asleep peacefully, resting against his arm.
He covered her with his modest cloak, carried her to the carriage, and asked Diogenes to prepare quietly, so as not to wake her.
Hyunkel: "It seems I'll be a prisoner of my own solitude for a while on this journey."
Diogenes: "Don't worry, sir. I'm sure Miss Beatrice will wake up soon."
The carriage rolled away toward Arsia through the desert road, marking the beginning of Hyunkel and Beatrice's journey.
---
Elsewhere, specifically in the Imperial Council of Artia, hours after Hyunkel and Beatrice had left,
Atlas was meeting with his men to review the latest events. He had called for an emergency meeting after granting Hyunkel the freedom to form a ministry.
The bearded, balding Atlas paced back and forth, short-bodied but restless, muttering to himself.
Atlas: "It was an incident... How could I let that wretch deceive me? I was drinking, yes, but I didn't think I'd get drunk so fast. Someone must have put something in that drink to cloud my mind."
He looked anxiously at Monrach.
Atlas: "So—does this mean we are actually obliged to form a real ministry?"
Monrach: "Unfortunately, sir, yes. It's an approved decree—by you—with witnesses."
Atlas: "Fine then! We'll hold elections. It'll be easy enough—no one in this nation will elect anyone competent anyway."
But by that very afternoon, the election results were in: Hyunkel had won decisively.
Atlas (furious): "This is absurd! Why didn't the Bourbons falsify the results?!"
Monrach: "Sir, we can't. Th—"
He was interrupted by a deep, confident, booming voice from the center of the hall:
Voice: "You yourself declared, in the Bourbon Decree of Year 136—five years ago—that you entered Eritrea not as conquerors, but as renewers, seeking to rebuild the civilization Apollo the Great once dreamed of."
Atlas stood up, sword half-drawn, and shouted angrily:
Atlas: "And who are you to dictate my words to me?! Don't make me remind you that your necks are worth no more than a pig's throat in my sight!"
Everyone turned toward the massive man handing a sealed decree to Monrach.
Monrach examined it.
Monrach: "Sir… the man is right. This is Laoc, my lord…"
Atlas: "And what of it?! Bring me his head!"
Monrach: "Sir, before departing for Arsia, Hyunkel appointed Laoc as his successor in Artia. That means he has direct authority from the ministry, with full power to enact decisions."
Atlas: "Damn him—he's a step ahead… very well then…"
Atlas grabbed the paper, tore it up, and threw it at Laoc's feet, laughing wildly.
Atlas: "This paper means nothing! Hyunkel will never be able to write an entire constitution and expose the crimes of the Olympia family on the same day, as he promised in his ministerial decree."
But Laoc calmly produced another document—an official transfer from the new Ministry of Justice—and read aloud, his voice echoing through the chamber:
Laoc: "Law 201 from the Stele of Apollo the Great, Olympia, Year 120—certified under the Ministry of Justice decree of Year 141, Sunday—
states that tampering with official government records shall result in fines and imprisonment. This ruling was confirmed by the Bourbon Council in Arsia two hours ago.
Atlas Rhine the First—by the authority of the Ministry of Justice, which you yourself approved—I declare you guilty before these witnesses, in violation of your own public statements, and guilty of unwarranted hostility toward the people of Eritrea.
You are hereby fined one hundred million to fund the restoration of academies and poor regions,
to rehabilitate citizens so they may aid Eritrea's cooperation with the Atlassian Empire in Artia and Arsia,
to lift the strict surveillance in Arsia, withdraw troops from Mount Heraclitus,
and to provide daily supplies to the soldiers to improve their morale and recovery."
Laoc recited the demands unflinchingly—an open, defiant challenge to Atlas's tyranny—igniting the despot's rage.
Atlas (shouting): "Bring me the documents! I want to see the seals now!"
The Bourbon ministers, including Monrach, were stunned—the records were authentic, sealed and signed meticulously by Hyunkel, Sage of Artia, son of Arsazus, official Minister of Justice.
Atlas sat down, trembling with anger. His pride crumbled, and tears welled in his eyes as he sat in silence, humiliated.
Laoc gathered the torn papers with trembling hands, feeling them carefully before rewriting the law anew to restore it to the constitution.
Monrach smiled faintly.
Atlas (quietly): "Does this… amuse you?"
Monrach: "What truly moves me, my lord, is seeing that crippled man—blind, yet utterly devoted to duty—rewriting what we, the destroyers, have ruined."
Atlas slapped Monrach's head lightly and sighed.
Atlas: "Don't confess that in public, you fool."
Later, Laoc was seen helping the townsfolk of Artia in their tents.
Monrach approached him, attempting friendliness.
Monrach: "Honorable Laoc, nobleman of Arsia—why help this swarm of flies crawling through the streets? Why not stay at the Imperial Palace tonight? Let us celebrate and thank you properly for your service in Arsia."
The crippled man smiled kindly—a warmth that momentarily eased Monrach's anxiety.
Laoc: "Thank you for your concern, sir, but I truly miss Artia. I wish to spend the evening reviewing my studies in the Imperial Library."
Monrach was shocked—not only by the refusal but by the grace in it. He frowned slightly, but understandingly.
Monrach: "Very well, you're free to do as you wish, good sir—but please, at least accept some food. You've missed mealtime already, and in this region, the insects eat more than you'd imagine."
Laoc: "Thank you, I'll accept it gladly."
Later, Laoc distributed the food he'd been given equally among the village children before heading to the library that same night.
Inside, he found his old friend from the days of Apollo the Great—Diogenes.
They shook hands, exchanged long conversation, and eventually Diogenes fell asleep at the reception desk.
Laoc sat alone that night, gazing at the moon from the balcony.
The air bathed his skin as the night stretched endlessly before him.
He could not see the forms of people, but he had learned to discern the Essence of their souls.
The moonlight reflected on his trembling parchment,
and he began to play his lyre beneath its serene glow—
until his melodies drifted across all of Artia.
It is said that on the night Laoc arrived,
the guards of Atlas finally slept peacefully—
for the first time—
trusting the safety of the people of Artia.
To be continued....