In the middle of the Harvest Moon—September—the Harvest Celebration proceeded as scheduled. It was the grandest festival of the Starlight Principality, second only to the New Year's celebrations.
During this period, every noble territory held grand gatherings to commemorate the year's bounty and pray for abundance in the next. From the start of the month, merchant caravans and foreign travelers had been streaming endlessly into Shining City. By the time the festival day arrived, the city was overflowing with people, its streets alive with laughter, music, and the aroma of fine wine and roasted meat.
Inside Iron Throne Castle, the great banquet hall gleamed under thousands of lights. Garlands of autumn flowers adorned the walls, and laughter echoed off the marble columns. Nobles in silk and brocade raised crystal glasses as music swirled through the air.
In one corner of the hall, a group of young men and women clustered around a lavish table, nibbling delicacies while gossiping with barely disguised glee.
"I heard the Storm Earl is still unconscious—hasn't woken up for months. His sons are practically tearing each other apart over the title."
"That's hardly surprising. An earl's seat isn't something one gives up easily. If I were in their place, I'd fight for it too."
"They say the countess even hired a Wizard to treat him. Imagine that—a real Wizard!"
"Hah! Just a bunch of frauds with fancy tricks. No different from circus magicians. I heard that so-called Wizard failed to cure him and ended up stabbed to death by the Earl's second son."
The mention of Wizards drew knowing looks. Among nobles, such legends had always had their own curious market—half disbelief, half fascination.
"Speaking of Wizards," one young noble said, leaning in, "I heard Blackstone City also produced one recently."
"You mean Magus, the second son of the late Shimmer Baron, right? Word is, the city's revival is all thanks to his handiwork."
"Really?" someone asked skeptically.
When Rune and Magus, the two brothers, had been driven out of Shining City and effectively exiled to Blackstone City, almost no one expected them to survive, let alone succeed.
Blackstone City lay at the very edge of Golden Rock Province, isolated and impoverished, its lands threatened by the Black Scale Lizardmen that prowled nearby. It was considered a hopeless posting. Everyone believed the brothers had been dealt a losing hand—weak forces, poor resources, and enemies on all sides.
To most nobles, they were already as good as dead. Baron Owen, who ruled the Iron Throne Territory, would surely crush them once he had consolidated his own power.
But events took an astonishing turn.
Blackstone City reopened the long-abandoned Black Stone Mining Area, establishing a steady flow of gold coin income. Then, almost miraculously, they exterminated the Black Scale Lizardmen, erasing the region's greatest threat in one stroke.
Now, Blackstone City's prosperity was undeniable. The markets bustled, its roads expanded, and the once desolate border city began to shine with new potential. Some even speculated that within a few short years, it might rise to become one of the most prosperous cities in Golden Rock Province.
Naturally, everyone wanted to know the secret behind its transformation. When rumors spread that Magus was responsible, most were skeptical.
After all, Magus's quiet, introverted nature was well known among the aristocracy. Compared to his charismatic elder brother Rune, he had always seemed timid and unremarkable. How could such a man orchestrate such a transformation?
"Bah," a young noble scoffed. "All this talk of Wizards is nonsense."
"Magus is a good-for-nothing who couldn't even master a Breathing Method. How could he possibly accomplish anything great?"
"Blackstone City just got lucky. My father says if Lord Owen wished, he could snuff them out without even lifting a finger."
The others laughed and nodded. None of them truly believed Blackstone City could pose any threat to Baron Owen, who now virtually ruled the entire Iron Throne Territory.
To them, even sending one of Owen's subordinate barons would be overkill.
Meanwhile, far from the laughter of the banquet, inside the council chamber of Iron Throne Castle, Baron Owen sat with his three vassal barons, a glass of red wine glinting in his hand.
He swirled the liquid slowly, his voice calm yet edged with steel.
"Those two nephews of mine are proving far more capable than I ever imagined. I must admit, I underestimated them."
He took a measured sip.
"Reopening the mines, annihilating the Lizardmen, forming a cavalry regiment… if they continue unchecked, they may one day challenge my rule."
The barons exchanged glances.
Zorlf, a towering man built like a fortress, let out a deep laugh.
"My lord jests. Forming a proper cavalry regiment is no small feat. Even if Blackstone City has coin, they lack the channels to buy enough warhorses. At best, it's wishful thinking."
Zorlf's immense frame was the product of his Breathing Method—a style that strengthened the body above all else. Nearly two meters tall, he exuded the raw power of a seasoned warrior. Once, under the former Shimmer Baron, he had been celebrated as a fierce general. After advancing to Peak Knight, his fame only grew.
Devon, sleek and silver-tongued, chuckled.
"Indeed. Cavalry training demands time, discipline, and resources. Even if they've gathered some riders, they can't possibly match trained knights. They're nothing to fear."
Not to be outdone, Norwood—the youngest of the three—added his agreement, smiling thinly as if mocking the idea.
Owen listened, his expression unreadable. Unlike the others, he did not rely on hearsay. He possessed actual intelligence—reports from his scouts detailing something far more concerning.
According to those reports, Blackstone City had developed a new kind of mount—a strange, powerful creature used to form their cavalry's core. During the battle against the Lizardmen, this cavalry unit had suffered almost no losses.
That meant they were formidable.
If given time, such a force could evolve into a true elite regiment, capable of disrupting his dominion.
A flicker of unease crept into Owen's heart. He could not allow that to happen.
It was time to act. Time to sever the roots before they could grow deeper.
When Rune and Magus were gone, Blackstone City would naturally fall back into his grasp, and the entire Iron Throne Territory would finally be his—secure, absolute, unchallenged.
He set down his glass, eyes glinting like a blade.
"What are your thoughts on Blackstone City?"
The three barons instantly understood the implication.
Zorlf rose first, bowing his head.
"As long as my lord commands, I'll lead my troops at once to crush them."
Devon and Norwood cursed him silently for his quick tongue but were not slow to follow.
"My lord, allow me to lead the charge."
"No—permit me. I can end them swiftly."
Their eagerness pleased Owen. He smiled faintly and waved a dismissive hand.
"There's no need for open warfare. It would appear too unseemly—and even victory would cost us men."
The barons exchanged questioning looks. Devon spoke hesitantly:
"Then… what does my lord propose?"
Owen's smile deepened, sharp as a dagger's edge.
"As long as Rune and Magus die, Blackstone City will return to us of its own accord."
Realization dawned on all three men.
Assassination.
It was an art as old as noble rule itself—swift, silent, and deniable.
But even among nobles, it was not something one handled personally. Sending one's own retainers risked exposure. If a traceable link were found, it could stain a lord's honor or invite political backlash.
Still, if not his own men, then who?
Zorlf frowned slightly. Rune, after all, was rumored to have reached the level of a Great Knight. Assassinating someone of that strength was far from easy.
Owen, however, appeared unconcerned.
"Leave that to me," he said quietly. "I already have someone in mind."
The wine in his glass rippled as he set it down, the candlelight reflecting crimson across his fingers—like blood.
The three barons bowed deeply. None dared to ask further.
When they departed, the chamber fell silent again. Only the faint crackle of the hearth and the slow, deliberate breathing of the Baron remained.
He stood, walking to the window. Beyond the glass, Shining City glowed under the Harvest Moon, a sea of flickering lights and distant laughter.
But in his eyes, all that brilliance was already dimmed by the shadow of calculation.
"Rune… Magus… you've had your moment," he murmured. "But this land belongs to me. The Iron Throne will not be divided."
Outside, the wind swept through the banners of the castle, their edges whispering like unseen blades. Somewhere far away, a messenger rode into the night, carrying the Baron's secret command—one that would soon decide the fate of Blackstone City.
End of Chapter 27: Eliminating the Roots