READING GUIDANCE
" This is a direct sentence in the present time."
" This is a direct sentence in the past time."
' This is a character's inner thought in the present time.'
' This is a character's inner thought in the past time.'
[ This is a direct sentence in sign language in the present time.]
[ This is a direct sentence in sign language in the past time.]
HAPPY READING!
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In the end, whether it is Earth or Althera, whether it is a "normal" world or one filled with magic and dragons — when politics are involved, it will always be chaotic.
Just like in the very extravagant and fully decorated meeting hall, with thick black and silver accents and the symbol of the Black Dragon fluttering magnificently above. Many people filled the chairs around the 'O'-shaped table, desperately trying to voice their opinions, to the point that they were practically begging. They were all invited to this imperial meeting.
Yet none of the other party — if she could say this meeting was divided into two sides, and the other side would of course be the one who invited them — none of them wearing imperial uniforms showed even the slightest sign of reassurance.
The problem that made all the businessmen here turn red with anger left them with no choice but to beg, while the other side remained calm despite the chaos filling the hall. The ones in imperial uniforms stood composed, swords hanging at their waists, fully armored knights guarding them under the pretense of protection.
'This is what they call the Tyrant Empire.'
Now she understood why several of the invited people had tried so hard to avoid this meeting. They were quick-witted enough to predict that nothing good would come from involvement with the Empire.
It did not mean she did not understand tyranny as a system. But she had never personally experienced a situation shaped by such an ideology. She had lived in a very democratic country with strong human rights laws, so she was honestly surprised to witness how openly a government could oppress its people like this.
"Please, could you reconsider your regulation? My company will not survive even a month—"
"...If what I have just said is not clear enough, I can arrange a meeting with the Crown Prince so you may state your complaints," said the man known as the Finance Minister of the Empire.
His face remained perfectly straight, as if he could not feel their struggles at all. In fact, that single sentence silenced them immediately, leaving no one daring to speak again.
"...If no one has anything further to say, we will close today's meeting."
He spoke without even the slightest trace of guilt, boldly using words that should have embarrassed anyone who still possessed pride or morality.
Most of the businessmen quickly left the hall in anger. Some looked utterly desperate, as if this truly marked the end for them.
To be fair, after understanding the core of the problem, she could safely say that what was happening now could indeed ruin several companies because of how unfair the regulation was.
It was truly a complicated situation.
Simply put, since trade and business routes in the eastern area had been cut off, the state's finances had drastically declined. Therefore, they had "asked" independent businessmen — mostly those operating outside the eastern area — to "contribute" to national affairs by paying dramatically increased taxes.
If they refused, a "meeting" with the Crown Prince would be arranged.
And of course, everyone understood what could happen in that kind of "meeting," didn't they?
The worst part was that, although they were independent businessmen, they were still bound by imperial law. So the choice was simple: follow the new regulation or leave.
And naturally, any business they left behind would be taken over by the Empire.
Kind of wicked, isn't it?
[Thank you for interpreting for me,] Irisha signed to Rosan as they stepped into the magical elevator that would lead them down to the first gate beneath the so-called "flying" castle.
It was not literally flying, of course. It was built against a massive rocky mountain, though from a distance it looked as if it floated in the sky.
To reach the castle, one either rode dragons or used these enormous elevators, large enough to hold many people at once. They would then arrive at the vast front yard of the palace — the same place she had visited before.
At first, she had been amazed by how the humongous imperial palace was attached to the rocky mountain. It was incredibly spacious, even though she had not explored much of it. The wind was brutally strong, forcing people to hurry inside the palace walls.
[Arisha would be so excited if she could come here,] she added.
Rosan, still visibly angry, scoffed. "...If she ever wants to come, I will try to persuade her not to," she muttered before chuckling bitterly. "What's so good about a place that oppresses its people?"
Irisha smiled weakly. It was completely understandable why Rosan was furious — especially when her company could possibly collapse under this new regulation.
[I... actually have something in my mi—]
"Sis Rosan!"
A young man suddenly approached them before she could finish signing.
He was nice-looking, undeniably attractive — the type of man who gave off the impression of a successful businessman at first glance. He ran toward them the moment they reached the first gate. Behind him, several attendees from the meeting were gathering, likely discussing what had just happened.
The man spoke with Rosan for a while. They seemed familiar with each other, even close, as Rosan's fierce expression softened while talking to him.
Then suddenly, their eyes met. The man looked at Rosan, and Rosan glanced at Irisha.
"Ah, she is my assistant," Rosan said, this time using sign language.
The man looked confused at Rosan's moving hands.
"This is sign language. She cannot speak and cannot hear, so this is how we communicate," Rosan explained.
The man then looked at Irisha.
His gaze traveled from her feet up to her head.
That kind of stare.
The kind that makes one uncomfortable.
"She is your assistant?"
"Yes. Her name is Irisha Spes," Rosan replied firmly.
The man burst into laughter, coughing at the end.
"Hahaha, are you going crazy, Sis Rosan?" he mocked. "The well-known owner of Daniel's Company is good at joking now, huh?"
"What do you mean?" Rosan asked resentfully.
But the man was not looking at her anymore. He was looking at Irisha.
"Tell me, what is your name?" he asked.
Of course, she could not understand him. She opened her notebook to write her response, but the man abruptly closed it.
"Don't play along with this kind of joke," he sneered. "For someone like Sis Rosan to hire a disabled person is kind of fool—"
Brakk!
Short-tempered Rosan snapped.
Her fist struck his cheek hard enough to send him stumbling to the ground. Her face turned red with fury, and the man stared at her in shock.
The sudden commotion drew many curious eyes.
"What the fuck are you doing?" the man shouted while holding his reddened cheek.
Irisha, startled, tried to hold Rosan back, but it was not easy. Rosan was taller, bigger, and muscular. She was a strong woman.
Stopping her was no simple task for Irisha.
"Why are you so fucking mad? It was your joke!" said the man while glaring at Rosan, who was being restrained by the small woman hugging her tightly to stop her. Then he frowned. "Are you seriously saying that woman is actually disabled?!" he asked in disbelief.
"Shut the fuck up, Ed!"
"What?! What is wrong with you?" he snapped. "You're hiring useless people now? So that's why in that meeting you didn't do anything — because you were busy taking care of a disabled person?" He smiled mockingly. "And now you punched me out of nowhere because of her—"
"Say that again, and I will kill you," Rosan said coldly.
The man stared at her furiously. "Go on. Losing your mind over that little woman? You really are crazy," he spat.
His words only fueled Rosan's anger even more, to the point that she might truly do something reckless in front of everyone there.
Yet she did not realize that Irisha, who could not hear any of this, was using all her strength to hold Rosan back. With Rosan's explosive energy, she could easily get injured if she continued clinging to her like this.
Suddenly, someone grabbed Irisha and pulled her away from Rosan just before Rosan shoved backward in rage.
"You will end up crushing her."
The voice was calm — not sharp, not loud — yet clear enough to cut through the noise.
A woman steadied Irisha before she could lose her balance, supporting her gently but firmly. Her touch was controlled, careful rather than forceful.
When Irisha looked up, she found herself facing a woman with warm orange-tinted eyes and neatly arranged brown hair, styled with quiet elegance. A delicate accessory rested against her hair, subtle but refined. Her dress was graceful without being overly extravagant — fine fabric, careful tailoring, the kind worn by someone accustomed to high society.
Even amid the commotion, she remained composed.
"Are you okay?" the woman asked softly.
Irisha quickly stepped back and bowed at once.
[ I am so sorry, ] she signed unconsciously, though of course no one understood her except Rosan.
"Are you okay, Irisha?" Rosan asked suddenly, her expression shifting from fury to worry.
Irisha smiled awkwardly.
[ I am okay. It's okay. ]
She then turned again to the woman who had helped her. Unlike the surrounding onlookers — who stared with open curiosity — this woman did not linger her gaze rudely. She simply regarded Irisha with a calm, unreadable expression.
"If you are done with your fight," she said gently, adjusting her sleeve with natural grace, "how about you come inside my carriage?"
Her tone was polite, neither commanding nor pleading — just steady.
Rosan, now aware of the public attention they had drawn, looked slightly embarrassed and nodded.
"Yes... you may be right."
She took Irisha's hand and followed the elegantly dressed lady.
Irisha could not help but feel curious. With her refined figure and delicate appearance, the woman had intervened so smoothly in such a tense situation. She must have pushed Rosan with considerable strength at just the right angle so that Irisha would be forced to let go — only then could she pull Irisha away safely.
At least, that was Irisha's speculation about what had happened earlier.
[ Thank you, ] Irisha wrote in her notebook and showed it to the beautiful lady, whose bright brown hair was styled neatly. She looked calm and dignified — undoubtedly a noblewoman, judging from her mannerisms.
With her orange-tinted eyes, the woman read the note.
"How do you say 'thank you' with your hands again?" she asked Irisha, though she glanced at Rosan afterward.
Confused, Rosan demonstrated. "Thank you is like this," she said, showing the gesture.
The woman watched with interest and practiced it immediately.
"Thank you," she repeated, attempting the sign. "For helping me out. If you hadn't been there, I might have hurt her," Rosan admitted.
The woman slowly lowered her hand and looked at Irisha before turning back to Rosan.
"...Well, I understand how you feel," she said gently. "But you should realize something — the more persistently you defend them like that, the more you may push them into a worse situation."
Rosan narrowed her eyes.
"...So you're saying we should just stay silent?"
The woman looked at Rosan calmly and composedly, which prevented Rosan from exploding in anger, as she understood this lady's motive very well.
"...I am not trying to fight you like the previous man," she said. "I am only saying that even if you think differently from others, this woman is still seen as disabled and useless from their point of view. And you are not someone who can change that with a mere fight."
Rosan clenched her fist tightly because she understood her words too well.
"...Please... just stop the carriage," she said.
The woman nodded, seeming to understand that Rosan could not hold herself any longer in this kind of conversation. She asked the coachman to stop while looking at Irisha once again.
It seemed the woman had said something else that made Rosan even angrier before Rosan pulled herself out of the carriage. Irisha could not understand their entire conversation, but if Rosan could become this furious while still trying to restrain herself...
It must be about her.
"I am so sorry."
The fierce-faced woman with a tall and imposing figure — the one who always intimidated people in their field — was now bowing her head in guilt while saying it in sign language.
"...After everything I said to you, in the end, I am not powerful enough or wise enough to defend you," Rosan signed.
They stood in the middle of the crowded imperial pathway, where many people passed by. Rosan looked deeply saddened, even though everything revolved around Irisha. She kept her head lowered for quite a while before finally looking up.
Irisha looked toward the sky. The orange and purple hues painted it beautifully. It always calmed her whenever she saw such a sight.
She remained silent for a moment before realizing Rosan was looking at her again.
[ It did make me uncomfortable, surely, ] she signed.
[ Being looked at and talked about without understanding anything is uncomfortable. Yet... somehow, I've just grown used to it. ]
"How could you get used to something like that? You don't deserve to live that way!"
[ In what way, actually? ] she asked, which made Rosan pause in confusion.
[ In the way they underestimate me? Pity me? Treat me like a useless object to be stared at? Is that what you mean? ]
Rosan looked devastated, guilt written all over her face — even though it had never been Irisha's intention to make her feel that way.
Irisha smiled warmly and held Rosan's hand.
[ You seem to misunderstand, so let me explain, ] she signed.
[ I understand that someone like me will face disadvantages in life because many people think differently from me. But for me, I never thought my life was something that needed to be defended. ]
She continued gently.
[ I never thought my disability was something others must tolerate or fully understand. Yes, I am different. But that is all. And I still believe I am equal to everyone else — so there is nothing to defend. ]
Then she smiled lightly and lifted her shoulders.
[ Let's not think about it too much. ]
"...You... I never thought you were so carefree about this."
[ I just understand that there are things I cannot control. I cannot control people. So I choose not to waste my energy and time on something I cannot change. ]
Then she smiled again.
[ Let's just go home. I promised to buy Arisha her favorite dessert. ]
Rosan sighed.
In a way, Irisha was more stubborn than she was.
Rosan had lost herself in anger after that disastrous meeting. She had forgotten that Irisha was strong enough to defend herself — strong enough to face her own problems.
She was strong-willed.
The only thing Rosan needed to do was trust her.
Just like before, when the company members were all against her — and now, look at how many people placed their trust in her.
***
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"...There has been no response from the Halam Empire or the Durik Kingdom regarding this matter."
"It seems they chose silence."
"There is also a possibility they are forming an alliance with the Jahar Empire."
"...If war truly breaks out, we will be at a disadvantage, Your Grace," added the Finance Minister. "...We cannot pressure the people any further. The opposition is using this to gain public sympathy."
The Crown Prince, sitting comfortably, looked at the documents with his terrifyingly cold gaze.
"Since when do we consider the people's opinions?" he asked without looking at them, yet his overwhelming presence alone was enough to frighten everyone.
All officials fell silent.
They were in a difficult position. They knew how powerful this man was — but they did not know the enemy's true strength. The eastern trade routes had already been cut off, reducing half of their financial resources. If this situation continued, the war would be extremely challenging, regardless of their military power.
But how could they explain such concerns to the man with dragon's blood?
Everyone here understood very well how inhuman that bloodline could be.
"...Send someone to check the eastern border. Investigate what they are planning," he ordered calmly. "Push trade in the northern and southern regions. Execute anyone who rebels against the regulation."
"...As you wish, Your Grace," they answered in unison.
They stood as he prepared to leave the meeting hall — but he stopped when the Princess appeared.
With her beautiful platinum hair tied elegantly and her charismatic posture by the large window of the "flying" castle, she smiled.
"Say, my dear brother. May I play with those dumb people?" she asked calmly, as if she were speaking of something trivial.
"What do you mean?" he asked.
The castle was built into the side of a steep mountain cliff. Its enormous windows opened directly to open air — no railings, no barriers. From this height, the ground below was nothing but distant shadows.
Princess Ivy stood by one of those windows.
The wind howled around her, yet she looked completely at ease.
Wearing casual trousers and a fitted shirt, she placed a hand on the stone pillar between the windows and, without even glancing down, stepped onto the edge.
Then she pushed herself off.
For a brief second, she hung over nothing but a deadly drop.
She caught the next pillar smoothly and swung into the adjacent window, landing lightly as if she had crossed an ordinary hallway.
Not a flicker of fear crossed her face.
"They're shouting for justice," she said mockingly. "What injustice are they even talking about?"
The Crown Prince walked to the window. Far below, a crowd had gathered, yelling about the unfairness of the new regulation.
"...They are the owners of independent companies," said the Finance Minister.
"Hm." The Crown Prince remained calm despite the chaos beneath them.
"So, may I execute them?" the Princess asked casually.
"You may," he replied without interest.
"YOUR GRACE!" the officials panicked. "Please reconsider—"
But the Princess had already leapt onto her dragon, preparing to descend toward the crowd — the same white dragon whose presence alone once silenced an entire battlefield.
"Send someone down!" one official ordered in panic, failing to notice the cold gaze now directed at him.
"Your Grace! Please refrain from this, our situ—"
Brak!
The muscular official was slammed violently against a stone pillar, cracking it. He was lifted and choked effortlessly despite their difference in size.
The Crown Prince's golden eyes glowed as he held the man in the air, his body turning blue from suffocation.
"Have you forgotten who I am?" he asked calmly.
He pressed him harder against the pillar, bending the stone.
"Have you forgotten why we have not faced war for a hundred years?"
"...Fo-forgi— ack—" The man could not even beg properly.
The others struggled to breathe under the suffocating pressure of the Crown Prince's aura. Their chests tightened painfully, as if their lungs would burst.
They had been naive to think the Crown Prince might be less wicked than the others.
Naive to underestimate the one they served.
Naive to forget the true terror of dragon's blood.
It had been a hundred years since the Empire last faced war.
A long time since the world witnessed the true human weapon in large-scale battle.
A long time since the Empire stood as the sole victor.
The unshaken one.
The undefeated one.
Yes... They had grown naive.
As his power strangled them, they realized why the man before them deserved to be called a tyrant.
Nothing could stop him.
Not even if he killed this official.
But just as the choking man began to lose consciousness, the Crown Prince narrowed his eyes and released him.
The official collapsed, desperately inhaling air.
"What?" the Crown Prince murmured.
His aura lessened unconsciously, allowing the others to breathe again. They looked at him in confusion.
What could possibly interest him more than killing?
Far below, distant from where he stood — yet unmistakable — he saw her.
That brunette hair was too familiar.
The one with those strange hand movements.
The one with no voice, no sound she could hear.
She seemed to be pleading for someone's life in his sister's grasp.
He smiled faintly.
"You're not trembling now, huh?"
The memory was still vividly carved into his mind.
***