Chapter 209

Lucius’s tone shifted—less the polished diplomacy of a nobleman, more the clipped precision of someone who’d been collecting pieces far longer than anyone else realized.

“There’s one more thing you should know,” he said, folding his hands over the map. “This situation with the sahuagins—this labyrinth, these cores—it isn’t isolated. It’s not just about monsters or coastal defense.”

He paused, his gaze moving across the room, steady and deliberate.

“You should all be aware that someone is working behind the scenes to make the Empire fall. Quietly. Systematically.”

No one interrupted.

Lucius continued, voice calm but heavy. “For the past few years, incidents have been escalating in ways that don’t align with random misfortune. Bandit guilds getting noble funding. Smuggling routes turning up near every major trade corridor. Addictive alchemical mixtures spreading through both soldier and peasant ranks. And now, manufactured monsters targeting key supply lines? It’s too precise to be a coincidence.”

Viola leaned forward slightly, her jaw tightening. “You’re saying the sahuagins are part of a coordinated plan?”

“I’m saying they’re a symptom,” Lucius said. “Someone’s using them as one of many pressure points. Bleed the Empire from within while keeping its armies chasing ghosts.”

He looked directly at Gaius. “When I heard about your disappearance, Gaius Stonefist, I started to suspect this was connected. I didn’t believe the official reports. No one could silence a mage of your caliber without resources—and purpose.”

Gaius’s eyes narrowed, the faintest hint of steel flashing there. “And what purpose do you think they had?”

Lucius leaned back in his chair. “The same as now. To destabilize every power that could still hold the frontier together. You were a pillar of Meira. Remove you, the area loses its foundation. Then the sahuagins appear in the south, the trade routes collapse, and suddenly the Empire’s supply lines are stretched too thin to react.”

He let the silence linger before adding, “And then there’s the Lionsguard.”

Ludger’s eyes narrowed. “What about us?”

Lucius met his gaze, calm and analytical. “You’ve made enemies on all sides—Imperial bureaucrats, rogue guilds, even certain nobles. You allied with the northerners after fighting them. You rebuilt a border town that the Empire had already written off. And now, you stand here—beside Gaius Stonefist, the man who vanished during an investigation into conspiracies.”

He gave a faint, almost regretful smile. “You see why I had to consider the possibility that your guild was part of the same network.”

Viola’s tone cut through the air, sharp and cold. “We’ve bled for the Empire while the capital sat on its hands. If you think we’re part of the people trying to bring it down, you haven’t been paying attention.”

Lucius raised a hand. “I don’t

believe

it now. But I had to be sure. When the Empire withheld support during the northern conflict—when they let the frontier fend for itself—I began to suspect that wasn’t incompetence. It was design.”

He looked around the room slowly, meeting each gaze in turn. “I think the same people who created these monsters are the ones who orchestrated that war, the ones who tried to silence Meira, and the ones who want the Lionsguard erased or discredited. You’re one of the few forces out here still capable of acting without strings attached.”

The room went dead quiet.

Even the hum of the ward felt distant—muted, like the air itself didn’t want to carry sound.

Arslan broke the silence first, voice low and measured. “That’s a bold theory, Lord Hakuen. But the pieces fit.”

“They do,” Gaius said quietly. “Too neatly.”

Lucius nodded once. “Then you understand why I can’t trust the Empire to fix this. The rot starts from inside. If we want to stop what’s coming, we’ll have to act outside their reach.”

No one spoke for a long moment. The only sound was the distant crash of waves against stone.

Ludger looked at him finally, expression flat but his voice edged with a calm that was all the more dangerous for how steady it was. “You said you think someone wants to make the Empire fall.”

Lucius nodded.

Ludger broke the heavy silence first, voice calm but edged with skepticism.

“All right,” he said. “Let’s say you’re right—that someone’s pulling the strings behind all this. Then tell me—how do we know

you

aren’t part of it? How do we trust the Ironhand Syndicate or the Hakuen family when neither of you has shown any sign until now that you could be trusted?”

Every gaze shifted toward Lucius. The young lord didn’t flinch. He met Ludger’s stare evenly, then nodded once, almost like he’d expected the question.

“You can’t,” he said simply. “Not entirely.”

That answer earned him a few wary looks, but he went on before anyone could interrupt.

“You’re right, Vice Guildmaster Ludger. We didn’t act before because we didn’t know. Or rather—

I

didn’t. I thought Ironhand was simply doing its job, and that my father’s contacts in the Empire’s southern trade council could keep things stable.”

He paused, the easy confidence in his tone thinning to something quieter. “But then… people started dying.”

Gaius leaned forward slightly, eyes narrowing. “What kind of people?”

“Old allies,” Lucius said. “Men and women who served alongside my father back when he commanded the southern fleets. Merchants, officers, even healers—anyone who had enough history with him to remember certain… details about the Empire’s dealings down here.”

Arslan’s brow furrowed. “And your father?”

Lucius’s jaw tightened. “He fell ill a few months ago. At first, we thought it was exhaustion, age. But no doctor could help him. No healer could even slow it down.”

He looked down at the table, his gloved hands curling faintly. “Then it hit me—it wasn’t an illness. It was

poison.

A slow one. The kind that burns the mana channels until the body gives up trying to heal itself.”

Viola’s eyes darkened. “You’re certain?”

Lucius nodded. “Completely. I’ve seen poisonings before, but this one’s different. Refined. Hidden. His pulse stayed stable while his mana degraded. And the last thing he managed to say before he lost consciousness…”

He hesitated, voice lowering. “Was to trust Rathen.”

The room went still again.

Rathen’s expression didn’t change—if anything, it only grew more composed, though his eyes hardened slightly. “He said that himself?”

Lucius nodded. “Barely. He lost consciousness seconds after. He’s been unconscious for two weeks now.”

Viola’s voice was steady, but her gaze was sharp. “You’re saying you hid him?”

“I had to,” Lucius said. “Whoever’s orchestrating this already got to his closest aides. If word got out that Lord Hakuen was still alive, they’d finish the job. So yes—I hid him. Moved him somewhere even my house guard doesn’t know. Only Rathen and I know the exact location.”

Ludger’s arms stayed crossed, expression unreadable. “You think they targeted him because he knew too much.”

Lucius exhaled slowly. “I

know

he did. My father was on the Imperial logistics board for over decades. He oversaw naval routes, trade permits, and construction proposals—including early drafts of the bridge before it became public. He would’ve known every shipment, every noble house funding the project.”

“And if he started connecting the same dots you just did…” Gaius murmured.

Lucius nodded grimly. “Then they needed him silenced before he could speak. And if they’re willing to go that far, it means the conspiracy reaches deep—into the Empire’s own councils.”

For a long moment, no one spoke.

Only the soft pulse of the sound ward filled the room, faint and rhythmic, like a heartbeat.

Finally, Arslan leaned forward, voice quiet but firm. “Then the Hakuen family isn’t just a bystander in this.”

Lucius’s gaze lifted to meet his. “No. We’re a target. And so are you.”

Ludger’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Because we keep surviving things we’re not supposed to.”

Lucius gave a small, tired smile. “Indeed.”

Gaius sat back, expression thoughtful but grim. “If your father trusted Rathen, then we’ll keep that in mind. But until we see him with our own eyes, we’ll proceed carefully. Too many people claim the truth right before the knife turns.”

Lucius inclined his head. “That’s fair. I’m not asking for blind faith—just cooperation. Whoever’s behind this won’t stop at the sea. And if they’re already poisoning noble houses and weaponizing monsters, it’s only a matter of time before the Empire starts tearing itself apart.”

The light from the window caught his face as he looked up, tired but resolute. “If we don’t hold the line here, there won’t be anything left to defend.”

Ludger studied him for a long moment, searching for the smallest crack in his composure. He found none.

Lucius leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. His tone had shifted again—no politics now, no courtly polish—just a man laying bare the raw, ugly logistics of survival.

“The Ironhand engineers weren’t entirely wrong,” he began. “When the sahuagins started tearing at the lower structures, we tried to use the same mana cores we retrieved from their corpses to reinforce the bridge pillars. The energy density was incredible—strong enough to harden stone, keep pressure off the supports, even reduce erosion from the tides.”

He exhaled through his nose, gaze darkening. “But the more cores we embedded, the worse the attacks became. Every day, more of them came—faster, angrier, organized. It was like the ocean itself wanted the bridge gone.”

Arslan frowned. “Because you were using the same type of cores that power them.”

Lucius nodded grimly. “Indeed. We didn’t realize it until too late. We weren’t fortifying the structure—we were

challenging

whatever controls those creatures. The cores aren’t inert. They react to proximity, to mana flow, maybe even to intent. Every new one we placed acted like a beacon.”

He looked toward Gaius. “You’ve used geomancy longer than anyone alive. You’ve seen labyrinth-born mana before. Tell me—what can we do? How do we build something the sea itself doesn’t want standing?”

The old mage went quiet.

For a long moment, he said nothing, just stared at the map spread across the table—the bridge line cutting across the waves, the reefs below marked with rough blue ink.

Then he sighed, rubbing a hand through his short gray beard. “If the sea rejects the bridge, then we stop fighting it.”

Lucius blinked. “Meaning?”

Gaius leaned forward, tapping a finger on the map where the seabed was drawn. “You’re building

against

the ocean, not

with

it. You’re forcing foreign mana into terrain that’s already alive. The floor down there isn’t dead rock—it’s coral and sediment. Living stone. You keep pouring hostile energy into it, it’ll fight back every time.”

“So what do we do instead?” Viola asked.

Gaius’s voice was steady, deliberate. “We shape it from the seabed up—use the natural corals and the silt as the base material. The corals feed off the sea’s mana, they won’t reject it. I can harden and fuse them with geomantic compression. Turn the reefs themselves into a foundation. It’ll take longer, but the structure will

grow

with the tide instead of cracking against it.”

Lucius frowned. “You’re suggesting a living bridge?”

Gaius gave a half-smirk. “A cooperative one. The ocean will tolerate what it thinks belongs to it.”

Ludger, who had been quiet until now, rubbed his chin. “That’s doable. But not fast.”

“No,” Gaius agreed. “Not fast, not easy, and definitely not cheap on mana.”

He glanced at Ludger, eyes narrowing. “And before you say it—we’re not guzzling mana potions like amateurs. If someone’s poisoning nobles, they’ll poison the supply chain next. You drink something spiked with necrotic catalyst, you don’t get a second try.”

Ludger nodded slowly. “So we ration. Focus on stabilization, work in shifts.”

“Yes.” Gaius looked back at Lucius. “We can start shaping the base with minimal flow—my geomancy to fuse the corals, Ludger’s to reinforce the upper layers with ordinary and hardened ground. Once the natural lattice takes hold, we let the ocean finish the binding. But it’ll take time. Months, maybe more.”

Lucius hesitated, clearly weighing the options. “And if the attacks continue?”

“They will,” Gaius said bluntly. “But less frequent once the ocean feels what we’re building isn’t hostile. The place will have to be cleaned up often, but eventually, the number of monsters will decrease, but if it doesn’t, we will have the chance to trace where they are coming from”

Viola leaned forward slightly. “You make it sound like the sea’s alive.”

Gaius met her gaze. “You think it isn’t? Everything with mana has a will, little lady. The ocean’s just big enough to ignore us until we poke it too many times.”

Ludger’s tone was dry. “So our plan is to apologize to the sea.”

Gaius grinned. “Exactly. But we’ll build while we do it.”

Lucius sat back, rubbing his temples, but there was a faint relief in his voice when he finally spoke. “If you can make this work, you’ll have Ironhand’s full support. We’ll handle supplies, labor, and protection. Just tell us what you need.”

Gaius looked to Ludger, who nodded once. “Sand, coral, and peace and quiet.”

Arslan chuckled. “That last part might be the hardest to get.”

The old mage gave a dry smile. “Then we’ll settle for the first two.”

The conversation shifted again—plans, divisions of labor, timing—but beneath the pragmatic tone was an undercurrent of unease. They all knew what Gaius hadn’t said out loud: this wasn’t just about engineering.

If someone was using mana cores to corrupt the ocean itself, then whatever lurked in the depths wasn’t just defending its territory. It was waiting for them to make the next move.

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