The Banquet (3)
Eurypylus, the Lighthouse Keeper, was the great champion of the Starlight Order, the oldest living human in the continent. Even when considering the Outland, he still numbered among the longest-lived Transcendents.
He was 428 years old. Where most long-lived Transcendents tend to round off their ages in blocks of fifty or a hundred years, Eurypylus counted his age down to the second…
428 years, 7 months, 21 days, 14 hours, 21 minutes, and 11 seconds.
Even at that mont, sowhere in his mind, a sort of clock was ticking, each second recorded. The counting of ti, of precisely asuring how long he had lived, was both his compulsion and a way to define himself.
Click.
He frowned at the boy standing in front of him—a youth not yet even twenty. So might call him a young man, but to him, the distinction didn’t matter. Twenty years of living—less than that, truly—yet the brat was casting the entire continent into turmoil.
He did not like it one bit. Change inevitably caused chaos, chaos generated unpredictability, and unpredictability forced an unmoving Lighthouse Keeper to rise.
“What a nuisance.” Having to take action irritated him. His power stemd from remaining immobile; any movent sapped that power, however minute. Even a small loss of ti unsettled him.
He had expected to endure for another three hundred twelve years, four months, and twenty-one days, yet the excursion had likely cost him a month. He hoped it would at least prove worth the trouble, but things were already taking a bizarre turn.
“Well, it seems the Empire’s First Pillar sees things differently.”
Eurypylus felt a chill. A keen sensation, like a blade pressed against his skin, traveled along his spine. He whipped his head around, peering toward the top of the First Pillar’s tower. Although kiloters separated them, the two Transcendents locked gazes with ease.
Silence.
Gerd Isabalt, the Empire’s First Pillar. The old man quietly regarded them. He said nothing but held a drawn sword in his hand, not waving it about or leveling it at Eurypylus. Simply drawing that blade was warning enough.
If he pressed his luck even a bit further, Gerd would strike. Eurypylus found himself aghast. Did Gerd truly intend to go so far?
He did a rapid calculation. ‘If I clash head-on with Gerd, how much ti would it cost ?’
The answer ca swiftly: Two hundred fifty years. That amounted to nearly 80% of the ti he had saved up. On top of that, they were in the Empire itself. Should the other four Pillars join in, he might drain his reserves entirely and still fail.
“You…” Eurypylus glared at Najin, barely hiding the shock in his eyes. “What sort of…?”
Even the Empire, if it could, tended to avoid major conflict with the Starlight Order, whose followers spanned far beyond Imperial borders. In the past, whenever a major figure like himself from the Order took a strong stance, the Empire usually conceded out of respect.
Why would the Empire oppose sothing trivial, like exerting pressure on a single boy?
A flash of blue light flickered at the top of the First Pillar’s Tower, the star shining a warning to him: “Dismiss your barrier and step back.”
Eurypylus clenched his teeth, outraged. So the man who once wouldn’t even protect his own kin was ready to go to war for the Empire?
“The Order will not sit idle over this,” he muttered.
“Fine by ,” ca Gerd’s curt response from afar. “Nor will I overlook that haughty posture of yours.”
“Do your reckless words represent the Empire’s will?”
“They’re my words alone, but the Empire’s view is not so different. I am the Empire.”
Left with no choice, Eurypylus retreated a step. The barrier that surrounded them dissolved, and at once, he realized that was for the best.
A woman outside the barrier glared their way. At a glance, she appeared to be in her early twenties, but Eurypylus recognized her—she was no ordinary young lady.
Cipria Gachevskaya, Master of the Platinum Tower (Eternal Radiance). She was an archmage of the Empire. Beside her stood a brown-haired girl clinging to her shoulder. Cipria patted the girl lightly and sighed. “Sir Eurypylus?”
“Speak,” he said.
“We do not an to belittle you or your Order’s authority, but I personally find this situation rather unpleasant.” Cipria clicked her tongue. “An uninvited guest barged into the banquet and tried to intimidate one of our attendees. Surely, you realize you’re insulting not just the event’s hosts but every guest here?”
Powerful aristocrats and top imperial officials… There were many who might fear or ignore them, but with Cipria standing there as their representative, Eurypylus couldn’t simply dismiss them. She, like him, was a Transcendent.
“Either enjoy the banquet,” she continued, pointing, “or wait outside until it ends.”
He had to choose one of the two.
In the end, Eurypylus gave way and exited into the outer courtyard of the banquet hall, settling on a bench and waiting for the event to finish. He looked decidedly unhappy, but no one approached him. Indeed, nobody dared even pretend to show concern.
To do so would be seen as defying Cipria’s authority. Even if he was a grand figure in the religious world, in the Empire, one still needed to stay on good terms with the Pillars. Nobody wanted to risk irritating the notoriously strict Cipria.
Thus, the banquet resud, ignoring the Lighthouse Keeper outside.
“You’re all right, Najin?” Dieta asked.
“Yes, thanks to you.” Najin bowed his head to Dieta and to Cipria at her side.
Cipria nodded, satisfied, and patted Dieta’s shoulder. “No need to worry, Chairwoman. I won’t let so religious zealot ruin a perfectly good banquet. Now, go on and enjoy it.”
“Thank you, Lady Cipria.”
“Think nothing of it.” Smiling, Cipria turned and headed for the center of the hall.
Dieta let out a shaky breath, then glanced at Najin. “Truly… what made you act so recklessly? Weren’t you afraid?”
“I’ve got plenty of people I can rely on,” he said with a laugh. He dipped his head slightly in the direction of the First Pillar’s tower in the distance. Gerd, at the top of the tower, was busy practicing sword swings, or so it looked, but Najin sensed the old man still keeping an eye out.
“Dieta?”
“Yes? Let’s hear it.”
“Could you tell more about the Lighthouse Keeper? I think I need more information on him.”
“That’s fine, but…” She gave him a hesitant smile and held out her hand. “Will you at least finish the dance with first?”
“I was going to suggest that anyway,” Najin answered. “What else do you want?”
“I’ll think about that,” she teased.
With the music starting up again, Najin and Dieta returned to the dance floor, carrying on as if nothing had happened. The banquet lasted so ti more, and though Eurypylus stood in the garden glaring daggers at Najin, it bothered him little.
‘Let him stare as much as he wants.’
- I could give you that information, you know.
rlin suddenly piped up in Najin’s mind.
- Why not ask ? I know plenty.
“Huh?”
- Never mind. Forget it.
rlin gave him a disgruntled look, eyes full of complaint. Najin wondered why she seed so put out.
“Well, anyway, from the look on his face,” Najin said inwardly, “I’m betting the Lighthouse Keeper has no idea I pulled Excalibur. I tried to poke at him a bit, and he seed clueless.”
rlin nodded in agreent.
- He probably doesn’t know. He wouldn’t have behaved that way if he knew. Then again… I have no idea what the Lighthouse they worship is really aiming for, either.
The Starlight Order’s god was the “Lighthouse That Illuminates All Things.”
- If they were sure you had Excalibur, you’d expect them to co crawling to the Round Table or declare all-out hostility or sothing, but they’ve done nothing.
Indeed, since Najin beca a Sword Seeker, the Order had maintained silence—no threats, no attempts to contact him. They simply did nothing, which was odd behavior for a group that ought to realize Najin had the ans to ruin them.
“Though I asked Gerd for help,” Najin mused, glancing toward Eurypylus in the courtyard, “it seems I’ll have to find out more on my own.”
He would have greatly preferred not to deal with them at all. He’d hoped that the only ti he ever confronted the Starlight Order again would be the day he smashed their main temple, but for the mont, he had to swallow his animosity.
Why exactly had Eurypylus sought him out? Why endure such humiliation just to demand so private conversation?
“It’s probably worth hearing him out.”
Of course, he wasn’t about to do it for free.
After the banquet ended, Najin went to join Eurypylus, seating himself across from him. Najin’s sword, which he’d removed on entering the hall, was once again at his belt. Resting one hand on its hilt, ready to draw at a mont’s notice, he glowered.
“Suddenly in the mood to talk, are we?” Eurypylus asked dryly.
Najin half-rose, reminding him that he could end the conversation at any ti. Eurypylus ground his teeth but jerked his chin. “Sit. It’s in your interest to hear what I have to say.”
Najin stared back. It was not the person he’d expected based on books and hearsay. Countless records painted the Lighthouse Keeper as unfeeling and detached from worldly affairs, soone aloof, with no outward emotion.
In truth, he was a mortal man of more than four centuries, the final bulwark of the Starlight Order, whom Najin would inevitably have to defeat if he intended to bring down the entire sect. He had assud he would be soone akin to Gerd: stern, remote, impossible to read.
Actually, he seed no better than a typical noble consud by his own authority, not even trying to hide his feelings.
“As you likely know,” Eurypylus said, “I am the Lighthouse Keeper of the Starlight Order, representing its will.”
“I’m aware,” Najin answered.
“In that capacity, I have a proposal for you.”
“A proposal?” Najin had to stifle a cynical laugh. “All right, let’s hear it. What are you offering?”
“I understand you’ve never been properly knighted, correct?”
“I haven’t bothered with it.”
“Regardless, you aren’t a knight.” Tossing a folded banner onto the table, Eurypylus gestured. It bore the sigil of the Starlight Order. Only the High Priest Orland or the Lighthouse Keeper himself could bestow the symbol of the highest-grade ‘Holy Knight’.
“Join the Starlight Order.” He nodded at the banner. “I’ll guarantee you command of the Holy Knights.”
In church hierarchy, the station of “Holy Knight Commander” carried imnse authority—like offering a position as one of the Empire’s Pillars. Coming from Eurypylus himself, it was a startlingly generous deal.
Najin couldn’t help but scoff out loud.
“You find that funny? You think I’m joking?”
“What else would you call it?” Najin tapped the table. “I hate to say it, but I’ve already made an enemy of your entire Order. You tried to kill multiple tis, even bury , and now you claim you’ll make Commander of the Holy Knights?” He let out a derisive snort. “Are you ssing with ? Or are you scared now that I might—”
“What? What are you talking about?” Eurypylus cut him off. He frowned as if honestly confused. “You say the Order tried to kill you? When was this? This is the first I’m hearing of it. That would be impossible.”
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