Chapter : 14

  Finlay saw a lazy boy. The other Royals would see a target. But Iris knew better. She had seen something rare. She had seen a spark in the darkness.

  "You can fake strength," Iris whispered. "You can fake a smile. But you cannot fake what he did on that street."

  She sat down again, feeling a little less tired. She needed to remind herself why she was fighting this losing battle. She needed to remember why she had dragged a potato-loving boy into a war zone.

  She needed to remember the reason.

  ________________________________________

  ----

  The memory played in her mind like a movie.

  One day ago, Iris was standing in the back of the crowd in the Iron Rose District. The noise was deafening. Thousands of people were cheering for the 7th Prince’s convoy. The Prince sat in his open-top car, waving to the people like they were his pets. He didn't look at them; he looked through them.

  Iris had felt sick to her stomach. "This is not leadership," she had thought. "This is a performance."

  Then, everything went wrong.

  She saw the old man fall. It happened in slow motion. The crowd had pushed him. He was frail and weak. He tumbled out of the safety zone and landed on the hard asphalt of the road. His cane clattered away.

  The convoy stopped. The silence that followed was terrifying. It wasn't a peaceful silence; it was the silence of people holding their breath, waiting for violence.

  Iris watched from under her hood. She wanted to run out and help, but she couldn't. If she revealed herself, it would cause a political scandal. The 7th Prince would accuse her of spying. She had to stay hidden. She had to watch.

  Her heart hammered in her chest. "Someone help him," she prayed. "Please, someone help him."

  But nobody moved. The crowd was frozen in fear. The police were too scared to break protocol. The Royal Guard who stepped out of the car was a giant of a man, encased in silver armor.

  Iris saw the Guard pick up the old man by his collar. She saw the magic gathering around the Guard’s fist. It was a lethal amount of power. The Guard was going to execute the old man right there in the street for the crime of "interrupting the Prince."

  Iris gripped the fabric of her cloak. She was about to scream, to reveal her identity to stop the murder.

  And then, he appeared.

  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  Ken Eliot.

  He didn't look like a hero. He looked like a mess. He was wearing a cheap suit that was too big for him. He was holding a plastic bag that looked like it contained dinner. He walked with a slouch, dragging his feet.

  Iris watched, stunned.

  He walked right under the police barrier. He didn't run. He didn't shout a battle cry. He just… walked.

  "What is he doing?" Iris had thought, panic rising in her throat. "He is going to get killed too."

  She watched Ken walk up to the angry Guard. The Guard was twice his size. The Guard had magic that could blow up a tank. Ken had a bag of noodles.

  But Ken didn't flinch.

  From her hiding spot, Iris couldn't see Ken’s eyes clearly. She couldn't see the hidden magic he used. She couldn't hear the specific hypnotic command he whispered into the Guard's mind.

  To Iris, it looked like a miracle.

  She saw Ken place a hand on the Guard’s armored shoulder. It was such a casual, human gesture. It was the way you would touch a friend, not a killer.

  She saw Ken speak softly. She saw him smile—a goofy, harmless smile.

  And then, the impossible happened. The Guard, who was seconds away from killing the old man, stopped. The magic on his fist vanished. The anger in his posture melted away. The Guard lowered the old man gently to the ground.

  Iris gasped. She had never seen anything like it.

  In the Belmontia Empire, conflicts were solved with force. If a Guard was angry, you fought him with a bigger sword. If a Prince was mad, you used a stronger spell.

  But Ken didn't use force. He didn't fight fire with fire. He fought fire with water. He diffused the situation with pure calmness.

  "He didn't use magic," Iris thought, completely misunderstanding what had actually happened. "He used words. He used empathy. He treated the Guard like a human being, and the Guard responded."

  She watched Ken help the old man up. She saw him dust off the old man’s jacket. She saw the kindness in his movements. He didn't look for applause. He didn't wait for a reward. He just grabbed his noodles and disappeared back into the crowd, looking like he wanted to go home and nap.

  That was the moment Iris made her decision.

  Back in the present, in her dark office, Iris opened her eyes.

  "That is the power I need," she said to the empty room.

  The other Royals were collecting weapons. They were finding people who could destroy cities. But Iris knew that if she wanted to win the throne—and more importantly, if she wanted to be a good Empress—she needed something else.

  She needed someone who wasn't afraid of power. She needed someone who could stand in front of a monster and not blink.

  Ken Eliot was a commoner with no status. He claimed to have no magic. He claimed to be lazy and weak.

  "He lies," Iris thought with a small smile. "He is not weak. A weak man does not walk into the path of a Royal Convoy to save a stranger. A weak man runs away."

  She believed that Ken had a hidden strength. She didn't think it was magical strength—she had no idea he could blow up a mountain. She thought it was strength of character. She thought he had a brave heart buried under that lazy attitude.

  "He is exactly the kind of anomaly this war needs," Iris decided. "Everyone will underestimate him. The other Princes will look at him and see a clown. They will ignore him."

  And that would be their mistake.

  Iris picked up her pen. She pulled a fresh sheet of paper from the stack. She began to write the official registration form for the Ninth Servant.

  Name: Ken Eliot.

  Rank: Servant of the 13th Unit.

  Specialty: Unknown.

  She paused at the "Specialty" section. She tapped her pen against her chin. Then, she wrote one word.

  Potential.

  "I will trust my instincts," Iris whispered. "Grandmaster Finlay can train his body. I will trust his heart."

  She looked out the window one last time. The lantern light in the courtyard had disappeared. Ken was probably in his room now, likely complaining about the dust or the hard bed.

  "Sleep well, Ken," Iris said softly. "You want a slow, boring life. I am sorry that I took that away from you. But the world needs you, even if you don't know it yet."