43th of Season of Earth, 218th year of the 32nd cycle

  Newt’s master had taken two years to carefully prod and investigate without causing suspicion, until he finally scheduled another meeting with the Tidebreakers.

  In a sealed chamber, deep beneath the winter palace, six people had gathered at two sides of a table. Newt next to his master, Maelstrom across from him. Next to her was her grandfather, and two other older men Newt didn’t recognize, but could clearly see the family resemblance.

  They had taken a couple of seconds to read through the book Newt’s ancestor had left, and now they were frowning at Newt, quite possibly having a silent discussion on what to do.

  The eldest of them spoke. “A wise man once said, ‘Everyone is writing a book.’ Do you have any proof?”

  “Not direct, no,” Gatemaster Greenthorn said the words he must have planned or even practiced. “Our order isn’t old enough to have such records. But I have been digging around, and there are incongruities from that period, and the history before the Sage Emperor is purged or too vague to form a true image of what had happened.”

  Newt thought that combined with the fact that nobody ever bothered to discover the truth was proof enough, but he was biased, and he didn’t have the fate of a whole kingdom to decide.

  “Coming to us, accusing the imperials of working together with the cultists to doom us all, don’t you find it preposterous?” The old man continued.

  “They aren’t working together, Your Majesty,” Gatemaster Greenthorn said without hurry. “They are competing against each other, striving for the same ultimate goal. If I had to guess. Their plan is to sacrifice this world, then move on to the next and repeat the process indefinitely.”

  “We are loyal imperial servants; we have been for generations,” the old man said, and a sense of dread consumed Newt. He could see panic in Maelstrom’s eyes as her ancestor said the next words. “That being the case, we naturally knew about this.”

  Newt’s whole being went taught as if struck by lightning. He could fight someone at the eighth realm, possibly hold his own against a grandmaster, but he was still a long way from battling exalts.

  He tried to force a vision of the future, but no immediate danger would follow in the next few seconds.

  “Imperials haven’t been infallible in keeping their secret safe over the thousands of years they have been ruling these lands. And I don’t believe my family is the only one with the knowledge you suddenly find earth-shattering. In fact, I believe all royal families are aware of it.”

  Finally, she smiled.

  “We appreciate you showing such trust, but what is your plan exactly? What do you want to do?”

  Newt couldn’t help but notice that the old man didn’t give a hint of where his true loyalty lay. He had mentioned being a loyal imperial servant, but words had little value unless they were incriminating.

  I hate politics.

  Gatemaster Greenthorn remained silent, considering his options. But there were no good moves to play. They went to the Tidebreakers instead of the imperial family with Blaze Salamandra’s notes, which clearly showed they didn’t trust the imperials. The only way left was forward.

  “They plan to destroy our world, and us along with it. I don’t know about you, but I would prefer to live. For that, we either have to get into their inner circle, which is certainly a viper’s nest already full of those who are aware of their true intentions, or we need to stop them.”

  Gatemaster Greenthorn paused. “One is impossible, the other improbable—”

  “Both are merely improbable,” the old king corrected. “Impossible is nothing, but rallying over half of mankind’s power against the imperials without them being aware of it is highly improbable.”

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  “We don’t have to gather half the strength. The cults will never help the imperials, they might even descend upon them in search of vengeance.” Gatemaster Greenthorn paused, waiting for approval or an argument against his line of thought. He naturally got the latter.

  “First, you are overestimating the cultists. We are gauging their combat power somewhere between three and four royal families, meaning around ten exalts and the rest following normal distribution. Second, the imperial family, while once teetering, now has the strength of roughly six or seven royal families, with three kingdoms firmly under their control through marriage alliances and other, more despicable means. And finally, just because all royal families have two to four exalts, that doesn’t mean we are only that much stronger than an order such as yours, and your order places high in overall combat power.”

  Gatemaster Greenthorn took in the three men before him. Even the weakest, Maelstrom’s grandfather, could easily defeat him, perhaps even slay him.

  “Now that we have established power levels, let us talk circumstances. If you reveal this information to the entirety of the world right now, what would happen? Would everyone rise arms? Of course not. Most would despair, some would rally, others would rush to join the imperials, selling themselves in a bid to survive. Something instilled into mankind over generations through voluntary slavery.”

  The man paused and speared Gatemaster Greenthorn with his gaze.

  “In short, you are doomed to fail.”

  “With all due respect, Sir,” Newt found his mouth moving, and he couldn’t believe he was speaking in a meeting such as the one he was attending. “There is another force in this world, which the imperials would never bring along, with great stakes in the world’s survival, and with more than enough power to crush all of us a dozen times over.”

  The old king weighed Newt and his words with his gaze. “You speak of saurians, but commanding or directing them is impossible. They would fight over authority before they even reached the imperial forces. Their lack of unity would spell their doom. It’s impossible to rely on them.”

  “Improbable, Sir. Impossible is nothing,” Newt said calmly, and Maelstrom’s grandfather’s lip twitched into a smile for a blink before his face became neutral once more.

  “All right.” The old man also had a hint of a smile. “I’ll give you that. How would you organize them, or even notify them that there’s a threat warranting organisation?”

  “Act mindless.” Newt told Magmin, then flared with mana and projected a man-sized Magmin into the room.

  “Just stand behind me, please.” Newt frowned, pretending the extra attention spent on commanding and maintaining Magmin was demanding.

  Magmin moved, and the exalts present in the room stared at what was obviously a mana construct, yet unlike anything they had ever seen.

  “I can communicate with dragons thanks to my unique abilities. That is why we faced weaker resistance than expected during the Summersweald expedition. That is why my ancestral home survived the onslaught driven by the dragons despite larger towns and cities being razed.”

  Newt made certain not to lie, or even think about lying. The men arrayed before him could read him like an open book.

  “My idea — plan would be too strong a word — is that we retreat into the Summersweald. We build our own community there, and unlike imperials, who are sabotaging everyone, we do our best to promote growth and nurture talent without limiting resources.”

  The three exalts shook their heads at the same time, the eldest one speaking.

  “Limited resources and lack of nurturing aren’t the reason the exalts are so few. Otherwise, there wouldn’t be just the three of us after all these ages. Drive, commitment, strength of character to resist all other distractions, and there is what we have to call an element of luck, since even with all of the above, Maelstrom’s father, for example, had failed to reach the tenth realm.”

  Maelstrom’s grandfather winced. His son’s inability to break through was always a sore point. His ancestor ignored his discomfort and kept talking solemnly.

  “And it’s true for every realm beyond the fifth. It’s like there’s something inside you that judges whether you are worthy of taking the next step. The imperials and the cultists are capable of producing more because they either take something from their victims to empower themselves, or the dark entities they follow grant them whatever they are lacking.”

  His voice then changed, growing a little more encouraging.

  “But your idea is not without merit. Going into exile to grow our power away from their eyes and those who would slay or waylay our geniuses might yield fruit. Assuming the saurians allow us into their jungle. Still, talking them into joining the battle personally would be the best approach.”

  “I take it that means you are interested in resisting the imperial family?” Gatemaster Greenthorn asked.

  “No.” The old man shook his head. “Not yet, anyway. As things stand, you are doomed to fail, and joining the imperials might be the superior option. Both for us and our people. But if you can convince the saurians to provide sanctuary, you will have a stronger position, and we will continue this discussion. Until then, all we can promise is not to reveal your plot.”