Episode 13: Empire (1)
Ariane Kastora.
Ian Baltazar’s former fiancée.
A name absent from the game and unfamiliar from my time on the front.
In essence, she was someone only the original Ian Baltazar would know. That’s why I denied being him.
I wasn’t originally Ian Baltazar, nor did I want to lean into that identity. Whatever mess the old Ian had made, I had no reason to inherit his baggage.
That’s why, when I enlisted, I omitted my surname, using only “Ian.” Even on the front, I introduced myself that way.
Everyone there knew me as Ian, a commoner. So, the person standing here now wasn’t Ian Baltazar but a namesake, a different Ian.
Still, one question nagged at me: why didn’t Ariane recognize Ian’s face? If their engagement ended at sixteen, eleven years had passed. I’d bulked up and grown taller, but the core of a person’s appearance doesn’t change that much.
‘She mentioned the scars, so it’s not like she didn’t recognize me entirely. Is there another reason?’
I mulled over her muttered words: “There’s no way that bastard died so pathetically.” The implication was clear—word had spread that Ian Baltazar was dead.
My thoughts turned to Duke Baldir. As the head of Nordelheim and commander of the northern front, he wouldn’t have overlooked my identity.
Aura techniques were the empire’s prerogative, and the northern front was the continent’s sole shield.
He wouldn’t have let someone with an unclear background fight there, yet he never scrutinized my origins or records.
‘So maybe it was because he’d already done a background check.’
It was a guess, but perhaps Baldir spread the rumor that Ian Baltazar was dead.
Why, I didn’t know. Maybe the original Ian was notorious as a hopeless scoundrel, or there was something more.
Without information, I couldn’t say. And I couldn’t ask the late duke either.
Returning to the banquet hall, I stood by Irena’s side again.
“Ian, you took too long,” she said.
“Sorry, I got lost. The palace is huge.”
“Next time, I’m coming with you.”
“Alright.”
Freya was across the room, talking with a nobleman. Her expression wasn’t pleased, her clenched left fist trembling slightly. Irena, watching, chuckled.
“The Lady looks like she’s struggling. At her level, you have to mingle with nobles whether you want to or not.”
No one approached us—or rather, they couldn’t.
Irena was emanating Aura, not in a physical form but as an intangible pressure.
It wouldn’t harm anyone, but to those untrained in Aura, it felt like an eerie chill upon nearing.
“Don’t you do that too, Lady Irena?”
Irena swirled her wine glass, the liquid spinning inside. Taking a sip, she leaned lazily against the window.
“Not interested, except for one person.”
She glanced at me with a smile, and I was momentarily speechless.
“…”
Then, a nobleman broke through Irena’s Aura.
Overconfident in his gaze and movements, he had a broad-shouldered, balanced physique, suggesting some Aura training.
But before Irena’s intangible killing intent, his confidence wavered.
“Pardon me, Lady Irena,”
he said, smiling as he gracefully reached for her hand.
“You stand out even in this banquet hall. Would you honor me with the next dance?”
Irena silently stared at his hand touching hers, then slowly raised an eyebrow.
“Isn’t it customary to introduce yourself first in a place like this?”
“My apologies,”
he said, offering an awkward smile and a bow.
“Serius, second son of the Roisencravel count family.”
“I see,”
Irena replied curtly, raising her glass.
“I’ll remember that. If we cross paths again, that is.”
Serius gave an embarrassed laugh, unsure if she meant she’d remember him or dismiss him entirely. With a half-bow, he smiled elegantly.
“Lady Irena, I’ve heard of your exploits in the north.”
Serius said, raising his head cautiously.
“Your presence is as striking as your achievements, and your beauty is remarkable.”
“And?” Irena replied.
“Pardon?”
“Did you approach me to say that, or to inspect my appearance up close?”
Serius’s smile faltered for a moment.
“No, that’s not what I meant. I just thought I might have a chance to speak privately with someone who achieved such feats—”
Irena cut him off, stepping forward.
“You’ve trained in Aura, haven’t you? You pierced my Aura to get here.”
“…Somewhat. I’ve had formal knight training.”
“Then you should also know… that my aura isn’t just a threat.”
Her smile was sharp and fleeting, like shards of cold glass.
“Or did you not realize that? I suppose you wouldn’t. You trained in Aura but never set foot in the north.”
“Was your Aura for self-preservation? Or to charm women and climb the social ladder? Did you even graduate from the academy? I wonder. If you’d learned any common sense there, you’d have avoided this.”
Irena’s barrage of questions threw Serius off balance.
He opened his mouth to protest, but another wave of questions, each sharper and more indirect, hit him.
The message was clear: ‘If you were too scared to fight in the north, get lost.’
Serius, silenced, had no choice but to retreat.
“My apologies, Lady Irena. Have an glorious evening.”
He barely hid his twitching cheeks, shooting me a pointed look, as if blaming me for his rejection.
“Sir Ian, I understand the bond among those who fought together in the north. But influence in the capital matters too, doesn’t it?”
“I wouldn’t know.” I replied.
“If it’s that kind of relationship, it might be temporary—”
Temporary? Before he could finish, I grabbed his wrist.
The force, swift and silent, made him swallow hard.
My grip, honed over eleven years of wielding a sword, was superhuman.
“If you want to die, there are better ways,” I whispered.
Sweat beaded on his forehead. His restraint in stifling a scream showed some wit.
“I could send you to the north right now. I’d bet a month.” I said.
“Ian, I’d bet two weeks.”
Irena added, smiling warmly as she stepped in front of me.
The moment I released him, Serius fled.
Clink, clink.
A clear, bell-like sound rang out as the emperor’s voice echoed from behind the veil at the center of the banquet hall.
“Now, we shall honor the heroes who illuminated this occasion.”
The hall’s noise quieted instantly. Nobles and generals held their breath, focusing on the emperor’s voice.
The names of those who shone in the north were called one by one—familiar faces, people I’d spoken with or fought alongside. Each name drew applause and reverence.
Finally—
“And lastly, Ian.”
The hall fell silent, as if holding its breath, before erupting in applause. I walked slowly to the stage.
“Your deeds are a victory the entire empire must remember.”
Beyond the curtain, I saw the emperor’s gesture.
A servant placed a sword before me—a ceremonial blade of the ancient empire, finished in silver, the highest honor for a war hero. I lifted it, knelt, and bowed my head.
“Your honor will be remembered in the empire’s name.”
The emperor’s gaze pierced me through the elegant veil—not with admiration or caution, but with scrutiny, as if memorizing my face.
As applause began to rise again, the emperor spoke once more, silencing the crowd.
“Hero who achieved the feats of the Founding Emperor, the empire shall grant your heart’s desire.”