As four of the five fleets departed the newly-renamed plane of Demetrion, Leon felt no small amount of bitterness rising in his heart. There went his fleets, off to conquer while he remained on the central plane of the cluster, waiting for word to come back.

‘This must have been how Elise always felt.’ The bitterness was momentarily tempered by shame, but as the fleets disappeared into the blueness of the afternoon sky, Leon simply sighed and headed back into the palace.

He was back in Sakhmej on the southern continent, the city that seemed to be rapidly turning into the center of the plane-wide administration that Marcus was busy setting up. Such was his job, of course, and he had a thousand bureaucrats and a plane’s worth of subordinated nobles and non-aristocratic magistrates to work with—that was the biggest reason why Leon accepted so many surrenders. Those people could continue to administer their lands, so long as they did so in accordance with Leon’s laws and provided the proper taxes and tribute, alleviating the burden on the administration that Leon wanted set up here.

In that vein, Leon and Marcus had finished hashing out the bureaucratic structure. It largely made use of the same Exarch system that Leon used in the Nexus, though the land that Leon now owned directly as a result of more violent conquest methods—which amounted to about a quarter of Demetrion—was being broken up into at least a dozen separate Exarchates, possibly more depending on census results. Each Exarchate would then be broken up into smaller counties and then prefectures, ruled by Magisters and Prefects, respectively, and with large councils of representatives appointed by elders or popular vote depending on the region who would advise them.

The Exarchs, meanwhile, would be appointed by either Leon himself or the plane’s Planarch, the singular ruler of the plane. Leon would personally appoint each Planarch, at least until doing so became too cumbersome. Planarchs would assemble councils from local powers, both from vassals and local Exarchates, to advise them, help administer their appointed domains, and select new Exarchs.

The Planarchs would be the head of the civilian sector within each plane, but Leon wanted plenty of checks on their power since they would be far from his watchful eyes. Praetors would be both elected from the locals and sent from the Nexus—or some other theoretical higher level of administration in the future—and Inspectors would frequent the planes. The Planarchs would also have no authority over the commanders of any local garrisons, who would act in many ways as the equal of the Planarch in their domain.

In these systems, nuances were going to pile up faster than Leon could straighten them out, so he left specific powers in the hands of the Praetors to change the specifics of administrations to adapt to local circumstances. In Demetrion’s case, Leon fully expected additional Exarchates to be created as nobles died or rebelled in his absence, and for the non-hereditary locals who submitted to eventually be subsumed into Exarchates as well.

Keeping all of these different administrations running smoothly and justly was going to be a headache. He was grateful that it was largely going to be left to people other than himself—as the King, his eye had to be on the bigger picture: the Kingdom as a whole. Grand strategy, commanding armies, defending borders, expanding borders, ensuring the loyalty of Planarchs… These were his jobs now.

Which, of course, only made him feel useless as the four fleets departed from the plane.

Demetrion had been conquered, but eight planes yet lay in its planar cluster. Each of the four fleets was going to conquer the nearest four planes to Demetrion, and once those planes had submitted or been crushed, move on to the remaining four planes. Leon would remain on Demetrion, close enough to help if anything were to happen, but far enough away to give the fleet commanders breathing room.

Besides, he had to supervise the integration of Demetrion into his new system, as well as welcome the occupying garrison once it arrived. It had only been two months since he’d arrived on the plane, but Artorion was ready with another fleet, which would soon arrive. These men and women would serve as the local garrison—or at least, the beginnings of one. Leon felt like having several more fleets to monitor and defend the cluster would be sufficient, but any less would present problems. Until the Demetrion Cluster was completely consolidated and providing plenty of tax, tribute, and recruits, both of the military and bureaucratic variety, the forces left behind to defend the cluster would likely serve as something of an occupying force, and as such, had to be strong enough to deal with any internal rebellions that might break out.

But again, that wouldn’t be Leon’s problem unless something went seriously wrong, and that grated on him more than he’d expected it to. He almost wished someone would rebel just so that he might have something to do.

[Bored?] Xaphan asked from his soul realm, interrupting him mid-thought. Since Leon was in private, he felt no compunction about responding verbally to his demonic partner.

“How can you tell?”

[You’re pacing a trench into the floor.]

Leon glanced down at the polished stone tiles, almost expecting Xaphan to have been speaking literally.

[Ha! That you had to check is proof! You’re bored, boy!]

“Is there a reason why you’re interrupting me when I’m enjoying my well-earned boredom, demon?”

[I had a thought that I wanted to pick your brain over, human and thus lesser than demon though you are.]

The jab resulted in nothing more than Leon rolling his eyes, though he at least plopped down in the nearest armchair and cast his consciousness into his soul realm, awaking on his throne in his Mind Palace.

He stretched and swung himself off the stone chair, a quip on his lips, “Thinking’s dangerous, you know.”

“A statement only a lesser creature would make.” Leon didn’t know how, but Xaphan’s fires seemed to crackle provocatively, daring him to rise to the challenge.

The provocation failed, though Leon’s returned grin was itself a provocation. “What dangerous thought about fire have you had today, my well-done friend?”

“Oh, Leon, it’s terrible!” Xaphan almost exaggeratedly fainted as his voice went higher pitched. “I’ve been arguing with myself all day about the best way to prepare a man! I just can’t decide! Extra crispy or a slow broil? Would you care to lend yourself to a demonstration?”

“Crispy’s always better,” Leon stated unequivocally.

“You know, you’re right. No other way can compare. The crunch of the skin must match the crunch of the bones!”

“Listen, demon, as much as I’d like to help, my diet is rather human-free, so my expertise on the subject is limited.”

“Pathetic. You humans are bony and unappetizing in general, but you have a few good portions. Though—”

“The point, Xaphan? This joke is getting a little too real, so let’s get back on topic.”

Xaphan hummed in thought, the sound harmonizing strangely well with how fire danced and sizzled over his body. Finally, the fires died down slightly as he moved a little closer to Leon, sitting down near the edge of his pavilion and asking seriously, “What plans do you have for the dragons?”

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“The dragons? I… This is coming a little out of nowhere, you know…”

“I can see why you think that. But it’s something I’ve been wondering for a while, now. Ever since that bratty Princess invited you to the Belicenian Games.”

“Interested in the games? I wasn’t aware you even knew about them, demon.”

“Everyone knows of the Belicenian Games, boy. Everyone who matters, anyway—and plenty of fuckwits who don’t, whose only use is to pad out the competitions. The seven Princes of the Elemental Planes don’t usually send demons to participate, but individual demons occasionally attend. I, myself, have never gone. But… I’m interested in another possibility since you’re going anyway.”

“The dragons.”

“Yes, the dragons.”

“You have business with the Dragon Clans? Why have I never heard of this?”

“It’s not ‘business’. I’m just…”

As Xaphan trailed off, Leon scoured his memory looking for any sign of Xaphan’s interest in the dragons. On a few rare occasions, apparent now that he was looking back on it, Xaphan had expressed some admiration for the dragons, though he’d rarely spoken of the Clans themselves as far as Leon could recall.

“You think the Dragon Clans will be at the games?”

Xaphan’s eyes shifted around anxiously, and he’d somewhat curled in on himself protectively, as if expecting Leon to go for the throat after seeing some kind of vulnerability.

“Dragons…” he began almost reluctantly, “… are the greatest wielders of fire in the universe. They are beings that defy the powers of mankind, the elements that seem to define the universe’s structure, but almost paradoxically, are more in tune with those powers than anyone else.”

“I’m sure they’d find your praise incredibly flattering, demon.”

“Hey, you shut your whore mouth!”

Leon playfully frowned and held his hands up, wordlessly gesturing for Xaphan to continue.

“The black fire of the Great Black Dragon is something that I had never before experienced, even when I was a Lord of Flame. The other six Great Dragons hold powers of their own, fires of their own that I want to see. With my own eyes, if possible.”

Discarding Xaphan’s previous comment, Leon opened his mouth and asked, “Are you asking to participate in the games?”

“Fuck no! I don’t prance around for the amusement of others, especially not some young Sun King!”

“‘Young’ Sun King?”

“Anushipur-something, I don’t care, he’s never been relevant to me. He acquired the Sun Crown about one hundred and fifty thousand years ago and is maybe twice that in years alive; his reputation for honor and grace even reached my ears deep in the Elemental Plane of Fire. That, however, is about all I ever bothered to remember about him.”

Leon cocked an eyebrow and regarded Xaphan curiously. He’d envisioned all of the Elemental Kings—and those that were fighting for the remaining vacant title in the Storm Lands—as all being old monsters, hundreds of thousands or even millions of years old. To hear that the Sun King was younger than Xaphan—who was about four hundred thousand years old, as Leon recalled—was rather surprising. He supposed he shouldn’t be surprised, though, as the Ocean King was fairly new to the title, on a very relative scale.

“But,” Xaphan continued, “I would like to see the dragons, should they participate in the games.”

Leon nodded slowly. “I… would, too.” He silently went and leaned on one of the pillars of Xaphan’s pavilion, close to where the demon sat. “How much more do you know of the dragons?”

“Little I haven’t already told you, boy.”

“But still more than you’ve told me?”

“If you’re so curious, why haven’t you sought out this information for yourself?”

“Icarius has sent me what little he’s found as he’s expanded our trade network, but Arushae is damned far from the Storm Lands. Since it’s not one of the major landmasses ruled by the Elemental Kings, there isn’t a lot of widely-known information on it, and even less news that leaves its shores.”

“Typical excuses.”

“Feel free to investigate on your own, demon; you know that I have motivation for checking it out.”

Xaphan grumbled something unintelligible past his crackling fire before finally proceeding with the topic of their conversation.

“Each of the Great Dragons had powers of their own, and their fire reflected that. The Great Black Dragon is usually considered the ‘strongest’, though that sort of thinking is rooted in destructive potential. The Great White Dragon could heal an entire Kingdom by flying over it, letting the light of his wings shine down upon them. The Great Blue Dragon commanded the seas like a general commands an army, Great Gold wielded the power of lightning as mightily and even more artfully than the pigeon and could appear and disappear from almost anywhere at will, and Great Gray was as vast and unkillable as a mountain. Great Red could enflame any emotion he wished in someone who witnessed him, and Great Green’s wind could vitalize or destroy the earth wherever he flew. And, of course, there was nothing in all of existence that Great Black couldn’t destroy.

“Or so the stories go, anyway. Seeing their fires burning in their descendants might give me some insight into those strange powers, to see if there is any truth to the old legends or not.”

Leon frowned. “You expect them to be at the Belicenian Games?”

“I don’t expect; I merely think it’s possible. It’s your greatest chance yet to see your extended family, boy, and I wanted to toss in my own little request to keep an eye out.”

“Hmm. I appreciate it, Xaphan. I’d thought the Great Dragon Clans were extremely isolationist, but… if they’re there at the games, then…”

“You’re not going to just walk up to them and announce yourself, are you? That would be idiotic.”

“Yes, yes it would, demon. So that’s not going to be my first plan. Maybe my second, but we’ll see how far I can stretch my limited creativity over the next two-ish years.”

They went silent for a long moment, each apparently lost in thought. At least, Leon had certainly lost himself in thought. ‘The Great Dragon Clans… Family—by blood, at least…’

A strange thought, but one that accelerated his heart rate faster than he’d have thought possible before Xaphan’s request made it seem real.

‘Are they actually going to be there? Will they? Will Mother be there too? She’s imprisoned, though, so maybe Fain? Or will it only be others from the other six Clans? Or none at all?’

One overriding thought soon pushed all the others to the side.

‘I need more information. I need to be as ready as I can be for whatever I find there, be that none of the Clans; be that all of them.’

Finally, Leon turned back to the silent demon. “What… what have you learned from me, demon?”

“Learned from you? What makes you think I’ve learned anything from you?”

“All right, all right, no need to sound so offended… But what you just asked of me indicates that you can learn things from other kinds of fire. Have you learned anything from mine? I think Miuna’s called it ‘Doomfire’ before…”

Xaphan stared at him for long enough that Leon thought he wasn’t going to answer, but he eventually pushed himself back to his obsidian feet, growled, “Follow me, then,” and walked back to the center of his pavilion. Leon did as bid, finding Xaphan already holding out his hand and conjuring a small fireball in the burn pit at the center of his pavilion.

For a moment, the fire looked like ‘regular’ demonfire, burning a deep, dark red. Such fire was incredibly difficult to put out without the demon’s say-so, but as Leon examined it, he saw something a little different within the core of the flame: tiny specks of something darker deep within.

“Are you… trying to recreate Doomfire?” he asked in amazement.

“Nothing can,” Xaphan responded. “Or… maybe it’s better to say that it would take something on the level of a Universe Fragment to do. But… that doesn’t mean that I can’t make something similar.”

Leon brought a candle’s worth of Doomfire to the end of his thumb with a sharp snap and pushed it toward Xaphan’s conjured flame. His ‘candle’ passed by the fake Doomfire, and Xaphan’s fire seemed to wilt in its presence, as a flower might in the light and heat of the sun when rain was but a distant memory. True Doomfire was still much stronger than what Xaphan had, but…

“Is it just more destructive fire?” Leon asked. “Or did you try to make it anything more than that?”

“Destruction has its purpose, boy,” Xaphan chided as he snuffed out the conjured flame. If he weren’t mistaken, Leon thought he looked almost disappointed and affronted that Leon’s Doomfire ‘candle’ had so affected his fire. “When I next meet Amon, I intend to be the only one who walks away. But he is the Prince of Flame, with all that entails—and possibly more, should your rather baseless and incorrect fears come to be. I will show that arrogant shitstain that no one deserves to be the Prince of Flame more than me! I will fix the mistake that the memory of our ancient friendship once caused me to make; I did not kill him as thoroughly as I should’ve!”

Leon nodded along as Xaphan proceeded in such a tirade for a while. He could understand the feeling—should he run into Kamran at the Belicenian Games, he wasn’t sure what he would do. The man was at least at the fifteenth-tier, and he only at the twelfth. Killing him directly might be impossible, and announcing who he was would be borderline suicide.

But… there would come a time when it wasn’t. Getting in touch with his mother’s side of the family might help him be ready for that time. Or, as with the Great Black Dragon himself, they might reject him outright, cast him out as a bastard unworthy of their time, attention, and support.

Until he met them, however, in a true sense beyond what little he’d heard in his mother’s message and from Fain, all was merely speculation. But, given Fain’s attitude, he speculated that they would be decidedly less than welcoming.

His heart raced, his hands shook, and sweat gathered at the thought of finding out for himself what they were like.

‘Maybe if they’re not at the games, then I might have to head to Arushae myself to find out…’

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep