The furthest end of Vogel's Enchantments’ second floor always reeked like someone had ransacked an oils stall. Citrus zest from Coldust, floral perfumes with suffocating and conflicting scents, and the horrid stench of dense lavender—so heavy that it lingered in Angelika's nostrils for days. Blegh!

She exhaled sharply through her mouth to ventilate the stink. Although her journey was perilous, today, Angelika would endure. She had to endure.

For here, in Leona's room—a bottomless pit of aromatic nightmares and scented candles—stood the only closet Angelika could raid for fitting clothes. Why waste time getting groped at the tailor's when your obsessive older sister already did? But she had to hurry. If the perfume goblin caught Angelika, she would yammer into her ears till midnight.

Angelika flicked through a dozen enchantress robes hanging from hangers before encountering a dress that looked like someone had shat rose petals all over its skirt. Although the scarlet frills matched Leona's oh-so pristine hair, they would make Angelika's dirty curls stand out even more.

Pass!

She pushed the rose dress aside to reveal a blue gown with ridiculously wide sleeves and a revealing chest. Angelika smirked. Was that Leona's new husband-hunting gear? Either she got desperate, or it was yet another case of the pretty ones jumping through hoops to make everyone else look even more like shit.

Pass!

The rummaging through endless clothes continued, and Angelika's impatient swatting hastened with every overly elaborate dress she encountered. Why couldn't Leona wear something normal for fucking once?! She pushed aside a dress, and its hanger flew off the closet rod.

A lethal mistake.

An icy chill ripped down Angelika's spine as she reached forward to catch the plummeting mahogany hanger.

It slipped through her fingertips.

Not like this!

Angelika kicked out her foot, a last-ditch effort to soften the impact, but the hanger flew right past and slammed into the floor.

A heavy wooden thunk resounded throughout the store.

"EMILIA?" Leona shouted downstairs.

"It wasn't me!" a muffled plea sounded from a locked door across the hall.

"ANGELIKA?!"

Heavy footsteps plodded up the stairs. The perfume goblin approached.

Holding her breath, Angelika pivoted and jumped away from the closet. She considered dashing out of Leona's room, but the hallway would lead straight to the beast. She had to hide. But where?

Her eyes darted past a central bed, a nightstand upholding endless glass bottles, and a dresser boasting a polished silver mirror. Maybe Angelika could take refuge under the candle shelves? No. They lay in open sight. How about the place she had often lurked as a brat?

It would have to do.

The fluffy wool carpet caved beneath Angelika’s hands and knees as she crawled under Leona’s bed. Although she still fit into the crevice between the floor and the frame, Angelika forgot a single, crucial detail: she had grown taller. Her feet stuck out. To conceal her extremities, she curled into a ball.

The livid stomping stopped outside the door. "I see you down there, you idiot!"

Crap.

Angelika peeked out from under the bed. "I, uh... I was cleaning your room. There's sooo much crap down here, you wouldn't believe it."

"You? Cleaning?" Leona's orange eyes burst into flames. She pointed to the closet, which had crumpled dresses on the floor and hanging over the door. "Let me guess, you cleaned this too?"

"Emilia did that."

"I didn't do anything!" another muffled plea rang from across the hall.

Angelika clicked her teeth. Couldn't Emilia at least take some of the heat? Damn traitor.

"For the last time," Leona said, "if you want me to have clothes made for you, just tell me! Stop stealing mine! They don't even fit you!"

"How the hell was I supposed to know that a royal messenger was gonna come this morning?"

"That's why I keep saying you have to visit the tailor ahead of time!"

"So that creep can feel me up?" Angelika scoffed. "I’m good, thanks."

“He’s just collecting measurements.”

“Uh-huh. Sure he is.”

Leona palmed her face. "You really are an idiot."

"Look, it's not like I planned on being invited to a banquet. You're the prim and proper heiress. It's your job to deal with the nobility."

"You rescued the court physician from thugs, killed a carapaced devil, and single-handedly prevented two crawlers from slicing every refugee in the market square like pork sausages! What did you think would happen? Obviously Her Royal Majesty and Mira would promote you!"

Willing a good retort to come to mind, Angelika glared at her sister’s forehead. Not a word came out despite an arduous brainstorming session.

Leona sighed, approached the bed, and collapsed face-first onto an overgrown stack of pillows. "So it's finally happening, huh?"

"Yep,” Angelika muttered.

How odd.

Angelika had always thought her reaction to a promotion would have been an enthusiastic ‘fuck yeah’. The Ranking Ceremony was her first step beyond an unranked combat sorceress, a landmark on her path to becoming a head channeler like dad once was, a promise to one day hear a voltech cannon fire at her command and obliterate any carapaced devil that threatened the city her mom and sisters lived in!

Yet when the royal messenger arrived, bearing her invitation to the castle, Angelika felt no ecstasy. No exhilaration. No joy. Not even a sense of accomplishment.

She felt nothing.

Leona leaned over the edge of the bed, her scarlet hair drooping down to tickle Angelika's nose. "You should reconsider."

"Of course you'd say that."

"Mom and I can teach you enchanting. You already know the basics, and you're a more talented sorceress than me. In a year or two, you can work here. With us. Where it's safe."

"Yeah, right." Angelika crawled out from under the bed and back towards the closet. "Not sure how you two deal with the boredom. I'd blow my brains out."

Leona lunged forward to grab her shoulder. "I'm serious! You saw how many heathens there were out there! Next month, there'll be even more!"

"And what the fuck do you expect me to do? Wait here until a carapaced devil breaks into the fucking parlor? Someone's gotta be out there. The refugees need me!"

"The refugees?"

Angelika froze. Everything within her demanded she swallow her words. "I-I meant the Jade Surgeon. You know, 'cause he'll die without me, and he's helping us out a lot."

"Ah." Leona uttered a short laugh. "So that's what it is."

"W-what? What is what?"

"You're making that face you make whenever you're worried about someone."

"Me?! I don't worry about anyone! Especially not you."

Leona jumped off the bed and rushed closer. Her fingers, clingy like the vines of a drain blossom, pinched Angelika's cheeks. "You think you're sneaky, but nothing gets through me!"

"Let go!"

"You want to help those refugees, don't you?"

"They can die for all I care!"

"Now you're blushing!"

Despite the endless drills Angelika ran as part of her sorceress’s training, the strength to fight back against the perfume goblin didn't come. "Leave me alone!"

Leona's smile transitioned into a confident, sisterly gaze. "You should do it."

"Do what, you jerk?"

"I see how happy you are working for the Jade Surgeon. You say you hate standing in front of the hospital doing nothing all day, but even Emilia can tell you’re full of it. I remember you’d always come home and go into a mad rant about Remora and all its ‘shitty people’, but ever since you began guarding the hospital and that soup kitchen thing, you've mellowed out a bit. I've even seen you smile."

Leona released Angelika's cheeks. "You're happy when you’re helping people, aren’t you?"

Angelika glanced down at her feet and wriggled her toes. So that was why the royal invitation didn't excite her. If she underwent the promotion, she would have to train closely under Mira while another sorceress took her place as Dimitry's guard. Could they keep all his plans and convoluted projects secret and keep him alive?

No.

That was Angelika’s job.

But that didn't mean she abandoned her ambitions. Angelika still yearned to become a powerful thaumaturge like dad, and defending Malten remained her highest priority. Rather, an alternative route for accomplishing both goals emerged—one she couldn't have fathomed a month prior: revitalizing this city.

Dimitry’s magic and inventions uprooted everything. Instead of envisioning Malten’s inevitable demise from plague, famine, and worsening raids, Angelika dying in some ditch as heathen’s blood seared her flesh from bone, she saw herself wielding insane magic to defend the weak and ailing while Dimitry tended to them.

Hope had come to Malten. For Angelika, her family, and every unfortunate soul in this city. She couldn’t fuck this opportunity up.

Angelika knew what she had to do.

Leona fell back onto her bed. "After seeing the Jade Surgeon treat Cedany, I’d feel better if you’re working for him. I want to believe in the apostle, too."

Right. The apostle stuff. Angelika pondered the idea with increasing frequency. Although watching Dimitry desperately study the gospel put his holiness in doubt, the blue mark on his wrist, those relics, his medicine, rifles with rainbow enchantments, the cache on Waira, a dead class three raid—they all hinted at something more.

Something Angelika couldn’t understand. According to Precious, neither did Dimitry. “Who the hell knows what’s true anymore?”

“Not me. As long as you stay safe out there, I’m happy without knowing.”

“I’ll be careful. Thanks, Leona.”

“You’re very welcome. Now get out of my room."

A scheme festering in her mind, Angelika smirked. "Sure thing, big sis."

“Good.”

Angelika strolled towards the exit, and at the last moment, darted to the closet, pulled a random dress from a hanger, and scrammed into the hallway.

“Not my silk kirtle!” a heartbroken plea rang out from behind. “Don’t ruin that one too! Please!”

Dimitry’s boots sunk into a narrow blue carpet as he stepped into the throne room.

Ladies in elaborate dresses and men in decorated uniforms froze. Standing guard alongside marble walls, sorceresses and knights lifted their hoods and visors. Every conversation lowered to scattered whispers. The scents of roasted meat and honey wafted in from the kitchen across the castle, yet no one spoke of the upcoming banquet. Every gaze found its mark.

To the hundred glares burrowing into his face, Dimitry offered a response one might expect from the apostle—a benevolent smile.

Several nobles returned the favor while others curtsied, bowed, or nodded.

The chatter resumed.

That went better than expected. However, while grateful for a warmer reception than the stabbing gossip Dimitry endured during his last visit to the throne room, he didn’t come here to revel in newfound respect.

Rather, three goals convinced him to halt his duties at the hospital: unveiling the scheme he conjured alongside the queen, meeting potential allies, and identifying anyone responsible for the assault on him, his property, or his staff. To ensure success, he brought along an emotion-sensing faerie that constantly poked at his kidney, begging to sneak a peek at the castle's interior.

However, just as the queen predicted, tonight’s banquet saw many absentees, among them Tylo Sauer and others who had despised Dimitry during the weapons demonstration.

And that was fine.

Lukas was investigating those who failed to attend while Dimitry handled the rest. He prepared to get to work when a sudden shout caught his attention.

"Surgeon!" A bubbly woman waved from a corner, bumpy scars on her palm from past overload. Raina hurriedly beckoned him closer.

Huddling behind her was her daughter. Angelika’s red-brown curls fell over a pink satin dress on the verge of bursting.

Dimitry furrowed his brow. The queen mentioned Angelika would attend the summit for her promotion, which fledgling sorceresses used to build their reputations and secure work contracts, so why squander the opportunity by wearing unfitting clothes?

This had to be good.

He approached. "Good evening."

"Jade Apostle." Raina hastily curtsied. "I apologize for my rudeness, but can you stand over here?"

“… Sure.” Dimitry stepped beside Raina, forming a wall that locked Angelika into the corner and out of sight of onlookers. "Here’s good?"

"Perfect!" She licked her thumb and ran it across Angelika's eyebrow, matting every unruly hair into a neat curve.

"Mom! Everyone's gonna see!"

"Stop squirming.”

Ah. Everything made sense now. In typical Angelika fashion, the girl half-assed the preparations for her own ceremony. Her cheeks redder than a ripe tomato, Dimitry knew what he had to do: embarrass her further.

He smirked.

"W-what's so funny?!"

"Oh, nothing."

"Why do both of you have to be like this?"

Raina ignored the teenager's frantic protests and swept Angelika’s curly hair over one shoulder. "I hope my girls didn't trouble you too much on the night of repentance."

"Not at all," Dimitry said. "Leona and Angelika have been a great help."

“Adal and I raised them right after all!”

Getting her satin dress straightened, Angelika hissed through clenched teeth, "Why do you always treat me like a kid? I'm nineteen. Nine. Teen."

"No matter how old you are, you'll always be my baby."

As if to find witnesses to her embarrassment, Angelika’s gaze darted left and right before falling to her slippers.

Dimitry chuckled. Watching a lethal sorceress who had recently murdered stone giants while mouthing off more swears than a sailor at sea crumble under motherly affection entertained him greatly.

Two sets of pompous footsteps stomped closer.

One belonged to a young knight with broad shoulders and a confident swagger in every stride. He walked alongside his father, a portly marquis and the third most powerful person in Malten.

Raina knelt. "Lord Valter. Lord Richter."

After stumbling over her platformed slippers, Angelika knelt too.

"Vogels. Surgeon." Like a star college quarterback leveling the popularity gap between himself and his fans, Valter Kuhn displayed a humbling smile. "I apologize for intruding on your conversation, but we came to ask about that bellowing roar and raging quakes that smote the class three raid outside the western gatehouse."

Marquis Richter glared at Dimitry. "Even the castle walls shook. Am I to believe you and Raina's daughters did all that?"

"I'm afraid that's a bit of an exaggeration," Dimitry said. "The sorceress Elze helped, too."

With a disgruntled humph, Richter reached beneath his uniform—baring countless medals and ribbons—and pulled out a hefty leather pouch. Hundreds of gold coins jingled within. "I'll buy your bombs and rifles. All of them and everything else you have."

The chatter within the throne room stopped, and nobles stalked Dimitry with hungry eyes. Were they waiting for someone else to stake their reputation in a conversation about purchasing holy weaponry?

Although the growing interest in black powder technology proved that the nobility approved Dimitry's products, their support came too late. With an army in the works, he no longer had to risk having his weapons being used against him or someone reproducing explosives with reverse-engineering magic.

But that didn't mean Dimitry should ruin this chance to peddle future wares. Why tell people his products were off-limits when he could push the scarcity mentality instead? Next time he had something for sale, even something as simple as anti-inflammatory drugs, he wanted nobles to clamor for a taste.

Funding always came in handy. Especially with the project Dimitry came here to unveil. "I'm grateful for the interest, but Mira and Lukas have already purchased my entire stock. Please accept my sincerest apologies."

"Ask me first next time!" Marquis Richter roared as he waddled away.

Trailing behind his father, Valter nodded. "Enjoy the festivities."

"We will. Thank you.”

After the two lords had left, a noblewoman lifted the edge of her skirt and rushed closer. She froze when a metallic ringing pierced the throne room.

Holding a reverberating steel spear, a royal guard stood at attention. "Her Royal Majesty Amelie Pesce, and Her Royal Highness Saphiria Pesce.”

The crowd parted to make way for the two royal ladies and two court sorceresses striding down the central blue carpet.

Although the queen carried herself as powerfully as always, it was the girl at her side that caught Dimitry's attention. Saphiria walked with overwhelming confidence. Or perhaps confidence wasn't the right word. Unlike the desperation she showed on the night she offered Dimitry her protection, her stalwart gaze spoke of a determined impetus and ambitions more resolute than a medical student's oath to save lives.

What happened to her?

Dimitry hadn't heard from Saphiria since the night of repentance, and if he didn’t have schemes to plan or patients to treat, he would have checked on her. But it seemed his concern was unnecessary.

Queen Amelie and Princess Saphiria sat upon their thrones.

The queen’s crimson eyes scanned the crowd. "The nights of repentance grow fiercer, and the one that has most recently come to pass is proof. As if coordinated by the ancient evil itself, two raids struck this city in tandem, striking at the very core of Malten's foundations. The corruption penetrated our defenses, and in the chaos, we have lost another amongst our ranks. Sir Riquin of House Kraus has expired."

As if full of hope that suddenly shattered, a woman’s heart-wrenching wails echoed across marble walls and arches.

Was that Lord Riquin's wife? Dimitry lowered his head.

One by one, nobles approached the mourning lady to rest a compassionate hand on her shoulder. Their downcast expressions seemed to relate, and their orderliness hinted this was a frequent ceremony.

"But even as the light dims," the queen said, "we fight. The threat of annihilation reveals courage. Tonight, we have gathered to celebrate the valor of one of my most promising sorceresses. Angelika Vogel, step forward."

"M-mom," Angelika whispered. "Can you tell them I don't—"

"Celeste guide you, sweetie!" Raina pushed her daughter forward.

Angelika staggered forward, knelt, and glanced back at Dimitry with pleading eyes.

The poor girl must have been nervous. He gave her an encouraging smile.

"Angelika Vogel,” the queen said. “You risked peril to defeat a carapaced devil, and then, without rest and under the assault of flying devils, you sallied forth to exterminate the crawlers that had breached the western gatehouse. Your honor has been noted. May you continue to serve this kingdom as valiantly as Sir Adal of House Vogel did before you."

Only Raina’s suppressed clapping could be heard as a sorceress in red and gold robes stepped from the crowd. The lustrous green pellet resting on Mira’s outstretched hand drained into her palm.

Angelika winced when two parallel cuts sliced across her upper shoulder. Blood dribbled down into her dress.

Ceremony—a pointless reason to risk infection. Luckily, Dimitry brought his tools. He would clean the wounds later.

"As a Secondary Fire Leader," Mira said, "you will serve under a Head Channeler and receive field channeling training so that you may eventual—"

"U-um," a whimper brought the ceremony to a standstill.

Everyone glared at Angelika.

The girl's knee squirmed atop the central blue carpet. "L-lady Mira. Can I say something?"

"Now is not the time."

"W-well," Angelika said, her voice quavering. "I’m declining the promotion so I can continue serving the apostle!"

A hundred gazes snapped towards Dimitry.

Raina clapped no longer, Queen Amelie smirked, and Mira pouted as if he was stealing her most precious ‘darling’.

Angelika glanced back at him once more. Her expression was apologetic this time.

Ah, crap.

That wasn't in the plan Dimitry concocted with the queen.

Hoping to keep a trusted confidant and put his machinations back on track, he approached Angelika's side. "My apologies, Lady Mira, Your Royal Majesty. I know Angelika is indispensable to the guild, but without a brave and reliable sorceress like her, I could never have brought Zera's gifts to this kingdom. Her continued assistance is paramount to Malten’s survival. If necessary, I’ll pay for her vol and services myself."

No one spoke until a weathered yet confident voice rose from the crowd. “Your Royal Majesty, may this one say her share?”

“Euphemia. Although you are retired, a court sorceress’s words will always hold weight in my court.”

“I am obliged.” A gray-haired woman adjusted her eye patch and stepped forward. “Those who have served will know this tale well. Back when the Sorceresses Guild was still the Thaumaturges Guild and accepted men, we considered flying devils the great equalizer. Wizards were sturdier and healed faster than sorceresses, yet the splash of a suicidal flier’s entrails held enough corruption to kill any mage.

“Much has changed since those days. Vol shortages have made wizards inefficient to instruct, we’ve developed voltech rifles, and our tactics have improved. Yet the deadliness of heathen’s blood remains. No sorceress serves long without seeing an acquaintance perish to its penetrating flames.”

Standing along the walls, sorceresses and even knights squirmed, perhaps remembering trauma they would have preferred to forget.

Euphemia locked eyes with Dimitry. “But with the apostle’s advent, that too might have changed. I visited the cathedral, and although my granddaughter is gravely injured, Cedany still lives, breathes, and talks. She is the hope of the next generation—one that won’t have to lose as many sisters as mine. Your Royal Majesty, this one humbly recommends that the divine surgeon receives all the protection he requires.”

Though Dimitry lowered his head at the heartfelt praise, he couldn’t recall meeting Euphemia. She must have visited the hospital during his absence.

The queen's gaze traversed the sea of vassals. "Indeed. Not a soul in this castle is ignorant of the lives the Jade Surgeon has saved and the heathens he has slaughtered. I look forward to his future developments. His safety is to be guaranteed." She glared at Mira.

“This one is in complete agreement,” the sorceress guildmistress said. “While Angelika holds great potential under my tutelage, if she wishes to continue serving the Jade Surgeon, we will continue supplying her with vol and funds.”

“Then the matter is settled.”

Mira flashed Dimitry a defeated grin, collected her blood-stained steel threads from the floor, and vanished into the sea of onlookers.

Angelika looked up at Dimitry with a face that said, ‘I fucked that up, didn’t I?’

Although he would have preferred a more elegant solution, Dimitry couldn’t get mad at a girl who declared her loyalty to him in front of everyone she respected. He suppressed the urge to ruffle her ridiculously curly hair like a proud father might.

“Jade Surgeon,” the queen said, culling scattered prattle before it could sprout into debate. "There was a time the Church offered us guidance and aid against the demonic threat. Although they have gone, you have taken their place. It is only fitting that I grant you the title you deserve."

Dimitry feigned obliviousness. "What title, Your Royal Majesty?"

“That of the archbishop. As The Most Reverend Fronika of Olsten did before you, you will oversee all holy sanctuaries and ceremonies in Malten. Do you accept the privileges and burdens that come with restoring Zera’s blessing?”

Murmurs at first, sharp discussion soon filled the throne room. But unlike the day Dimitry revealed enchanted rifles and sticky bombs, not a single noble mocked him. They looked on as if expecting a miracle.

And Dimitry had just the one. "Zera calls for me to bring peace, safety, and prosperity to all within your domain. However, for my ambitions, a title alone does not suffice. There is another concession I need to banish the corruption.”

"And that is?"

"Land."

"Besides the land upon which the churches, monasteries, and the cathedral are built, I have no land to offer you."

"But you do," Dimitry said. "It is land that had always belonged to Zera but was squandered by the Church, now wasting away in ruin."

"Do you refer to the shrine in Amphurt?"

He shook his head. "The heathen barrier on Malten's western coast. I wish to rebuild it."

Sitting on her throne, Saphiria's indigo eyes widened. So did the orange eyes of the girl who knelt by Dimitry's side and those of countless nobles.

Chatter poured in from all sides, yet Dimitry continued. "The land west of Malten’s walls. The corrupted fields, the river, and the ocean. I will purify it all."

To win the sympathy of the more dubious spectators, the queen looked on, shocked. "And Zera will help you accomplish your ludicrous goal?"

"Zera, the refugees, and every willing man and woman. Like Celeste did before me, I will guide people to the coast so they may build a walled outpost. With holy weaponry, we will kill every heathen emerging from the ocean, allowing your knights and sorceresses to focus on those assaulting Malten from the north. Refugees will no longer starve and litter your streets with their corpses. Casualties like Sir Riquin and Cedany will become an exception and not the rule. That is my goal.”

The nobles' chatter escalated into a rabid debate.

"If he clears the streets of squatters—"

"—other holy weaponry—"

"—Zera's blessing truly returned?"

Dozens of voices competed to be heard. Their excitement was well-warranted.

Dimitry mentioned only the aspects of his plan that benefited his audience, but an outpost along the coast offered countless personal boons. Among them were direct routes for commerce and diplomacy with myrmidon, trade with foreign countries, and limitless access to the ocean—a plentiful and immediate source of food for a starving refugee populace.

Yet the location provided another advantage—safety. Malten was a short distance away, allowing for close cooperation and reinforcements from the queen if necessary. Her city also functioned as a buffer between the coast and the kingdom’s other territories. Were a noble to grow aggrieved with Dimitry, they would have to travel halfway across the country and past Malten to attack him. More than enough time to scout their forces and prepare.

Smaller groups of insurgents wouldn’t fare well either. Dimitry’s private army could vet anyone who entered his outpost. No longer would any thug with a crossbow be able to reach and kill him or his employees on a whim.

Besides freedom from harm, his autonomy as the founder allowed for limitless possibilities: the construction of sewers for waste collection and potassium nitrate production, aqueducts for running water and crop irrigation, laboratories for replicating secretive Earth technology, factories for manufacturing trade goods and medical supplies, schools for reading, math, and scientific thought, a hospital designed with modern medicine in mind, and a government handpicked by Dimitry to manage them all.

Until now, he had overseen every project. However, with the help of a thousand followers across countless disciplines, Dimitry could assemble teams to handle affairs beyond his expertise while he expanded health care and explored everything from the anatomy of heathens to the limits of modified magic. Progress would hasten exponentially.

Dimitry’s undertaking was massive. His gambit entailed great risk. However, with amplifying heathen raids, every month he waited would lower the odds of success.

When the discussion settled, the queen spoke once more. "Your ambitions are in alignment with the needs of my kingdom, and I am willing to offer my full support. Yet I worry your project will take too long to complete. When do you intend to start? At winter’s end? Mid-spring?"

"As soon as preparations are complete."