Chapter 10

Just as Billy had guessed, Shirou and Kurono remained blissfully unaware that they had been seen the moment their boots crossed the invisible boundary into Assyria. Not by guards, no—no patrols had been sent, no alarms had rung through the cobbled streets. Instead, the city itself had watched them. Or more precisely, the one who ruled it had.

Far above the slumbering avenues and silent spires, seated amid a moonlit garden in the highest terrace of the palace, Semiramis—Duchess of Assyria and poisoner of kings—tilted her head thoughtfully as stars shimmered above her like scattered jewels on velvet. She had known from the moment the mana signature of the intruders brushed against the city's arcane lattice.

The barrier that guarded Assyria was no simple shield; it was a living net of detection magic, delicate and merciless. Every strand of it read foreign mana like parchment. Every touch was a name, a signature, a story.

And these two… had none.

Unregistered. Unmarked. Unknown.

A lesser ruler might have panicked or sent armed battalions to snatch them in the dead of night, but Semiramis was no fool. She had lived long enough to know that power left traces, and these two had walked right into the city with the heavy scent of potential—raw, uncut, and just a little bit foolish.

Shirou, especially, was as subtle as a chimera in a china shop. He had set only the most basic of alarm barriers before falling asleep, utterly unaware that his presence was being charted like a comet through the heavens.

It was William who observed them from the inside—the Duchess's right hand and Head of the Mage Squad, whose sharp gaze could trace dots on a map and turn them into poetry. From his chamber in the tower, using a ring etched with the same sigils as the barrier, he watched their progress with vague amusement.

Two moving lights. No history. No destination. No idea where they stood.

He was baffled. Either they were from Pandora—that mysterious, lawless realm beyond the continent—or born in the wild, untouched by society's systems. Their ignorance of magical protocol was glaring. They had done nothing suspicious yet, but William knew a mystery when he saw one, and this one was humming with possibility.

He needed her verdict.

So it was that he stepped into the garden where his mistress waited. The moon hung low, silvering the dew-kissed blossoms and reflecting off the still pool that mirrored the stars. The Duchess sat on a stone bench carved with ivy vines, her posture regal yet relaxed, eyes cast skyward. She always came here to think, to breathe, to remember that the world could still be beautiful even as it poisoned itself slowly.

"Mistress," William began, his voice honeyed with reverence, "we have interesting intruders in your territory."

Semiramis didn't glance at him. Her fingers toyed with the stem of a midnight blossom blooming from a twisted branch—one of the few harmless plants in this particular garden. Her true garden, the one only she tended, lay behind sealed doors and beneath layers of toxin-rich mist. The Poison Garden. Her pride. Her playground.

"I trust they haven't stirred panic?" she said softly, her voice like smoke curling through velvet.

"No, my lady," William said, offering a half-bow. "They are asleep. One of them cast a rudimentary barrier—laughable, really—but sufficient against rats and pickpockets."

He paused, glancing at her profile, eternally illuminated by moonlight. She was breathtaking—unnatural, otherworldly. Not just in beauty, but in presence. Semiramis was not a woman born to serve. She was meant to rule.

William knew that better than anyone. He had once been the Tower's brightest mage, a savant of ink and spell, but even he had bowed before her ambition. Not because she demanded it—she never did—but because he saw in her something that echoed in the hearts of rulers across time. A desire not for power's sake, but for perfection. For something greater.

She had never said it outright. Never confessed her goal. But he knew. Oh, he knew.

Semiramis wanted the Emperor's seat.

And she would get it.

Eventually.

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Semiramis set her delicate tea cup down with a soft clink, the porcelain gleaming in the moonlight. She had been gazing at the shimmering stars above when she heard William's voice, smooth and measured, like a well-constructed sentence—fitting for a man whose magic was rooted in words.

Her sharp eyes turned to him, watching as the mage stepped into the garden with his characteristic, confident stride. William was a man in his thirties, with well-kept brown hair and striking features, an enigmatic presence that never failed to captivate. A mage of the sixth circle—only a step away from achieving the revered title of Arch Mage—he was one of the strongest mages in the world. Few could match his talents, especially in his specialized branch of magic: letter magic. With a flick of his quill, he could make the written word manifest into reality.

Magic was commonplace in the world, but mastering it was no easy feat. The strongest human mage could reach the seventh circle of magic—an incredible achievement. However, the true legends were the Apostles, beings blessed by the White Lord, or Merlin himself, the Magic King, part-dragon and all-powerful. Dragons, the rare and majestic creatures of the world, possessed an innate connection to magic, allowing them to rise beyond the seventh circle. But these majestic beings were few and far between, as their nature often led them to a violent, untimely death. Their arrogance was a fatal flaw, and only a handful lived long enough to become the wise and powerful creatures they were meant to be.

Humans, ever resourceful, had devised a way to combat the dragons: union magic. By combining their powers, multiple mages could cast complex spells capable of challenging creatures far beyond their own strength. This art had given birth to magical artifacts and weapons, but it was the Apostles who held the greatest authority when it came to taking on dragonkind.

Semiramis, though, was on the same level of magical prowess, her ability matched by very few. But what set her apart—what made her superior to William, who was so loyal and close—was her lineage. She carried the blood of elves, and as such, her natural talents were enhanced by the ancient magic of her ancestors. Elves were magical beings in their own right, and their grace, intellect, and power ran deep through Semiramis's veins.

"As expected, elaborate," she said, her lips curving into a knowing smile. She was not surprised that William had come to report. His nature was as predictable as his affection for her—he wouldn't leave her side until she told him otherwise, and even then, he would always return, bringing his stories and his observations. She enjoyed his presence, though, his eccentricities and playful manner always adding a certain flair to her otherwise methodical days.

Semiramis knew well that he had asked to be excused, but only so that he could follow his own curiosity. There were far more pressing matters at hand than William's usual musings. Arthur had recently arrived, bringing with him the promise of the upcoming tournament. Semiramis wasn't a fighter by nature, but there was something undeniably thrilling about watching skilled combatants display their abilities in the coliseum. The raw beauty of combat—power, agility, and wit all converging into a single moment—held a certain charm.

And then, of course, there was Pandora. The thought of expanding her territory through exploration intrigued her. The Pope had decreed that any lands conquered by their forces would belong to the conqueror, an opportunity too valuable to ignore. Perhaps, with the right strategy, she could carve out her own Kingdom, or even begin to shift the balance of power in her favor.

"Mistress," William began again, pulling her from her thoughts, his voice a soft but excited murmur. "There are two young men—strangers to this land—who have caught my attention. Both exhibit remarkable magical abilities, though they are not local. We've discerned their mana quality; they're both around the third circle, which is impressive for their apparent youth. But there's something odd about them—particularly one of them, the leader. His magic was fluid, expertly controlled. I'd wager he could match a fourth-circle mage, if not surpass them, with certain spells."

Semiramis's interest piqued, though she gave no outward sign of it. She allowed William to continue, watching as he moved his hands gracefully in the air, his quill tracing invisible lines that recreated the path the strangers had taken through Assyria. A shimmering image, like a painting in motion, appeared before her.

"They're not like the usual tourists," William continued, the light of intrigue in his eyes. "They've barely caused any trouble—aside from some minor theft, which is hardly worth mentioning—and they're currently at an inn, resting. From what I can tell, they haven't yet broken any laws, except their presence in the city, which is, of course, noteworthy in itself."

Semiramis watched the vision carefully, her gaze lingering on the details. The two figures were young, but their mannerisms spoke of something deeper—of purpose, of skill, and perhaps even danger. They were careful in their actions, their magic smooth, like a well-rehearsed dance. Had they not been caught by the magical barrier, they would likely have gone unnoticed entirely.

She tilted her head, considering. These two were not locals, she could see that immediately from their appearances, but it didn't matter. What mattered was that they had talent, and talent was something she always had an eye for. They might prove useful. Or dangerous.

Her eyes narrowed slightly, a playful glint in them as she spoke, her voice light but filled with intent. "You're right to bring this to my attention, William. Let's see if these two are as promising as they appear."

William smiled, sensing the approval in her tone. His quill twitched in the air, already beginning to draft a letter—a proposal, perhaps, or an invitation. He could feel the pulse of excitement in his veins. There were few things he enjoyed more than watching the story of fate unfold, and this one, he knew, was only just beginning.

Semiramis's smile never faltered, her gaze as cold and calculating as the moonlight that bathed the garden. The command she had given was one of practicality, as she always expected from those closest to her. Achilles, the leader of her army, was a figure of strength and determination, capable of bending the tides of battle to his will. Jacky, the leader of her assassin squad, was a shadow—silent, deadly, and precise. Semiramis trusted them both implicitly, and in turn, they knew that their loyalty was paramount to her plans.

Her voice was as soft as silk, but the weight of her words was undeniable. "Send Achilles and give them the invitation. Send Jacky to kill them, if they decline."

It was a simple plan, one that could be executed with precision. An invitation to join her, or death if they refused. There was no room for hesitation, no mercy for failure. Semiramis knew that any talent capable of drawing her attention was valuable—worth nurturing if they accepted, worth eliminating if they did not.

The corners of her lips twitched upward as she thought of the duo. The leader, in particular, seemed intriguing, and she liked the idea of acquiring such potential for her own goals. However, she had no patience for those who would refuse her offer. If they turned out to be trouble, Jacky would take care of it, as always.

Her thoughts were interrupted by William's voice, his tone courteous but tinged with the usual curiosity. "Would you like me to accompany you for the meeting with the Princess?" He was ever attentive, always wanting to be by her side, though Semiramis preferred to handle delicate matters herself. It was one of the reasons she kept him close, but not too close.

Semiramis tilted her head, her smile widening just slightly. "No, it's a girl's talk, so I don't want a man present."

William, ever the loyal servant, nodded without a hint of offense. He had long since understood her nature, and though he was often denied the privilege of accompanying her in such private matters, he never took it personally. It was part of the delicate dance they shared. Instead, he offered his own assistance, though in a different form. "Understood, I will handle the recruitment of the talented mages."

As he turned to leave, a flicker of disappointment crossed his face. He would not witness the meeting between Semiramis and Salome, the Princess of the Holy Empire. Their interactions were always… interesting, to say the least. He had seen glimpses of the dynamics between them, and he was curious to see how the two powerful women would interact. But alas, it was not his place to intrude.

Without another word, William made his way to contact Achilles and Jacky, setting the wheels in motion for Semiramis's plan. Achilles would deliver the invitation with his usual charisma, while Jacky would ensure that any resistance was swiftly dealt with. The Queen's will would be carried out, and the duo would soon find themselves at a crossroads—accept her offer or face the consequences.

Meanwhile, Semiramis remained in the garden, her thoughts drifting toward the meeting with Salome. The princess was a force to be reckoned with, and their alliance—should it come to pass—could change the very fabric of their world. She had never been one to shy away from taking what she wanted, and if Salome's support could further her ambitions, she would not hesitate.

Her fingers traced the delicate petals of a white rose, the scent intoxicating. In a world full of power struggles and shifting allegiances, one thing was certain: Semiramis always played the game to win.