Terminally-ill Instructor in Romance Fantasy

The candlelight wavered across the gilded study.

The light was throwing long shadows against the Saint Grenn banner mounted upon the wall.

Patriarch Gale Saint Grenn, head of one of the oldest houses in the empire, leaned back in his chair.

He did so with a heaviness that did not belong to a man of his years.

The parchment spread before him was ink-stained and torn at its edges, brought in haste from the merchant caravans that had returned earlier than expected.

Gale's eyes, sharp and cold, trailed across the lines of trade reports...lists of goods, inventories and expected profits.

The agreement had been simple in design, yet monumental in potential.

The Saint Grenn household had negotiated a three-way trade route between the western coastal merchants, the grain barons of the southern marches, and the iron-rich clans across the Northern Highlands.

From coast... refined silk, salt, and exotic dyes, transported through the Saint Grenn fleet.

From the South it was endless grain shipments, vital to both army rations and the capital's swelling population.

And from the Mountain Marches he decided on smelted iron and steel, weapons-grade, enough to outfit half the Imperial Legion if handled properly.

Saint Grenn would serve as the broker and guarantor.

His job being securing tariffs, ensuring safe passage, and taking the lion's share of the profit.

If successful, this trade would not only secure economic dominance for decades, but also prove to the Emperor that the Saint Grenn household possessed both stability and vision...

All of which were qualities befitting one of the two coveted seats in the Divine Household.

It should have been a flawless arrangement.

Instead...it had collapsed.

The reports spoke of bandit raids on the southern grain convoys.

This was not onlu done once but thrice in succession.

Their escorts overwhelmed as if the raiders had known their movements in advance.

On the western seas, Saint Grenn's ships had been delayed at foreign harbors by sudden, inexplicable sanctions.

There were documents forged in the Emperor's name, declaring their cargo "unfit for import."

The merchants, upon hearing of delays and shortages, had withdrawn entirely, refusing to sign the final contracts.

What should have been an ironclad agreement was now reduced to smoldering wreckage.

A knock sounded on the study door.

"Enter."

Gale said, his voice steady while rubbing his forehead and the hand sliding down to smoothen his moustache.

The door creaked open to reveal a man in the dark, modest robes of the Church of Lumina.

His hair was cropped into a precise buzz cut, his face clean-shaven, carrying both the sternness of a soldier and the serenity of a priest.

Cleric Dorien, Gale's longtime supervisor and confidant, stepped inside.

"Patriarch."

Dorien bowed slightly, his tone deep and restrained.

"The full report has arrived from the port authority and the southern stewards.

It is as we feared."

Gale gestured impatiently.

"Speak."

Dorien set a bound ledger upon the desk and opened it, the candlelight glinting off the ink.

"The grain shipments from the southern plains were intercepted in two locations...

...the Aldras Crossing and the Thennel Gorge.

Both convoys reported overwhelming numbers, far beyond what common bandits could muster.

Their supplies were burned...escorts slaughtered, and survivors scattered.

Curiously, the raiders left coin purses untouched...

And only the cargo was destroyed."

"That is not banditry..." Gale said flatly.

"..."

"That's precision sabotage."

Dorien inclined his head.

"Indeed.

As for the Veyran shipments, their ships were barred entry at Delthra Port.

Local authorities presented decrees stamped with the Imperial Seal...

...claiming import taxes were raised threefold.

But the Ministry swears no such decree was ever issued.

Someone forged the Emperor's hand."

Gale's jaw tightened.

"And the northern highlands?"

"They have withdrawn entirely," Dorien said.

"They claim the instability proves House Saint Grenn cannot guarantee security.

Word is that House Valquess has already opened negotiations with them."

The name for some reason left him spiteful.

House Valquess...one of the great northern lineages, famed for their shrewdness and merciless reach.

For a long while, silence filled the study.

Only the hiss of the candlewick could be heard, and the scratching of Gale's finger against the wooden desk.

Finally, Gale exhaled, the breath carrying years of restrained fury.

"So it begins..."

He murmured.

Dorien raised his eyes.

"Patriarch?"

Gale's gaze hardened.

"The contest for the Divine Household.

We have not even entered the formal consideration, yet already the wolves bare their teeth.

House Valquess, or perhaps others, are moving to cripple us before the Emperor can weigh merit.

They would see us stripped of wealth and influence and dismissed as unworthy."

Dorien's lips pressed into a thin line.

"Then it is political maneuvering disguised as chaos."

"More than that..."

Gale replied.

"It is declaration...

They seek to minimize the competition before the game has even begun."

Gale rose from his chair, walking to the tall windows overlooking the courtyard below.

Guards were patrolling the perimeter.

"The trade was designed to succeed on every front."

Gale said, his tone half-bitter and half-analytical.

"The southern marches hunger for the coastal salt to preserve their meats...

...and the coast covets southern grain to feed its ports.

Both require steel from the north for their defense and tools.

A circle of need, perfectly balanced.

We stood at the center as the pivot on which it all turned.

Yet now… the circle is broken."

He turned.

"The raiders knew the convoy routes.

Only nobles with access to the logistics could have supplied that knowledge.

The forged decrees at Delthra Port required an artisan familiar with imperial seals...

...which of course is a work beyond common criminals.

And the northerns…yes they could be prideful...

...but they would not sever ties so abruptly without a whisper from another house.

This is orchestration, Dorien... not coincidence."

Dorien bowed his head.

"The Church of Lumina preaches that light reveals all shadows, Patriarch.

Yet in politics, the shadows are often deeper than faith can reach."

A dry smile touched Gale's lips.

"Ever the priest."

But the smile faded as quickly as it came.

His hands clenched at his sides, veins rising against the skin.

"If word of this spreads unchecked, we will be ridiculed at court.

The Holy Emperor himself may look upon us with disdain."

Dorien closed the ledger softly and his eyes met Gale's.

"Then the question becomes not what has happened, but how we respond.

Do we repair, retaliate, or retreat?"

Gale narrowed his gaze.

"Repair is impossible.

The north will not reconsider once insulted, and the coast will look elsewhere if delays persist.

Retaliation would expose us too soon and therefore paintinh us as aggressors before the Emperor's judgment like the houses want.

Retreat is… unthinkable.

We cannot withdraw when the Divine Household is at stake."

"The Church will offer what counsel it can."

Dorien said slowly.

"But know this, Patriarch... the faith does not look kindly upon households that descend into bloodshed for worldly power.

Lumina's light demands dignity even in struggle."

"And yet..."

Gale said, his tone edged with iron.

"...the Emperor does not appoint saints. He appoints survivors."

Dorien's brows furrowed slightly, but he did not argue.

He merely clasped his hands behind his back, watching the Patriarch pace.

"..."

Silence broke after Dorien spoke.

"Patriarch...I also forgot to tell you..."

Dorien said.

"The Patriarch of House Velmora has arrived.

He wishes to speak with you on certain matters."

Gale raised his head.

"Velmora?"

"Yes...

He came unannounced, but insisted the discussion would benefit both houses."

Gale stood after a pause.

"Very well...let us not keep him waiting."

They walked together through the halls of the Saint Grenn estate until they reached the guest salon.

Inside, a tall man with streaks of gray in his hair sat comfortably on a cushioned chair.

Patriarch Velmora rose as soon as Gale entered.

"Patriarch Grenn..."

Velmora said warmly.

"It has been far too long."

"Velmora."

Gale replied with a nod.

"It is good to see you in person again."

They exchanged handshakes, firm and deliberate, before sitting opposite each other.

Dorien remained standing at the side.

Velmora smiled faintly.

"I must say, Gale, among all the houses, yours truly stands out in one matter.

You are the only one who seems intent on stamping out that pestilent group, the Wretched Faith.

Heck even the Emperor treats them like a nuisance, not a threat."

Gale's tone was calm.

"The Wretched Faith are not what people imagine them to be.

They are not just some unholy sect that's against the holy church and empire...

They are nothing more than a squad of criminals who have learned to wear the mask of a cult.

Once you strip that away the... all that is left is lawlessness."

Velmora chuckled in a low laugh that carried through the room.

"Hah!

Spoken like a soldier instead of a noble...direct to the point.

If you keep saying things like that, Gale, the Wretched Faith will think twice before whispering your name."

Gale allowed a thin smile.

"Let them whisper...fear is a good leash after all."

Velmora leaned back.

"Tell me, Gale, how fares Lady Gresha?

It has been some years since I last spoke with her."

"She is well." Gale said.

"Busy as always with the household matters.

And your wife?"

Velmora's eyes softened.

"She is also well.

Keeps my temper in check, truth be told."

"Then it seems we are both blessed in our own way."

Gale replied.

The two men shared a short laugh, the sound lightening the air for a moment.

Servants entered briefly, setting a tray with tall glasses and a jug of dark beer.

The liquid foamed as it was poured, each glass filled a quarter.

Gale lifted his own glass and Velmora mirrored him.

"To old houses."

Gale said.

"To surviving long enough to be called old."

Velmora replied and they drank.

After a moment of silence, Gale placed his glass down.

"Now, Velmora.

Why did you decide to visit me unannounced? Surely not just for pleasantries."

Velmora's eyes narrowed with a playful glint.

"Straight to the heart, as always.

Very well...I came with a proposal."

Gale leaned back slightly, waiting.

Velmora rested his elbows on the armrest.

"Our two houses should arrange an engagement.

My youngest daughter, your youngest son...A union of Grenn and Velmora blood."

Gale said nothing, his gaze fixed on Velmora.

Velmora continued smoothly, voice like a merchant weaving a sale.

"Of course, I am not blind to your past difficulties.

The arrangement with House Roseblood… ah, the one between your middle children, did not end well.

Quite a shame if you ask me.

But I believe this, here, is the correction you need.

This engagement will work in your favor."

There was a pause.

Gale's eyes sharpened.

He saw the move for what it was... a calculated step toward strengthening candidacy for the Divine Household.

Velmora waited, sipping lightly from his glass, pretending patience.

Gale finally spoke.

"So that is your reason for coming?

A move upon the board."

Velmora's lips curved.

"Friendship is never without purpose, Gale.

Surely you know that better than anyone."

"..."

"What do you say?"