Chapter Forty-Five: Warren Height’s Troubles (Part One)

The heavy curtains were drawn shut, enveloping the room in silence and shadow, cutting off all light from outside.

Warren Hight curled up in his chair, idly fiddling with a pen in his hand—a habit carried over from earlier days, usually surfacing only when his mood was restless.

In moments of distress, Warren preferred this quiet solitude. He had explicitly instructed his secretary of state not to disturb him during this hour.

Reports from Herdashin had confirmed the successful persuasion of the Feixi people, a rare cause for Warren’s satisfaction. He had always sought to avoid facing enemies on two fronts. Like the Church, he believed that, ultimately, disputes were settled only on the battlefield. The Church had incited the Plantagenets to harass Landia from the sea, but the unexpected Feixi incursion sparked a clever plan in Warren’s mind to counter the maritime threat. So far, it had proven successful: the Plantagenets’ maritime trade was now disrupted and preoccupied with their own defense.

Warren had brokered a covert deal between the Feixi crown prince and himself, facilitated by raven messengers and communication crystals. The Feixi were hired to raid the Plantagenets at sea under generous terms—funded by Landia, with provisions supplied if needed. Anything the Feixi plundered from the Plantagenets belonged entirely to them; any unwanted spoils could be sold back to Landia.

Being paid to plunder, keeping all loot, and having their cleanup handled by their employers was an ideal arrangement for the Feixi. The only complication was managing their remuneration, but that was cleverly resolved by a certain Mr. Spielberg’s brainchild: the establishment of a banking institution where Feixi funds could be deposited and spent ashore. Thus, human payments were converted into currency, which could then be exchanged for any desired goods.

Even amid his worries, Warren allowed himself a faint smile. This strategy had successfully neutralized the Church’s two-pronged offensive. Yet his expression swiftly darkened with anger. He slammed his fist on the table, then rose abruptly and drew back the curtains. Bathed in the incoming light, he stared at the vast map etched on the wall—a massive crystal map carved from a colossal magic crystal, outlining the continent’s shape and dotted with nearby islands.

Warren’s gaze traced from Landia, past the isolated Plantagenets, northward to the neighboring states, then westward to the territory ravaged by orcs. His eyes finally settled on a borderland between Landia and the orcs: Gaul City.

His fingers lightly brushed the crystal marking Gaul City, created through celestial projection magic. Though the map was sophisticated, it could not compare to the legendary map crafted by Han Molabi years ago, which featured seven different scales. This map had only three scales and was produced by the Southern Women’s Magic Academy. Although Warren maintained a good relationship with their headmistress, the map had still demanded a significant investment.

Upon contact, the crystal representing Gaul City glowed brightly, and a slight tactile sensation emerged on his fingertip. The entire map consisted of multiple magic crystals, the number dependent on the map’s detail. Different crystals distinguished important regions, allowing for precise scales. Constructing such a map required not only celestial magic but also alchemy and runic arrays. For example, fire-element crystals formed volcanic zones, earth-element crystals represented land, and water-element crystals depicted oceans—an application of alchemical knowledge. Incorporating multiple scales involved complex runic arrays.

Warren gently infused the Gaul City crystal with a trace of magic. Instantly, the full continental view vanished, replaced by a magnified map of the Gaul region. He withdrew his finger slowly, furrowing his brow as he stared at Gaul City, now self-styled as the Autonomous Region of Gaul City under the Commineson.

“Grant,” he muttered, “though I do not know your true name, you are truly detestable.”

At that moment, a fiery desire to crush his adversary ignited within him. Warren reached behind to a button on the desk, preparing to summon his secretary.

But his finger hovered over the button, hesitating. No one wanted to see the Autonomous Region of Gaul City destroyed more than Warren, including the late Hendry. Had Hendry lived, Commineson might have compromised—old aristocrats like him were adept at shifting with the wind. But Warren would not relent. He had long understood the nature of Commineson and had attempted to draw Grant into the faction behind him, only to fail.

This only sharpened his awareness that Commineson’s ideals were irreconcilably opposed to his own.

Grant must be eliminated, and a deadly gleam flickered in Warren’s eyes. Yet he had to admit that Grant’s timing was impeccable. The tension between Landia and the Church was like a taut string, ready to snap at any moment. The Church knew it, Warren knew it, and so did Grant—all waiting for that breaking point, all eager to control when it would come.

The murderous intent receded slowly, not vanishing but sinking deeper, destined to blaze fiercer upon its next eruption.

Warren shifted his gaze to the area just north of Gaul, a small corner visible on the regional map. He tapped twice sharply, then released suddenly. The map zoomed out to the continental view, revealing clearly the powerful northwestern human state of the Lotte Empire, just above Gaul.

“It must be done this way,” Warren murmured, rubbing the bridge of his nose before finally pressing the button.

The door swung open, and the secretary stepped in.

“Prime Minister, do you have any orders?”

“Draft a propaganda campaign immediately. Everyone must know that Commineson is evil—a ghost haunting our very skies,” Warren commanded.

Without hesitation, the secretary noted the order.

“Also, contact the envoy of the Lotte Empire’s second prince at once. Tell him I wish to speak with the prince,” Warren added after a moment’s pause.

“Yes, I’ll attend to it immediately,” the secretary replied, not questioning the reason, and bowed before leaving.

Silence returned to the room. Warren stared long and hard at the enormous crystal map, reluctant to turn away from the land of Gaul.

“Grant, this will have to do for now. My primary battlefield lies to the north, but I will destroy you,” Warren said coldly. He pressed twice firmly on the crystal map, and the image vanished.