"You’re right." Valon accepted his fate. He examined the white "lump of flesh" in the glass bottle for a moment and couldn’t suppress his disgust. "This is vile."

"Open it and place the mouth of the bottle under your nose." In his hands, Rorschach held another Potion and a letter of instructions, both the handiwork of Master Kuo Bo.

Valon obediently did as he was told. Though he had braced himself, he hadn’t anticipated just how... peculiar the process would be. The lump’s mycelia spread into his nasal cavity, making the young man’s nose itch. Then, very suddenly, the living mass shot up his nose along the mycelia and began crawling downward.

"Mmph... mmph..." The lump contorted as it moved. Valon could feel it squirming, squeezing, and pushing its way down his upper respiratory tract. A feeling of suffocation washed over him as it reached his trachea, and he let out involuntary, strangled gasps.

"That really is disgusting..." Rorschach took a few steps back. Valon thought it was over, but a sharp pain suddenly pierced his chest. He was seized by a violent coughing fit, spewing a mouthful of bloody filth.

To disinfect, Rorschach enveloped himself in an Air Bubble and blasted the blood-stained floor with fire.

This action promptly earned him a warning from the Tower Spirit.

"Drink this. It’s the last step." Rorschach handed over the Potion. With tears and snot streaming down his face, Valon struggled to drink it down. He instantly felt clear-headed and refreshed, as if brought back from the dead.

"Is it done? Am I... cured?" Valon straightened up. The tightness in his chest that had plagued him was truly gone.

Rorschach had a guess. The white lump had seemed familiar, and he was sure it was related to the life form left behind in the Elf Village. It might have even been a piece broken off of Kou Bo’s new avatar. ’That makes it even more disgusting.’ Still, if it could function properly inside Valon’s body, it would be a remarkable achievement.

"Congratulations, Mr. Valon." He gave a perfunctory clap. "Let me ask you again, what are your plans for the future?"

Now that Valon’s life had been extended, his original plan to simply wait for death was void. "I plan to take my savings and buy a manor—as far away from the Royal Capital as possible, of course. I’ll manage the estate, hunt, write some poetry..."

’So you want to be the Tao Yuanming of Valois?’ Rorschach finally showed his true colors. "Mr. Valon, how much do you have in savings? Don’t get me wrong, I just wanted to inform you that the treatment has a fee. You have the Great Mage of the Tower of Forest to thank, you know."

The moment he heard the word "fee," followed by "Great Mage," Valon’s legs went weak. "I... have about thirty-two hundred Gold Lang." It was enough money to buy a small manor—as of yesterday, anyway.

Unfortunately, times had changed. Rorschach shook his head and explained the situation to his client. "As you know, the Tower of Forest is in the Empire, so we can only do business in Golden Eagle Coins.

"Yesterday, you might have been able to afford it by liquidating everything you own. But today... well, if you’ve seen the papers, you should understand that your fortune has depreciated significantly!

"Fortunately for you, I’m no monster. I went ahead and fronted the Great Mage’s fee for you. This means I now hold your debt, and we have some room to negotiate repayment terms. Otherwise, the Gold Lang will just keep depreciating. You wouldn’t want a Great Mage chasing you for money, would you?"

Valon gritted his teeth. "Rorschach Mage, you know it’s impossible for me to make money in the Royal Capital now. You want to make me your slave! I never signed a contract. No court would uphold this debt."

Rorschach’s face changed as he feigned anger. "A slave? You’re a man just recovered from a major illness. Do you think I expect you to plow fields or do hard labor? Think about it! Without my help, you’d just be waiting to die, no matter how much money you had. The only difference would be having a nicer view while you writhed in agony."

The young man fell silent, finally accepting his fate. "You’re right. I shouldn’t have presumed to know the intentions of the man who saved my life twice. My apologies. Please believe me, I will repay everything in the future."

’Drag it out until the Valois currency is completely worthless? And then bring me a stack of it to use as kindling?’

Rorschach produced a business card, a prepared letter of recommendation, and an IOU. "Mr. Valon, as an unemployed man, you obviously have no means of repayment. However, you do have experience as a general manager, and I have just the place for you:

"Go to Bayern, to the ’Fanta’ beverage factory. With my letter of introduction, they’ll give you a job. It’s time to realize your true worth."

Right now, neither Rorschach nor Mr. Pierre could get away to focus on Bayern, and he couldn’t let the company become Hasse’s personal fiefdom. Considering Valon had so readily explained how his former Mining Company had managed to deceive so many, Rorschach decided a talent like that was worth using.

Valon took everything, filled in the amount owed on the IOU, and signed his name. "When do I leave?"

"Immediately. Tomorrow at the latest."

"Now?"

Rorschach nodded. "Leave the Royal Capital now, while the people who want you dead are too busy to look for you. Right now, those big shots can only focus on one thing."

...

That one thing was, of course, the "Noble Conference."

Nekker’s eyes were bloodshot; his pen hadn’t stopped moving in his office.

"My Lord, we’ve searched the company, his home, and his mistresses’ residences. There’s no sign of him. Should we ask the Guard Captain to issue a warrant... I suspect Valon may still be at the Magic Guild. It was the last place he was seen."

"Forget it. Don’t waste any more energy on that beast." Nekker had realized that in the current situation, dragging the man out would be pointless. Besides, if those damned Casters wanted to protect him, even the Guard Captain would be powerless to intervene.

Nekker set down his pen. His personal secretary rushed forward to collect the documents; he had to convert the manuscript into a typed copy at top speed. A copy would then be presented to His Majesty.

"Let’s go. To the conference hall."

The venue for the Noble Conference was merely a side hall in the Royal Palace, with just over two hundred people in attendance.

The first to enter was the delegation of Archbishops from the Church. Each one, from the young Divine Servants to the aged Wise Men, possessed a commanding presence. They were uniformly clad in white-gold robes and wore Bishop’s Crowns—all except their leader, Dipresy, who insisted on wearing a red robe as he entered at a slow pace, leaning on his cane.

The Priest representatives were often travel-worn, mostly dressed simply, with kind faces. They were the bridge connecting the noble and the common, serving on the front lines to soothe the suffering of the oppressed.

As was their right, all the Archbishops took seats in the front rows to the left, with the Priest representatives seated behind them. Meanwhile, the Red-robed Prime Minister ascended the dais, where there were seats reserved for His Majesty the King, the Prime Minister, and the Minister of Finance.

Next to enter were the Sword Nobles, led by a Prince. These were the Great Lords; every syllable of their names represented the history and glory of an ancient family. They had always considered themselves co-sovereigns of the Kingdom, with the King being merely the "Lord of Lords"—the first among them.

They wore plumed, wide-brimmed hats, and their attire, from formal coats to cloaks, was a weave of silk and feathers. The swords at their hips were both their privilege and their symbol.

However, Duke Melovinca, who by rights should have been among the Sword Nobles, was instead walking and conversing animatedly with the Robed Nobility, appearing for all the world to be the center of their circle.

These new nobles had often paid a fortune for their royally-bestowed robes and titles. Their ranks included the Chief Justice, who championed impartiality and independence, as well as "loyal subjects" dedicated to the Holy Kingdom who had eagerly donated vast sums to His Majesty the King in exchange for some minor office. Such men typically lacked fiefdoms or ancient lineage, but that hardly stopped them from enjoying the perks of their station.

Finally, a rift tore open in the air of the hall, causing a stir among the Nobility. The representatives of the Church, however, remained perfectly composed.

The newcomers were, as expected, the Mages. The leaders, Lionel Kano and Christian, possessed an aura no less commanding than any Prince or Duke. Their crimson robes billowed in the spatial distortions, though there was no wind. Following behind them were their assistants and the chairman of the Magic Guild Valois Branch.

Nekker strode in, scanned the assembly, and walked onto the dais, calling out, "His Majesty is occupied with other state matters! By the King’s special decree, Lord Dipresy and I shall temporarily represent His Majesty’s will. Let us begin!"

And so, the Noble Conference convened.