The Prince in Question Is Not Stable-Chapter 49: The Palace of Perpetual Rain

"..." The owner of the tavern was also the village elder in the Silver Valley.

A man in his eighties, hunched back, light-skinned. Silent and authoritative to the people of the village.

He was standing outside with Graves, looking at the tavern being cleaned by men that Graves had brought along with him.

"..." The elder looked at Graves and stayed silent.

"I apologise, elder... but since our highness is really generous, he’s given us strict instructions that none of the people of the village is to be harmed, and also...the cleaning part too," Graves said.

"..." The elder again stayed silent and kept staring at him.

"But our prince is generous. Really generous. He can even compensate for any psychological damages suffered, if there were any." Graves felt a little awkward and looked ahead, seeing the butchered Yarrow being packed up in rags, and his blood being burned by the magicians.

"Or we can improvise this tavern, or build a new one, if you say so," Graves continued.

"A single slice on the neck can end a person’s life," the elder spoke, and then looked ahead.

"You did it for the love of it." He said.

"It’s not like-"

"The Palace protects us from the borders of the Kingdom, and for that, I’m grateful to his highness," Elder said.

"My complaint can never be drawn to him... but next time, prefer to release your tendencies in your personal chambers, Graves. We respect you because you’re a great magician and a good human. And I agree there can be vices in man. But never let them be revealed to normal people," Elder spoke calmly.

He wasn’t complaining. He was giving a lesson. A lesson that didn’t fix the lecture on morality, but the way to hide your negatives in life.

"I’ll heed those words from now on, Elder." Graves replied with a slight bow.

Here, no one was differentiating on the basis of nobility, caste, or power.

According to Ymir, whom all of these people have known for years...Gods are the embodiment of perfection, and demons are the embodiment of desire. A human, however, shows elements of perfect intelligence, life, and death, all while feeding on its desires.

Ironic as it is, but a man who’s engaged to a saintess that’s considered a vessel of goddess Luna, and has been named as the warrior of Luna, fails to worship the goddess, and follow her ideologies.

"I’ll be on my way now, Elder. If you need anything, you know how to reach out to me." Graves said, looking at the elder, and bade him farewell.

The elder nodded in silence, staring at his Tavern as it was being cleaned.

The Palace of Perpetual Rain. One of the five grand and divine palaces in the Kingdom of Luna, and the home of Ymir Celestie of Lunar.

Situated at a high altitude. It’s a palace where rain never stops falling. Where flowers never die.

It’s not built on the mountains, but carved in them.

A broad stream of waterfall runs from the peak of the mountains, falling above the dome where the main residence of the Prince is.

But entering the palace is not something a normal person is capable of, unless they’re guided.

There are over a thousand staircases that are scattered on several mountain peaks of the Silver Valley, but only one leads to the palace. Constant rain creates a dense mist and an illusion across all the staircases.

And the one path that leads to the palace is an illusion in itself...if you stare at the correct path for too long instead of walking, it’ll disappear.

Graves exhaled a breath of smoke, holding the cigar between his fingers as he got off the carriage, far from the village.

"I can’t go past this area, Sire," The carriage driver spoke, looking at Graves, and apologised.

"I can manage from here," Graves replied, and waved his hand.

Graves is one of the few people who can bypass the illusion and arrive at the palace within minutes, but when sent on errands, he tends to enjoy his time outside.

Rain wasn’t a problem for him. For he was a magician who excelled in this element.

He tapped his foot on the first step of the stairs. They were carved out of black basalt. Rough enough for grip, but feels unstable at the same time.

The sun was about to set, so the lamps placed on either side of the stairs lit up.

As he climbed the stairs, the lions of these mountains would occasionally glance at him from within the darkness of the forest.

The villagers refer to them as the Rain lions, and feeding them meat, when these lions roam outside the mountains, is considered an act of divinity. These lions never prey on humans.

After walking for more than an hour at the pace of a clearance five magician, Graves arrived at the Massive Waterfall.

The water split slightly, revealing the massive gates of the mountains behind it. Lion-shaped runes etched on the gates, ignited in a blueish hue, as the massive stones of the gates moved, revealing a completely different world of clear air inside.

Beyond the gates, the sound of rain abruptly softened.

The outside seemed to fade. The air inside the mountain was strangely calm, cool and clean, carrying the scent of wet stone and blooming flowers.

An enormous cavern stretched upward. Streams of rainwater flowed through carefully carved channels along the walls, falling into clear pools before running further down through narrow rivers that vanished deeper into the mountain. 𝚏𝕣𝕖𝚎𝚠𝚎𝚋𝚗𝐨𝐯𝕖𝕝.𝕔𝐨𝕞

The palace was the heart of the mountain.

Graves removed the cigar from his lips and flicked the ash aside.

The moment it touched the floor, a silent stream of water swept it away.

"Efficient as always..." he muttered under his breath.

Two palace attendants approached from the inner corridor. Women in their thirties, magicians, wearing long black frocks, dark grey woollen shawls with an emblem of a lion’s head etched into the heart of the fabric.

"Welcome back, Ser Graves," they said in unison, and Graves handed them his cloak. It was dry despite his walking out in the rain.

Beneath the cloak, he wore a dark blue coat, a black shirt, and shoes.

"Was the matter resolved?" one of them asked.

"Somewhat, Blind Spot is nearly extinct. A few of them are still going on with their persistent lives..." Graves replied.

He exhaled and shook his head. "They’ll be dealt with...Is his highness in his chambers?"

The two attendants exchanged a short glance.

"He’s in the Rain Hall." They replied.

"The Rain Hall?"

"That’s correct, Ser."

"That means he’s in deep thoughts," he nodded.

The attendants didn’t respond; they just stepped aside to let Graves pass deeper into the palace.

The corridors of the Palace of Perpetual Rain spiralled upward through the mountain like the inside of a great shell.

Smooth stone walls glistened faintly under rows of crystal lamps, while thin streams of water ran through narrow channels carved along the floor and the walls.

Graves walked at a relaxed pace, with his hands resting inside his pockets.

Servants and attendants, he passed along the way bowed respectfully, but none of them attempted conversation. All of them were magicians above clearance three.

There was not a single Knight or warrior in the palace, except the Prince himself.

After several turns, the corridor opened into a vast chamber.

The Rain Hall. Its walls were made of glass, with an expansive view of the whole mountain, and the thunderous clouds that veiled it all the time.

At the centre of the hall stood a wide basin carved from black stone. From the high ceiling above, a thin column of rainwater descended through an opening in the rock, falling endlessly into the basin below.

But the water never overflowed. It flowed outward through dozens of channels spiralled across the floor like veins.

Besides the basin was the Rain Lion. Sleeping with its eyes closed and soft purrs of the nose, its glistening black and grey fur swayed with every silent breath it took.

And standing at the edge of the hall was a tall figure. Wearing his usual long black coat, with no shirt or vest, black pants, and barefoot.

Hairs so black that they absorb the light themselves, and pupils red enough to be mistaken as Jewels.

Lightning flashed somewhere in the distance, illuminating the clouds for a brief moment.

The rain lion’s ear twitched.

Graves stopped a few steps behind him and bowed.

"You stayed in the tavern longer than necessary," Ymir spoke, tilting his head slightly.

"Word travels fast," Graves smirked, and straightened up.

The rain lion slowly opened one of its golden eyes, lazily looked at Graves, and then rested its head back on its paws.

"If I may ask..." Graves paused and thought for a while.

"Even as your second identity, the goal was to delay the rebellion. Why go far to exterminate an organisation that merely did what their profession was, My Prince?" Graves asked.

"The goal is and was never to delay the rebellion," Ymir turned around to look at Graves.

"It was to take control over it."

"To lift an autumn leaf is no sign of great strength; to see the sun and moon is no sign of sharp sight; to hear the noise of thunder is no sign of a quick ear."

"What the ancients called a clever fighter is one who not only wins, but excels in winning with ease. Hence, the victories you bring are neither reputation for wisdom nor credit for courage."

"You win your battles by making no mistakes. Making no mistakes is what establishes certainty of victory, for it means conquering an enemy that is already defeated, and the one we’re facing is extremely cautious and defensive."

"Being defensive and cautious is not cowardice, but it proves that your enemy is not sure if they can win if they reveal themselves."

Graves nodded in deep thought and listened to Ymir.

"So, you start by taking out the cards they might possibly have."

"In such scenarios, securing our own defeat lies in our own hands, but the opportunity of defeating the enemy is provided by the enemy himself. "

Graves exhaled quietly.

"Blind Spot. Border smugglers. Stricter trade routes. The Quad-directional information ring." He murmured, realising what Ymir had been doing up until now.

"To hunt down a man who hides, you cut the prosthetics he tries to use." Ymir said. "And lastly..."

Ymir turned around and tapped on the newspaper placed on the black stone table.

It was an old newspaper, with a small news item in the corner of the last page.

That corner news had the image of an eye with a closed lid. An organisation that has grown and is still hiding its tracks.

"Eye of the goddess?" Graves murmured.

Eye of the goddess was the organisation that grew when Violet, a saintess considered a vessel of the goddess, was betrothed to Ymir. For that meant marrying the goddess, a symbol of divinity, to a mortal, which hurt the beliefs of many people.

"This is the last piece of one of the strongest prosthetics that... that person can use," Ymir said.

"Why?" Graves asked, unsure. How can Ymir be so sure?

"It’s pretty simple, Graves. If you block all the rebellion instruments. If the military household, which was their biggest asset, is still recovering. And if they have certain people with power within the church and the kingdom,"

"The easiest way to start a chaos and dethrone the first prince from succession is to kill the saintess under his rule, and disrupt the whole kingdom by making the church and the people the enemy of the bloodline."

"And sometimes, the simplest explanations, requiring the fewest assumptions, are usually correct," Ymir said.

"But this time..." he smiled. "I will allow it to happen,"

[A/N: Occam’s Razor.]