Mage? Magic Engineer!

The second-to-last person to have an audience with the Emperor crawled out of the Imperial Palace, practically soiling himself with fear. William II was so incensed he wanted to snatch a hunting rifle from a Guard and shoot the wretch.

"Your Majesty, you’re becoming agitated again. As the Empress instructed, you need some Calming Salt." A nearby handmaiden presented a small dish of grayish powder. According to the doctor’s instructions, one was to pinch one nostril shut, bring the other close, and carefully inhale.

William II snapped at the handmaiden, "Do you all take me for an invalid?"

The handmaiden holding the salt was terrified, standing frozen by the side of the throne, not daring to move. William composed himself and said in a softer tone, "I know this was the Empress’s idea. It’s not your fault. You may go."

After she left, he muttered, "Feodora is a woman of the Northern Lands, after all. Superstitious and easily swayed by treacherous words..."

Having said his piece, the Emperor yawned. "All right, who’s next?"

A Courtier answered fearfully, "The Wandering Monk, Gregory... The Empress insisted that you see him in person."

"..." William forced a smile. "Then send him in. See? I’m not angry. I’m perfectly composed. I have no need for any calming medicine."

"The Calming Salt was a gift from Gregory..."

William II was exceptionally composed as he awaited the so-called Monk. He was confident the device within the Imperial Palace would expose such people for what they were. The Emperor firmly believed that once deprived of their Magic and Divine Arts, all Casters and Divine Benefactors were less than ordinary people. At the very least, they would make fools of themselves, flailing their hands and chanting Spells to no effect.

And he enjoyed watching such farces. "Quickly, check if my Forbidden Magic Device is at maximum power. Then, let’s have the next actor take the stage."

Gregory certainly looked the part. He was the first person to enter the Imperial Palace with greasy, curly long hair, a scruffy beard, ragged clothes, and even bare feet.

Four Guards pointed their rifles at him, the tips of their bayonets nearly touching his filthy monastic robe. But the Wandering Monk, Gregory, remained unfazed, walking onward at his own pace, step by step, drawing closer to the Emperor.

"Halt!" William, noticing the visitor was quite tall, raised a hand, ordering the strange Monk to stop at a distance where he could still look down on him.

"It is an honor to meet you, most noble master of the Empire."

"Spare me the pleasantries. Just tell me what you want from me."

"I am here to resolve your regrets and troubles. Just as with the honorable Empress, to resolve her troubles, I took the liberty of presenting the Calming Salt."

"My regrets can’t be solved by some simple ointment."

"Of course not. The first regret to be resolved is one you’ve had since childhood." Gregory flicked his wrist, and an exquisite little vial instantly appeared in his palm. Inside, a dark green liquid swirled with a lustrous light, as if it possessed Vitality of its own.

His movement made the Guards tense up instantly, but William gestured for the Wandering Monk to continue.

’How did he do that?’ he wondered. ’The guards should have searched him when he entered, and it couldn’t be an Alchemy Container for storage...’ William’s self-assured sense of security wavered slightly. And as for the childhood regret the man spoke of...

He couldn’t help but lower his Scepter, his right hand wanting to reach for the defect on his left arm. It was an old habit of William’s, one he had worked hard to suppress since his coronation. He caught himself again and grew angry. "Feodora dared to speak of this!"

Gregory made an innocent gesture, though the expression on the face beneath his greasy hair didn’t change. "I would be terrified to have the Empress wrongly accused. It is a conclusion I reached through my own observations. And I just so happen to know how to concoct a miraculous Potion that will erase your regret."

His speech began to quicken, as if worried the Emperor’s patience was wearing thin. "The second regret lies in the future. Your army will suffer a great defeat."

"Deceiving the masses with demonic words! Guards! Drag this Demon Monk to the stables and execute him by firing squad!" The Emperor, indeed, no longer hesitated, directly issuing the sentence.

"But I will save your army! I will save your Empire! I only ask that you bear witness!"

As soon as the Demon Monk finished his high-pitched shout, a huge cloud of thick smoke erupted from his position, enveloping him and the surrounding Guards. Inside the Imperial Palace, a Guard fired a wild shot into the smoke. The deafening blast sent soldiers on alert outside and in other rooms rushing in, packing the Royal Palace until it was impassable.

But when the smoke cleared, all that remained was the filthy monastic robe and the exquisite little Potion vial.

"He’s gone?" William II’s composure shattered completely. "Is the device still running?"

"It is, Your Majesty."

"Then... then..." He felt the world spin.

One of the Guards suggested, "There might be a tunnel under the Imperial Palace!"

Ordinarily, William would have found the idea absurd—who could dig a tunnel right under his nose? But now, this possibility became his last lifeline. He quickly said, "Yes, yes! Pry up the floor tiles! Quickly!"

So, some Guards went to get tools, while others started smashing the floor directly with their rifle butts.

However, after shattering several marble tiles and clearing the debris, they found nothing but solid foundation beneath.

So the Demon Monk had truly vanished. And in theory, without Magic, without Divine Art. William II felt the world spin, and he nearly collapsed onto the throne.

...

One "Guard" didn’t go to get tools. Instead, he ran all the way to the stables. He took off his winter cap, revealing greasy hair. Then he turned his special Guard uniform inside out, its lining transforming into a coarse, patched surface.

Before, with the robe on, he was the Demon Monk. After taking off the robe to reveal the uniform and putting on the cap, he was a Guard. Now, Gregory had become an ordinary-looking coachman.

"Hey, leaving just like that?" Another Guard stopped him—judging by the brim of his cap, he was a captain. This was the very same captain who had been coordinating with Gregory. He had led the charge into the smoke, misled the Emperor, and sent men for tools—a flawless performance. He was also the one who’d conducted the initial search of the Demon Monk. Afterward, he and three other Guards had surrounded the Monk with their rifles, a display that convinced any other guards present that a second search was unnecessary.

"...You won’t be forgotten." Gregory tossed over a bag of Gold Coins and a pouch of powder. The captain seemed more interested in the powder than the gold.

After checking its purity, he said, "What was the point of us risking our necks to put on a show like that?"

"His Majesty will keep the Potion. Of course, he’s suspicious and cautious, so he won’t use it right away. But his resolve will waver after I prove myself."

"And how will you prove yourself?"

"Everything I said is true. Every last word. Heh heh... Farewell, Imperial Palace! Farewell, my lovely Feodora!"

The Demon Monk was already climbing onto his horse, pulling a coal cart toward the exit. He fished a worn felt hat out of the cart, and once he put it on, he truly looked like the most ordinary coachman imaginable. Normally, a cart covered in coal dust would never be allowed in or out of the Imperial Palace, but since the new Emperor had forbidden Magic, they naturally had to return to traditional heating methods.

Seeing the filthy man and his cart heading for the main gate, the Guards waved him away in disgust, not wanting to get their uniforms dirty.

And just like that, Gregory left the Imperial Palace, heading south toward the battlefield.