Chapter Fifty-Nine: A Visit

In this situation, her own position had become rather delicate: she needed to operate beyond the restrictions of the council, helping Dawnblade gain influence in the Sunspire, yet she could not simply order Patrick around with the airs of a superior. According to Master Ox’s instructions, her task was primarily to assimilate and influence, not to act as a commanding lady overseer.

“What’s the point of overthinking? I haven’t even met this arcanist yet,” Liadrin thought to herself, touching the invitation she carried. It was an invitation to the annual Mage Association congress, an event reserved for fifth-circle mages and above. Her invitation had been personally signed by Master Ox, written on fine arcane parchment, with several lines of gilded text in ancient Thalassian to mark its importance.

After Liadrin announced her arrival as an envoy of the academy, Yanida responded politely, “Chief Patrick is in the study.”

Liadrin dismissed her accompanying servants and entered the study alone.

“Greetings, Chief Pa... Patrick,” Liadrin stammered, astonished at the sight of Patrick levitating in midair, her words nearly tumbling out incoherently.

To float unaided marked the beginning of a mage’s extraordinary path—a sign that one had started to master the mysteries of space, using mental force to lift oneself, a tangible display of success in that arcane pursuit. There could be no doubt: Chief Patrick had begun to grasp the secrets of space.

“Welcome, Lady Envoy. Please, have a seat,” Patrick greeted her, displaying the basic courtesies of a noble gentleman.

“Chief Patrick, I offer my respects on behalf of the Mage Association. I am the envoy for this year’s gathering—Liadrin.” Her tone was somewhat particular, as if carefully weighing certain words, her speech somewhat measured.

“A mage of remarkable talent,” Liadrin thought. “To comprehend the essence of space at the sixth circle? Compared to the masters of Silvermoon, Patrick’s future is boundless, and his strength not to be underestimated.”

Patrick was a little surprised at the envoy’s self-introduction. So this was to be the future lord of the Dawnblade Knights? At present, she was but a fledgling cleric, attached to the Dawnblade clan, and her introduction had struck him as odd—her emphasis on the word “only” seemed strangely superfluous.

Before he could dwell on it, Liadrin handed him an invitation, its magical glow catching the eye, gilded letters shining upon its surface.

“Esteemed Mr. Patrick Cabron,

Your achievements in the arcane are worthy of emulation by all elves. The Silvermoon Mage Association cordially invites you to this year’s New Year’s Gathering, to converse and look ahead to the future together. It would be our great honor if you, Master Patrick, could attend as promised!”

Signed by the head of the Mage Association, Master Ox Dawnblade, the invitation was sincerely written. As a mage, Patrick had no reason to refuse.

“Very well, I shall attend as invited,” Patrick replied.

Receiving his assurance, Liadrin had completed half her mission. “I hope you will gain much at this year’s congress, Chief.”

After some conversation, Patrick found Liadrin to be cautious, even a bit reserved—quite unlike the typical envoys or advisors, who often looked down their noses at others. Liadrin was exceedingly polite, to the point of lowering herself.

They spoke for a while about the minor affairs of the Sunspire before Liadrin took her leave. Quelinthys had arranged her accommodations—quite possibly unintentionally—directly opposite the quarters of Thalysta. One represented the royal family, the other the council, or more precisely, Liadrin as the Dawnblade representative. The underlying struggle between monarchy and council for power was the root of their natural enmity.

The council in Quel’thalas was unlike that of a certain decaying kingdom where the royal family had become mere mascots. Although the royal family was seen as the embodiment of national interest and spirit, and the pillar of unity for the high elven race, in reality, it was the great noble houses who wielded true administrative power.

In later times, some countries held the belief that “the council is a political institution opposed to royal authority, effectively limiting the king’s power, with legislators always holding the rights of legislation, oversight, and finance.”

But this was not entirely accurate. In that decaying kingdom, the council had always existed as a political body under the Queen, not as some opposition force representing the people. While it did limit the king’s power, it also preserved the monarchy, providing stability; it served a dual purpose. The royal family ceded some authority, and in return, the council protected the royal line.

In contrast, the council of Quel’thalas wielded executive power in the king’s name, yet operated beyond royal reach. Though neither side overstepped its bounds, open and covert conflict was inevitable—the council striving to expand its influence, the royal family seeking to secure its rule.

Now, with Thalysta representing the royal family and Liadrin the council, both residing in the Sun Sanctuary, the contest for influence over the Sunspire had begun.

“It seems I’ve finally drawn the attention of those at the top,” Patrick mused.

After all, the upper echelons of Quel’thalas would never bother with a mediocrity. To receive such attention—even secretive support—meant they all saw promise in Patrick and hoped to win him to their side.

...

Liadrin departed, and Patrick looked at the invitation lying quietly on his desk, sighing inwardly—troubles had begun.

Receiving an invitation from the Mage Association was a recognition of his abilities. Alleria and Sylvanas had gone to the frontlines, planning to strengthen defenses against troll incursions—this was the last major military operation against the trolls for the year.

The Eastern Kingdoms, situated at lower latitudes, rarely suffered severe winter cold, but an occasional winter rain could make the Ghostlands feel bitterly frigid, forcing the trolls to prepare for the lean months ahead.

Alleria had been away at the front for some time now. Patrick trained tirelessly in magic, honing his skills. With the invitation from the association, his power had been acknowledged; Patrick sent a magical missive to Alleria at the front, informing her.

...

For over a week I was away on business, not returning to the hotel until nine each night—exhausting. The trip ended on the third, and as soon as I returned home, this happened. It’s just too much. Last night, I stayed up all night with friends—illness is the worst torment. After twenty months, my aunt finally lost her battle with disease. It is heartbreaking and leaves one sighing with regret.