As the months went by, I found what it took to ask for the key to the special military archives. Judge Drace seemed more than willing to formalize the authorization, as if me spying in the army's secrets would relieve her of some overwhelming burden.

I chose a morning where no one visited the Second floor of the Palace – Nastia included – to open the holy cupboard and sit with what appeared to be the most relevant documents.

The first pile was a series of maps.

Comfortably sat in my favorite armchair, I carefully flipped through the papers, most of which were already turning yellow.

I quickly identified a common pattern in all of them. Signed initials, at the bottom-right corner. All of them being:

S. L. S.

I almost wasted time wondering which first name could the S. be, which middle name could the L. be, and which surname could the S. be, before seeing the obvious: S. L. S. was Sentia Larse Solidor. Archadia's Black Rose herself.

All the maps were military strategies for a given battle area, with color codes and arrows signifying troop movement, as well as notes specifying the time. Cowichan order operation, Bò rebels counterattack… and finally I saw it. Landis. The Kalthof siege. The troops involved. The instructions to Judge Magister Petra. It was still S. L. S., it was still Empress Sentia. Empress Sentia was the starting point of my life's tragedy. How could destroying families be as easy for imperials as drawing on papers inside a palace? My fist was clenching so much that the precious paper was beginning to be creased.

Then I noticed another detail.

The words. All the arrows, lines and colored squares were giving the impression that it was done by an adult – let alone the documents' topic. However, each word, in plain letters, appeared as done by a child. A child in elementary school – one whose handwriting had to be round and meticulous to please the teacher, or, in other documents where she had to write quickly, completely muddled. How could that be? Surely Empress Sentia did not entrust an actual child to write all the code words and details to clarify a war plan to the Order of Judges.

I browsed the whole pile one last time, and noticed a short series of papers of similar size, but different colors. They were laced by a white cord, and bore the date:

SI, CAP. 8th 669

All of these strange papers were entirely filled with tables. Tables giving battle results. Was it…?

I browsed back to the first page of this kind and it became clear. On that date, a tournament had taken place. One to assess the power of the Order of Judges as an institution, and of each member to distinguish strategic talent. There were four categories, each one having its own rules and lasting several phases: ranged weapon holders and mages in the morning (at the same time), tacticians and melee weapon holders in the afternoon (at the same time). According to what I knew of the Order, the most prestigious victory for someone fighting in that tournament would be that of the melee weapons, as a Knight using a two-handed sword. As a matter of fact, using bows as a soldier, general or even a Judge was not frowned upon in the divisions. The voices of protest rose only once an Archer became dömavän – once I touched the highest position in the Empire with my fingers.

I looked at the tacticians results and a line caught my attention:

Quarterfinals 2

Bangaa F vs Judge Bix – winner: Bangaa F

Naming a fellow citizen "Bangaa F" was so Archadian, however that token of disrespect was surpassed by the joy of the result. A Bangaa winning over a Hume! Who was a Judge, no less! No wonder these papers were carefully kept locked.

I went back at the first page and saw, at the ranged weapon – which I assumed were mostly guns, bows and crossbows – contest:

Winner

Viera C

A Viera! Was there any other Viera than the one who brought me to the Sixth? Or, since the Viera could live for a few centuries, could it be her? She certainly had trust in her fighting abilities, as her support effort to my mother and I in Landis was not surrounded by any escort. That page also taught me that the ranged weapons contest was a battle royal, since there were no rounds. Without lowering my gaze at it, I concluded that the mages section showed the same: the most powerful spells reached several targets at once, and a one-to-one fight would barely show all the assets of a mage, from positioning strategy to destructive power in real war conditions.

No, what truly intrigued me was the only section where all the very best of fighters in the Order, at that date, would be present: the sword tournament. They could be mages on top of it, like Lady Drace and Lord Zargabaath, but the only way to shine at that place was to draw a blade – and be good at it. I wondered if the tournament rules formally excluded any spell casting in that category, but they were written nowhere. Allowing magic would inevitably favor versatile fighters, and exclude purely physical ones whose skills might be stronger. I shrugged and looked at the last lines:

Semifinals 1

Drace vs. Judge Zargabaath – duration 18:03

Winner : Judge Zargabaath

I was in awe. Firstly, Lady Drace was no judge at the time. She had made it to the semifinals of the hardest contest while still learning swordsmanship at the Akademy, having spent all her pre-army years studying law. Secondly, despite that and her opponent being Zargabaath – who might or might not have held some mysterious oversized power –, she had enough resources to last 18 minutes. I was proud of serving such a legend. I gasped at looking at the second battle:

Semifinals 2

Judge Bergan vs. Judge Larse – duration 7:26

Winner : Judge Larse

Was that… a mistake? Maybe the decades passing by had erased a figure, and it originally was 17:26 or 37:26. Who could beat Judge Bergan, who reportedly had always been proud of his strength… so fast? As for the last line of the leaf:

Final

Judge Larse vs. Judge Zargabaath – duration 2:39:48

Winner : Judge Larse

And the Emperor's seal was put at the end – which meant he had a personal interest in that final. Once again, I blinked, I gasped, I thought. This data made little sense, yet it was there, in front of me. And it was more difficult to add figures than remove them. But… two hours, almost three?

I put the pile aside for a moment. That last fight proved two things: firstly, Judge Bergan – at least in 669 – was no match for Judge Zargabaath, including melee-only fights. And secondly, that Judge Larse had something in them that told them apart from the others, and that is why they won the tournament. I doubted that any Mighty power was being used for the contests – the Mighties either never crossed the Military Akademy's door, or stuck to their wish to operate in the shadows; and according to their point of view, made of honor and grandeur, the purpose was absolutely irrelevant to disclose their deadly weapons. Honor and grandeur… such were words that Basch would never comprehend.

I stood up and put the archives back in the cupboard.

The "Judge Larse" mystery remained. Who was that fighter? A fighter who could crush Judge Bergan faster than an opera intermission, and push Zargabaath to his limits before vanquishing him as well? Were they still alive?

I caressed my slightly-bearded chin.

Yes, Larse. It was almost the name of the Emperor's last son, and exactly the name of his mother. So… Could Empress Sentia… ? Chances were not null, but severely scarce. Unlike the rival empire of Rozarria, the Archadian rulers notably never had a military background. The army did its job, the Senate its own, and the Emperor's role was to sit between the two, take all major decisions, and have a global grasp on the country's whereabouts. The first members, among all the imperial families that came around the throne since the country's first institutions seven centuries ago, including the very few dynasties, to have received military training, were Eder-Cilt and Phonmat Solidor. Emperor Gramis was initially against this path for his sons, because he feared a violent outcome – which eventually happened – on one hand, and because by tradition Archadia's emperor never had to dirty his hands on the other hand; yet he yielded due to Eder's… manipulation skills, from what it seemed. That was reason enough to seriously consider Empress Sentia far from "Judge Larse"'s prowess. But then, 669 was five years before her marriage to the Emperor. Nobody in the Palace knew solid information of her previous life. It was like a Judge Magister candidate: once they set foot in the army, they had to forsake their past forever. But still, "Judge Larse" was just a codename – that could well be far from any civil identity; and I during my time in city shops or the Grand Arcade, I had heard "Larse" as a middle name more than once, from people referring to live citizens of the Empire.

Moreover, Judge Larse, whoever they were, left a solid trace in the Order's history: I had had no precise idea about their fighting abilities before; but I had definitely heard the name, because they were the one who had replaced Judge Zecht at its head, no less, between 669 and 674.

The confusion was starting to give me a headache - I needed to find the right person to tell me more in the safest way. And the only safest way I knew of, in terms of telling the truth about a Judge Magister, was their dömavän. But who does the same job for thirty years? If they were even still alive… Ah! If only I had their name! Just the name of that Judge was enough.

During a lightweight day at our Akademy building, I summoned the oldest members of my division and improvised a "Military Akademy legacy: the 670's era" workshop. I spent an hour writing down their memories, sorting them by year, by continent or by Magister, and, as a much younger imperial representative, asked them a few questions, and allowed them to share their "good old times" nostalgia. I had, of course, prepared the list of questions in advance, and made sure the order and time frame were respected. I had also made sure no one would enter the room, by placing soldiers I had faith in to watch outside.

The dömavän question was the fourth, out of five.

'So all of you, so far, mentioned facts and speeches about the 670's, because you only joined the Akademy around 680 after a military service in the imperial provinces. You all cited reliable sources and did a good job.'

'Is the workshop over, my Lord?' a member said.

'Silence.'

The sharpness of my tone surprised me. Since when did I become so gruff? However, I didn't have to show any sign of weakness to my division. Another member quietly but ostensibly scolded the one interrupting me.

'We have talked about the two sub-eras', I pursued. 'The second one being Judge Zecht's one, which continues as we speak. Judge Chau-Anh is his current dömavän, and during the notable events you pointed out his previous ones. However, Judge Larse also had a dömavän. Does anyone remember who it was?'

Finally. Now I just had to wait.

They almost all had the same reactions. Firstly, raising their hands and lowering them immediately, as if their answer in mind was incomplete. Secondly, frowning in doubt. And lastly, exchanging confused looks and talking to each other:

'It was that tall lad, wasn't he?'

'That's what I've been told too! Do you remember his name?'

'Ah, such a brave fellow he was! He looks weakened since his Magister left, but he still could fight just fine when I arrived!'

'All the old generals agree he was the cheerful motivating kind – and very skilled with that. You certainly would have wanted to recruit him, Lord Gabranth!'

'Does anyone remember his name?'

The doubting faces came back. I waited patiently, trying to pretend that question's importance was like any other's. The mysterious dömavän apparently had a complicated name.

'What was it again?' someone said.

'Madun or so…'

'Wasn't it Landun?'

'Dandun!'

And suddenly, the hubbub stopped. It was like they received some prophecy. That – and that alone – was the reason I brought five members in that room and not only one.

'Yes!' they exclaimed joyously. 'Judge Dandun! That was definitely his name!'

'I saw him recently. Always the optimistic!'

'Where did you see him?' I asked, hoping they thought I was showing some care to a devoted veteran of the army. The answer was probably some overpriced restaurant in the capital or a walk in Argyll.

'In the central hangar, my Lord.'

That time, it was my turn to be speechless. The central hangar…? The central hangar…? The central hangar of… our Military Akademy?

'Is he still working here?'

'Why, yes, my Lord. He is. Although not as a Judge anymore.'

So he was… downgraded? How could someone cheerful at work and very skilled be downgraded? He could well have remained a Judge without staying dömavän, as many do. Something was not right, and I felt asking their opinion about this precise mystery wouldn't have led to anything safe.