Ever since his arrival in Medala, Corco had been on constant edge. Powered by his self-hypnotic levels of confidence, he had done his best to paper over the cracks, but the ever-increasing pile of bad news had nibbled away at his composure. After the night on Mount Urquna, he had found his missing balance once again, at least for the moment. At last he could focus his mind and plan ahead as they left the mountains and went south, towards the capital at a steady pace.

Even though their attempts to win over the estates along the way had remained unsuccessful, he could handle the predictable rejections much better than before. After all, any time he blew up in some brat's face, it would only hurt his reputation. Plus, the prince was far too caught up in his newest endeavor. For the first time since he had left Arcavia, Corco had restarted his teaching career.

“But would our firm beliefs in the values of our ancestors not bind us together better than anything?” Primus asked.

“That's a nice thought, but your thinking is too shallow, young padawan.” With a raised finger, Corco reprimanded his new student. “Ideology is the fastest way to unite a people, but you don't consider the flip side of ideological thought. If you believe in something without question, you will be controlled by those who control the belief. Even worse, most ideologies are subjective and open to interpretation. Who interprets the truth? That's not a question any human should be allowed to answer.”

Throughout their journey, the prince had spent his spare time to tutor Primus on some of the finer points of economics, trade and ethics, at least as far as he himself understood them. In the capital there would be conflict everywhere. Corco needed someone who could contradict, and thereby offend, people of high status. If he were to do all the offending himself, he would only make enemies. Meanwhile, his warrior attendants would risk their heads if they ever contradicted a noble in public. As luck would have it, Primus was a high-ranked noble himself and could offend anyone he wanted, at least so long as he stayed within the limits of common etiquette.

"Prince Corco, I understand your concern, but we should still keep to our traditions. We should honor the ancients and keep to their wisdom which has served us for so many generations."

On the flip-side, the old-fashioned upbringing Primus had received proved a constant hindrance. Quite often, the young master was unwilling to even consider views which were different from the nonsense his elders had taught him.

"'The ancients', is it? Who do you mean by that? The half of our ancestors who came from Arcavia? Like those merchants who have come for our silver? Or the other who came from Chutwa? Bookworms who nag everyone into compliance if they dare have a different opinion from them?"

Despite being subject to another one of Corco's rants, Primus still kept still and listened in earnest.

"Our traditions are already corrupted by both sides, the east and the west. With the way things are going, you won't get the choice to simply stick to our tradition any more. I've been to Arcavia and I can tell you that it's not that impressive. No, what we need is not someone else's tradition, we need to make our own from scratch, one that is unique to us, not derived from the east or the west. That would be a tradition worth defending."

"But how could we do that, Prince Corco? We cannot simply invent tradition, can we?"

"Why not? If our new ideas are superior, why wouldn't they replace the old ones?”

In response to Corco's bold statement, Primus fell silent. Content with the current result of his lessons, the teacher decided to let his student deliberate by himself for a while. Instead, Corco looked ahead, towards the goal of their journey. After days of travel, they had finally come close to Arguna, the silver city, and the armies which surrounded it.

Since in Medala, political weight had always been equated with military force, all estates had sent their own personal warriors to make their weight felt. A tense atmosphere had engulfed the city, like the calm before the storm. To make sure the capital itself wouldn't suffer in the impending chaos, warriors had been barred from entry into Arguna. As a consequence, temporary camps had sprung up all around the city to house troops from the various factions. Two days ago, just as they had left the mountain pass, a runner of House Petrocilius had reached the caravan and informed them of the position of his family's camp, which was where they had been headed ever since.

Although they were so close to their goal already, of course something would go wrong again. With clear intent to obstruct their path, a group of armed men swaggered onto the road. One of them made a large step forward to announce his leadership of the group and said, "Your game is up, foreign bandits! How dare you trample on these lands and try to rob its riches!"

It all seemed so familiar. Reminded of the nonsense arrest they had gone through in Porcero, Corco and Fadelio shared a smirk as they suppressed their laughter. All the while the henchman ignored the peculiar atmosphere and kept going.

"As a servant of the great Prince Pluritac, my word shall stand for justice. Thus, you shall have a chance to prove your identity!"

"Yeah, I get it. So you want a fight then? That's fine, let's fight." Unwilling to waste any more time on the minions, Corco waved off the grandiose speech.

"Huh?"

Since Corco had skipped the predictable steps of 'I am a noble', 'Prove it', 'Here's the proof', 'This proof is fake', 'No it's not' and 'Let's solve this by combat,' the henchman had been left utterly confused.

"You're here to test the strength of my men, right? That's why you're provoking a stargazing brawl?"

Whenever there was a disagreement between two nobles of Medala, one of them could challenge a stargazing brawl, a traditional method to settle disputes without the need for an all-out war. Under the watch of the stars, either the individual lords in question or one hundred man groups of their warriors would fight one another, in combat deadly or otherwise. In most cases, the loser of the brawl would back down from his claim or ostracized by the other Medalan estates.

"So, are we fighting right here?” Corco continued. “Weapons or fists? Oh, and please do tell which one of my good brothers would throw away warriors like this just to gain some intel."

As far as Corco was concerned, the entire ploy was far too transparent. The warriors were here to scout out the strength of Corco's one hundred man party by exploiting the old Medalan rules. It was exactly the kind of behavior which annoyed Corco more than anything. However, they couldn't just ignore a hostile troop, for fear of getting into a proper fight, without rules. Unless he wanted an unpredictable mess of a fight, the prince would have to play along. Since a brawl couldn't be avoided either way, he decided to let Dedrick's men crush the nuisance and use the power of his men as a deterrent. To him, it seemed like the best remaining option, although he would have preferred to hide his strength for a while longer. As luck would have it, someone stepped in, just in time to fulfill his wishes.

"Stop! I can vouch for this group."

Atop the crest of a nearby hill, a group of warriors appeared while Corco had been busy.At the front of the warriors stood the man who had barged into the conversation. Tall and with a magnificent black beard that covered half his face, it was a figure the first prince was more than familiar with. Never had Corco been so glad to see facial hair.

"Uncle!"

"Corco my boy!"

Sonco Cauac Saqartu, the lord of the powerful southern Saqartu estate and Governor of the South greeted his nephew with his signature smile and a warm embrace, in complete breach of etiquette.

"Welcome home, child. I am glad you are back."

"Thank you. It was quite the journey," said Corco with a dumb grin on his face.

"I am glad to see you fine my boy, but what on earth happened to your hair?" Sonco replied as his smile transitioned into a worried frown.

"Ah, it's not what you think. I'm just blending in.” The prince tussled his hair. “Those easterners are pretty hostile if you don't look like them, dress like them and think like them. Though I guess we aren't much different."

Just like all insular, locally dominant cultures, the Yaku had a strong isolationist streak, especially since the last invasion attempts from the mainland had united the country a century ago. The only reason they were somewhat receptive to foreign ideas was their relative weakness compared to the great powers of the east, west and north.

"The easterners I have met these years were quite civil," Sonco replied.

"Of course they were. After all, they don't have the numerical advantage here. They can be very helpful to us as long as we don't give them a foothold anywhere."

"How is the brat? Any trouble?"

Despite how rude he sounded, Sonco's face betrayed his worry.

"You'll be surprised when you meet that son of yours again. Atau has properly grown up and leads the greatest fleet on the east coast. Though beard-wise, he's still got nothing on you."

Like a drunk at a fancy dinner party, a disharmonious voice disrupted the family reunion.

"Although Lord Saqartu's opinion is respected, the identity of this person is to be questioned. It not something lord can determine by himself! This servant is under strict-"

"That's quite enough,” Sonco barely raised his voice. His face didn't show so much as a hint of anger, but the disturbance still quieted down straight away.

“Beyond this hill sits an entire camp's worth of warriors, ready to challenge your authority here. You are free to try your luck with them. Unfortunately, this Lord does not have the leisure to listen to the words of a blood hound." Once the baffled minion had been finished off, Sonco turned back to his nephew. "We should continue this in the camp."

As they left behind the helpless loudmouth, Corco asked, "So whose henchmen are these guys anyways? They wouldn't tell me."

"House Ichilia. Which makes them your youngest brother's followers."

"Pachacutec, was it? That's a fancy name to take for himself."

At age sixteen, Medala nobles would hold their maturity rites and give themselves their own names in the process. Beforehand, they would simply carry their father's name and the sequence of their birth, which made every 'Primus' their family's first born and young master Primus to his side most definitely a kid.

"Yes, I thought it was quite presumptuous of him to take a hero's name, but what do I know. He deserves it if he actually manages to usurp the throne as the third-born son. Not to mention, the brat has grown into quite the monster. At seventeen, he is already as tall as his father was and a fierce warrior to boot."

Corco wanted to wait for a quieter place for this sort of conversation, so he looked around for a change in subject. Luckily, he found one not too far from himself.

"By the way. Uncle, meet Primus Vitus Petrocilius. He still hasn't taken his maturity rites, but he has come along to verify my identity with his father. House Petrocilius has been a great help."

"Young master Primus Vitus Petrocilius greets Lord Saqartu."

"No need to be so stiff my boy. We have already received message from your family's runners. Why else would I be here, outside of your family's camp? I have become well acquainted with your father over the past days. I am sure he will be ecstatic to meet you," Sonco said with a kind, open smile.

"This youngster thanks Lord Saqartu,” Primus answered, stiff as a board.

"Don't mind it uncle. The stiffness runs in the family."

Corco chimed in while he thought back to the kid's grandfather.

"It would make sense, wouldn't it? Amongst Lords, this camp site has been called the traditionalists. They're all old-fashioned people who mostly just care about the rules. No offense, my boy," Sonco said towards Primus who quickly waved off the apology. "Anyways, our Sachay camp is in the south. If you can firmly win over the traditionalists, our position would already be fairly stable."

"Don't worry uncle, if there's one thing I'm good at, it's campaigning."

For a second, Primus looked as if he wanted to interject, but Corco's stern gaze stopped him right in his tracks.

“So you have already started to prepare for the succession? Do not underestimate your brothers, it will be a difficult fight,” Sonco said.

“Yeah. First we'll need support from the ancestral hall. If I can't even get nominated as emperor, there's no point to any of this. That shouldn't be a problem though, what with me being the crown prince and all.”

Although Corco's words were another proof of his flawless logic, his uncle to the side had gone silent all of a sudden. Mouth agape, he stared back at his uncle whose uncomfortable stare was focused ahead.

“What? Don't tell me they would make trouble for me. Why?”

"Because they have declared you dead. You will have to stand answer to the ancestral hall and convince them to revert the initial declaration. A dead man can't inherit the throne, after all," Sonco answered.

"How difficult could that possibly be?" Corco asked, while his hands flailed around to prove his exacerbation. “I mean, I'm here, aren't I? Clearly not dead.”

"None of those dusty old bone-bags would ever admit to being wrong," Sonco sneered. “They've decided that you're dead, so they're going to stick with that decision, even if you stand right before them. They would rather call you a fraud than fess up. Not to mention, most of the ancestors are northerners as well. They would rather see one of your brothers on the throne”

Corco lowered his head, deep in thought. Just before the group reached the crest of the hill, he had formed his new strategy. "We can't do anything against the north-south bias, but at least there's an easy way around the pride of the elders. We'll need some time though. It's best if we leave the ancestral hall for later."

“So what's the solution?” Primus asked.

“Easy,” Corco beamed back, full of confidence. “We just need a scapegoat, some pawn who can take the blame for the wrong decision of the hall. I've heard that one of my old warriors came back earlier?”

“It appears as if a warrior by the name of Quirinu pronounced your death after he returned from Arcavia, aboard a merchant's vessel. That man should have been one of yours, correct?” Sonco asked.

“Oh, I'm so glad my old servant made it back in one piece,” Corco replied with a dark smile. “I sure hope we can meet back up for a nice chat.”

While the prince wallowed in his thoughts of revenge, Sonco tried to focus his nephew's mind back on the essentials.

“I understand that you would want to punish your servant, boy. In fact, I'll be happy to help you in that endeavor. Still, first we will have to find your man. Until then, we will have to avoid all contact with the ancestral hall.” As Sonco's head crested over the hill, he squinted his eyes in the sunlight. Still, the old man remained as focused as always.

“Wait,” Corco asked back. “What about grandfather? Caelestis I mean?”

With a snort, Sonco made his thoughts about the prince's grandfather more than clear.

“The noble Elder Caelestis has been far too active for a member of the Ancestral Hall. He's run around outside like an emperor. I hear he's even held court to ratify laws. If you know what's good for you, don't count on that man's support.”

“Uncle!” Corco's stern voice calmed Sonco's rant before it could get started. “I understand that you think the imperial family failed you, that they took your sister. But that was my mother as well. Grandfather had nothing to do with the poisoning. Grandfather is family, more than most. Even after mom died, he was the only one who stood behind me, more than my father ever did. In the entire palace, he's the only ally I can rely on.”

With a sigh, Sonco brushed through his hair.

“I'm sorry, boy. I am. Either way, the elder isn't in the capital at the moment, so you won't be able to meet right away.”

“So until then we'll stay away from the ancestors and focus on the estates. Banquets, deals, the usual. So long as we can muster up a majority support from the noble houses, even the ancestors would have to consider their options.”

After Corco had gotten used to the light, he could see the view before him at last. In the distance, hugged along the Argu River and huddled behind its imposing city walls, sprawled the silver city, Arguna itself. By now Corco had some context and knew that for the standards of the time, Arguna was massive, far larger than any city he had seen on Arcavia. In fact, even the giant, slanted walls were not enough to contain the masses, and so the poorest of the poor had spilled out and formed an unofficial extension to the city all around it. Although the slums around the walls were the ones from Corco's memories, the camps which surrounded Arguna on all sides were not. Right below the hill they stood upon, a large camp had been erected from wooden stakes, as tents of all sizes, and even some wooden huts, had sprung up to house the companies of warriors.

“Why's everyone here anyways? Shouldn't the warriors stay inside?”

Although Corco had heard of the camps before, he had believed that they were simple fortifications, used to show some muscle as a diplomatic measure. Instead, it appeared as if the estates were preparing for war.

“This can't be right, can it? What's with this level of security? There's a fucking tower over there!”

Corco pointed at the wooden guard tower he had spotted in the direction of Arguna.

“Since the ancestors banned warriors from entering the city, everyone has been nervous. Things haven't gotten better since you came back home. Right now, the entire capital is like a bowstring, taut beyond its capacity.”

“Great. And I'm walking right into it,” Corco ruffled his hair in annoyance. “Gonna enjoy this like the plague.”

All of a sudden, Sonco stormed ahead to stand in Corco's way. With furrowed brows, he stared into his nephew's eyes.

"What do you mean, boy? We only just met again and you already try to run? The palace is not how you remember. I don't think it is safe. Many of the lords don't even stay in their inner city mansions for fear of assassination."

"So then it is how I remember.” With a confident grin, Corco shoved Sonco out of the way and continued on towards the walls, where a large congregation of nobles in expensive cloth was waiting for them.

"There is no need to rush things, is there? You could at least stay in the camp for one night and then make your entry in a proper manner tomorrow."

"If I did that it would only bring more trouble. I can hear the voices already: 'No proper Pluritac would sleep out in the wild like a common dog! He is not worthy of the crown.' I'd rather avoid the bullshit and not give ammunition to the hypocrites. Not to mention: If anything happens to me in the palace, the ones in charge of the place will ruin their reputation. No one would be this stupid when there's more than two competitors for the crown. So I'd appreciate it if you could lend me your palanquin for my entry. It's time to get home."

Although Sonco remained quiet, Corco knew that although his uncle would be in a bad mood, the old lord would still play along. Even so, for once the prince chose silence as well. There wasn't any reason to chance his luck after all.

“Father!” Primus' happy call drove through the brooding mood to dispel the clouds. By now they could all see the men who waited for them in more detail, and the young master had spotted someone he cared about. Enthused by the image of his father, he rushed ahead, to the traditionalist lords ready to greet the crown prince. Without a word, Corco and Sonco shared a look and slowed their steps. By the time they arrived in front of the camp, Primus had already become part of the group of lords.

No fewer than eight men, ranging from baby-faced youths to gray-haired elders stood at attention as they observed Corco and his party with great interest. Primus, the young master of House Petrocilius, stood at the front of the crowd, next to a middle-aged man with a hook nose and a full head of long, black hair. Even without any introduction, Corco could have guessed the man's name, as well as his political position.

Everything about Lord Petrocilius, from his stern look and stiff demeanor to his old-fashioned clothing spoke of a man who lived his life a hundred years in the past. Corco now began to regret that he had taught some modern ideas to this man's son. He just hoped it wouldn't cause trouble between them in the future. For now, however, there were more important matters to discuss.. Primus once again moved towards his travel companion and teacher, always half a step behind his father. At this point Corco took a deep breath, to prepare for an excruciating round of introductions; he would be proven right.

"Crown Prince, please meet my father, Lord of the Samusca Estate and patriarch of House Petrocilius, Vitus Horatius Petrocilius."

Without a single look at the son he hadn't seen in months, the tall man nodded his head and stepped ahead once more. His back unbent, the lord eyed Corco with an expressionless face. Only in his eyes, light danced to prove the lord's alert nature. Without breaking eye contact, the lord hinted at the slightest of bows.

"Lord Vitus Horatius Petrocilius welcomes Crown Prince to his camp."

"Crown Prince Corcopaca Titu Pluritac is indebted as a guest of House Petrocilius," Corco replied, careful to bow no deeper than his counterpart. Although the prince would have loved to get things over with soon, the greetings were far from done.

"Prince Corcopaca, please let me introduce, from the Tsacra region of Eastern Medala, Manus Calvus Curius, Lord of Tsacra."

"It is my, Calvus Curius' great honor to finally meet the crown prince of Medala. Please let a small offer of gratitude be a commemoration of this momentous occasion."

As the crown prince's attendant, Fadelio accepted the silver trinket without a word. Meanwhile, Corco returned another stiff, formal greeting, the kind Medalan nobles loved so much, the kind he despised like nothing else in the world. As he suppressed a sigh, the prince glanced behind Lord Tsacra, at the expectant collection of lords. This time, a small sigh defied his best efforts and escaped his lips. This one might take a while.