"Don't think that I'm afraid of you—you pompous pipsqueak. You dare talk to me about making Ijohen a scapegoat when our enemies already have a hold on all the important parts of the City! How will we ever get support from the people if we hold no power!?"

"So if we hand them over the golden contract, we'll be able to reclaim the pavilion too?" One of them asks from where she sits in the front row of seats, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

"So if we hand him over to the Blackwell Union, will we be able to reclaim the pavilion too?" One of them asks from where she sits in the front row of seats, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Or perhaps Mister Feishige can march our armies into the Golden Pavilion and claim it with brute force? Would that solve everything then?" Counsellor Rantama pauses for a moment as everyone stares at him.

"I wasn't trying to suggest anything like that—"

"Of course not," Princess Heleenie scoffed. "What you were actually suggesting was taking advantage of the chaos to cause damage to the harmony of the whole Irricestar Mountain." Her gaze turned icy once again as she continued speaking slowly. "

How dare you! Do you want us to return to the Dark Ages or don't you?"

"Ah, I see what's happening here now!" Counsellor Rantama points his quill toward the Royal Family, "It seems your precious princess is afraid of a fight after all!"

His eyes suddenly glint red in excitement which only earned him a scowl from the young lady herself, "And why should we allow ourselves to fall back so easily? We're so weak right now because we lost most of our power from the rebellion years ago, which made them bolder than they already are."

Mister Feisheige remained silent, but his stares seemed to convey his disapproval towards Rantama.

"Enough!" The King stares at every person seated at the council table. "We are here today because we've found ourselves at an impasse."

His stares became intense, yet gentle this time; one could almost hear his thoughts whispered to himself while pausing between paces—his footsteps slow; paced carefully, paced with thoughtfulness—in order to understand what would happen next.

He paces until reaching the middle of the throne room floor and pauses for a moment before looking up—the contracts and key lay before him, glittering in the sunlight.

His stares remain soft, peaceful and calm, even though his lips quivered slightly. At that moment, no one dared to speak a word, afraid that they might break his concentration.

The King stares intently downwards, pausing only briefly when it seems that something caught his attention.

He paces back to his seat and pauses to take a deep breath before sitting down on it and announcing solemnly "I will return the keys to the Blackwell Union."

There was nothing but silence at first until Rantama spoke "Is there any other way? Or should we make a duplicate of the Key? Surely we wouldn't want to return the wing to the lion? If anything, I say we keep the golden contract. As long as we hold it tightly within our grasp, we can reclaim the Golden Pavilion whenever we wish to do so!"

"Maybe even fake the Key itself so that we can pretend to return the key?" Another voice added.

"If we do that, we would lose the trust of the people. Not to mention if anyone finds out about our deceit, they'll turn against us!" The King stares hard into Counsellor Rantama's stares while slowly shaking his head side-to-side in disapproval.

"No, I won't allow anything like that."

"So what is your plan then, my King?" Princess Heleenie stares at him expectantly—her gaze filled with curiosity and eagerness to know what her father had decided to do.

"I've come up with a different solution which I think everyone would find agreeable," the King replied after pausing to gather himself.

"I shall negotiate to get our Royal Family to enter the Blackwell Union through a special agreement; one that would involve the yearly ownership of the Golden Pavilion." He announced.

"The Chief's position!" A low rumble ran through the crowd of councillors seated around the table.

They seemed too surprised to react at first before someone from further down shouts "What!?" Their faces scrunched in disgust or anger, depending on who stared back at them.

Some even started shouting and banging their fists on the table; all trying to express their disagreement by arguing amongst themselves without much care for whoever sat in front of them.

The chief position is basically given power over all other members of the clan; it includes authority, respect, protection, etc.

The Blackwell Union has its own set of rules and laws which dictate who should become the next chief once the previous chief served for one year or died for whatever reason.

"This arrangement could help us stake our claim on the Golden Pavilion as well as gain access to new resources if we're able to trade with them," counsellor Rantama spoke out loudly again to try to quell some of his colleagues' voices but only succeeded in getting more angry stares thrown his way.

"Isn't this a perfect opportunity?"

Their stares grew more intense; not that they stopped speaking among themselves either as they began yelling angrily over one another.

Ijohen feel his headache growing stronger than ever now, causing his stares to go blank as his jaw quivered slightly, yet still, his mouth remained closed tightly shut under a black mask he is wearing. "Rihan, you've really lost it this time."

His mask hides his face from everyone in the Throne Room and protected his identity as the Young Master. So even though they were talking about him, no one looks in his direction.

"Sigh, why do I have to go through this?" he muttered alone.

As the meeting continued to devolve into chaos, Ijohen recalls how the Golden Contract and Key fall into his hand.

He stares coldly at the two golden objects before recalling the array that Rihan had used.

It is a very intricate formation composed of small blocks with various patterns, and even as a Royal Family with access to vast knowledge and books in the palace, he doesn't have any idea what it was.

How did a little boy barely, ten able to create such a thing? he ponders silently.