# Chapter {{28}} - {{Meeting begins}}
The voice continues, "Attendance." This time, its tone mirrors the first.
A man wearing Inca-like armor—intricate gold-plated breastplates, feathered headdresses, and ornate ceremonial masks—rises to his feet.
He gestures with his hand and says, "Inti Yupanqui here," then sits back down almost seamlessly.
Another figure stands.
He wears modern clothing resembling high fashion—tailored suits, elegant fabrics, and bold accessories.
"Colan Duplantis here," he says, sitting back down with an air of superiority. His shoes make a soft, deliberate click on the floor as he sits.
"Hakim Al Rashid," one mutters, their figure heavily blurred by other heads.
A voice perks up from somewhere unseen. "Klaus von Eisenswald."
"Freya Halldotti."
"Alaric Beaugois."
"Bel-Ibni Erishkal."
"Luca D'Rosayna."
"Zorion Ichtaca."
"Xiu Lianhua."
"Nneka Okoro."
"Lydia Seraphienne."
"Ashur Serugailu."
"Sir Eadric Silver-Shield."
"Henri de Meaux."
"Kokoro Takashiro."
"Anita Valencielle."
And the final head: "Alphonse De Lorraine." His family crest—a **radiant sun**—glows with an _"almost literal glow."_
Leonardo watches as the heads rise and fall, each calling out their name during attendance.
There are many. Each person dons different attire and exhibits different mannerisms, each on a quest to stay.
"It's a formal greeting," Marquis interjects, noticing Leonardo's fidgeting.
Marquis turns to him, gaze dropping almost to the ground.
"I know I said we should introduce ourselves formally," Leonardo says, then adds, "How about after this?" He senses the meeting will be longer than usual, especially with his father already tensing.
"Sure," Marquis replies calmly.
Leonardo watches him. _Can I trust him?_ The question coils through his body.
He really wants to be friends with Marquis—and just one act has made Leonardo see him in a different light than the others.
Anna pauses, looking around, realizing her guide isn't with her. The dark green cloak should have been eerily visible.
"This year's 500-year quest," the voice finally announces as the greetings end.
The heads sit in their chairs while the heirs remain standing. Unlike the heads, the fear in the air is palpable.
"Your task is to, in short, explore the 17 wonders."
Henri winces at this.
Everyone's blood runs dry. Their speculation has come true, and they are powerless to change it.
Is the sage serious? It's like telling a snake to fly—especially giving such a task to kids who haven't even reached adulthood.
"You can go in any order, fitting your preference."
"That should be fine, right?" Leonardo mutters to Anna.
"I think so. We could avoid the other heirs that way," she replies, not facing him, her gaze fixed on the empty throne, where everyone else is also looking.
"You are allowed to take a guide with you—one," the voice continues. "The heirs have the supreme right to choose their guides, without the help or assistance of the heads, family members, or anyone else."
Leonardo tries to follow along, but as time passes, the sage's words become mumbled or scrambled, with only the first syllable remaining clear.
"I can't understand," he says to Anna.
Marquis, though not focused on them, notices Leonardo's confusion.
"What?" Anna says flatly, not wanting to deal with Leonardo's behavior.
The glowing text begins to faintly drift away as Leonardo stares at it.
"Hmm?" the voice says. Everyone, whether attentive or not, raises their eyes to the throne.
What was that? Was the sage interested in something—here or elsewhere?
"There's an interesting person here," the voice says, though uncertain.
"Who is it, Sage?" Inti asks, voicing everyone's thoughts.
"Ah, I can't say right now. I'll have to speak with someone else."
That's all. The sage says nothing more, and the voice simply vanishes.
Then the voice returned—calm, yet commanding.
"Back to explaining the quest," it said, as if it had never left.
Leonardo, still grappling with the sage's cryptic words, tried to make sense of it all.
"The quest, as mentioned before, is an exploration quest. With exploration, you must gather tangible evidence of the wonder—objects of similar value and facts about the location. These are likely your main objectives," the voice continued.
Leonardo began to piece it together.
"Oh, I'm getting it now," he murmured.
"His words were just jumbled up for some reason," he added.
"This happened before, right?" Elara asked.
"Maybe," Leonardo replied, uncertainty lingering in his tone.
"He's just adding more objectives as time goes," Sir Eadric muttered, stomping his feet in frustration.
"Before this meeting ends, the children might have 300 objectives," Alaric said, laughing.
"Sometimes I forget—or rather, you seem to forget—that your son is also participating in this quest," Alphonse interjected, interlocking his fingers as he rested them on the large table. "Oh, you do care," he added bitterly.
"Alaric," Sir Eadric said, his voice laced with disdain, "you resemble nothing like your son, you know."
"He resembles his mother," Alaric replied, a hint of sadness creeping into his voice. "I'm not always home. He's always with her."
"I'm not here for a sob story. Enough," Alphonse snapped.
"Ahaha, alright," Alaric huffed, sagging his shoulders as he continued listening. His chaperon shifted beside him.
Henri rested his elbow on the table, his face buried in his palm.
"This is pure bullshit. It's obvious he wants us out of here," he muttered, causing everyone to turn toward him.
Though his words echoed an unspoken truth, many clung to the power and status that came with being among the 18 families—even if they were at the bottom of the pyramid.
Alain yawned from where he sat, seemingly indifferent to the tension in the room. His nonchalance caught Marquis's attention, who was shocked to see him here after everything that had happened.
You'd think he'd try to hide after what he did… Yet here he was, acting like his usual self.
At the sight of Alain, Marquis's green eyes burned with anger, veins pulsing at his temples. The other heirs instinctively moved away, sensing the storm brewing.
Alain, noticing the shifting atmosphere, nearly waved at the Marquis. His guide—a shirtless man of Takashiro origins—stood nearby, clueless.
"What?" Marquis muttered in disbelief as he stormed over to Alain.
"Marqu—"
"Shut up, you little prick. You have some explaining to do," Marquis snapped.
"That guy again," Alain muttered, recalling the earlier encounter. "He was there when the explosion happened," he realized aloud.
"Alain? He's really… 'unattached' seems to be the best word. He's similar to his father—the one with the red eyes," Elara said thoughtfully.
Leonardo turned toward the table. The heads seemed engrossed in their own conversation, though Alaric appeared to catch Leonardo's gaze.
"The quest doesn't have a set time limit. For all I care, it could take 200 years," the voice stated flatly.
Ryuji's eyes widened as he turned to his father, who hadn't noticed the relief washing over him.
"Father lied?" he muttered under his breath, his dark hair swaying slightly as he stood by Wata.
"What'd I do?" Alain replied, feigning innocence.
"The explosion," Marquis repeated, his voice tinged with growing frustration.
"And? It didn't affect me, did it?" Alain retorted flatly. "I really don't care for those people. Neither did they, since no one called for me. So why should you?"
"What?" Marquis's voice trembled with barely contained anger. "People died, Alain."
His hand inched toward Alain's neck, the tension escalating—until Alain's guide intervened.
"What are you doing?" the guide asked, his tone calm but firm.
"It's okay. I genuinely have no idea why he's mad at me," Alain said, directing his words toward Itami (痛み).
"Ah, you know Marquis and his temper," Itami chuckled, attempting to diffuse the situation.
"That's Siergured to you," Marquis snapped.
"Oh?" Itami replied, his own anger simmering beneath the surface.
Ryuji gripped his sheet tightly, the veins in his wrist bulging as he struggled to contain his emotions.
Wata noticed this, concern etched on his face.
"Ryuji?" he called softly, wanting to reach out but hesitating.
"I know you're all itching for a fight!" an heir shouted, the anticipation in the room thickening.
"That's Adad, son of Ashur Serugailu," Anna said, turning to Leonardo.
A boy clad in a robe of deep red, reminiscent of the Assyrians, stepped forward. His outfit was adorned with intricate black and gold patterns.
His guide, in stark contrast, wore simple, tattered clothing—chains around his wrists and ankles like a prisoner's garb.
"Shut up, you mutt," Ryuji muttered toward Adad, his voice low and menacing.
"Oh, Taka…" Adad said, finally noticing him.
His guide, shocked by the sudden shift in demeanor, asked, "What happened?"
"I don't know. He just seems more stressed than usual," Adad replied, his dark brown dreads falling over his shoulders.
"Oh," was all the guide could muster.
"Alain, you didn't change—even after school," the Marquis said abruptly.
"Did you? I mean, you did try to choke me."
"The quest—if rules aren't followed—equals getting kicked out of the system," the voice reminded them.
"He's saying that again…" Sir Eadric grumbled, then raised his voice. "Just get on with the rules already!"
"Sir Eadric Silver-Shield," a voice whispered—barely audible to anyone else.
"I find it funny that he hears us," Alaric commented.
"He can't do anything unless there's ill intent. You know that," Alphonse added.
"Still funny to know," Alaric chuckled.
"The heirs are fighting," Henri noted, having watched the escalating tensions.
Kokoro, who had shown little interest until now, raised his head slightly at the mention of fighting.
"They seem to have stopped, though," Henri continued.
Kokoro searched the room for Ryuji, only to find him staring back intently.
"That boy…" he muttered, something unsettling stirring within him.
Ryuji held his sheet close, his knuckles red with tension as he drew his katana.
"Time for the rules," the voice announced. "I've included a gift as well, since many of the heads have complained that I've added too many objectives."
"A single unwritten skill."