"The Second Law of Thermodynamics: It is impossible to transfer heat from a colder body to a hotter one without causing other effects, or to extract heat from a single source and convert it entirely into useful work without causing other effects, or in irreversible thermodynamic processes, the entropy increment is always greater than zero." Roland meticulously copied this law onto paper—using the world's script. At first glance, it resembled cursive writing, and he couldn't fathom how locals had mastered such intricate characters.
If asked which physical law is the most dull, Roland would undoubtedly pick the second law of thermodynamics. It states that heat always flows from high to low in the universe, disorder replaces order, and entropy keeps rising. Ultimately, everything will dissolve into nothingness, leaving the cosmos in utter silence.
Now that the world is free from the curse of entropy, Magic Power can spring into existence out of thin air—far more remarkable than inventing a perpetual motion machine! The Devil's power? Roland scoffed at the notion, for they had failed to grasp its true nature. On a grander scale, it could even reshape the entire universe.
Of course, you can start by changing Border Town.
Roland hummed a tune, tore off the note and tossed it back into the fireplace. Watching it turn to ashes in the flames, he felt a thrill of satisfaction, as if the prison cage had been utterly destroyed.
The Minister's Assistant was utterly baffled by the Fourth Prince's inexplicable gestures, though he was accustomed to such behavior—always acting with a touch of eccentricity—and could tell the Prince was in high spirits.
"The execution is complete," Barov reported. "Witch was hanged at noon."
"Well, no one should notice anything, right?" Roland tapped his pen lightly. "They're all wearing headgear anyway." To avoid the Church and the Witches Association coming after them, Roland ordered the warden to find a death row inmate of similar build in the dungeon to replace Anna. Everyone except Chief Knight and the Minister's Assistant received 20 gold dragons as bribes—extremely lucrative sums for them.
Barov had once proposed silencing witnesses permanently, but Roland flatly rejected the idea. He knew these secrets wouldn't last forever, yet he actually hoped someone would spread the word—just not now. A falling out with the Church was inevitable; no one could tolerate such fools squandering resources. What would the Witches think when they learned of a border town offering them freedom and even generous treatment?
In any era, talent is the most important thing.
"Very well," Roland commanded, "summarize the trade, taxes, and essential expenditures of Border Town for the past year, and document the workshops—those producing ironware, textiles, and pottery—by their quantities and scale." "It will take three days to compile these records, but..." Barov nodded hesitantly, his expression a mix of reluctance and unspoken questions.
"What else?" Roland knew the moment had come to test his verbal prowess. The other side would inevitably question everything he'd done yesterday. A spoiled brat might be spoiled, but a bad temper doesn't mean a flawed mind. To the Minister's Assistant, hiding a Witch was nothing short of a world-destroying act.
"Your Highness, I don't understand..." Barov paused, carefully choosing his words. "Your past antics were harmless, but why take such a great risk to save a Witch? While hunting witches is the Church's law, your father, Lord Wimbledton, also endorses it." Roland pondered before retorting, "Do you think Border Town is a good place?" "Well..." Though unsure how this related to his question, Barov answered truthfully, "Not exactly." "It's terrible. How likely do you think I'm superior to those siblings compared to Golden Ear and Emerald Harbor?" "..." The Minister's Assistant opened his mouth but remained silent.
"Almost nothing. So I had to change tactics," Roland said, watching the man step by step fall into the trap he had set—a method that would leave a lasting impression on his father. He avoided the question of whether the Witch was truly evil, as it would have been futile. Barov, having served as Chancellor of the Exchequer's assistant for twenty years, was already a seasoned politician. For politicians, self-interest outweighed moral judgment. Nor did emotional appeals suit him. Recalling the Fourth Prince's past actions, Roland realized he couldn't be considered part of the good and law-abiding camp.
Thus, he chose the eternal conflict between secular monarchy and divine authority as his starting point. The Vatican's growing influence had become a thorn in King Wimbledon III's side. The Church maintained that the world operated according to God's will, with the Pope as His spokesperson. Should the people discover that even this claim was flawed, the religious authority would face severe challenges.
Simply stating 'Witches are not evil, so I want to save them' fails to convince the other party. However, framing it as 'Witches are not evil, and I can use this to attack the Church' easily leads Barov to his preconceived conclusion.
"No matter how prosperous my siblings 'territories may be, they remain the Church's possessions. They've been loudly proclaiming that kingship is God-given. If only those crowned by the Pope are considered legitimate kings, then are we the true rulers of this land?" Roland paused. "But Father sees in me the hope of a kingdom free from the Church's constraints, where the royal family holds all power. His choice is clear." Replacing "against the entire world" with "against only the Church" makes it far more acceptable—especially since Barov himself stands with the royal family.
Similarly, if he realizes these individuals with extraordinary abilities could become the leverage to destabilize the Church, then the hunting order would be nothing but a joke. On one side, the possibility is zero; on the other, it's not. Do you think I'm worth taking such a risk? "Roland stared at the Minister's Assistant and said word by word," Don't doubt my decision, Barov. You've been the Minister's Assistant for twenty years, right? If I could become the Fourth Prince of Wembley, your title could be removed. Or even further—say, the King's hand?"...
As Barov's retreating figure faded into the distance, Roland breathed a sigh of relief. His apparent disregard for the promise he had made was understandable—after all, even Roland himself had never believed this newly concocted scheme would work. But that mattered little. What truly mattered was convincing Barov that Roland genuinely believed it was feasible—a crude plan, as a spoiled young man might imagine, that not only aligned with the Fourth Prince's aversion to the Church but also paved the way for recruiting more witches in the future.
As for their true thoughts? Even if they knew, they wouldn't understand.
Roland summoned the maid, 'Bring Miss Anna to see me.' Then came the real business, he thought with excitement.