The Social Gala (1)
"M-Master, it's ready!"
Chloe thudded down today's batch of prepared materials.
"Okay. That's plenty to meet the deadline. Starting next week, we'll be supplying the Wood Palace, so manage it carefully."
"Yessir!"
For now, my alchemy was still faster and more precise for compounding meds. Once her skills improved, I'd hand over the full production—including compounding—to Chloe. That would free me up, but we'd need more hands, so I told her to post a hiring notice. No applicants yet, though.
I opened my status window and checked the skill list.
○ Alchemy C
· Reinforcement C
- Property Change C
· Compression C
· Synthesis C
- Extraction D
· (Unacquired)
○ Medicine C
· Diagnosis C
- Blood Test C
- X-ray D
· Prescription D
· Emergency Treatment D
- Surgery (Basic) C
· (Unacquired)
Skills had piled up now—I needed to use them in the right spots. For meds like aspirin that leveraged raw material effects, compression and reinforcement worked great and finished quick. Chemically processed ones started from extraction, so they took forever.
"Master, materials are here."
"Yeah, just stack 'em for now."
Tanya neatly stacked the massive crates in the corner. The office was basically a warehouse at this point. We needed bigger space, yeah.
Top of my list right now: antacids. I'd been hoarding pig pancreases, corn, random grasses—you name it.
"This is taking too damn long. Mass production's a no-go."
I scrapped the antacid base. Tying up time on everyday meds killed efficiency. Simpler ingredients meant weaker effects—no good for patients. Might as well go all-in on big-ticket items like painkillers, strength potions, mana potions. One-shot wonders, basically. Antacids could wait till we had a production line.
"Soda first, maybe."
Soda had some digestive perks. Too much was poison for the gut, though.
Cola... Man, I want some.
Switching to one-shots. I'd been grinding one for days—it was nearly done. Prepping liquids for two syringes.
Inspired by military CBRN kits with gas masks.
"Antidote."
This one neutralized nerve agents temporarily, buying treatment time. Most antidotes were poisons themselves—hence "fight poison with poison."
The idea sparked from Camilla's recall of those black mages. Black magic hit with hallucinations or DoT spells—basically toxins. Sarong's curse was black magic too, technically. Asella got caught in it at the tournament; it could happen again.
If Asella got poisoned and died? Straight bad ending for me, no question.
Antidote was my insurance.
"Small one's atropine, big one's oxime."
Hauled from northern imperial mountains, alchemized through grind after grind.
"Synthesis."
Final process with the magic circle. Done.
Nice. Hope I never need it.
Tucked it neatly in my coat pocket. So many emergency syringes now—I memorized positions to avoid mix-ups.
"Master, shouldn't you head out for party prep soon?"
Checked my pocket watch at Tanya's nudge.
"Three hours left?"
"Exactly why you should go."
"Clothes take five minutes."
"For real? With that hair?"
What's wrong with my hair?
"I-It’s an important event, s-so... leave the office to meee!"
Chloe timidly shoved my back. Fine, couldn't say no now. Late anyway, and Asella'd chew me out.
Off to the Moonlight Palace.
Darkness fell over the imperial ballroom where the gala was set. Twinkling stars drowned in lavish lights.
The western duke's line had merits—ancient service since the empire's founding, fresh victory in a skirmish with the kingdom. Important, sure.
But Asella sighed on the balcony for other reasons, gazing at the view.
Courtiers needed courting as heir. Even emperor, rebels could topple you quick. Social season was inevitable.
Tonight especially: young power players, future heads of houses.
But she was swamped growing her faction, checking rivals.
Too much: faction-building, palace management, noble wooing, studies. She could juggle it. Moonlight Palace had visibly outgrown Camilla's heyday.
A girl her age handling superhuman loads—but expected of imperial blood.
A bit burdensome? Her secret sigh slipped from stress she hadn't noticed.
And hoping no sudden gut pain in crowds.
Big reason she'd dodged Rauga's invites. Weakness before nobles? Hard to recover.
Social debut: later, in 2-3 years.
Still...
Hunger grew now. Emperor was frail, overdoing vigor like tomorrow might not come. Pushed the tournament through plague and monster attacks.
Yet he watched little after day two, bedridden. His docs and healers slaved.
Not ancient, but he'd burned his vitality young.
No telling when he'd drop—time to hustle.
And... she felt ready for accidents now.
Let's hold out a bit more.
That's when it came.
"Asella."
She turned at the voice. Camilla, dolled up fancy, stepped from the side room onto the balcony.
"Mother."
"You're faring well, it seems."
Camilla's smile was bittersweet, less venom than before.
"Never dreamed you'd run Moonlight Palace this well without me. Impressed."
"I'm a princess, after all. To what do I owe this?"
Asella cut to it—no way Camilla chatted idly.
"Deal with Georg's done."
"Terms?"
"You know the Second Empress—Rauga's mother—is no politician. Caged bird, luxury her whole life."
Second Empress: Georg and Rauga's mom. Empire's conqueror snatched her 25 years back, kingdom beauty.
"Georg's weakness versus Kunter or Heike? No solid empress dowager."
Clack. Camilla stepped toward her.
"I back him; post-throne, he honors me as dowager with power. That's the deal."
Georg recognizing Camilla as political stepmom.
Or Camilla cutting all imperial ties with Asella.
"Asella, I needed an allied emperor. His Majesty turned from me long ago."
"I know."
"I went too far, did awful things. I regret it."
Asella listened calmly.
"Maybe burdened you, the baby of the family. My war should've been solo from the start."
Camilla's eyes welled, regret tugging her lips.
"Asella, no need to chase the throne. Live free like Rauga, enjoying royal perks."
"...Can I?"
Camilla brightened.
"Of course. Leave headaches to me, rest. Skip studies, palace duties, magic. Consulted my sage."
Voice rising in excitement.
"He says we can remove your magic talent and its price. Asella, live normal from now—free."
"I see."
Unlike Camilla's rant, Asella stayed cool. Sharp eyes pierced her.
Then flatly:
"I refuse."
"What?"
Camilla's gentle mask shattered, brow furrowing. Asella stood ramrod straight.
Simple reason for her calm: she'd seen through the act from the start.
"I refuse. Emperorship is my will. Even without your wishes, reasons stack like mountains."
"H-How so blunt?"
"Your tone pitches up when you lie, Mother."
"What?"
"You've pulled every trick for years to make me emperor. No way you'd waste that investment. Think this cheap act fools Asella von Württemberg?"
"You wretched girl...!"
Camilla bared fangs, swatting a glass off the table. It shattered noisily.
"I've raised a monster! How dare you defy me!"
Birds of a feather: Georg and Camilla, still hotheads. Way underestimated her.
Thought sweet talk would sway a kid? If truly worried, she'd have led with the tournament dragon attack. Only sage outdid her in magic.
At least asked if she was hurt.
Camilla brimmed with self-interest still.
Asella guessed her angle.
Oddest bit of that talk.
No grabs for knights or funds—Moonlight resources.
'Consulted my sage' is a lie.
Why dangle removing her magic's curse?
Wants my talent gone?
Context clicked: Camilla locked on Georg as emperor. Time to scoop assets.
Prime target: Moonlight Palace. But something topped it.
Asella held an asset beyond Moonlight.
Not remove—steal my talent.
What did she have worth this mom act? How'd Camilla know? And never once called her daughter. Never "your mother"—always "I."
Confirmed: Camilla was power-mad demon, foe.
Thump-thump. Orchestra vibrated from below. Adults done praising the duke—youths' turn.
"If you'll excuse me. Future business in writing, please."
"Asella!"
Ignoring the shout, Asella spun into the room. Heart raced, unshown.
That clash solidified it. Camilla was no mother now.
No family in the palace...
She crushed rising void. Ignored it, looked away.
Always been alone anyway.
No change ahead. No disappointment.
She'd steeled for this. Knew it.
Emperor's path: lonely, brutal, bloody.
But must.
Become emperor.
Become emperor.
And dye the world in ruin.
Unaware her steps quickened, Asella exited to the hall with her head maid's aid.
And.
"Princess."
A voice. A man waited.
The dark mood crawling her body slowly ebbed. Her stormy mind's boat stilled under quiet moonlight, catching wind.
...Amazing.
Asella eyed him closely. White hair groomed with care—elegant. Slim suit flattered his lean frame. No wildness, but protective instinct stirred; subtly seductive silhouette.
Yet noble poise ingrained—he extended a hand courteously. Queenly vibe.
Ras tilted his head.
"All right? Forehead's flushed. Exam now, if—"
"Just take my hand, young master."
"Yes."
She laid her gloved hand lightly on his. They walked the hall. Easy to sense his matched stride.
"Young master."
"Yes."
"Confident. Shoulders back."
"Naturally. Tainting your reputation? Rude."
"Quiet, then. No word to any lady who speaks to you."
"Yes."
High-maintenance guy. Asella kept side-eyeing his profile.
Doors opened, light poured. Asella and Ras stepped forward with right feet in sync.