Declaring My Fiancé
Ahead of the winter solstice, Armed had instructed the servants to guide Kriel to the parlor. She'd passed along a message that she'd be there shortly.
My head's a bit of a mess. Whether it was during their joint mercenary commission or at the last Abyss Prevention Society gathering, he'd always seen her looking weathered by the world's waves. This time, she figured she should dress a little differently.
...But.
"Haha, damn it."
Armed was far from extravagant. It had been more or less forced on her. Before the Abyss Prevention Society gained some fame as a dispatching firm for mages, she'd sold off everything she could to keep the organization afloat. She couldn't just squander the estate's yields recklessly—not when there were minimum costs for managing the territory.
As a result, the most expensive clothes Armed owned were her mercenary-era leather armor set. The inner layer used wyvern hide for flexibility, while the outer was reinforced with rock turtle shell and crystal giant gems for both defense and aesthetics. It was far too pricey for mere armor, and it was the outfit she consistently wore when she needed to project the image of a "seasoned mage" as society president.
But that's work clothes... A mage's formal attire and a fiancée's formal attire were different things, weren't they? After some agonizing, Armed realized she had no other options.
"Maybe I should buy some clothes next time."
With a sigh, Armed finished washing up. She'd just throw on the simple dress from their last dinner and call it good.
Armed headed to the parlor where Kriel was waiting. She had plenty to say, but she needed to think about how to lay it all out.
He doesn't seem to want to dissolve the engagement right away, so maybe I should suggest throwing a big engagement ceremony to divert those two ladies' attention. If she just stuck to the fiancée role long enough, things would naturally—
That was when Armed realized she could hear a very familiar voice from inside the parlor—one she had no desire to listen to.
"Oh my. A knight, you say? How impressive! We have plenty of people in our county who admire knights like you."
"Is that so?"
"Yes. There's this story about the knight at the fountain square in front of the castle—"
Armed took a deep breath and opened the door.
"Ermiha. What are you doing?"
"Oh, big sis."
Ears that were too pointed for a human, yet too blunt for an elf. Copper-toned skin radiating the vitality of the earth. It was proof that she was a half-elf born with earth spirit affinity.
Armed's half-sister. Ermiha Ket.
"I heard you had a guest, sis? Since they came all this way in person, they must be an honored guest. It's rude to leave them waiting alone, so I stepped in to keep them company. And while I was at it, I mentioned some of our family's other fine business ventures."
It was a gentle, affable smile. But there was no mirth behind it. Making an investor come to them personally—what the hell was that society even doing?—that was her first jab. And our family has far better, more profitable ventures than that money-pit—that was the second.
As Armed reached for her own metaphorical blade laced with innuendo, Kriel spoke up.
"I'm the one who should apologize. I have enough initiative to hold my own against other knights, but I've always lived far from money."
"What are you saying? Just your willingness to freely invest in those fighting the abyss is priceless."
Kriel shrugged.
"I started out with nothing, humble beginnings. The timing was right, and I had a bit of talent, so I made it as a mercenary. Then by chance, I ended up as a military retainer and rose unexpectedly. Strip away the empty titles, and I'm just a sword-swinging thug."
Kriel's speech was straightforward. A plain recounting of his life story. Ermiha clocked him as more soldier than noble.
"Even my investment in the Abyss Prevention Society is just an extension of a sword-for-hire contract."
Contract... Not sure about that, but maybe someone who took society equity instead of cash early on?
Ermiha's calculations were swift. He seemed to have made a name for himself as a knight, but his straightforwardness didn't suit politics or schemes. No threat to the family succession. She prepared to excuse herself without regret.
Armed knew Ermiha had finished appraising Kriel.
Not worthless, but not worth investing in personally. That was her verdict. Armed hated it. Even if she had no interest in the family succession, with those two meddling ladies and their kids constantly needling her, it was too soon to reveal details about Kriel. She wasn't fully prepared yet.
But she wanted to wipe that look off her face—the one dismissing Kriel as nothing special.
"Well then, now that the one meant to entertain the honored guest has arrived, the uninvited should take their leave. It was a pleasure."
"Thank you for the hospitality."
"By the way, may I have your name—"
"Ah, right. Introduce yourself."
"Huh?"
Armed's sharp words. Ermiha blinked.
"He's not just some guest."
"Sis. What are you talking about? Saying something so rude in front of company."
"Calling the man I'm going to marry a 'guest' feels ruder, don't you think? Just correcting that."
Ermiha's expression vanished. What the hell was she talking about?
"He's going to be your brother-in-law. Say hi."
"...Huh?"
Armed knew full well how her scheming sister had crushed House Mazar Gabi's courtship ploy using some ploy or another and returned unscathed. The problem wasn't the broken engagement with Gabi. If the betrothal to House Gabi fell through, the Abyss Prevention Society's ties would collapse too, weakening their funding as a result.
Ermiha had been aiming for that. Her other half-sibling, Hekedian, was gunning for Armed's faction's downfall just the same. That's why they'd joined forces on the Mazar Gabi scheme.
Yet even after the Gabi betrothal imploded, relations between the society and House Gabi hadn't soured. When news broke that Mazar Gabi had suddenly become family head, she'd thought the society's doom was imminent—only for investments to pour in even harder.
A stronger alliance without marriage. Ket's two heirs scrambled to piece together what had happened.
The vapid, brainless baby sister act masking cold-blooded steel—that was Mazar Gabi. He'd patricided his way to devouring the house.
And rumor had it his sister's magic was the decisive aid in the father's murder. Gabi retainers were too loyal to reveal the full truth, but the massive explosion at the family manor was consistent testimony.
No one could deny it was her magic. Her innate political talent—playing the aloof, politics-hating noble to win retainers' hearts—had shone through.
How the hell does a penniless youngest daughter, desperate for an outside marriage alliance, get egged on to stage a coup and actually pull it off? With half the retainers backing her, the plot to fully exile her from the family had crumbled absurdly.
She'd pegged this sudden investor visit as another of her sister's moves and come to probe right after hearing from the servants.
She was about to slip away, deeming him unrelated to politics.
Then the bombshell: "He's going to be your brother-in-law. Say hi."
Too stunned to respond properly, Ermiha gaped like a fish before muttering a feeble "Take care, brother-in-law...?" and vanishing.
Kriel scratched his head.
"Was that okay to say?"
"Eh. With family around, I had to tell them once and for all to quit the bullshit since I already have a fiancé. Call it a dress rehearsal."
"The duel trial with Mazar Gabi hasn't leaked? I figured your engagement would've spread naturally by now."
"I handled that side discreetly. Gabi Trading Company doesn't want a broken betrothal going public after a trial either, so it was easy to bury."
"If you're good with it, I don't object. But being too overt might complicate dissolving it later."
Armed flashed an enigmatic smile.
"Don't worry. I've got a plan."
From battlefield experience, if a mage had a plan, you trusted it. Unless it was the enemy mage—then you smashed it.
"Glad to hear it."
Kriel asked about pre-solstice festival tasks, and Armed suggested heading to the tailor for measurements first.
The sword spirits, eavesdropping on the pair, began their private chat.
⊳ Orishin: Hey. Doesn't it feel like Kriel's getting played here?
⊳ Tuon: It's fine. No issue. Better to ponder why that Ermiha's so hellbent on checking her sister.
Tuon emphasized the situation's oddity to Orishin. Reasoning that Ermiha's real backer—the countess wife, judging by her looks as a half-sibling—was pulling strings. Why would the two countesses, in lockstep, hound Armed, who'd long forsaken succession rights? It sounded like deep court intrigue insight—or just wild speculation.
⊳ Orishin: [...Grunt?]
Orishin decided not to overthink it. Kriel, having devoured knightly romance novels, would handle the romance just fine.