Laying the Bait
I had spent the days leading up to Eleanor’s arrival carefully plotting every step of her reception and dressing the stage to match.
The very next day after those preparations were complete, the imperial train carrying Eleanor pulled into the station at Chrysalis, the largest city in the South.
The first to step down were female knights sheathed head to toe in that rare and precious mithril armor.
One glance at the crest stamped into their plate was enough for anyone to recognize them.
The Rose Knights, is it. The imperial bastards are trying some cheap stunt right out of the gate to put us in our place.
They were one of the empire’s elite orders—and, uniquely, composed entirely of women. In their own way they were the most famous knightly order in the world.
Every last one of them was a Sword Master; their skill was monstrous, their combat experience vast, and wherever they appeared they reduced the surrounding countryside to ash.
They were an asymmetrical force of nature. On top of that, every member was rumored to be a beauty, so men courted them and women idolized them… or so the Second Era had said.
That was the Second Era. Now that the Third Era had begun under the West’s hand, they were nothing more than relics in pretty armor.
A middle-aged woman with a black eyepatch over one eye—the vice commander of the Rose Knights—approached and gave me the barest dip of her head.
“I am Michelle, Vice Commander of the Rose Knights.”
“Isaac. Head Administrator of the Western demi-humans and provisional overseer of the South.”
Michelle’s brow twitched.
She looked a good twenty years older than me—a middle-aged Sword Master—and even if I was a noble on paper, I was still the insolent whelp the imperial court had cast out and marooned in the West long ago. Hearing me address her so casually clearly grated.
Which was exactly why I had done it.
It was a clear signal that I had no intention of offering courtesy or consideration to anything the imperial court sent.
Whether she grasped the intent or simply chose to ignore it, Michelle pressed on without comment.
“By His Majesty the Emperor’s command, we have been appointed to escort Lady Eleanor for the duration of these talks. In the event of any contingency we will not be disarming. I trust you will understand.”
“Don’t worry about that. So long as you don’t pick a fight with Western citizens, you can wander around armed wherever you like. My office, the lounge, my bedroom—anywhere.”
Michelle’s brow twitched harder than before.
On the surface it sounded like accommodation. Flip the words over and it became: Even if you parade around fully armed, you still don’t register as a threat.
She closed her eyes a beat longer than necessary, then opened them and again said nothing.
“Then I shall bring Lady Eleanor.”
A moment later Eleanor appeared from inside the train.
“Good day, Lord Isaac. I am Eleanor. Through the imperial court’s great kindness I have been permitted to reside in the palace and attend His Majesty the Emperor and His Highness the Crown Prince.”
“Isaac. You’ve already heard who I am, so I’ll spare the introductions.”
I answered coldly and looked her over.
She was, without question, beautiful enough to be the heroine of a romance fantasy. The dress she wore was eye-catching, extravagant, and cut with more than a little exposure; whether the choice had been hers or the emperor’s and crown prince’s, someone had clearly decided to bait me properly.
If I hadn’t already known the score, I might well have drooled over her looks the same way the northern, southern, and eastern archdukes had…
Looks alone won’t turn my head, you little Dalgi.
Eleanor’s entire position rested on nothing more than the narrative convenience of her face. She contributed nothing to the empire. She simply played joy-girl for the emperor, the crown prince, and every high official and noble who came calling—without ever quite giving them her body.
She dazzled man after man into showering her with absurdly expensive luxuries, and the men, competing to claim her, drove the imperial economy straight toward ruin while the people who should have been governing fretted over one woman’s comfort more than the hundreds of millions of citizens.
That was how the once-mighty empire was collapsing at record speed, and she was the chief architect of the collapse—a modern Dalgi bringing down the state.
My curt reply and complete lack of a smile seemed to catch her off guard; bewilderment flickered in her eyes. She glanced around, half-expecting the gathered crowd to fawn over her, but I had sealed the area so thoroughly that no Southerners were present—only Western residents.
And the Western residents who saw Eleanor…
“Tsk tsk. Look at those soft little hands and that smooth skin. How little work has she done to keep her complexion like that?”
“This is why human women—especially the ones raised on palace water—are useless.”
Dwarves.
“Look at that skinny frame. One good kick and she’d snap clean in half.”
“Everyone said she was a beauty, so I expected solid muscle. Compared to Blood-Axe Groksha she doesn’t even register.”
Orcs.
“…Ordinary, honestly.”
“I wondered how pretty she had to be for the emperor and everyone under him to lose their minds. That’s it?”
Elves.
“No appeal. Not a single selling point on her body.”
“No fine plumage, no ears, no tail, no claws—what do humans even see in someone like that?”
Beastkin.
The fact that an elf called a human “ordinary-looking” was itself proof that Eleanor’s beauty was far above average—yet to the elves she was merely average, and to the other demi-humans whose standards of beauty differed she was simply incomprehensible.
When not even a scrap of welcome followed, Eleanor looked more than a little flustered, but she recovered quickly and addressed me again.
“By His Majesty the Emperor’s command I have come to discuss South–West relations and the present situation with you, Lord Isaac, provisional overseer of the South. Would you be so good as to grant me some of your time?”
“A bit of a nuisance, but not a difficult request. Follow me.”
I took the lead and guided Eleanor and the Rose Knights. Thanks to the street cordon she heard none of the cheers or gasps of admiration she might have expected—only silence as she walked in my wake.
Then she noticed, far off to the right, a contingent of Western troops conducting live-fire drills.
Elves and beastkin were emptying Glocks into steel scarecrows forged by the dwarves themselves, while the orcs hammered away with Miniguns; the racket was considerable. The place had never been a firing range—I had set it up specially for today.
Not that Eleanor or the Rose Knights needed to know that.
Watching Western soldiers make an unholy noise with strange devices she had never seen before, Michelle asked,
“Lord Isaac, what are those people doing?”
“Ah, those are called guns. Weapons the West spent a long time developing. As you know, demi-humans can barely handle aura, and even the elves who manage a little magic fall well short of human mages. These are the weapons I devised to close that gap, and they’re learning to use them.”
“…Those scarecrows appear to be made of steel.”
“They are. Impressive, aren’t they? In front of a gun, steel is no better than tofu.”
“……”
The Glocks and Miniguns punching clean through the steel targets, the sheer volume of the noise—Michelle’s expression tightened ever so slightly.
Farther on, off to the left of the city streets, another Western unit was binding people together like dried fish on a string and marching them somewhere. This time Eleanor spoke.
“Lord Isaac, those people…”
“Hm? Oh, those are criminals. The first decree I issued after occupying the South was that no one was to discriminate against, insult, or mistreat Western residents on account of race. Humans who break that rule are being scooped up at a rate of a thousand a day. We’re short on space to house them all, so we’re hauling them off for appropriate ‘disposal.’ Sorry you had to see it. I told them to keep the transfers out of sight whenever imperial guests arrive.”
“Disposal…? What kind of disposal…?”
“That’s an administrative prerogative of the South under my rule. I have no obligation to tell you that much, do I?”
“I… suppose not.”
Eleanor seemed to sense something ominous; every few steps she stole a glance at the direction in which the prisoners were being led. Once she realized they were all drifting steadily toward the right, she tried again.
“Lord Isaac, about Archduke Harth…”
“Wrong title.”
“Pardon?”
“Who’s an archduke? The Southern Archduchy is vacant. Harth has been stripped of every office and every scrap of real power.”
“I… see. Then… where is Lord Harth now…?”
“Sitting in a cell for illegal toll collection against the West, assault and imprisonment of Western residents, plunder of supplies, seizure of trains, and the rest of his catalogue. Even if the imperial court sent you, visitation will not be granted. Just so you know.”
“I under… stand.”
Having sown more than enough bait for Eleanor and the Rose Knights, I led them into the grand conference chamber.
On the floor just inside the entrance, the bloodstain left when a fat bureaucrat had been turned into ground meat by a Minigun during the previous “negotiation” was still dried and vividly clear. I had originally meant to scrub it away; the moment I read the imperial letter I ordered it left exactly where it was.
“Ah—Lord Isaac? This stain… is it…?”
“Hm? Ah, right. There was a bit of a messy cleanup while we were disposing of some trash. That’s what was left. Don’t mind it. No point fretting over useless things like that…”
I herded Eleanor and the Rose Knights to one side of the chamber, lined the opposite wall with Western troops armed with Glocks and Miniguns, and took the seat of honor.
“Well then. Let’s hear just how grand a speech the imperial court sent you here to deliver.”