Chapter 12
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 12
Chapter Title: New Ability
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"Destiny's Trailblazer? How grandiose."
I chuckled softly.
Even so, my heart pounded with excitement.
What I'd hoped for was Persuasion (Lv.2). The level 1 version had barely scratched Duke Karls's defenses, and it was woefully inadequate for quelling Queen Helena's impending rage.
But the skills that appeared on the list defied my expectations.
Rock Chewing (Lv.1): Strengthens jaw joints and teeth. Even hard ship biscuits crunch like snacks.
Pest Affinity (Lv.1): Rats and cockroaches won't attack you.
Fusion (Active): Temporarily imbue your abilities into a designated inanimate object.
"Ha."
A heavy sigh escaped me. Was number one for chomping on the brick-hard biscuits Duke Karls kept shoving at me? Number two for rooming with rats? All useless junk skills.
I clicked my tongue at the system's stinginess for not upgrading Persuasion.
My gaze lingered on the last one: number three, Fusion.
'Imbue abilities into an inanimate object?'
The description was vague. Smearing my 'Persuasion' on an object wouldn't make it talk. Fuse it with the wall, and would the wall convince the guards for me?
Or fuse it with the iron bars, and they'd soften up?
Gears turned in my head. I simulated scenarios blending game skill trees, real-world physics, and this world's magic rules.
Suddenly, a place flashed in my mind.
'Oath Room.'
'Continent Conference Hall.'
The massive magic crystal orb there. The conduit that amplified the emperor's mana to forcibly broadcast his voice to kings across the continent.
The room that, after 98 deaths, had coincidentally saved my life.
What if. Just what if.
What if I Fusioned my Persuasion skill into that orb?
Not just transmitting my voice, but broadcasting the very power of 'Persuasion' embedded in it as magical waves?
Even a level 1 weak sauce, amplified by the orb, might hit level 3... no, level 5 potency?
"This could work."
I slapped my knee.
Sure, it might just turn into a level 1 megaphone. But I had to do something. Helena was marching an army here right now.
By the time she arrived, her eyes would be rolled back in fury. Begging "Spare me" then would fall on deaf ears.
But before she got here. While she was still on the road. Or camping at night.
If I summoned a continent conference and spoke through the orb? Enhanced with Fusion, no less.
'Helena, hear me out. The truth is...'
Lay the groundwork in advance. Drop her rage meter from 100 to 80... or even 50, and survival odds skyrocket. I needed to crack her psyche one day sooner.
I selected Fusion without hesitation.
Fusion (Active)
You can grant the caster's passive/active abilities to a target object, altering its effects. Altered effects are based on the caster's abilities.
A new sensation flooded my body. My fingertips tingled. A strange feeling, like I could read the grain of inanimate objects and inject my will into them.
Good. Weapon ready. Strategy set. Time to execute.
I looked up at the ceiling. Dingy gray stone walls. Somewhere above, in the upper levels, lay the Continent Conference Hall.
Then I looked down.
The thick iron chains around my ankles. Iron bars as thick as my arm. The solidly shut steel door. And the faint presence of guards watching from hidden spots.
"..."
This was the problem.
To apply the skill to the orb, I had to reach it. But I was locked in an underground solitary cell.
Mana-blocked, break through these physical barriers and climb to the palace's top floor?
Ask Adella, "Mind letting me stretch my legs?" Showing my naked body was one thing; freeing a prisoner was treason. She kept work and personal matters strictly separate.
Duke Karls? "Open the door, I need to video chat Helena." He'd treat me like a lunatic and toss in an extra pouch of biscuits without a word.
Secret passage? Rat hole? I'd scoured during 98 deaths—no secret routes led to the underground prison.
Perfect strategy, but no way to the battlefield. Like having the key but not reaching the door.
I slumped and thunked my head against the wall. Cold stone chilled my forehead.
Not that chatting with rats or munching biscuits would've helped...
"Damn. No answers."
The temporary office of Duke Karls in the palace's north wing was like the empire's sturdiest fortress.
Surrounding walls of gray granite exuded chill. Instead of chandeliers, magic stones atop iron pillars cast pale, silent white light downward.
On the massive ebony desk at the room's center, a palm-sized crystal orb hummed faintly, emitting red light.
The woman's face on the screen was rigidly cold.
Queen Helena of Roselia. Behind her, tent flaps fluttered in the wind, faint silhouettes of soldiers passing by.
"Duke. Do you still not grasp my meaning?"
Helena's voice bristled with thorns.
Karl placed his steepled hands on the desk and stared at the screen. His blue eyes unwavering, but deep wrinkles furrowed his brow.
"I understand fully, Your Majesty Queen Helena. Retribution against the tyrant, and the tarnishing of your honor. Your rage is justified."
He kept his tone as polite and subdued as possible. She was emotionally charged. Fighting fire with fire was like hugging an oil drum and jumping into flames.
"But 5,000 Roselian regular troops—fully armed—crossing imperial territory is an entirely different matter."
Karl pointed to a spot on the map. Argent territory. The gateway to the empire's south, his homeland. Helena's army had to pass through it to reach the capital.
"Argent is the empire's shield. Allowing a foreign army through the gates would brand me not a guardian, but a traitor who opened the doors."
He paused, gauging her reaction.
"Detour, please. Use the border with our territory via the eastern 'Black Forest' route. You'll bypass the domain entirely and enter the capital outskirts. It's the emperor's land, so the justification holds. It'll take two extra days, but avoids needless friction."
"Two days?"
Helena's eyebrow twitched. Her red hair whipped in the wind.
"Every minute that scum breathes in his cell is an insult to me. And you want me to waste two more days on the road?"
She scoffed.
"And Duke, you're mistaken about something. Do I look like I'm asking permission?"
Helena leaned into the screen.
"This is a notice. My army crosses Argent's border tomorrow morning. Open the gates, or lock them and face a siege—your choice. But remember: block my path, and I'll treat you as the emperor's accomplice and crush you underfoot."
Karl pressed his lips tight. A blatant, crude threat. But her eyes proved it no bluff.
5,000 troops. Including the continent's elite 'Red Thorn Knights' and mage unit.
Post-rebellion chaos gripped the imperial army—local forces especially. Blocking them was near impossible. Even if they did, casualties would be devastating, and northern or eastern kings might exploit the gap.
"Your Majesty."
Karl drew a deep breath.
"Allow me a compromise. Bring minimal escort: 500 Red Thorn Knights and your guard. Park the main force outside the border. I'll lead my domain troops personally to escort Your Majesty safely to the capital with His Majesty. The emperor's handover happens immediately upon arrival."
"Ha."
Helena barked a hollow laugh.
"Walk bare-handed into the tiger's den? What if you spirit away the emperor or take me hostage? Trust you? The 'rebel' Duke Karls?"
'Rebel'. The word stabbed like a dagger. Veins bulged on the back of Karl's hands.
"I pledge it on my honor and the empire's."
"Your honor and the empire's hit rock bottom when that emperor dropped his pants."
Helena cut coldly.
"I don't trust you. No compromises. Open the gates by morning. That's my final courtesy."
Crackle.
The screen shook violently. Helena was cutting the call unilaterally.
"Your Majesty!"
Karl called urgently, but on-screen, Helena had turned to her adjutant, issuing orders.
"The army rests here one day. March at dawn tomorrow. Rear guard will catch up soon enough."
Her final command echoed, and the orb's red light winked out.
Heavy silence blanketed the office again. With the orb's hum gone, only the wind outside broke it.
Karl sank deep into his chairback. Leather creaked. He rubbed his dry face; his palms scraped roughly.
"Damn."
Duke Karls, the great noble, uttered a rare curse.