Chapter 18
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 18
Chapter Title: Stratagem
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The darkness of the underground prison was sticky and heavy. Damp humidity seeped deep into my lungs, filling my nostrils with the stench of mold every time I breathed.
The chill from the cold stone wall pressing against my back pierced through the thin prison garb, stabbing into each vertebra.
Thanks to the newly acquired Delicate Touch ability, every bump and crevice on the rough wall surface touching my fingertips etched into my brain with vivid tactile clarity, as if magnified under a lens.
The stark boundary between the moss-covered damp patches and the parched, powdery stone felt raw against my fingerprints.
Instead of burying my head between my raised knees, I stared into the void, mentally shuffling chess pieces across the board.
'In the end, the decisive battleground is the Oath Room.'
Tomorrow morning. Once the sun rose, Duke Karls would drag me there again.
A one-on-one visual audience with Queen Helena. It wasn't mere conversation. It was a life-or-death gamble, a siege to shatter her mind.
The key was manipulating the crystal orb through the Fusion skill, amplifying the power of enhanced Persuasion (Lv.2).
But no skill could save me without justification and timing. I had to seize and wield the absolute trump card: 'forced disbandment revocation'.
"Hoo."
I licked my dry lips. A metallic tang coated my parched mouth.
Suddenly, a hot surge welled up from deep in my lower abdomen, primal instinct from Emperor Batanias thrusting through my rational plans.
Helena's flushed red face, her eyes twisted in fury yet unable to hide that flicker of curiosity, danced before me.
'Something naughty.'
Instinct whispered. Why not enjoy the game we've started? The surest way to subdue her was to turn her shame into conquest, then pleasure.
But blurting "strip" would get me skewered. She was a proud queen. It needed buildup.
I swept floor dust with my fingers, running simulations.
Helena's rationale for accepting my subconscious hint of a private audience was probably this: too many eyes in public to crush me without losing face.
She'd corner me, berate, insult, humiliate—to reclaim her shattered pride.
'Right, play along.'
Start with a deathly pose. Feign meek submission to her venomous tirade, pretend remorse, fear. Strike when her sadism was sated and her guard down.
Then, reveal it once more.
My 'weapon'.
As the fantasy solidified, sweat slicked my palms. My manhood thrust full-frame on the screen. Helena would freak.
She'd scream curses, thrash to shut it off. But it wouldn't. The Oath Room crystal obeyed only me, the emperor.
When she panicked, unsure where to look with that crimson face—that was negotiation time.
'I'll turn it off. If you want.'
But with conditions.
Meet again tomorrow. In the outfit I demand.
A sly smirk curled my lips. Outfit, huh. Armor was boring. Caging Helena's voluptuous figure in rigid steel was a sin.
But demanding nudity outright could break the deal. Package it plausibly, persuasively.
"For example... disarmament."
I murmured low.
'Mutual trust-building disarmament'. How perfect. If you come armed, I'm too scared to talk—so wear just a simple office dress. Then I can relax and converse.
With Persuasion (Lv.2), this nonsense could morph into an 'essential step for peace'.
"Flowing lace... or a tight leather corset?... No, that infamous one from the setting book..."
Just imagining it sent electric thrills through my brain. Helena, humiliated yet yielding, her hem brushing onscreen, hidden skin revealed.
Fingers digging into the floor tensed. Rough stone scraped under nails, but anticipation drowned the pain. Stalling wasn't enough. Tame her. Sculpt that arrogant nose to my taste.
A rat squeaked past in the dark. I tracked it with my eyes, revising tomorrow's grand play script in my mind, over and over.
Dawn's chill crept down the moldy prison walls. Duke Karls arrived early as promised.
His eye sockets sank deeper, stubble rough on his chin. He yanked me out wordlessly, his grip rough yet mechanical.
Black iron chains clanking over my shoulders reduced me to a wretched beast.
Climbing the spiral stairs through corridors, I stumbled dozens of times. Days of hardtack and water left my body too weak for the leaden shackles.
Each time, Karls silently tugged the chain behind, steadying me. Not kindness—mere duty of a jailer delivering his charge intact.
The Oath Room atop the palace.
The heavy oak doors swung open, morning sun slicing through dusty air. Karls positioned me before the massive crystal orb in the center, then stepped back.
"One hour."
His voice chilled from behind, like frost in my ear.
"Fail to persuade Queen Helena, and I'll drag you down myself."
The door thudded shut. Karls guarded outside. Perfect seclusion. Just me, the orb, and Helena beyond.
I drew a deep breath. Iron cuffs clanged against the pedestal. Marble floor's cold rose through bare feet, but I used it to sharpen my mind.
I channeled mana. The fused Persuasion (Lv.2) surged through my veins into the orb.
Wooong—
A low hum, then white light burst. Mist cleared, sharp image hovering in air.
Roselia army command tent.
Helena was already there, filling the screen. Fully armored still—silver breastplate, red cloak, longsword at her waist. Bloodshot emerald eyes glared as the feed lit.
"You're here."
Her voice shredded the speakers.
"You filthy worm. Making me wait?"
Helena advanced onscreen, close enough to hear her plate clang. Contempt, hatred, and barely veiled anxiety swirled in those eyes. Sleepless night hollowed her under-eyes; lips cracked dry.
I rattled chains loudly, dropping to my knees. Prostrated till my forehead kissed the floor.
"Forgive me, Your Majesty. Making a wretch like me wait you—I'm fit only for death."
My voice quavered. A terrified loser's whimper.
"Spare me, please. Show mercy like last time, and I'll crawl like a dog to kiss your feet."
Helena's lip twisted upward.
"Ha. Pathetic. The mighty emperor, chained and begging."
She folded arms, breasts swelling over her breastplate.
"Get up. I didn't connect to stare at your crown. I want to see terror on that smug face."
I rose slowly. Eyes shaky, expression servile. Her gaze raked my face, lingering on the thick collar. A twisted satisfaction flashed in her eyes.
"Yes. That's your place. At my feet."
She lounged arrogantly in her chair, legs crossed. Leather pants stretched taut, outlining her thighs.
"You haven't forgotten yesterday's drivel? Persuade me? What excuse will that foul tongue spew now?"
She tapped her sword hilt.
"One minute. Give me a convincing reason, or—"
"I'll show you."
I cut her off.
"What?"
"My sincerity. Not excuses from words, but truth you can see with your eyes."
I staggered up. Chains jingled. Trembling hands gripped my waistband.
Helena's eyes widened.
"Wh-what are you—"
"It's what you want, Your Majesty. Me offering everything I have."
I unbuckled.
"Remember this?"
Whoosh.
Prison pants pooled at my feet.
Helena's gaze snapped down reflexively. Froze solid.
My manhood filled the screen. Swollen rigid from morning physiology and tension. Bigger, harder than days ago. High-res feed shoved it right in her face.