Chapter 23
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 23
Chapter Title: Promise
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My eyelids felt gritty, like I'd been chewing grains of sand. As the adrenaline from the all-night psychological standoff and the assassin's attack ebbed away with the dawn like an outgoing tide, a leaden fatigue filled the void.
The chill rising from the cold stone floor seeped into me like icicles wedged between my joints. I'd barely nod off before the phantom ting of a dagger ricocheting off the barrier would ring in my ears, jolting me awake over and over.
Clang.
The heavy iron door groaned open, slamming against my eardrums louder than it should. Duke Karls's silver boots crunched the floor's dust as he strode in from the darkness.
He was even quieter than usual. It was as if the near-loss of one of his men last night and the emperor's life hanging in the balance had sealed his mouth shut with a heavy weight.
"Get up."
With his curt command, soldiers approached and began wrapping iron chains around my body. Cold metal rings dug into my wrists and ankles, while the thick collar around my neck constricted my throat.
The sharp tang of iron stung my nose. I offered no resistance, letting them bind me. Each chain clinked hollowly through the empty prison cell, but my nerves were already beyond this underground pit, reaching for higher ground.
Climbing the spiral stairs to the surface left me gasping for breath. The chains' weight crushed my shoulders, making every step feel like my feet were sinking into the earth.
Morning sunlight pierced through the window slits, stabbing my eyes and furrowing my brow. Fine white dust floated lazily in the beams.
Oath Room.
The massive door swung open, unleashing a rush of stagnant silence and dust. In the room's center, the crystal orb still pulsed with its cold, transparent white glow.
Dragging my chains, I shuffled forward. The shackles scraped the marble floor, emitting a shrill screech.
Duke Karls stood by the door, arms crossed. His gaze monitored me, but it also brimmed with tension, awaiting whoever might appear beyond the orb.
I rolled my stiff neck and pressed my forehead to the crystal.
Helena.
I channeled mana into it. The [Fusion (Active)]-infused waves of Persuasion coursed through the orb's internal circuits. A deep hum resonated, vibrating my skull.
Crackle.
Purple static cleared, and the image sharpened.
Inside Roselia's army red tent. The familiar backdrop filled my view. Candles had burned out, and slanted morning sunlight filtered through the flaps.
And there, in the center, sat Helena.
I narrowed my eyes. My heart began to thump in an odd, offbeat rhythm. The condition I'd laid out yesterday. The "pure white ceremonial robe." Roselia royalty's sheerest silk dress, transparent enough to reveal everything underneath.
She'd kept her promise. White fabric clung visibly to her neckline and wrists.
But something was layered over it.
Gleaming silver steel.
Helena wore full plate armor atop the dress. A crude steel gorget clamped over the high white lace collar up to her neck; heavy gauntlets encased the thin silk sleeves; a thick breastplate emblazoned with Roselia's crest armored her chest.
Only the dress's hem protruded from the armor's gaps. The white fabric draping below her knee guards looked alien and precarious, like wildflowers blooming in steel crevices. Every movement rustled thin cloth inside the armor, the sound carrying over the speaker.
"…"
Helena lounged arrogantly on her chair, legs crossed, glaring at me. Her face flushed red, but her eyes burned with defiance.
'I wore it because you told me to. But I never said I'd show it.'
Her expression screamed it. My [Persuasion (Lv.2)] skill had compelled her to don the dress, but her pride and defenses had compromised with steel on top.
She was smothering the shame of the transparent gown with the armor's unyielding hardness.
I remembered her screaming yesterday morning. "I'd rather die than wear that dress in front of you!"
I barely stifled a laugh. This jarring mismatch was even more provocative. The desperate flailing to shroud her most intimate, fragile state in the toughest shell.
Glimpses of white fabric flashing through armor seams stoked my imagination further. Right beneath those cold metal plates, thin silk threads brushing her bare skin—no underwear—sent a tingle to my fingertips.
She jutted her chin and crossed her arms. The breastplate clanged on impact.
"I've come as promised, prisoner. Satisfied now?"
Her voice hit me, and I flung myself face-down on the floor. My forehead met the icy marble, sending bone-chilling cold straight to my core.
In the prostrate position, the chains bound behind me crushed my spine, and the thick iron collar squeezed my throat—each breath rasped with metal. The floor's faint vibrations traveled up my forehead to my brain.
It was the crystal orb's mana resonance... and the thud of my heart pounding against the stone.
"Very good, Your Majesty. As expected, you honor your promises so well."
My voice mumbled toward the floor, laced with feigned groveling submission in a low, quivering tone. The orb's mic would amplify this pathetic whimper, broadcasting it into Helena's red tent.
Helena snorted. Her laugh from the screen mingled contempt with a subtle undercurrent of relief.
The sight of me groveling on the floor, prostrated at her feet, was clearly soothing her frayed pride.
"I didn't say you could lift your head. Stay planted there."
Her voice shrieked through the speaker like it might shatter it. Clunk. She recrossed her legs—the dull scrape of steel greaves colliding.
And amid it, the faintest rustle. Thin fabric rubbing against metal.
Nose mashed to the floor, I rolled my eyes to steal a glance at the screen's bottom. Fingers perched on her knee drummed irritably on the elbow guard. Sunlight glinted off the gauntlet's joints.
"Over the past two days."
Helena spoke. Her voice carried weight.
"My army has stalled before Argent's walls. Morale plummets, nobles gripe. The cost of wasting Roselia's strength and tarnishing my dignity to entertain your filthy proposal isn't cheap."
She paused. Paper rustled—likely a document listing her staff's demands.
"An apology? Chopping off your head and mounting it on my bedroom wall wouldn't suffice. But considering you were once the Empire's emperor, and in exchange for withdrawing my army, I demand fitting compensation."
Her voice dropped lower, firmer.
"Cede ownership of the emperor's direct territory, the 'Emerald Plains,' to Roselia."
Insane.
The Emerald Plains supplied twenty percent of the vast Empire's grain production—a golden egg. Handing it over was tantamount to throttling the Empire's neck.
This went beyond war reparations into outright plunder. If Duke Karls heard it, he'd kick down the door and draw steel on the spot.
But I crooked the corner of my mouth upward.
The more grandiose her demand, the more it paradoxically proved her resolve was cracking.
If she truly wanted me dead, truly craved war, there'd be no haggling. She'd have stormed straight in. Now, she was tossing out an outrageous ask to gauge my reaction.
And perhaps masking unease over her ridiculous outfit with political aggression.
Whether it was the ripple of my persuasion or her anger finally cooling, I couldn't tell yet.
I slowly raised my head. The chains around my neck jingled.
Helena's eyes widened on the screen. Her eyebrow twitched as the prisoner she'd expected to stay down lifted his gaze to stare her straight in the face.
"Who told you to raise your head?"
She growled.
I raked my eyes over her face—no, lower.
The crude steel gorget encircling her neck. White lace peeking at the edges. The silver breastplate's curve sheathing her collarbone. And in the armor's joints—at her armpits and inner arms—the faint sheen of impossibly thin silk.
My imagination ignited.
Right under that cold, rigid metal plating, her soft skin pressed against it. Her bare body—no undergarments—just that single thin dress, buried beneath heavy armor.
With every shift, did the breastplate's inner surface graze her nipples? As the chill metal warmed to her body heat and sweat gathered, wouldn't that silk soak through, turning transparent and clinging to her skin?
'She wore it right.'
She couldn't defy my persuasion. I'd said wear it, and she had. Pride just veiled it in armor. That contradictory compromise only aroused me more.
"Your Majesty's words, well received. Territory cession—a bold demand indeed."
Kneeling, I straightened my torso. The groveling vanished, replaced by an emperor's—no, a negotiator's—piercing gaze. The aura of [Persuasion (Lv.2)] tingled on my tongue tip.
"I acknowledge the rudeness and mistakes I committed before. In atonement, I've staked my life to appear here."
My voice rode the orb's resonance, softly filling Helena's tent.
"But what of Your Majesty?"
"What?"
"The promise, I mean. The promise of disarmament."