Edel's Soap Opera (1)
Late at night, the carriage carrying Owen and Bellatel cut through a shadowy alley in Edel.
The city, shrouded in night fog, still reeked of rotting corpses that no amount of time could dispel.
Given the hour, not a soul stirred on the streets, evoking the image of a city of the dead.
"I'll handle the conversation with Seymour Lady. You just observe as best you can."
Owen nodded at Bellatel's words.
"Understood. I hope we can wrap this up without getting dragged into any messy business and just deal with the dark elf issue."
"That's exactly what I want."
Soon, they arrived at a mansion where soldiers holding torches crowded the entrance from the start.
They'd heard knightly houses were backing this side, yet all he saw were mercenaries.
Their gear was top-notch, but tension etched clearly on their faces.
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"Hm…."
"What's wrong, Owen?"
"Look at those mercenaries. Every one has armor, halberds, and ornate longswords at their hips. Yet they fidget like puppies desperate to shit."
"What are you on about?"
"Mercenaries bear the cost of their own gear. Assembling a full kit like that takes years."
"So, their equipment proves their veteran status?"
"Exactly. Mercs armed like that usually exude quiet confidence—they've rolled in the dirt enough to earn it. But right now, they look lost like green recruits."
"I see…."
"It thickens the suspicion from that raid. If it were just human infighting, they wouldn't be this spooked."
"Sharp observation. Looks like we've come to the right place."
As they talked, the carriage halted.
Stepping down, a gaunt, tall elderly man greeted them.
His face was pallid, like a vampire's.
He introduced himself as the butler of the Albert main house.
This sparked a question in Owen.
"Why isn't the main house butler at young head Garen Albert's side?"
The butler couldn't fully hide his displeasure.
"This is the main house, where Seymour Lady resides. That's my conviction. This way, please."
The power struggle in the Albert family seemed even more tangled than imagined.
Guided inside, they found an old woman warming herself by the fireplace.
She wore a black dress, like mourning garb.
She sat motionless, as if dead, until spotting Bellatel—then she beamed and rose.
"Bellatel! You came! My old friend!"
"Have you been well, Seymour Lady?"
What followed was a thick reminiscence from Seymour Lady.
She chattered endlessly, expressing joy, but Bellatel showed no delight.
Only after a long while could Bellatel introduce Owen.
"A man I trust with everything. If you don't mind my affairs being known, I'll keep him by my side."
"With a sword at his hip, he's your bodyguard? Young, but he looks skilled."
Mages often kept guards for sudden close-quarters fights.
Meat shields, in extreme terms.
Seymour Lady took it that way and pressed no further.
"But what brings you? Bellatel. You who left so coldly before. I pray you're here to help me."
"I think we can manage that."
"Really?!"
"Yes. Actually, I've tracked dark elves here."
At "dark elves," Seymour Lady paled.
She had her suspicions.
Her trembling legs gave out, and she slumped into her chair.
"D-dark elves…? As I feared…."
"Do you know something?"
Seymour Lady couldn't answer easily.
She just hugged her arms, shaking.
Only after a few sips of wine did she speak.
"Not exactly. Just something horrific happened."
As expected, it was about the raid two nights prior.
Seymour Lady had anticipated clashes with the other side.
Her faction had even planned to oust Garen Albert, fully prepared.
Yet unknown shadows slipped in at night, unleashing a bloodbath.
"We were rowdier than usual. The illiterate mercenaries sensed something brewing and raised their voices. Then magic happened."
"What was it?"
"All lights went out suddenly. Lamps, torches, braziers, fireplace… every flame in our area vanished like a lie."
Owen knew instantly: dark elf handiwork.
Classic tactic.
Few in the Empire had fought dark elves as long as he.
He was an expert on them.
Or more.
The dark elf queen herself had come to kill his past self.
Thus, Owen knew their methods well.
Dark elves see in darkness. Extinguishing lights at night is basic.
Even seasoned warriors falter in the dark.
Dark elves see like daylight—unwinnable.
Seymour Lady's testimony matched.
"We panicked but relit the fires. Then screams… severed heads rolled nearby. A nightmare scene."
Lights died again, massacre began.
Screams and clashing steel everywhere.
She escaped with guards' help.
"Surviving that night was a blessing."
But her faction took massive losses.
Balance tipped fully to Garen Albert.
Seymour Lady had politically survived by cutting ties, but lived in fear, sleepless.
"I denied links to those plotting against Garen. But they could assassinate anytime."
A candle in the wind.
Owen was certain she'd soon be in a grave.
Targeted this hard by dark elves, no survival without experts.
"Seems like the dark elves I've been chasing."
At Bellatel's words, Seymour Lady clung desperately.
"Bellatel! I need you, great mage. Many of my knights died that night. Now mostly untrustworthy mercenaries—help from an old friend is vital!"
Bellatel deftly soothed her.
"Seymour Lady, that dark elf band killed my friends. Our grudge matches— no reason not to join hands."
"Heavens! Best news today. Gods above!"
Seymour Lady was ecstatic.
She gripped Bellatel's hand, promising any reward.
Bellatel drew a clear line.
"I handle up to the dark elves. No further quarrels."
"That's gratitude enough."
She urged them to stay in the mansion.
Bellatel glanced at Owen, who whispered:
"Decline, say you have a companion."
"…Got it."
Bellatel refused as suggested; Seymour Lady fidgeted anxiously.
They promised to come when called and left.
On the way back, Bellatel asked Owen.
"Why refuse? Seemed decent. Staying with her could've given faster intel."
"True, but contact from the other side seems likely."
"Other side?"
"Garen Albert. They'll know we've met Seymour Lady by now."
"Ah!"
It unfolded as Owen predicted.
Garen's side already watched the mansion.
Curious about late-night visitors, they learned via spies.
Sure enough, next day, discreet word came to their inn on the city outskirts.
Bellatel stroked his beard with a wry smile at the missive.
"Heh! As you said. Garen's uncle wants a quiet meet."
"As expected."
"You're young, yet so at ease with intrigue. What's your take?"
"Accept the invite. With the situation, dark elves or their puppets are surely with Garen."
"Walk into the enemy's lair to confirm?"
"Yes. Your magic can detect disguised dark elves."
"Could be a trap. Lure us in to dispose of us."
True.
Human matters respected great mage Bellatel's prestige.
Dark elves were lunatics—anything possible.
"I know. But we must risk it."
"Magic to detect might alert them."
"Make it undetectable. Can't a great mage manage that?"
"You damned brat. Grr… Fine, we'll see."
In the end, Bellatel spent the night devising undetectable detection spells.
After poring over magic tomes till dawn, he found a plausible method.
Dark elf Brasiana.
Known as moneylender Arhana in Bris, widow Hanna in Edel.
She had other identities, known to few.
In Edel, as Hanna: a noble widow from the capital, pale-skinned and voluptuous.
"Ho ho ho, Barom."
Now, she giggled seductively in a man's arms.
Crude hands groped her, but she purred in delight.
The man guffawed happily.
"Hanna. Meeting you is my life's greatest fortune."
Barom Albert.
Garen's uncle, Edel’s real power holder.
After crushing Seymour Lady's crew two nights ago, nothing stood in his way.
"Hanna. Never dreamed you'd summon the emperor's dark elf mercenaries."
"I told you—I'd do anything for you. Don't worry about capital ties."
Hanna was known as a highborn capital widow.
Barom doubted at first, but fell hard and believed.
He knew little of the capital; her words always rang true.
Of course, "widow Hanna" was fake, but her dark elf mercenary connections were real.
At her request, capital-serving dark elves came with imperial decree.
The decree urged Albert house from Suffolk Duke's fold to direct imperial rule.
Barom, who loathed Suffolk Duke, was overjoyed.
"Barom. Time for decision. His Majesty showed grace. Hesitate, and he'll be disappointed."
"Of course. I'll repay his grace fully—worry not."
Hanna smirked inwardly at this fool dancing to her tune.
If Alberts rebelled against Suffolk Duke as planned, eastern cracks would widen.
With emperor backing, even Suffolk couldn't touch them.
But Hanna's scheme went further.
Eastern orcs are stirring too. Heh heh.
She'd schemed in the east under guises.
Now, fruition.
Bris failure shook her, but the tide held.
Owen, was it…? I'll never forgive that humiliation.
In Bris, she'd fled pathetically at night.
Unforgivable for her pride.
Finish this, and Owen would pay.
"Oh, Hanna."
"Yes?"
"Heard the news? Great mage Bellatel's in Edel. I sent word for a secret meet."
"What? Pardon?"
Hanna bolted up, startled.
Great mage Bellatel?
An unexpected player.
And Barom summoned him without consulting her.
Wait! Bellatel—the recluse… His magic could expose our disguises!
Obviously, exposed dark elves would cause chaos.
Even these aiding mercenaries were hidden from Alberts.
Unlike the capital, Edel didn't tolerate dark elves.
What to do?
Hanna sensed things going awry.
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