Edel's Soap Opera (4)
Early morning in Bris's palace.
The Surpuk Duke was fuming in his office.
"Those damn Alberts! I knew they'd cause trouble eventually. That family's a nest of traitors from the start!"
He'd received intelligence gathered by Russell Count recently, and it had kept him up all night.
The wealthy Albert family in the west was finally trying to crawl back into the emperor's embrace.
Bobert Count, standing beside him, couldn't hide his grim expression.
"Your Grace, today is the day of the official announcement. If we can't stop it, we should prepare countermeasures."
Due to the distance between Bris and Edel, the Surpuk Duke had no way of knowing how the announcement had gone.
He could only wait for new reports.
Since ancient communication magic had vanished, message delivery in the Empire was painfully slow.
It couldn't outpace a horse's gallop.
Well, in the east at least, dragons made it faster—but even then, it would take at least two days.
That's why the Surpuk Duke still clung to a faint hope for peace.
"Is there no chance they've withdrawn the announcement?"
"...Unfortunately not, Your Grace. The Alberts have invested heavily in this. Not just local notables and nobles, but even the emperor's secret envoy attended. With the opposition purged, everything's proceeded smoothly. Canceling now would cost them tremendous face."
"Hah... damn it all. So it explodes after all."
There was more bad news.
Reports from the eastern fortresses indicated unusual orc activity.
West and east.
Threats closing in from both sides.
"Bobert, we need to start recruiting. War seems inevitable."
"Your Grace... why not abandon Edel altogether?"
"What?!"
"The orcs in the east are the bigger threat. Moving troops west might invite an orc invasion."
"You expect me to just watch those vile traitors?!"
"Your Grace, we must judge coldly, like ice."
Everything was exploding at once.
The Surpuk Duke sensed someone had orchestrated this with exquisite precision.
"If we just had a bit more time, we'd have more Dragon Knights... They strike at the perfect moment."
"Your Grace, this is no time for lamentations. Decide on Edel."
"Fine. The eastern orcs take priority over Edel."
Even as he said it, regret lingered, and the Surpuk Duke added one more line.
"...Whoever resolves the Edel mess, I'd build them a temple."
While the Surpuk Duke wallowed in regret, Owen was interrogating Gerenius and his gang.
Bellatel stood nearby with Hyper, watching them.
He'd grown close to the little dragon surprisingly fast.
Picky creature, but picks the wizard, Owen thought.
"Who's that old mage?"
At Gerenius's question, Owen yanked his pointy ear.
"Aaaagh!"
"Owner of the herb garden you trashed."
"What?"
"If you're passing through, pass quietly. Why poke around sacred spots, you idiots."
Owen clicked his tongue and explained why he and Bellatel had come to Edel.
"Hah... rotten luck."
Gerenius looked stunned.
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They'd trusted only their own strength, fearing nothing.
Never imagined it'd end like this.
"The unlucky one's Brasiana, employing trash like you. But thanks to you, I've got the lay of the land."
"Urgh... keep your promise."
"Of course. Swore on your god, didn't I?"
Chatting with Gerenius, Owen gleaned crucial intel.
The widow Hanna was a dark elf in truth.
Her real name: Brasiana, operating under multiple identities in the east.
Though Gerenius knew only the Hanna guise.
"A dark elf skulking about? Bellatel, sir—isn't this serious?"
"Hoo... They're stoking fissures in the east. Shape-shifters too—real headaches."
"Worse in the capital, I bet."
"Naturally. Scheming everywhere, no doubt."
As Owen and Bellatel discussed the interrogation, Gerenius interrupted.
"I've spilled everything I know. Release us as promised."
Not just him—his men looked expectant too.
They'd scorned his surrender at first, then thanked their luck for survival. Now, hope bloomed for freedom.
But Owen crushed it.
"I'll release you. Just not right now."
"What?! You broke the deal!"
"What nonsense? I never specified when."
"You vile—!"
"Haha, don't shake with rage. A few days, tops."
It'd take time for Karaku to arrive with his furious orcs anyway.
"More importantly, Gerenius—can you fake a success report to Hanna?"
"Refuse. Absolutely not. Better if word reaches the homeland. Being enemy puppets is worse than surrender."
"Tch, figured as much."
Owen hadn't expected full betrayal.
They'd never go that far.
Just make Gerenius see this deal as better than the worst case.
"Won't need your help much anyway. Fine—stay in this house's basement a few days."
"Release us now!"
"Tsk tsk. Prisoners endure that much. Not years, just days—if you complain more, I won't stay quiet."
"Grr... damn you."
Owen asked Bellatel if he could magic them in place.
"Hmm... yeah. Not sparing mana this time. They wrecked my herbs, killed my friends—won't let 'em escape."
Even mana-pinching Bellatel agreed readily.
He first coma-spelled the dark elves unconscious, then sealed them into the basement's old mirror.
"Complex ritual. Takes a dark elf house head to break it. Even then, days. Shatter the mirror? They're lost in another dimension forever."
"No house head wastes days on small fry."
"Right. Effectively inescapable. Excellent work."
Owen gave a thumbs-up in approval.
"So, what's next, Owen?"
"Straight to Edel. Ruin today's announcement— that'll cool my blood."
"Excellent."
Bellatel mirrored the thumbs-up.
Dark elf Brasiana had been swamped since morning.
No—exhausted beyond proper sleep lately.
She regretted taking the widow Hanna role in Edel more than ever.
Indulging the greenhorn house head's whims... sating that pervert Barom's lust... hearing endless gripes from vassals...
If this dragged on, she'd burst from frustration.
Disillusion with humans grew daily.
But it's almost over.
The grueling toil promised dazzling rewards.
Success here, and her family would reassess her.
Even the exalted Queen might notice.
I must become the Black Centipede heir.
Brasiana hailed from the Black Centipede family, tangled in succession strife.
She should've vied with sisters, but exiled east instead.
She burned to earn merits and return.
This plot succeeding would do it.
Sever Alberts from the east, sic orcs on Surpuk Duke. Perfect... Not just anyone pulls this off.
Visioning a bright future, Brasiana smiled faintly.
She resolved to push through positively today.
Quite wholesome for one plotting misery.
From dawn, she and servants prepped the hall for the major announcement.
No word yet from the mage-assassin mercenaries, but Brasiana trusted success.
Overwhelming force.
Just mercenary sloth delaying reports.
By lunch, notables arrived amid jovial vibes.
"Congratulations. The Albert family's prosperity awaits."
"May His Majesty's grace fill Edel."
Invitees backed Garen or ditched Seymour Lady—blessings flowed.
Brasiana was certain of triumph, and it showed.
"Our house long sought to repay His Majesty's favor but struggled. Now, all falls into place..."
Milky-scented Garen mustered rare dignity in the speech.
Thanks to a month of speech tutor—Brasiana sighed inwardly.
Fool... vanishing early might be mercy for you.
She pitied pure, kind Garen.
But dark elf contempt for the weak and naive overrode it.
"By consensus of vassals under the Albert banner, we offer our gate keys to the Empire's sovereign..."
Garen read flawlessly before the crowd.
Actual ruler Barom Albert nodded pleased—puppet nephew danced to his tune.
Brasiana smirked watching.
How foolish.
Rejoicing at Empire's doom.
Murmurs rose.
Suddenly, noise erupted outside the hall.
Shouts, someone tumbling loudly.
Armored figure rolling on stone, cries of "Stop him!"
"Wh-what is it?"
Garen's face went rabbit-wide with shock.
Hard-earned poise vanished in the uproar.
Others panicked too.
"What's happening?"
"Clashing swords?"
Barom Albert finally bellowed.
"Someone check!"
No need—soldiers ignored him.
Boom!
Door shattered, guards tumbling in.
Handpicked burly ones rolled like giants shoved them.
"Who dares?!"
Barom drew sword, voice quavering.
What in the world?
Then gasps—the intruder: old black-robed mage with staff.
Albert elders recognized him instantly, eyes bulging.
"Bellatel! Archmage Bellatel!"
He'd served the previous head—memories lingered.
Others marveled.
"That's the archmage Bellatel?"
"Heavens! Why now?"
"Wasn't he in seclusion?"
Bellatel's name weighed heavy in the east.
But long secluded, now mere legend.
Sudden return baffled all.
Barom recognized him too.
Should roar at such intrusion, but cautiously:
"Dear mage Bellatel, old friend of our house. Why this outrage?"
He pointed at fainted guards at Bellatel's feet.
Bellatel snorted.
"Hmph! If you still call me friend, thank me for visiting today."
"What do you mean?!"
"I'm here to save the Alberts, for our old friendship!"
With that, Bellatel glared at widow Hanna.
Her face pale as paper.
How's that bastard still alive?
Then her eyes nearly popped at the boy beside him.
"Owen Leire?"
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