#68 Edel's Soap Opera (7)
The Frozen Land.
A frigid wasteland beyond the Empire's northern borders, homeland to the dark elves.
Any human would feel an instinctive unease here, chilled by the biting cold and the sharp, jagged architecture.
Scattered across the Frozen Land were various cities, but the one called Nagar Kal served as the de facto capital, home to the queen.
There was no fixed capital; the residence of whichever family produced the reigning queen became the seat of power.
The current queen, known as "The One Wearing the Ice Thorn Crown," had once borne the hopes of her entire race just twenty years ago.
She had slain Owen Glendower, the dark elves' mortal enemy.
But after the queen secluded herself, all those expectations shattered.
"Back then, I truly believed our kind faced nothing but a shining future...."
In a cold, dim palace where breath hung in the air, a dark elf woman sighed deeply.
Another woman beside her chided her sharply.
"This isn't the time to dwell on past glories. The shadow families who seized power grow stronger by the day—we can't even predict tomorrow."
"I know that full well without you telling me."
"Come now, we shouldn't be bickering among ourselves. We need to devise a plan."
The gathered dark elf women numbered five in total, each the matron of her house.
Dark elf society was matriarchal, with women holding the title of house head, commonly called grand matrons.
These five belonged to the faction loyal to the queen, enduring endless hardships over the past twenty years.
Their faction had started as vast as the hopes pinned on the queen, but it had eroded away like a cliff battered by waves.
In contrast, the forces that rebelled against the queen had steadily built their strength.
Among them, the so-called shadow families were infamous—named for the word "shadow" in each of their house titles.
United, they pressed the queen with fierce political pressure.
Lately, they had even begun openly calling for her replacement.
Yet the secluded queen showed no reaction whatsoever.
From the loyalists' perspective, it was enough to draw endless sighs.
"At this rate, we're all doomed. We can't abandon Her Majesty."
"I know. But isn't it always the same refrain? And without a way to lift Her Majesty's curse, all remedies are useless."
"At least the shadow families haven't noticed the curse...."
"If they had, they'd have raised armies long ago."
"But that won't last much longer."
Despair thickened with every word.
Silence fell over them for a time. Then one grand matron hesitantly spoke up.
"...Yesterday, Her Majesty showed a rather unusual reaction."
"What? What do you mean?"
"It seems she received a message from outside. She suddenly shot up from her seat."
The matrons were visibly startled.
Ever since the curse struck, the queen had sat motionless like a corpse.
For her to leap to her feet was extraordinary.
"Tell us more. Quickly."
"I don't know the details. I heard it from the maids. You know how tight-lipped they are."
"Hmm... We need to investigate this."
"It is odd."
As the matrons tilted their heads, pondering a request for an audience with the queen, the subject herself was lost in deep thought.
The One Wearing the Ice Thorn Crown.
The dark elf queen.
"......"
She stared silently at the letter she had already read countless times, arriving at the same conclusion once more.
"This is absurd."
Her voice was startlingly cold and beautiful.
Yet in stark contrast, her body was half-rotted away.
A magical leprosy from the curse had spread across her entire form.
To conceal it, the queen wore thick robes and an iron mask over her face.
She also donned the Ice Thorn Crown, which slightly soothed the curse, and remained utterly still.
She had been that way for nearly twenty years, so when she abruptly stood upon receiving the letter yesterday, the maids had been shocked speechless.
The letter's contents had shaken her that deeply.
It spoke of a secret known only to two people in the world.
A childish squabble, the sort no one else would care about.
But one of those two had died twenty years ago.
The survivor was now cursed and in seclusion.
How could a human boy know of that ancient tale?
The queen could not fathom it.
At first, she wondered if the man she had personally stabbed had shared the memory with someone.
But the letter detailed things only a direct participant could know.
Intimate nuances that no secondhand account could capture, no matter how detailed.
Yet this boy named Owen had no connection whatsoever to the man who died twenty years prior.
A hasty investigation revealed the Leire family was merely an obscure house in the east.
No ties to Duke Glendower's lineage.
Has he truly been reborn? No, such cases are unheard of....
The resurrection of the dead was an exceedingly rare event, recorded only a handful of times in history.
Much less after twenty years.
The more the queen pondered, the more confused she became.
She turned to the second letter.
It had arrived enclosed with Owen's—a missive from Brasiana.
It explained her meeting with Owen, claimed he could lift the curse, and sought instructions on how to proceed.
"Hm...."
The queen could not decide immediately.
Yet she could not ignore this boy named Owen either.
In the end, she began penning a response to hold matters in abeyance.
[Cease the intrigue in Edel as the boy demands. In exchange, investigate this youth named Owen in detail. We shall judge upon receiving the report. For now, establish friendly relations with the boy.]
Having penned the brief letter, the queen inexplicably felt her heart pounding fiercely.
She could not say why.
Only that it was the first such stir in twenty years....
A few days later, upon receiving the queen's letter, Brasiana let out a heavy sigh.
"Hoo... I had a feeling it'd turn out like this."
She knew the queen's cautious nature wouldn't allow snap judgments.
But to build friendly relations with Owen?
After that brat ruined me completely.
The mere thought made her blood boil, but the queen's judgment was sound—she couldn't voice complaints.
Friendly ties were essential to learn more about Owen.
"Fine."
Steeling her resolve, Brasiana decided to wrap up affairs in Edel as ordered.
First, she summoned Owen and relayed the queen's will.
"She shows interest but will ponder it further."
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"Hm. Then must I remain on standby in Edel?"
"You're not one to obey meekly, so why ask? Do as you please. We can't predict when Her Majesty will reply."
Brasiana herself had no idea how long it would take to compile a report satisfying the queen.
"Understood. Then what of Edel? If cooperation proves difficult, I'll have to resort to messier methods, Lady Brasiana."
As Owen subtly pressed her, Brasiana itched to splash the water from her cup in his face.
She knew exactly what those "messy methods" entailed from her Bris ordeal.
She never wanted to endure that again.
Forcing her expression to calm, she replied.
"No need for that. Her Majesty has ordered cooperation with Sir Leire regarding Edel."
"Oh, splendid news."
Owen had hoped to eliminate the emperor-friendly faction in Edel while at it.
Archmage Bellatel wouldn't care once the dark elves were cleared out, but Owen was still Suffolk Duke's vassal, after all.
Besides, anything to irk the old emperor was worth a sleepless night.
When Owen voiced this, Brasiana toyed with her lips, deep in thought.
Since friendly relations were the goal anyway, granting his wish made sense.
"Hm... That should be feasible. We can implicate Barom and expose it all."
"Barom Albert?"
"Yes. Barom knew dark elves were coming from the capital."
"Excellent."
"It's true he used our aid in the power struggle to wipe out Seymour Lady's faction. Expose that, and heads will roll. Of course, my role as Hanna ends too."
Brasiana planned to drag Barom down with her in this self-sacrifice.
"Poor young head Garen will be heartbroken."
"Good riddance. I'd grown weary of coddling that milky pup anyway."
Since she was closing shop here, Brasiana aimed to score major points with Owen.
A few days later, at a banquet hall filled with Edel notables and nobles, she dropped her bombshell.
"I have a confession to make today, from the heart. The recent tragedy in Edel was all orchestrated by Barom and me. To slaughter over a hundred souls, we hired dark elf mercenaries."
The revelation sent shockwaves through the room.
Some guests collapsed to the floor in stunned horror.
Barom, in particular, gaped in disbelief, utterly dumbfounded.
Relations with the widow Hanna had soured after the last incident, but he'd scrambled to mend them.
For her to drag him down like this?
It defied his common sense.
"As Sir Bellatel and his friend, Sir Owen Leire, pointed out days ago, dark elves were indeed involved."
Here, Brasiana wove in a timely lie.
"I delayed my announcement after speaking with Sir Leire due to his magnanimous proposal. He gave me a chance to repent and set things right. He trusted me to confess on my own and waited."
Owen stifled a hollow laugh at Brasiana's earnest tone.
He'd never imagined she'd hype him up like this.
In truth, he'd already drawn attention from Edel's elites and nobles since the prior incident.
Some had even sniffed out he was Bris's rising star Owen and approached him.
Now Brasiana openly credited him for this.
Naturally, all eyes turned to Owen, standing alone in the hall.
No one hid their astonishment.
"What on earth did he do?"
"Who knows. Rumors called him extraordinary, but this exceeds expectations."
At that moment, young head Garen Albert stepped forward with a resolute expression.
"As family head, I cannot conceal my grief over this outrage. Moreover, I wish to offer my highest praise to Sir Leire, who uncovered the plot and saved Edel!"
Foolish as he was, Garen followed orders well.
The widow Hanna had prepped him on exactly what to say.
Play along, and she'd love him forever.
Plus, it ousted his rival Barom—music to Garen's ears.
Of course, Brasiana had no intention of honoring that promise.
"As family head, I command it! Arrest all involved in this affair!"
Knights and soldiers waiting in the wings surged in, immediately subduing Barom Albert and his faction.
"Let go! What is this?!"
"Insolent cur! Do you know who I am? A mere knight dares?!"
"Out of my way! I am a baron of the Empire!"
Shouts and screams erupted as fleeing nobles tumbled to the floor.
"Oof!"
Crash!
Furniture shattered noisily.
The invited guests gawked, wondering what madness had unfolded.
Yet it was too entertaining to look away.
Who could've guessed Barom—poised to devour House Albert—would fall so abruptly?
The widow Hanna was also seized, but as prearranged.
Still, Garen glared at her binders, fearing injury.
The knight, in on it, loosely bound her and escorted her courteously, like honored company.
Barom's lot, resisting fiercely, got pummeled into the dirt.
Thwack! Thud!
Barom couldn't believe his bloodied, broken reflection.
"Garen! You little shit!"
He spat curses in rage.
Edel's turmoil wouldn't resolve easily.
Owen, watching, knew as much.
Barom was arrested, but his influence lingered strong.
Dark elf ties or not, summary execution was off the table.
Likely, after Brasiana's exit, Garen, Seymour Lady, and Barom would clash in fierce deadlock.
But Owen didn't care.
The key was Edel now mired in chaos—no meddling with imperial direct territories.
He exchanged a glance with Brasiana as she slipped out.
She'll bolt at the right moment.
Jail meant nothing to a dark elf like her.
Owen felt satisfied—the matter was neatly wrapped.
Hand the dark elf prisoners to Karaku, fetch Bellatel, and head to Bris.
As he savored the resolution, Garen called to him.
"Sir Leire. Come here a moment. I, Garen, wish to repay your friendship."
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