The Straw Doll Left in the Open (4)
While Owen was reaching some agreement with the queen, Count Russell was enduring great agony.
'It's like talking to a brick wall.'
The master diplomat, who had stepped forward with full confidence, found himself sinking into a deep quagmire before Garaana, the matron of the Shadow Bat Family.
"Listen here, Matron Garaana."
"I'm listening, Count Russell."
"We'll observe your protocols to the utmost of our ability. But for your queen's majesty to demand that our knights bow once every three meters she walks? Where in the world is there such a custom?"
"What did you say? Are you dismissing our nation's etiquette right now?"
"That's not what I mean! Sigh... If we did that, even if Her Majesty set out from your camp in the morning, she wouldn't reach ours until evening."
"I just can't understand why even the basics are causing discord. This is why humans are...!"
"......"
Even the seasoned diplomat Count Russell wanted to yank every hair from her head right then.
On the other hand, Garaana wore a scowl on the outside but was inwardly delighted.
'Teasing this smug, know-it-all is quite the thrill.'
No matter how desperately Count Russell tried to find common ground, Garaana had no intention of conducting a proper negotiation.
Her goal was simply to stall for time until the queen could meet Owen.
Of course, Count Russell wasn't blind to the atmosphere.
'What scheme are they up to? I can't figure it out.'
It was a sticky situation.
He'd boasted loudly, so he needed some result to show for it.
Smashing the table in frustration would only hurt him more.
Besides, the opponent was still sitting there despite the shouting matches, leaving him with lingering hopes.
'I have to salvage something.'
Count Russell could not tolerate such a diplomatic failure.
It would tarnish his reputation.
He desperately wielded his eloquence, but time cruelly slipped away.
Soon, a dark elf entered and whispered something to Garaana. She nodded and rose from her seat.
"Let's end today's negotiations here."
"No! We haven't agreed on anything yet!"
"Ho ho, isn't the mere fact that we sat face-to-face achievement enough?"
"W-what?"
Count Russell's jaw dropped in disbelief.
The only reason curses didn't fly was his seasoned restraint.
"Well then, if you'll excuse me."
In the end, Garaana left, and Count Russell let out a hollow sigh.
"Ah... Those damn dark elves."
He could only think that the saying "trust but verify" was spot on.
This was the most meaningless time in his diplomatic career.
After lingering listlessly for a while, Count Russell rose and spotted Owen waiting outside.
"How did it go?"
Count Russell walked past without a word at Owen's question.
He lacked even the energy to speak.
Soon the knights joined, and they returned to the Surpuk Duke's camp.
"......"
They looked like defeated remnants.
Watching from behind, Owen smirked with satisfaction.
'His face must be scraping the dirt.'
He knew exactly what Count Russell had gone through.
Moreover, while Count Russell had been futilely occupied, Owen had discussed various matters with the queen.
Right under the nose of the man in charge of diplomacy, Count Russell.
'Russell. You thought I was your stooge, didn't you? But in truth, you were the stooge for this affair.'
Owen had conspired with the queen to thoroughly sideline Count Russell.
The queen, needing to lift her curse, had agreed to actively assist Owen in this matter.
"The delegation is returning!"
The Surpuk Duke's camp buzzed.
The heavyweights quickly gathered.
Count Russell had to report here, but he couldn't lift his head.
In the end, he resorted to excuses.
Adorning this worthless outcome with flowery words to give it meaning.
"We haven't reached sufficient agreements yet, but the fact that we've opened the channels of dialogue holds significance, Your Grace."
Rebuttal came immediately.
Those among the heavyweights who had always disliked Count Russell spoke up.
"From a thoroughly pragmatic view, isn't it that there was zero achievement?"
"No, that's not..."
"Let me sum up your long, tedious excuses in one word: 'failure.' How's that?"
He was Betshel, the Surpuk Duke's cousin and one of Bris's elders.
There were several others here bold enough to jab at a heavyweight like Count Russell.
"Wasn't the negotiation approach flawed?"
"To think the one in charge of diplomacy returns empty-handed. Tsk!"
"Even monkeys fall from trees."
Those who had stayed silent because Count Russell always handled things flawlessly now seized the chance to vent.
The Surpuk Duke initially defended him.
"Everyone, calm down."
But as the criticism and rebukes continued, even he began to suspect Count Russell had erred.
He asked Owen, seated at the edge, for his opinion, but Owen had been excluded from the discussions and knew nothing.
The one man who knew dark elves well hadn't even been allowed in.
"Hoo..."
A sigh escaped the Surpuk Duke.
The meeting's mood was stifling.
'Did we come for nothing?'
The Surpuk Duke felt regret.
Maybe avoiding dark elves altogether was the answer after all.
He'd seen it as a clever solution to the orc problem, but it might have been too radical.
'Why would a human's enemy be humanity's enemy? We just can't understand each other...'
For the ever-confident Surpuk Duke, such despondency was rare.
He dissolved the meeting and lay down early.
His throat burned as if stomach acid were rising.
If there was no progress tomorrow, he resolved to withdraw the army.
"Tighten night watch. They might try something."
He ordered the lights doubled on purpose.
Even inside the tents, it was as bright as early evening outside.
It was annoyingly bright for sleep, but better than waking with a sore throat.
"Damn dark elves..."
Thus passed a long, grueling night.
When morning came, the Surpuk Duke ate breakfast with a leisure that belied his impatience the day before.
The anxiety of potential failure had been neatly sorted overnight.
If it worked, great; if not, retreat and devise new plans.
A hero was a hero, after all.
"Your Grace."
A knight approached during breakfast.
He guarded one of the camp entrances.
The Surpuk Duke was still slicing sausage with knife and fork, so he scowled.
"What is it? If it's trivial, save it for later."
The knife scraped the plate noisily, echoing his mood.
Screeech. Scrape.
"Who would dare disturb you with something trivial? The dark elf queen has sent a letter."
"What?"
The Surpuk Duke raised an eyebrow and set down his fork and knife.
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Just yesterday, the dark elves had been nitpicking, showing no intent to talk.
Why this morning, of all times?
And from the queen herself, no less.
The Surpuk Duke said to a servant,
"You read it. Hurry."
Count Bobert urgently intervened.
"Your Grace, it's a letter between sovereigns. It may contain vital matters..."
"Enough. After what they pulled yesterday? Besides, there's no one here I can't trust."
Count Bobert, Count Russell, Bris elders, and key officials sat around.
The Surpuk Duke prodded the servant.
"Read it, now."
"Understood, Your Grace."
The letter, penned in the common tongue by a scribe under the queen's orders, posed no reading issues.
Soon, the servant's clear voice rang out.
"Rebellion has broken out in my realm, forcing me, your queen, into hiding—a shame beyond words. Even treading your lands fills me with solemnity; I cannot sleep at night."
"Our customs and laws differ fundamentally. I seek to rely on your goodwill, yet forging harmony proves difficult without mutual consultation. Even the matron from yesterday's talks raised this issue with me. I approached with virtue to mend ties, but our views diverged too greatly."
"Yet how could we, both striving to sheathe swords and clasp hands, yield only ill results? Yesterday, I chanced upon your young knight and spoke with him. His spirit brimmed with vitality, and his deep knowledge of our ways astonished me."
"From conversing with him, I saw his upright bearing, fine education, and talent. He grasped well how you have confronted the eastern orcs all these years."
"Thus, the lofty but useless ones suffice no longer. Send your young man versed in our etiquette and sharp of mind for dialogue. Status be damned; I wish for constructive talks once more."
The opening was a humble greeting.
The surroundings couldn't hide their surprise.
The haughty dark elf queen had sent such impeccably polite words.
Greetings set the tone, after all.
The impressions of Bris's heavyweights began shifting immediately.
At that part, all eyes turned to Count Russell.
The content implied the matron had engaged earnestly, only for Count Russell to cause the failure.
His detractors openly clicked their tongues.
"Just as I thought!"
"Tsk tsk!"
In this atmosphere, even the Surpuk Duke suspected Count Russell had only fed him favorable reports.
"But now the queen praises us. She says that young knight of yours is spirited and profoundly versed in our ways—truly impressive."
It was obvious who the young knight was.
The Surpuk Duke gestured hurriedly.
"Fetch him at once!"
A servant dashed out.
Having found hope, the Surpuk Duke urged finishing the letter.
Now the queen lavished praise.
The listening Surpuk Duke and elders nodded with pleased faces.
Who wouldn't feel good hearing a renowned figure commend them?
Meanwhile, Count Russell's face soured.
An unforeseen situation was unfolding.
'When did Owen meet the queen? I left him outside! Did she pass by then?'
His mind reeled, heart pounding; even the servant's reading faded from his ears.
The letter soon concluded with further details.
'A perfect failure.'
Yesterday, he'd shown only incompetence.
For one hailed as a diplomatic master, it was mortifying.
Yet there had been excuses.
They were dark elves, after all.
Incomprehensible folk.
Even Bris's elders, his rivals, had mocked but gone no further.
'But what is this?!'
Rare cold sweat beaded on Count Russell's pale face.
He'd faced the matron; Owen had met the higher queen.
No humiliation like this.
Worse, the queen called him "hard to align with," yet extolled Owen.
"Urk..."
This was big trouble.
Then a voice snapped him from reverie.
It was Elder Betshel, with whom he'd long clashed.
"Don't grit so hard. You'll chip a tooth. Heh heh."
Open mockery.
Though rage boiled within, Count Russell kept his cool outwardly.
"I don't know what you mean."
"Hmph, no fun at all."
Then Owen, summoned, hurried in.
Before the heavyweights' gaze, Owen showed respect.
"Your Grace! You called?"
"You! What mischief have you been up to over there?!"
The Surpuk Duke first scowled and interrogated.
He explained the letter and grilled him on the queen encounter.
Owen answered promptly.
"Your Grace, I never dreamed it would turn out like this. Originally, I was waiting outside for Count Russell."
"And?"
"Perhaps taking pity, a dark elf brought a chair and led me to the shade. There, a woman in splendid armor approached and spoke to me."
"Oh?"
The Surpuk Duke and heavyweights were hooked on Owen's tale.
Of course, it was all fabricated.
Owen had coordinated with the queen beforehand, prompting this morning's letter.
But no one knew.
"We talked at length with that armored woman; it was quite enjoyable. She was wise and dignified."
The Surpuk Duke erupted.
"Fool! Didn't you realize she was the dark elf queen?!"
"Your Grace, there were no guards. Her face was veiled; I had no clue."
"Hmmm... Such things happen."
The Surpuk Duke calmly pondered, as if the anger had never been.
Owen was used to this by now.
The Surpuk Duke didn't rage without cause.
He just shouted first when emotions flared.
"Perhaps fate is turning... Owen, the letter's latter part said this."
"Speak, Your Grace."
"The dark elf queen proposes: Enough of the highborn useless ones. Send the youth versed in our etiquette and keen of mind for talks. Rank matters not; she desires constructive dialogue anew."
Count Russell's face flushed crimson with shame.
A sight impossible on his usual corpse-like expression.
"Kuh!"
The most humiliating moment of his life.
But this was just the beginning.
The Surpuk Duke was crueler to failed subordinates than anyone.
Soon came the order pushing him to the brink.
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