That's Right (1)
Mina's spiel about her paid relief service faded into background noise as Aizen strolled lightly through the territory. The streets were deserted—too few people living here for crowds—but Mina was already pivoting to business plans, utterly convinced they'd fill up fast.
"Anyone coming to see the colosseum must be traveling from afar, so nobles for sure. And nobles? We just charge a premium...."
Her face lit up as she imagined the future, grinning ear to ear. What a riot—Mina was dumping money into this sight unseen, no guarantees it'd pan out, yet she acted like profit was a sure thing. Was she fearless? Had some ace up her sleeve? Or just that hungry for cash? A few questions bubbled up, but she looked so damn happy, he let it slide.
And as always, someone had to rain on the parade.
"Merchant lady, need you to check something in person and decide...."
"Buzzkill. Be right back."
Mina sauntered off with her usual laid-back vibe masking annoyance, nodding along to the report as she vanished into the distance. Suddenly, Aizen was alone.
What now?
He'd only stepped out for a quick tour of the territory—no need to wander more. Might as well head to the factory, tinker with weapons for Knight's extra armaments. He turned that way.
A few steps in, footsteps echoed from behind.
Someone tailing me?
Not Mina, Noel, or Erica. No reason for them to sneak, and it wasn't their style anyway. Hardly anyone in the territory even knew him well enough to stalk. So, assume the worst: untrustworthy.
Factory it is.
That was the plan anyway, and safest spot right now. Sure, most forces were at the temp barracks, but heading there would look suspicious, and his pursuer would block it. They knew his routines if they were tailing him—better act natural, lure complacency. He kept strolling casually toward the factory.
The footsteps sharpened as he walked the paved road. They sped up, matching his pace from a distance. Then, faint sounds of someone parkouring over walls and roofs.
Hand dipping toward his pocket for countermeasures—
A lasso dropped from the sky, snaring him tight.
Tongue clicking, he channeled magic to slip free—
Crackle. Electricity surged through him, a lightning-fast jolt ripping across his body.
It pierced every nerve, blanking his mind in agony. Short-lived, thankfully—he snapped back, recognizing it instantly.
Lightning...
Like Noel's spells. A paralyze-first move before he could fight back.
The rope yanked, throwing off his balance. He resisted, but the shocked muscles betrayed him, slamming him to the ground.
A muffled grunt escaped on impact.
Then, cold steel at his throat.
"...What the hell?"
He eyed the razor edge calmly. They could slit him easy. If they'd succeeded, he wouldn't walk away with a scratch.
The foe hesitated, then prodded his neck lightly.
Tick. No pierce.
Satisfied, the voice murmured, "Tougher than you look. Martial artist for real."
"Gotta report the daily Reina training intel checks out."
What nonsense? Reina never trained him. She'd pop up like a ghost after his academy antics, meds in hand, chasing him down. Dodging built evasion and defense instincts, sure—but she wasn't knighting a non-knight major.
No need to correct, though.
"...You didn't do this for kicks, right?"
Sounded lame even to him, but mages weren't frontline brawlers. Fail the ambush killshot? Expect backlash. Ropes hobbled him now, but free? Counterattack city. Foe looked pro, though—play careful.
Then, a hand raised.
"Hold. Sorry for the offense—we mean no harm."
"Forgive our rudeness."
The parkour guy landed ahead, approaching.
Aizen stayed tense. "Who the hell are you?"
"Never seen our comrade...? Figures. You fought monsters in Phoenix territory—blind to the shadows."
The man sounded understanding. His partner added quietly, "Stump over there, Baron. Decent spot."
"Talk there?"
"Quick on the uptake. Ah, introductions first."
A polite bow.
"Argent Empire Intelligence. Wind Unit operatives."
"We bring Baron Arclight a fine offer."
Empire contact. ****
Bound and awkward, but he sat on the secluded stump.
"So, what does the Empire want with a kingdom noble?"
Kingdom man here—no love for Empire, no buddy vibes. Cold tone earned a bow.
"Our approach was rough. Apologies again."
"But enemies we are. Can't pamper—bear with us."
Polite for foes. Still, no relaxing.
Empire spies pack tools galore.
Famous for gadgets aiding intel in Vespa, land of mage nobles. Worst case: teleport junk. Fail resistance? Poof, gone far away.
Territory just hitting stride, plans prepped—could vanish in a blink.
Tension mounting, they spoke.
"No time—straight to it. Defect to the Empire?"
"Pass."
Abatus tempted, sure, but politics and scrutiny wouldn't vanish. Plus, folks who'd grieve. Gut reply.
They pressed.
"Not empty-handed."
"First, this."
A ore chunk hit the dirt.
"That's—"
"Mana metal. Rare Empire produce. Heat-weak, but easy to work, hardens tough under magic."
"More exists, but this is what we grabbed quick."
"Regret not better."
What?! Easy forging, magic-hardens solid?
"Lemme research now."
"...Uh, our terms first."
"Wait, stow that—"
The ore vanished into a pocket. Aizen scowled unwittingly; one spy rushed words.
"We got limits, can't promise oceans of support, but workshop, land free-use, Cyclops materials, research funds? Solid."
"Exile from Vespa means politics snag maybe... internal issues on our end, but cleared fast. Cyclops or better mass-produced? Matching rank yours."
Tempting. Barely differs from now, but guaranteed backing. Abatus or not, solid deal.
"But... I could get that staying put."
Empire strapped too, looks like. Rapid growth via conquest—internal chaos probable. Opportunity for some, hassle for others.
"...Not enough, eh."
"Apologies. Hard commitments limit offers—overly modest before you. My fault."
Resolved tone.
"This from our First Sword Saint...."
"First? Means like ten total?"
Casual jab—they nodded. For real? Before questioning, lead spy murmured.
"Heard naming rights tied to guild."
"How'd you know?"
"Trade secret. But Saras Church's Fifth Saintess holds them—common knowledge."
Calm, certain.
"Join us, naming rights yours."
"Name new golems as you wish."
Empire = infinite epic names for golems? Universe Navy, legends galore, reverence unbound?
...Go?
Too good. Perfect for his name obsession. Mina shot down his "weird" picks—gone now. Pure win.
Face softened unwittingly; they read positive, vibe easing.
"Good sign. One more gift."
"Gift?"
"Not blind to your golems. Deep dives, our research too."
Serious drop in volume.
Listen close.
"Thus, vast data. His Imperial Majesty's order: military reviewed, found ways boost golem speed, stabilize posture, amp mana efficiency."
"...Interested?"
Very. Overall performance uplift—gold for his trial-and-error grind.
"...How?"
Too eager? They beamed, spilling.
"Military concluded: tracks over legs. Caterpillar-style, more efficient overall."
Rage surged inner.
Muscles exploded power, snapping ropes.
"That's right. Exactly."
Spot. On.