There's No Such Thing as a Free Lunch
There's no such thing as a free lunch.
I sat in my room, piecing together a plan to resolve this mess.
There were five factions tangled up in this incident. My father had the most complete picture by far—he'd identified every player and had been preparing for ages. Karl territory was his turf, after all, giving him an edge no one else could match.
The empire came next, with a hefty intel haul of their own. They were the ones who'd cooked up and kicked off this whole scheme, so they'd had plenty of time to prep.
But the empire had constraints on their actions. No mobilizing the army, no real-time eyes on the ground. That might actually make them the easiest to deal with.
Third was my little uncle, Obray Viscount. He probably only knew about the empire and the radical independence faction, but years of scheming meant he had the nitty-gritty details. Plus, he could deploy troops—his forces were no slouch militarily. Not someone to underestimate. Still, not an insurmountable foe. Meyer Viscount was on my side, and if push came to shove, I had other ways to block him.
Fourth was me. I had a rough sketch of all the players, but no solid proof or fine details. I could map the big picture, but the devil was in the precision I lacked.
Fifth were Helen Aunt and the radical independence crew. They were just clueless bystanders getting steamrolled—no need to dwell on them. Frankly, they looked pitiful.
'Father's the real headache. His intel and mobility outpace everyone.'
That's why I'd fed his network disinformation and red herrings—to sow chaos, crimp his moves, and derail whatever plans he'd laid.
And thanks to this mess, his eyes and ears would come crawling to me—the intel lightweight—for answers.
Simple reason: too many wild cards beyond their pay grade. They'd have to report back for fresh marching orders.
The door creaked open, and Cloud Grandpa strolled in, looking none too pleased. Looked like things had gone my way.
"They headed to the magic comms station, right?"
"Yeah. But your name came up. What's the story?"
"Sprinkled some bait to amp up the urgency. Nothing too deep—just enough to hook 'em."
"I see."
"What'd they say over there?"
Cloud Grandpa pursed his lips.
"Pause the plan, focus on intel gathering first."
I nodded vigorously.
If he was right, Father's involvement was now 100% confirmed. I'd been pretty sure, but beyond Roland and Farmer's odd behavior, hard evidence was thin—left a sliver of doubt.
With Father's hand verified, I could go full throttle, no mercy.
"And?"
"Keep close tabs on Meyer Viscount and you."
Makes sense. Meyer had suddenly emerged as a wildcard—they'd want eyes on him. And me, the guy dropping intel bombs? Natural suspect.
"Anything else?"
"If your info checks out, scrap the old plan and switch to a new op."
"What op?"
"Around midnight, if Obray Viscount moves, use the chaos to grab Yozef and that hag Helen, then bail from Karl Castle."
Short intel, but packed with meaning.
Confirmed Obray's involvement. Midnight military action by his forces? Check.
My disinfo triggers plan cancellation? Confirmed.
New op targets Yozef and Helen Aunt? Got it.
Father, true to form. Safety-first guy to the core—won't stomach big risks from surprises.
"One party or two?"
"Two. One with Farmer, the other with some knight named Fan."
"Hmm. Two parties... that's trouble."
"Why?"
Can't guarantee Helen Aunt's safety. Paired with Yozef, they'd hesitate to off her. Split up? Easy pickings—no kid brother watching.
"My side's splitting too—not ideal. Where they headed?"
"Some Karl family emergency exit. No details, so I'm in the dark."
No sweat. I knew that route. But no need to let it come to escape. Crisis implied, sure, but better to wrap this before then.
I pulled a gold pouch from my pocket.
"Grandpa, 100 rif worth. Post a guild contract—rally every available merc in Karl Castle by midnight."
"Mercs for what?"
"Don't know Father's original plan. Gotta force a scrap. Blind moves could backfire on me."
"Mercs enough?"
"They'll help. Turns one of my lies into truth. Plus, might need 'em later—no harm prepping."
"Got it. On it."
Cloud Grandpa left. I smirked faintly.
Father had bitten. Well, his hands and feet got overeager, but his moves were laid bare to me now.
The wildcard? His unknown original plan. But I knew the kill switch now. Just nudge the conditions, done.
Late afternoon. Stepping out, I spotted Roland guarding the door. Monitoring me, huh.
Playing bathroom break, I asked,
"Roland, check that info I gave you?"
"Yes."
"Well?"
"Uh, well..."
I shot him a suspicious glare as he hemmed and hawed.
"You're acting shady. We're in this together—spill the intel. You hoard it, leave me blind? I'm the one doing the work."
Fair point—he cracked.
"Meyer Viscount's gone. Left at dawn, hasn't returned. Looks like he ditched the castle."
I nodded.
"Knew that guy's off. Anything else?"
"Some of our Karl troops vanished. Looks like they tailed Meyer."
"Yeah? More?"
"Not yet."
"I got one."
Roland leaned in eagerly.
"What?"
"Saw Cloud Duke again."
His eyes bulged.
"Where?!"
"Merc guild front. Old man's hiring muscle. Big numbers, from the look."
"For real?"
"Yup. Go verify. No contacts there myself."
"Got it."
"Loop me in when you know. Need it."
"Yes."
Roland bolted. I scanned—no other watchers.
Clear. I sauntered out the annex toward the main building.
At the mansion entrance, a butler greeted warmly. Moden, hired five years back.
"Baekmyeon? Welcome!"
"Grand Duke inside?"
"Yes, but what's up?"
"Urgent prep for Great Saintess visit."
"Ah, right. This way."
Inside with Moden—unchanged. Decor, servants, all same.
Spotted a servant hauling from the basement. Paul. Ducked behind Moden quick.
'Right, Paul. Close call.'
If anyone could ID me, it's my old manservant Paul. Father too busy for face time, Yozef and Helen distant even at home.
But Paul? Glued to me at home and school. Knew my quirks, build, voice—everything.
Moden announced at Helen Aunt's quarters, ushered me in.
"Baekmyeon, come in."
"Uh, sure."
She welcomed me like royalty—cleared time amid chaos, had maids fetch rare snacks and tea.
Helen Aunt sipped tea on the sofa.
"So, what's this about?"
"Message from Shura."
"The Yin-Yang Great Saintess?"
"Yes."
"What'd she say?"
I eyed the maids.
"Somewhere private?"
She waved them out.
"Go ahead."
"Shura was divining and sensed grave peril looming over House Karl. Sent word fast."
Her eyes widened.
"Really? What kind?"
"The Amoris and Demetri constellations interacting, forming a dragon-harming aspect from the north."
Tch, even I barely followed my own BS.
But Helen bought it hook, line, sinker—panicking. Yin-Yang Great Saintess prophecy. Mystic vagueness sells in these circles.
"Northern dragonling...?"
"Likely Yozef."
"What disaster?!"
"Dunno details—mere mortal here. But Shura says Orinen star meddling hints at sword-born woe."
Her eyes quivered.
"Sword... you mean...?"
"Armed revolt, yeah."
"When?"
"Unclear. Could be now, or a month off."
"Who targets my son?!"
I sighed inwardly. Too easy, sorry Aunt.
"Hard to pinpoint, but Zamora constellation bloodied—points to kin."
"Kin? Yozef has brothers, but no real noble blood, no power..."
She rambled; I cut in. Once she starts, no end.
"Father's side."
She shot up.
"Obray Viscount then! Without Yozef, next Grand Duke's his. Lately he's been weird. Yes, it's him!"
"Oh?"
"I'll tell Brian Count—hit him now. Tell the Saintess no worries."
She rose; I grabbed her sleeve. She'd botch everything.
Obray's my uncle, Father's brother. Charge sans proof? Madness. Evidence might surface, but her recklessness was headache-inducing.
"No rash moves."
"Why?"
"Those constellations clashing means infighting too. Unpredictable—wrong step could blow up."
She sat, hesitant.
"Then what?"
"Shura's praying to lift the Karl gloom. Soon Lumenox the Creator's divine envoy descends—no need to fret."
"Oh?"
She relaxed hugely. Not reassuring, though.
"But gods handle divine, men mortal tasks. Grand Duke has work too."
"What?"
"Tonight, place a Lumenox statue in Yozef's room, pray through the night. Never leave his side. Maternal aura fading risks disaster."
"Got it. Will do."
She nodded furiously. I handed an envelope from my bosom.
"And this—Shura's message for Grand Duke."
"So grateful..."
She moved to open; I stopped her.
"Not now."
"When?"
"Crisis hits. Opening early dulls the power."
"Right. Okay."
She pocketed it hastily. I glanced slyly.
"One more thing."
"What?"
"Sincerity."
"Yes, deepest prayers."
"Not that—material kind. Prayers hit harder with offerings. Shura's sweating buckets now; when she visits, show proper gratitude."
Light dawned; she nodded wildly. Give to get, fair trade. I'd sweated blood and coin on this.
Doing it for Father's dying wish from my past life, but freebie? Nah.
'Good. Glue her to Yozef, they're safe.'
Post-revolt cleanup easier too.
This mess wouldn't end tonight. Grand Duke-empire rift lingered. Botch the stitch-up, today's efforts wasted.
But this chat greased the wheels. Play the push-pull right, forge ironclad ties.
There's no such thing as a free lunch.