Gathering of the Traitors #3
"Countess."
In a study furnished with restrained yet elegant pieces, a woman sat before a great window, absorbed in the papers before her. Her hair and eyes were black, her gaze sharp. Though she held noble rank, she wore the sort of trousers, boots, and tunic an assassin might favor—as if her entire body were insisting she was no aristocrat at all.
"How did it go?"
"Yes, ma'am. We just received word from the agent we dispatched to Lascas. The details are in this report."
The woman took the report from the lean, agile man and scanned it swiftly. Earning merit and a title had been fine, but the work itself was entirely new to her, and she had struggled more than a little. Even so, she was adapting well enough that the emperor's decision to parachute her into the Imperial Intelligence Bureau no longer looked like a mistake. Entrusting the empire's secrets to an outsider could not have been easy—yet the current head of the bureau was an outsider too. So one trusted, and sometimes one was simply grateful, and let the work proceed. In a way it was not unlike a president remaining ignorant of every petty detail that unfolded inside an intelligence agency.
The woman—Olivier—sighed, set the report down, and spoke with deliberate calm.
"They'll know our people are on their trail, so the smugglers will be getting nervous. They'll try to offload the contraband as fast as they can to a merchant who handles that sort of goods in the area. Move quickly. As I recall, there are about five merchants around there who might take the deal—keep a close watch on them."
"Understood. I'll speak carefully with the local lord so no one mistakes this for interference in their internal affairs."
Lascas was an independent kingdom, not part of the Empire, though it shared a border and had once stood as an ally against the Demon King's armies. Relations were not bad; a polite explanation that they had come to apprehend smugglers who had fled from the Empire would be enough to secure understanding. The lingering shadow of the Demon King still bound them together.
Once Olivier finished issuing her carefully calculated orders, the man bowed and left at once, ready to ride hard into Lascas.
"Why did he have to give me a post like this…"
Because she was a thief, suited to stealth, and stealth was suited to gathering intelligence. That was the reasoning Olivier muttered while resenting the emperor who had appointed her third-in-command of the Imperial Intelligence Bureau. The bureau already had its manuals and training regimens; inserting herself into them felt awkward and unwelcome. Yet, absurdly enough, her long experience thrashing about in the Demon Realm meant she had a great deal to teach, and even those who had scowled at the parachute appointment began to change their minds. Of course someone who had belonged to that small elite expedition and helped bring down the Demon King would have something to offer. Better still, mortality rates on actual missions had dropped, so even if her paperwork was a little weak she was recognized as outstanding in the field.
Whether that counted as fortune or misfortune, she could not decide.
Olivier sighed again and pulled open a drawer. A few writing implements, an inkwell—and a sheet of letter paper bearing the faint red imprint of sealing wax. She took it out and unfolded the letter inside. She had already read it thoroughly, yet she wanted to read it once more.
"Right… Aria said she wasn't coming, didn't she?"
She carefully refolded the letter into its envelope and let another woman's face rise in her mind—the mage Aria. Not yet twenty, she had reached the seventh circle at the Mage Tower and then sealed herself away for two full months. From inside that guild of mages, only occasional word that she was still alive had trickled out. Even fellow members of the Tower rarely saw her face; nothing more needed saying. Before she reached the seventh circle they had exchanged letters now and then, but even that had stopped. She seemed a different person, Olivier thought, yet she felt no urge to seek her out and ask after her. She was busy, true—but more than that, the old jealousy of one bitch who had knelt before the same cock still raised its head.
Back in the expedition days she herself had been a shameful thief while Aria had been a mage of the Tower. Even their openly displayed stations had been worlds apart. So when they both knelt before the same man and swore loyalty, a dark little thrill had curved Olivier's lips. She remembered that moment clearly: the instant she saw that even a woman who claimed to love the Hero was still nothing more than a lowly bitch who put physical pleasure first. Even so, now that Aria had buried herself, Olivier closed her eyes and prayed she would stay buried.
"Ahh…! Never in my life has a transport run been so comfortable and splendid! You are truly remarkable!"
From the Elf Forest all the way to Turnel—months of hard road. Even a man hungry for profit found weeks on end of travel punishing, yet Eric had set out with nothing but the will to turn a profit. A journey that long meant endless supplies, endless mishaps: a broken wagon wheel to mend, cargo to check for losses, artifacts that kept the goods from spoiling to inspect, bandits to drive off. Even if one lived on sheer tension, the mind inevitably frayed.
"You flatter me. It's only a massage."
"Only? Out here in the wild, being able to shake off fatigue at the proper times is no small thing—I know that well enough. To wipe that exhaustion away every single day while we travel? That's an enormous advantage!"
Thanks to Adonis, whom Eric praised with tireless fuss, the caravan was having a far more pleasant run than usual. Even the mental fatigue that came from knowing how long the road still stretched seemed to wash away; he could not help but rejoice. The merchants and mercenaries traveling with them spoke well of him too.
"Ah! I've been terribly rude. Your wife must be waiting…"
When Eric, mid-chatter, suddenly raised his voice in apology, Adonis nodded his thanks and left to join Semiramis, who sat alone by the crackling campfire.
"How does that human manage to chatter without ever drawing breath? It's both fascinating and irritating."
The moment Adonis sat, Semiramis pressed her body tightly against his and vented her displeasure. She would have liked nothing better than to use mental domination right then and there so the man could never speak another word to her husband.
"He's a merchant. He has to deal with all sorts of people to sell his wares—maybe that's how he sharpened his tongue."
"Your words have some sense… yet to my eyes he is nothing but a chatterbox. And he has no sense of atmosphere either."
Semiramis wondered whether her own dignity was simply lacking, and considered placing a mental domination on Eric so he would feel fear of Adonis. That, at least, might make him talk less.
Adonis watched her nibble her lip in quiet irritation, then slipped an arm around her slender waist. His own annoyance came from the leering glances still sliding over Semiramis even now. If Eric's endless talk was her complaint, those filthy stares were his. The men at least knew their limits and kept to furtive looks; had they been any more blatant he would have taken the lead and dominated them himself. As a man he understood the instinct that drew the eye to a woman like Semiramis.
"My, my. You look thoroughly put out."
Semiramis knew it too, yet she deliberately left the gazes alone. When human lust focused on her like this, Adonis's jealousy drove him to far more aggressive displays of affection. He would openly circle her waist to mark her as his female, and the cock that swelled with mixed anxiety and excitement looked delicious beyond words. That was why she smiled and poked at the front of his trousers with a fingertip.
To put it crudely… she wanted to be fucked like a bitch in heat.
"Let's skip dinner. I've found something else I want to eat. You already know what, don't you?"
"Perfect."
When Semiramis looked up at him with a sly grin, Adonis rose at once and stepped into the tent. The black tent Eric had lent them out of consideration was larger than expected—room enough for four, not two. Semiramis followed with eyes gleaming with lust; only after midnight did she finally crawl out again. The tent that had been soaked with fluids and sweat was cleaned by magic until not a trace remained. Even the steamy heat that had turned it into a sauna had vanished. The only mishap was the mercenary on watch mistaking the white vapor rising from the tent for a fire.
"You're working hard."
When Semiramis approached the large campfire, the mercenary sitting before it nodded with a dazed expression. Tents and wagons formed a circle around the fire, making it feel like the very center of the camp.
"This hardly counts as hard work. All I have to do is drive off the occasional bandit."
Intimidated at first by her strange aura and voice, the mercenary soon puffed himself up a little, hoping to look good in front of her. Adonis claimed they were husband and wife and stood firmly by her side, yet the man still wondered if an opportunity might appear. Humans who committed adultery even after marriage were everywhere; he prayed Semiramis might be one of them. Even if a deep relationship proved impossible, he wanted at least to taste that bursting body for the duration of this caravan.
"Hearing you say that makes me feel so much safer. Thanks to you I don't feel the least bit afraid sleeping out here in the wild."
"Glad to hear it."
When Semiramis smiled and her eyes curved, the mercenary grinned foolishly and squared his shoulders. Blood seemed to surge through his body, which had been heavy with drowsiness; sleep fled. Breathing a little harder, he casually closed the distance.
Semiramis never lost her smile. She simply watched him approach, then slowly raised a hand. Fingers so white and delicate they looked as if they had never known hardship drifted through the air and touched his face.
Could it be…? The mercenary felt hope swell as she laid her hand on his cheek first. Half-lidded eyes, a hand on his face—calling it seduction would not have been an overstatement. So he thought, and without hesitation he pulled her waist close and leaned in for those red lips—
"Stay still."
The moment her long fingers lightly tapped his cheek, the lust boiling in his chest froze solid like a winter river. His clear mind sank deep, as if into sleep. He had fallen under hypnosis—the preliminary stage of the mental domination Semiramis had been debating whether to use.
She looked down at the vacant-eyed human, then spoke slowly.
"Stand your watch quietly, and when the time comes go inside and sleep. Understood?"
"…Yes."
Since things had gone this far she considered ordering him never to harbor lust again, but she settled for the trivial command. She had already taken enough night air; all she wanted now was to hurry back into Adonis's arms and sleep.
Semiramis's half-lidded eyes flashed with a sharp light.