OR1-EP3: The Bloody Coat of Arms (15)

McNeil slept for a long time, it was as if he was back in that mysterious underground facility, the spherical building surrounded by coils was emitting a strange glow, and the mysterious man in black robes was still standing aside, not knowing what he was thinking about. McNeil had many questions that needed to be answered, and he desperately wanted to know everything that had to do with this new world, he couldn't afford to be here as an outsider and blind man who wasn't born and raised here. Knowledge that was common sense to others would take a long process for him to learn.

The mysterious man in the black robes wore no hood, he had two short beards and long black hair almost as long as he was tall that touched the ground. McNeil stepped closer and it turned out that the man was holding a book in his hands, but it didn't have any letters or symbols on it, just white paper.

"You're back?" The mysterious man looked up, "I didn't realize you had failed so quickly."

"I haven't lost." McNeil said, "But I have learned so little information that I am like a blind man."

"Anyone born into the world knows nothing. Besides, knowing useless information is not good for you." The black-robed man closed the wordless book in his hand, "Besides, you don't seem to have realized where your true flaws lie. Let us discuss this topic seriously after you have suffered a complete defeat."

Michael McNeil opened his eyes, and he was greeted by a ceiling adorned with landscapes and a chandelier as dazzling as crystal. The young ex-commander moved his arms and felt no physical harm; the only pain came from his abdomen, perhaps from the wound he had been shot with that day, which had not yet healed. His upper body was bandaged, while his lower body was in the same pants he had been wearing, and his precious leather top was nowhere to be seen. McNeil craned his head to the side, and was finally relieved when he saw that the shirt was casually placed on the bench. He wasn't really worried about the financial loss of losing a piece of clothing; it was far more symbolic than monetary.

He fumbled his way out of bed, threw the tunic over his body, and limped toward the door. In front of him was a corridor with different rooms at each end, and McNeil wondered what kind of person would have so many rooms prepared in their home-perhaps it was a servant's quarters, or just a general warehouse. He thought back over the course of the previous night's battle, still unsure of what had sneaked up on him, or which forces had come to his rescue. In any case, he couldn't get out of the chaos, and the parties in the conflict were using him as a pawn or a player. As such, he would have to fight these people to the end and return to the EU in one piece.

McNeil left the corridor and came to the stairway. A blonde-haired teenager wearing a nobleman's gown was walking up the stairs, and upon seeing McNeil, he smiled and spoke:

"Thanks God, you're awake. I'll go call my sister."

After saying that, he ran straight down the stairs and disappeared in front of McNeil's eyes. When McNeil saw this, he didn't blame him, but just kept limping downwards. Although those people's tactics last night were sinister, their skills were not up to par and they lacked the ability to think randomly, which in the end allowed McNeil to retrieve a life. If they had only intended to eliminate McNeil without considering the means, McNeil should have been killed when the first shot was fired, and those guys had favored difficult ideas, forgoing the most effective method. Other than those antiquated knights, McNeil couldn't think of anyone else who would have dealt with the problem in such a self-inflicted manner.

"Trying to survive in the Britannian Empire is also too difficult. I never know who I've offended and who I'll be looked up to." McNeil sighed as a wave of vertigo hit his brain. He'd been hurt worse on his last mission in South Africa, but those were mostly from cuts and collisions; he himself hadn't been shot during combat. If it wasn't for his special physique, he would have been completely incapacitated when he was shot, and thus left to be slaughtered.

In front of him was simply a huge weapons warehouse, with all sorts of different firearms hanging on the left wall, and a tank parked in the open space at the back. Such a blatant stockpiling of weapons would not be tolerated by the authorities in any country, and even the Britannian Empire would not allow the nobility to have such a privilege - unless the existing order had completely failed.

There was a young girl in men's clothing in the hall who was directing some servants to carry bulky instruments. Her facial contours were slightly softer than her twin brother's, while her deliberately tough demeanor gave her two different attractions at the same time. Both males and females are attracted to this radiant hero, and in turn move from physical attractiveness to personality. In the distant future in which McNeil lives, humanity facing extinction is in desperate need of anyone who can act as a generalized tool, and traditional niches are breaking down as technology continues to deconstruct and destroy what was once unbreakable and ancient.

"So it was Apollo and Artemis who saved me, then I really should be honored." McNeil greeted the siblings, "Thank you very much for your willingness to save my life, but I have no chips that I can bring to bear to repay you both at the moment. If you two don't mind, this repayment can be made up later."

"There is no need to be so formal, we know you actually have nothing." The young woman motioned McNeil to a side parlor, her brother following obediently behind her, "Nothing is hidden from us in Pendragon or even the entire Britannian Empire, Mr. McNeil."

"In that case, you should also know who I was working for that day." McNeil smiled shyly, "I don't know if you have reported my whereabouts to His Excellency, he must be anxious ... and so will my clerical friend. Life will be a lot less fun for all after the absence of a jester who can bring joy to everyone."

"Don't worry, they got the news that you are out there continuing to pull in nobles who are willing to serve His Imperial Majesty." The young girl extended her hand towards McNeil, "For your personal safety, it would be best if you do not return to Breisgau's house or your inns these days ... I am Olivia Zevon, heir to the Zevon family."

McNeil solemnly shook Olivia's hand and thanked the other man. He only felt the rough calluses and noticed that Olivia's other hand was still bandaged. Most of the nobles in the Britannian Empire still followed the ancient first-born male inheritance law, but a few families were exceptions, and the most unique of them was the Zevon family: their head of the family and heir would definitely be a woman. Of course, this would make marriage to the Zevon family tantamount to being a member of the family, which is unacceptable in the tradition of the Britannian Empire, and the high-minded and proud magnate nobles simply could not ally themselves with another noble family in such a humiliating way. As a result, the size of the Zevon family was not large, not even comparable to the equally sparsely populated Breisgau.

The one who looked 90% similar to Olivia was her younger brother, Oiagros Zevon. Since the two's looks were really hard for outsiders to distinguish, there were cases where they pretended to be each other's identities.

"We thought you were going to die there." Oiagros pointed to the wound in McNeil's abdomen, "It's a good thing they didn't have time to just shoot you down."

"Who the hell sent those guys?" McNeil felt a paroxysm of fear when he thought about his experience that day, he wasn't afraid of sneak attacks, but if he didn't even know who the enemy was, then there was no way to deal with it.

"The leader is Lieutenant Colonel Adolph Nordhaug, Knight of Twelve, who is a supporter of the opposition." Olivia picked up the black tea on the table, "That guy is a murderous maniac, and sometimes just brings his own men to crime-ridden areas to kill at will. Since there's no evidence, no one else can convict him, and since His Imperial Majesty only values ability, no one can yank this guy from his position as a Knight of the Rounds."

"So that's all the Knights of the Rounds are capable of." McNeil leaned back on the sofa, he still felt a vague pain in his abdomen, "He's not as good as that bearded guy. Speaking of which, why did you guys save me? I don't think you guys need to save a foreigner ... especially an unidentified foreigner."

Unlike other nobles, the Zevon family owed their allegiance to the royal family rather than the empire, and they existed to protect the Britannian royal family itself. As such, the Zevon family would give these various forces a free pass as long as the moves they made favored the royal family. Bradow von Breisgau was a loyal subject of the Emperor, and McNeil was also working for him, so despite McNeil's selfishness and even the possibility of gathering intelligence for the EU, the Zevon family would regard him as a friendly force until he actually threatened the safety of the royal family. What's more, McNeil's series of actions had attracted the attention of many opposition nobles, a role that no one else could replace. Allowing McNeil to continue to muddy the waters would undoubtedly be favorable to the Emperor and his supporters.

McNeil and Olivia discussed the current situation of the Britannian Empire, and that was when McNeil realized that the information he had was still too little. All of the nobility's recent small movements are exposed to the Zevon family's surveillance, who is mobilizing supplies, who is secretly organizing paramilitary forces, and who has not moved since the beginning, they know exactly. When the moment of reckoning came, this evidence would be more useful than EU's list, and the Emperor would certainly trust a subject who had been loyal to the Crown for generations over a foreigner. McNeil felt that he had struck cotton with a combination of punches, and it was possible that Bismarck-Waldstein's offer had been a pretense to stall for time and find out who the big shots were who really wanted to take advantage of the opportunity to go into exile.

"You've been catching exiles lately." McNeil asked without moving, "So, who else has been arrested?"

"Plenty, but most are just ordinary people who are afraid of a civil war."

It seemed that the big shots that the EU really hoped to get their hands on hadn't been exposed yet-five professors and an army full general, a lineup the likes of which McNeil had never seen on a scale he'd seen before in the historical cases of humans turning on each other and mutinying. He asked Olivia about matters pertaining to the tank in the back clearing, and in turn asked Oiagros to give him a tour of the tank.

"Ugh, I was still worrying about failing classes when I was a teenager." McNeil muttered.

"She's engaged and I don't want her to get married." Oiagros said dejectedly, "They'll have kids soon after they get married, and then I'll be dispensable air in the house."

"... engaged?" McNeil said in surprise, "I know it's rude of me to ask, but do all you Britannians get married so early? God ... that, old boy, and their children take your family name?"

"Yes." Oiagros nodded, "In fact, the man must change his last name as well."

"Oh, that's quite an amazing revolt." McNeil nodded, "You know, in the entire Britannian Empire, the only woman who has the right to let her child use her surname is Claire, who became the Emperor, and your family should be proud of itself for having done what only royalty can do for generations."

However, as Oiagros had complained to McNeil, the traditions of the Zevon family were very unfriendly to male family members like him. It would not be his turn at the helm until all of the available female heirs of the current generation had died. Oiagros did not value such power, he simply thought it was unfair. It wasn't as if the order of descent or gender was something they could decide for themselves, and the person who inherited the family should be the most capable leader of the kind, as Emperor Charles had said.

"It's a good thing." McNeil said firmly.

"A good thing?" Oiagros was puzzled, "Mr. McNeil, I may not be able to obtain any knighthood in my life, it's all up to me to earn this opportunity ..."

"A nobleman's inheritance is a privilege and a shackle, as is royalty." McNeil climbed onto the tank on his hands and knees, observing the parts and equipment on the outside. He'd heard whispers that a noble was trying to pull the strings of a nearby airbase, and fortunately so far, no airbase had made a clear statement (at least that's what Bradow said). Once this tank hit the streets, it couldn't be taken back without running over thousands of rebels. Both sides were ready to fight to the death, while the true leaders of the two sides had always avoided the spotlight, with that unspoken mindset of theirs perhaps stemming from the royal tradition itself.

"That's because you already have it all." Oiagros looked at McNeil, who was inspecting the equipment, "There are some nobles with names only and no estates who can't even come up with twenty million euros."

"Child, if you care so much about the name, then go and grab it." McNeil winked and looked mischievously at Oiagros, "But how many years from now, you'll realize that it brings nothing but pain and suffering, and all the joys you've dreamed of are gone forever the moment you get what you want."

TBC

Chapter Notes:

It is not known whether there were any other branches of the royal family of Britannia besides the line of Charles, but the branch of the Grand Duke Louis was apparently wiped out by Charles at a later date.

In fact, Oiagros is much younger than Olivia. However, since the next generation of OZs are twins, I changed the age of the previous generation of OZs to allow them to be twins as well.