Chapter 86: she's angry at me, she's definitely angry, renner! ;-;
Lower Fire Month, 22nd Day, 600 AGG
In the lowest levels of the Ministry of Magic's Innermost Tower, in a workshop guarded by secrecy alone, the Imperial Court Wizard put the finishing touches on his latest work.
Potions, sterile yet potent, sat on sturdy wooden shelves in organized rows. Tomes—some dusty, others less so, but all well-worn—were neatly piled on the many tables inside the room next to various reagents and artifacts. Truly, any spellcaster worth their mana would salivate at the prospect of entering this holiest of holies had they any awareness of its existence.
It was in the midst of this organized chaos, this pile of rubbish, that Fluder Paradyne diligently conducted the appraisal of his latest work.
"For it to take this much longer than expected…" Fluder mused while inspecting the magic item he had finally completed. "A shame the task couldn't be left to somebody else."
He didn't have much experience in creating items concealing undead, but even an old man could broaden their perspective.
'Age cannot obstruct me any longer. There's certainly no need to rush anything,' gloved fingers carefully clasped the necklace around the lich's neck. Fluder removed his mask, keenly scrutinizing the overlaid illusion of meat and skin. "Lacks tactile qualities… an acceptable stopgap nevertheless."
With this article, only incredibly accomplished priests or wizards would be able to threaten his disguise through either appearance or supernatural detection. In short, the number of qualified people in this region were less than the fingers on a single hand, so an improved version wasn't immediately necessary.
The edge of his awareness 'twinged,' a sign that somebody or something had crossed the boundary of his outer detection spells. A second 'twinge' followed soon after, and Fluder relaxed.
"Master-chan~!" One of his chosen thirty disciples, for only they were ever granted permission to step foot in his atelier, energetically waved a staff in greeting. "You called?"
"Miss Noia, you answered quicker than I was expecting—actually, weren't you in the middle of deriving a more efficient mana formula for that slime domination spell?" There was something off about the disciple's speech, a vague sense of dissonance that grinded against his equally vague memories of her. 'Hm. I'm overthinking; it's been… several weeks since I last talked to her, and hasn't she always displayed this level of energy?'
"—Master-chan?" Sophie Noia curiously tilted her head, hands clasped behind her back. "Were you listening?"
"But of course," Fluder kindly smiled. Emotions were muted from the moment of his ascension, but smaller, less intense feelings lingered. "If you require help with fine-tuning or containment, do feel free to ask."
Something felt strange.
The illusion of a genial elder didn't shift even as unease filled his empty chest cavity. Did Noia always have mana equivalent to what a Fifth-Tier wizard would possess? Wasn't she stuck in the admittedly still impressive realm of Fourth-Tier magic?
"I see you've made great advances during my closed-door research," he decided to err on the side of caution. Noia was the most talented among the Thirty despite splitting her attention between monster research and arcane studies. "I expect nothing less from my strongest disciple."
"Advances…?" The unease festered, fermenting into cold dread. Why did his alarm wards trigger twice just a second ago? "Ah~ Yes, my practice has reeeally been paying—『Dimensional Anchor』."
An emerald beam shot out from 'Noia's' staff, enveloping him in a similarly colored aura upon reaching him. 'Block line of sight first; then, worry about the enchantment.'
"『Wall of—"
"『Turn Undead』."
Dread revolved to terror.
"G-Guh!"
'The alarm—how…!' A person who could bypass his detection wards would have to surpass the likes of Ijaniya's elites and Blue Roses' twin assassins. Fluder 'took' a deep breath, more to relax himself than out of any real need for air. 'Three of them too. Did they manage to breach my teleportation wards, or is the assassin's stealth that well-developed?'
The masked man in a red bodysuit carefully lowered the two cloaked women onto the ground: one a priestess of some kind and the other that smelled of old age. 'The temples shouldn't know anything. Is this a foreign operation incited by my ascension—?'
"Here's one for your books, old man!『Fireball』!" Fluder shook off the unnatural fear and quickly countered the flaming sphere. The identities of his attackers could be divined later. "『Fireball』.『Break Enchant— "
"『Turn Undead』! Bastard's tough!" He clicked his tongue at the priestess's vulgarity, managing to resist the second turn attempt and prepared to cast a spell that would unfortunately destroy his workshop until…
'I made a mistake,' magic, raw and primal, surged from the old woman who had tossed off the cloak concealing her unsightly appearance. 'That relic, I need to kill her.'
"『Chain Lightning』!"
The azure streak cut a line through space, hungrily racing towards the woman garbed in the style of the south, only to be intercepted by that damnable assassin. "A scroll containing a Fourth-Tier spell?!"
That moment of shock cost the lich everything. Rather, would he have been able to escape even if the groundbreaking achievement hadn't surprised him?
"Kaire!"
Light rushed into his being, directed by the hag's will, filling him to the point that everything else that constituted 'Fluder Paradyne' slowly became meaningless.
His mind was being dyed in white: a static murmuring so loud it drowned out all other thoughts.
Faculties crippled—no, usurped—the innermost part of him understood that there would be no escaping his fate.
"『Dominate』!" Fluder desperately made a vain effort to counter the unknown magic. The attempt failed, sinking him even further into despair, even as his consciousness was being bleached in a color not his own.
'I-Impossible…' How could he, a higher undead like him, be dominated by some decrepit woman without a hint of mana? The tyrannical absurdity, who could accept it?! 'This kind of… magic… is…'
"…"
"Well?" The 'disciple' warily lowered her staff. "Did it work?"
"Raise your arm," the old woman wearing a magnificent qipao thoroughly unsuited for her tossed the cloak back on. "Mental commands are working fine too."
All of them nodded. As expected of the Theocracy's sacred treasure.
"Are we taking this bony bastard with us?" Another woman, younger and blonde, wrinkled her nose in disgust as the four of them watched the lich go through the motions of a fast-paced dance.
"Commander Lauransan said to leave him," the masked middle-aged man clad in a red, skin-tight bodysuit shook his head. "We should return."
"Yeeeah~ Uh, you cleaned up, right? Tenge?" The 'disciple' gestured at herself. "This weirdo."
"Mm. Few days ago. Experiment accident."
They silently stood there in that dreadful workshop for a few seconds until the purple-haired 'disciple' twitched. Her three comrades had been staring, waiting.
"Huh?!" She tugged at seemingly nothing, somehow rustling her shorter than shoulder-length hair. Illusion magic had its limits unfortunately. "Aren't we using the lich? Fluder Paradyne, he's a Sixth-Tier wizard, right?!"
"Gods, just do your damn job," The blonde priestess dragged a hand down her face. "Can't have the Tri-Arts Caster randomly showing up in the Theocracy. Stuuupid."
"Too suspicious," the assassin blithely agreed.
"You guys—forget it," the 'disciple' sighed and removed the unnecessary, gaudy monocle over her left eye. "Alright, alright, gather 'round…"
Draudillon distractedly swirled the dark-red wine around in its delicate, crystal container.
"I never took you to be an abstainer, Queen Oriculus."
"Abstainer…" She set the glass down on the table separating her and Jircniv. "Not unfitting."
When it came to her and alcohol, moderation wasn't possible. The two did not share such a casual relationship, so for Draudillon's own sake—and at someone else's behest—abstinence was gradually becoming the norm.
"Do the angels look unkindly upon excess?" A teal-green eye twitched in annoyance. "I still remember the last visit… people are loath to change so quickly unless they have an exceptional reason, don't you agree?"
"If you want to know, you could just ask," Draudillon snapped her fingers, not bothering to acknowledge the Gatekeeper as it placed an enchanted decanter filled with water into an open hand. "It's off-putting to see the Bloody Emperor be so reserved around a friend."
"And let it not be said the Empire doesn't cherish its allies. Your understanding is greatly appreciated, Queen Oriculus."
"I'm serious. You really could just ask," 'friend,' on the other hand, was debatable. "Let's not stand on ceremony while it's just us, hm?"
"Rumor happens to be truthful for once."
It wasn't a question, but she'd resolved to make the courtship publicly known, so here was as good a start as any. "I assume you mean the ones regarding Lady Yuriko."
Jircniv stared at her, unimpressed.
"And myself."
"Certainly, I would hope Queen Oriculus did not have such proclivities…"
"I do not," she firmly slammed the door on that train of thought. Just the idea made her irrationally angry. "That said, yes, in case my confirmation holds any weight."
"Everyone's going to be wracking their heads over how the Dragon Queen pulled it off, you know?" He allowed a smirk to slip past the facade of polite curiosity. "It appears you aren't concerned with heirs either unless there's something I'm missing."
'Heirs…'
Draudillon's mood soured.
"I suppose the Emperor is correct."
"Gramps would say it's a shame," Jircniv dropped the formal tone, relaxing further against the plush sofa as an inscrutable purple gaze scrutinized her every movement. "Wanted me to sire children with your potential for ancient magic—of course, I have absolutely no intention of getting in between you and your… partner."
"What a shame," Draudillon nodded along with all the graveness of a foot soldier staring down a beastman lord. "The missed opportunity grieves me aplenty, I can assure you that."
Amethyst eyes narrowed, perfectly accompanying a scowl worthy of being immortalized in sculpand paint. "It must be novel, having the Lady ofture Wings at your beck and call. Or is it actually difficult, needing to cater to a deity's every whim?"
'He's usually less blatant,' perhaps he believed subtlety meant nothing at this point, not when the Draconic Kingdom had acquired the support of so superlative an existence. "It's difficult in a different way."
She winked.
He grimaced.
Unsurprisingly, Yuriko and her were continuing to brush off on each other.
'There's something to be said about pestering Jircniv. Maybe 'payback,' as immature as it sounds.'
Talking to Emperor El-Nix was markedly more enjoyable when he couldn't lord the Draconic Kingdom's tributes over her head. In fact, she was feeling quite cheerful as the proverbial clouds of 'heirs' and 'Yuriko's-meeting-with-the-black-dragon' were dissipated by Jircniv's disgruntled reactions. 'He's probably regretting inviting me over to chat. For the Empire's sake, you don't have much of a choice, do you Jircniv?'
"… I pity your maids."
Oh?
If he wanted to test her limits, then she would happily oblige.
"Choose your next words carefully, Emperor El-Nix," Draudillon paused, taking a small sip of water. "Some things when spoken cannot be rescinded."
She placed the decanter next to its alcohol-filled cousin atop the low-riding table.
"The Lady of Wings has odd tastes," his brows furrowed, hinting at a little more than only a wounded pride. Draudillon frowned; was he feeling unwell? "Quirks of the divine, I'm sure the temples will say in the coming days."
'When one insult edges the line, resort to another, huh?' they always had this sort of relationship, to be fair. In fact, it would be off-putting if Jircniv wasn't constantly expressing an indirect disapproval of her. "Will they? I must commend their bravery if Emperor El-Nix believes they are so eager to partake in 'blasphemy.' "
What did the judgment of outsiders matter? Who were they to determine the validity of her and her partner's convictions? How could they possibly determine whether or not a person was 'worthy' of another?
They were not her, not Yuriko, and had no right to speak for either.
Such a naive sentiment was surely illogical by the standards of this absurdly harsh world, but their relationship had never been built on considerations of compensation, bloodline, and pedigree to begin with.
'You've always been super patient with me. Plus, you work so, so hard for everyone, you're smart, b-beautiful, and… What I'm trying to get at is, I l-love you!'
Of course. She had already received, and was still receiving, all the affirmation she could ever need or want.
Draudillon smiled: a tender affection spilling over the mask of feigned amusement, pouring forth for 'Yuriko Hanami' in her beloved's entirety.
Jircniv arched an eyebrow in what she thought to be mild disbelief—or revulsion rather. "I say this with Queen Oriculus's best interests in mind, but to indulge in delusion while dealing with someone who broke the beastmen hordes is dangerous."
"Seeing as my word has somehow lost its value since we last met, I do encourage the Emperor to ask Lady Yuriko face to face," Draudillon inspected her nails with an easy gracefulness. "A feat worthy of Baharuth's rising star, yes? Confronting an unstable deity head-on…"
"Then, I applaud Queen Oriculus's accomplishment. It couldn't have been a trivial endeavor, attracting the attention of the divine beyond what even the Holy Queen is capable of."
Her mockery didn't go unanswered—not that she expected it to considering this was Jircniv. Actually now that she thought of it, wasn't his prodding just to check exactly how accurate the rumors were? A 'Goddess' normally ought to take offense at how Draudillon was disseminating a myriad of intimate insinuations: abusing the deity's goodwill, to say it straightly.
'Quite the confidence in his deduction there,' honestly, Draudillon felt mildly nonplussed that he harbored such faith in her maturity. A rasher ruler wouldn't have displayed as much restraint had they even a pinch of the influence she did. "My thanks. Perhaps Emperor El-Nix can be reborn as a superb Empress in his next life and reap the same benefits."
"… you jest."
"Partially," she almost shrugged.
"Very ambitious," Jircniv made no effort to hide his disgust now. "One might think the Fierce Flash was enough."
Curved lips cracked, crystal-clear laughter escaped, and her spirits all the lighter for it. "P-Pft, you know—sometimes I wonder just what it is you think I do behind closed doors."
"You may save your wondering for worthier contemplations," Jircniv glowered, downing his glass in a single draught. "I almost pity the Lady of Wings, to be used so callously."
Draudillon shook her head.
Even if Yuriko lost everything that conventional wisdom valued, her love for them would not diminish in the slightest. They were hers, through strength and weakness alike.
And she didn't want it any other way.
"You're wrong."
Jircniv considered her for a second. Whatever he saw, it was enough to elicit a half-hearted scoff and a change of topic. "It seems Humanity no longer has cause to live in fear of the east."
"Vigilance is a virtue for the protectors of the realm," Draudillon reached behind and tapped the Gatekeeper's shield while pointing at the Emperor's desolate wine glass. "But yes, the beastmen shall not harm those who lay west of the Draconic Kingdom."
She obviously wasn't going to inform him about the Mirewood Dragon Lord. The ancient black dragon could be permanently dealt with the instant they broke their end of the agreement anyway.
"Good news, for once," he bitterly chuckled as the Gatekeeper refilled the glass with intoxicating shades of dark-red. "Say, would the Theocracy have stepped in if the situation became unsalvageable? By their standards of course."
"Mm, their Executive Council wouldn't want to give a country of conquest-driven demihumans access to the Rhynd Sea," apparently even Jircniv lacked the animosity to express his hatred for the whole duration of their meeting. "Though I'm unsure if that means they'd allow the beastmen to march upon Baharuth."
"Hmph."
'This brat…'
"What would you have done in my position, Emperor El-Nix?" Draudillon dryly asked. "As a leader, I do not dare doubt your abilities, but the problem the Draconic Kingdom faced was well outside the scope of our human neighbors."
"Die to the beastmen after putting up a valiant resistance," Jircniv snorted. "Either that or stall for the Theocracy to put their gold where their mouth is. In short, not much different from you."
Figured. Only Slane had the firepower to fight against a serious Beastman Country—she assumed they possessed Player legacies, because there was no way otherwise—while every other human-dominated nation would fold like wet parchment. "We got lucky."
"You got lucky. Everybody else remains to be seen," the wine glass found itself empty again. A part of her idly pondered the likelihood of Jircniv developing a budding alcoholism by the festival's conclusion. "Tch."
"Are you… okay?" The dragon queen frowned, mildly worried at her contemporary's reaction. Illness wasn't an issue, not with the surplus of healers on standby, but rather the possibility he became ill due to the Draconic Kingdom's lacking hospitality. Diplomatic crises came in countless forms, and none were enjoyable to settle. "I'll call for a—"
"You needn't bother; Oriculia Castle has servants dedicated to handling these tasks, doesn't it?" Jircniv scowled again, pale hands twitching towards his stomach. "I believe we can continue at another time, Queen Oriculus. In the meanwhile, you have other guests to prepare for, no? A festival too."
'Is he kicking me out of the apartments I own? Well, having the 'hag' observe his stomach pains might worsen the affliction,' she refused to let her face reflect the bemused mirth tickling inside. "Very well. May tomorrow find you in improved spirits, Emperor El-Nix. I'll spare your nerves the horrors of further dialogue."
Her interlocutor covered a pained expression with one hand and bid her goodbye with the other. Draudillon rose from the opposing couch, feet treading the floor with a small pep as two of the three Gatekeepers trailed beside.
A cursory glance at a hallway clock informed the dragon queen noon had yet to arrive, although another half-hour would see Yuriko popping out of nowhere asking about having lunch together.
'It'll be nice being the one doing the reminding every once in a while,' the Royal Chefs were busy, but Draudillon was included in their 'busy,' so having a meal brought to them wouldn't be needlessly distracting. She couldn't expect Yuriko to cook everyday, anyhow. 'Parleying with that Kista girl can wait.'
Decision made, course charted, and resolve gathered, the dragon queen turned around and questioned Gatekeeper Number Three:
"Where's your summoner?"
