“Of course not. Preposterous.”
Eleanor’s tone didn’t waver, but she did break eye contact as she spoke. That, Cedric knew, was one of her tells─in other words, a sure sign that she was lying. The duke heaved a sigh.
“Well, in any case, I must admit that there’s reason to my daughter’s words,” Cedric said. “Summerforth has fallen into an age of strife and bloodshed, and even as conflicts have played out all across the continent, none of the seven duchies has been able to win a decisive victory over any of the others for decades on end. We’ve been locked in a state of stalemate─a stalemate that Missian has now broken. If we fail to intervene, then there’s no telling how mighty Missian will grow.”
“I agree wholeheartedly. Which, I should note, is an earnest opinion not at all informed by any desire to go into battle against a worthy foe.”
“Please stop talking, Eleanor,” Cedric groaned. Lying was not among his daughter’s talents.
“But wait─Missian is a threat, yes, but no one will benefit more from their defeat than Ansel!” one of the lords exclaimed.
“Th-That’s true! The Imperial Family may hope to use this as an opportunity to restore their power and influence! This could end with Ansel controlling both Missian and Seitz, which would put us in just as untenable a position as Missian’s victory would!” another chimed in to oppose Eleanor’s opinion.
An equal number of the gathered lords, however, were in favor of her plan. A heated debate ensued.
“I will lead a force of ten thousand men and join the effort to defeat Missian,” Eleanor eventually declared. “If they prove unable to resist the combined might of the duchies and are weakened to the point they lose their grip upon Seitz, then my father and brother can lead the rest of our army to attack Ansel. Rofeille’s losses will be minimal, while Ansel will have surely expended tremendous resources fighting Missian. Our victory will be assured.”
“I see,” one of the lords muttered. “Her Ladyship leading a small force could solve everything…”
“We’d deal a blow to Missian, and maybe even earn a chance to catch Ansel unawares and claim their territory!” said another.
All around, the lords seemed taken with Eleanor’s proposal. The combined force being assembled would be a very large one, though, and some seemed to question whether or not a mere ten thousand soldiers would be enough to make any real difference.
“Lady Eleanor is our Goddess of War,” said one of the lords. “Ten thousand men under her command will be a force so mighty, Missian will never know what hit it!”
Although Eleanor was only sixteen years old, she had led troops into battle on numerous occasions and emerged victorious each and every time. Hence the name some had taken to calling her: the Goddess of War. In recent times, that name had spread far beyond the borders of Rofeille, and was now known all across Summerforth.
“I trust you won’t object, Father?” asked Eleanor.
“I suppose not…but I can’t see this as anything more or less than you creating a convenient excuse to go to war,” Cedric replied.
“Perish the thought. I care only for the future of Rofeille and House Breind,” Eleanor declared definitively. That, at least, seemed to be the earnest truth.
“Then we will indeed join in the conference. As duke, it is my duty to fulfill that role,” said Cedric.
“No─I will go,” Eleanor interjected, raising her hand in the air. “If I’m the one who’ll be going into battle, then I should make myself known to the other duchies beforehand.”
“Y-You’ll go yourself, Your Ladyship?” a lord chimed in.
“It might be dangerous!” said another. “It could even be a trap!”
“If it’s a trap, then all the more reason not to send my father marching into it. I’m confident that there is no trap I cannot evade.”
“Hmm…” Cedric muttered, mulling over the matter. “Very well, then. I entrust all matters related to the suppression of Missian to you, Eleanor.”
“Understood,” Eleanor replied with a quick nod.
Rofeille’s course was decided, and the meeting adjourned.
“Eleanor!”
The moment the meeting was over, Eleanor had set off toward the training grounds. As she walked through the castle’s hallways, however, a voice rang out from behind her.
“What is it, Brother?” Eleanor replied, not breaking stride for so much as an instant.
The voice was indeed that of her brother, Gart Breind. Gart was the eldest son of House Breind, and was considered to be the next in line to become the Duke of Rofeille. He was twenty-five years old and had short, red hair, with a face that resembled his father’s and a muscular build that made him look quite strong, at a glance.
“I won’t allow you to join up with the other duchies’ armies! I’ll go instead!” Gart insisted as he sped up to match Eleanor’s pace.
“No you won’t,” Eleanor snapped back. “You will stay behind in Rofeille, prepared to strike at Ansel after I’ve dealt the killing blow to Missian.”
“Let Father do that! How could I let my little sister go into battle alone?! Can you even imagine how worried I’ll─”
“Brother? You’re annoying me. Stop.”
“A-Annoying you?!” Gart bellowed, reeling back in shock before crumpling to his knees. Gart’s overprotective attachment to his sister bordered on the pathologic, and the mere suggestion that she found him irritating was enough to all but shatter his psyche.
Eleanor, of course, paid no attention to her fallen brother whatsoever and just kept walking.
“W-Wait!” Gart shouted as he sprang to his feet once more and pursued her.
“Weren’t you finished?” Eleanor coldly replied.
“I’ve been looking into Missian ever since I learned that they’d subjugated Seitz,” said Gart.
“Oh.”
“We don’t share a border with Missian, so there wasn’t much need for me to learn about them until recently, but the fall of Seitz changed matters. Among everything I’ve learned, one point stands out: one of Missian’s lords is a capable individual who’s gathered the top talents from all across the duchy to serve under his banner and used them with incredible skill. He’s the one responsible for the airship’s invention, and for Missian’s rise to power.”
“He gathers and uses those with talent?” Eleanor repeated, coming to a stop. She hadn’t expressed any interest at all in her brother’s words up to that point, but now, he had her attention.
“That’s right─and he’s only fifteen years old. His name is Ars Louvent, apparently.”
“Ars Louvent. And he’s younger than me?”
“Indeed. I have to admit, his achievements are stunning. His airship led Missian to victory in the war with Seitz, of course, but that isn’t even the half of it. He fought Seitz before as well, and fended off an army eighty thousand strong with only twenty thousand men of his own.”
“Oh?”
“That’s the sort of foe you’re going to be up against. Even Rofeille’s ever-invincible Goddess of War might lose to a man like him. How can I help but worry?” said Gart. The way he spoke made his words come across as a warning.
“If someone that capable lives in Missian, I’m more excited to invade it than ever,” Eleanor said, once again deaf to her brother’s words of concern.
“H-Hey! I’m serious about this!”
“No need to worry, Brother. I can’t be beaten,” said Eleanor. “And this man, Ars Louvent… If he’s as useful as you’re making him sound, I’ll leave him alive and drag him back to Rofeille with me.”
Eleanor set off once more. Gart, meanwhile, resigned himself to the fact that she wasn’t about to be convinced and heaved a deep, tired sigh.
○
Harval was a small town in a remote region of Seitz. Located in the duchy’s western reaches, the town had been built by the coast and had done very little growing ever since. It was not, however, entirely unworthy of note for the former duke, Ashude, had been granted dominion over the region following his abdication and now ruled as its lord. Killing or banishing Ashude would have risked sparking riots and rebellions all across the duchy, so Missian’s rulers had chosen to let him while away his years in obscurity instead.
Ashude, however, still had all the connections he’d forged during his time on the throne─including connections with lords who now had the ear of the new king, Kyle. His influence over Seitz had, in fact, hardly changed at all. It helped that Kyle himself was a craftsman by nature, more interested in creating works of art and patronizing artists than he was in matters of statecraft. In fact, he had no interest in politics or warfare at all, and had kept them at arms’ length up until his recent ascension to the throne.
At first, Kyle had refused to accept the crown. It was only after his beloved art collection had been held hostage that he’d begrudgingly agreed to take up the position. His reluctance was a virtue in the eyes of Missian’s rulers, who believed that a king like him would make keeping Seitz under their thumb a simple task. Kyle, however, had proven so disinterested in politics that he’d entrusted all of his duties to his retainers─and they, in turn, allowed Ashude to exert tremendous influence over the fledgling kingdom, even from his new home in the outlands.
“I believe it’s time,” Ashude muttered to himself. He left his estate, made his way into town, and stepped into a particular bar.
The moment the bar’s owner recognized Ashude, he jogged up to the former duke in a fluster. “Right this way,” he said, leading Ashude into a private chamber─then opening up a trapdoor within that chamber and leading him underground. Ashude passed through a long, dimly lit corridor before arriving in a rather large room, at the center of which sat a round table.
This was a space that Ashude had had created after he became the lord of Harval: a secret chamber in which he could conduct his councils of war. Bringing too many outsiders into his own estate would risk Couran catching wind of his actions, so he’d taken steps to ensure he wasn’t observed when he didn’t want to be.
A number of lords were already seated around the table─all members of Ashude’s inner circle. Boroths was among them, as was Raddas the tactician. Boroths hadn’t been banished from the capital, and in fact remained in a position of great influence over the king.
Ashude took a seat at the table, and the assembled nobles all paused to bow deeply. Though Ashude was, as the lord of a minor town, technically of lower standing than each and every one of them, they still viewed themselves as his loyal servants.