Chapitre 52: Chapter 52: Troubles In The West (2/2)
Leon is given a single ship and a crew comprised of soldiers from the 422nd, with an additional squadron of Armors to play support. And nothing else.
He protests to this, of course– a literal army was defeated, what hope would the reincarnate have on his own? A legitimate concern that Queen Myelen understands all too well. And with the near total loss of two Royal Army regiments, the personal forces of a Marquis, and the likely annihilation of all the remaining forces belonging to the border lords, the problem has grown too big to be ignored– thus a marshaling of the Royal Army would be done properly in the event Leon somehow fails.
But simply readying the Royal Army to deal with an internal problem would attract attention, and not all of it good. Enemies within and without would see this as a moment of weakness to exploit. And if they did, then the Kingdom's response would not be as strong as it could be.
So the marshaling would be slow and gradual as to avoid suspicion. Leon wouldn't be let completely without support, but it wouldn't be as much as he would hope for given the circumstances of their marshaling. If he absolutely has to call for help, he will have it… but not much.
"I am sorry Leon, but this is best the Kingdom can spare with the limitations imposed upon us as well as the time limit." Mylene says. "You will have to do what you can in the meantime."
"I've managed miracles with less." he grunts. "I will do what I can with this. My thanks, Your Highness."
With that, he is excused from the palace. But he doesn't immediately go back to the Academy. No, he first pays a visit to the Royal army headquarters and meets with the 422nd Regiment Commander to ask some questions in a secure setting. The answers he has confirms Mylene's orders, and he promises first dibs on the upcoming shipment of new guns as well as teachers to properly use them in exchange for getting the best ship, crew, and Armor squadron to help him.
He gets the 422nd's flagship, it's crew, and his old vanguard unit from the Carkus and Lura campaigns. Leon manages to restrain himself from damn near throwing himself on his commander and kissing him out of sheer relief– it would've been hell if had to work with newbies.
Leon buys him and the whole unit booze before actually heading back to the Academy where he gathers his men and gives them orders to fulfil until he comes back. Mainly continuing monitoring duties as well as maintaining the peace from the shadows. In particular, he assigns Davian and Harold on babysitting duty for the three girls whom he's friends with; a tasking that has the entire ensemble teasing and jeering good naturedly.
The reincarnate still runs them ragged afterwards though, just to spite them.
Before he leaves, he arranges a quick tea party to tell the three girls about the situation– leaving out the most important details regarding his deployment.
They're smart, reasonable, and mature enough– he's sure it won't turn into anything bad.
=X=X=X=X=X=
//"They attempted to stop you from leaving, didn't they?"//
"No." comes the lie, and Hustler One temporarily disconnects from its Nines Kugel guise to laugh at him. "Shut up, damn it."
//"I would apologize, but we both know that would be insincere."// the A.I almost cackles at its nemesis' predicament. //"Did they grab at you and try to keep you in place out of understandable worry? Who lunged at you and held you down, Olivia or Clarice?"//
"You bugged the Academy somehow, didn't you?" Leon grumbles. "Your damn guesses are too accurate to actually be guesses."
//"It would be foolish of me to not place means of surveillance in a place as important as the Academy."// Hustler One snorts. //"Were you able to make a clean getaway, at least?"//
"Yeah, I got away. It was only Olivia that got a little too clingy, but Angelica and Clarice didn't look too happy about things either. I just know they'll give me hell when I get back, but I'm ready for it." he sighs. "I don't see why they're so worried– I survived two wars and killed a king in single combat, plus they have no idea about what's going on in the west. This isn't my first rodeo."
//"The fact that you have to withhold information in the first place is already suspect, moreso since the Kingdom wouldn't have deployed you without good cause."//
"I nearly killed a prince. That's enough reason for them to deploy me anywhere they damn well want."
//"You are also a war hero and two-time kingdom conqueror with significant ties to the military. The crown cannot simply send you to do menial work."// Hustler One retorts. //"Think of the insult that would mean to the Royal Army– that one of their best was made to do something so insultingly simple."//
"Whatever." Leon huffs. "At any rate, I'm already en-route to the affected site. How's the Wayne girl's request looking?"
//"The Chariot is just about to reach Wayne territory, so we will see."// the A.I hums. //"She is understandably nervous, and is currently pacing at the bow of the ship."//
"Don't stop her, she needs a way to vent the energy." Leon advises. "Anything else to report?"
//"I have the Seberg and Field heirs aboard. Apparently, they accepted the request I posted in the Adventurer's Guild about needed temporary bodyguards with Armor piloting experience."// Hustler adds. //"They will be piloting the spare Combat MTs I have stored should a battle break out. It will be a good opportunity to make them… disappear if need be."//
"...where are they in the Chariot?"
//"Currently bickering at the door to the bridge. From what I can hear, they are debating whether or not to ask about you and how 'Nines Kugel' is affiliated with you."//
"Hmm… you have my permission to share what you think is safe to share. And don't off them yet– they might still be useful."
//I understand. I will talk to you later then, once I have dealt with the Wayne issue and the two heirs."//
"Gotcha. Don't do anything stupid, Hustler."
The A.I does a digital equivalent of an eyeroll and disconnects. It reconnects with its Nines Kugel guise and gets out of the captain's chair with a sigh, stomping noisily to the door and quieting the two heirs' discussion. Before they can flee, the doors open and Hustler bears down on them– muscular arms crossed and expression pointed.
Greg Fou Seberg and Brad Fou Field stammer, embarrassed at having been caught. Hustler rolls its android form's eyes and grabs them, hauling them into the bridge.
"The two of you have been gossipping right outside my bridge for too long." Hustler One tells them. "If you had a question you wanted to ask so badly, then ask. I am no maneater– anything reasonable won't have you thrown out a window."
"W-We knew that!" Greg tries to laugh off. "We were just… testin' ya'! Y'know, to see if you were as sharp as your muscles!" the young man flexes. "Rragh! A little 'Haaagh!' And maybe–"
"Field." Hustler One asks.
"I'm sorry for Greg's behalf." the other Founding Heir sighs, disappointed. "I had hoped he was smarter than that. We were actually debating on who would speak to you regarding your… employer."
"What is there to speak of?" Hustler shrugs, moving its Nines Kugel guise to sit back in the captain's chair. "He is my employer. He pays me well, treats me with respect, and I do whatever tasks he assigns me with to the best of my ability. No more, no less." the android tilts its head to the side. "If you are thinking I could be persuaded to share secrets in the hopes of you winning a rematch, then you are very much mistaken."
"W-We weren't!" Field backpedals.
"Y-Yeah! We lost to 'im fair and square, and he… even handicapped himself." Greg winces. "Four on one and he still won, fuckin'..."
"The four wet-behind-the-ears noble boys who had no real combat experience lost to a veteran of two wars. How surprising." Hustler makes sure to say with sarcasm dripping off every word. "Well, if it's not a secret you're after, then what did you want to talk to me about?"
"...we wanted to get a proper gauge of his character through you." Field admits, almost ashamed. "We would have, should have, done it sooner in the Academy but after we were disinherited and stripped of our titles we have been busy keeping ourselves and Marie afloat with repeated dungeon dives. Our association with Julius only further dampens our efforts."
"Can't blame 'em. As good as his reasons were, hitting a girl hard enough to snap a tooth is too far." Greg grunts, guiltily looking down.
"You are still associating yourselves with him?" Hustler asks, its android form's brow arching. "Cutting off ties with him would open better prospects or all of you, though gradually and slowly."
"Yeah, but…" Greg, ruffles his hair. "We've known each other since we were kids, man. We took the plunge together, we'll live with the consequences together– all for one and one for all."
"Indeed. He may not be the most… chivalrous individual, but he is our companion. We shan't abandon him." Brad nods.
"I see." Hustler One nods. They were loyal, if nothing else. "But does your lady know of his transgressions?"
The two Founding Heirs trade uncertain looks. That alone makes the A.I is the gynoid sigh, both in cyberspace and physically.
"Do either of you know how relationships are supposed to work?" Hustler One asks. "It is not simply liking someone and showering them with gifts as well as praise."
"It isn't?" / "It isn't?" both mongoloids blink.
"Saint above, how on earth have none of you been seduced out of your riches before this? Your disconnect with reality is stunning." Hustler shakes its head. "You think keeping quiet about Julius' stupidity would forever hide it from Lafan? There were other people present for the duel, and many witnesses to the scene– one way or another, she will find out. And when she does, she will hate you for it; moreso due to the kind of secret you're hiding."
"Julius made a mistake–" Brad starts, but Hustler One is having none of it.
"He hit a woman when he was enraged." the A.I points out. "Having done that once, there is a possibility that he can do it again."
"No way he would!" Greg argues. "And even if he does, we'll be there to punish him!"
"That's still quite the big risk, and one Lafan is likely not to take." Hustler snorts. "You are Founding Heirs, poised to be the future of the Kingdom. Disinherited or not, you are still expected to uphold some measure of maturity. So be mature for once and consider things from others' perspectives."
"W-We did! Our choice factored in dear Marie feelings!" Brad protests. "In fact, it is her that inspired us to make this choice! Through all the time we've known her, she's never looked at us any less despite the parts of ourselves that we've shown her! Surely, if she could accept those things then she can accept Julius' lapse in self-control!"
"There is a significant difference between showing her your hidden sides and revealing that you are capable of violence on women simply for getting in the way." Hustler asks.
The boys open their mouths to speak, but no words come out.
"I suggest you tell your lady the truth before she finds out on her own." Hustler tells them. "At least then her trust in you would only be minimally affected."
Before anything else can be said, either by the A.I or the two boys, the door to the bridge opens as a sailor rushes in.
"Captain, spotters have eyes on the Wayne Estate." he says, swallowing heavily. "And… it's not good."
=X=X=X=X=X=
Scorched rubble of her house.
Settled ashes of her happy life.
The stink of decaying bodies.
These are what greet Carla Fou Wayne when she steps off the Chariot of Summer the moment it finishes docking. Her home baronetcy reduced to little more than rubble that reeks of decay, destroyed by some terrible force of nature.
Captain Nines sends his crew out to investigate while the bodyguards are told to form a perimeter around the docked vessel, ordered not to loot anything lest they would like their pay cut and handed to the constabularies. The Armors onboard are deployed, boxy things on four legs bristling with guns and cannons, forming a protective detail around her and the captain as they lead a group to the Wayne Manse. Or what's left of it.
They pass a small settlement on their way to the manse, and behold a scene of carnage. Men, women, and children laying dead all over the street– slashed, stabbed, and shot. Some of the intact houses have their doors kicked off, its inhabitants slain before they could flee.
"The way these bodies are positioned suggest that they were gunned down while they ran." one of the hired guards comment, kneeling beside one the stiff bodies laid on the ground. "The poor souls."
"And the stink tells me that they have been dead for quite a while– a few days at least." Captain Nines adds, reaching into his pocket to offer Carla a kerchief. "Take it. The smell will only get worse the further in we go."
Carla looks at the offered kerchief, then at the captain's sympathetic look. She pushes the hand away as she walks forward.
"No." she finds herself saying, voice hollow and heart resigned. "I… I want to see them."
She doesn't hear the order to move forward, doesn't feel the tremor of Armors stomping on the ground as they move with the group towards the Wayne Manse. She just– s-she just wants to see her family.
The walk from the settlement to the manse doesn't take too long, barely a few minutes. But she sees the manse well before she arrives there with Lord Bartford's men; or rather the distinct lack of a manse. She came here to check on her loved ones, one way or another.
Carla moves with slow resignation, eventually reaching the outside of the Wayne manse. The sturdy wrought iron gates have been crushed by some giant boot, and sprawled all over the front lawn of her former home lay the bodies of her father's retinue. Soldiers who were regularly invited to eat with the family, whose children Carla knew by name.
She walks past them to what remains of her house's front entrance and foyer. There are four bodies there, three crushed by the weight of the house collapsing on them and one at the foot of the steps– a round man with a mustache and gripping a rifle in his hands.
Henry Fou Wayne.
"A-Ah…" Carla manages to speak through her tears and sobs. "N-No wonder… my letters were never answered… I-I doubt they even reached you…"
The tears come, hot and heavy, as Carla's heart shatters.
=X=X=X=X=X=
"...who could have done this?" Brad Fou Field finds himself asking. "The Waynes may have served the Olfreys once, but they were never complicit in their dealings. And they moved to a new island to start over. What wrong did they do to deserve this?"
He watches as the distraught Baronet is escorted back to the ship alongside the bodies of her family. They would be buried here, while the commoners would be given a sky burial– cremated and their ashes carried with the wind.
Captain Kugel said the island did not have the space to hold so many bodies at once, and it wouldn't do well to have a massive grave for future settlers to contend with.
The cold, calculating logic had infuriated Greg, but Brad calmed him down. As cold as that statement might have been, it wasn't incorrect– the Wayne girl would need the land to rebuild.
"She doesn't have the mental fortitude to think properly right now." the muscular man had said. "Let her grieve in peace."
"It's still not right!" Greg protested. "This is her land, it should be her choice!"
"By the time she calms down, the bodies would start to rot. No, they're already rotting." Kugel points out, expression cold and tone blunt. "If she wants to lash out at me for making a choice for her, she can do so after she's calmed down."
Neither Founding Heir had anything to say in response.
Now the hired bodyguards are helping the crew of the Chariot as they sift the ruins of the island looking for survivors or more remains. Some gather the dead, gingerly hauling them off the ground and setting them in wagons to be carried off for burial preparation while they tally names.
Some, like the one Brad and Greg, are tasked with escorting crewmen who examine the bodies of those that attacked the island. They were easy enough to distinguish– being entirely mechanical and all.
It… It looks like a human being, with a pair of arms and a pair of legs. It has a torso, a mid-section, and a lower body. But that is where all its similarities with the ordinary human ends. It has no skin, revealing lines of musculature not unlike a flayed animal. Its 'flesh' is made of metal, or at least something not at all organic– cold to the touch and dense like meat but tougher and more rigid. It has metal studs, braces, and linings inlaid onto its form in places that makes Brad think of tendons.
It has no face. No, it has a face but it wasn't a human face. Where humans and even demi-humans had eyes and ears and a mouth and nose, these things lack that– their faces featureless save for a single lifeless eye that gleams like glass under the light.
"What are these things?" Greg asks, poking at the leg of the automaton. "Never seen automatons like these before. Who could've made them?"
"That's what we're trying to figure out." the crewman sighs, exasperated. "These things obviously look too advanced for any of the neighboring countries to make. Maybe some kind of sky pirate force? A bandit army? Either way, the sooner we figure this out the sooner we can find the perpetrator behind this tragedy."
"Not that I'm against it– complete opposite, really; super hopin' you'd find out the bastards behind this." Greg says. "But how're you gonna figure out who made these things? It's not like these things come with a name and sender!"
"They don't, no. But they do have an internal component in them that'll tell us where they used to be and what they did within the last… seven days or so, I think?" the crewman muses. "Yeah, seven days. We have mages here that can cast a spell to scry it. From there, we figure out where to go."
"Such a spell exists?" Brad blinks. "Saint above, that is invaluable for intelligence gathering!"
"It is. Sadly, it's a bloodline magic– meaning we cannot freely teach it." the crewman shrugs, turning back to the automaton. "Thankfully, these things are inactive so it'll be easy for us to dismantle them and get that component out."
Then, the automaton's head turns to the crew member.
//"Too bad I'm still active, huh?"// the thing buzzes.
Brad, Greg, and the crewman stare at it as it sits up and punches its fist through the crewman's chest. Screams and alarmed yells echo out as more automatons reactivate and start killing people.
-------------------------
Reposter Note: The author is back and they posted two chapters to make up for the absence; donate power stones to support this fanfic on Webnovel and check out the OG author in either Spacebattles or AO3, their username is Slug_Sling.
État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
-- Classement
Power Stone 
-- Power
stone