Chapitre 51: Chapter 51: Troubles In The West (1/2)
"Your Highness, Lord Bartford has arrived."
Mylene looks up and smiles at her maid as she clears up her table and brings out a copy of the two reports she had read through.
"Thank you, Eumelia." the Queen says. "Send him in, and prepare us some coffee. I suspect we will be here for a while."
"I will never understand how you would like that beverage." the maid pouts. "It's all dark and bitter, not at all like tea. And it's so much less… refined as well."
"I suppose you'd need a specific palate for it." Mylene giggles. "Go on now, Eumelia."
The maid giggles back and bows before scurrying off. Eumelia is one of the older maids under her employ, now entering her eighth year of service. She had been among those present when Angelica had willingly joined the royal maid corps in preparation for her future role as Queen.
The memory brought a pang of hurt and bittersweet nostalgia to Mylene, who had been so sure that she would become a fine ruler by Julius' side. Oh, how naive she'd been then…
She shakes the feelings off and focuses back on the present. The reports she has, contains details of the young man's future campaign to appease the crown of his transgressions while also affirming his loyalty to the kingdom– that his lapse in judgement and focus hadn't been anything more than his emotions taking over as hot-blooded youths were prone to do. She has faith in his abilities as a warrior and Armor pilot, but…
The door opens and all thoughts leave Mylene's mind as the young man is led in.
"Announcing, Viscount Leon Fou Bartford." a maid announces as the youth in question enters and bows.
"I have arrived as ordered, Your Majesty." he says.
"Rise, Bartford, and sit. Your Queen would charge you with a duty in recompense for your transgressions against the crown, however understandable the circumstances behind it are." Mylene nods, watching him stand and do as he is told. "How are things at the Academy, if I may ask?"
"Well, My Queen. No-one's causing any further issues and the noble daughters affected by the fiasco have more or less settled back down to normalcy." Leon reports. "Angelica, Clarice, and Olivia remain good friends despite recent events. Angelica's calmed down and Clarice has cut down on the drinking at Olivia's behest, though I did have to make some allowances for Clarice."
"...has she become an–?!" Mylene gasps.
"No, no, not at all. My men and I have managed to stop her from getting hooked, but she's developed quite a… strong liking for alcohol." Leon winces. "She's getting better, but it's touch and go for the time being."
"The poor dear…" Mylene murmurs, worried. "Does her father know?"
"He was the first to be informed of the situation, and he's since asked that I continue to look after his daughter. He even offered to reimburse me for any expenditures, but I saw no reason to take it." Leon smiles, fond. "Clarice might be many things, but she's worth supporting. Besides, my boys like her so I see no reason to deprive them of a friend."
Mylene looks at him and has to do a double take. For a moment, the lighting made him look older and so much wiser…
"...you are a good man, Leon." Mylene tells him, tone sincere. "I do hope you will continue being such."
"I will endeavor to do so, My Queen." he nods.
"Good." she nods back and pauses as a maid enters and hands them a tray laden with snacks and coffee. "Please have some. I understand coffee is one of your favorite beverages."
"Oh, it is." he chirps, and Mylene giggles at the show of enthusiasm as he takes a cup and brings it up– first to inhale deeply of its scent then taking a light sip. "Ahh, delicious southern beans. Roasted only hours ago and ground finely for maximum flavor extraction. You know your coffee very well, Your Highness."
"I have you to thank for it. Your 'Coffee Party' attracted quite a following among the upper nobility, myself included." she grins.
"Do I have your permission to open coffee houses in the capital?" the young man all but bounces, and Mylene can't stop the giggle escaping her mouth. "You and those you bring with you will get free drinks and all the snacks you can eat."
This time the Queen doesn't quite manage to stop the laughter that filters out past her lips. Light and airy, with genuine happiness and bubbly excitement so unbefitting of her age. It's not proper and the coming campaign she would be assigning the young man across from would dampen the mood immediately, but she can't help herself– chances like this to relax and genuinely enjoy herself as Mylene rather than Queen of Holfort.
Such innocent interactions bring her back to her childhood, which feels like a lifetime ago now. Oh, to return to those carefree halcyon days of her youth…
"I will be sure to take you up on that offer then, Leon. I could always do with a fresh brew by a good barista." Mylene says, then sighs reluctantly. "But I think we've dallied long enough."
"Yes, My Queen." he nods back, immediately shifting from laid back student to hardened war hero. "What would you have me do to forgive my transgressions against the crown?"
She hands him the first report copy and he dutifully takes it.
"Do you remember your conquest of the Pocket Kingdom of Lura?" Mylene starts. "Following its conclusion, auditors from the Crown were sent in to assess the gains from its palace. Those same auditors combed through Luran records and found something hidden under it; an immense cavern holding a Lost Item."
She sees Leon flip a page to reveal drawings and rough measurements of the Lost Item in question. Humanoid construct of metal as tall as two Armors, with three structures that were twice as tall as the construct itself and half again as wide as their widest point. The young man's gaze sharpens at the image as he reads the details.
"The Luran archives describe it as the 'Weeping Angel', a name attributed to it by the founders of the Pocket Kingdom– having found it by following the sound of its crying." Mylene explains. "Furthermore, it is responsible for inspiring the Luran engineers into developing their Armors the way they did; the heavy emphasis on defensive and quality likely being drawn by the Lost Item's own form and make. Of course, its discovery was immediately hushed up and arrangements were made to transport it to the Royal Palace where it would be kept alongside other dangerous Lost Items in the Great Vault."
"I see." Leon nods, still going over every bit of information he had before him. "I suppose it plays a key role in my campaign?"
"Correct." Mylene confirms. "With the efforts of multiple mages and several hundred construction workers, a tunnel of sufficient size was excavated over the course of a year to allow for the transfer of the Weeping Angel onto a vessel bearing the Royal Coat of Arms. That vessel was found on an island floating in the northern territory; its hull wrecked, its crew slain to a man, and its cargo stolen."
"The voyage from the Luran capital to here wouldn't have taken too long if the direct route was taken." Leon squints at the report as he reads on. "Even if they had the full travel plans, no one would have been able to assemble a sufficient force to stage an ambush and haul the Lost Item."
"Indeed. My people are certain that there were no leaks in our midst– which means this was a coincidence. Making it ever more dangerous." Mylene nods. "Additionally, the vessel did not take the direct route– following Julius' defeat, orders were relayed to the ship's captain; avoid high-risk areas. This included the territories that covered the most direct route due to them being supporters that lost face following the duel."
"Ah, that explains it." Leon nods. "And so the vessel was diverted."
"They remained in the northern territories, but took a westward route to skirt around several suspect territories." Mylene says. "Which brings me to your secondary assignment; reclaim the 'Weeping Angel' Lost Item and return it to the crown or destroy it if recovery proves unfeasible."
"I would have quite a vast area to cover in my search." he muses. "The Lost Item could be anywhere by now, given how the vessel ferrying it was downed weeks ago. And– secondary, My Queen?"
Mylene hands him the second report copy.
"It's in the western territories." she tells him. "Border lords had sent messengers to the palace requesting assistance from the crown in dealing with three rogue Armors attacking their holdings and inflicting severe casualties– but not pillaging or looting anything."
"They just destroyed the territories and withdrew?" Leon blinks.
"That's what the messengers said. Seeing the potential issues this brings, the Minister of Defense, Marquis Frampton Fia Malcolm, had volunteered to lead a relief force to eliminate these aggressors and bring them to justice." Mylene gestures at the report. "The results were… not very promising."
"He lost badly?" Leon winces as he reads the report. "Ow…"
Mylene sighs and buries her face in her hands. Frampton had led the relief force, comprised of two Royal Army Regiments, five Armor Squadrons, a fleet of twenty-five ships, and his own personal levies numbering half of the total Royal Army force, into the fray– reasoning that the Royal Army's true strength should be saved for more serious matters instead of a mere three rogue Armors. This was further bolstered by whatever surviving forces remained in service to the affected border lords as well as their neighbors.
The full force had numbered well over four-thousand and five-hundred men, seven Armor Squadrons, and thirty-five ships; big enough to rival the Carkussan invasion force. Against any other threat, this should have been total overkill.
Instead, those three rogue Armors proved more than a match for them– with two of them fighting with an animalistic, almost rabid, fervor while last Armor proved coherent enough to order the rabid Armors around. Frampton lost well over a thousand men, three Armor Squadrons, and ten ships before realizing how dangerous the threats before him were.
He took personal command and led the force properly, displaying his strategic and tactical acumen enough to turn the tide against the Armors– even downing one of the rabid ones.
Then the Weeping Angel took to the field.
"...it used magic?" Leon almost demands.
"The surviving mages of the relief force confirmed it– the Weeping Angel could harness the ambient mana in its environment to cast devastating spells. The likes of which no-one could replicate." Mylene sighs, face still buried in her hands. "Beams of destruction that cored through ships and detonated their magazines. Streams of flame so hot as to melt Armors caught in its path. Blizzards so strong that men were impaled by icicles, frozen where they stood, or outright flung off the island. It was catastrophic enough that Frampton was forced to retreat."
"Only after losing almost the entirety of the relief force." Leon hisses as he reads up the rest of the report. "Three-thousand men dead, thirty Armors and pilots downed, twenty-eight ships sunk– this is unacceptable."
"Believe me, I and other members of the court made our dissatisfaction clear as well." Mylene grumbles into her hands before looking back up at him. "It was only due to the nature of the enemy he faced as well as the appearance of the Weeping Angel that he continues to retain his position as Minister of Defense."
Leon's expression sours as he glares at the report in his hands. Mylene understands, truly, and in any other circumstance she would have left this to the Royal Army and its generals to handle. But the presence of an active Lost Item, and one as powerful as the Weeping Angel, leaves her with no other choice.
"Thus, your primary assignment." she tells him. "The complete elimination of the rogue Armors threatening the western territories."
=X=X=X=X=X=
"I don't like this Greg." the pretty boy beside him says. "This feels too dangerous."
"C'mon twinkle toes– where's your sense of adventure? Your courage?" the Seberg heir challenges. "We've been given a task by our dearest Marie herself! Find a source of income while the dungeon's closed for maintenance over the vacation period and keep the Dia coming in until it reopens properly!"
"Still, I think going on some kind of voyage feels too much…" the scaredy cat continues, fingering the edge of his robes. "We barely have any supplies to our name, low quality weapons, no Armors… what would we even be doing if we were to be boarded?"
"We handle it! I thought you were the smart one in our bunch?" Greg snorts. "Geez, if I knew you were this fussy I'd have asked Jilk to come with me– at least he'd have something helpful to say!"
"What I'm saying is helpful!" Brad argues as the two of them reach the capital's airship docks. "I know you're not a complete dolt Greg– I remember you going out with the Ravens on a dungeon dive at the start of the school year! You must have learned things from them about preparation!"
"I did, relax! Look, we accepted a bodyguard job for a ship doing its maiden voyage– the trip lasts just long enough to fill the time between the start and end of the vacation period." Greg explains, shoulders shrugging almost carelessly. "We stand around and look tough, fight off whatever nuisances decide to try us, do a quick voyage to the western territories, and head home just in time for school to start back up! Piece of cake!"
"I wish I had your optimism for everything, Greg." Brad sighs, but he's smiling. "Still, the simplicity of your explanation does wonders to soothe my fears. You are correct– this endeavor should pose little issue for us."
"That's the spirit!" Greg laughs. "Moreover, we got Marie praying for us! Whatever obstacle we'll be facing here won't stand a chance!"
They round a corner and come upon their destination; the Chariot of Summer. An eighty meter long cruiser, its construction implies an older hull that's undergone significant renovations. Gone are the broadside starboard gunports– in their place are eight turrets with angle armor and a pair of naval guns jutting out; longer and narrower than any naval gun either Founding Heir had seen before. And this was just one side of the ship, the other must be similar as well.
On the dock right next to the ship itself is a small line of men and women– their gear and postures revealing them to be adventurers. They take turns walking to a table and filling up a form before a small bag is given to them.
"...what is going on here?" Brad wonders.
"Ah! Lord Field! Lord Seberg!" a voice greets, and both young men turn to see a young woman with dark blue hair rush over to them. "I-I didn't expect to see either of you here!"
"...who are you?" Greg blinks.
"A-Ah, my apologies. I'm Carla, Carla Fou Wayne." she curtsies. "I was on my way aboard the Chariot of Summer after having procured Captain Nine's order of snacks." she shows them the aforementioned snacks– a variety of freshly baked breads and buns. "D-Did you happen to accept a request for a bodyguard position on it at the Adventurer's Guild?"
"We did, yes." Brad nods, glancing at the lines. "But this is… peculiar."
"Oh, yes– this was Captain Nines' idea. The Adventurers that accepted the request are entitled to receive half the advertised payment upfront here, though that would necessitate them setting foot on the vessel and not being allowed to leave until the request is completed." the girl explains.
"Huh. A little brave of 'im to be doing that." Greg notes. "Wait, you know this guy?"
"I do! H-He's one of Lord Bartford's followers!" the girl nods. "He and the Chariot of Summer are under Lord Bartford's command."
Both Founding Heirs pale.
"B-Bartford's on this ship as well?" Brad asks.
"No, he is… preoccupied with something else." she winces. "I-I will explain everything later, but I must be going before these snacks get cold."
"No need, little Carla." a new voice says. "I shall take them myself."
All three youths jump and spin to the speaker, a seven foot tall man of muscle wearing a white tank top under a sleeveless coat, and tough pants. He reaches down and plucks the basket out of the girls' hands and takes a deep whiff, sighing contentedly.
"I love the scent of freshly baked goods." he rumbles, pleased. "Thank you for the effort, young lady."
"O-Of course, sir!" she squeaks.
The man nods at her, then turns to the Founding Heirs– looming over them with intensity that has them swallowing wads of spit and an air of danger that reminds them so much of Leon during their duel. But they hold their ground beneath his piercing red-eyed glare, unwilling to give an inch even though their instincts scream at them to flee.
Suddenly the intensity slackens and the air lightens up.
"Good. I wouldn't have allowed you on my ship if you showed any hint of indecision." the man nods approvingly. "I am Nines Kugel, captain of the Chariot of Summer and loyal follower of Viscount Leon Fou Bartford– future Earl of Holfort. I suppose you are here for the bodyguard position onboard?"
"Y-Yes. Yes we a-are." Brad stammers.
"Good, good; the registration tables are over there and you will receive half of your payment by confirming you've signed up." the giant of a man rumbles, plucking a bun and damn near chomping it in half with one bite. "Once done, you will be given a room number. Head aboard and find it– they will be your place of residence for the voyage. I hope to see you aboard soon, boys. Carla, come along. We have things to discuss."
"Yes, C-Captain Nines." the girl swallows. "Lord Seberg, Lord Field."
The two Founding Heirs watch the pair go, minds still trying to process what just happened.
État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
-- Classement
Power Stone 
-- Power
stone