Trapped in Another World With No Magic

Chapter 111: Speculations and Conspiracies

Urmiscole kos Zevlen, son of Count Quarnone kos Zevlen, marches at the fore of the army column alongside the second and third sons of Marquis Klousbauk kos Donnoristo. The two brothers are the leaders of the army in place of their father, who is meeting with King Rikuto for further actions. This marching column consists of five brigades of soldiers numbering 20,000 in total. They are marching to the Grand Duchy of Stalvaltan to verify the status, since messengers and scouts that have gone into the Grand Duchy have not returned.

“Could you believe it if that old hag has finally turned traitor?” asks the elder brother. 

“It’s a wonder it hasn’t happened sooner. You know which family she comes from, right?”

“Of course. She only escaped the noose herself because she was already married.”

“And, she didn’t even plead for her father’s life. Despicable.”

The two brothers chuckle, and the older brother jokes, “As if you would for our father.”

“Not if it meant one of us were to be inheriting the marquisate.” They both chuckle again.

Curious, Urmiscole asks, “Do you mean the Grand Duchess, my lords?”

The younger brother smirks at him deviously. “Not for long, at this rate.”

“If you must know, she has already been suspected of treason by his Majesty. The only question is if she surrenders peacefully to our investigation or tries to fight back. After all, she’s apparently hoarding a secret technology and blackmailing the kingdom for exorbitant funds, which is why the crown’s debt has suddenly skyrocketed.”

Urmiscole nods as he listens, though he finds that last part odd. His cousin is one of the mages that was summoned to the castle, and he heard through her that the project they were working on was extremely expensive, though they had success in its completion.

Also, it doesn’t make sense how a vassal territory could ‘blackmail’ the kingdom for funds. If it’s for defense of the kingdom, it’s usually a give first, and then negotiate payment after victory.

“What is that?” asks the younger brother as he points ahead.

Urmiscole looks to where he’s pointing, and there appears to be simple wooden signs with humongous white faces and large lettering in red. At the top of the signs is a coat of arms that looks to be a female figure with large triangular horns or ears and a large, wide tail. At a glance, it looks like she could be a shenwulf, but it’s different, and it’s only a silhouette.

As they get closer, the words become clear to all three of them, as well as anyone else behind them close enough to read.

“[Warning: You are now entering the Grand Duchy of Stalvaltan, sovereign territory of the Fievegal. By order of her Greatness, Empress Hekate fell Lawson, trespassers and invaders who pass beyond this point will be eliminated. No exceptions. Trespass at your own risk.]”

The two marquis brothers laugh. “Look at that, elder brother! Looks like the Grand Duchess has betrayed the kingdom after all.”

“Indeed. Such a pathetic threat.”

“Didn’t every soldier sent to the Citadel return safely?”

“Yeah. It’s obviously a bluff.” Without even stopping, the brothers keep pace as they march. “We’ll establish camp once we’re within a day’s march to the old capital of the Grand Duchy.”

As they ride, a second pair of signs on either side of the road add another foreboding message. “[Warning: You have trespassed onto Grand Duchy territory. Here begins the true territory of the Fievegal. Go no further. You have been warned.]”

The two brothers chuckle, and the elder brother jokes, “The nerve of these pathetic pacifists. If they really wished to scare us, they would station a dragon here to look all frightening.”

They laugh together again, but something feels off to Urmiscole.

As the ranks are about a third of the way through passing the second signs, a disturbance causes a commotion. Some of the soldiers are crying out, and the ranks are faltering near the middle.

Urmiscole and the younger brother ride their buckrokhs to the location of the disturbance, while the elder brother keeps the army group advancing. 

When they arrive, hundreds of the soldiers are refusing to advance forward, having stopped a few yards before the sign.

“What’s going on here!?” snaps the younger brother.

One of the mid ranking nobles, an older viscount, replies, “It seems one of the soldiers has started a disturbance about the sign, my lord.”

“Who was it!? Present yourself!?”

“My lord! Please don’t force us! We’ll die!”

“You pathetic curs! No one asked your opinion! You are soldiers of the Kingdom of Mornistae! If you do not wish to die, then you will fight and be victorious! All who desert will be hunted down! Now march!”
“You don’t understand my lord! Please!” Many soldiers are begging, but the younger brother snarls, “All soldiers! March forward! If those in front of you won’t move, drag or push them! NOW!”

There’s a moment of hesitation, and he yells, “That means immediately! Do not make me say it again!”

The soldiers in rear hesitantly begin pushing forward, and soldiers in front cry out and yell, trying to turn and flee, but their brothers in arms keep them from deserting.

But, Urmiscole watches as true horror fills the eyes of trained soldiers; horror he has never seen in the eyes of another man.

No sooner do the boots of the front soldiers pass the line between the two identical signs on either side of the road, those most desperately trying to stop the advance, do they simply collapse, as if fainting like a maiden whose corset is too tight. They aren’t dead immediately, but have collapsed under the weight of their kits from a sudden loss of strength. A few of them groan and moan for help.

“Enough of this foolishness!” shouts the younger son of the marquis. “Step over them and make note of these cowards! They will be…”

He trails off as the soldiers keep moving forward, most of those in front screaming and falling silent suddenly as those in rear force the lines forward. Not every soldier in the front lines collapse, but most of them do, and the bodies begin piling up quickly.

“What the hell is this!?” shouts the highest-ranking noble present. He dismounts and approaches, kicking the first soldier he reaches. The soldier grunts in pain, but can barely move. The lesser nobles call the company to a halt briefly. The pile of bodies is now blocking the road, and it is no simple matter to have the soldiers march past. Many of those still alive at the front of the group are trembling in fear, while some have attempted to flee, and are crossing an open field of tall grass, fleeing back towards the county bordering the Grand Duchy; Urmiscole’s county, as it turns out. The marquis’s son mounts his buckrokh again, shouting, “Send riders to cut down those cowards! The rest of you, split up and cross the perimeter on the outsides of the signs. It’s obviously some sort of strange magic trap!”

Urmiscole looks at the soldiers fleeing, running as fast as they can without their weapons. A sound like a punch striking flesh comes from Urmiscole’s right, where the marquis’s son is, and liquid hits Urmiscole’s neck. He’s disgusted at first. Buckrokhs are beasts, and they snort and spit and sneeze like any other creature. He rolls his eyes, starting to reply, “My lord, it might be a waste to send riders…” A body collapsing causes a gasp and even more horrified expressions to cross the faces of the soldiers in front of the young son of a count. They’re looking to where the son of the marquis is, and Urmiscole looks to his right. The younger brother of their commanding officer has collapsed without a word or cry, a large hole in his skull.

Urmiscole is horrified as well, and he notices as he’s looking down that there is blood sprayed on his shoulder and arm, and he touches the liquid he took for buckrokh spittle on his neck.

There is substance, which feels spongy and warm, and when Urmiscole inspects it with terror still gripping his soul, he finds a pink matter stained with the obvious red of blood. He has never seen flesh like this before, except seconds ago… when he was looking at the shattered skull of his comrade.

Urmiscole is unable to move. With a similar suddenness, blood sprays out of the viscount near him, and he falls wordlessly from his buckrokh as well; lifeless in an instant.

Urmiscole still can’t form thoughts, and one of the other lesser nobles shouts, “We’re under attack! Battalions! Take defensive-!”

His words are cut off by his own skull spraying blood, and he falls without another sound to the ground.

Several more nobles going back towards the rear fall, and the soldiers begin screaming and yelling, disoriented into a mess as some try to find out where the attacks are coming from, others try to determine a place to flee to. Some flee forward, crossing the line of the signs in their terror and sinking to their knees before collapsing without a word or wounds; whatever horrible magic taking their strength as they cross into the supposed Fievegal territory.

Those fleeing to the rear, even the first ones to flee, also begin collapsing with visible red sprays of mist.

And then, a terrifying noise draws Urmiscole’s attention to the rear.

Thunder, but a kind of thunder he has never heard before. It is more akin to the gods slamming the ground with angered fists, and as if to corroborate that fact, eruptions of the road and field spray rocks and soil in a fountain, stained red with blood. Soldiers and nobles scream as they are launched through the air or shredded and pummeled by the bodies of their own comrades being thrown like the rare explosion spell was used.

It is chaos all at once, and the soldiers are screaming and unable to form a cohesive defensive posture. Urmiscole can only stammer as he looks around, trying to look for help. Nothing is making sense.

A rumble trembles the ground, and the buckrokhs begin panicking. The young son of a count is thrown from his buckrokh as it bucks, taking off towards the capital of the Grand Duchy.

He can feel the rumbling even more clearly through his backside in the dirt. Soldiers are fleeing past him, dirt and debris is raining around him, bodies evaporate in clouds of red mist before an eruption of the ground that engulfs them. The thunder has become deafening, and the only reason Urmiscole knows it is still going on is the rumbling impacts creating a physical thump in his body each and every time.

He then lays eyes on a new terror.

Great beasts of metal -no, that isn’t right-; massive carriages that are completely armored are rolling towards the battalion, spraying quick flashes of fire and streaks of gold that seem to fly through the soldiers, cutting them down in sprays of blood just like the attacks that claimed the son of the marquis and the other nobles. Additionally, from a massive pipe on the top of the hellish carriage, bursts a humongous blast of fire, before the eruption of the ground and the elimination of multiple soldiers at a time.

Several sorcerers and battle mages, as well as archers and spearmen, are able to launch attacks at the demonic carriages, only for even the powerful fireballs and lightning bolts to glance off of the armor effortlessly, doing nothing to even slow the titans.

And, making the carriages even more horrible is the fact that they are moving forward on their own… without a single beast of burden present.

The only thing that Urmiscole can do is scramble to his feet, screaming. He can feel the air leaving his lungs, but he can only hear an unending ringing in his ears. He screams and screams, feeling like he has lost his voice like a terrible nightmare. That’s it! This is a nightmare! I just have to run! Run, Urmiscole!

He sprints as fast as his numb legs will carry him. He follows the road. He has to regroup with the others and warn them. The horrors that are pursuing them are worse than dragons.

It’s quite a distance that he has to run, but he doesn’t stop. He can’t stop. If he stops, he’ll die. He has to warn the others. He has to escape.

There is no respite to be found at the front, however.

Just as he can see the rear lines, they have already broken and are fleeing towards him. One of the nobles on a buckrokh is riding as fast as he can, blind to anyone or anything around him as he urges the beast to sprint as fast as it can go. 

Urmiscole still can’t hear anything, but he can see.

Eruptions are wiping out the front lines with ease as two more of the demonic carriages are moving forward, flanked by demon-kin soldiers that are casting the same spells as the carriages, and the soldiers fall in droves. The onslaught is truly nightmarish, as the demon-kin soldiers are attacking the kingdom soldiers from well-outside even the best archers or magic ranges.

Urmiscole tries to wave down the noble riding towards him, but the noble seems intent to ignore him, concerned only with his own escape. He has no idea that the same terror awaits him behind Urmiscole. The count’s son screams the words, but he can’t tell if his voice is even producing sound. “Wait! Please stop! They’ve flanked us behind as we-!”

An eruption hits directly under the buckrokh, and it screams in an agonized bellow as its own body is shredded and launched into the air in several parts. The noble is launched into the air, soaring over Urmiscole as he instinctively crouches to cover his head. A second later, Urmiscole looks around, trying to find the noble. He spots him, running towards him to help.

But, it’s far too late. While alive, the nobleman is in no state to flee on his own.

He likely won’t survive, even if the assault were to end immediately. His limbs are clearly broken and bent in ways they were never meant to bend, and blood is coming from his mouth.

Urmiscole is frozen in horror as he watches his comrade die.

The young count’s son can finally start to hear again, and the sounds of this demonic battle are rather distant, though the cries of fallen soldiers are rather near.

“Hands up,” grunts a deep voice behind Urmiscole. He can’t help but flinch, and he whirls, gripping the handle of his sword. His hands shake and the blade rattles in its scabbard.

He is face to face with an oni, a human-sized horned demon. It is holding a strange staff with its length pointed at the young man, and the other end braced against the oni’s shoulder. The demon-kin also has several others with him; more oni, the feline dattakoriens, over a dozen goblins, and a pair of ogres, who stand half a height taller than the oni. Each has a weapon from the west; magic staves and wands capable of casting magic that can slay dragons.

Urmiscole can feel tears sliding down his cheeks as his vision blurs. He trembles as the oni repeats, “Hands up. Take your hands off your weapon and surrender, or you will die.”

I can’t win. It’s hopeless. I… I don’t want… to die… Not like this…

Urmiscole sniffles as his life flashes before his eyes; his first lessons on swordplay with his brother and father, his little sister’s birth, his mother and father at a ball, his first military parade, and the look of pride on his family’s faces when he marched off at the head of a defensive force in honor of the kingdom.

“I-If… I s-s-surrender… will I get to live?” asks Urmiscole, his voice cracking and wavering.

“Yes,” replies the oni bluntly. “Hands up and surrender, and you will live.”

The young count’s son draws his sword, and the demon-kin tense. He can see others being captured, so it’s possible they’re telling the truth. He casts his sword to the side, putting his hands up. “Please… spare me…” Tears are pouring down his cheeks as he sinks to his knees. The oni nods his head, and several of the goblins jog forward. They keep their strange wands pointed at the young man, but he makes no aggressive moves.

I just want to live. Please let me live. I swear, I’ll never do anything like this again.

A pair of the goblins take his hands and pull them behind his back, and he can feel shackles locked over his wrists. But, for some reason, the shackles are swift, making fast clicking sounds as they snugly cinch down on his wrists. One of the goblins does something else with each wrist, and they jabber in a language unintelligible to the young count. The oni nods once. “Stand up and follow these two goblins.” He gestures at another pair of the goblins, who step up. They wave at him, and he wearily rises to his feet, his hands behind his back. He has some motion between his wrists, unlike normal shackles, but he can hear the distinct metallic clinking of a chain keeping the shackles bound together.

He walks in defeat behind the goblins, followed by the two that bound his wrists. They march him towards the growing group of captured Mornistae soldiers…

…And, past the bodies of many times more of the slain. Urmiscole stumbles upon seeing the bodies of his fallen comrades; soldiers and nobles alike, slain by the hundreds in what felt like mere moments. The apparent corpses easily outnumber the survivors a hundred to one, many of whom are unrecognizable.

An dattakorien woman is already lecturing the captured group of soldiers, “The signs were intentionally written in your language, and you did not heed two of our warnings. This is sovereign Fievegal territory now, and the Kingdom of Mornistae has twice attacked the Fievegal unprovoked. Our invasion will not stop. The only way you and your families survive is if you cooperate. If you do not wish to cooperate, we will give you honorable deaths right now.”

One of the nobles near the woman spits. “Honorable! You demon scum don’t know the meaning of the word!”

“I recommend you silence yourself, prisoner. You have already forfeited your life by invading our territory. If you continue to speak, I will take it as your refusal to cooperate.”

“Don’t you dare threaten me, you disgusting beast! I am the son of Marquis Klousbauk kos Donnoristo, lord Thofmuller kos Donnoristo! I am-!” BANG!

A thunderous sound matches a flash of light and a burst of fire from the small demon wand the dattakorien woman is holding; a swift motion as she lifted her arm and cast an instant death spell. Several of the captured kingdom soldiers yelp and cry out as blood sprays from Thofmuller’s chest and back, and he collapses with choking sounds before exhaling his last.

The soldiers fall silent. Even the small wands can cast instant death. And, they can do so without a lengthy incantation or chance to interrupt, all while ignoring the best magic resistant plate armor money can buy.

The dattakorien woman continues her scolding, even while other fearful soldiers are being brought to the group by goblins, ogres, dattakoriens, and oni. “The kingdom of Mornistae launched a vicious and unprovoked attack on Fort Twilight using an abominable superweapon that cost our Emperor dearly, and he has seen the error of his merciful ways of the past. No longer will the Fievegal stand for invasion or unprovoked attacks. The reckless and war-mongering actions of your king will be put to an end. The Fievegal shall restore the balance and outlast the mountains!”

The demon-kin soldiers cheer in a unified roar of pride, startling the paltry handful of surviving prisoners.

Urmiscole can only tremble as his tears continue to flow down his cheeks.

***

Daniel and Hekate read the report Xyreko just handed to him. Hekate is seated on Daniel’s lap in the luxurious lounge of the Grand Duchess’s personal airship, which surprised even him. It is truly a mansion in the sky, with more comforts and commodities than a luxury cruise on Earth. And, it can fly. Daniel’s not entirely sure how they got the airships to be airborne, but Wenlianna has a greater knowledge of all of the capabilities of the various magic elements, so it’s quite possible that she has some sort of gravity nullification in place on the hull of the ship, in addition to the lift provided by the massive jet engines powered by dozens of wind crystals each. During the flight, operators located at each engine’s service bay are periodically rotating the rig holding the wind crystals, swapping out the oldest crystals with new crystals every couple of hours to ensure the airship remains airborne, while magic artisans employed by the Grand Duchy -and kept out of Rikuto’s hands by the Grand Duchess ignoring his multiple summons- recharge the spent magic crystals using their own magic and the recharge devices. With this methodology, the airship can fly to anywhere in the eastern kingdoms one way before the magic artisans need to rest, which means that, from the Grand Duchy, it can reach a ways past the Citadel before needing to land.

It’s a somewhat inefficient design, but highly functional and comfortable for flight, as well as relatively redundant and safe. And, the Grand Duchess enjoys a glass of wine from one of the better bottles Daniel provided her.

She asks with a smile, unintimidated by the powerful women of the Fievegal around her, “Is it a report about the invasion, your Greatness?”

Hekate nods idly as she reads. “Yes.” She flinches, looking over her shoulder at Daniel. “C-Can we…? Do we keep it a secret?”

“Aramellianna is our ally, Hekate. In fact, she is in a far more dangerous position than we are.”

The young feldrok empress nods. “I see.” She looks at the Grand Duchess, continuing her answer. “It seems Rikuto sent a large army corps of around twenty thousand soldiers into the Grand Duchy.”

This surprises not only Aramellianna, but also her daughters, the Stalvaltan staff, and many of Daniel’s companions.

“Twenty thousand?” asks Gwenesphia nervously. “C-Can… our soldiers handle that?”

Hekate nods. “Already done. We sent four tanks to the front lines, and while there’s a corps worth of golems on standby, only the regular soldiers went into battle. They insisted.” She reads the report again, adding, “It seems we had no casualties.”

“And, the Mornistae soldiers?” asks Yanidere nervously.

Hekate looks at her, unsure if she should answer.

Daniel replies calmly, “There were fewer survivors than casualties. The prisoners will be imprisoned in a camp near the old estate.”

Aramellianna explains to her daughters who are present -Wenlianna, Yanidere, and Yormolett-, “Casualties are a constant in war. Rikuto had many warnings, and he failed to heed any of them, from me or from his enemies. Soldiers dying for the foolishness of a king is lamentable, but the only way the conflict ends is when one side’s spirit is broken.”

“I should be there,” murmurs Daniel quietly. “I shouldn’t be ordering these deaths if I can’t be present to witness them.”

“Don’t be a fool, Daniel,” counters Aramellianna just as several of his companions try to comfort him, including Wenlianna, Hekate, and Gwenesphia. “If you are seeking a heroic moment to earn the loyalty and trust of your followers, it is not during the preliminary stages of an invasion. And, with your technology granting you such rapid communication with the battlefront, there’s really less reason for you to risk your life. It will be several days before Rikuto hears of the defeat, and yet you heard about it mere minutes after it happened, it would seem.”

Xyreko nods, confirming. “Indeed. The thirty minutes of delay was for the officers to gather numbers and formulate a proper report.”

Ryuogriar leans over Daniel’s shoulder from behind, having approached from the lounge seat she was on. “I agree with her Grace, Mukori. For now, you are more important behind the scenes. If Mattarglos can be made an ally, then we can be informed or even restrict troop movements through Fort Peony, leaving only Fort Reefjord as the only path through the mountains for ground forces. And, as we can see, our soldiers can handle the task so far. When they need our assistance, they will surely call.”

“Don’t forget the Empire itself, Daniel,” reminds Vaergraes. “If you do successfully win over the Empress to at least a negotiating position, then the Eastern territories can be considered neutral or better.”

“Sundenelle will not likely give in so easily,” counters Aramellianna respectfully. “Even if she seems to be accepting of Daniel’s schemes, it is likely she has some plan for her own gains out of the arrangement. She will either push for authority in the Fievegal, or advantageous economic leverage for the Empire.”

“Nothing is free,” replies Daniel. “And, I didn’t expect her to accept an alliance so easily, let alone my hand in marriage. I only did any of that to rattle her and give her a headache with her own nobles. There will undoubtedly be those pressuring her to accept for appeasement or other self-serving reasons, and there will be those that will view her position as weakened to be embarrassed in such a way.”

Hekate nods in agreement, proud of her favorite person in the world. “Mm-hmm. She got what she deserved. It’s her fault the Empire invaded twice, even if she didn’t want to.”

Geirahoel points out, “I found it odd that we received six different messengers from the Empress, but one of them was different.”

“The one was Empress Sundenelle’s,” replies Ryuogriar. “It had her perfume on it, as well as the distinctive ink she uses.” When everyone looks at her, the platinum dragon adds, “Obviously, I compared it to the other messages she sent Mukori. The ones we are certain she wrote.”

“I thought I smelled perfume on the others,” replies Geirahoel.

“Yes, but it was not the same.”

“You believe the other five messages were fake?” asks Yanidere cautiously.

“Almost certainly. They all five were written by different people with ink that was completely different to the consistent ink Sundenelle has used all along. They also spoke of ‘lese majeste’ and Daniel’s disrespect of the Grand Prince.”

“That’s true,” confirms Reignleif. “They really focused on the disrespect of that man. Even when she disapproved of Daniel’s actions, she spoke in a diplomatic manner.”

“Does that mean the Grand Prince is part of some sort of conspiracy?” asks Wenlianna nervously.

“This is becoming dangerous, isn’t it?” asks Treia dryly.

Daniel scoffs. “To answer your question, Wenlianna, it’s too early to tell, and we don’t have enough information. Though, if the focus was on the Grand Prince and the disrespect, it’s possible someone’s personal feelings found their way into the artificial letters.”

“Wouldn’t it be more likely that the single letter is the fake?” asks Yormolett innocently. “Um, your Grace.”

Daniel replies gently, “No need to be so formal with me, Yormolett. And, I agree. It seems like the easy answer; especially so because each message was brought by a separate messenger. But, what if one messenger was more proactive, and his route got him ahead of the actors bribing or blackmailing the others? They might not even know he left, or assume he didn’t make it. Even if he did, as long as it’s five against one, only a fool would believe the one. But, I agree with Ryuogriar. If nothing else, the single letter is the only one that reads like it came from Sundenelle, while the other reads like it came from someone emotional and fuming over a personal matter.”

“Didn’t you say that you were trying to instigate the Empress’s emotions?” asks Gwenesphia. “We don’t know her full relationship to the Grand Prince. She may have taken it more personally than we think.”

“Definitely possible. But, the first letter truly reads like one that she has sent, which is the advantage to exchanging innocuous letters with someone before important business.”

Hekate huffs. “You never exchange letters with me.”

Daniel chuckles, toying with her ear with his fingers, which causes her big fox-like ear to flutter and twitch. “When would I do that, Sweetpea? You’re almost always with me.”

She twitches, looking away from him. Her ears flick a few more times, making sure they’re clear, and then they lay down flat as she pouts. “You could still send them…”

“Alright. I’ll write you a letter soon.”

She hums triumphantly, relaxing against his chest.

“What should we do about the discrepancy, then, Daniel?” asks Treia, clearly beating Yanidere to the same question by mere moments. The second eldest Stalvaltan daughter nods in agreement.

“For now, we focus on our task at hand. But, we’ll need to be considering who stands to benefit the most from instigating a war between the Fievegal and the Empire right now. The Grand Prince is a contender, but he strikes me more as arrogant and foolish, rather than scheming, so I think there is someone with even more influence behind him, or even using him as the scapegoat.”

“Not many people should be able to use the Grand Prince as a scapegoat,” muses Aramellianna. “I would struggle to sabotage Rikuto in such a clandestine way, and I have the authority to do so in times of emergency.”

“Who else other than the Empress could have that much influence?” asks Yanidere.

“Maybe one of the other kings,” answers Wenlianna thoughtfully. “Or maybe even someone on the demon’s side.”

“We haven’t heard much out of them since Brosjak, so it’s very possible any such leadership within the demons crumbled during the attack on the Orbicharium.”

“Or, they want us to think so,” adds Hekate pointedly, demonstrating that she has paid attention to everything going on since she and Daniel came into ownership of the Citadel.

Daniel nods. “Exactly. We have to remain cautious and try to draw out their moves.”

Yormolett asks gently, “Um, Daniel, your Grace,... was it like this on Earth?”

Daniel smiles softly. “Yes and no. Yes because there was always some deeper political meaning to everything, especially when I was summoned to this world. No, because the countries where Rikuto and I lived were far more peaceful than anywhere I’ve seen on Zenkon so far. So, even if the scheming was occuring, it wasn’t always a part of day to day life.”

“It’s likely that’s true of most citizens of this world as well,” remarks Ryuogriar. “They have bigger problems than far off wars.”

Daniel nods. “Indeed. And, to answer the question of possible ‘who’s’ it could be, on Earth, it was mostly bankers and other extraordinarily successful business-er, merchants who used their money to influence laws and the justice systems, the economy, and social interactions towards their goals, pulling the strings behind all sides, in many cases.”

Aramellianna chuckles. “The kind of finances that would require is impossible.”

“I wish that were true, Mother. In the case of banks, in overly simple terms, they invest in companies in exchange for a percentage of the profits. Likewise for the, uh, merchants. And, the companies produce conveniences that every household in the world comes to desire. Ironically enough, my phone is an example of such an item.”

They stare at him in disbelief. Daniel adds, “You’re probably one of the closest I personally know, in terms of wealth, Mother. But, you have to multiply that wealth even further, and the best way to do that, long term, is to increase prosperity well beyond what the technology of Zenkon is regularly capable of.”

Aramellianna stands up and crosses the small gap from her lounging sofa to the comfortable seat Daniel and Hekate are seated on. She takes a kneel before Daniel, placing her hands on Daniel’s lap below where Hekate’s thighs are sitting on his. She looks up at Daniel with a bewitching smile. Wenlianna and Yanidere both murmur in shock, “M-Mother?”

“Daniel, my dear, sweet son; name what I must do, and I will bankroll any endeavor.”

Daniel chuckles. “One step at a time, Mother.”

“Perhaps I should be the one marrying you…”

“MOTHER!” whines Wenlianna with a cherry red face, and Hekate stammers, “D-Don’t even think about it!”

The Grand Duchess chuckles, but she lays her head on Hekate’s lap, saying softly, “I wish to see the Stalvaltan family unbreakable, your Greatness. And, if we are going against forces like the ones Daniel described… I must be ready to counter them coin for coin.”

Daniel sighs. “For now, let’s get through the duel in Mattarglos and see if we can even learn the basic idea of who we’re up against.”

Aramellianna sits up on her knees and nods. “So be it… Darling.”

“Mother!” Wenlianna darts in and pulls her mother away from Daniel.

Everyone shares a laugh, and the airship cruises at a fair speed, bringing the mountainous terrain of Mattarglos into view as the sun is reaching its zenith in the sky.

******