Lord Dagan

The meeting resumed, this time turning toward military action.

"The monster attacks on the western borders are escalating," Edric stated, arms crossed. "We cannot afford to be caught off guard. Without a preemptive strategy, we risk losing key defensive footholds."

Celeste scoffed, adjusting the lace cuffs of her gloves. "Your concern for borders is admirable, Edric, but logistics don't begin and end with a sword. Trade routes are already suffering, and if this instability continues, the economy will crumble before your soldiers even march. What good is a strong defense if your supply chains collapse beneath it?"

Edric's brow twitched. "A nation cannot function without security. There won't be an economy if we're overrun."

Celeste leaned forward slightly, voice smooth but pointed. "And what will your armies eat, Edric? If supply chains fall, food production is next. Then weapons. Then reinforcements. Starvation doesn't care about swords."

Asmodeus chuckled under his breath. "She's got you there, Albrecht. You can't swing a sword on an empty stomach."

Edric shot him a glare but didn't take the bait. "I'm not dismissing economic concerns, but you're ignoring reality. If the western borders fall, trade will be the least of our problems. The only reason commerce functions at all is because there's stability. If that breaks, it won't matter how much coin Fontaine hoards."

Celeste smirked, clearly enjoying herself. "You assume Fontaine simply hoards. You should know better, Edric. If I were hoarding, I wouldn't be here reminding you that supply chains are just as much a weapon as steel."

I exhaled quietly. This was why Fontaine and Albrecht were friends, but allies first. Their fates were bound—one could not thrive without the other—but their priorities were worlds apart.

[Notice: Political tensions high. House Albrecht prioritizes military control. House Fontaine prioritizes economic stability. Probability of forced compromise: 78%.]

I already knew that. Their back-and-forth was expected, but I could tell the other nobles were gauging who would bend first.

As the discussion continued, other houses took the opportunity to voice their concerns, each pushing their own agendas. House Caelthorn brought up airship logistics, subtly hinting at their need for increased influence over trade routes, which, of course, meant securing deals with Fontaine. House Myrvandis argued that alchemical advancements should be prioritized, especially with the rising frequency of magical afflictions spreading through border towns. House Venstara lobbied for increased agricultural investments, claiming that the current system was unfairly benefiting Fontaine and Tomaszewski while smaller estates struggled.

"These discussions are pointless without tangible solutions," I said at last, breaking my silence. My voice carried through the room, commanding attention. "The real issue isn't whether one house benefits more than another. It's that these negotiations are framed as battles rather than a means to secure stability. If every house here is more concerned with controlling a market rather than sustaining it, then we are all already losing."

The silence that followed was thick with scrutiny. My words had weight, and that alone was enough to make some nobles bristle. I saw the sneer before I heard the words.

"Spoken like someone who has never built anything worth sustaining," the representative from House Valeria—one of Camilla's cousins—said, his tone mocking. "Or perhaps spoken like someone who was given their place rather than earning it."

A few nobles chuckled under their breath, emboldened by the insult.

[Notice: Hostile entities seizing opportunity to discredit your stance. Suggested course of action: Controlled response to maintain authority.]

I already knew that.

"Funny, coming from a house that builds its influence off the backs of those more powerful than them," I said smoothly, keeping my expression unreadable. "Or do you think Valeria's supremacy in arcane research exists without the funding and protections afforded by those stronger than them?"

The chuckling stopped. A few nobles smirked, clearly enjoying the shift in pressure.

"Mind your tongue," he snapped, his confidence wavering. "You would do well to know your place."

"Oh? And what place would that be? Enlighten me." I calmly asked.

"A mistake," he said coldly, eyes glinting with venom. "A creature caught between two worlds, belonging to neither."

The room went utterly silent. I saw Rei tense at my side. I felt Asmodeus shift beside me, his aura crackling with barely restrained fury.

"Careful, Valeria," Asmodeus said, his voice dangerously low. "You're walking a very fine line."

I could feel the weight of the moment pressing down, every noble waiting to see what I would do. My heart beat steadily. I would not let them dictate my response.

I smiled. Not sweetly, not kindly—just sharp enough to cut. "Between two worlds, perhaps. But still standing. Unlike those who rely on the comfort of a dying order."

The noble's face darkened, but he said nothing. He had already lost.

[Notice: Opponent's standing weakened. Current political advantage: Shifted in your favor.]

I already knew that too.

The shift in atmosphere, the subtle shift in body language—House Rellmont had chosen its battlefield, and I had known this fight was coming.

"Governance requires deep understanding," Lord Rellmont said, his voice measured, almost patronizing. "Not just of politics, but of legacy. Of tradition. It is something those of shared lineage understand innately."

The words were not a question. They were a challenge.

A few nobles murmured in quiet agreement. This was not about neutrality anymore.

This was about me.

"Tell me, Lady Tomaszewski," Camilla Valeria added smoothly, her lips curling in a knowing smirk. "You were not raised as one of us, were you? You were born among nobles, yes, but do you truly understand our ways?"

I knew what she was doing. She wasn't questioning my title. She was questioning my right to sit among them at all.

"Do you understand human diplomacy?" she continued. "Or do you see it through the eyes of something… else?"

There it was.

A thinly veiled insult, dressed as a question.

I could feel Asmodeus stiffen beside me, his aura shifting, his golden eyes gleaming with something close to fury.

"Ah," he said, his voice dangerously smooth. "So that's how you want to play this."

I snapped my fingers.

The sound was sharp, final. "Stop".

Asmodeus froze, his breath hitching mid-motion, but his anger still crackled beneath the surface. He looked to me, waiting for permission.

I gave none.

But I didn't need to. Because I wasn't the only one who had caught their meaning.

"A house built by human hands should be led by human vision." A noble from House Kervan spoke next, emboldened by the moment. "Would it not be best if Tomaszewski's next heir had a clearer connection to human nobility?"

"Blood ties bind us together," another added. "Divided lineage creates divided loyalties."

The words dug deep—not because they were true, but because of how easily they flowed from their mouths. They truly believed it.

They did not see me as one of them.

I let the silence stretch before responding.

"Curious," I mused, tilting my head slightly. "You ask whether I understand human diplomacy."

I let my gaze sweep the room, watching how certain nobles avoided my eyes, while others waited.

"Tell me," I continued, my voice as smooth as Camilla's had been, "what part should I not understand? The part where noble houses maneuver behind each other's backs? The part where tradition is used to keep power in the hands of the few? Or the part where alliances shift like the wind—depending on convenience?"

A ripple passed through the gathered nobles. A shift. A hesitation.

[Notice: Multiple entities expressing discomfort. Keywords detected: 'maneuver,' 'power,' 'convenience.']

Camilla smirked, but I could see the flicker of irritation beneath it.

"No one questions your intelligence, Lady Tomaszewski," she said, voice honeyed. "Only that intelligence alone is not enough. There is more to ruling than understanding a game."

"Is that so?" A new voice cut in—Celeste Fontaine.

I turned my gaze to her. She had been watching, waiting, but now she leaned forward slightly, amusement playing on her lips.

"Strange," Celeste mused, "because last I checked, this entire room is filled with nobles who only hold power because of maneuvering, power, and convenience. So if Lady Tomaszewski is unfit, then surely many of you should reconsider your own positions."

House Fontaine did not pick sides easily. But when they did, they made it known.

Edric Albrecht spoke next, his voice firm, unshaken. "Tomaszewski remains one of the strongest military houses. If we are questioning qualifications, should we also discuss which houses would survive without the strength of their allies?"

His words were not aimed at me. They were aimed at House Rellmont.

The silence that followed was thick with calculation.

[Notice: Multiple entities reconsidering alignment. Suggested action: Press advantage.]

I already knew that.

I smiled—not kindly, but just enough. "If I am not suited for noble rule, then tell me—who among you is?"

A pause. No one spoke.

I let my voice drop just slightly, forcing them to listen. "Do not mistake discomfort for incompetence. If my heritage is such a problem, then let us be honest: You do not care whether I understand human rule."

I met Camilla's gaze, holding it. "You care only that my presence reminds you that your 'human legacy' is not as pure as you wish it to be."

And with that, I let the silence settle once more.

This time, no one broke it.

Camilla smirked again, but there was no amusement behind it—only thinly veiled contempt. "You think words alone will change your place? That legacy can be rewritten so easily?" Her voice was quieter now, sharp enough to cut through the charged silence. "We'll see, Lady Tomaszewski. Let's see how long you last before the weight of your own contradiction crushes you."

The meeting adjourned, but I knew better than to think this was over.

The whispers would continue. The doubts had been planted.

And next time, they wouldn't just question me.

They would try to remove me.

The carriage ride back from House Rellmont's estate was suffocating. The silence sat heavy between us—not because there was nothing to say, but because there was too much.

I clenched my fists, my nails biting into my palm. The weight of the meeting still pressed against my skull, the echoes of their voices rattling in my mind.

Do you understand human diplomacy? Or do you see it through the eyes of something… else?

I exhaled sharply, trying to shake the words from my head. Idiots. Every single one of them.

Asmodeus, sitting across from me, narrowed his golden eyes. "You're grinding your teeth."

"Am I?" I muttered, shifting my jaw.

Reilan, seated beside me, glanced my way, unreadable. "You're upset."

"No," I said flatly, knowing full well neither of them would believe me. "I'm furious."

[Notice: Elevated heart rate detected. Stress indicators rising.]

Great Sage's calm analysis was not helping.

[Inquiry: Should I provide stress-relief techniques?]

I sighed. "No, Sage."

[Notice: Emotional state remains unresolved.]

"I know."

Asmodeus scoffed, arms crossed. "They should be worried about their own pathetic rules instead of playing purity games.

Reilan's voice was quieter but no less sharp. "They won't stop here."

I already knew that. The problem was what came next. What would they do to stop the household from gaining more power?

The air outside was crisp, a sharp contrast to the oppressive weight of the Rellmont estate. As our carriage neared the Tomaszewski training fields, the distant clang of steel meeting steel filled the air—a sound I normally found grounding.

Today, however, another sound cut through it.

Laughter. Mocking. Derisive.

I frowned, shifting to look out the window. A group of Tomaszewski soldiers stood stiffly in formation, their hands clenched at their sides. Before them, a man—foreign, draped in noble insignia from a house I did not recognize—smirked.

"This is the great Tomaszewski force?" the noble scoffed, loud enough for all to hear. "I've seen mercenaries fight with more grace." He turned to his own guards, laughing. "I expected a challenge. Instead, I find children playing at war."

Asmodeus moved before I did. He threw the carriage door open and stepped out, his expression thunderous. "Oh? And who might you be, exactly?" His voice carried like a blade unsheathed.

The noble turned, eyes glinting with amusement. "Ah. I was wondering when someone of worth would show up."

I stepped out beside Asmodeus, my gaze flicking toward the noble. He knew exactly who Asmodeus was—he had been waiting for him. His eyes lingered on the Feudal Lord's son, lips curling in an amused smirk, but when he finally acknowledged me, it was with a fleeting, dismissive glance. He doesn't know much about me—only the rumors. Only what they whisper about my blood.

[Analysis: Noble's body language suggests preconceived bias. Racial animosity detected.]

I could already see the pieces moving.

"You are?" I asked coolly.

The noble placed a hand over his chest, exaggerated in false politeness. "Alistair Dagan. I was invited as a guest, though I see now my hosts have little to offer."

His gaze slid to me, and his smirk twisted into something colder—calculating, condescending.

"Ah. Lady Tomaszewski herself," he mused. "How fortunate. I have been wondering—does the heir of such a proud house truly live up to her name?"

I didn't react. That was what he wanted.

[Notice: Opponent seeks provocation. Suggested course of action: Maintain composure.]

"Careful," Asmodeus said, voice low, a faint crackle of electricity threading through his tone. "You're getting ahead of yourself."

Alistair ignored him, but his gaze lingered on the golden arcs of lightning flickering at Asmodeus' fingertips. "A proposal, then." He spread his arms in mock generosity. "A duel. You and I. Simple enough."

The soldiers tensed. They knew a trap when they heard one.

[Assessment: Opponent seeks provocation. Probability of further escalation if refused: High.]

"And if I refuse?" I asked, already anticipating his next words.

His smirk widened. "Then it would be quite telling, wouldn't it? That House Tomaszewski's future leader refuses to defend its reputation?"

Before I could answer, he tilted his head, eyes glinting. "Ah, but let's make this more interesting." He tapped his chin, feigning thought. "If I win—" His smirk sharpened. "—you will marry into House Dagan."

[Alert: Immediate hostile intent detected. Calculating optimal response.]

The world stilled.

Then—

A sharp boom split the air as Asmodeus surged forward, arcs of golden lightning lashing out, striking the ground beneath him with explosive force.

Reilan drew his weapon in a flash, his stance lowering into lethal readiness.

I exhaled slowly. Idiots. Both of them.

[Notice: Allies responding instinctively. Threat of unnecessary escalation rising. Counteraction required.]

"What was that?" Asmodeus snarled, his golden eyes ablaze. "You think you can say that and walk away intact?"

Reilan's voice was cold, deadly. "Do you have a death wish?"

Alistair laughed.

"Ah, yes. That famed Saegusa temper. Expected, but disappointing." He turned back to me, ignoring them entirely. "So, Lady Tomaszewski? What shall it be? Will you accept? Or shall we all learn today that the Tomaszewski heir cannot even fight her own battles?"

[Notice: Political implications of refusal: Severe. Opponent seeks public humiliation. Recommended response: Strategic counterattack.]

A new presence cut through the tension—a weight far heavier than the gathering of onlookers. Satoshi Tomaszewski.

His steps were deliberate, his expression unreadable as he approached the field, hands clasped behind his back. His gaze did not waver, nor did he acknowledge Alistair immediately. But the air changed, the soldiers standing a little straighter, the murmurs of the watching nobles dying into hushed anticipation.

Alistair's smirk widened at the sight of him. "Ah, Lord Tomaszewski himself graces us with his presence." He spread his arms mockingly. "Perhaps now we can finally address the root of the issue. Your soldiers are pathetic, your rule is stagnant, and your heir—" he tilted his head toward me, his eyes gleaming with cruel amusement "—is nothing more than a feeble attempt to preserve what was already rotting."

The silence that followed was deafening. Satoshi said nothing. He merely stared at Alistair, unblinking, unreadable.

Before the stillness could settle too deeply, another presence slithered into the scene like wildfire. Calamitas.

"My, my," she mused, amusement dripping from every syllable. "Such bold words from a man who hasn't even won the duel yet. Quite ambitious of you. Do you make a habit of counting your victories before the battle has begun, Lord Dagan?"

Alistair's lips curled in irritation. "It's not ambition. It's certainty. I win, I take the girl, and the disgrace of Tomaszewski will be sealed."

Calamitas let out a short, breathy laugh. "You think you win. That's adorable." She turned her gaze toward me, her fiery red eyes alight with something both mischievous and cruel. "Well, Chiori? This shouldn't be difficult for you. I did train you, after all."

Satoshi remained silent, but I knew that was his answer. He would not interfere. He would not save me.

I inhaled slowly, rolling my shoulders back.

"Fine." My voice was even. "I accept."