----

The Trojan War, like most famous wars, started with a quarrel.

Eris, the Greek goddess of strife and discord, threw the goddesses a golden apple one day, marked ‘for the fairest.’ Of course, this started an argument for who should own the apple, and they turned to one young lad named Paris, of Troy, to decide.

“I already know this.” Evan frowned.

“Shut up and listen.”

Aphrodite, the goddess of love, offered to make the most beautiful woman in the world - back then, a woman named Helen - fall in love with Paris. Paris accepted the offer, and in turn named her the fairest of all.

And so, Helen, at the time the wife of Menelaus of Sparta, fell in love with Paris. And, the ever-so-young romantic he was, Paris kidnapped her from Sparta and took her back home to Troy.

“You can’t put sarcasm in a story,” Evan pointed out.

Belluse glared at him. “Let Her Majesty finish.”

Because of this insult, Menelaus’ brother, Agamemnon besieged the city of Troy for ten long years with his troops. After this fruitless endeavor, the Greeks came up with a plan.

In the fictional work of the Aeneid, the Greeks constructed a gargantuan wooden horse at the behest of Odysseus, and hid their elite forces inside. They sailed away under the guise of giving up, and Troy took the horse as a victory symbol.

That night, the Greeks escaped out of the horse and it was a one-sided slaughter.

“And? Your point is?” Evan raised an eyebrow. “We don’t have elite forces, but we spent a night coming up with diplomatic strategies and you just want to build an exploding horse? Where would you even get the munitions?”

“I could pay the Lavers,” Belluse offered. “Or I could confiscate them for free, since I’m a mayoral candidate.”

Belluse didn’t question the validity of the legend, which Novarra appreciated.

“The innocents,” Evan protested.

Novarra held up a hand - or at least tried to, her lethargy overcoming her.

“We can start diplomatic negotiations first,” she said. “We can secretly harbor a couple civilians and soldiers in Rook separate from the nobles coming here in exchange for the Rebels not slaughtering us. They have the advantage, but we’re still powerful mages. Or, at least, we can pretend to be.”

“It’s a terrible plan.”

“We never know if we don’t-”

Evan sighed. All of a sudden, he looked like he was babysitting a bunch of kids coercing him into playing a prank. Novarra felt almost offended. “We can draft the diplomatic side first,” he compromised, “since we’re planning to negotiate, anyways.”

“If worst comes to worst, though,” Novarra said, “we can just dump a bunch of expensive pokeberry poison in their water supply and label it a plague.”

Evan’s face looked somewhat uneasy. “You just wake up, and you have two strategies for a mass murder?”

It was good he had dropped the formalities. He still did think Novarra was crazy, which was also good.

“Murder waits for no one, Ev,” Novarra replied, smiling. “Same with Ginna’s cakes. Belluse, report on the leadership situation here, please. And a cup of tea, with sugar. Oh, and, for dinner, could you fry up a couple slices from Mavis? Thanks.”

Belluse nodded. “You were the next likely candidate for the mayoral position, and as were I. I’m running against Laver, but now that you’re back you can probably take the position without much disagreement.”

“Alright. Could you inform everyone I’m back while you’re out running errands? I would help you, but I’m…” Novarra gestured to her body. “Not in the best shape.”

“Got it. Don’t plan without me, though.”

“Of course.”

Evan eyed the exchange with a suspicious look. “Are you-”

Watching Belluse leave, Novarra shook her head. “Dating? No. She was my former maid, now she’s my friend.” She added, “Just like you, Ev.”

It was fun to watch Evan’s expression transform into one of uncertainty. It was good to keep throwing people off, showing volatile behavior since people like Evan liked to put things in a shiny box with labels, black and white, good and bad. Being too impulsive would mean he would get rid of her, so there was that, too.

“We’re...friends.” He phrased it like something between a statement and a question, but Novarra took it in stride.

"Yeah. I guess." Novarra paused. "So. Exploding Trojan Horse. You in or out? After the diplomatic things are all carefully drafted. We need to do things quickly before the rest of the reinforcements arrive.”

“Scouting is probably best.” Evan sighed. “We draft a nice-enough treaty thing, recover for a bit and check in on the situation here, scout and revise the treaty according to their numbers, and then get back to the exploding horse.”

She pouted. “It’s like you’re delaying the exploding horse on purpose.”

Of course, that was exactly what he was doing.

And Novarra knew it.

----

"Munitions?" Sigmund Laver frowned. "What for?"

"I'll buy them off of you, hypothetically, of course," Novarra promised. "As long as we have a discount."

Hypotheticals. Movie language.

Due to Dave's helpful advice, there were bound to be some illegal weapon routes, around the King's limitations. The Lavers weren't big-time, but they could do some things regular citizens couldn't.

The merchant's eyes narrowed. "You didn't answer my question."

"I recently acquired a piece of land." Novarra was lying, of course, leaning back on the velour couch. She had sent Evan on a wild goose chase for a while, but killing everyone diplomatically sounded like a much better proposition than a diplomatic agreement. She didn't know much about Resilia's Guild politics, but there was probably a lot of people who wanted the Rebels - as they apparently called themselves - dead.

Would she lose Evan's trust? Probably, but if she convinced him well enough he wouldn't mind. Besides, she was helping both him and herself.

If the Rebels took over Rook, what would happen to Ginna, Renee, Mavis? The Smiths? Novarra didn't trust the Rebels anymore even if they reached a standstill than she trusted Sigmund Laver. If she were them, she would charge anyway because she had a power advantage.

An exploding horse was a much better alternative. Maybe a fire, too?

"And that piece of land has ore deposits underneath the ground," Novarra continued, praying that Laver didn't know the proper mine clearance procedures. "And I need to blow the ground up to get to the ore deposts. So...five crates should be enough, I think."

Sigmund Laver's face shifted into an uneasy expression.

"Look, I don't care if you're not telling the whole truth," Laver said, "but if I do have those hypothetical munitions, and you do use them in a hypothetical scenario, I need to know that they aren't traced back to me or my family's business."

Novarra leaned forward. "Hypothetically, if I were to buy and use these hypothetical munitions, I would cover up my tracks very, very well and disguise it as a very tragic - hypothetical, of course - incident."

She was lying, again.

But it was alright.

"If you were going to hypothetically purchase these munitions, and the seller somehow sold you these, hypothetically," Laver insisted, "how many people would these munitions be used against?"

"A couple hypothetical two hundred," admitted Novarra. "Five hypothetical crates should be enough, I suppose."

Laver leaned back, obviously lost in thought. "Will the loss of these hypothetical people impact me, my family business, or Rook negatively, in any way?"

Novarra snorted. "The loss of those hypothetical people would save you and your family business from going belly-up, just like the rest of Rook if they survive." That bit was genuine.

A pause, as the slimy merchant searched her eyes. After a period of careful elaboration, her neighbor sighed.

"Alright. The hypothetical munitions will be delivered to you as soon as possible, probably by next week, just without a discount since it's express."

You have express delivery here?

"Yeah. Gotcha. Nice doing hypothetical business with you." Novarra stood up, shoving forward a hand, which the man accepted.

As Novarra was about to leave, she heard a voice.

"Y'know, Administrator Signia, you scare me quite a lot." He was talking. "Maybe not scare me, but you're unsettling. The folks like you here quite a lot, too, but you're one of the more unpredictable people I know. Alessia died, you got seemingly depressed - shit, I get it, you're human - but came back after only two weeks in the big city." Laver paused, and Novarra halted, her back still towards him, as she heard him out. "And I heard through the grapevine there's something going on in the Woods. Something big, with the Kingsmen and nobles involved."

Kingsmen, slang for the Order.

Novarra paused. "So we're not talking hypotheticals anymore?" she asked, amused.

"No, we aren't." The sliminess of the merchant's voice had gone, replaced with a clear, cold certainty that she hadn't heard in quite a while. Varra now realized the reason behind the man's wealth.

"Do you want in?" she asked.

A resolute "No."

Novarra smiled. "Then what's the motive in telling me this?"

Affection? Can't be.

Money? I'm not paying him for anything except the munitions.

"No motive. I'm just giving you advice as a business partner."

"Advice?" she questioned, curious. That was new. Warnings, she had gotten used to. Advice she hadn't had since...well, Alessia.

She heard the man shifting in his seat.

"I advise you to find someone you trust," he said, a bit too honestly for Novarra's taste. "You can't keep your plans all to yourself." But I'll try my best to.

Just like Souveraine.

Novarra lied, "I'll keep that mind."

----

Varra secretly tasked Renee with building a hollow, penta-flower shaped structure.

"Make it, like, victory trophy big," she had abstractly described.

Renee had been confused, but she had obeyed. Novarra had come home to a scowling Evan, cups of sugary tea, and cakes and biscuits.

"[You're acting on your own]," the five-year-old said.

"[Why, you don't like it]?" she questioned, flopping on a chair and helping herself to a crumbly cake.

"[No, I can see why you classified yourself as a rich brat]."

Novarra snorted. "[Was that supposed to sting]?"

"[Unless you agree deep down, opinions aren't supposed to sting]," replied the prodigy, still dressed in his Vya Academy uniform. Novarra was dealing with a whole new kid, a whole new character. Her transmigration knowledge wouldn't help her here.

Novarra's mask was back in its original suitcase, and she would've preferred to keep it on if it kept Evan's - not creepy, but unnerving - analytical stare off her. He was persistent. Almost annoyingly so, trying to keep her in a box. Classify her into a type, a single word. Dehumanize her. It was probably a habit unknown to Evan himself, dehumanizing what he saw as challengers, what he saw as possible opponents.

"[Are you done with analyzing me? Because the contract wording's more important]," Novarra said, continuing in her former language.

"Careza-feather pens don't exist," Evan bit back in Common.

"Good, you aren't completely stupid."

Evan snorted. "Completely? I though we were friends."

"You don't insult your friends?" Novarra was tempted to sneer, but really couldn't be bothered. he was getting annoying.

"Shut the f-"

"Lunch's ready." Belluse's clear voice interrupted the squabble, as the aroma of sweet meat wafted through the air. Belluse had made it just the way Novarra liked it in recent months - she could tell, by the smell - slathered in honey, slow-cooked to perfection and glazed with as many spices as the bland Elevyarian cuisine could allow. Resilian meat, not Elevyarian vegetables. It was a big lunch. A good lunch.

Evan peeled himself off the couch as they both headed to the banquet room. Novarra took a seat, Belluse setting the plates with a clink on the cool surface. As the knives were distributed, and everyone's hands positioned, closed over cutlery, Evan began speaking.

Again.

"Belluse and I already worked out most of the wording. The next step would be to inform the Rook citizens-"

Novarra's hand, ready to saw at the meat, stopped. "You want to inform the Rook citizens about the situation?"

Belluse popped the mutton slice into her mouth. "It's a bad idea," she agreed.

"But they deserve to know," protested Evan.

Varra closed her eyes, sighing deeply.

1, 2, 3, 4, 5....

"They're human, too!"

6, 7, 8, 9, 10...

"Everyone deserves to know!"

That's it, I've had it.

Novarra lifted her knife and stabbed right in the center of the meat slices on her plate, letting the silverware hilt protrude up like a tombstone - a bad omen, really - from her lunch-meat.

"Fine. You can inform them," she said. "You don't need permission from me. But since I don't agree with your course of action, you can go inform a bunch of strangers that their town's being attacked alone."

Evan frowned. "But they won't believe me-"

That's the point.

"Let's say I help you, and they don't think we're a bunch of people headed to the loony bin. Mr. and Mrs. Smith would buy up the post office and skip town, Stephanie would close her office and evacuate Renee along with the rest of the townspeople, and Ginna would go along with it." Looking at Evan's confused expression, Novarra continued, "Names. Not important. The point is, that they'll all get panicked. I've been here for five years. I know how they think. Some of them will flee, others will rally against the Rebels and get killed. Butchered. Dead, just like that." Novarra followed the sentence up with a snap. A pause.

"And when the reinforcements come, who'll tell the Kingsmen that someone was aware of the attack? The moment a casualty occurs on Elevyarian soil, they'll be pinned on the Rebels and then the Kingsmen will take the camp out. But the King's underestimating the Resilians - they'll retaliate, the lot of them, after around three hundred of their ilk are dead," she said.

A pause.

"And then the skirmish between Resilia and Elevyar could be seen as a play at taking over Resilia, and then the other kingdoms will get involved. It'll be a war. A brutal, bloody war with more than just a couple hundred dead." A beat. "In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if there're diplomats already being sent around kingdoms to deal with this issue."

Novarra hated the phrase greater good. It was always annoying to say, and Evan wouldn't understand the fact that this situation benefited him.

I can't say greater good.

Because the phrase doesn't make sense.

Novarra recovered the knife as she calmly ate her dinner, her voice somewhat loud but still even.

"But it's only a likely scenario," pointed out Evan.

"It's because it's a likely scenario that we can't let that happen. Not now, not ever. But what if - just what if, a rogue Resilian duo stumbled upon the camp, panicked, and set off a couple of munitions on accident? They'll have to be executed, of course - there will be another scapegoat, I don't want to die, mind you - and their heads delivered to the respective parties and just perhaps a war will be avoided," she finished.

Belluse agreed. "Her Majesty's right. A scapegoat will be needed, along with the proper tracks being covered."

Evan looked unsettled. "But-"

Novarra rolled her eyes. "Shut up, eat your lunch, and listen to my plan about the exploding horse."

----