----

Renee frowned. An oversized penta-flower. It was weird, since the Resilian administrator had never seemed to Renee like the patriotic size. A victory-trophy size, apparently. But Renee herself had never seen a victory trophy before - probably the size of a small cottage, she had concluded as she had gotten to work.

The former administrator had told her to make it hollow inside, so she had gotten to work on the large wooden structure. Administrator Signia had told Renee to call her Ingrid, but it still felt wrong.

For five years, the administrator had integrated herself into the Rook community almost suspiciously easily, to the point where Renee couldn’t imagine Rook without her. Suspicion. Hmm.

But Renee noticed here was something lurking under the amiable, yet somewhat distant surface - something...was the word for it terrifying? Unsettling?

If there was one thing Renee was praised by everyone for, it was her discerning judgement.

It just hadn’t worked for…him.

Ignoring the thought, Renee got up, hammer and nail in her hand, as her mother approached her from behind.

“What’re ya doin?” Stephanie’s cheerful drawl never ceased to surprise her daughter. Rain or shine, it never changed.

“Building somethin’,” Renee hollered back, with the same accent she reverted back to when home.

“For who?”

The former assistant replied with a smile, “Ingrid,” just as she paused her project and turned. “Y’know she’s back, right?”

Stephanie smiled, her dark hair glimmering in the sun. “Yeah, I heard. Word always travels fast here, Nea.” She paused at the shapes of the five spade-shaped petals starting to form. “Is Ingrid having a Patriot’s Day?” she asked her daughter, perplexed.

“Naw, but I think it’s important,” Renee replied.

“Alright, then, but make sure to take a walk once in a while, hear me?”

Checking the sun, Renee realized it was close to the faraway hills of the Woods, around sunset. A good time for a walk. “I’ll follow yer advice,” she said, leaving her project in the small raggedy fenced-yard as she stood up and dusted herself off. She opened the gate, her family’s house and yard situated near the borders of Rook just right next to a winding street.

Following the cobblestones, she watched the buildings and the lights grow closer. She had never left the town of Rook. It was always peaceful here, never raucous and merry like she’d heard other bigger towns in the Rella territory being like, full of drunks and taverns; it was quiet and quaint, with neither a drop of noise nor interruption of peace, if you wanted her to talk all fancy-like.

She was sure she could roll around in the mud, and no one would do more than asking her polite questions on the events that had led up to rolling around in said mud. She knew every single house and could name every single occupant of each house, an ability that perhaps only those of Rook could have.

It wasn’t small, but it wasn’t big either, with a tight-knit community. The biggest scandal that had happened were either carriage accidents or noble visits.

Following the winding streets, Renee passed by brightly painted houses - most would just pass it off as light pastels, but the original colors’ vibrancy had faded over time and the entire town was mostly made of paler shades of brick.

“Renee!” The trill of Cecilia, the wife of the lone postman of the town, preceded a wave of intoxicating perfume.

“Cecilia,” Renee greeted, warmly, careful not to wrinkle her nose.

Fred, the aforementioned lone postman, tipped his hat. “Renee. Out for a walk?”

“Yeah. Weather’s good.” Renee smiled, and the pleasant exchange was interrupted by a loud, “CITIZENS OF ROOK!” by the square. Was that a child’s voice?

----

“CITIZENS OF ROOK,” Evan repeated, loudly.

“Damn, are you using a Skill or something? Manipulating sound waves?” Novarra winced, her hands over her ears. Belluse was by her side, also seemingly unnerved. “It’s nearly night - are you trying to cause nightmares? F-”

“Your attempt to make me stop educating the masses of their dire situation is deeply appreciated,” Evan said, his lingo reverting back to the formal language he had used at their meeting. It was annoying, how much sarcasm he tried to put in his words.

Tried, and failed.

People were gathering, Novarra noticed. Strangely, a lot of people.

“THERE ARE INVADERS IN THE WOODS,” he said.

Right. Very subtle way to start off a speech.

She saw Renee, probably on a break or a short walk. Varra had no doubt that she was working, though. Renee was a hardworking type of person, and her character hadn’t changed after the whole scary-guy incident. Ah, Cecilia and Fred. Was that Brett, hiding in the corner? And Felix? Novarra tried to observe the people discreetly, to take away from her feelings. It was embarrassing to be next to Evan, Novarra thought with an internal shudder. If there was a Reputation bar, she was sure it would be declining rapidly, just like her self-esteem. Couldn’t he get to the point? It didn’t help that he was in the body of a five year old, too.

“THEY ARE ARMED RESILIAN VIGILANTES.”

Terrible wording, but oh well.

Novarra could see the flickers of glances, to the boy and then Novarra, to Novarra and then the boy. She did her best to plaster on her most serious expression, and she could see the realization dawn on their faces.

“IN LESS THAN SIX DAYS, THEY WILL STORM ROOK.”

Okay. Was there a word for wording worse than terrible? Abysmal, Novarra remembered. Evan was absolutely abysmal at this. No, worse than abysmal. Did his university not offer public speaking classes?

“YOU ARE IN DANGER.”

Souveraine, there’s no need to drive the hammer home when you’ve already hit it on the head. Varra cringed as she heard panicked whispers.

“Move,” she whispered to Evan. “Pass the Skill to me.”

Evan scoffed. “What would you-”

Shoving him aside, Novarra cupped her hands and screamed, “IGNORE HIM. PLEASE LISTEN TO ME INSTEAD. WE HAVE THE SITUATION UNDER CONTROL.”

They, in fact, didn’t; but no one needed to know that.

----

Belluse Riona was never the best at taking charge of a situation. She could when she had to and the situation was dire, but she had no idea why she had been chosen as a mayoral candidate in a town she’d only spent five years in. And she also had no idea why she had been designated as the third-most powerful authority figure after Her Majesty and the merchants.

However, Belluse was grateful for Her Majesty - no, Novarra, Belluse internally corrected herself - for taking the control from that darned brat’s hands.

Belluse gritted her teeth - discreetly, of course.

That brat was apparently powerful, Novarra had reassured her, but that didn’t make the situation any better. After he had messed up the situation, Novarra had to step up and take care of it.

Under Novarra’s guidance and care, most of the citizens had come out from their houses and relaxed. Well, relaxed as much as they could. Some of them were still wide-eyed from shock, but none of them doubted Novarra’s words. Which was both good and bad, if you looked at both sides of the coin.

“Belluse, designate a couple citizens to help Renee with the Trojan Horse,” Novarra said, “tell them the Project Name and most of the information - not the munitions bit, Souveraine forbid - and calm them down, speed them up. That’s our hidden top priority.” The dark-haired queen’s figure paused. “Direct most of the more better with words but agreeable people to draft and look over the diplomatic treaty from another perspective. We’ll misdirect their attention to the peace offer and let word spread.” She looked pained, as if she didn’t want to deceive them - which Belluse agreed with, they were people of Rook now, but there were things that needed to be done - and so the former maid obeyed.

“I’ll handle the public reactions, too,” Belluse added.

Novarra looked grateful. “Thanks. You can take charge of the Horse group if you’d like, by the way.”

And, with a nod, Belluse disappeared into the crowd.

“Lucia!” someone called out the alias - no, a second name, really - and Belluse turned. For the Trojan Horse, a group of both mentally and manually efficient people were needed. The person who had called out belonged to both of the above categories, being Mavis Carrion, the butcher. Since he was good friends with Novarra and casual acquaintances with Belluse herself, he was given a warm greeting.

“Mavis.”

“Lucia.” The usually well-put-together butcher looked worried, now, with an anxiety that gnawed away at his handsome face. Beside him was his loud daughter, Aria, a fact that Belluse noticed with a wince. Another task would be to root out the disruptive forces in Rook, the boutique owner made a mental note of. “What’s going on?”

Put emotions aside, she told herself, you aren’t the same person you were before.

“We have received information that there’s going to be an attack on Rook,” she explained, in the calmest voice she could muster. “Reinforcements are coming, but their first priority isn’t the citizens. Ingrid is taking care of the rest.”

Mavis’ expression didn’t soften.

“Ingrid? Alone?” he asked.

“That administrator Signia?” Aria chipped in.

“I’m afraid that’s the best explanation I can offer you at the moment,” Belluse said, “but one of the tasks that Ingrid gave me is to help Renee with the construction of a penta-flower, maybe grasping the Resilian symbol, as a peace offering along with the diplomatic treaty.”

“Diplomatic treaty? Peace offering?” Mavis questioned.

Xuena, would the questions never stop?

“I will organize a briefing, in a couple hours,” promised Belluse. While the brat and Novarra are finishing up scouting. “You can either relax, and absorb the information, or organize a group to help Renee with her task.” Mavis hesitated, but evidently chose the latter, dragging Aria along with him towards the direction of the girl.

A scapegoat had been decided, but whether or not the scapegoat would agree also fell on Belluse’s shoulders. Novarra and the brat did have similarly great duties on their plate. It was at this time, she thought to herself mirthfully, as many headed towards her direction, that many questioned their loyalties. In times of difficulty, who would help weather the storm? But that had never been a problem for Belluse, whether for better or for worse.

When she made a choice, she would stick to it.

A stubborn streak? Maybe.

Being peppered with questions, Belluse offered some people the same choice Mavis had faced, while delegating the revision and wording of the treaty to Stephanie, who Belluse gave the freedom of recruiting others fit for the task.

It was going to be a long, long day.

----

Diplomatic Treaty Between Rook and the Resilian Independent Group 'Rebels'

A Draft

Henceforth, the citizens of the near-frontier town of Rook in the territory of the Dukedom of Rella, shall be referred to as 'Party A,' and the independent group the Rebels as 'Party B.'

Both parties shall uphold all of the clauses below listed in this contract:

a) Party A will house up to 200 members of Party B's organization, under the condition of Party B not bringing mental or physical harm to both Party A's members and territory.

b) Party A will treat all 200 members of Party B fairly and provide both food, drink, cloth, and survival knowledge to all housed members, under the condition of the housed members being hidden from the sight of any and all members of government, nobility, military. The housed members being subjected to others' eyes will depend on the agreement of both the housed members and Party A's delegated leaders.

c) Members of Party B's organization will be treated fairly and with respect, and will not be brought either mental or physical harm by members of Party A's organization. Although respect will be given to Party B's delegated leaders, respect is expected to be given in turn to both Party A's members and delegated leaders.

d) -

Stephanie - you all do realize that this contract, treaty, whatever means bloody shit, right?

Fred - Steph, mind your language.

Stephanie - unless we're recognized as an independent party from outside the sphere of both the elevyarians and resilians' influence, this means jackshit. I'm not distrusting the administrator, but she has a plan that she's not telling us about - she thinks we're either too soft or too stupid for the whole thing, and I don't like it.

Cecilia - The administrator made a deal with the Lavers, that's what I've heard. there's a reason the peace offering's hollow, too, I bet my - sorry to be coarse - ass.

Stephanie - this can't apply in legal court. we're essentially defying the King's authority, too - it could be seen as literal fucking treason. we could all be beheaded.

Fred - I don't trust the administrator, either, but her plan's the best hope we've got, I guess. Lucia says that we'll evacuate after this, too, if we want to. Carriages and horses are supposedly being prepared by the merchants.

Stephanie - the administrator's much more powerful than she leads on. she buys magic training books every single week - or at least she used to. she's a mage. she has the power to wipe out every single Rebel, but she doesn't it.

Fred - Hey, Steph, I think you're going a bit overboard here. Two hundred people? You think she can cause a massacre and get away with it unscathed?

Stephanie - that's why, Fred, she needs a-

Cecilia - Scapegoat. She needs a scapegoat, and it's likely going to be us, or...

Fred - The Lavers. Holy shit, she's going to frame the Lavers.

Stephanie - or us. us, too. but the Lavers are the more likely target, because only them can pull off a massacre. shit, she's devious.

Fred - But she's going to save us, Steph. You can't deny that.

Stephanie - you're only defending her because she overlooks the Smiths bribing you. you think she's blind? she'll use it as blackmail over you, Fred.

Cecilia - Steph, while I agree that every scenario is likely, we can't just suspect her on every basis.

Stephanie - celie, all I need her to know is that we're not just stupid townspeople. sooner or later, she's going to regret making us work blind.

----

Evan King blinked.

"See, those are the people you're defending so badly."

Her voice came in a whisper, from behind Evan. They both were dressed in black, for stealth, on the branches of the trees near an open window of a pale-yellow building. Overhearing the conversation of the trio drafting the contract, Evan was...what was the word for it? Stunned? Shocked?

"They...got it right, though, you're still deceiving them." He couldn't help but continue his last, half-hearted defense.

"I'm just trying to get it into your head." Evan could feel Novarra shrug. "If you're going to be against me to the end, then after this whole situation, we'll stop working together. Maybe even be enemies. I couldn't care less, but..."

She paused.

"I wouldn't want to wish being blind to the people around them on anyone."

Her voice was filled with a tinge of deeply embedded emotion, maybe regret. A shred of anger, sadness. Longing. But then it was gone as fast as it came, and her smiling, playful and ever-so-spiteful voice was back.

"Let's go, if you still have a bit of action in you. Your physicality's probably monstrous, if you're keeping up with me using magic," the heiress said.

The Ultra SmartFridge. Ultra Technologies, Ultra Enterprises. Evan remembered reading an economics magazine, once, and finding an interview of Navven Ultra. There had been a the before his name, but Evan hadn't bothered searching it up. It was just another millionaire, another owner of a conglomerate.

The reporter had been persistent, treating it like a gossip magazine instead of an economic one. Evan could practically feel the irritation, masked beneath icy indifference, in his words.

"Are you planning to remarry?"

"No."

"After your wife left you, did you-"

"No. I don't see how this is relevant to the subject matter."

"What about your heir?"

"I have a daughter. Would you like to listen to me talk about the stock market, instead?"

And so the conversation had gone on. Evan thought the recounting was fairly accurate, although it appeared heavily edited. Evan King's memory was good. Extremely good. Apparently belonging to that of a genius.

His fall from grace, as many had referred it to, was the fall of a rising star. A boy who attended an elite school, quitting just because of...

"Depression?" His father's expression had been pained, before he had roared, "YOU QUIT THE BEST UNIVERSITY IN THE COUNTRY BECAUSE YOU WERE SAD?"

And so Evan had been cast aside by his blood, or at least had been door-slammed at, and had worked hard to make it as a university dropout. He had transmigrated, and it had practically been a new chance at life, with a new ability to boot.

And he had met one transmigrator out of the remaining two, and it felt like she knew much more than what she told him.

And that had made him angry, and Evan had spitefully challenged her at every turn he could, even when her words were human. But it was okay, he told himself, because when he got back to Resilia, he would still have his friends. His origin wouldn't deprive him of that. But he wouldn't let someone from his world mess up his new chance. He would protect his new family, and friends, with all his heart. He had Excalibur, for fuck's sake. He was a triple-elemental mage. He was talented, he was powerful. What was he scared about?

You're a thief, his inner voice pestered him, you have no achievements of your own. You lost the right to an achievement, a long long time ago-

No.

Check the Thief's Brand. She had said it airily, but Evan had the feeling...

Evan King wasn't a thief.

I'm not a thief, he reassured himself as he followed the former heiress-queen towards the direction of the Woods.

----