Chapter 326: Chapter 310 – Pirates and Prayers II

Chapter 310 - Pirates and Prayers II

A fox-shaped hat stifled a giggle as she watched her favourite person perform a careful self-inspection. Claire checked everything. She examined her clothes, combed through her hair, and tested her magic circuits—all in spite of the fact that there was no cause for concern. When done with herself, she moved on to examining the homunculus. She patted her down, squished her cheeks, and lightly doused her in mana, just to confirm the lack of adverse reactions.

Only when finally done with the exercise did she turn to face the room’s owner. Arciel—who had been teleported back to the capital some two hours prior—was watching with amusement from atop her throne, but the others in the room were not quite as entertained. Parliament had been called together for an emergency meeting; government officials from every key sector had gathered around a table for discussion, only for a certain unauthorized brute to pop out of a portal, interrupt the council, and completely ignore their silent demands. The royal guard’s captain, who was present as the supposed security detail, was especially livid. He had marched towards her as soon as he spotted her, but alas, he was easily defeated. A vector kept him pinned to his post beside the door.

“I was not aware that you had a sister,” said Arciel.

Shrugging, Claire released Rubia and replied with a nod when the homunculus silently asked for permission to inspect her surroundings. The blood golem nearly exploded with joy as she began examining the sandy, half-submerged room, bouncing from wall to wall like a child pumped full of sugar.

“He said seven,” said the caldriess. “It’s better than what I was expecting, but from what I’ve seen, likely still impossible to win.”

“I suppose it was better than eleven,” said the squid, with a frown.

“Barely.” Claire stepped off the table, pushed two of the ministers aside, and made herself a seat of ice.

“Would you mind elaborating further? The rest of us haven’t the faintest idea as to the topic of your discussion,” said one of the people whose chairs Claire had pushed. The floating starfish was Lord Moreau, the minister of finance, and a high-ranking commander in the revolution. She remembered him as one of the men responsible for leading the charge.

“Ciel didn’t tell you?” Claire’s question was met with a small shake of the head.

“We were discussing a less important matter whilst awaiting your return,” said the squid.

Half the faces in the room paled as they processed the statement.

“Y-you cannot be serious, Your Majesty! There is an issue more serious than the possibility of a famine!?” The minister of agriculture, a treant with seaweed growing from his head, flapped his lips like a fish out of water.

Arciel nodded gravely. “As I am certain that many of you have already surmised, there happens to be a certain country that has found itself short a marquis. The poor centaur disappeared within the bounds of our lands, and his people have subsequently decided that there is justice to be served upon them.” She covered the bottom half of her face with her fan. “Just earlier today, we repelled an enemy fleet. It was a veritable army made up of thirty airborne castles, nearly half of which were the size of the late Lord Pollux’s craft, or perhaps further in excess. While we were able to momentarily put an end to the invasion, I regret to inform you that we have yet to emerge victorious. There are many more battles to come.” She paused to take a breath, during which no one dared to speak. “Fortunately, we have negotiated a circumstance in which we will not find our lands bombarded by their ships, but it remains that Cadria has declared war by proxy. We are to select seven champions to engage the foreign nationals in a series of duels that will decide the outcome of the war. I understand that many of you may find this development utterly ridiculous, given the size of their army and the ease of our slaughter, but it is a tradition of theirs that we have every reason to leverage.”

Murmurs shot through the room.

“I cannot believe they would do something as absurd as to pin the blame on us,” said the minister of foreign affairs. He was a withered old seagull with a patch over one eye and his bill slightly deformed. “There might be hope in appealing against the decision. He was interfering with our local business structure without the consent of the crown.”

“Negotiation isn’t going to cut it,” said Ray’esce. “He was only being as heavy-handed as he was because he knew that his people had his back.” The admiral-turned-prime minister’s opinion was met with a series of nods. Having personally rallied more than half of the men in the room to her banner, his voice was nearly as well-respected as the queen’s.

“That is how I have understood the circumstances as well,” said Arciel. “Would you happen to have any other details, Claire?”

The caldriess paused for a moment to think. “No date has been decided, but it’s safe to assume that we’ll have the winter to prepare. Some of the strongest Cadrian duelists are thorae, and most of them hibernate through the colder months. No location was decided either, but they’ll likely insist on the Valencian colosseum. It’s where my father’s always crushed his foes when they refused to meet him on the battlefield.”

There was a moment of silence as the ministers absorbed the information.

“What will happen if we lose?” asked the minister of foreign affairs.

“It depends,” said Claire. “Every warrior that emerges victorious will be granted a seat on a council that will discuss the final outcome. But really, it’s not all that different from a traditional war. Cadria’s goal is subordination. If they win outright, they’ll likely request it. If not, then they’ll ask for something to ease the process.”

“And if we emerge the victors?” asked Arciel.

“That’s for you to decide,” said Claire. “But if I had to guess, you’re likely best off demanding reparations. Reverse subordination is impossible. The people will rebel, and Vel’khan lacks the resources to bring Cadria to its knees by force.”

“Your Majesty, surely you do not believe we are capable of sweeping the rug out from under our foes. If Marquis Pollux and his men were anything to go by, the Cadrians likely have us outclassed. This nation is home to only a select few individuals powerful enough to overcome foes so great,” said the minister of defense. He was a sea urchin, specifically one covered in rusty iron barbs.

“Whatever the case, I suppose it would be wise to begin with producing a list of individuals who might be willing to participate in this conflict,” the queen replied. “I have written a number of names myself, but I am open to the consideration of any candidates that you may have in mind.”

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“In that case.” The prime minister looked over his shoulder, at the maid always in charge of his service. “I do have a few names lined up. Would you mind if I reported back first thing in the morning?”

“By all means,” said Arciel. She looked around the rest of the room. “It is not only to Count Ray’esce that this offer extends. If any of you have promising warriors in your employ, or find yourselves knowledgeable of such people, then refer them to the palace. If we wish to triumph, we must collect the most powerful individuals that this nation has to offer, for our foes will surely do the same.”

“If we are seeking the strongest warriors, Your Majesty, would it not be to our benefit to hold a public event? I am sure our citizens will be glad to heed the call should they find themselves with offers of wealth and power,” said the minister of defence. 

“It’s a good idea, but I don’t know if it’s worth the time.” Standing opposite the sea urchin was a portly shark with a monocle attached to his face. Known for his all-around good sense, he was a commoner that had quickly risen through the ranks and become the minister of domestic affairs. “Weeks’ll have passed by the time word spreads around the nation, and it’ll take even longer for people to make time to travel and compete. If I had to guess, I’d say we’d need at least three months just to pick people out.”

Arciel lightly tapped her fan against her chin. “By the estimate that I have been provided, the journey on its lonesome shall necessitate the better part of a month. We have methods of circumventing it, but I would rather we obscure our hand. By that measure, we’ve a scant five lunar cycles to gather and refine our forces, should we assume that the conflict will begin with the coming of spring. There is no time to spare.”

“It’s also risky,” said the pudgy shark. “With how much time it’ll waste.”

“But what else would we use the time for?” asked the minister of defense. “The other candidates will continue to train in the meantime. I don’t see what there is to lose.”

“Plenty of wasted manpower given the possibility of a famine,” said the minister of domestic affairs. “The men that we pull away from the fields are men that’d usually be fighting off the poor harvest. It’s not like our vaults are full given everything that’s happened recently. The treasury’ll run itself dry before it can fill our people’s stomachs.”

The minister of defense curled his spikes. As much as he wanted to, the sea urchin couldn’t deny it. The oversized kelpfin had a solid point.

“To think that Primrose’s mind would darken at this of all times,” he muttered.

The goddess of the harvest was a benevolent deity with a heart of gold. She expended her power each year, dispersing it across the lands to better the growth of crops of all shapes and sizes before finally hibernating the winter away. Every edible plant was affected by her magic, enriched and enhanced to produce more potent yields. But on occasion, her power would diminish. It was not a matter of waning faith, but rather a consequence of the goddess’ mood. In some years, she felt brighter than others. In those, the harvests would be plentiful, with much extra to go around. But in others, she would feel dour and her blessings would weaken. Sometimes, the events could be understood and solved—the early death of a blessed child, a scuffle in the divine realm, or the refusal of her affections—but in others, they were mysterious, beyond any means of mortal understanding. And it was precisely one of those years that her believers had just forecasted. 

For those with primarily meat-based diets, it was hardly a problem. At most, they might notice a lack of herbs with which to season their sausages, or perhaps a lack of grain to accompany their meals. But for those that relied on the consumption of plants, it was quite possibly the end of the line. Life often hung in the balance; there was only so far they could stretch their resources without reducing the number of mouths to feed.

Worse yet, when the crises struck, they were often global. It was rarely just from one area that the goddess’ favour would vanish. Of course, the people were not so foolish as to not consider the possibility. Most communities had enough food squirrelled away to survive a few bad years, thanks to the usual generosity of the harvest, but Vel’khan’s coffers were hardly in the best of states.

Queen Priscilla had spent the whole budget each year on programs to support the poor, and the little bit of cash retained for emergencies had already been blown on reforms, following the monarch’s demise.

“While a significant prize will certainly function as a strain on our finances, It is not the potential for economic damage with which I am concerned,” said Arciel. “I am most worried that it will be a wasted effort. We know most of those with power, and the few who have remained hidden are unlikely to rise on our behalf. There is little that this nation has done for its people. With only so little time past since Priscilla’s removal, we are effectively but a fledging nation yet to garner good faith.”

In the first place, it was doubtful whether there were any powerful individuals hiding amongst the populace. The leviathan’s dungeon was the only source of experience for fighters with higher levels. New trials did spring up throughout the land, on occasion, but none were challenging enough to cultivate any particularly potent talent. It was a fairly peaceful land, and while that was for the better when everyday life was concerned, it meant that the locals had little interest in the pursuit of power.

The average Vel’khanese citizen had zero ascensions. One in ten Cadrians had two.

“I suppose I do see your point,” muttered the metallic urchin. “I doubt anyone that refrained from participating in the civil war will suddenly be appearing out of the woodwork. I apologize, Your Majesty. I appear to have wasted your time with this suggestion.”

“There is no need to apologize, Lord Rousseau. While the idea itself was refuted, it provided ample opportunity for discourse,” said Arciel. “Are there any others with suggestions to share?” she asked, as she looked around the table.

There was a moment of silence.

“Though I am without suggestions, I would like to request a point of clarification,” said the Prime Minister. “How many of our opponents are projected to match Lord Pollux’s prowess in combat?”

Arciel lowered her fan to reveal a frown. “I am afraid that Lord Pollux is not quite up to the par that we should be expecting. I will leave it to Claire to provide the accompanying details.”

Everyone turned to face the lyrkress when the queen called her name, but she failed to respond in kind.

“So uhmmmm,” Sylvia, who was sitting on top of her head, stuck out her tongue and laughed. “Claire’s kinda been asleep for like ten minutes already.”

It was a revelation that left the council outraged, but there was nothing to be done, no matter how much they shook her and screamed. For her spirit had long evacuated the meeting and joined a certain false flower in exploring the castle grounds.

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