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Daybreak:Volume 1 Chapter 8

2023-06-26T14:19:06Z

Aorii:

===Chapter 8 - Inquisitive Hope===

By Monday afternoon, Kaede was starting to feel burned out. Not actually being a bookworm, there was only so much continuous reading she could stand before the task started draining her mental health. Over a week of almost nothing but research pushed even her focus.

Pascal's sour mood over the weekend hadn't helped, but Marina's visit did much to lighten things up.

"You're welcome to come down and visit us in the servant's quarters," she offered, her smile bright enough to light the room. "It's just beyond the kitchens at the end of the dining hall."

"I'd love to," Kaede beamed back. "Probably sometime later this week. Are you around here during the weekends?"

"Week...ends?" Marina puzzled.

"Saturdays and Sundays. Don't you get those days off from work?"

"I've... never heard of anyone who get two days off from a regular work schedule." Marina replied. "There are some who get Sundays off from work, but not us. Servants do not receive any days off on a weekly basis. There's always food that need serving and rooms that need cleaning."

"But..." Kaede was surprised and even somewhat appalled by what Marina just said. "How do you get time off from work then?"

"We can request leave if we're sick or if we have family matters. And there are some holidays when we receive most of the day off. But that's about it." Marina shrugged as though this was completely normal. "I'm lucky that my superior is usually very understanding towards such requests."

''This world seriously needs some labor regulations!'' Kaede thought.

Clearly, there hasn't been the equivalent of the Socialist Party of America yet, who were responsible for establishing much of the labor standards used in modern Earth.

"Alright, then what time would be best for me to visit you, so you can request some time off?"

"Probably Sundays, though mornings work better in general," Marina replied as her hands continued to rearrange and clean the tabletops. "Most of the teaching and research staff live outside the castle, and they're usually home on Sundays which saves us a lot of work. Also unlike the other servants, I don't have any family in the area, so I rarely request time off. Shouldn't be a problem if I ask for an hour or two when you visit."

"Sounds good. I'll definitely make time next week," Kaede smiled. She then wondered aloud: "How long have you worked here?"

Marina paused for a second to think. "It's been about two years since I came to this region in search of a job."

"Wow, that must be tough. Two years with almost no vacation."

Kaede couldn't imagine doing that herself. With her modern standards, she would lose control from sheer stress alone. Yet part of her knew that if she left Pascal, this was exactly the life she would have to live in this world.

"Where did you live before?"

"I was an orphan raised near the eastern borders of Rhin-Lotharingie," Marina casually spoke without any of the melancholy expected of such words. "My parents died during the chaos of the last war ten years ago."

"I'm sorry," Kaede muttered back with downcast eyes, feeling uncomfortable after breaching such a topic. However Marina merely shook her head and returned an angelic smile:

"I was lucky. A kind individual took me in and raised me. But I couldn't keep being a burden to them after coming of age. So I left home after I turned fifteen and sought to become independent."

''She's only seventeen then, the same age as me!'' Kaede couldn't help feeling herself grow even closer to the young maid. "Does your benefactor know that you're here then?"

"I've sent letters, and gifts," Marina replied with a happy look. "But I haven't seen him for two years now. I hope that by the time I meet him again, I'll have the chance to settle down."

"Settle down?"

"Most maids work to save up enough money for a good dowry, so they can get married one day," Marina explained.

''I guess some things haven't changed, at least for commoners,'' Kaede realized. Just because magic-blessed noblewomen like Ariadne had similar opportunities as men, didn't mean that the same applied to the lower classes.

<nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>

In an unusual turn of events, Kaede found herself waking up late at night. She felt feeble, even weaker than her usual self these days. Furthermore, her body was aching all over, as though she was in the grips of a fever. There was also a constant buzzing in her head.

"You are finally awake," Pascal noted from beside the bed. He sat in a chair with a book on his lap. His worried eyes drooped in an uncharacteristic display of fatigue.

"Do you remember what happened? I found you collapsed on the floor after returning from my classes."

She looked at the wall clock. It was four in the morning, over ten hours since she last checked the time.

''Has he been watching over me this whole time?''

Thinking back, Kaede tried to recall her last memory:

"I was searching for my cup... but I couldn't find it and was getting thirsty, so I just used yours..."

She eyed the enchanted silver goblet that sat on the bedside table. It could be infused with mana to conjure clean, refreshing water out of thin air by summoning it from underground water tables.

Pascal nodded as he followed her gaze:

"It was on the floor also, just beyond your reach. I thought you might have been poisoned, but I scanned both the cup and your system with ''Detection'' and nothing suspicious came up. ''Neutralize'' spells had no effect on you, nor would ''Rejuvenate'' wake you up. You did not have any wounds or noticeable bruises that would indicate being attacked by an intruder either. Do you remember anyone or anything suspicious coming into the room, or feel any lingering pains at the moment?"

Kaede took a moment to run through her memories again. She had spent the entire afternoon reading. She then chatted with Marina when the maid came to clean the room. It was just like most other weekdays since she had arrived.

"...No. Nothing unusual happened. And... my body aches, but not in any specific spot as much as all over."

Pascal's brows furrowed as he ran out of ideas.

"The healers' only suggestion was that you might have been feeling anemic. None of them really knows anything about Samaran physiology."

"Well... it's true that I haven't been sleeping well, and ''someone'' keeps waking me up every morning. Not to mention changing bodies might still be taking its toll." Kaede glared at Pascal with an accusing scowl. "But I didn't feel dizzy or anything outside of the usual sleepiness. It just came out of nowhere... I don't know if Samarans react poorly to sleep deprivation or something."

Pascal sighed, partly in response but mostly in relief.

"I did run the basic tests on your blood while you were out. All I can say is that you are not showing signs of any major illness we know of." He then stood up and began taking off his dress shirt: "Take the day off tomorrow and sleep in. In the future, tell me when you are feeling under the weather. You do have a girl's body to take care of now."

Kaede merely nodded back as she sank back under the comforter, her mind already set on visiting the library tomorrow.

<nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>

Kaede's morning routine must have set her biological clock. After waking up around the same time as usual, she spent the early morning trying to sleep in. She wanted to stay until at least after breakfast, when the students began their daily courses.

Pascal made a surprise return after the meal. With no desire to hear any grumpy orders to rest, Kaede pretended to still be asleep. The tray of bread, cheese, and savory slices of roast pork he left behind for her came as a pleasant surprise.

"<Thanks for the food,>" she told him over the telepathic bond after finishing.

His reply was a simple: "<Get better.>"

Her morning and afternoon trips to the library were far less enjoyable. Both times, several nobles made their opinions of her presence in their sanctuary known with disgusted gazes and hushed whispers. Worse yet, after scanning through two dozen books on Samarans in the library's cultural section, all she managed to find out were some general details:

Other than differences in appearance, Samaran physiology was almost equivalent to that of regular humans. They had the same organ functions, similar biological cycles, and even suffered the same ill effects for nutritional imbalance. One book did claim that Samarans' pregnancy lasted much longer than normal humans, though it failed to provide any further details.

The only major difference lay in their blood. The crystal-clear Samaran 'fluid of life' was known for its healing properties. It could close wounds in under a minute and chase away all but the worst diseases within a day. Furthermore, their blood enhanced healing magic, and could be transfused into any human subspecies without rejection.

Scholars believed that the blood was the source of their longevity. Few Samarans were innately capable of sorcery, yet even an average Samaran could live up to two centuries, which was longer than the healthiest of human mages. Upon reaching the prime years of early adulthood, a Samaran would normally retain their youthful appearance and vigor for well over a hundred years.

However, there was also a dark side about being a Samaran...

Ever since the Great Northern War which gave birth to the Grand Republic of Samara five centuries ago, knowledge about the healing properties of Samaran blood had become commonplace. As a result, Samaran blood had become a highly-sought commodity, used to treat diseases, enhance curative spells, and even imbibed by the rich and powerful in hopes of prolonging their life. Because of this, Samarans were often the victims of trafficking and even large-scale slave raids.

After waging several wars and launching countless black operations against 'blood traders', the Grand Republic finally gave in and made the 'fluid of life' a national export. It was managed by the official Blood Bank of Samara as a diplomatic trade good, and collected from all adult Samarans within the Grand Republic as a literal 'blood tax'. This discouraged illegal sourcing of Samaran blood by offering legitimate supplies and keeping profit margins down. Threats of embargo, war, and active special operations further helped to deter adventurous individuals and nations alike.

Nevertheless, Samaran trafficking remained an issue, especially since neither the Holy Imperium of the Inner Sea nor the Cataliyan Caliphate had ever abolished slavery. Samarans outside the Grand Republic had to guard themselves carefully, as black market traders would pay extravagantly for a living Samaran body with a crushed will. Meanwhile, the Samaran Shadow Guard has earned a reputation as the most ruthless intelligence organization in Hyperion, as they routinely made gruesome examples of any traffickers they uncovered.

For a second time, Kaede found herself glad that Pascal gave her a set of defensive runes. Reports of Samaran slaves exploited as living blood farms depicted a life too terrible to imagine.

Unfortunately, she found nothing about Samarans being prone to instantaneously fainting. If anything, the healing properties of Samaran blood should reduce the likelihood of such occurrences.

Kaede packed up several cultural books plus a tome on the history of familiars into the extra-dimensional messenger bag Pascal gave her. She then departed the library for the dormitory keep. But as she turned around the central keep, her legs froze mid-step upon coming across the most unusual sight:

On the grassy lawn of one inner castle courtyard was a giant amorphous ''thing''. It could only be described as a massive blob of silken tofu the size of a small car. Standing next to it was Perceval, periodically nodding his head and petting the giant tofu as though ''interacting'' with it.

It took a minute before Kaede could recollect her composure.

"Hello, Perceval," she called out as she approached Ariadne's beloved.

"Oh, it's you." Perceval replied in a bland tone, his uninterested glance swiftly returning to the giant tofu before him.

"Pardon me but, what is ''that''..."

"My familiar is a white pudding from the Southern Lotharingie Mountains."

Perceval's casual explanation almost sent Kaede's head into a spontaneous meltdown. However her safeties triggered a brief moment of mental paralysis instead.

"That.... ''that''... is... a creature...!?"

"Yes. White puddings belong to the ooze kingdom of creatures," Perceval continued with just a bare tinge of courtesy. "Like most oozes, they're magical decomposers that can engulf and transmute almost any mass into more of itself. Although they prefer the remains of dead critters."

The giant tofu wobbled like jelly under his gentle caress. Kaede's eyes almost popped out of their sockets when it bounced once, like a child hopping in joy.

It was so far outside the realm of Earth biology that Kaede didn't even know ''how'' to react. She couldn't even imagine how a huge piece of gelatinous mass could function as a living entity, let alone fit into some corner of the ecosystem.

She also couldn't believe how everyone else walking by ignored the giant tofu as completely normal, but stared curiously at ''her'' instead.

"What does it... do?"

"They're a food source..."

With one hand still caressing the giant tofu, Perceval leaned left and right, examining his familiar as though it had any anatomical features to speak of.

"Very bland tasting, but nutritious and easy to consume and digest..."

''It really is living tofu!!!'' her battered logic puked out before fainting. Meanwhile, images of cavemen hunting packs of wild tofu with spears paraded across her mind.

"Animals in the mountains treat them as a roaming food source during the winter, and so do the people living there... ahh, finally..."

"Oyyy! Sorry I'm late!" A short boy with flaming-red hair called out.

"Already used to it," Perceval sighed. "Seriously, Reynaud, just because your friends don't hand out demerits doesn't mean you should keep us waiting. What took you an extra ''half hour''?"

Small and skinny, Reynaud was at least a hand's length shorter than Perceval and was clearly below the male average. However, he virtually bounced across the distance between them with his overflowing energy. Underneath his red hair were a pair of spring-green eyes, a narrow, delicate nose, and lightly freckled cheeks sporting a gleeful grin. His features combined for an innocent, boyish look better suited for a high-school initiate than a collegiate academy student.

However, unlike Perceval, Reynaud was a cadet of the academy's military school. His uniform consisted of a padded, bright-blue leather jacket -- a gambeson that wrapped tight around his narrow chest and fell to beneath his waist.

"Sorry sorry," Reynaud waved in apology before stepping up with a giant tin bucket in hand. "Gerard wouldn't admit defeat from our match earlier. He challenged me to a duel right after class ended."

''Oh right, he's the one Pascal complained about for being too good at dueling.''

Kaede was still lost in thought when Reynaud glanced towards the girl who stood beside his best friend and blinked. A huge grin soon spread across his face as he eyed the young girl.

"Well well, if it isn't the ''Runelord'''s familiar -- the commoner who walloped the princeling." Reynaud circled around Kaede, examining her as he went. "Aren't you a bit too adorable to be giving someone the fisticuffs?"

"You're one to talk, shorty."

With her heels on, Kaede was actually a touch taller than Reynaud. But as he spiraled closer to her with his ogling eyes, she felt her gut begin to knot in discomfort.

It felt distinctively like he was undressing her with his gaze.

"Miss, you are way too precious to be a decoration for that noble jerk." He bowed slightly before extending his hand. "Please, allow me to take you home instead and treat you like the sweet and tasty buttercup that you are."

''Are you f'ing serious...?''

Kaede's brows twitched twice in irritation. Then, her cheeks flushed scarlet as she felt his hand snake behind her and brush down against the skirt covering her rear. She swiftly pulled her arm back and sent a fist straight into his face.

Her hand might be small and weak, but it was still enough to leave a swollen eye.

"Well, that cleared some doubts!"

Even with a hand rubbing his blackening eye, Reynaud's cheery grin seemed to only widen with delight. His tone soon turned into what reminded Kaede of a drawling, British accent:

"Little weak but just the right amount of spice. Please lady may I have some more?"

''Just what is wrong with this pervert?''

Kaede stiffened and hesitantly took two steps back. Her fingers were poised to stab the runes on her forearm just in case. She might not want to start a fight with a noble, as she didn't know if Pascal could shield her from all the repercussions. But she certainly wasn't going to just allow some pervert to keep groping her in public.

Thankfully, she never had to resort to such actions, as Perceval interjected and stepped in-between them:

"Control yourself, Reynaud. Just because she's not a noblewoman doesn't mean you can blatantly insult her like this."

''Does that mean there are only legal repercussions when a lady is harassed?'' Kaede immediately realized to her horror.

Meanwhile Reynaud scowled. No, pouted was a better description.

"Sheesh, you're never any fun, Perceval. Fine fine," he complained as though harassment was fine just because it was a 'joke'. He then walked towards the white pudding and, with one scoop, filled his bucket with a generous chunk of the giant tofu.

"Thanks as always brother!" Reynaud began to walk off, backwards. "Nice to meet you as well, Buttercup! Next time you give that jerk a beating, be sure to invite the rest of us to cheer you on!"

''Talk about noble hypocrisy,'' Kaede bitterly thought. ''Even 'that jerk' Pascal has more respectfulness than this little creep.''

"I'm sorry about that." Perceval apologized in a deep, sincere voice. "Reynaud doesn't mean any harm by that. He just doesn't know any boundaries on when to stop fooling around."

Kaede took a brief exhale to alleviate her frustration. It wouldn't help her any to spill her annoyance on the person who helped her.

"That's alright." Kaede decided to simply nod back. Though she did feel surprised that Perceval was being genial to her.

"Anyhow, did you need me for something?"

Kaede quickly remembered that the man before her was also a healer:

"Yes, actually. I would like to ask if you know anything that may cause someone to fall unconscious with no warning, especially a Samaran."

"...You?"

"Yes. Me," Kaede nodded.

"I'm no more an expert on Samarans than the rest of the healers..."

Perceval scratched his head. Nevertheless his eyes focused in an instant, revealing the concentration of an apprentice physician who took his job with the utmost seriousness:

"But if you don't mind some blood testing, come with me to the healers' chapel and we'll see what we can find. You can tell me what happened along the way."

"Sure. Thank you." Kaede agreed and began to follow him.

Unable to tear her eyes away from the giant tofu that bounced along behind them, she asked:

"Out of curiosity, what did Reynaud want with a chunk of... uh, white pudding?"

"He has a baby skywhale familiar that's barely old enough to cut milk. A white pudding's consistency and ease of digestion makes it a decent baby food."

Kaede simply nodded. Compared to sentient tofu, skywhales felt like a perfectly logical animal in the world.

<nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>

The healer's chapel was a sterile white hall full of beds, which Kaede found unusual because it was the only room painted white in the entire castle complex. Counters lined up against the far-side wall were packed neatly with potion vials, flasks, and bottles. There were also a dozen transparent quartz crystals the size of tablet computers.

Perceval still held one of them in his hands, through which he had examined Kaede over the past half-hour. She felt oddly naked under his focused gaze, but not exactly uncomfortable thanks to his professional demeanor.

"As far as I can tell, there's nothing wrong with you, other than a slight vitamin-D deficiency," Perceval noted as he put the quartz screen back onto his lap. "You need to come outside more often."

Kaede was amazed they even knew about vitamins. ''The biomedical understanding of this world is more advanced than I'd have guessed.''

"Well... people haven't exactly been welcoming to me." She then answered.

A barely noticeable cringe went through Perceval before he closed his eyes and sighed.

"Yes, and I haven't exactly been helping. I'm sorry about that. I know it's no fault of yours, but... your master and I have a history."

"I've heard from Ariadne. Don't worry about it," Kaede rushed to wave it off before changing the subject back: "Do you know any other reason why people here might faint suddenly?"

"Our medical capabilities are nowhere near perfect, and there are plenty of possible reasons for losing consciousness over some condition we either overlooked or simply can't detect. However..." his gaze turned from contemplative to warning. "Ten hours is too long. That's just too serious not to leave an evident sign. Furthermore, ''Rejuvenate'' spells can usually wake up even someone sick to the verge of death. To stop something like that... I can't think of anything BUT a magical effect, except you don't carry any suspicious auras, either."

"Do all magical effects leave an aura?"

"No, but a hidden magical aura isn't a natural occurrence. That means you're not just contracting a magical disease or having an allergic reaction against the wards, but being affected by deliberate foul play. Although, given your master, I wouldn't be surprised if that were the case."

Kaede couldn't tell if Perceval was smirking or scowling; probably a bit of both.

"Are you sure all you drank was water? That there wasn't anything in that chalice you mentioned?" Perceval asked.

"Pascal said the ''Detection'' spells came out clean. How reliable is that?"

"Reliable enough for everything conventional," Perceval simply shrugged. "But healers aren't in the subterfuge or poison business, and that spell is old, ancient. One of the lessons they teach us in this school is that as long as there is a way, there is also a counter. Unfortunately... that's all I can really tell you."

Kaede nodded as she held onto that thought for later:

"Thank you so much for this. I really do appreciate it."

For the first time, Kaede saw Perceval's gentle, peaceful smile directed towards her.

"Not to sound mean, but I'd do it even if you were the devil's daughter -- that's what it means to take the healers' oath. However, I do promise to try to be cordial in the future. Bet my actions thus far must seem unworthy compared to how dear Aria described me."

Kaede sent back a grin of her own:

"Not at all. As Ariadne said, you're a very generous man."

A shadow of guilt entered his almost-bashful expression in response. It was both what Kaede hoped for, and what made her thoughts agree with her words.

''Good people aren't always nice, but you can always count on them to try to do the right thing,'' she thought as she waved to Perceval before leaving the healers' chapel.

...

On her way back to the dormitory keep, Kaede replayed all of yesterday afternoon in her memories. Other than Marina's daily cleaning visit, she couldn't think of a single sign of an outsider entering into the room. Furthermore, she remembered that Marina didn't just perform the usual, but also gave all the furnishing in the room a thorough dusting and sanitary wipe-down. She must have at least lifted the chalice when cleaning the bedside counter it sat on.

''But why would Marina want to harm Pascal? If this is poison, it's far too low grade... almost like an immature prank.''

Kaede knew that history was abundant with cases where agents bribed or blackmailed servants into carrying out their dirty schemes. Pascal was the son of Weichsel's Marshal. His father no doubt gathered plenty of enemies. Furthermore, Pascal's own character was hardly the type to avoid burning bridges.

Nevertheless...

''I can't just lay suspicion on Marina for no reason. Who knows what these nobles may do to a mere servant girl?''

The sun was already setting. Pascal would return from class soon. Therefore Kaede's only course of action was to confirm for herself tomorrow.

<nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>

Pascal had been stuck in an irritable mood for several days now.

It began late last Saturday when he tried to contact Sylviane again, only to be rejected without a single word.

''Farspeak'' spells opened the most reliable communication channel that could be made using spellcraft. But it required both the sender ''and'' the receiver to concentrate on maintaining the one-to-one link.

Due to her busy schedule, Pascal only called once a week. However in the past, even if she was attending a special council meeting, Sylviane always at least sent back a brief reply before closing the connection.

The fact he knew exactly why she ignored him only deepened his melancholy. It certainly kept him awake late into the night.

Ariadne's invitation to Kaede didn't help his moodiness, but it was a mere drop in the bucket compared to Sylviane ignoring his calls on both Saturday and Sunday nights. Pascal had no wish to further irritate his fiancée by pestering her nonstop. However, shutting down two attempts per day made it evident that she was deliberately not talking to him.

Sunday night was the first time Pascal realized just how late Kaede stayed awake every night, shifting and turning.

Kaede's collapse on Monday night began to push his limits. Fatigue was but one factor. Pascal was also not used to being emotionally strung out.

On Tuesday morning, a noble who criticized the Emperor's recent policies received a ferocious tongue lashing from Pascal. After that, everyone stayed twice the distance they usually kept from him. Professor Albert noticed this, and requested some early research discussion from Pascal's ''Pandemonium Doctrine'' project in order to 'keep his thoughts occupied'. As expected, the assignment kept Pascal contemplative for the remainder of the day and well into the evening.

"Hey Pascal," Kaede asked from behind him. "Did you know that the familiars of mages who die of old age often revert back to normal and live on?"

"Yes." Pascal didn't even bother to look up from his writing desk. "Speculation claims that it is the shock of death carried across the bond that mortally wounds the familiar's psyche, either killing them immediately or destroying their will to live. It is the same effect for when a bond is severed by force. Obviously, no one is going to experimentally test either of those hypotheses. But I am nowhere close to the age of dying peacefully."

"Can't you at least ''try'' to look into some method of how I can get back?"

Pascal sighed and put down the ink stone that he used to channel words straight onto parchment. He turned back around to face the familiar girl.

Kaede sat in his bed with another book opened between her small hands. She wore only the white halter-top he dressed her in on the first night. Meanwhile, her long, snowy hair draped across her bare back and shoulders, pooling into a pile besides her atop the bed.

"I ''have'' thought about this, Kaede. But by all knowledge there is simply no viable solution. We cannot just cut the bond and hope a miracle happens to return everything back to before. Nor does any banishment magic work on your naturalized body, either due to its form or due to the link. In fact, I even asked Professor Beaucaire -- he teaches teleportation -- to cast the ancient planar banishment spell on a sample of your blood. It did not work. Therefore, even if we knew exactly which world you came from out of the infinite numbers out there among the multiverse, we couldn't send you there. The magic of the worldwalkers is a tale of old legends and folklore. It is not something achieved within the annals of modern sorcery."

Kaede met his stare evenly:

"I'm here, aren't I?"

"By some fluke of the spell that I still cannot figure out," Pascal admitted with a scowl. Then, his words grew almost challenging: "I was impressed how quickly you were adapting to life here. I guess that is not the case after all."

"Oh please, it's only been eleven days!" she retorted. "Philosophically, I adhere to the Eastern views of my home world more than the West. We try our best to be accepting of the world around us, to be at peace with how it molds our lives. But being accepting isn't the same as simply surrendering to fate. My will still points my way, and I fully intend to explore all options."

''The Holy Father may have plans for us all, but under his guidance we shall still strive for our cause,'' Pascal reflected as Kaede declared her intent with hardened eyes. For a second he almost felt impressed, with an urge to pull her into a theological discussion.

Almost...

"Anyhow, since there are stories of visiting other worlds..."

"Yes, from millennia ago when angels, demons, and dragonkind still waged wars across our world, when the very nature of magic was different," Pascal's irritated words cut her off. "I am not going off to chase sorcery that has been lost for over a thousand years over wishful thinking. I admit that my mistake brought you here, but I do not owe you all the years of my life in repayment for it!"

With those final-sounding words, Pascal turned back around to focus on his work, leaving only the back of his head to meet Kaede's burning glare.

"<You just don't want me to go back, do you?>" Kaede seethed over the mental link.

Pascal froze for a second.

''Do I?''

His fatigued thoughts stumbled through a fuzzy world of internal analysis, cycling through memories of the past week-and-half. He admitted that while he did indeed enjoy her company at times, there were many more where he wondered if Kaede was really worth her trouble.

It took another minute before he finally replied:

"<Maybe. But I promise you that if some clue of it being reasonably possible appears, I will look into it. But until then, I refuse to waste any more time chasing what every professor believes a pipe dream based on nothing more than ancient history.>"

The sound of a book slamming shut came from behind him as Kaede haphazardly tossed it onto the counter. She then lowered herself into the bed and pulled the bedcovers over her head.

The emotions that flowed across their link had never grown beyond mere annoyance. But even that, when added to his own irritation, was enough to push his current self-control, or lack thereof.

''I need sleep.''

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| Back to [[Daybreak:Volume_1_Chapter_7|Chapter 7]]
| Return to [[Daybreak_on_Hyperion|Main Page]]
| Forward to [[Daybreak:Volume_1_Chapter_9|Chapter 9]]
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Daybreak:Volume 2 Chapter 2

2023-06-24T13:31:18Z

Aorii:

===Chapter 2 - Gendered Recollections===

"Morning Ma! Morning Pa!"

Stifling a mild yawn with his hand, the seventeen-year-old young man strode into the modest kitchen-bar-dining room his family shared.

"Morning, Kaede. I was wondering if I might need to wake you up for once."

His mother offered a bright smile before turning back to the kitchen counter. Her long ponytail swayed behind her as she chopped vegetables to prepare lunch at a quick beat.

Honoka was petite and slight of build, with a height even shorter than the average Japanese woman. Although technically she was of Ainu ethnicity, a fact that the more pretentious and xenophobic local residents never allowed her to forget, even up here in the northern prefecture of Hokkaido.

"No practice this morning, Ma," Kaede explained in Russian as he stepped up to the two pieces of honey-covered french toast his mother set on the kitchen bar.

It was routine in the Suvorsky household to speak Russian when only family members were around. Kaede's parents had been afraid that his proficiency with the language would deteriorate after years of living in Japan. Indeed, Kaede's writing skills had already regressed. Reading, on the other hand, was kept up by an endless flow of articles shared by his father.

"Those piss-condoms are still at it," that same father swore from a dining chair as he finally put the tablet down, an electronic news article displayed across the screen.

"Language, dear," the mother admonished, though her voice was more velvet than steel. "It amazes me to this day that Kaede didn't grow up with a foul mouth like yours."

"Perhaps I'm just too cultured for him," the youth grinned back, only to void his own claim by stuffing an entire piece of toast into his mouth.

"Oh please! Who taught you all that--" his father spun around the chair as he began to retort, only to halt as the mother cleared her throat aloud. "--Well, at least half that culture?"

Kaede shrugged back, still grinning as his stuffed cheeks grounded down the sweet breakfast with haste.

Konstantin was a Russian of mostly Komi ethnicity. He had bright, slate-gray eyes, sharp eyebrows, and a straight nose, all well-centered upon a somewhat rectangular face. The thin, brown hair above his surprisingly-smooth forehead was graying steadily, which gave a respectable professor look alongside the large spectacles that adorned his image.

"Whaf--" Kaede shoved the chewed food to one side of his cheeks before gesturing at the tablet on the table: "--happened this time?"

"More finger-pointing by the Americans. Not that it's anything new," Konstantin commented with disgust before he picked up the tablet and swiped. "There is actually interesting news though -- Motegi met with Lavrov to discuss 'concrete steps' in resolving the Kuril Islands dispute," he read the title before his lips formed something between a grin and a scowl. "The tides are finally turning. The Japanese are starting to think foreign policy for themselves, instead of simply adopting whatever their American overlords wished."

"Abe and Xi's meeting last year certainly ruffled the Americans' feathers." Kaede pitched in before he grabbed a glass of orange juice. Honey on toast was his favorite at breakfast, but it was perhaps a bit too dry by itself.

International politics was arguably his father's biggest hobby. As a result, Kaede found himself well-versed in the maneuvering of leaders and nation-states.

"Indeed, and now the Americans are starting to bend over backwards: anything Japan wants so long as it aligns with their anti-China policy," Konstantin snorted. "Just look at what the bastards are doing. China is mobilizing its entire country to tackle this new virus. Even a centuries-old rival like Japan knows how to be a good neighbor."

Kaede nodded in agreement to the last part. He never thought he'd see the day when a renowned Japanese troupe would sing the Chinese National Anthem -- an ''anti-Japanese'' song written during the World War -- as a sign of solidarity for Wuhan. When Kaede first showed the video to his half-Chinese friend, the latter almost shed tears as he'd never thought even such ''symbolic'' gestures would have been possible between his two home countries.

"Meanwhile, what do the Americans do?" Konstantin continued. "They politicize every technical mistake the Chinese make, even going as far as making the World Health Organization their whipping post. Anyone with half a brain should know that 'discovery' is a process of trial-and-error. It would be more surprising if the Chinese did ''not'' make major blunders when they're the first to encounter the virus."

"Is it any surprise though?" Kaede thought aloud. "''Thucycides' Trap'' -- a declining hegemon is always antagonistic towards a rising power. Isn't that what you've taught me?" He referred to the term popularized by the American applied historian Graham Allison.

The father turned to look upon his son with a gruff but proud smile.

"Yes. But in decline or not, America is still the dominant power of the world, and will remain so for at least another quarter century. They should at least ''pretend'' to be diplomatic, to establish international cooperation in the face of a global crisis, and not act like gleeful bandits overjoyed by the arsonist's crimes." Konstantin voiced with contempt as he stirred the hot bowl of Shchi cabbage soup that he preferred in the morning.

Kaede couldn't help but make a wry smile. Certainly, for a political realist, the ideological mud slinging that had replaced traditional diplomacy was toxic. Gone were the days of Habsburg Chancellor Metternich and American Secretary of State Kissinger, when statesmen conducted themselves with rational calculation behind professional courtesy. It was what allowed the Cold War to stay 'cold', while the United States and Soviet Union continued to work together on issues that benefited everyone, such as the non-militarization of space.

Yet today, this rationalism has given away to the oversimplified rhetoric of "we're good, they're evil", even in the realm of statecraft. Now, even diplomats would tout propaganda slogans like "all non-democratic nations are evil dictatorships" at summits, just like how Church priests once told sermons of "all non-Christian peoples are evil pagans" to their parishioners.

''The real problem with humanity is that we have paleolithic emotions, medieval institutions, and god-like technology.'' Kaede sighed as he thought of the famous quote.

Nevertheless, Kaede simply didn't have the time for a debate over philosophy before school to open this broader topic.

"I doubt 'diplomatic' is in their current president's vocabulary." He opted for a casual shrug in an attempt to downplay the events, which prompted a snort from his father instead.

"You're not wrong about that!" His father fumed. "And now all we have is a shitshow between these so-called Chinese 'wolf-warrior diplomats' who make a mockery of diplomacy, and an American political establishment who's more pretentious than the Soviet newspapers we used to wipe our ass with! At least their current president is frank about the truth of American politics -- capitalists enriching themselves at others' expense just like how their corporations plundered Mother Russia to bare bones after the Communist collapse."

A scowl stretched across Konstantin's lips as he leaned in to drink a spoonful of soup. There was nothing that riled him up as quickly as the topic of American Imperialism.

It wasn't surprising, as although Konstantin was no fan of the Soviet regime, he was badly affected by the 'rape of Russia' that happened after the Soviet collapse -- when the capitalist West set loose their corporate hounds upon the crumbling Russia economy and began to de-industrialize the Motherland.

In fact, had Konstantin not taken a job to teach in Japan during that time, it was possible that Kaede's grandparents would have died from malnutrition and a lack of medication before they ever met their grandkids.

Nevertheless, a weekday breakfast was no time for political rants. So Kaede decided to soften the mood, if only by a little:

"So, have you liberated your rear of its 'Freedom Gas' today?" He referred to recent news of the US government naming their natural gas 'Molecules of Freedom' and trying to force Europe to buy them.

The explosive laughter that came from his father sent spittles of vegetables and soup flying in every direction.

"Kaede!" Honoka shouted in warning from the kitchen.

"Sorry Ma," the young man's smile turned sheepish. In hindsight, he did feel somewhat bad about it, since it was his mother who now had to clean up the mess.

"Trump..." His father snorted out between laughing coughs. "Has the subtlety of a baboon's arse."

"Which is exactly why his voters like him," Kaede shrugged. "Look on the bright side though -- all the US-China scuffles have pulled their press off villainizing Russia for a few months, at least until their elections swing around."

It was more for his father's benefit than his own. Kaede was proud to have Russian roots from his father's side, but he himself had at least been able to keep a degree of distance. In online comment threads, Kaede had been called everything from a 'Russian Troll' to a 'Chinese Wumao' to a 'Muslim Terrorist' to a 'Zionist Jew'...

It was actually something he was proud of. It showed that he could often grasp and even represent another culture's viewpoint.

"What a ridiculous time we live in." Konstantin declared with an annoyed sigh. "Though I do admit that their media is right about one thing: Putin is an ambitious tyrant surrounded by kleptocrats, and we all know it. The only problem is that apart from him, whom else do we have? All the others are either incompetent or asskissers of the West like that piss-drunkard Yeltsin, pawning off the Motherland's assets to the highest American bidder and pocketing the change."

Kaede gave a noncommittal shrug. Once again, he wasn't sure if he'd agree with his father. Though it was certainly true that Russia hadn't seen many great rulers in the past century. Stalin was competent and knew how to get things done, however he also practiced murder on an industrial scale. Putin's policies may have grown more controversial over the years, but he would always be remembered by older Russians for pulling the Motherland out of its post-Cold-War economic collapse. Families tended to remember the day when paychecks started flowing and food could be put on the table again.

Nevertheless, it ''was'' rare to see his father openly agreeing to foreign criticism of his beloved homeland. It reminded Kaede of when he had told his father that a 'true nationalist' wouldn't merely kneejerk at criticisms, but also admit to their own country's shortcomings.

"Probably why the Americans hate him so much -- the tragedy of Great Power politics." The young man opted for the realist response in the end.

''If only this rivalry didn't manifest into an intense media Russophobia that caricatures all Russians.'' Kaede hid his faint scowl.

Meanwhile, Konstantin nodded with a smirk as he patted Kaede's shoulder. His gaze was full of pride for the son who had learned so much from him.

"Kaede, you might want to take off before you're late for school." Honoka finally disrupted the moment of father-son bonding as she reminded him of the time.

"Got it Ma! See you Pa! Try not to argue with your fellow professors too much today!" Kaede called back as he rushed out, the remaining slice of toast soon dangling from his mouth.

...

"Daichi! Kaede is already here! You're going to be late if you take any longer!"

Mrs. Ho called into the house before turning back to Kaede with a shallow yet respectful bow:

"Thank you so much for coming here every day, Kaede."

"No not at all, Aunty." Kaede rushed to reply with an even lower bow. It always made him uncomfortable when people a generation above him showed that much courtesy.

"I'm coming, I'm coming!" Daichi finally rushed into view, pulled on his shoes, and swirled right around his mother to dart out the door. "See ya later Ma!"

"Have a good day at school!" the elegant Mrs. Ho waved from the door as the two young men departed.

Daichi was a high school boy with a classic athletic build. Round-headed with rather large eyes for an Asian, he paced at an above-average height -- especially among Japanese males -- with a lean and confident stride. He might not be the best looking in their grade, but he was up there in popularity, and being the Kendo team captain certainly didn't hurt.

"Wish Sayuri was the one picking me up every mooooooorning," he expressed through a great yawn before looking at Kaede with drooping eyes still half-asleep.

''Good thing I look nothing like your girlfriend,'' Kaede suddenly thought. Otherwise his spine might be shivering with discomfort right now.

"Don't confuse reality with that lame anime you watch," he retorted from besides Daichi as the two walked up the hill.

"Then how come you manage it every morning?"

"Because you're my oldest friend here and you live on my way to school," came the nonchalant reply. "Sayuri is on the wrong side of town."

"I wish I had a cuter childhood friend," Daichi mumbled out.

"Even if I were cuter I'm still a boy," Kaede smirked back before nudging the other's shoulder. "Think your parents might be aghast if you tried that."

"Ugh, no. No way! ''Hell no!''"

Daichi's eyes sprang wide, bulging with nightmarish alertness as his friend began to laugh out loud.

He wasn't exactly Kaede's 'childhood friend'. The two hadn’t met until middle school, mere months after Kaede came to Japan. At a time when Kaede was still trying to fit in with his poor Japanese and mixed-blood appearance, he met the half-Chinese Daichi during the school's activities fair.

Kaede still remembered that moment when he walked by the Calligraphy Club's stall and heard the young boy remark: "look at those ''beautiful'' symbols! I wonder who they stole them from?"

The half-Russian had burst into uncontrolled laughter in that very moment, unable to suppress it even after receiving several annoyed stares.

The two of them became best friends almost immediately. It certainly helped that they both showed an interest in archaic martial arts: swords for Daichi and bows for Kaede. Furthermore, Daichi was half-Chinese and therefore half-fascinated in history and politics by blood.

"How come you know where Sayuri lives anyway?" Daichi returned to the topic once more.

"I'm the one who introduced her to you, in case you forgot," Kaede answered, his expression plain except for the tilted eyebrows. "I walked her and several other girls home once when they stayed late for a culture fair project."

Daichi groaned aloud:

"I swear, you are just asking for the girls to friendzone you! No wonder why you're on such good terms with the girls yet still don't have a girlfriend!"

"Morning, Surusuke-kun!" a girl in class called out in greeting just as they rounded the corner.

"Morning!" Kaede waved back with friendly enthusiasm.

He had long grown used to everyone mispronouncing his surname.

"See!" Daichi cried out, his open palm gesturing between them as they continued on their way. "This is what I'm talking about!"

"I don't know about you, but my parents taught me manners," Kaede shrugged it off with another smile. "Besides, what kind of a man would you be to ''not'' walk a group of stranded girls home?"

"That's not what I meant!" Daichi retorted, his tempo rising as he spoke. "I meant your overt friendliness! You need to at least keep some distance with the girls so that when you do approach them it's ''exciting!'' That's what a budding relationship needs! Emotion! Thrill! ''Passion!''"

Daichi struck a cool pose as he laid one gesturing hand right beneath his smirking chin.

"I'll never let Sayuri see me and only think 'oh hey, it's Daichi'. I want her heart to skip a beat every time she rounds the corner and sees me!"

"She's not about to round that corner ahead, you know that right?" Kaede joked it off to pull Daichi out of his silly posture before defending his own lifestyle:

"Besides, what's wrong with being friends with girls? I want a love that grows out of friendship. Because in years from now, when that youthful spark of passion gradually wanes, it's companionship and trust that keeps couples together and happy."

"There you go again, trying to be 'Mister Mature' and talking like some old salaryman..."

Daichi let loose a deep and exasperated sigh that essentially cried 'what is wrong with you?'

"Come on! You're seventeen! Enjoy life's youth and beauty while you can! Most girls our age aren't interested in some safe, platonic relationship, you know?"

Kaede grimaced. Just barely, so light that his best friend never even noticed.

He didn't need a reminder. He still remembered ''that'' incident quite well. His attempt at high school romance had ended in heartbreak. His once girlfriend leaving with some rather barbed words for him.

"As you said, I'm still young. I have tons that I want to do, so I'm not in a rush for this either," Kaede declared. "If the girls we know aren't mature enough for a stable, long-term, and adult relationship, then I'm willing to wait until they are."

A distant corner of Kaede's mind wondered if those statements were really true, or if he was simply trying to avoid another hurtful experience.

"I swear, keep up this attitude and you'll be ''thirty'' before you find a good..."

"Can we get off this topic?" Kaede objected as Daichi kept up the walking commentary. "We're clearly not seeing eye-to-eye here."

"Fiiiiine..." the other begrudgingly dropped it at last.

A moment of silence followed, which Kaede didn't mind. However Daichi always found such lapses uncomfortable, and he was quick to break it:

"So, in other 'Mister Mature' news, did you hear back from..."

"Tokyo U? Yes. I'm going," Kaede beamed, all shadows chased from his sunlit smile within the second.

"Damn overachiever."

"Hey you could at least..."

"Congratulations."

Daichi expressed his sincerity as he hooked his arm around Kaede's neck and pulled his friend in. The latter's chestnut-brown hair was soon a mess as two of them held a friendly wrestle in the middle of the sidewalk.

"But I still get to gripe about it, you damn overachiever."

...

Standing a hundred paces from the practice target, Kaede kept his footing with his left side facing the target. His hand drew a fresh arrow, and his body straightened into the proper form: pelvis and shoulders in parallel, back straight from neck to feet.

He held his ''yumi'' greatbow diagonally in hand, before gripping the bow string with his right glove. A grooved piece of horn sewn into the thumb's crouch in his three-fingered archery glove caught onto the bowstring. Meanwhile his left hand readjusted itself on the bow's grip.

Kyūdō archery wasn't just a sport. It was also a ritual, a contemplative prayer to the perfection of form.

''Ashibumi'', ''Dozukuri'', ''Torikake'', ''Tenouchi'', and now -- as Kaede turned his eyes to face the target once more -- ''Monomi''.

A cold, Spring breeze swept through the archery range where he stood. However Kaede hardly even felt the chill as his mind zoned out everything else in the world. He raised the greatbow above his head, paused, then pulled it back down. His hands drew away the string while pushing his bow forward at the same time.

His posture reached ''Kai'' -- the full draw. His mind melded into the arrowhead to form one entity. His eyes saw nothing but the target itself. His thumb and fingers then released the string, hurling the arrow out through the open air.

The arrow in flight represented something sacred to Kaede, bringing him a sense of perfect serenity.

...Just before it soared straight into the straw dummy.

Lowering his bow, Kaede's concentration relaxed from his intense focus. It had felt good to leave the world behind, to put aside all of his frustrations and consider only the absolute truth of the moment:

His arrow was fated to pierce the target dead center.

"Perfect shot," Kaede heard Daichi's voice from behind him.

"Nah. Perfect is when I learn to split my own arrows," Kaede turned around to meet his best friend with a smile.

"Oh shut it, you overachiever," Daichi grabbed Kaede by the neck and began pressing his fist into his friend's head.

"Ow! That hurt! Come on I've enough of a headache today!"

The best friend and kendo captain let go at once. His earlier grin faltered in apology.

"Math again?" He asked.

"''Calculus,''" Kaede emphasized and insisted upon the difference. "I'm good at math. We were equals back in algebra and geometry."

"''Almost'' equals," Daichi grinned. Mathematics was his best subject and one of only two in which he beat Kaede. The other was Japanese, thanks to the unfair advantage provided by the Chinese-Kanji connection.

"But clearly I can't do differentials worth squat." Kaede scowled as he led the way to the changing room. "I mean how the heck am I supposed to calculate something I can't even envision?"

Daichi shrugged. "Abstract thinking?"

"Easy for you to say, Mister Numbers," Kaede protested as he took off his gear. "I'm a pictographic thinker. Need a mental image."

"Does it really matter though?" Daichi leaned against the wall as he replied. "You've been accepted to Tokyo U already. You're planning on studying history and media, so it's unlikely you'll ever use calculus. All you need in that class for the rest of the year is a passing grade."

Kaede was in the middle of taking off his equipment when he turned to frown at his best friend.

"I don't do things half-hearted," he retorted. "Maybe calculus will be useful in my life. Maybe it won't. But if I'm going to study it, then I want to ''learn'' it. We didn't come to school for our parents' sake."

Daichi sighed as he tilted and scratched his head. As someone with a Chinese parent, the complaint of 'who am I learning this for' was one he filed often.

"Sure, sure, Mister Mature. But don't distract yourself like this right before the big tournament." Daichi advised. "Tell you what -- if it helps put your mind at ease, I'll tutor you after the tournament. We've got time now that our college admissions are settled. I'm sure that between my calligraphy and your interest in art, we'll find some way of turning Laplace Transforms into a Monet painting."

As Kaede placed the last piece of his archery uniform in his bag, he gave his best friend a knowing look.

"Your calligraphy is terrible. What did your father call it again?"

"''Chicken scratch.''" The two of them said at the same time before bursting into laughter.

It was one of those activities that Daichi had no real interest in, and only practiced because his parents insisted on it.

"But thanks, I'll take you up on that offer," Kaede grinned.

"Oooh, I have a pupil now!" Daichi looked proud of himself as the two of them started to leave. "Call me--"

"I am ''not'' calling you 'Master', you Shounen fanatic," Kaede retorted.

"''Wuxia'', not Shounen." Daichi insisted. "The Japanese genre is a descendent and simplified imitation. And you would know if you actually read more into ''literary history.'' Besides, since when have you ever met someone who learned how to discuss real politics from Shounen?"

It was another one of their shared interests. Daichi's background even gave him a unique perspective. His grandfathers, both of them, had fought in the World War... on opposite sides of the Chinese front.

''Life is wonderful and full of irony.'' Kaede thought with a smile.

The two continued to chat until they arrived at the school's bus station. It was getting late and Kaede wasn't in the mood to walk several kilometers home today.

"I still have some errands to run, so I'll be seeing you," Daichi commented as they saw a bus coming down the road. "When do you leave tomorrow morning?"

"Six-thirty."

"Ooomph, way too early. I need my beauty sleep."

"You mean you're going to stay up late playing video games again," Kaede returned another knowing look.

"Hey what can I say, the world isn't going to conquer itself," Daichi shrugged as the bus pulled in and the doors opened. Then, with a final pat on his friend's shoulders. "Get 'em at the tournament, Tiger. Show 'em what we ''Hafu'' are made of."

"Will do!" Kaede grinned back with appreciation.

<nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>

''I never did make it to the tournament.'' Kaede thought as she buttoned up her shirt.

Her gaze was fixated on her image in the dresser mirror, though in reality her mind wasn't there at all. She watched as her small hands tightened the short, black tie around her stiffly-folded collars, followed then by the pink ribbons around her sleeves just below the shoulders. Her dainty, stockinged feet stepped into her short petticoat. She soon had its upper hem compressed around her narrow waist, followed by that of her skirt.

Her uniform-like white jacket came last. She straightened its black lines and pink ribbons before buckling the narrow belt around her thin waist.

The entire experience had a certain... out-of-body quality to it. It wasn't new, as every time Kaede looked upon the mirror since coming to this world, she always had this weird feeling that she was in the wrong body, that it wasn't hers. Yet now, as she finally began to accept her life here for what it was, it felt like her new body was going through the motions without any conscious thought to it.

Her mind was stuck in a turmoil of emotions. Her recollection of last night intermixed with that of her 'dream', memories of the day before she had been summoned.

''Have I really become a girl?'' She thought.

Her behavior last night -- not just comforting Pascal on the roof but even letting him hold her while she slept -- was simply not usual for any male in a non-romantic relationship. Men, especially ''Russian'' men, tended to keep a certain distance when sharing their worst troubles and deepest emotions.

Kaede remembered how her mother often complained of her father pushing people away whenever he was in a poor mood. It had taken her years to wean him off alcohol as an emotional management tool, but he still had trouble connecting with others whenever he was depressed or angry or frustrated... which was often, thanks to his political views.

It wasn't easy being a Russian male in a post-Cold-War world. Negative stereotypes were abundant, from the terrible Vodka jokes to the insinuation that even their most common names sounded 'evil', due to the prevalence of Russian villains in stories and films. It was part of why Kaede preferred to use her Japanese given name than her Russian one. 'Nikita' had a tendency to summon suspicious looks and mockeries of 'we will bury you'. Even though the Soviet leader whom Kaede shared a name with never said that -- it had been a mistranslation from the very beginning, yet popular media wouldn't let it go as it confirmed the stereotype of the 'Russian menace'.

A young, twelve-year-old Kaede once found an article to explain ''his'' father's behavior to ''his'' mother. Even back then, Kaede had learned to research whenever ''he'' stumbled across a difficult topic. It had turned out that the male tendency to isolate themselves while in poor mood was more than just a common trend. The differences in genders, from brain wiring to bodily hormones, literally made it ''difficult'' for males to express their most heartfelt emotions.

''Is that why I acted the exact opposite last night?'' Kaede thought.

She could still feel Pascal's warmth from when she wrapped her arms around him. Her cheeks colored slightly as she thought about how she had completely tore down any barriers that still existed between them. It had only taken a month since her coming to this world to bridge the gap between them. She doubted that could have been possible if she was still male.

Nevertheless, Kaede needed the bond between her and Pascal to stay within a safe zone. It wasn't even a matter of whether or not she wanted romance as a girl. Her life in the new world simply depended too much on the stability of their relationship for her to risk anything beyond mere friendliness.

''...Especially when he's betrothed to a Princess.'' She reminded herself.

Kaede stole another glance at Pascal. Facing his mirrored reflection, a blank expression replaced his usual dashing smirk as he adjusted his collar and the Knight's Cross hanging below it. His countenance was still stern as he proudly saluted his own image before turning to face her.

She hurriedly glanced back to her own wardrobe before their eyes could meet.

"Ready to depart?"

His tone was composed, or perhaps 'controlled' was a better description. It certainly lacked the humored arrogance he began most days with.

"Y-yeah..."

She had to will herself not to pull away as Pascal leaned in to adjust her appearance to the perfection he demanded.

"Have you already told the others?" She remembered to ask. After all, Pascal had originally said that he'd be joining Ariadne on her trip back to Weichsel, while Perceval would come along as the healer for his new command of a Noble Reiter company.

"Yes." He answered. "Ariadne is still leaving today, possibly by herself. Perceval will be staying behind until he receives an update from me. Reynaud will take us to Alis Avern this morning as he is apparently meeting his father. He has already received his Wayfarer license."

Kaede had read that Wayfarers were mages who specialized in teleportation magic. They could transport up to a dozen people and take them to a beacon as far as a hundred kilopaces away. This meant that a network of Wayfarers who stationed themselves in various towns and cities effectively functioned as Hyperion's 'shuttle service'. They often kept to a schedule but also allowed people to reserve appointments, which allowed travellers to plan their trips in advance.

Prominent figures, such as rich patricians, upper nobility, and certainly most royalty, also hired their own, personal Wayfarers. It was easily one of the most highly demanded services in this world. Many mages, particularly those of yeomen birth, became Wayfarers for its guaranteed employment opportunities.

''Though I doubt that's Reynaud's reason,'' Kaede thought.

"What is... the Emperor like?" She then asked. She could feel that her anxiety was making her stomach do somersaults.

"Emperor Geoffroi is a stern man. A bit sarcastic at times, but also good-hearted underneath. He is an excellent leader of his people and a good father." Pascal spoke with admiration towards his future father-in-law. "Regal is in his nature. So, do not be impertinent. Speak only when you are asked." Pascal warned. "He will not hesitate to throw someone with no political authority into the dungeons."

Kaede nodded back faintly. With everything else on her mind, the stress of an impending royal audience did not add well to her nerves. But however daunting meeting an Emperor may be, the prospect of facing Pascal's royal fiancée while being a ''girl'' bonded to him was... far worse.

She didn't even have to ask before Pascal volunteered that information:

"Sylviane, thanks to her upbringing, is overly serious and pressured by her role as the Crown Princess. Be courteous, look cute, and stay on your best behavior. I am certain she will warm up to you given time, but best you tread carefully at the start."

His advice didn't make her feel any better, nor the hints of worry in his own voice. Kaede simply couldn't shake the feeling that she was like a mistress about to be introduced to the official wife. It made her wonder...

''Wouldn't 'look cute' just aggravate her?''

With one finger under her chin, Pascal brought her eyes back to his turquoise gaze. He waved his hand and its glowing ring over her face. The usual ''Refreshen'' spell soon brightened her appearance.

His usual demeanor finally made Kaede realize that she was being awkward by herself.

Sure, his expressions were different. His attitude was unusual. But that was expected for any normal person who just lost their parents. The key point however, was that he treated her the exact same way as before. Meanwhile she was trying to keep more distance, reneging upon the very words she said to him on the rooftop last night. If she kept this up, she would unintentionally harm him during a time he needed support the most.

"Well... would you prefer I address you as Milord, Sir, or ''Master'' then while we're in public?" She forced out her words, half-jokingly as she sought familiar ground in the atmosphere between the two of them.

Pascal paused as he returned a frowning scowl. Kaede soon berated herself as she found out why.

"As my father is now gone, I am the new Landgrave of Nordkreuz. It is a title of ducal rank, therefore the proper style to address me by is 'Your Grace'. It overrides the 'Sir' for addressing my knighthood or as a noble head of household. And, as I had told you on the first night, I am not some faux noble who needs ego stroking, so please do not give me some weird reputation with the last..."

Then, Pascal finally smirked. It was light, almost faint, but it was nevertheless the first time he showed any semblance of joy all morning.

"Although if you wish to do so ''in private'', I would not really mind."

Kaede squeezed her right hand as she felt an urge to strike that handsome face again.

It was the first time she found her feeling at his expression oddly reassuring.

<noinclude>
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| Back to [[Daybreak:Volume_2_Chapter_1|Chapter 1]]
| Return to [[Daybreak_on_Hyperion|Main Page]]
| Forward to [[Daybreak:Volume_2_Chapter_3|Chapter 3]]
|-
|}
</noinclude>

Daybreak:Volume 2 Chapter 2

2023-03-11T19:55:23Z

Aorii:

===Chapter 2 - Gendered Recollections===

"Morning Ma! Morning Pa!"

Stifling a mild yawn with his hand, the seventeen-year-old young man strode into the modest kitchen-bar-dining room his family shared.

"Morning, Kaede. I was wondering if I might need to wake you up for once."

His mother offered a bright smile before turning back to the kitchen counter. Her long ponytail swayed behind her as she chopped vegetables to prepare lunch at a quick beat.

Honoka was petite and slight of build, with a height even shorter than the average Japanese woman. Although technically she was of Ainu ethnicity, a fact that the more pretentious and xenophobic local residents never allowed her to forget, even up here in the northern prefecture of Hokkaido.

"No practice this morning, Ma," Kaede explained in Russian as he stepped up to the two pieces of honey-covered french toast his mother set on the kitchen bar.

It was routine in the Suvorsky household to speak Russian when only family members were around. Kaede's parents had been afraid that his proficiency with the language would deteriorate after years of living in Japan. Indeed, Kaede's writing skills had already regressed. Reading, on the other hand, was kept up by an endless flow of articles shared by his father.

"Those piss-condoms are still at it," that same father swore from a dining chair as he finally put the tablet down, an electronic news article displayed across the screen.

"Language, dear," the mother admonished, though her voice was more velvet than steel. "It amazes me to this day that Kaede didn't grow up with a foul mouth like yours."

"Perhaps I'm just too cultured for him," the youth grinned back, only to void his own claim by stuffing an entire piece of toast into his mouth.

"Oh please! Who taught you all that--" his father spun around the chair as he began to retort, only to halt as the mother cleared her throat aloud. "--Well, at least half that culture?"

Kaede shrugged back, still grinning as his stuffed cheeks grounded down the sweet breakfast with haste.

Konstantin was a Russian of mostly Komi ethnicity. He had bright, slate-gray eyes, sharp eyebrows, and a straight nose, all well-centered upon a somewhat rectangular face. The thin, brown hair above his surprisingly-smooth forehead was graying steadily, which gave a respectable professor look alongside the large spectacles that adorned his image.

"Whaf--" Kaede shoved the chewed food to one side of his cheeks before gesturing at the tablet on the table: "--happened this time?"

"More finger-pointing by the Americans. Not that it's anything new," Konstantin commented with disgust before he picked up the tablet and swiped. "There is actually interesting news though -- Motegi met with Lavrov to discuss 'concrete steps' in resolving the Kuril Islands dispute," he read the title before his lips formed something between a grin and a scowl. "The tides are finally turning. The Japanese are starting to think foreign policy for themselves, instead of simply adopting whatever their American overlords wished."

"Abe and Xi's meeting last year certainly ruffled the Americans' feathers." Kaede pitched in before he grabbed a glass of orange juice. Honey on toast was his favorite at breakfast, but it was perhaps a bit too dry by itself.

International politics was arguably his father's biggest hobby. As a result, Kaede found himself well-versed in the maneuvering of leaders and nation-states.

"Indeed, and now the Americans are starting to bend over backwards: anything Japan wants so long as it aligns with their anti-China policy," Konstantin snorted. "Just look at what the bastards are doing. China is mobilizing its entire country to tackle this new virus. Even a centuries-old rival like Japan knows how to be a good neighbor."

Kaede nodded in agreement to the last part. He never thought he'd see the day when a renowned Japanese troupe would sing the Chinese National Anthem -- an ''anti-Japanese'' song written during the World War -- as a sign of solidarity for Wuhan. When Kaede first showed the video to his half-Chinese friend, the latter almost shed tears as he'd never thought even such ''symbolic'' gestures would have been possible between his two home countries.

"Meanwhile, what do the Americans do?" Konstantin continued. "They politicize every technical mistake the Chinese make, even going as far as making the World Health Organization their whipping post. Anyone with half a brain should know that 'discovery' is a process of trial-and-error. It would be more surprising if the Chinese did ''not'' make major blunders when they're the first to encounter the virus."

"Is it any surprise though?" Kaede thought aloud. "''Thucycides' Trap'' -- a declining hegemon is always antagonistic towards a rising power. Isn't that what you've taught me?" He referred to the term popularized by the American applied historian Graham Allison.

The father turned to look upon his son with a gruff but proud smile.

"Yes. But in decline or not, America is still the dominant power of the world, and will remain so for at least another quarter century. They should at least ''pretend'' to be diplomatic, to establish international cooperation in the face of a global crisis, and not act like gleeful bandits overjoyed by the arsonist's crimes." Konstantin voiced with contempt as he stirred the hot bowl of Shchi cabbage soup that he preferred in the morning.

Kaede couldn't help but make a wry smile. Certainly, for a political realist, the ideological mud slinging that had replaced traditional diplomacy was toxic. Gone were the days of Habsburg Chancellor Metternich and American Secretary of State Kissinger, when statesmen conducted themselves with rational calculation behind professional courtesy. It was what allowed the Cold War to stay 'cold', while the United States and Soviet Union continued to work together on issues that benefited everyone, such as the non-militarization of space.

Yet today, this rationalism has given away to the oversimplified rhetoric of "we're good, they're evil", even in the realm of statecraft. Now, even diplomats would tout propaganda slogans like "all non-democratic nations are evil dictatorships" at summits, just like how Church priests once told sermons of "all non-Christian peoples are evil pagans" to their parishioners -- repeated enough times until it became engraved into their subconscious as conditioning.

''The real problem with humanity is that we have paleolithic emotions, medieval institutions, and god-like technology.'' Kaede sighed as he thought of the famous quote.

Nevertheless, Kaede simply didn't have the time for a debate over political philosophy before school to open this broader topic.

"I doubt 'diplomatic' is in their current president's vocabulary." He opted for a casual shrug in an attempt to downplay the events, which prompted a snort from his father instead.

"You're not wrong about that!" His father fumed. "And now all we have is a shitshow between these so-called Chinese 'wolf-warrior diplomats' who make a mockery of diplomacy, and an American political establishment who's more pretentious than the Soviet newspapers we used to wipe our ass with! At least their current president is frank about the truth of American politics -- capitalists enriching themselves at others' expense just like how their corporations plundered Mother Russia to bare bones after the Communist collapse."

A scowl stretched across Konstantin's lips as he leaned in to drink a spoonful of soup. There was nothing that riled him up as quickly as the topic of American Imperialism.

It wasn't surprising, as although Konstantin was no fan of the Soviet regime, he was badly affected by the 'rape of Russia' that happened after the Soviet collapse -- when the capitalist West set loose their corporate hounds upon the crumbling Russia economy and began to de-industrialize the Motherland.

In fact, had Konstantin not taken a job to teach in Japan during that time, it was possible that Kaede's grandparents would have died from malnutrition and a lack of medication before they ever met their grandkids.

Nevertheless, a weekday breakfast was no time for political rants. So Kaede decided to soften the mood, if only by a little:

"So, have you liberated your rear of its 'Freedom Gas' today?" He referred to recent news of the US government naming their natural gas 'Molecules of Freedom' and trying to force Europe to buy them.

The explosive laughter that came from his father sent spittles of vegetables and soup flying in every direction.

"Kaede!" Honoka shouted in warning from the kitchen.

"Sorry Ma," the young man's smile turned sheepish. In hindsight, he did feel somewhat bad about it, since it was his mother who now had to clean up the mess.

"Trump..." His father snorted out between laughing coughs. "Has the subtlety of a baboon's arse."

"Which is exactly why his voters like him," Kaede shrugged. "Look on the bright side though -- all the US-China scuffles have pulled their press off villainizing Russia for a few months, at least until their elections swing around."

It was more for his father's benefit than his own. Kaede was proud to have Russian roots from his father's side, but he himself had at least been able to keep a degree of distance. In online comment threads, Kaede had been called everything from a 'Russian Troll' to a 'Chinese Wumao' to a 'Muslim Terrorist' to a 'Zionist Jew'...

It was actually something he was proud of. It showed that he could often grasp and even represent another culture's viewpoint.

"What a ridiculous time we live in." Konstantin declared with an annoyed sigh. "Though I do admit that their media is right about one thing: Putin is an ambitious tyrant surrounded by kleptocrats, and we all know it. The only problem is that apart from him, whom else do we have? All the others are either incompetent or asskissers of the West like that piss-drunkard Yeltsin, pawning off the Motherland's assets to the highest American bidder and pocketing the change."

Kaede gave a noncommittal shrug. Once again, he wasn't sure if he'd agree with his father. Though it was certainly true that Russia hadn't seen many great rulers in the past century. Stalin was competent and knew how to get things done, however he also practiced murder on an industrial scale. Putin's policies may have grown more controversial over the years, but he would always be remembered by older Russians for pulling the Motherland out of its post-Cold-War economic collapse. Families tended to remember the day when paychecks started flowing and food could be put on the table again.

Nevertheless, it ''was'' rare to see his father openly agreeing to foreign criticism of his beloved homeland. It reminded Kaede of when he had told his father that a 'true nationalist' wouldn't merely kneejerk at criticisms, but also admit to their own country's shortcomings.

"Probably why the Americans hate him so much -- the tragedy of Great Power politics." The young man opted for the realist response in the end.

''If only this rivalry didn't manifest into an intense media Russophobia that caricatures all Russians.'' Kaede hid his faint scowl.

Meanwhile, Konstantin nodded with a smirk as he patted Kaede's shoulder. His gaze was full of pride for the son who had learned so much from him.

"Kaede, you might want to take off before you're late for school." Honoka finally disrupted the moment of father-son bonding as she reminded him of the time.

"Got it Ma! See you Pa! Try not to argue with your fellow professors too much today!" Kaede called back as he rushed out, the remaining slice of toast soon dangling from his mouth.

...

"Daichi! Kaede is already here! You're going to be late if you take any longer!"

Mrs. Ho called into the house before turning back to Kaede with a shallow yet respectful bow:

"Thank you so much for coming here every day, Kaede."

"No not at all, Aunty." Kaede rushed to reply with an even lower bow. It always made him uncomfortable when people a generation above him showed that much courtesy.

"I'm coming, I'm coming!" Daichi finally rushed into view, pulled on his shoes, and swirled right around his mother to dart out the door. "See ya later Ma!"

"Have a good day at school!" the elegant Mrs. Ho waved from the door as the two young men departed.

Daichi was a high school boy with a classic athletic build. Round-headed with rather large eyes for an Asian, he paced at an above-average height -- especially among Japanese males -- with a lean and confident stride. He might not be the best looking in their grade, but he was up there in popularity, and being the Kendo team captain certainly didn't hurt.

"Wish Sayuri was the one picking me up every mooooooorning," he expressed through a great yawn before looking at Kaede with drooping eyes still half-asleep.

''Good thing I look nothing like your girlfriend,'' Kaede suddenly thought. Otherwise his spine might be shivering with discomfort right now.

"Don't confuse reality with that lame anime you watch," he retorted from besides Daichi as the two walked up the hill.

"Then how come you manage it every morning?"

"Because you're my oldest friend here and you live on my way to school," came the nonchalant reply. "Sayuri is on the wrong side of town."

"I wish I had a cuter childhood friend," Daichi mumbled out.

"Even if I were cuter I'm still a boy," Kaede smirked back before nudging the other's shoulder. "Think your parents might be aghast if you tried that."

"Ugh, no. No way! ''Hell no!''"

Daichi's eyes sprang wide, bulging with nightmarish alertness as his friend began to laugh out loud.

He wasn't exactly Kaede's 'childhood friend'. The two hadn’t met until middle school, mere months after Kaede came to Japan. At a time when Kaede was still trying to fit in with his poor Japanese and mixed-blood appearance, he met the half-Chinese Daichi during the school's activities fair.

Kaede still remembered that moment when he walked by the Calligraphy Club's stall and heard the young boy remark: "look at those ''beautiful'' symbols! I wonder who they stole them from?"

The half-Russian had burst into uncontrolled laughter in that very moment, unable to suppress it even after receiving several annoyed stares.

The two of them became best friends almost immediately. It certainly helped that they both showed an interest in archaic martial arts: swords for Daichi and bows for Kaede. Furthermore, Daichi was half-Chinese and therefore half-fascinated in history and politics by blood.

"How come you know where Sayuri lives anyway?" Daichi returned to the topic once more.

"I'm the one who introduced her to you, in case you forgot," Kaede answered, his expression plain except for the tilted eyebrows. "I walked her and several other girls home once when they stayed late for a culture fair project."

Daichi groaned aloud:

"I swear, you are just asking for the girls to friendzone you! No wonder why you're on such good terms with the girls yet still don't have a girlfriend!"

"Morning, Surusuke-kun!" a girl in class called out in greeting just as they rounded the corner.

"Morning!" Kaede waved back with friendly enthusiasm.

He had long grown used to everyone mispronouncing his surname.

"See!" Daichi cried out, his open palm gesturing between them as they continued on their way. "This is what I'm talking about!"

"I don't know about you, but my parents taught me manners," Kaede shrugged it off with another smile. "Besides, what kind of a man would you be to ''not'' walk a group of stranded girls home?"

"That's not what I meant!" Daichi retorted, his tempo rising as he spoke. "I meant your overt friendliness! You need to at least keep some distance with the girls so that when you do approach them it's ''exciting!'' That's what a budding relationship needs! Emotion! Thrill! ''Passion!''"

Daichi struck a cool pose as he laid one gesturing hand right beneath his smirking chin.

"I'll never let Sayuri see me and only think 'oh hey, it's Daichi'. I want her heart to skip a beat every time she rounds the corner and sees me!"

"She's not about to round that corner ahead, you know that right?" Kaede joked it off to pull Daichi out of his silly posture before defending his own lifestyle:

"Besides, what's wrong with being friends with girls? I want a love that grows out of friendship. Because in years from now, when that youthful spark of passion gradually wanes, it's companionship and trust that keeps couples together and happy."

"There you go again, trying to be 'Mister Mature' and talking like some old salaryman..."

Daichi let loose a deep and exasperated sigh that essentially cried 'what is wrong with you?'

"Come on! You're seventeen! Enjoy life's youth and beauty while you can! Most girls our age aren't interested in some safe, platonic relationship, you know?"

Kaede grimaced. Just barely, so light that his best friend never even noticed.

He didn't need a reminder. He still remembered ''that'' incident quite well. His attempt at high school romance had ended in heartbreak. His once girlfriend leaving with some rather barbed words for him.

"As you said, I'm still young. I have tons that I want to do, so I'm not in a rush for this either," Kaede declared. "If the girls we know aren't mature enough for a stable, long-term, and adult relationship, then I'm willing to wait until they are."

A distant corner of Kaede's mind wondered if those statements were really true, or if he was simply trying to avoid another hurtful experience.

"I swear, keep up this attitude and you'll be ''thirty'' before you find a good..."

"Can we get off this topic?" Kaede objected as Daichi kept up the walking commentary. "We're clearly not seeing eye-to-eye here."

"Fiiiiine..." the other begrudgingly dropped it at last.

A moment of silence followed, which Kaede didn't mind. However Daichi always found such lapses uncomfortable, and he was quick to break it:

"So, in other 'Mister Mature' news, did you hear back from..."

"Tokyo U? Yes. I'm going," Kaede beamed, all shadows chased from his sunlit smile within the second.

"Damn overachiever."

"Hey you could at least..."

"Congratulations."

Daichi expressed his sincerity as he hooked his arm around Kaede's neck and pulled his friend in. The latter's chestnut-brown hair was soon a mess as two of them held a friendly wrestle in the middle of the sidewalk.

"But I still get to gripe about it, you damn overachiever."

...

Standing a hundred paces from the practice target, Kaede kept his footing with his left side facing the target. His hand drew a fresh arrow, and his body straightened into the proper form: pelvis and shoulders in parallel, back straight from neck to feet.

He held his ''yumi'' greatbow diagonally in hand, before gripping the bow string with his right glove. A grooved piece of horn sewn into the thumb's crouch in his three-fingered archery glove caught onto the bowstring. Meanwhile his left hand readjusted itself on the bow's grip.

Kyūdō archery wasn't just a sport. It was also a ritual, a contemplative prayer to the perfection of form.

''Ashibumi'', ''Dozukuri'', ''Torikake'', ''Tenouchi'', and now -- as Kaede turned his eyes to face the target once more -- ''Monomi''.

A cold, Spring breeze swept through the archery range where he stood. However Kaede hardly even felt the chill as his mind zoned out everything else in the world. He raised the greatbow above his head, paused, then pulled it back down. His hands drew away the string while pushing his bow forward at the same time.

His posture reached ''Kai'' -- the full draw. His mind melded into the arrowhead to form one entity. His eyes saw nothing but the target itself. His thumb and fingers then released the string, hurling the arrow out through the open air.

The arrow in flight represented something sacred to Kaede, bringing him a sense of perfect serenity.

...Just before it soared straight into the straw dummy.

Lowering his bow, Kaede's concentration relaxed from his intense focus. It had felt good to leave the world behind, to put aside all of his frustrations and consider only the absolute truth of the moment:

His arrow was fated to pierce the target dead center.

"Perfect shot," Kaede heard Daichi's voice from behind him.

"Nah. Perfect is when I learn to split my own arrows," Kaede turned around to meet his best friend with a smile.

"Oh shut it, you overachiever," Daichi grabbed Kaede by the neck and began pressing his fist into his friend's head.

"Ow! That hurt! Come on I've enough of a headache today!"

The best friend and kendo captain let go at once. His earlier grin faltered in apology.

"Math again?" He asked.

"''Calculus,''" Kaede emphasized and insisted upon the difference. "I'm good at math. We were equals back in algebra and geometry."

"''Almost'' equals," Daichi grinned. Mathematics was his best subject and one of only two in which he beat Kaede. The other was Japanese, thanks to the unfair advantage provided by the Chinese-Kanji connection.

"But clearly I can't do differentials worth squat." Kaede scowled as he led the way to the changing room. "I mean how the heck am I supposed to calculate something I can't even envision?"

Daichi shrugged. "Abstract thinking?"

"Easy for you to say, Mister Numbers," Kaede protested as he took off his gear. "I'm a pictographic thinker. Need a mental image."

"Does it really matter though?" Daichi leaned against the wall as he replied. "You've been accepted to Tokyo U already. You're planning on studying history and media, so it's unlikely you'll ever use calculus. All you need in that class for the rest of the year is a passing grade."

Kaede was in the middle of taking off his equipment when he turned to frown at his best friend.

"I don't do things half-hearted," he retorted. "Maybe calculus will be useful in my life. Maybe it won't. But if I'm going to study it, then I want to ''learn'' it. We didn't come to school for our parents' sake."

Daichi sighed as he tilted and scratched his head. As someone with a Chinese parent, the complaint of 'who am I learning this for' was one he filed often.

"Sure, sure, Mister Mature. But don't distract yourself like this right before the big tournament." Daichi advised. "Tell you what -- if it helps put your mind at ease, I'll tutor you after the tournament. We've got time now that our college admissions are settled. I'm sure that between my calligraphy and your interest in art, we'll find some way of turning Laplace Transforms into a Monet painting."

As Kaede placed the last piece of his archery uniform in his bag, he gave his best friend a knowing look.

"Your calligraphy is terrible. What did your father call it again?"

"''Chicken scratch.''" The two of them said at the same time before bursting into laughter.

It was one of those activities that Daichi had no real interest in, and only practiced because his parents insisted on it.

"But thanks, I'll take you up on that offer," Kaede grinned.

"Oooh, I have a pupil now!" Daichi looked proud of himself as the two of them started to leave. "Call me--"

"I am ''not'' calling you 'Master', you Shounen fanatic," Kaede retorted.

"''Wuxia'', not Shounen." Daichi insisted. "The Japanese genre is a descendent and simplified imitation. And you would know if you actually read more into ''literary history.'' Besides, since when have you ever met someone who learned how to discuss real politics from Shounen?"

It was another one of their shared interests. Daichi's background even gave him a unique perspective. His grandfathers, both of them, had fought in the World War... on opposite sides of the Chinese front.

''Life is wonderful and full of irony.'' Kaede thought with a smile.

The two continued to chat until they arrived at the school's bus station. It was getting late and Kaede wasn't in the mood to walk several kilometers home today.

"I still have some errands to run, so I'll be seeing you," Daichi commented as they saw a bus coming down the road. "When do you leave tomorrow morning?"

"Six-thirty."

"Ooomph, way too early. I need my beauty sleep."

"You mean you're going to stay up late playing video games again," Kaede returned another knowing look.

"Hey what can I say, the world isn't going to conquer itself," Daichi shrugged as the bus pulled in and the doors opened. Then, with a final pat on his friend's shoulders. "Get 'em at the tournament, Tiger. Show 'em what we ''Hafu'' are made of."

"Will do!" Kaede grinned back with appreciation.

<nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>

''I never did make it to the tournament.'' Kaede thought as she buttoned up her shirt.

Her gaze was fixated on her image in the dresser mirror, though in reality her mind wasn't there at all. She watched as her small hands tightened the short, black tie around her stiffly-folded collars, followed then by the pink ribbons around her sleeves just below the shoulders. Her dainty, stockinged feet stepped into her short petticoat. She soon had its upper hem compressed around her narrow waist, followed by that of her skirt.

Her uniform-like white jacket came last. She straightened its black lines and pink ribbons before buckling the narrow belt around her thin waist.

The entire experience had a certain... out-of-body quality to it. It wasn't new, as every time Kaede looked upon the mirror since coming to this world, she always had this weird feeling that she was in the wrong body, that it wasn't hers. Yet now, as she finally began to accept her life here for what it was, it felt like her new body was going through the motions without any conscious thought to it.

Her mind was stuck in a turmoil of emotions. Her recollection of last night intermixed with that of her 'dream', memories of the day before she had been summoned.

''Have I really become a girl?'' She thought.

Her behavior last night -- not just comforting Pascal on the roof but even letting him hold her while she slept -- was simply not usual for any male in a non-romantic relationship. Men, especially ''Russian'' men, tended to keep a certain distance when sharing their worst troubles and deepest emotions.

Kaede remembered how her mother often complained of her father pushing people away whenever he was in a poor mood. It had taken her years to wean him off alcohol as an emotional management tool, but he still had trouble connecting with others whenever he was depressed or angry or frustrated... which was often, thanks to his political views.

It wasn't easy being a Russian male in a post-Cold-War world. Negative stereotypes were abundant, from the terrible Vodka jokes to the insinuation that even their most common names sounded 'evil', due to the prevalence of Russian villains in stories and films. It was part of why Kaede preferred to use her Japanese given name than her Russian one. 'Nikita' had a tendency to summon suspicious looks and mockeries of 'we will bury you'. Even though the Soviet leader whom Kaede shared a name with never said that -- it had been a mistranslation from the very beginning, yet popular media wouldn't let it go as it confirmed the stereotype of the 'Russian menace'.

A young, twelve-year-old Kaede once found an article to explain ''his'' father's behavior to ''his'' mother. Even back then, Kaede had learned to research whenever ''he'' stumbled across a difficult topic. It had turned out that the male tendency to isolate themselves while in poor mood was more than just a common trend. The differences in genders, from brain wiring to bodily hormones, literally made it ''difficult'' for males to express their most heartfelt emotions.

''Is that why I acted the exact opposite last night?'' Kaede thought.

She could still feel Pascal's warmth from when she wrapped her arms around him. Her cheeks colored slightly as she thought about how she had completely tore down any barriers that still existed between them. It had only taken a month since her coming to this world to bridge the gap between them. She doubted that could have been possible if she was still male.

Nevertheless, Kaede needed the bond between her and Pascal to stay within a safe zone. It wasn't even a matter of whether or not she wanted romance as a girl. Her life in the new world simply depended too much on the stability of their relationship for her to risk anything beyond mere friendliness.

''...Especially when he's betrothed to a Princess.'' She reminded herself.

Kaede stole another glance at Pascal. Facing his mirrored reflection, a blank expression replaced his usual dashing smirk as he adjusted his collar and the Knight's Cross hanging below it. His countenance was still stern as he proudly saluted his own image before turning to face her.

She hurriedly glanced back to her own wardrobe before their eyes could meet.

"Ready to depart?"

His tone was composed, or perhaps 'controlled' was a better description. It certainly lacked the humored arrogance he began most days with.

"Y-yeah..."

She had to will herself not to pull away as Pascal leaned in to adjust her appearance to the perfection he demanded.

"Have you already told the others?" She remembered to ask. After all, Pascal had originally said that he'd be joining Ariadne on her trip back to Weichsel, while Perceval would come along as the healer for his new command of a Noble Reiter company.

"Yes." He answered. "Ariadne is still leaving today, possibly by herself. Perceval will be staying behind until he receives an update from me. Reynaud will take us to Alis Avern this morning as he is apparently meeting his father. He has already received his Wayfarer license."

Kaede had read that Wayfarers were mages who specialized in teleportation magic. They could transport up to a dozen people and take them to a beacon as far as a hundred kilopaces away. This meant that a network of Wayfarers who stationed themselves in various towns and cities effectively functioned as Hyperion's 'shuttle service'. They often kept to a schedule but also allowed people to reserve appointments, which allowed travellers to plan their trips in advance.

Prominent figures, such as rich patricians, upper nobility, and certainly most royalty, also hired their own, personal Wayfarers. It was easily one of the most highly demanded services in this world. Many mages, particularly those of yeomen birth, became Wayfarers for its guaranteed employment opportunities.

''Though I doubt that's Reynaud's reason,'' Kaede thought.

"What is... the Emperor like?" She then asked. She could feel that her anxiety was making her stomach do somersaults.

"Emperor Geoffroi is a stern man. A bit sarcastic at times, but also good-hearted underneath. He is an excellent leader of his people and a good father." Pascal spoke with admiration towards his future father-in-law. "Regal is in his nature. So, do not be impertinent. Speak only when you are asked." Pascal warned. "He will not hesitate to throw someone with no political authority into the dungeons."

Kaede nodded back faintly. With everything else on her mind, the stress of an impending royal audience did not add well to her nerves. But however daunting meeting an Emperor may be, the prospect of facing Pascal's royal fiancée while being a ''girl'' bonded to him was... far worse.

She didn't even have to ask before Pascal volunteered that information:

"Sylviane, thanks to her upbringing, is overly serious and pressured by her role as the Crown Princess. Be courteous, look cute, and stay on your best behavior. I am certain she will warm up to you given time, but best you tread carefully at the start."

His advice didn't make her feel any better, nor the hints of worry in his own voice. Kaede simply couldn't shake the feeling that she was like a mistress about to be introduced to the official wife. It made her wonder...

''Wouldn't 'look cute' just aggravate her?''

With one finger under her chin, Pascal brought her eyes back to his turquoise gaze. He waved his hand and its glowing ring over her face. The usual ''Refreshen'' spell soon brightened her appearance.

His usual demeanor finally made Kaede realize that she was being awkward by herself.

Sure, his expressions were different. His attitude was unusual. But that was expected for any normal person who just lost their parents. The key point however, was that he treated her the exact same way as before. Meanwhile she was trying to keep more distance, reneging upon the very words she said to him on the rooftop last night. If she kept this up, she would unintentionally harm him during a time he needed support the most.

"Well... would you prefer I address you as Milord, Sir, or ''Master'' then while we're in public?" She forced out her words, half-jokingly as she sought familiar ground in the atmosphere between the two of them.

Pascal paused as he returned a frowning scowl. Kaede soon berated herself as she found out why.

"As my father is now gone, I am the new Landgrave of Nordkreuz. It is a title of ducal rank, therefore the proper style to address me by is 'Your Grace'. It overrides the 'Sir' for addressing my knighthood or as a noble head of household. And, as I had told you on the first night, I am not some faux noble who needs ego stroking, so please do not give me some weird reputation with the last..."

Then, Pascal finally smirked. It was light, almost faint, but it was nevertheless the first time he showed any semblance of joy all morning.

"Although if you wish to do so ''in private'', I would not really mind."

Kaede squeezed her right hand as she felt an urge to strike that handsome face again.

It was the first time she found her feeling at his expression oddly reassuring.

<noinclude>
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| Back to [[Daybreak:Volume_2_Chapter_1|Chapter 1]]
| Return to [[Daybreak_on_Hyperion|Main Page]]
| Forward to [[Daybreak:Volume_2_Chapter_3|Chapter 3]]
|-
|}
</noinclude>

Daybreak:Volume 2 Chapter 2

2022-09-04T18:15:18Z

Aorii:

===Chapter 2 - Gendered Recollections===

"Morning Ma! Morning Pa!"

Stifling a mild yawn with his hand, the seventeen-year-old young man strode into the modest kitchen-bar-dining room his family shared.

"Morning, Kaede. I was wondering if I might need to wake you up for once."

His mother offered a bright smile before turning back to the kitchen counter. Her long ponytail swayed behind her as she chopped vegetables to prepare lunch at a quick beat.

Honoka was petite and slight of build, with a height even shorter than the average Japanese woman. Although technically she was of Ainu ethnicity, a fact that the more pretentious and xenophobic local residents never allowed her to forget, even up here in the northern prefecture of Hokkaido.

"No practice this morning, Ma," Kaede explained in Russian as he stepped up to the two pieces of honey-covered french toast his mother set on the kitchen bar.

It was routine in the Suvorsky household to speak Russian when only family members were around. Kaede's parents had been afraid that his proficiency with the language would deteriorate after years of living in Japan. Indeed, Kaede's writing skills had already regressed. Reading, on the other hand, was kept up by an endless flow of articles shared by his father.

"Those piss-condoms are still at it," that same father swore from a dining chair as he finally put the tablet down, an electronic news article displayed across the screen.

"Language, dear," the mother admonished, though her voice was more velvet than steel. "It amazes me to this day that Kaede didn't grow up with a foul mouth like yours."

"Perhaps I'm just too cultured for him," the youth grinned back, only to void his own claim by stuffing an entire piece of toast into his mouth.

"Oh please! Who taught you all that--" his father spun around the chair as he began to retort, only to halt as the mother cleared her throat aloud. "--Well, at least half that culture?"

Kaede shrugged back, still grinning as his stuffed cheeks grounded down the sweet breakfast with haste.

Konstantin was a Russian of mostly Komi ethnicity. He had bright, slate-gray eyes, sharp eyebrows, and a straight nose, all well-centered upon a somewhat rectangular face. The thin, brown hair above his surprisingly-smooth forehead was graying steadily, which gave a respectable professor look alongside the large spectacles that adorned his image.

"Whaf--" Kaede shoved the chewed food to one side of his cheeks before gesturing at the tablet on the table: "--happened this time?"

"More finger-pointing by the Americans. Not that it's anything new," Konstantin commented with disgust before he picked up the tablet and swiped. "There is more interesting news though -- Motegi met with Lavrov to discuss 'concrete steps' in resolving the Kuril Islands dispute," he read the title before his lips formed something between a grin and a scowl. "The tides are finally turning. The Japanese are growing the balls to think foreign policy for themselves, instead of simply adopting whatever their American overlords wished."

"Abe and Xi's meeting last year certainly ruffled the Americans' feathers," Kaede pitched in before he grabbed a glass of orange juice. Honey on toast was his favorite at breakfast, but it was perhaps a bit too dry by itself.

International politics was arguably his father's biggest hobby. As a result, Kaede found himself well-versed in the maneuvering of leaders and nation-states.

"Indeed, and now the Americans are starting to bend over backwards: anything Japan wants so long as it aligns with their anti-China policy," Konstantin snorted. "Just look at what the bastards are doing. China is mobilizing its entire country to tackle this new virus. Even a centuries-old rival like Japan knows how to be a good neighbor."

Kaede nodded in agreement. He never thought he'd see the day when a renowned Japanese troupe would sing the Chinese National Anthem -- an ''anti-Japanese'' song written during the World War -- as a sign of solidarity for Wuhan. When he first showed the video to his Chinese friend, the latter almost shed tears.

"Meanwhile what do the Americans do?" Konstantin continued. "They politicize every technical mistake the Chinese make, even going as far as making the World Health Organization their whipping post! Anyone with half a brain should know that 'discovery' is a process of trial-and-error. It would be more surprising if the Chinese did ''not'' make major blunders when they're the first to encounter the virus."

"Is it any surprise though?" Kaede thought aloud. "''Thucycides' Trap'' -- a declining hegemon is always fearful of a rising power. Isn't that what you've taught me?" She referred to the term popularized by the American applied historian Graham Allison.

The father turned to look upon his son with a gruff but proud smile.

"Yes. But in decline or not, America is still the dominant power of the world, and will likely remain so for another quarter century. They should at least ''pretend'' to be diplomatic, and not like gleeful bandits overjoyed by the arsonist's crimes," Konstantin explained as he stirred the hot bowl of Shchi cabbage soup that he preferred in the morning. "Still, the virus has made its landfall in America. We'll soon see if they retain the right to call themselves 'world leader', or if their politicians only know how to bullshit."

"I doubt 'diplomatic' is in their current president's vocabulary." Kaede gave an amused shrug, which prompted a snort from his father.

"You're not wrong about that!" His father loudly agreed with a twisted smirk. "Whatever else you can say about Trump, he's at least frank about the Americans' daydreams. They've always sought to strut the globe and enrich themselves at the world's expense, only to turn around and claim it's 'freedom'. Maybe the Clintons should pay a visit to the markets of Libya which they bombed out and tell the enslaved African migrants there how ''free'' they ought to be feeling!"

A scowl stretched across Konstantin's lips as he leaned in to drink a spoonful of soup. There was nothing that riled him up as quickly as the topic of American Imperialism.

''Though to be fair, it wasn't 'always' the case.'' Kaede thought.

There was a time when America actually practiced the values it espoused, back when Roosevelt's 'Good Neighbor Policy' and Marshall's 'European Recovery Program' truly turned America into a beacon for the world. However since then, America has slowly evolved an ego-centric superpower that constantly violated the international laws it claimed to enforce.

Clearly, the saying that 'power corrupts' also applied to nation-states.

Nevertheless, Kaede wasn't about to start a debate over state philosophy over breakfast. So she decided to soften the mood, if only by a little:

"So, have you liberated your rear of its 'Freedom Gas' today?" He referred to recent news of Americans naming their natural gas 'Molecules of Freedom' and trying to force Europe to buy them.

The explosive laughter that came from his father sent spittles of vegetables and soup flying in every direction.

"Kaede!" Honoka shouted in warning from the kitchen.

"Sorry Ma," the young man's smile turned sheepish. In hindsight, he did feel somewhat bad about it, since it was his mother who now had to clean up the mess.

"Trump..." His father snorted out between laughing coughs. "Has the subtlety of a baboon's arse."

"Which is exactly why his voters like him," Kaede shrugged. "Look on the bright side though -- all the US-China scuffles have pulled their 'free press' off Russia-bashing for a few months, at least until their elections swing around."

It was more for his father's benefit than his own. Kaede was proud to have Russian roots from his father's side, but he himself had at least been able to keep a degree of distance. In online comment threads, Kaede had been called everything from a 'Russian Troll' to a 'Chinese Wumao' to a 'Muslim Terrorist' to a 'Zionist Jew'...

It was actually something he was proud of. It showed that he could often grasp and even represent another culture's viewpoint.

"''The US doesn't need allies, only vassals'' -- Putin could not have said truer words," Konstantin declared with an annoyed sigh. "I admit that their media is right about one thing: Putin is an ambitious tyrant surrounded by kleptocrats, and we all know it. But apart from him, whom else do we have? All the others are either incompetent or asskissers of the West."

Kaede gave a noncommittal shrug. Once again, he wasn't sure if he'd agree with his father. Though it was certainly true that Russia hadn't seen many great rulers in the past century. Stalin was competent and knew how to get things done, however he also practiced murder on an industrial scale. Putin's policies may have grown more controversial, but he would always be remembered by older Russians for pulling the Motherland out of its post-Cold-War economic collapse. Families tended to remember the day when paychecks started flowing and food could be put on the table again.

Regardless, the young man settled on a realist answer instead: "probably why the Americans hate him so much -- the tragedy of Great Power politics."

''If only this rivalry didn't manifest into an intense media Russophobia that caricatures all Russians.'' Kaede hid his faint scowl.

Meanwhile, Konstantin nodded with a smirk. His gaze was full of pride for the son who had learned so much from him.

"Of course, they'd much rather a piss drunkard like Yeltsin stay in charge, pawning off the Motherland's assets to the highest American bidder and pocketing the change! Gorbachev sold us out and we learned the hard way that Russia can never coexist with NATO! We made it absolutely clear to them back in Bucharest 2008 that NATO expansion into Ukraine and Georgia were red lines, yet they still treat us like idiots!"

His father was still not done when his mother came to interject with gentle smile:

"Kaede, you might want to take off before your father's rants make you late for school."

"Got it Ma! See you Pa! Try not to argue with your fellow professors too much today!" Kaede called back as he rushed out, the remaining slice of toast soon dangling from his mouth.

...

"Daichi! Kaede is already here! You're going to be late if you take any longer!"

Mrs. Ho called into the house before turning back to Kaede with a shallow yet respectful bow:

"Thank you so much for coming here every day, Kaede."

"No not at all, Aunty." Kaede rushed to reply with an even lower bow. It always made him uncomfortable when people a generation above him showed that much courtesy.

"I'm coming, I'm coming!" Daichi finally rushed into view, pulled on his shoes, and swirled right around his mother to dart out the door. "See ya later Ma!"

"Have a good day at school!" the elegant Mrs. Ho waved from the door as the two young men departed.

Daichi was a high school boy with a classic athletic build. Round-headed with rather large eyes for an Asian, he paced at an above-average height -- especially among Japanese males -- with a lean and confident stride. He might not be the best looking in their grade, but he was up there in popularity, and being the Kendo team captain certainly didn't hurt.

"Wish Sayuri was the one picking me up every mooooooorning," he expressed through a great yawn before looking at Kaede with drooping eyes still half-asleep.

''Good thing I look nothing like your girlfriend,'' Kaede suddenly thought. Otherwise his spine might be shivering with discomfort right now.

"Don't confuse reality with that lame anime you watch," he retorted from besides Daichi as the two walked up the hill.

"Then how come you manage it every morning?"

"Because you're my oldest friend here and you live on my way to school," came the nonchalant reply. "Sayuri is on the wrong side of town."

"I wish I had a cuter childhood friend," Daichi mumbled out.

"Even if I were cuter I'm still a boy," Kaede smirked back before nudging the other's shoulder. "Think your parents might be aghast if you tried that."

"Ugh, no. No way! ''Hell no!''"

Daichi's eyes sprang wide, bulging with nightmarish alertness as his friend began to laugh out loud.

He wasn't exactly Kaede's 'childhood friend'. The two hadn’t met until middle school, mere months after Kaede came to Japan. At a time when Kaede was still trying to fit in with his poor Japanese and mixed-blood appearance, he met the half-Chinese Daichi during the school's activities fair.

Kaede still remembered that moment when he walked by the Calligraphy Club's stall and heard the young boy remark: "look at those ''beautiful'' symbols! I wonder who they stole them from?"

The half-Russian had burst into uncontrolled laughter in that very moment, unable to suppress it even after receiving several annoyed stares.

The two of them became best friends almost immediately. It certainly helped that they both showed an interest in archaic martial arts: swords for Daichi and bows for Kaede. Furthermore, Daichi was half-Chinese and therefore half-fascinated in history and politics by blood.

"How come you know where Sayuri lives anyway?" Daichi returned to the topic once more.

"I'm the one who introduced her to you, in case you forgot," Kaede answered, his expression plain except for the tilted eyebrows. "I walked her and several other girls home once when they stayed late for a culture fair project."

Daichi groaned aloud:

"I swear, you are just asking for the girls to friendzone you! No wonder why you're on such good terms with the girls yet still don't have a girlfriend!"

"Morning, Surusuke-kun!" a girl in class called out in greeting just as they rounded the corner.

"Morning!" Kaede waved back with friendly enthusiasm.

He had long grown used to everyone mispronouncing his surname.

"See!" Daichi cried out, his open palm gesturing between them as they continued on their way. "This is what I'm talking about!"

"I don't know about you, but my parents taught me manners," Kaede shrugged it off with another smile. "Besides, what kind of a man would you be to ''not'' walk a group of stranded girls home?"

"That's not what I meant!" Daichi retorted, his tempo rising as he spoke. "I meant your overt friendliness! You need to at least keep some distance with the girls so that when you do approach them it's ''exciting!'' That's what a budding relationship needs! Emotion! Thrill! ''Passion!''"

Daichi struck a cool pose as he laid one gesturing hand right beneath his smirking chin.

"I'll never let Sayuri see me and only think 'oh hey, it's Daichi'. I want her heart to skip a beat every time she rounds the corner and sees me!"

"She's not about to round that corner ahead, you know that right?" Kaede joked it off to pull Daichi out of his silly posture before defending his own lifestyle:

"Besides, what's wrong with being friends with girls? I want a love that grows out of friendship. Because in years from now, when that youthful spark of passion gradually wanes, it's companionship and trust that keeps couples together and happy."

"There you go again, trying to be 'Mister Mature' and talking like some old salaryman..."

Daichi let loose a deep and exasperated sigh that essentially cried 'what is wrong with you?'

"Come on! You're seventeen! Enjoy life's youth and beauty while you can! Most girls our age aren't interested in some safe, platonic relationship, you know?"

Kaede grimaced. Just barely, so light that his best friend never even noticed.

He didn't need a reminder. He still remembered ''that'' incident quite well. His attempt at high school romance had ended in heartbreak. His once girlfriend leaving with some rather barbed words for him.

"As you said, I'm still young. I have tons that I want to do, so I'm not in a rush for this either," Kaede declared. "If the girls we know aren't mature enough for a stable, long-term, and adult relationship, then I'm willing to wait until they are."

A distant corner of Kaede's mind wondered if those statements were really true, or if he was simply trying to avoid another hurtful experience.

"I swear, keep up this attitude and you'll be ''thirty'' before you find a good..."

"Can we get off this topic?" Kaede objected as Daichi kept up the walking commentary. "We're clearly not seeing eye-to-eye here."

"Fiiiiine..." the other begrudgingly dropped it at last.

A moment of silence followed, which Kaede didn't mind. However Daichi always found such lapses uncomfortable, and he was quick to break it:

"So, in other 'Mister Mature' news, did you hear back from..."

"Tokyo U? Yes. I'm going," Kaede beamed, all shadows chased from his sunlit smile within the second.

"Damn overachiever."

"Hey you could at least..."

"Congratulations."

Daichi expressed his sincerity as he hooked his arm around Kaede's neck and pulled his friend in. The latter's chestnut-brown hair was soon a mess as two of them held a friendly wrestle in the middle of the sidewalk.

"But I still get to gripe about it, you damn overachiever."

...

Standing a hundred paces from the practice target, Kaede kept his footing with his left side facing the target. His hand drew a fresh arrow, and his body straightened into the proper form: pelvis and shoulders in parallel, back straight from neck to feet.

He held his ''yumi'' greatbow diagonally in hand, before gripping the bow string with his right glove. A grooved piece of horn sewn into the thumb's crouch in his three-fingered archery glove caught onto the bowstring. Meanwhile his left hand readjusted itself on the bow's grip.

Kyūdō archery wasn't just a sport. It was also a ritual, a contemplative prayer to the perfection of form.

''Ashibumi'', ''Dozukuri'', ''Torikake'', ''Tenouchi'', and now -- as Kaede turned his eyes to face the target once more -- ''Monomi''.

A cold, Spring breeze swept through the archery range where he stood. However Kaede hardly even felt the chill as his mind zoned out everything else in the world. He raised the greatbow above his head, paused, then pulled it back down. His hands drew away the string while pushing his bow forward at the same time.

His posture reached ''Kai'' -- the full draw. His mind melded into the arrowhead to form one entity. His eyes saw nothing but the target itself. His thumb and fingers then released the string, hurling the arrow out through the open air.

The arrow in flight represented something sacred to Kaede, bringing him a sense of perfect serenity.

...Just before it soared straight into the straw dummy.

Lowering his bow, Kaede's concentration relaxed from his intense focus. It had felt good to leave the world behind, to put aside all of his frustrations and consider only the absolute truth of the moment:

His arrow was fated to pierce the target dead center.

"Perfect shot," Kaede heard Daichi's voice from behind him.

"Nah. Perfect is when I learn to split my own arrows," Kaede turned around to meet his best friend with a smile.

"Oh shut it, you overachiever," Daichi grabbed Kaede by the neck and began pressing his fist into his friend's head.

"Ow! That hurt! Come on I've enough of a headache today!"

The best friend and kendo captain let go at once. His earlier grin faltered in apology.

"Math again?" He asked.

"''Calculus,''" Kaede emphasized and insisted upon the difference. "I'm good at math. We were equals back in algebra and geometry."

"''Almost'' equals," Daichi grinned. Mathematics was his best subject and one of only two in which he beat Kaede. The other was Japanese, thanks to the unfair advantage provided by the Chinese-Kanji connection.

"But clearly I can't do differentials worth squat." Kaede scowled as he led the way to the changing room. "I mean how the heck am I supposed to calculate something I can't even envision?"

Daichi shrugged. "Abstract thinking?"

"Easy for you to say, Mister Numbers," Kaede protested as he took off his gear. "I'm a pictographic thinker. Need a mental image."

"Does it really matter though?" Daichi leaned against the wall as he replied. "You've been accepted to Tokyo U already. You're planning on studying history and media, so it's unlikely you'll ever use calculus. All you need in that class for the rest of the year is a passing grade."

Kaede was in the middle of taking off his equipment when he turned to frown at his best friend.

"I don't do things half-hearted," he retorted. "Maybe calculus will be useful in my life. Maybe it won't. But if I'm going to study it, then I want to ''learn'' it. We didn't come to school for our parents' sake."

Daichi sighed as he tilted and scratched his head. As someone with a Chinese parent, the complaint of 'who am I learning this for' was one he filed often.

"Sure, sure, Mister Mature. But don't distract yourself like this right before the big tournament." Daichi advised. "Tell you what -- if it helps put your mind at ease, I'll tutor you after the tournament. We've got time now that our college admissions are settled. I'm sure that between my calligraphy and your interest in art, we'll find some way of turning Laplace Transforms into a Monet painting."

As Kaede placed the last piece of his archery uniform in his bag, he gave his best friend a knowing look.

"Your calligraphy is terrible. What did your father call it again?"

"''Chicken scratch.''" The two of them said at the same time before bursting into laughter.

It was one of those activities that Daichi had no real interest in, and only practiced because his parents insisted on it.

"But thanks, I'll take you up on that offer," Kaede grinned.

"Oooh, I have a pupil now!" Daichi looked proud of himself as the two of them started to leave. "Call me--"

"I am ''not'' calling you 'Master', you Shounen fanatic," Kaede retorted.

"''Wuxia'', not Shounen." Daichi insisted. "That Japanese stuff is a pale imitation. And you should know better. Since when have you ever met someone who learned how to discuss real politics from Shounen?"

It was another one of their shared interests. Daichi's background even gave him a unique perspective. His grandfathers, both of them, had fought in the World War... on opposite sides of the Chinese front.

''Life is wonderful and full of irony.'' Kaede thought with a smile.

The two continued to chat until they arrived at the school's bus station. It was getting late and Kaede wasn't in the mood to walk several kilometers home today.

"I still have some errands to run, so I'll be seeing you," Daichi commented as they saw a bus coming down the road. "When do you leave tomorrow morning?"

"Six-thirty."

"Ooomph, way too early. I need my beauty sleep."

"You mean you're going to stay up late playing video games again," Kaede returned another knowing look.

"Hey what can I say, the world isn't going to conquer itself," Daichi shrugged as the bus pulled in and the doors opened. Then, with a final pat on his friend's shoulders. "Get 'em at the tournament, Tiger. Show 'em what we ''Hafu'' are made of."

"Will do!" Kaede grinned back with appreciation.

<nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>

''I never did make it to the tournament.'' Kaede thought as she buttoned up her shirt.

Her gaze was fixated on her image in the dresser mirror, though in reality her mind wasn't there at all. She watched as her small hands tightened the short, black tie around her stiffly-folded collars, followed then by the pink ribbons around her sleeves just below the shoulders. Her dainty, stockinged feet stepped into her short petticoat. She soon had its upper hem compressed around her narrow waist, followed by that of her skirt.

Her uniform-like white jacket came last. She straightened its black lines and pink ribbons before buckling the narrow belt around her thin waist.

The entire experience had a certain... out-of-body quality to it. It wasn't new, as every time Kaede looked upon the mirror since coming to this world, she always had this weird feeling that she was in the wrong body, that it wasn't hers. Yet now, as she finally began to accept her life here for what it was, it felt like her new body was going through the motions without any conscious thought to it.

Her mind was stuck in a turmoil of emotions. Her recollection of last night intermixed with that of her 'dream', memories of the day before she had been summoned.

''Have I really become a girl?'' She thought.

Her behavior last night -- not just comforting Pascal on the roof but even letting him hold her while she slept -- was simply not usual for any male in a non-romantic relationship. Men, especially ''Russian'' men, tended to keep a certain distance when sharing their worst troubles and deepest emotions.

Kaede remembered how her mother often complained of her father pushing people away whenever he was in a poor mood. It had taken her years to wean him off alcohol as an emotional management tool, but he still had trouble connecting with others whenever he was depressed or angry or frustrated... which was often, thanks to his political views.

It wasn't easy being a Russian male in a post-Cold-War world. Negative stereotypes were abundant, from the terrible Vodka jokes to the insinuation that even their most common names sounded 'evil', due to the prevalence of Russian villains in stories and films. It was part of why Kaede preferred to use her Japanese given name than her Russian one. 'Nikita' had a tendency to summon suspicious looks and mockeries of 'we will bury you'. Even though the Soviet leader whom Kaede shared a name with never said that -- it had been a mistranslation from the very beginning, yet popular media wouldn't let it go as it confirmed the stereotype of the 'Russian menace'.

A young, twelve-year-old Kaede once found an article to explain ''his'' father's behavior to ''his'' mother. Even back then, Kaede had learned to research whenever ''he'' stumbled across a difficult topic. It had turned out that the male tendency to isolate themselves while in poor mood was more than just a common trend. The differences in genders, from brain wiring to bodily hormones, literally made it ''difficult'' for males to express their most heartfelt emotions.

''Is that why I acted the exact opposite last night?'' Kaede thought.

She could still feel Pascal's warmth from when she wrapped her arms around him. Her cheeks colored slightly as she thought about how she had completely tore down any barriers that still existed between them. It had only taken a month since her coming to this world to bridge the gap between them. She doubted that could have been possible if she was still male.

Nevertheless, Kaede needed the bond between her and Pascal to stay within a safe zone. It wasn't even a matter of whether or not she wanted romance as a girl. Her life in the new world simply depended too much on the stability of their relationship for her to risk anything beyond mere friendliness.

''...Especially when he's betrothed to a Princess.'' She reminded herself.

Kaede stole another glance at Pascal. Facing his mirrored reflection, a blank expression replaced his usual dashing smirk as he adjusted his collar and the Knight's Cross hanging below it. His countenance was still stern as he proudly saluted his own image before turning to face her.

She hurriedly glanced back to her own wardrobe before their eyes could meet.

"Ready to depart?"

His tone was composed, or perhaps 'controlled' was a better description. It certainly lacked the humored arrogance he began most days with.

"Y-yeah..."

She had to will herself not to pull away as Pascal leaned in to adjust her appearance to the perfection he demanded.

"Have you already told the others?" She remembered to ask. After all, Pascal had originally said that he'd be joining Ariadne on her trip back to Weichsel, while Perceval would come along as the healer for his new command of a Noble Reiter company.

"Yes." He answered. "Ariadne is still leaving today, possibly by herself. Perceval will be staying behind until he receives an update from me. Reynaud will take us to Alis Avern this morning as he is apparently meeting his father. He has already received his Wayfarer license."

Kaede had read that Wayfarers were mages who specialized in teleportation magic. They could transport up to a dozen people and take them to a beacon as far as a hundred kilopaces away. This meant that a network of Wayfarers who stationed themselves in various towns and cities effectively functioned as Hyperion's 'shuttle service'. They often kept to a schedule but also allowed people to reserve appointments, which allowed travellers to plan their trips in advance.

Prominent figures, such as rich patricians, upper nobility, and certainly most royalty, also hired their own, personal Wayfarers. It was easily one of the most highly demanded services in this world. Many mages, particularly those of yeomen birth, became Wayfarers for its guaranteed employment opportunities.

''Though I doubt that's Reynaud's reason,'' Kaede thought.

"What is... the Emperor like?" She then asked. She could feel that her anxiety was making her stomach do somersaults.

"Emperor Geoffroi is a stern man. A bit sarcastic at times, but also good-hearted underneath. He is an excellent leader of his people and a good father." Pascal spoke with admiration towards his future father-in-law. "Regal is in his nature. So, do not be impertinent. Speak only when you are asked." Pascal warned. "He will not hesitate to throw someone with no political authority into the dungeons."

Kaede nodded back faintly. With everything else on her mind, the stress of an impending royal audience did not add well to her nerves. But however daunting meeting an Emperor may be, the prospect of facing Pascal's royal fiancée while being a ''girl'' bonded to him was... far worse.

She didn't even have to ask before Pascal volunteered that information:

"Sylviane, thanks to her upbringing, is overly serious and pressured by her role as the Crown Princess. Be courteous, look cute, and stay on your best behavior. I am certain she will warm up to you given time, but best you tread carefully at the start."

His advice didn't make her feel any better, nor the hints of worry in his own voice. Kaede simply couldn't shake the feeling that she was like a mistress about to be introduced to the official wife. It made her wonder...

''Wouldn't 'look cute' just aggravate her?''

With one finger under her chin, Pascal brought her eyes back to his turquoise gaze. He waved his hand and its glowing ring over her face. The usual ''Refreshen'' spell soon brightened her appearance.

His usual demeanor finally made Kaede realize that she was being awkward by herself.

Sure, his expressions were different. His attitude was unusual. But that was expected for any normal person who just lost their parents. The key point however, was that he treated her the exact same way as before. Meanwhile she was trying to keep more distance, reneging upon the very words she said to him on the rooftop last night. If she kept this up, she would unintentionally harm him during a time he needed support the most.

"Well... would you prefer I address you as Milord, Sir, or ''Master'' then while we're in public?" She forced out her words, half-jokingly as she sought familiar ground in the atmosphere between the two of them.

Pascal paused as he returned a frowning scowl. Kaede soon berated herself as she found out why.

"As my father is now gone, I am the new Landgrave of Nordkreuz. It is a title of ducal rank, therefore the proper style to address me by is 'Your Grace'. It overrides the 'Sir' for addressing my knighthood or as a noble head of household. And, as I had told you on the first night, I am not some faux noble who needs ego stroking, so please do not give me some weird reputation with the last..."

Then, Pascal finally smirked. It was light, almost faint, but it was nevertheless the first time he showed any semblance of joy all morning.

"Although if you wish to do so ''in private'', I would not really mind."

Kaede squeezed her right hand as she felt an urge to strike that handsome face again.

It was the first time she found her feeling at his expression oddly reassuring.

<noinclude>
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| Back to [[Daybreak:Volume_2_Chapter_1|Chapter 1]]
| Return to [[Daybreak_on_Hyperion|Main Page]]
| Forward to [[Daybreak:Volume_2_Chapter_3|Chapter 3]]
|-
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</noinclude>

Daybreak:Volume 1 Chapter 8

2022-09-04T18:15:01Z

Aorii:

===Chapter 8 - Inquisitive Hope===

By Monday afternoon, Kaede was starting to feel burned out. Not actually being a bookworm, there was only so much continuous reading she could stand before the task started draining her mental health. Over a week of almost nothing but research pushed even her focus.

Pascal's sour mood over the weekend hadn't helped, but Marina's visit did much to lighten things up.

"You're welcome to come down and visit us in the servant's quarters," she offered, her smile bright enough to light the room. "It's just beyond the kitchens at the end of the dining hall."

"I'd love to," Kaede beamed back. "Probably sometime later this week. Are you around here during the weekends?"

"Week...ends?" Marina puzzled.

"Saturdays and Sundays. Don't you get those days off from work?"

"I've... never heard of anyone who get two days off from a regular work schedule." Marina replied. "There are some who get Sundays off from work, but not us. Servants do not receive any days off on a weekly basis. There's always food that need serving and rooms that need cleaning."

"But..." Kaede was surprised and even somewhat appalled by what Marina just said. "How do you get time off from work then?"

"We can request leave if we're sick or if we have family matters. And there are some holidays when we receive most of the day off. But that's about it." Marina shrugged as though this was completely normal. "I'm lucky that my superior is usually very understanding towards such requests."

''This world seriously needs some labor regulations!'' Kaede thought. Clearly, there hasn't been the equivalent of the Socialist Party of America yet.

"Alright, then what time would be best for me to visit you, so you can request some time off?"

"Probably Sundays, though mornings work better in general," Marina replied as her hands continued to rearrange and clean the tabletops. "Most of the teaching and research staff live outside the castle, and they're usually home on Sundays which saves us a lot of work. Also unlike the other servants, I don't have any family in the area, so I rarely request time off. Shouldn't be a problem if I ask for an hour or two when you visit."

"Sounds good. I'll definitely make time next week," Kaede smiled. She then wondered aloud: "How long have you worked here?"

Marina paused for a second to think. "It's been about two years since I came to this region in search of a job."

"Wow, that must be tough. Two years with almost no vacation."

Kaede couldn't imagine doing that herself. With her modern standards, she would lose control from sheer stress alone. Yet part of her knew that if she left Pascal, this was exactly the life she would have to live in this world.

"Where did you live before?"

"I was an orphan raised near the eastern borders of Rhin-Lotharingie," Marina casually spoke without any of the melancholy expected of such words. "My parents died during the chaos of the last war ten years ago."

"I'm sorry," Kaede muttered back with downcast eyes, feeling uncomfortable after breaching such a topic. However Marina merely shook her head and returned an angelic smile:

"I was lucky. A kind individual took me in and raised me. But I couldn't keep being a burden to them after coming of age. So I left home after I turned fifteen and sought to become independent."

''She's only seventeen then, the same age as me!'' Kaede couldn't help feeling herself grow even closer to the young maid. "Does your benefactor know that you're here then?"

"I've sent letters, and gifts," Marina replied with a happy look. "But I haven't seen him for two years now. I hope that by the time I meet him again, I'll have the chance to settle down."

"Settle down?"

"Most maids work to save up enough money for a good dowry, so they can get married one day," Marina explained.

''I guess some things haven't changed, at least for commoners,'' Kaede realized. Just because magic-blessed noblewomen like Ariadne had similar opportunities as men, didn't mean that the same applied to the lower classes.

<nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>

In an unusual turn of events, Kaede found herself waking up late at night. She felt feeble, even weaker than her usual self these days. Furthermore, her body was aching all over, as though she was in the grips of a fever. There was also a constant buzzing in her head.

"You are finally awake," Pascal noted from beside the bed. He sat in a chair with a book on his lap. His worried eyes drooped in an uncharacteristic display of fatigue.

"Do you remember what happened? I found you collapsed on the floor after returning from my classes."

She looked at the wall clock. It was four in the morning, over ten hours since she last checked the time.

''Has he been watching over me this whole time?''

Thinking back, Kaede tried to recall her last memory:

"I was searching for my cup... but I couldn't find it and was getting thirsty, so I just used yours..."

She eyed the enchanted silver goblet that sat on the bedside table. It could be infused with mana to conjure clean, refreshing water out of thin air by summoning it from underground water tables.

Pascal nodded as he followed her gaze:

"It was on the floor also, just beyond your reach. I thought you might have been poisoned, but I scanned both the cup and your system with ''Detection'' and nothing suspicious came up. ''Neutralize'' spells had no effect on you, nor would ''Rejuvenate'' wake you up. You did not have any wounds or noticeable bruises that would indicate being attacked by an intruder either. Do you remember anyone or anything suspicious coming into the room, or feel any lingering pains at the moment?"

Kaede took a moment to run through her memories again. She had spent the entire afternoon reading. She then chatted with Marina when the maid came to clean the room. It was just like most other weekdays since she had arrived.

"...No. Nothing unusual happened. And... my body aches, but not in any specific spot as much as all over."

Pascal's brows furrowed as he ran out of ideas.

"The healers' only suggestion was that you might have been feeling anemic. None of them really knows anything about Samaran physiology."

"Well... it's true that I haven't been sleeping well, and ''someone'' keeps waking me up every morning. Not to mention changing bodies might still be taking its toll." Kaede glared at Pascal with an accusing scowl. "But I didn't feel dizzy or anything outside of the usual sleepiness. It just came out of nowhere... I don't know if Samarans react poorly to sleep deprivation or something."

Pascal sighed, partly in response but mostly in relief.

"I did run the basic tests on your blood while you were out. All I can say is that you are not showing signs of any major illness we know of." He then stood up and began taking off his dress shirt: "Take the day off tomorrow and sleep in. In the future, tell me when you are feeling under the weather. You do have a girl's body to take care of now."

Kaede merely nodded back as she sank back under the comforter, her mind already set on visiting the library tomorrow.

<nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>

Kaede's morning routine must have set her biological clock. After waking up around the same time as usual, she spent the early morning trying to sleep in. She wanted to stay until at least after breakfast, when the students began their daily courses.

Pascal made a surprise return after the meal. With no desire to hear any grumpy orders to rest, Kaede pretended to still be asleep. The tray of bread, cheese, and savory slices of roast pork he left behind for her came as a pleasant surprise.

"<Thanks for the food,>" she told him over the telepathic bond after finishing.

His reply was a simple: "<Get better.>"

Her morning and afternoon trips to the library were far less enjoyable. Both times, several nobles made their opinions of her presence in their sanctuary known with disgusted gazes and hushed whispers. Worse yet, after scanning through two dozen books on Samarans in the library's cultural section, all she managed to find out were some general details:

Other than differences in appearance, Samaran physiology was almost equivalent to that of regular humans. They had the same organ functions, similar biological cycles, and even suffered the same ill effects for nutritional imbalance. One book did claim that Samarans' pregnancy lasted much longer than normal humans, though it failed to provide any further details.

The only major difference lay in their blood. The crystal-clear Samaran 'fluid of life' was known for its healing properties. It could close wounds in under a minute and chase away all but the worst diseases within a day. Furthermore, their blood enhanced healing magic, and could be transfused into any human subspecies without rejection.

Scholars believed that the blood was the source of their longevity. Few Samarans were innately capable of sorcery, yet even an average Samaran could live up to two centuries, which was longer than the healthiest of human mages. Upon reaching the prime years of early adulthood, a Samaran would normally retain their youthful appearance and vigor for well over a hundred years.

However, there was also a dark side about being a Samaran...

Ever since the Great Northern War which gave birth to the Grand Republic of Samara five centuries ago, knowledge about the healing properties of Samaran blood had become commonplace. As a result, Samaran blood had become a highly-sought commodity, used to treat diseases, enhance curative spells, and even imbibed by the rich and powerful in hopes of prolonging their life. Because of this, Samarans were often the victims of trafficking and even large-scale slave raids.

After waging several wars and launching countless black operations against 'blood traders', the Grand Republic finally gave in and made the 'fluid of life' a national export. It was managed by the official Blood Bank of Samara as a diplomatic trade good, and collected from all adult Samarans within the Grand Republic as a literal 'blood tax'. This discouraged illegal sourcing of Samaran blood by offering legitimate supplies and keeping profit margins down. Threats of embargo, war, and active special operations further helped to deter adventurous individuals and nations alike.

Nevertheless, Samaran trafficking remained an issue, especially since neither the Holy Imperium of the Inner Sea nor the Cataliyan Caliphate had ever abolished slavery. Samarans outside the Grand Republic had to guard themselves carefully, as black market traders would pay extravagantly for a living Samaran body with a crushed will. Meanwhile, the Samaran Shadow Guard has earned a reputation as the most ruthless intelligence organization in Hyperion, as they routinely made gruesome examples of any traffickers they uncovered.

For a second time, Kaede found herself glad that Pascal gave her a set of defensive runes. Reports of Samaran slaves exploited as living blood farms depicted a life too terrible to imagine.

Unfortunately, she found nothing about Samarans being prone to instantaneously fainting. If anything, the healing properties of Samaran blood should reduce the likelihood of such occurrences.

Kaede packed up several cultural books plus a tome on the history of familiars into the extra-dimensional messenger bag Pascal gave her. She then departed the library for the dormitory keep. But as she turned around the central keep, her legs froze mid-step upon coming across the most unusual sight:

On the grassy lawn of one inner castle courtyard was a giant amorphous ''thing''. It could only be described as a massive blob of silken tofu the size of a small car. Standing next to it was Perceval, periodically nodding his head and petting the giant tofu as though ''interacting'' with it.

It took a minute before Kaede could recollect her composure.

"Hello, Perceval," she called out as she approached Ariadne's beloved.

"Oh, it's you." Perceval replied in a bland tone, his uninterested glance swiftly returning to the giant tofu before him.

"Pardon me but, what is ''that''..."

"My familiar is a white pudding from the Southern Lotharingie Mountains."

Perceval's casual explanation almost sent Kaede's head into a spontaneous meltdown. However her safeties triggered a brief moment of mental paralysis instead.

"That.... ''that''... is... a creature...!?"

"Yes. White puddings belong to the ooze kingdom of creatures," Perceval continued with just a bare tinge of courtesy. "Like most oozes, they're magical decomposers that can engulf and transmute almost any mass into more of itself. Although they prefer the remains of dead critters."

The giant tofu wobbled like jelly under his gentle caress. Kaede's eyes almost popped out of their sockets when it bounced once, like a child hopping in joy.

It was so far outside the realm of Earth biology that Kaede didn't even know ''how'' to react. She couldn't even imagine how a huge piece of gelatinous mass could function as a living entity, let alone fit into some corner of the ecosystem.

She also couldn't believe how everyone else walking by ignored the giant tofu as completely normal, but stared curiously at ''her'' instead.

"What does it... do?"

"They're a food source..."

With one hand still caressing the giant tofu, Perceval leaned left and right, examining his familiar as though it had any anatomical features to speak of.

"Very bland tasting, but nutritious and easy to consume and digest..."

''It really is living tofu!!!'' her battered logic puked out before fainting. Meanwhile, images of cavemen hunting packs of wild tofu with spears paraded across her mind.

"Animals in the mountains treat them as a roaming food source during the winter, and so do the people living there... ahh, finally..."

"Oyyy! Sorry I'm late!" A short boy with flaming-red hair called out.

"Already used to it," Perceval sighed. "Seriously, Reynaud, just because your friends don't hand out demerits doesn't mean you should keep us waiting. What took you an extra ''half hour''?"

Small and skinny, Reynaud was at least a hand's length shorter than Perceval and was clearly below the male average. However, he virtually bounced across the distance between them with his overflowing energy. Underneath his red hair were a pair of spring-green eyes, a narrow, delicate nose, and lightly freckled cheeks sporting a gleeful grin. His features combined for an innocent, boyish look better suited for a high-school initiate than a collegiate academy student.

However, unlike Perceval, Reynaud was a cadet of the academy's military school. His uniform consisted of a padded, bright-blue leather jacket -- a gambeson that wrapped tight around his narrow chest and fell to beneath his waist.

"Sorry sorry," Reynaud waved in apology before stepping up with a giant tin bucket in hand. "Gerard wouldn't admit defeat from our match earlier. He challenged me to a duel right after class ended."

''Oh right, he's the one Pascal complained about for being too good at dueling.''

Kaede was still lost in thought when Reynaud glanced towards the girl who stood beside his best friend and blinked. A huge grin soon spread across his face as he eyed the young girl.

"Well well, if it isn't the ''Runelord'''s familiar -- the commoner who walloped the princeling." Reynaud circled around Kaede, examining her as he went. "Aren't you a bit too adorable to be giving someone the fisticuffs?"

"You're one to talk, shorty."

With her heels on, Kaede was actually a touch taller than Reynaud. But as he spiraled closer to her with his ogling eyes, she felt her gut begin to knot in discomfort.

It felt distinctively like he was undressing her with his gaze.

"Miss, you are way too precious to be a decoration for that noble jerk." He bowed slightly before extending his hand. "Please, allow me to take you home instead and treat you like the sweet and tasty buttercup that you are."

''Are you f'ing serious...?''

Kaede's brows twitched twice in irritation. Then, her cheeks flushed scarlet as she felt his hand snake behind her and brush down against the skirt covering her rear. She swiftly pulled her arm back and sent a fist straight into his face.

Her hand might be small and weak, but it was still enough to leave a swollen eye.

"Well, that cleared some doubts!"

Even with a hand rubbing his blackening eye, Reynaud's cheery grin seemed to only widen with delight. His tone soon turned into what reminded Kaede of a drawling, British accent:

"Little weak but just the right amount of spice. Please lady may I have some more?"

''Just what is wrong with this pervert?''

Kaede stiffened and hesitantly took two steps back. Her fingers were poised to stab the runes on her forearm just in case. She might not want to start a fight with a noble, as she didn't know if Pascal could shield her from all the repercussions. But she certainly wasn't going to just allow some pervert to keep groping her in public.

Thankfully, she never had to resort to such actions, as Perceval interjected and stepped in-between them:

"Control yourself, Reynaud. Just because she's not a noblewoman doesn't mean you can blatantly insult her like this."

''Does that mean there are only legal repercussions when a lady is harassed?'' Kaede immediately realized to her horror.

Meanwhile Reynaud scowled. No, pouted was a better description.

"Sheesh, you're never any fun, Perceval. Fine fine," he complained as though harassment was fine just because it was a 'joke'. He then walked towards the white pudding and, with one scoop, filled his bucket with a generous chunk of the giant tofu.

"Thanks as always brother!" Reynaud began to walk off, backwards. "Nice to meet you as well, Buttercup! Next time you give that jerk a beating, be sure to invite the rest of us to cheer you on!"

''Talk about noble hypocrisy,'' Kaede bitterly thought. ''Even 'that jerk' Pascal has more respectfulness than this little creep.''

"I'm sorry about that." Perceval apologized in a deep, sincere voice. "Reynaud doesn't mean any harm by that. He just doesn't know any boundaries on when to stop fooling around."

Kaede took a brief exhale to alleviate her frustration. It wouldn't help her any to spill her annoyance on the person who helped her.

"That's alright." Kaede decided to simply nod back. Though she did feel surprised that Perceval was being genial to her.

"Anyhow, did you need me for something?"

Kaede quickly remembered that the man before her was also a healer:

"Yes, actually. I would like to ask if you know anything that may cause someone to fall unconscious with no warning, especially a Samaran."

"...You?"

"Yes. Me," Kaede nodded.

"I'm no more an expert on Samarans than the rest of the healers..."

Perceval scratched his head. Nevertheless his eyes focused in an instant, revealing the concentration of an apprentice physician who took his job with the utmost seriousness:

"But if you don't mind some blood testing, come with me to the healers' chapel and we'll see what we can find. You can tell me what happened along the way."

"Sure. Thank you." Kaede agreed and began to follow him.

Unable to tear her eyes away from the giant tofu that bounced along behind them, she asked:

"Out of curiosity, what did Reynaud want with a chunk of... uh, white pudding?"

"He has a baby skywhale familiar that's barely old enough to cut milk. A white pudding's consistency and ease of digestion makes it a decent baby food."

Kaede simply nodded. Compared to sentient tofu, skywhales felt like a perfectly logical animal in the world.

<nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>

The healer's chapel was a sterile white hall full of beds, which Kaede found unusual because it was the only room painted white in the entire castle complex. Counters lined up against the far-side wall were packed neatly with potion vials, flasks, and bottles. There were also a dozen transparent quartz crystals the size of tablet computers.

Perceval still held one of them in his hands, through which he had examined Kaede over the past half-hour. She felt oddly naked under his focused gaze, but not exactly uncomfortable thanks to his professional demeanor.

"As far as I can tell, there's nothing wrong with you, other than a slight vitamin-D deficiency," Perceval noted as he put the quartz screen back onto his lap. "You need to come outside more often."

Kaede was amazed they even knew about vitamins. ''The biomedical understanding of this world is more advanced than I'd have guessed.''

"Well... people haven't exactly been welcoming to me." She then answered.

A barely noticeable cringe went through Perceval before he closed his eyes and sighed.

"Yes, and I haven't exactly been helping. I'm sorry about that. I know it's no fault of yours, but... your master and I have a history."

"I've heard from Ariadne. Don't worry about it," Kaede rushed to wave it off before changing the subject back: "Do you know any other reason why people here might faint suddenly?"

"Our medical capabilities are nowhere near perfect, and there are plenty of possible reasons for losing consciousness over some condition we either overlooked or simply can't detect. However..." his gaze turned from contemplative to warning. "Ten hours is too long. That's just too serious not to leave an evident sign. Furthermore, ''Rejuvenate'' spells can usually wake up even someone sick to the verge of death. To stop something like that... I can't think of anything BUT a magical effect, except you don't carry any suspicious auras, either."

"Do all magical effects leave an aura?"

"No, but a hidden magical aura isn't a natural occurrence. That means you're not just contracting a magical disease or having an allergic reaction against the wards, but being affected by deliberate foul play. Although, given your master, I wouldn't be surprised if that were the case."

Kaede couldn't tell if Perceval was smirking or scowling; probably a bit of both.

"Are you sure all you drank was water? That there wasn't anything in that chalice you mentioned?" Perceval asked.

"Pascal said the ''Detection'' spells came out clean. How reliable is that?"

"Reliable enough for everything conventional," Perceval simply shrugged. "But healers aren't in the subterfuge or poison business, and that spell is old, ancient. One of the lessons they teach us in this school is that as long as there is a way, there is also a counter. Unfortunately... that's all I can really tell you."

Kaede nodded as she held onto that thought for later:

"Thank you so much for this. I really do appreciate it."

For the first time, Kaede saw Perceval's gentle, peaceful smile directed towards her.

"Not to sound mean, but I'd do it even if you were the devil's daughter -- that's what it means to take the healers' oath. However, I do promise to try to be cordial in the future. Bet my actions thus far must seem unworthy compared to how dear Aria described me."

Kaede sent back a grin of her own:

"Not at all. As Ariadne said, you're a very generous man."

A shadow of guilt entered his almost-bashful expression in response. It was both what Kaede hoped for, and what made her thoughts agree with her words.

''Good people aren't always nice, but you can always count on them to try to do the right thing,'' she thought as she waved to Perceval before leaving the healers' chapel.

...

On her way back to the dormitory keep, Kaede replayed all of yesterday afternoon in her memories. Other than Marina's daily cleaning visit, she couldn't think of a single sign of an outsider entering into the room. Furthermore, she remembered that Marina didn't just perform the usual, but also gave all the furnishing in the room a thorough dusting and sanitary wipe-down. She must have at least lifted the chalice when cleaning the bedside counter it sat on.

''But why would Marina want to harm Pascal? If this is poison, it's far too low grade... almost like an immature prank.''

Kaede knew that history was abundant with cases where agents bribed or blackmailed servants into carrying out their dirty schemes. Pascal was the son of Weichsel's Marshal. His father no doubt gathered plenty of enemies. Furthermore, Pascal's own character was hardly the type to avoid burning bridges.

Nevertheless...

''I can't just lay suspicion on Marina for no reason. Who knows what these nobles may do to a mere servant girl?''

The sun was already setting. Pascal would return from class soon. Therefore Kaede's only course of action was to confirm for herself tomorrow.

<nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>

Pascal had been stuck in an irritable mood for several days now.

It began late last Saturday when he tried to contact Sylviane again, only to be rejected without a single word.

''Farspeak'' spells opened the most reliable communication channel that could be made using spellcraft. But it required both the sender ''and'' the receiver to concentrate on maintaining the one-to-one link.

Due to her busy schedule, Pascal only called once a week. However in the past, even if she was attending a special council meeting, Sylviane always at least sent back a brief reply before closing the connection.

The fact he knew exactly why she ignored him only deepened his melancholy. It certainly kept him awake late into the night.

Ariadne's invitation to Kaede didn't help his moodiness, but it was a mere drop in the bucket compared to Sylviane ignoring his calls on both Saturday and Sunday nights. Pascal had no wish to further irritate his fiancée by pestering her nonstop. However, shutting down two attempts per day made it evident that she was deliberately not talking to him.

Sunday night was the first time Pascal realized just how late Kaede stayed awake every night, shifting and turning.

Kaede's collapse on Monday night began to push his limits. Fatigue was but one factor. Pascal was also not used to being emotionally strung out.

On Tuesday morning, a noble who criticized the Emperor's recent policies received a ferocious tongue lashing from Pascal. After that, everyone stayed twice the distance they usually kept from him. Professor Albert noticed this, and requested some early research discussion from Pascal's ''Pandemonium Doctrine'' project in order to 'keep his thoughts occupied'. As expected, the assignment kept Pascal contemplative for the remainder of the day and well into the evening.

"Hey Pascal," Kaede asked from behind him. "Did you know that the familiars of mages who die of old age often revert back to normal and live on?"

"Yes." Pascal didn't even bother to look up from his writing desk. "Speculation claims that it is the shock of death carried across the bond that mortally wounds the familiar's psyche, either killing them immediately or destroying their will to live. It is the same effect for when a bond is severed by force. Obviously, no one is going to experimentally test either of those hypotheses. But I am nowhere close to the age of dying peacefully."

"Can't you at least ''try'' to look into some method of how I can get back?"

Pascal sighed and put down the ink stone that he used to channel words straight onto parchment. He turned back around to face the familiar girl.

Kaede sat in his bed with another book opened between her small hands. She wore only the white halter-top he dressed her in on the first night. Meanwhile, her long, snowy hair draped across her bare back and shoulders, pooling into a pile besides her atop the bed.

"I ''have'' thought about this, Kaede. But by all knowledge there is simply no viable solution. We cannot just cut the bond and hope a miracle happens to return everything back to before. Nor does any banishment magic work on your naturalized body, either due to its form or due to the link. In fact, I even asked Professor Beaucaire -- he teaches teleportation -- to cast the ancient planar banishment spell on a sample of your blood. It did not work. Therefore, even if we knew exactly which world you came from out of the infinite numbers out there among the multiverse, we couldn't send you there. The magic of the worldwalkers is a tale of old legends and folklore. It is not something achieved within the annals of modern sorcery."

Kaede met his stare evenly:

"I'm here, aren't I?"

"By some fluke of the spell that I still cannot figure out," Pascal admitted with a scowl. Then, his words grew almost challenging: "I was impressed how quickly you were adapting to life here. I guess that is not the case after all."

"Oh please, it's only been eleven days!" she retorted. "Philosophically, I adhere to the Eastern views of my home world more than the West. We try our best to be accepting of the world around us, to be at peace with how it molds our lives. But being accepting isn't the same as simply surrendering to fate. My will still points my way, and I fully intend to explore all options."

''The Holy Father may have plans for us all, but under his guidance we shall still strive for our cause,'' Pascal reflected as Kaede declared her intent with hardened eyes. For a second he almost felt impressed, with an urge to pull her into a theological discussion.

Almost...

"Anyhow, since there are stories of visiting other worlds..."

"Yes, from millennia ago when angels, demons, and dragonkind still waged wars across our world, when the very nature of magic was different," Pascal's irritated words cut her off. "I am not going off to chase sorcery that has been lost for over a thousand years over wishful thinking. I admit that my mistake brought you here, but I do not owe you all the years of my life in repayment for it!"

With those final-sounding words, Pascal turned back around to focus on his work, leaving only the back of his head to meet Kaede's burning glare.

"<You just don't want me to go back, do you?>" Kaede seethed over the mental link.

Pascal froze for a second.

''Do I?''

His fatigued thoughts stumbled through a fuzzy world of internal analysis, cycling through memories of the past week-and-half. He admitted that while he did indeed enjoy her company at times, there were many more where he wondered if Kaede was really worth her trouble.

It took another minute before he finally replied:

"<Maybe. But I promise you that if some clue of it being reasonably possible appears, I will look into it. But until then, I refuse to waste any more time chasing what every professor believes a pipe dream based on nothing more than ancient history.>"

The sound of a book slamming shut came from behind him as Kaede haphazardly tossed it onto the counter. She then lowered herself into the bed and pulled the bedcovers over her head.

The emotions that flowed across their link had never grown beyond mere annoyance. But even that, when added to his own irritation, was enough to push his current self-control, or lack thereof.

''I need sleep.''

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| Forward to [[Daybreak:Volume_1_Chapter_9|Chapter 9]]
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</noinclude>

Daybreak:Volume 2 Chapter 2

2022-04-12T23:12:39Z

Aorii:

===Chapter 2 - Gendered Recollections===

"Morning Ma! Morning Pa!"

Stifling a mild yawn with his hand, the seventeen-year-old young man strode into the modest kitchen-bar-dining room his family shared.

"Morning, Kaede. I was wondering if I might need to wake you up for once."

His mother offered a bright smile before turning back to the kitchen counter. Her long ponytail swayed behind her as she chopped vegetables to prepare lunch at a quick beat.

Honoka was petite and slight of build, with a height even shorter than the average Japanese woman. Although technically she was of Ainu ethnicity, a fact that the more pretentious and xenophobic local residents never allowed her to forget, even up here in the northern prefecture of Hokkaido.

"No practice this morning, Ma," Kaede explained in Russian as he stepped up to the two pieces of honey-covered french toast his mother set on the kitchen bar.

It was routine in the Suvorsky household to speak Russian when only family members were around. Kaede's parents had been afraid that his proficiency with the language would deteriorate after years of living in Japan. Indeed, Kaede's writing skills had already regressed. Reading, on the other hand, was kept up by an endless flow of articles shared by his father.

"Those piss-condoms are still at it," that same father swore from a dining chair as he finally put the tablet down, an electronic news article displayed across the screen.

"Language, dear," the mother admonished, though her voice was more velvet than steel. "It amazes me to this day that Kaede didn't grow up with a foul mouth like yours."

"Perhaps I'm just too cultured for him," the youth grinned back, only to void his own claim by stuffing an entire piece of toast into his mouth.

"Oh please! Who taught you all that--" his father spun around the chair as he began to retort, only to halt as the mother cleared her throat aloud. "--Well, at least half that culture?"

Kaede shrugged back, still grinning as his stuffed cheeks grounded down the sweet breakfast with haste.

Konstantin was a Russian of mostly Komi ethnicity. He had bright, slate-gray eyes, sharp eyebrows, and a straight nose, all well-centered upon a somewhat rectangular face. The thin, brown hair above his surprisingly-smooth forehead was graying steadily, which gave a respectable professor look alongside the large spectacles that adorned his image.

"Whaf--" Kaede shoved the chewed food to one side of his cheeks before gesturing at the tablet on the table: "--happened this time?"

"More finger-pointing by the Americans. Not that it's anything new," Konstantin commented with disgust before he picked up the tablet and swiped. "There is more interesting news though -- Motegi met with Lavrov to discuss 'concrete steps' in resolving the Kuril Islands dispute," he read the title before his lips formed something between a grin and a scowl. "The tides are finally turning. The Japanese are growing the balls to think foreign policy for themselves, instead of simply adopting whatever their American overlords wished."

"Abe and Xi's meeting last year certainly ruffled the Americans' feathers," Kaede pitched in before he grabbed a glass of orange juice. Honey on toast was his favorite at breakfast, but it was perhaps a bit too dry by itself.

International politics was arguably his father's biggest hobby. As a result, Kaede found himself well-versed in the maneuvering of leaders and nation-states.

"Indeed, and now the Americans are starting to bend over backwards: anything Japan wants so long as it aligns with their anti-China policy," Konstantin snorted. "Just look at what the bastards are doing. China is mobilizing its entire country to tackle this new virus. Even a centuries-old rival like Japan knows how to be a good neighbor."

Kaede nodded in agreement. He never thought he'd see the day when a renowned Japanese troupe would sing the Chinese National Anthem -- an ''anti-Japanese'' song written during the World War -- as a sign of solidarity for Wuhan. When he first showed the video to his Chinese friend, the latter almost shed tears.

"Meanwhile what do the Americans do?" Konstantin continued. "They politicize every technical mistake the Chinese make, even going as far as making the World Health Organization their whipping post! Anyone with half a brain should know that 'discovery' is a process of trial-and-error. It would be more surprising if the Chinese did ''not'' make major blunders when they're the first to encounter the virus."

"Is it any surprise though?" Kaede thought aloud. "''Thucycides' Trap'' -- a declining hegemon is always fearful of a rising power. Isn't that what you've taught me?" She referred to the term popularized by the American applied historian Graham Allison.

The father turned to look upon his son with a gruff but proud smile.

"Yes. But in decline or not, America is still the dominant power of the world, and will likely remain so for another quarter century. They should at least pretend to be diplomatic, and not like gleeful bandits overjoyed by the arsonist's crimes," Konstantin explained as he stirred the hot bowl of Shchi cabbage soup that he preferred in the morning. "Still, the virus has made its landfall in America. We'll soon see if they retain the right to call themselves 'world leader', or if their politicians only know how to bullshit."

"I doubt 'diplomatic' is in their current president's vocabulary." Kaede gave an amused shrug, which prompted a snort from his father.

"You're not wrong about that!" His father loudly agreed with a twisted smirk. "Whatever else you can say about Trump, he's at least frank about the Americans' daydreams. They've always sought to strut the globe and enrich themselves at the world's expense, only to turn around and claim it's 'freedom'. Maybe the Clintons should pay a visit to the markets of bombed-out Libya and tell the enslaved African migrants how ''free'' they ought to be feeling!"

A scowl stretched across Konstantin's lips as he leaned in to drink a spoonful of soup. There was nothing that riled him up as quickly as the topic of American Imperialism.

Therefore Kaede decided to soften the mood, if only by a little:

"So, have you liberated your rear of its 'Freedom Gas' today?" He referred to recent news of Americans naming their natural gas 'Molecules of Freedom' and trying to force Europe to buy them.

The explosive laughter that came from his father sent spittles of vegetables and soup flying in every direction.

"Kaede!" Honoka shouted in warning from the kitchen.

"Sorry Ma," the young man's smile turned sheepish. In hindsight, he did feel somewhat bad about it, since it was his mother who now had to clean up the mess.

"Trump..." His father snorted out between laughing coughs. "Has the subtlety of a baboon's arse."

"Which is exactly why his voters like him," Kaede shrugged. "Look on the bright side though -- all the US-China scuffles have pulled their 'free press' off Russia-bashing for a few months, at least until their elections swing around."

It was more for his father's benefit than his own. Kaede was proud to have Russian roots from his father's side, but he himself had at least been able to keep a degree of distance. In online comment threads, Kaede had been called everything from a 'Russian Troll' to a 'Chinese Wumao' to a 'Muslim Terrorist' to a 'Zionist Jew'...

It was actually something he was proud of. It showed that he could often grasp and even represent another culture's viewpoint.

"''The US doesn't need allies, only vassals'' -- Putin could not have said truer words," Konstantin declared with an annoyed sigh. "I admit that their media is right about one thing: Putin is an ambitious tyrant surrounded by kleptocrats, and we all know it. But apart from him, whom else do we have? All the others are either incompetent or asskissers of the West."

Kaede gave a noncommittal shrug. Once again, he wasn't sure if he'd agree with his father. Though it was certainly true that Russia hadn't seen many great rulers in the past century. Stalin was competent and knew how to get things done, however he also practiced murder on an industrial scale. Putin's policies may have grown more controversial, but he would always be remembered by older Russians for pulling the Motherland out of its post-Cold-War economic collapse. Families tended to remember the day when paychecks started flowing and food could be put on the table again.

Regardless, the young man settled on a realist answer instead: "probably why the Americans hate him so much -- the tragedy of Great Power politics."

''If only this rivalry didn't manifest into an intense media Russophobia that caricatures all Russians.'' Kaede hid his faint scowl.

Meanwhile, Konstantin nodded with a smirk. His gaze was full of pride for the son who had learned so much from him.

"Of course, they'd much rather a piss drunkard like Yeltsin stay in charge, pawning off the Motherland's assets to the highest American bidder and pocketing the change! Gorbachev sold us out and we learned the hard way that Russia can never coexist with NATO! We made it absolutely clear to them back in Bucharest 2008 that NATO expansion into Ukraine and Georgia were red lines, yet they still treat us like idiots!"

His father was still not done when his mother came to interject with gentle smile:

"Kaede, you might want to take off before your father's rants make you late for school."

"Got it Ma! See you Pa! Try not to argue with your fellow professors too much today!" Kaede called back as he rushed out, the remaining slice of toast soon dangling from his mouth.

...

"Daichi! Kaede is already here! You're going to be late if you take any longer!"

Mrs. Ho called into the house before turning back to Kaede with a shallow yet respectful bow:

"Thank you so much for coming here every day, Kaede."

"No not at all, Aunty." Kaede rushed to reply with an even lower bow. It always made him uncomfortable when people a generation above him showed that much courtesy.

"I'm coming, I'm coming!" Daichi finally rushed into view, pulled on his shoes, and swirled right around his mother to dart out the door. "See ya later Ma!"

"Have a good day at school!" the elegant Mrs. Ho waved from the door as the two young men departed.

Daichi was a high school boy with a classic athletic build. Round-headed with rather large eyes for an Asian, he paced at an above-average height -- especially among Japanese males -- with a lean and confident stride. He might not be the best looking in their grade, but he was up there in popularity, and being the Kendo team captain certainly didn't hurt.

"Wish Sayuri was the one picking me up every mooooooorning," he expressed through a great yawn before looking at Kaede with drooping eyes still half-asleep.

''Good thing I look nothing like your girlfriend,'' Kaede suddenly thought. Otherwise his spine might be shivering with discomfort right now.

"Don't confuse reality with that lame anime you watch," he retorted from besides Daichi as the two walked up the hill.

"Then how come you manage it every morning?"

"Because you're my oldest friend here and you live on my way to school," came the nonchalant reply. "Sayuri is on the wrong side of town."

"I wish I had a cuter childhood friend," Daichi mumbled out.

"Even if I were cuter I'm still a boy," Kaede smirked back before nudging the other's shoulder. "Think your parents might be aghast if you tried that."

"Ugh, no. No way! ''Hell no!''"

Daichi's eyes sprang wide, bulging with nightmarish alertness as his friend began to laugh out loud.

He wasn't exactly Kaede's 'childhood friend'. The two hadn’t met until middle school, mere months after Kaede came to Japan. At a time when Kaede was still trying to fit in with his poor Japanese and mixed-blood appearance, he met the half-Chinese Daichi during the school's activities fair.

Kaede still remembered that moment when he walked by the Calligraphy Club's stall and heard the young boy remark: "look at those ''beautiful'' symbols! I wonder who they stole them from?"

The half-Russian had burst into uncontrolled laughter in that very moment, unable to suppress it even after receiving several annoyed stares.

The two of them became best friends almost immediately. It certainly helped that they both showed an interest in archaic martial arts: swords for Daichi and bows for Kaede. Furthermore, Daichi was half-Chinese and therefore half-fascinated in history and politics by blood.

"How come you know where Sayuri lives anyway?" Daichi returned to the topic once more.

"I'm the one who introduced her to you, in case you forgot," Kaede answered, his expression plain except for the tilted eyebrows. "I walked her and several other girls home once when they stayed late for a culture fair project."

Daichi groaned aloud:

"I swear, you are just asking for the girls to friendzone you! No wonder why you're on such good terms with the girls yet still don't have a girlfriend!"

"Morning, Surusuke-kun!" a girl in class called out in greeting just as they rounded the corner.

"Morning!" Kaede waved back with friendly enthusiasm.

He had long grown used to everyone mispronouncing his surname.

"See!" Daichi cried out, his open palm gesturing between them as they continued on their way. "This is what I'm talking about!"

"I don't know about you, but my parents taught me manners," Kaede shrugged it off with another smile. "Besides, what kind of a man would you be to ''not'' walk a group of stranded girls home?"

"That's not what I meant!" Daichi retorted, his tempo rising as he spoke. "I meant your overt friendliness! You need to at least keep some distance with the girls so that when you do approach them it's ''exciting!'' That's what a budding relationship needs! Emotion! Thrill! ''Passion!''"

Daichi struck a cool pose as he laid one gesturing hand right beneath his smirking chin.

"I'll never let Sayuri see me and only think 'oh hey, it's Daichi'. I want her heart to skip a beat every time she rounds the corner and sees me!"

"She's not about to round that corner ahead, you know that right?" Kaede joked it off to pull Daichi out of his silly posture before defending his own lifestyle:

"Besides, what's wrong with being friends with girls? I want a love that grows out of friendship. Because in years from now, when that youthful spark of passion gradually wanes, it's companionship and trust that keeps couples together and happy."

"There you go again, trying to be 'Mister Mature' and talking like some old salaryman..."

Daichi let loose a deep and exasperated sigh that essentially cried 'what is wrong with you?'

"Come on! You're seventeen! Enjoy life's youth and beauty while you can! Most girls our age aren't interested in some safe, platonic relationship, you know?"

Kaede grimaced. Just barely, so light that his best friend never even noticed.

He didn't need a reminder. He still remembered ''that'' incident quite well. His attempt at high school romance had ended in heartbreak. His once girlfriend leaving with some rather barbed words for him.

"As you said, I'm still young. I have tons that I want to do, so I'm not in a rush for this either," Kaede declared. "If the girls we know aren't mature enough for a stable, long-term, and adult relationship, then I'm willing to wait until they are."

A distant corner of Kaede's mind wondered if those statements were really true, or if he was simply trying to avoid another hurtful experience.

"I swear, keep up this attitude and you'll be ''thirty'' before you find a good..."

"Can we get off this topic?" Kaede objected as Daichi kept up the walking commentary. "We're clearly not seeing eye-to-eye here."

"Fiiiiine..." the other begrudgingly dropped it at last.

A moment of silence followed, which Kaede didn't mind. However Daichi always found such lapses uncomfortable, and he was quick to break it:

"So, in other 'Mister Mature' news, did you hear back from..."

"Tokyo U? Yes. I'm going," Kaede beamed, all shadows chased from his sunlit smile within the second.

"Damn overachiever."

"Hey you could at least..."

"Congratulations."

Daichi expressed his sincerity as he hooked his arm around Kaede's neck and pulled his friend in. The latter's chestnut-brown hair was soon a mess as two of them held a friendly wrestle in the middle of the sidewalk.

"But I still get to gripe about it, you damn overachiever."

...

Standing a hundred paces from the practice target, Kaede kept his footing with his left side facing the target. His hand drew a fresh arrow, and his body straightened into the proper form: pelvis and shoulders in parallel, back straight from neck to feet.

He held his ''yumi'' greatbow diagonally in hand, before gripping the bow string with his right glove. A grooved piece of horn sewn into the thumb's crouch in his three-fingered archery glove caught onto the bowstring. Meanwhile his left hand readjusted itself on the bow's grip.

Kyūdō archery wasn't just a sport. It was also a ritual, a contemplative prayer to the perfection of form.

''Ashibumi'', ''Dozukuri'', ''Torikake'', ''Tenouchi'', and now -- as Kaede turned his eyes to face the target once more -- ''Monomi''.

A cold, Spring breeze swept through the archery range where he stood. However Kaede hardly even felt the chill as his mind zoned out everything else in the world. He raised the greatbow above his head, paused, then pulled it back down. His hands drew away the string while pushing his bow forward at the same time.

His posture reached ''Kai'' -- the full draw. His mind melded into the arrowhead to form one entity. His eyes saw nothing but the target itself. His thumb and fingers then released the string, hurling the arrow out through the open air.

The arrow in flight represented something sacred to Kaede, bringing him a sense of perfect serenity.

...Just before it soared straight into the straw dummy.

Lowering his bow, Kaede's concentration relaxed from his intense focus. It had felt good to leave the world behind, to put aside all of his frustrations and consider only the absolute truth of the moment:

His arrow was fated to pierce the target dead center.

"Perfect shot," Kaede heard Daichi's voice from behind him.

"Nah. Perfect is when I learn to split my own arrows," Kaede turned around to meet his best friend with a smile.

"Oh shut it, you overachiever," Daichi grabbed Kaede by the neck and began pressing his fist into his friend's head.

"Ow! That hurt! Come on I've enough of a headache today!"

The best friend and kendo captain let go at once. His earlier grin faltered in apology.

"Math again?" He asked.

"''Calculus,''" Kaede emphasized and insisted upon the difference. "I'm good at math. We were equals back in algebra and geometry."

"''Almost'' equals," Daichi grinned. Mathematics was his best subject and one of only two in which he beat Kaede. The other was Japanese, thanks to the unfair advantage provided by the Chinese-Kanji connection.

"But clearly I can't do differentials worth squat." Kaede scowled as he led the way to the changing room. "I mean how the heck am I supposed to calculate something I can't even envision?"

Daichi shrugged. "Abstract thinking?"

"Easy for you to say, Mister Numbers," Kaede protested as he took off his gear. "I'm a pictographic thinker. Need a mental image."

"Does it really matter though?" Daichi leaned against the wall as he replied. "You've been accepted to Tokyo U already. You're planning on studying history and media, so it's unlikely you'll ever use calculus. All you need in that class for the rest of the year is a passing grade."

Kaede was in the middle of taking off his equipment when he turned to frown at his best friend.

"I don't do things half-hearted," he retorted. "Maybe calculus will be useful in my life. Maybe it won't. But if I'm going to study it, then I want to ''learn'' it. We didn't come to school for our parents' sake."

Daichi sighed as he tilted and scratched his head. As someone with a Chinese parent, the complaint of 'who am I learning this for' was one he filed often.

"Sure, sure, Mister Mature. But don't distract yourself like this right before the big tournament." Daichi advised. "Tell you what -- if it helps put your mind at ease, I'll tutor you after the tournament. We've got time now that our college admissions are settled. I'm sure that between my calligraphy and your interest in art, we'll find some way of turning Laplace Transforms into a Monet painting."

As Kaede placed the last piece of his archery uniform in his bag, he gave his best friend a knowing look.

"Your calligraphy is terrible. What did your father call it again?"

"''Chicken scratch.''" The two of them said at the same time before bursting into laughter.

It was one of those activities that Daichi had no real interest in, and only practiced because his parents insisted on it.

"But thanks, I'll take you up on that offer," Kaede grinned.

"Oooh, I have a pupil now!" Daichi looked proud of himself as the two of them started to leave. "Call me--"

"I am ''not'' calling you 'Master', you Shounen fanatic," Kaede retorted.

"''Wuxia'', not Shounen." Daichi insisted. "That Japanese stuff is a pale imitation. And you should know better. Since when have you ever met someone who learned how to discuss real politics from Shounen?"

It was another one of their shared interests. Daichi's background even gave him a unique perspective. His grandfathers, both of them, had fought in the World War... on opposite sides of the Chinese front.

''Life is wonderful and full of irony.'' Kaede thought with a smile.

The two continued to chat until they arrived at the school's bus station. It was getting late and Kaede wasn't in the mood to walk several kilometers home today.

"I still have some errands to run, so I'll be seeing you," Daichi commented as they saw a bus coming down the road. "When do you leave tomorrow morning?"

"Six-thirty."

"Ooomph, way too early. I need my beauty sleep."

"You mean you're going to stay up late playing video games again," Kaede returned another knowing look.

"Hey what can I say, the world isn't going to conquer itself," Daichi shrugged as the bus pulled in and the doors opened. Then, with a final pat on his friend's shoulders. "Get 'em at the tournament, Tiger. Show 'em what we ''Hafu'' are made of."

"Will do!" Kaede grinned back with appreciation.

<nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>

''I never did make it to the tournament.'' Kaede thought as she buttoned up her shirt.

Her gaze was fixated on her image in the dresser mirror, though in reality her mind wasn't there at all. She watched as her small hands tightened the short, black tie around her stiffly-folded collars, followed then by the pink ribbons around her sleeves just below the shoulders. Her dainty, stockinged feet stepped into her short petticoat. She soon had its upper hem compressed around her narrow waist, followed by that of her skirt.

Her uniform-like white jacket came last. She straightened its black lines and pink ribbons before buckling the narrow belt around her thin waist.

The entire experience had a certain... out-of-body quality to it. It wasn't new, as every time Kaede looked upon the mirror since coming to this world, she always had this weird feeling that she was in the wrong body, that it wasn't hers. Yet now, as she finally began to accept her life here for what it was, it felt like her new body was going through the motions without any conscious thought to it.

Her mind was stuck in a turmoil of emotions. Her recollection of last night intermixed with that of her 'dream', memories of the day before she had been summoned.

''Have I really become a girl?'' She thought.

Her behavior last night -- not just comforting Pascal on the roof but even letting him hold her while she slept -- was simply not usual for any male in a non-romantic relationship. Men, especially ''Russian'' men, tended to keep a certain distance when sharing their worst troubles and deepest emotions.

Kaede remembered how her mother often complained of her father pushing people away whenever he was in a poor mood. It had taken her years to wean him off alcohol as an emotional management tool, but he still had trouble connecting with others whenever he was depressed or angry or frustrated... which was often, thanks to his political views.

It wasn't easy being a Russian male in a post-Cold-War world. Negative stereotypes were abundant, from the terrible Vodka jokes to the insinuation that even their most common names sounded 'evil', due to the prevalence of Russian villains in stories and films. It was part of why Kaede preferred to use her Japanese given name than her Russian one. 'Nikita' had a tendency to summon suspicious looks and mockeries of 'we will bury you'. Even though the Soviet leader whom Kaede shared a name with never said that -- it had been a mistranslation from the very beginning, yet popular media wouldn't let it go as it confirmed the stereotype of the 'Russian menace'.

A young, twelve-year-old Kaede once found an article to explain ''his'' father's behavior to ''his'' mother. Even back then, Kaede had learned to research whenever ''he'' stumbled across a difficult topic. It had turned out that the male tendency to isolate themselves while in poor mood was more than just a common trend. The differences in genders, from brain wiring to bodily hormones, literally made it ''difficult'' for males to express their most heartfelt emotions.

''Is that why I acted the exact opposite last night?'' Kaede thought.

She could still feel Pascal's warmth from when she wrapped her arms around him. Her cheeks colored slightly as she thought about how she had completely tore down any barriers that still existed between them. It had only taken a month since her coming to this world to bridge the gap between them. She doubted that could have been possible if she was still male.

Nevertheless, Kaede needed the bond between her and Pascal to stay within a safe zone. It wasn't even a matter of whether or not she wanted romance as a girl. Her life in the new world simply depended too much on the stability of their relationship for her to risk anything beyond mere friendliness.

''...Especially when he's betrothed to a Princess.'' She reminded herself.

Kaede stole another glance at Pascal. Facing his mirrored reflection, a blank expression replaced his usual dashing smirk as he adjusted his collar and the Knight's Cross hanging below it. His countenance was still stern as he proudly saluted his own image before turning to face her.

She hurriedly glanced back to her own wardrobe before their eyes could meet.

"Ready to depart?"

His tone was composed, or perhaps 'controlled' was a better description. It certainly lacked the humored arrogance he began most days with.

"Y-yeah..."

She had to will herself not to pull away as Pascal leaned in to adjust her appearance to the perfection he demanded.

"Have you already told the others?" She remembered to ask. After all, Pascal had originally said that he'd be joining Ariadne on her trip back to Weichsel, while Perceval would come along as the healer for his new command of a Noble Reiter company.

"Yes." He answered. "Ariadne is still leaving today, possibly by herself. Perceval will be staying behind until he receives an update from me. Reynaud will take us to Alis Avern this morning as he is apparently meeting his father. He has already received his Wayfarer license."

Kaede had read that Wayfarers were mages who specialized in teleportation magic. They could transport up to a dozen people and take them to a beacon as far as a hundred kilopaces away. This meant that a network of Wayfarers who stationed themselves in various towns and cities effectively functioned as Hyperion's 'shuttle service'. They often kept to a schedule but also allowed people to reserve appointments, which allowed travellers to plan their trips in advance.

Prominent figures, such as rich patricians, upper nobility, and certainly most royalty, also hired their own, personal Wayfarers. It was easily one of the most highly demanded services in this world. Many mages, particularly those of yeomen birth, became Wayfarers for its guaranteed employment opportunities.

''Though I doubt that's Reynaud's reason,'' Kaede thought.

"What is... the Emperor like?" She then asked. She could feel that her anxiety was making her stomach do somersaults.

"Emperor Geoffroi is a stern man. A bit sarcastic at times, but also good-hearted underneath. He is an excellent leader of his people and a good father." Pascal spoke with admiration towards his future father-in-law. "Regal is in his nature. So, do not be impertinent. Speak only when you are asked." Pascal warned. "He will not hesitate to throw someone with no political authority into the dungeons."

Kaede nodded back faintly. With everything else on her mind, the stress of an impending royal audience did not add well to her nerves. But however daunting meeting an Emperor may be, the prospect of facing Pascal's royal fiancée while being a ''girl'' bonded to him was... far worse.

She didn't even have to ask before Pascal volunteered that information:

"Sylviane, thanks to her upbringing, is overly serious and pressured by her role as the Crown Princess. Be courteous, look cute, and stay on your best behavior. I am certain she will warm up to you given time, but best you tread carefully at the start."

His advice didn't make her feel any better, nor the hints of worry in his own voice. Kaede simply couldn't shake the feeling that she was like a mistress about to be introduced to the official wife. It made her wonder...

''Wouldn't 'look cute' just aggravate her?''

With one finger under her chin, Pascal brought her eyes back to his turquoise gaze. He waved his hand and its glowing ring over her face. The usual ''Refreshen'' spell soon brightened her appearance.

His usual demeanor finally made Kaede realize that she was being awkward by herself.

Sure, his expressions were different. His attitude was unusual. But that was expected for any normal person who just lost their parents. The key point however, was that he treated her the exact same way as before. Meanwhile she was trying to keep more distance, reneging upon the very words she said to him on the rooftop last night. If she kept this up, she would unintentionally harm him during a time he needed support the most.

"Well... would you prefer I address you as Milord, Sir, or ''Master'' then while we're in public?" She forced out her words, half-jokingly as she sought familiar ground in the atmosphere between the two of them.

Pascal paused as he returned a frowning scowl. Kaede soon berated herself as she found out why.

"As my father is now gone, I am the new Landgrave of Nordkreuz. It is a title of ducal rank, therefore the proper style to address me by is 'Your Grace'. It overrides the 'Sir' for addressing my knighthood or as a noble head of household. And, as I had told you on the first night, I am not some faux noble who needs ego stroking, so please do not give me some weird reputation with the last..."

Then, Pascal finally smirked. It was light, almost faint, but it was nevertheless the first time he showed any semblance of joy all morning.

"Although if you wish to do so ''in private'', I would not really mind."

Kaede squeezed her right hand as she felt an urge to strike that handsome face again.

It was the first time she found her feeling at his expression oddly reassuring.

<noinclude>
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| Back to [[Daybreak:Volume_2_Chapter_1|Chapter 1]]
| Return to [[Daybreak_on_Hyperion|Main Page]]
| Forward to [[Daybreak:Volume_2_Chapter_3|Chapter 3]]
|-
|}
</noinclude>

Daybreak:Volume 2 Chapter 14

2022-04-08T22:51:38Z

Aorii:

===Chapter 14 - The Storm Front===

Two days after the late Marshal's funeral, Kaede and Pascal were passing time in the library when she heard him sigh faintly. The young lord then began to pace back and forth in front of the windows, where his eyes remained drawn to the snowy flurry outside.

"Feeling restless?" His familiar asked as she looked up from the small booklet that she had been writing in.

Pascal glanced towards her with a scowl before responding in a voice somewhere between sullen and irritated:

"I feel like a week of my life has just wasted away."

It wasn't the first time Pascal had expressed his displeasure in the past week over a lack of purpose. While Weichsel's cavalry forces were taking turns launching raids into the Skagen Peninsula, the bulk of its infantry and officers remained in Nordkreuz, with little else to occupy their time other than training. This left Pascal with very few responsibilities, especially compared to his fiancée.

Princess Sylviane had been busy negotiating a new trade deal with King Leopold that sought to attract Weichsen investment to the mines of Rhin-Lotharingie. After all, while Weichsel has a significant metallurgy industry known for the quality of its steel, it also has a shortage of iron ore which it had traditionally imported from the Holy Imperium. However, since the War of Imperium Succession ten years ago when Weichsel annexed several of the Imperium's northern provinces, Weichsel's economic ties with the Imperials had come under periodic embargos.

Sylviane wanted to persuade King Leopold that Rhin-Lotharingie would be a far more reliable source. However the problem was that the Empire's mines and infrastructure were also significantly behind that of the Imperium. Therefore, to meet the same needs, Rhin-Lotharingie would need significant investment and expansion of its mining facilities -- capital which the Lotharins lacked and would require outside funding.

The problem was that after centuries of being exploited by the Imperials, the Lotharins were also wary of foreign economic interests. Therefore, Lotharin law specified that ''all land'' within the Empire of Rhin-Lotharingie must be held by Lotharin owners. This caused negotiations to stall for the longest time until Kaede made a suggestion to the Princess:

"Why not create new, joint venture businesses with shared ownership? If a business has a 51% Lotharin ownership, then it's technically a Lotharin business and can therefore own Lotharin lands. Meanwhile the margin is so slim that should a dispute happen, it wouldn't be hard for the Weichsen owners to draw support from the other side with a sound argument."

It was the exact same dilemma that Deng Xiaoping faced in 1978 when he decided to reform China and open it up to the world. Kaede recognized this and therefore proposed the exact same solution. Last she heard from Sylviane, this was the breakthrough they needed. Negotiations had moved onto the next phase, and the Princess was so delighted she spent all of lunch today in a self-congratulatory spirit.

...That likely contributed to Pascal's mood, as it only further highlighted his own lack of recent accomplishments.

"What are the Northmen doing?" Pascal complained as he looked out the window again in-between his back and forth pacing. "Skagen's army left the port city of Nordkapp a week ago, yet they ''still'' have not made it to the border. It is like they are seeking battle yet deliberately drag their feet along the way. We know from past experience their army is capable of more than twice the speed they are marching at, especially on snow."

"Well, you did say that their army of 30,000 alone had no chance of victory," Kaede interjected. "Maybe they are waiting for more reinforcements to arrive by sea?"

"An expedition group of 6,000 from Västergötland has already arrived and is landing as we speak." Pascal noted. "I doubt there is more to come as that country had taken heavy casualties back during their autumn raiding campaign. Meanwhile Skagen's own forces would not have departed from Nordkapp if they had more troops to disembark. Yes, I maintain my opinion that their numbers are not enough to assault Nordkreuz. But if the Northmen recognize this fact, then they ought to respond to His Majesty and begin peace talks! Their current stance of neither fighting nor negotiating is just wasting our time!"

Kaede made a wry, sympathetic smile as she considered her master's frustration. Pascal wasn't much of a negotiator so he was of no use to Sylviane in the trade talks. What he wanted to see above all else was for Weichsel's army to begin its march into Rhin-Lotharingie, to honor the defensive alliance that he himself stood at the center of. However, until the northern threat was resolved -- be it through battle or diplomacy -- Weichsel's forces were going nowhere. And as a result he was stuck here in Nordkreuz playing armchair general.

With a deep sigh, Pascal forced himself to turn away from the windows. His turquoise eyes fell upon Kaede and for a brief moment, curiosity overpowered irritation in his gaze.

"What are you doing anyway?"

"I'm writing a journal," Kaede smiled more naturally as she raised the enchanted self-inking quill in her hand. "I figure if I'm going to be caught up in the great events of this world, then the least I could do is record it as a first-hand source just like Xenophon." She cited the Greek historian who personally fought in wars as a mercenary commander. "Besides, it gives me a chance to practice writing in your language."

It felt particularly odd to write down letters that she had never personally learned and therefore had no muscle memory for, yet recognized and understood thanks to her familiar bond with Pascal.

"You really are a history scholar," Pascal's eyebrows rose slightly. "Most people in your position would be seeking to change the world, not record it."

"You speak as if I'm not already doing my part to help you and the Princess," Kaede feigned a slight pout.

"No, no. Not at all," Pascal sighed. "In fact, you are being more helpful than I am."

"Patience, young one," Kaede stroked her nonexistent beard sagely before she gave Pascal an encouraging grin. "You'll get your moment soon enough."

"The sooner the better," Pascal remarked impatiently. "But what I meant is -- are you fine with just staying to the side as you do now? Recording what you see and giving the occasional piece of advice, instead of actively trying to push the world in the direction you want?"

"I've never considered myself a mover and shaker of the world, certainly not where I come from," Kaede shrugged. "All I've ever wanted was to educate others on the importance of history and learning from the past, to take a more nuanced view of the present and look past the black-and-white narratives that dominate my society back on Earth."

"Considering your father was a professor and you were surrounded by students, that is only natural," Pascal pointed out. "But it is also no longer the case. You now walk among the corridors of power, being close to leaders of national importance. Surely you have greater ambitions than to simply 'teach history'?"

"'Ambition' is really not my thing," Kaede frowned as her lips twisted into a faint scowl.

If anything, Kaede had been mocked as being too unambitious back on Earth. ''Herbivore men'', as the Japanese liked to say -- a term Kaede found particularly distasteful as it dredged up memories of ''his'' ex-girlfriend and their unpleasant breakup.

"But at any rate," Kaede rushed to bury the distasteful thoughts that she hated to be reminded of. "I haven't even lived in this world for two full months yet. That is far too short a time to develop a mature view of how I envision its future. The last thing I want to be is one of those people who demand change without even taking the time to properly grasp the reasons behind the current status quo. After all," she declared proudly, "I'm a strong proponent that only those who live within a society have any right to make decisions for that society..."

At that moment, Kaede's keen, familiar-enhanced ears heard a commotion outside the door. It sounded as though every officer who frequented the building was now marching down the hall in their leather boots towards the map room.

"Something's happening," Kaede closed her journal booklet and stood up. "Impromptu conference in the map room."

"Finally," Pascal remarked as he immediately strode towards the door. His expression had changed to a grin so eager it bordered on wolfishness.

However his overenthusiasm made Kaede feel uneasy as she frowned slightly.

''I know you're eager for recognition, Pascal,'' the familiar thought. ''But you should never be in a rush to see battle, or you'll regret it.''

...

"What was Colonel Brykalski thinking!?" Kaede heard General Neithard von Manteuffel's deep growl resounded through the room like rumbling thunderclouds. "His orders were to impede and harass the Västergötlanders' upriver landing operations, not to decisively engage an entire brigade with only three battalions of cavalry and a single company of Phantoms!"

There was no sign of the general's stony poker face as he stared at the map table where a cavalry figure bearing a tattered flag of Weichsel represented the recently shattered force.

''So roughly 1,200 versus 6,000?'' The Samaran girl estimated.

Kaede had read that Weichsel's battalions -- based on the Holy Imperium's cohort system -- consisted of three companies of 150 men each plus battalion command, with a full strength of 500. Though the reality was a little more complicated since the battalions were organized as self-sufficient units on the operational level, with an integrated support company to manage supplies. As the cavalry shed its support elements to conduct fast raids, this meant that only seven combat companies were present at the battle, with roughly 1,200 combat and command personnel.

Meanwhile General Neithard made the brigade analogy since a Weichsel brigade -- based on the Imperium's legion -- was roughly 5,500 men, and the Västergötland landing force was 6,000 in strength. Though in reality the Northmen had a very different unit organizational structure.

"That's not exactly fair," Chief-of-Staff General Wiktor von Falkenhausen interjected. "Brykalski followed his orders to the letter. There is clearly something else at play here."

The dhampir general then looked towards Lieutenant-Colonel Hans Ostergalen, who clutched the full transcript of the ''Farspeak'' message received by a signal officer earlier.

"According to his second-in-command's report, Colonel Brykalski attacked the invasion fleet's vanguard, hoping to light enough ships on fire to spread confusion and disrupt their landing," Hans began to explain as his eyes darted back and forth across the sheet of paper. "However, the low cloud cover and snow -- the very same that hid their own approach -- also concealed enemy air forces until it was too late to avoid engagement. Over a hundred drake-riders descended into their formation just as the ''North Wind'' Phantoms climbed out of their attack run, forcing them into a chaotic melee. Command of the ground cavalry then fractured after repeated strafing attacks by the drakes' breath weapons, which allowed Västergötland ground troops to close the distance and entangle our cavalry in close-quarters combat..."

"''A hundred drakes,''" the elderly Manteuffel remarked dubiously. "Västergötland couldn't scratch together two dozen drakes in its entirety, and our spies report but a handful with the Skagen army before they set out from Nordkapp. Where did ''a hundred drakes'' come from?"

Then, as though in response to the general's question, the map table in front of them conjured a new figure off the coast of Weichsel. The distance was roughly two-hundred kilopaces from the shore, which matched the detection range of Weichsel's artifact -- the 'Eye of the Dragon' which the map table drew its information from.

Kaede audibly gasped but she wasn't the only one. The Samaran girl instantly recognized the silhouette of a skywhale. However, as soon as the table's illusion magic drew the first whale, it shrunk the size down before drawing another, and another...

The room fell to a deathly silence as every individual present soon found themselves staring at a formation of four tiny skywhales. The miniature figures flew off the coast of Weichsel, with a numerical label of 1,000 displayed under it -- a rough estimate of their collective crew strength.

"That answers the question," General Neithard's lips twitched as he instantly recognized that the reports had been completely accurate, and not the attempts of a defeated officer trying to shirk responsibility as he had initially thought.

''Does he mean a hundred drakes were launched from these skywhales?'' Kaede thought as her eyes widened. ''They're being used as carriers then!''

It made sense, when she thought about it. If the skywhale they saw back in Alis Avern could be configured to transport cargo and passengers, then why couldn't other skywhales be adapted to carry drakes as some kind of 'mobile nest'?

"Skagen's volcanic drakes can outfight several of our Phantoms in a close encounter, especially once they penetrate our formation and disrupt our units' cohesion," General Wiktor commented grimly. "Meanwhile even a few dozen drakes' breath weapons rival the anti-air capacity of three cavalry battalions..."

Kaede remembered drakes as one of the more fascinating creatures from her reading. They were miniature dragons -- 'miniature' as in elephant-sized, instead of beings so massive they could use sport stadiums as landing pads and wrestle science-fiction starships. The dragonlords had ''created'' the drakes in their image to serve as grunt soldiers during the Dragon-Demon Wars. This made the drakes' mere existence a testament to the godly powers wielded by the dragons of Hyperion's past.

However when the dragonlords departed from Hyperion, they left most of the drakes behind. Lacking intelligence and without purpose, many drake breeds died out. But some, especially the broods tamed by humans, remained. The volcanic drakes from Skagen's Reykjanes Islands were easily one of the more dangerous breeds.

"It's no wonder they shattered in less than a half hour of combat," King Leopold spoke in a hushed tone.

Hans nodded before adding: "the report also states, and I quote 'we attempted repeatedly to break off, but regardless of which direction we turned, a strong gale always blew snow in our faces while lifting the wings of our foes'..."

The Lieutenant-Colonel then stared back with alarm as his fingers tapped the stiff sheet of paper:

"Your Majesty, this is the most important piece of information that the Colonel died to bring us. Between those winds, the skywhales that the 'Eye' just detected, the advancing blizzard covering the Västergötland fleet, and this unusual cold front that just swept down from the North Sea -- it can't be all a coincidence, Sire."

"You think it's ''him''?" Colonel Hannes von Falkenberg, the King's spymaster, inquired.

"Him?" King Leopold raised an eyebrow.

"Admiral Winter, Sire," both Hans and Hannes declared at the same time.

"If I remember correctly," General Wiktor voiced next, "this 'Admiral Winter' is surmised to be the one most likely responsible for the destruction of the Caliphate's New World Expedition fleet thirty years ago?"

"Yes, Sir." Hans and Hannes spoke in unison again. The beautiful and androgynous spymaster then gestured for the balding intelligence officer to go ahead, probably since Hans was the first to make the deduction and it was only fair that he claimed the credit.

"Four decades ago, Asgeirr Vintersvend -- the bastard half-brother of Jarl Eyvindur Sigmundsen of Kattegen -- wrote a book titled ''Massive Strike''," Lieutenant-Colonel Hans explained. "In it, he espoused for the concentration of airborne striking power by pooling together aerial assets, including both drakes and skywhales, which may be swiftly deployed for overwhelming air offensives that can quickly decide a war."

''This sounds remarkably familiar...'' Kaede couldn't help reflect.

"Then twenty-five years ago," Hans continued, "just a few years after the destruction of the Caliphate's New World Expedition fleet, we heard that Asgeirr had become a Jarl on Skagen's New World Frontier. Around the same time, we began hearing of the name 'Admiral Winter' from mercenaries and traders who frequently associate with the Northmen."

"It took us a few more years before we realized that Asgeirr Vintersvend ''is'' Admiral Winter," the dhampir spymaster followed up. "And it has less to do with his name and more with his choice of spells. Asgeirr is a stormcaller, and one of the most powerful archmages Skagen has ever seen. His aptitude for weather control magic and his skywhale familiar are two reasons why, in his youth, he became the first individual to solo-circumnavigate the world."

Kaede had always thought the term 'stormcaller' was a particularly accurate job description. Although the affinity was uncommon, they were easily one of the most important mage occupations in Hyperion. Their function varied from calling down rains for crops, to conjuring winds for trade fleets, to manipulating weather conditions on the day of battle.

"But ''four skywhales''," Princess Sylviane spoke in awe. "Most countries are lucky to have just one or two of those beasts."

"Skagen is not just a northern kingdom, it is also a seafaring culture with a tradition of exploration. Those kinds of people are far more likely to summon a skywhale familiar," Hans pointed out. "I believe only the Grand Republic of Samara has more."

"Even so, how did he concentrate that many rare assets under a single command, given the Grand Jarldom's loose feudal structure?" Sylviane asked next. Her tone carried a slight tinge of envy as though she had personal experience trying to do the same.

"According to our sources," the King's spymaster commented, "Asgeirr has a particularly close relationship with his half-brother Jarl Eyvindur Sigmundsen, who in turn is one of Skagen's most prominent nobles and the current commander of their confederate forces."

"Furthermore, the Northmen may squabble continuously among themselves, but they ''always'' unite when facing an outside threat, and their social structure places great emphasis on personal prestige and fame," Lieutenant-Colonel Hans added. "I believe it's probable that the two brothers used the threat posed by the Caliphate's New World Expedition three decades ago to pool together this fleet, at least temporarily. Then, after their stunning victory, Asgeirr Vintersvend likely used his newfound fame and influence to cement the skywhale captains together as a permanent command under his leadership."

"But how would they hold it together in peacetime? When there is no need for such a massive concentration of force?" Sylviane puzzled aloud.

"They don't need to." General Wiktor explained. "Once a command hierarchy has been established and a sense of camaraderie forged, it is easy for the group to be recreated again, even if those involved go their separate ways during the interim years. This is the exact same logic we use for Weichsel's Fourfold Mobilization system."

"The petty Jarls of Skagen would surely resent someone with this much concentrated power though," King Leopold noted. "The weakness of the Northmen's sociopolitical structure has always been their obsession with one-upmanship."

"Which means when we defeat them, Skagen will not be able to form another battlegroup like this for who knows how long," Pascal scoffed as he spoke up for the first time.

There was never any doubt in his words: not ''if'', but ''when''.

The balding Lieutenant-Colonel nodded in agreement, at least on the topic of replacement:

"Skywhales are extremely rare to begin with, and are too intelligent and powerful to be tamed through normal means. Only baby skywhales may be summoned as familiars, and those take over a decade to grow to their adult size. This skywhale fleet is no doubt extremely powerful, but it is also not a force that Skagen is capable of replacing in anything less than a half-century."

"Which means that once we defeat it, the Northmen would have to sue for peace," General Neithard declared with stiff-jawed determination, his stony gaze already fixed upon the skywhale figures as though brainstorming a battle plan.

"I thought you told me before that Admiral Winter is a proponent of peace with Weichsel? Since in his opinion, warring on us is a waste of time and resources?" The King asked his spymaster.

"He does, Your Majesty. But his political influence is limited back here in Skagen's home isles, where he is resented for luring many of Skagen's finest to adventures in the Frontier," the dhampir replied.

"In fact, I'd say this makes him even more dangerous," Lieutenant-Colonel Hans followed up. "He will likely seek a decisive and crushing victory against us in order to secure a favorable peace. That way, he'll be able to go back and focus on his own interests on the other continent, undisturbed by Hyperion politics."

''Great, so we really are dealing with a magical Yamamoto,'' Kaede thought.

The analysis of the spymaster and the intelligence chief reminded her of the famous Japanese World War II Admiral. Isoroku Yamamoto was one of the most prominent advocates of naval aviation. He was unflinchingly opposed to war with America, as he had lived in America for years and knew first-hand of its industrial might. Yet, after he was politically overruled, he planned and led the devastating Attack on Pearl Harbor in the misguided hope of a swift victory against the United States.

''But Weichsel doesn't have the nigh-infinite production of the United States did back then.'' Kaede thought. ''Nor could Isoroku Yamamoto call down a Kamikaze -- the 'Divine Wind' to literally blow in the Skagen admiral's favor.''

"Considering how his skywhales skirted around the Skagen Peninsula where our spies might have detected it." Lieutenant-Colonel Hans went on. "And how they launched their drakes from far offshore to prevent us from detecting them through the 'Eye of the Dragon' until after our first defeat, I think it is safe to surmise that a quick, ''strategic'' victory is exactly what Admiral Winter seeks. Which means that his target is..."

"Nordkreuz," General Neithard finished for him with a single word enveloped in deathly cold.

''It's just like the Attack on Pearl Harbor,'' Kaede thought. ''Although they don't quite have the element of surprise anymore. Perhaps that other battle is a better fit...''

"Asgeirr wants to bombard Weichsel's army in its encampments," Pascal said as he nodded in agreement. "Then, once our soldiers' morale and organization lay in tatters, Skagen's ground forces will storm the city. With that, they can achieve victory even with an inferior force."

"It certainly explains why their army's speed of advance more than tripled over the past hour." General Wiktor highlighted. "At this pace, they may reach the walls of Nordkreuz as early as midday tomorrow. We'll have to immediately recall any cavalry detachments still raiding in the Skagen Peninsula. They've been ordered to limit their range of operations so they should be able to make it back in time for the main battle."

The King nodded in agreement before General Wiktor turned towards the signal officers to issue new instructions. However, the intelligence chief wasn't finished yet:

"Your Majesty, I'm afraid the stakes of the upcoming clash are much higher than a mere battle," Hans warned, his voice growing more ominous by the second. "Nordkreuz has one of the most powerful ley-line junctions in Northern Hyperion, and there are claims that Asgeirr is a geomancer in addition to being a stormcaller--"

"That rumor is unconfirmed," spymaster Hannes interjected.

"But it's not rare for a mage of his caliber to have more than one specialization," the intelligence colonel insisted. "We must consider the possibility it is true, especially when you think about the amount of magical power he must have channeled thirty years ago." Hans then flung his arms out to impress the seriousness of the situation upon the others. "The man once devastated an ''entire armada'' with hurricane-force winds billowing strong and royal water. There is no reason he cannot do the same against an entire army or even the whole region if he is allowed enough time to access the Nordkreuz junction!"

Kaede couldn't remember the chemistry terms, but strong and royal water --'Aqua Fortis' and 'Aqua Regis'-- were two of the most corrosive acids known to medieval alchemists. The latter was named after its ability to dissolve even noble metals like gold and platinum, which were highly resistant towards corrosion.

"Nordkreuz has been the staging ground of many conflicts between Trinitians and the Northmen for centuries, long before we annexed it from the Holy Imperium," Pascal recognized as even his face grew a shade pale. "If Asgeirr Vintersvend indeed wishes for Skagen to focus its resources on their New World Frontier, then he does not even ''need'' the city. He could simply raze Nordkreuz and its surrounding lands, to create a wasteland buffer region just like what the Dead Mountains have become."

Pascal clenched the projection table as his turquoise eyes darkened. He then turned to meet the King's gaze:

"Your Majesty, we must intercept Admiral Winter and his skywhales ''before'' they can reach the city. Otherwise all Asgeirr has to do is buy time with the Skagen army while he channels a grand sorcery."

"With the ''North Wind'' essentially destroyed, all the Phantom units aside from the ''Phantom Gale'' company are currently conducting raids deep inside Skagen territory." General Wiktor highlighted. "They'll have to ride overnight if they are to make it back ''before'' the main battle."

''We've been caught overextended and out of position,'' Kaede thought as she surveyed the room. The King was clearly worried, as were many of his officers. A few younger faces even revealed creeping traces of fear.

Yet General Neithard, the Manteuffel patriarch, was still as composed as a rock -- an unfeeling boulder that merely scoffed at the storm's attempt to dislodge him.

"This ''admiral'' has some guts, coming halfway across the world into our domain and trying to raze our city..."

Without even waiting for his king, General Neithard pivoted to the signal officers who used ''Farspeak'' spells to stay in contact with far-flung unit commanders:

"Message all of our forces in Skagen. Order every unit to cease any and all ongoing operations. They are to head south and regroup west of the town of Suokamo near the border." he pointed out on the projection map. "I will meet them there with the ''Phantom Gale''. Make haste but avoid engagements until we rally."

"Yes Sir!"

Without waiting for their acknowledgements, the General had already turned his gaze to another -- Colonel Dietrich von Falkenrath, commander of the ''Phantom Gale''.

"Assemble your men, Dietrich. We ride north after nightfall, and we will not stop until we are ready to have whalemeat for dinner."

Kaede heard that the youthful-looking, fifty-seven years old dhampir was one of General Neithard's most able protégés. Standing lean and tall, Dietrich von Falkenrath had sepia brown hair and a short-trimmed walrus mustache that might have been fashionable during World War I. His expressions were almost always neutral. But unlike his mentor, there was a constant, brooding intensity within his eyes, accentuated by two blood-red crosses that contrasted sharply with his emerald-green gaze.

''Talk about minority overrepresentation,'' Kaede reflected as she realized that there were not one or two, but ''three'' dhampirs within the room: chief-of-staff General Wiktor von Falkenhausen, Knight Phantom Colonel Dietrich von Falkenrath, and Black Eagles Colonel Hannes von Falkenberg.

"Yes Sir!" Colonel Dietrich and several officers saluted with snapping boots. They then gave the King a nod of courtesy before marching out.

Kaede barely spotted a faint tightening of King Leopold's lips. His Majesty was clearly not happy that General Neithard's orders were being carried out without waiting for his approval first, even though he stood in this very room.

"Your Majesty, General," Sylviane then spoke next. "If you do not mind, I wish to join in the assault against Admiral Winter's skywhales. Father told me that there will be a decisive battle near Nordkreuz, and I believe this is it."

The Princess' wisteria eyes shone with steely resolve as she declared: "It is the duty of an Oriflamme to lead the charge, and I shall do so as long as the battle begins over Weichsel's airspace."

Kaede watched as General Neithard, in a rare, uncharacteristic moment, looked uncertain. It was as though the elderly Manteuffel felt conflicted, between whether to accept the Princess' help as military necessity, or to politely reject her since he wasn't actually in favor of the Weichsel-Lotharin alliance.

However before Neithard could respond this time, the King made the decision for him. Leopold strode up to the Princess, took her hands into his own, and shook it with appreciation.

"The inspiring courage of the Oriflamme Paladins is ''legendary'' across Hyperion," the King declared. "The knights and soldiers of Weichsel will be proud to follow the Crown Princess of our dearest allies into battle. Isn't that right, Neithard?"

The elderly Manteuffel looked extra stone-faced as he replied in a monotone: "Yes, Your Majesty."

Meanwhile Sylviane nodded back at King Leopold, and for a brief moment it seemed as though the two royals had reached a complete understanding.

"Sir, what about the Phantom Grenadiers?" A young signal officer, who looked barely more than a teen, asked next. "Colonel Erwin von Hammerstein hasn't reported in since two days ago. He hasn't been receiving our ''Farspeak'' calls and we're not even sure where he is..."

General Neithard glared back at the signal officer with such intensity that the young man's hands almost trembled.

"Contact his second-in-command Ariadne von Manteuffel." The elderly Manteuffel declared in voice cold enough to freeze air. "Tell her to inform that old man that if he does not meet us at the rally point, then I will ''personally'' make him a head shorter the next time I see him!"

"Yes Sir!"

At the same time, a puzzled Pascal queried Kaede over their familiar bond:

"<What did you find so nostalgic during the meeting?>"

"<Huh...?>" Kaede was caught off-guard before she remembered that Pascal could sense her emotions. "<nowiki><</nowiki>It just... reminds me of something from my world. The Northmen fit the attackers quite well, apart from those crazy flying whales. But the defenders won that fight, so the concepts might be useful...>"

"<And when were you going to tell me?>" Pascal asked impatiently. "<We are on the clock here.>"

"<Right.>" Kaede nodded sheepishly, realizing now that she had been too swept away by the mood. "<Well, it happened near an island called ''Midway''...>"

...

Ten minutes later, as General Neithard was still discussing their plan of attack with the other officers, Pascal finished drafting out his own plan with Kaede and approached the King:

"Your Majesty, General, I think I have a better idea for an attack plan."

Despite being a mere captain, Pascal's words instantly seized the attention of every high-ranking officer in the room. The King did not hesitate for even a split-second before he gestured with an open palm: "let's hear it then."

General Neithard, on the other hand, looked far more dispassionate. He turned his attention towards Pascal as though merely observing a formality.

"Sire, we know, that the enemy knows, that our cavalry, and particularly our Phantoms, are scattered within Skagen conducting deep raids. We also know that Admiral Winter deliberately circumvented around the Skagen Peninsula, to strike directly at Nordkreuz from the North Sea. Asgeirr Vintersvend has successfully delayed our ability to detect his skywhales until the last possible moment. He likely did so hoping it would take us time to regroup our air cavalry, which creates a window of opportunity that he can exploit."

"You're saying that Admiral Winter will likely launch an immediate air strike on Nordkreuz?" The King inquired. "If that is the case, should we not order the ''Phantom Gale'' to remain within the city?"

"Yes and no, Your Majesty." Pascal continued. "I believe Skagen's drakes will conduct a sortie tonight to bombard Nordkreuz, before the majority of our Phantoms can return from the peninsula to challenge their air superiority. However, while we know exactly where his skywhales are, thanks to the real-time updates provided to us by the 'Eye of the Dragon', Admiral Winter will not have the same information in regards to the whereabouts of our Knights Phantom in Skagen. And this, gives us a crushing advantage on information."

"My proposal is that once General Neithard regroups with our other Phantom companies, he should commit all of our Knights Phantom in a two-pronged assault against Admiral Winter's skywhales." Pascal insisted. "If we time it correctly, we'll get there before the drakes can return and rest after their sortie. Our primary goal should be to destroy those armored beasts which serve as a mobile base for the drakes, and hopefully kill their admiral alongside them. Without the skywhales to shelter their drakes, we can then use the Phantoms' superior maneuverability to harass their drakes when they must land to rest and recuperate..."

"Stop." General Wiktor interrupted him. "You wish for all of our Phantoms to be committed to attacking their skywhales, and not to deal with the drakes until later. What about the city in the interim then?"

"We hunker down and prepare for the bombardment." Pascal declared with a stiff gaze. "We send all civilians to basement shelters and reinforce them by magic. And we empty the army encampments and evacuate the men. Units trained in anti-air combat should be pulled in to reinforce the city's garrison. However, all other soldiers should take shelter further away from the city under the cover of illusions to spare them from the bombardment."

"You're using the city and the camps as fodder," the King stared back, amazed. "Pascal, Nordkreuz is ''your'' fiefdom."

"I know, Your Majesty," Pascal declared as he felt a chill envelop his body. "But this is also the surest way for Weichsel to ''win''. Nordkreuz will undoubtedly receive damage, but with strengthened anti-air, it will endure and it will survive. The same cannot be said if our forces fail to achieve victory."

"I agree completely," General Neithard remarked stiffly, though his stony gaze also looked upon Pascal with sincere respect for the first time. "We must recognize where the priorities lay. It is clear that the enemy's entire plan revolves around their skywhales, for without them, Admiral Winter will not have a secure shelter to channel his magic from. Therefore we ''must'' eliminate them as our primary objective, even at the cost of reducing the city's defenses."

King Leopold stared at Pascal for a moment longer before he pursed his lips and nodded:

"I see you are resolved, and I accept your proposal. The details I will let you and Wiktor work out. However--"

"However given the risks, Your Majesty must not remain here in Nordkreuz." Colonel Hannes interrupted the King, which caused the latter to raise his eyebrows as he glared back.

"You don't think ''a King'' should stay and set an example for the men?"

"I think the benefits of that would be marginal and the risks great," the dhampir spymaster insisted. "General Wiktor is more than capable of managing the defense of the city. Your Majesty's heir is still an infant. It is important for you, Sire, to act with prudence, and not with your ego."

''Only Hannes would dare say something like that to the King,'' Pascal thought.

Nevertheless, he did agree with the Colonel. King Leopold might hold the rank of Lieutenant-General and was an enthusiastic supporter of the army, but his forte had always been more in politics than in military affairs. For the King to remain in a city that was about to be hit by a massive air raid -- the benefits would be entirely symbolic, while even a fluke hit could lead to severe consequences for the whole nation.

"I concur, Your Majesty," Pascal decided to speak up. ''After all, did King Leopold not express a desire for me to be more candid with him?''

"And so do I," General Wiktor nodded as well.

The King looked between the three of them before he exhaled a deep sigh.

"Very well," he said unhappily. "I will depart back for the capital, but only after we have made all arrangements here," he insisted. "And as I was about to point out -- I think it would be an error in judgment to assume that simply because Admiral Winter will take the opportunity to bombard the city, the skywhales will be left undefended."

"In addition to any onboard soldiers and weaponry, they'll likely retain at least some of their drakes as a defensive air patrol," Lieutenant-Colonel Hans pointed out.

"And that is why we will launch two separate waves," Pascal said as he began to explain the details of his plan. Weichsel might not have any propeller-driven 'torpedo' or 'dive bombers' that Kaede spoke of, but the Knights Phantom were more adaptable and just as deadly.

"We send the first wave on a level attack against the skywhales. The ''Phantom Gale'' can form a wind tunnel and clear a path through any acidic rain clouds they throw at us..."

Pascal knew that Colonel Dietrich von Falkenrath, commander of the ''Phantom Gale'', was one of the best stormcallers in Weichsel. Even if his magical abilities were nowhere near those of an armada-destroying archmage, they should still be sufficient to create a gap through which they may launch their attack.

"Colonel Albrecht von Bittenfeld and his ''Black Lancers'' should then follow the ''Phantom Gale'' in the first attack." Pascal declared next. "The ''Black Lancers'' are at their best in frontal assaults, and their armored gryphons can fight against drakes in close-quarters combat better than any other mount. We can further augment their numbers by sending in the Phantom Grenadiers. This should draw the attention of the skywhales' onboard weaponry as well as any drakes they retained as a defensive air patrol."

"And that's when you spring the second wave," General Neithard commented, as though already seeing through Pascal's plan.

"Yes Sir," Pascal nodded. "The second wave, consisting of the other two Knights Phantom companies, will move into position, hidden in the upper cloud cover. They will dive down at a steep angle to reduce the amount of time the defenders have to react. Their objective will be to deliver precision strikes against those whales' biggest weak spots -- their blowholes."

The blowholes were a relic of the whales' non-magical ancestors. But since all biological creatures needed a vent for air intake, their evolution had left this sole weakness on the skywhales' hardened heads.

Kaede had likened it to a 'thermal exhaust port', which in this context made absolutely no sense.

"Those skywhales will likely carry considerable numbers of anti-air troops on their backs," Hans voiced his concerns. "Especially towards the front to guard such a vulnerability."

"That is why the second wave features two companies when only one could manage the attack," Pascal stated. "Although it would be nice to increase those numbers, it is imperative that the first wave be sufficiently convincing as the 'main attack'."

"In that case, it would be best if I lead the first wave," Sylviane declared. "An Oriflamme's presence will undoubtedly draw their attention. Those volcanic drakes might be tough against fire, but a phoenix's flames will scorch them all the same."

Pascal frowned. ''I just hope Sylv does not do anything too reckless.''

The thought of holding her back never even occurred to him. The mere idea of stopping an Oriflamme Paladin from committing to battle was utter nonsense. Pascal's only worry was that since he lacked a Knight Phantom's training, he would not be able to accompany Sylviane in their mission to attack the skywhales. Instead, he would have to remain behind to help defend the city.

"The general plan is sound." General Neithard declared after a moment of consideration. "I will ride alongside Her Highness in the first wave. However, given the factors of uncertainty, I will hold the ''Dawn Sky'' company from the second wave back as a reserve. Colonel Erwin von Hammerstein's Phantom Grenadiers will be assigned to the second wave instead. They can dive ahead of the other company and clear a path through hostile anti-air. Only once they have the defenders pinned down will the ''real'' second strike dive in."

''He plans to use them as fodder,'' Pascal immediately recognized.

The Phantom Grenadiers may have accrued some battle experience during their raids in Skagen, but they were still a mostly green unit. To throw them at the skywhales' formidable air defenses alone, they could almost certainly expect heavy casualties.

However, since the Phantom Grenadiers were also the least trained of Weichsel's air cavalry units, they were also more expendable than the other, proper knights.

What amazed Pascal was how the General chose this, despite knowing that his own niece was second-in-command of the grenadiers.

''Is he just being callous, or is he deliberately doing this to give her the most dangerous assignment?'' Pascal couldn't help wonder.

After all, units that undertook the most dangerous assignments also had the most valor to gain. It was as though Neithard expected Ariadne to either return with honors... or not at all.

"Even with all of this, the opportunity to deliver critical damage against the skywhales may only last a fleeting moment," General Neithard then added. "We must consider what is our best means of maximizing damage through those blowholes in a single strike."

For a moment everyone fell quiet as they considered their arsenal of military weapons. But try as he might, Pascal couldn't think of a single option that really stood out.

"Since it's their nostrils," noted the King's spymaster, Colonel Hannes. "What about an inhaled poison?"

''Trust a spy to think like an assassin,'' Pascal almost snorted. However the Colonel was also onto something, and the suggestion immediately elicited an idea from him.

"What about prussic acid?" The young landgrave recalled from the previous night when he and Sylviane discussed steelmaking, where the alchemical was used for surface hardening and caused the blackening of the armor that Weichsel preferred. "It is a highly toxic gas that inhibits respiration, is easy to create, and is also extremely flammable. Once we hit them, those whales will not merely suffocate. They will burn from the inside."

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| Back to [[Daybreak:Volume_2_Chapter_13_Interlude|Interlude Chapter 13.5]]
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| Forward to [[Daybreak:Volume_2_Chapter_15|Chapter 15]]
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</noinclude>

Daybreak:Volume 2 Chapter 14

2022-04-02T19:49:04Z

Aorii:

===Chapter 14 - The Storm Front===

Two days after the late Marshal's funeral, Kaede and Pascal were passing time in the library when she heard him sigh faintly. The young lord then began to pace back and forth in front of the windows, where his eyes remained drawn to the snowy flurry outside.

"Feeling restless?" His familiar asked as she looked up from the small booklet that she had been writing in.

Pascal glanced towards her with a scowl before responding in a voice somewhere between sullen and irritated:

"I feel like a week of my life has just wasted away."

It wasn't the first time Pascal had expressed his displeasure over the past week over a lack of purpose. While Weichsel's cavalry forces were taking turns launching raids into the Skagen Peninsula, the bulk of its infantry and officers remained in Nordkreuz, with little else to occupy their time other than training. This left Pascal with very few responsibilities, especially compared to his fiancée.

Princess Sylviane had been busy negotiating a new trade deal with King Leopold that sought to attract Weichsen investment to the mines of Rhin-Lotharingie. After all, while Weichsel has a significant metallurgy industry known for the quality of its steel, it also has a shortage of iron ore which it had traditionally imported from the Holy Imperium. However, since the War of Imperium Succession ten years ago when Weichsel annexed several of the Imperium's northern provinces, Weichsel's economic ties with the Imperials had come under periodic embargos.

Sylviane wanted to persuade King Leopold that Rhin-Lotharingie would be a far more reliable source. However the problem was that the Empire's mines and infrastructure were also significantly behind that of the Imperium. Therefore, to meet the same needs, Rhin-Lotharingie would need significant investment and expansion of its mining facilities -- capital which the Lotharins lacked and would require outside funding.

The problem was that after centuries of being exploited by the Imperials, the Lotharins were also wary of foreign economic interests. Therefore, Lotharin law specified that ''all land'' within the Empire of Rhin-Lotharingie must be held by Lotharin owners. This caused negotiations to stall for the longest time until Kaede made a suggestion to the Princess:

"Why not create new, joint venture businesses with shared ownership? If a business has a 51% Lotharin ownership, then it's technically a Lotharin business and can therefore own Lotharin lands. Meanwhile the margin is so slim that should a dispute happen, it wouldn't be hard for the Weichsen owners to draw support from the other side with a sound argument."

It was the exact same dilemma that Deng Xiaoping faced in 1978 when he decided to reform China and open it up to the world. Kaede recognized this and therefore proposed the exact same solution. Hopefully in Hyperion, Weichsel wouldn't acquire selective amnesia four decades later and start blaming Lotharins on standard practices that both sides agreed upon -- like the politicization of 'forced technology transfers' back on Earth.

Last she heard from Sylviane, this was the breakthrough they needed. Negotiations had moved onto the next phase, and the Princess was so delighted she spent all of lunch today in a self-congratulatory spirit.

...That likely contributed to Pascal's mood, as it only further highlighted his own lack of recent accomplishments.

"What are the Northmen doing?" Pascal complained as he looked out the window again in-between his back and forth pacing. "Skagen's army left the port city of Nordkapp a week ago, yet they ''still'' have not made it to the border. It is like they are seeking battle yet deliberately drag their feet along the way. We know from past experience their army is capable of more than twice the speed they are marching at, especially on snow."

"Well, you did say that their army of 30,000 alone had no chance of victory," Kaede interjected. "Maybe they are waiting for more reinforcements to arrive by sea?"

"An expedition group of 6,000 from Västergötland has already arrived and is landing as we speak." Pascal noted. "I doubt there is more to come as that country had taken heavy casualties back during their autumn raiding campaign. Meanwhile Skagen's own forces would not have departed from Nordkapp if they had more troops to disembark. Yes, I maintain my opinion that their numbers are not enough to assault Nordkreuz. But if the Northmen recognize this fact, then they ought to respond to His Majesty and begin peace talks! Their current stance of neither fighting nor negotiating is just wasting our time!"

Kaede made a wry, sympathetic smile as she considered her master's frustration. Pascal wasn't much of a negotiator so he was of no use to Sylviane in the trade talks. What he wanted to see above all else was for Weichsel's army to begin its march into Rhin-Lotharingie, to honor the defensive alliance that he himself stood at the center of. However, until the northern threat was resolved --be it through battle or diplomacy-- Weichsel's forces were going nowhere. And as a result he was stuck here in Nordkreuz playing armchair general.

With a deep sigh, Pascal forced himself to turn away from the windows. His turquoise eyes fell upon Kaede and for a brief moment, curiosity overpowered irritation in his gaze.

"What are you doing anyway?"

"I'm writing a journal," Kaede smiled more naturally as she raised the enchanted self-inking quill in her hand. "I figure if I'm going to be caught up in the great events of this world, then the least I could do is record it as a first-hand source just like Xenophon." She cited the Greek historian who personally fought in wars as a mercenary commander. "Besides, it gives me a chance to practice writing in your language."

It felt particularly odd to write down letters that she had never personally learned and therefore had no muscle memory for, yet recognized and understood thanks to her familiar bond with Pascal.

"You really are a history scholar," Pascal's eyebrows rose slightly. "Most people in your position would be seeking to change the world, not record it."

"You speak as if I'm not already doing my part to help you and the Princess," Kaede feigned a slight pout.

"No, no. Not at all," Pascal sighed. "In fact, you are being more helpful than I am."

"Patience, young one," Kaede stroked her nonexistent beard sagely before she gave Pascal an encouraging grin. "You'll get your moment soon enough."

"The sooner the better," Pascal remarked impatiently. "But what I meant is -- are you fine with just staying to the side as you do now? Recording what you see and giving the occasional piece of advice, instead of actively trying to push the world in the direction you want?"

"I've never considered myself a mover and shaker of the world, certainly not where I come from," Kaede shrugged. "All I've ever wanted was to educate others on the importance of history and learning from the past, to take a more nuanced view of the present and look past the black-and-white narratives that dominate my society back on Earth."

"Considering your father was a professor and you were surrounded by students, that is only natural," Pascal pointed out. "But it is also no longer the case. You now walk among the corridors of power, being close to leaders of national importance. Surely you have greater ambitions than to simply 'teach history'?"

"'Ambition' is really not my thing," Kaede frowned as her lips twisted into a faint scowl.

If anything, Kaede had been mocked as being too unambitious back on Earth. ''Herbivore men'', as the Japanese liked to say -- a term Kaede found particularly distasteful as it dredged up memories of ''his'' ex-girlfriend and their unpleasant breakup.

"But at any rate," Kaede rushed to bury the distasteful thoughts that she hated to be reminded of. "I haven't even lived in this world for two full months yet. That is far too short a time to develop a mature view of how I envision its future. The last thing I want to be is one of those people who demand change without even taking the time to properly grasp the reasons behind the current status quo. After all," she declared proudly, "I'm a strong proponent that only those who live within a society have any right to make decisions for that society..."

At that moment, Kaede's keen, familiar-enhanced ears heard a commotion outside the door. It sounded as though every officer who frequented the building was now marching down the hall in their leather boots towards the map room.

"Something's happening," Kaede closed her journal booklet and stood up. "Impromptu conference in the map room."

"Finally," Pascal remarked as he immediately strode towards the door. His expression had changed to a grin so eager it bordered on wolfishness.

However his overenthusiasm made Kaede feel uneasy as she frowned slightly.

''I know you're eager for recognition, Pascal,'' the familiar thought. ''But you should never be in a rush to see battle, or you'll regret it.''

...

"What was Colonel Brykalski thinking!?" Kaede heard General Neithard von Manteuffel's deep growl resounded through the room like rumbling thunderclouds. "His orders were to impede and harass the Västergötlanders' upriver landing operations, not to decisively engage an entire brigade with only three battalions of cavalry and a single company of Phantoms!"

There was no sign of the general's stony poker face as he stared at the map table where a cavalry figure bearing a tattered flag of Weichsel represented the recently shattered force.

''So roughly 1,200 versus 6,000?'' The Samaran girl estimated.

Kaede had read that Weichsel's battalions --based on the Holy Imperium's cohort system-- consisted of three companies of 150 men each plus battalion command, with a full strength of 500. Though the reality was a little more complicated since the battalions were organized as self-sufficient units on the operational level, with an integrated support company to manage supplies. As the cavalry shed its support elements to conduct fast raids, this meant that only seven combat companies were present at the battle, with roughly 1,200 combat and command personnel.

Meanwhile General Neithard made the brigade analogy since a Weichsel brigade --based on the Imperium's legion-- was roughly 5,500 men, and the Västergötland landing force was 6,000 in strength. Though in reality the Northmen had a very different unit organizational structure.

"That's not exactly fair," Chief-of-Staff General Wiktor von Falkenhausen interjected. "Brykalski followed his orders to the letter. There is clearly something else at play here."

The dhampir general then looked towards Lieutenant-Colonel Hans Ostergalen, who clutched the full transcript of the ''Farspeak'' message received by a signal officer earlier.

"According to his second-in-command's report, Colonel Brykalski attacked the invasion fleet's vanguard, hoping to light enough ships on fire to spread confusion and disrupt their landing," Hans began to explain as his eyes darted back and forth across the sheet of paper. "However, the low cloud cover and snow --the very same that hid their own approach-- also concealed enemy air forces until it was too late to avoid engagement. Over a hundred drake-riders descended into their formation just as the ''North Wind'' Phantoms climbed out of their attack run, forcing them into a chaotic melee. Command of the ground cavalry then fractured after repeated strafing attacks by the drakes' breath weapons, which allowed Västergötland ground troops to close the distance and entangle our cavalry in close-quarters combat..."

"''A hundred drakes,''" the elderly Manteuffel remarked dubiously. "Västergötland couldn't scratch together two dozen drakes in its entirety, and our spies report but a handful with the Skagen army before they set out from Nordkapp. Where did ''a hundred drakes'' come from?"

Then, as though in response to the general's question, the map table in front of them conjured a new figure off the coast of Weichsel. The distance was roughly two-hundred kilopaces from the shore, which matched the detection range of Weichsel's artifact -- the 'Eye of the Dragon' which the map table drew its information from.

Kaede audibly gasped but she wasn't the only one. The Samaran girl instantly recognized the silhouette of a skywhale. However, as soon as the table's illusion magic drew the first whale, it shrunk the size down before drawing another, and another...

The room fell to a deathly silence as every individual present soon found themselves staring at a formation of four tiny skywhales. The miniature figures flew off the coast of Weichsel, with a numerical label of 1,000 displayed under it -- a rough estimate of their collective crew strength.

"That answers the question," General Neithard's lips twitched as he instantly recognized that the reports had been completely accurate, and not the attempts of a defeated officer trying to shirk responsibility as he had initially thought.

''Does he mean a hundred drakes were launched from these skywhales?'' Kaede thought as her eyes widened. ''They're being used as carriers then!''

It made sense, when she thought about it. If the skywhale they saw back in Alis Avern could be configured to transport cargo and passengers, then why couldn't other skywhales be adapted to carry drakes as some kind of 'mobile nest'?

"Skagen's volcanic drakes can outfight several of our Phantoms in a close encounter, especially once they penetrate our formation and disrupt our units' cohesion," General Wiktor commented grimly. "Meanwhile even a few dozen drakes' breath weapons rival the anti-air capacity of three cavalry battalions..."

Kaede remembered drakes as one of the more fascinating creatures from her reading. They were miniature dragons -- 'miniature' as in elephant-sized, instead of beings so massive they could use sport stadiums as landing pads and wrestle science-fiction starships. The dragonlords had ''created'' the drakes in their image to serve as grunt soldiers during the Dragon-Demon Wars. This made the drakes' mere existence a testament to the godly powers wielded by the dragons of Hyperion's past.

However when the dragonlords departed from Hyperion, they left most of the drakes behind. Lacking intelligence and without purpose, many drake breeds died out. But some, especially the broods tamed by humans, remained. The volcanic drakes from Skagen's Reykjanes Islands were easily one of the more dangerous breeds.

"It's no wonder they shattered in less than a half hour of combat," King Leopold spoke in a hushed tone.

Hans nodded before adding: "the report also states, and I quote 'we attempted repeatedly to break off, but regardless of which direction we turned, a strong gale always blew snow in our faces while lifting the wings of our foes'..."

The Lieutenant-Colonel then stared back with alarm as his fingers tapped the stiff sheet of paper:

"Your Majesty, this is the most important piece of information that the Colonel died to bring us. Between those winds, the skywhales that the 'Eye' just detected, the advancing blizzard covering the Västergötland fleet, and this unusual cold front that just swept down from the North Sea -- it can't be all a coincidence, Sire."

"You think it's ''him''?" Colonel Hannes von Falkenberg, the King's spymaster, inquired.

"Him?" King Leopold raised an eyebrow.

"Admiral Winter, Sire," both Hans and Hannes declared at the same time.

"If I remember correctly," General Wiktor voiced next, "this 'Admiral Winter' is surmised to be the one most likely responsible for the destruction of the Caliphate's New World Expedition fleet thirty years ago?"

"Yes, Sir." Hans and Hannes spoke in unison again. The beautiful and androgynous spymaster then gestured for the balding intelligence officer to go ahead, probably since Hans was the first to make the deduction and it was only fair that he claimed the credit.

"Four decades ago, Asgeirr Vintersvend --the bastard half-brother of Jarl Eyvindur Sigmundsen of Kattegen-- wrote a book titled ''Massive Strike''," Lieutenant-Colonel Hans explained. "In it, he espoused for the concentration of airborne striking power by pooling together aerial assets, including both drakes and skywhales, which may be swiftly deployed for overwhelming air offensives that can quickly decide a war."

''This sounds remarkably familiar...'' Kaede couldn't help reflect.

"Then twenty-five years ago," Hans continued, "just a few years after the destruction of the Caliphate's New World Expedition fleet, we heard that Asgeirr had become a Jarl on Skagen's New World Frontier. Around the same time, we began hearing of the name 'Admiral Winter' from mercenaries and traders who frequently associate with the Northmen."

"It took us a few more years before we realized that Asgeirr Vintersvend ''is'' Admiral Winter," the dhampir spymaster followed up. "And it has less to do with his name and more with his choice of spells. Asgeirr is a stormcaller, and one of the most powerful archmages Skagen has ever seen. His aptitude for weather control magic and his skywhale familiar are two reasons why, in his youth, he became the first individual to solo-circumnavigate the world."

Kaede had always thought the term 'stormcaller' was a particularly accurate job description. Although the affinity was uncommon, they were easily one of the most important mage occupations in Hyperion. Their function varied from calling down rains for crops, to conjuring winds for trade fleets, to manipulating weather conditions on the day of battle.

"But ''four skywhales''," Princess Sylviane spoke in awe. "Most countries are lucky to have just one or two of those beasts."

"Skagen is not just a northern kingdom, it is also a seafaring culture with a tradition of exploration. Those kinds of people are far more likely to summon a skywhale familiar," Hans pointed out. "I believe only the Grand Republic of Samara has more."

"Even so, how did he concentrate that many rare assets under a single command, given the Grand Jarldom's loose feudal structure?" Sylviane asked next. Her tone carried a slight tinge of envy as though she had personal experience trying to do the same.

"According to our sources," the King's spymaster commented, "Asgeirr has a particularly close relationship with his half-brother Jarl Eyvindur Sigmundsen, who in turn is one of Skagen's most prominent nobles and the current commander of their confederate forces."

"Furthermore, the Northmen may squabble continuously among themselves, but they ''always'' unite when facing an outside threat, and their social structure places great emphasis on personal prestige and fame," Lieutenant-Colonel Hans added. "I believe it's probable that the two brothers used the threat posed by the Caliphate's New World Expedition three decades ago to pool together this fleet, at least temporarily. Then, after their stunning victory, Asgeirr Vintersvend likely used his newfound fame and influence to cement the skywhale captains together as a permanent command under his leadership."

"But how would they hold it together in peacetime? When there is no need for such a massive concentration of force?" Sylviane puzzled aloud.

"They don't need to." General Wiktor explained. "Once a command hierarchy has been established and a sense of camaraderie forged, it is easy for the group to be recreated again, even if those involved go their separate ways during the interim years. This is the exact same logic we use for Weichsel's Fourfold Mobilization system."

"The petty Jarls of Skagen would surely resent someone with this much concentrated power though," King Leopold noted. "The weakness of the Northmen's sociopolitical structure has always been their obsession with one-upmanship."

"Which means when we defeat them, Skagen will not be able to form another battlegroup like this for who knows how long," Pascal scoffed as he spoke up for the first time.

There was never any doubt in his words: not ''if'', but ''when''.

The balding Lieutenant-Colonel nodded in agreement, at least on the topic of replacement:

"Skywhales are extremely rare to begin with, and are too intelligent and powerful to be tamed through normal means. Only baby skywhales may be summoned as familiars, and those take over a decade to grow to their adult size. This skywhale fleet is no doubt extremely powerful, but it is also not a force that Skagen is capable of replacing in anything less than a half-century."

"Which means that once we defeat it, the Northmen would have to sue for peace," General Neithard declared with stiff-jawed determination, his stony gaze already fixed upon the skywhale figures as though brainstorming a battle plan.

"I thought you told me before that Admiral Winter is a proponent of peace with Weichsel? Since in his opinion, warring on us is a waste of time and resources?" The King asked his spymaster.

"He does, Your Majesty. But his political influence is limited back here in Skagen's home isles, where he is resented for luring many of Skagen's finest to adventures in the Frontier," the dhampir replied.

"In fact, I'd say this makes him even more dangerous," Lieutenant-Colonel Hans followed up. "He will likely seek a decisive and crushing victory against us in order to secure a favorable peace. That way, he'll be able to go back and focus on his own interests on the other continent, undisturbed by Hyperion politics."

''Great, so we really are dealing with a magical Yamamoto,'' Kaede thought.

The analysis of the spymaster and the intelligence chief reminded her of the famous Japanese World War II Admiral. Isoroku Yamamoto was one of the most prominent advocates of naval aviation. He was unflinchingly opposed to war with America, as he had lived in America for years and knew first-hand of its industrial might. Yet, after he was politically overruled, he planned and led the devastating Attack on Pearl Harbor in the misguided hope of a swift victory against the United States.

''But Weichsel doesn't have the nigh-infinite production of the United States did back then.'' Kaede thought. ''Nor could Isoroku Yamamoto call down a Kamikaze -- the 'Divine Wind' to literally blow in the Skagen admiral's favor.''

"Considering how his skywhales skirted around the Skagen Peninsula where our spies might have detected it." Lieutenant-Colonel Hans went on. "And how they launched their drakes from far offshore to prevent us from detecting them through the 'Eye of the Dragon' until after our first defeat, I think it is safe to surmise that a quick, ''strategic'' victory is exactly what Admiral Winter seeks. Which means that his target is..."

"Nordkreuz," General Neithard finished for him with a single word enveloped in deathly cold.

''It's just like the Attack on Pearl Harbor,'' Kaede thought. ''Although they don't quite have the element of surprise anymore. Perhaps that other battle is a better fit...''

"Asgeirr wants to bombard Weichsel's army in its encampments," Pascal said as he nodded in agreement. "Then, once our soldiers' morale and organization lay in tatters, Skagen's ground forces will storm the city. With that, they can achieve victory even with an inferior force."

"It certainly explains why their army's speed of advance more than tripled over the past hour." General Wiktor highlighted. "At this pace, they may reach the walls of Nordkreuz as early as midday tomorrow. We'll have to immediately recall any cavalry detachments still raiding in the Skagen Peninsula. They've been ordered to limit their range of operations so they should be able to make it back in time for the main battle."

The King nodded in agreement before General Wiktor turned towards the signal officers to issue new instructions. However, the intelligence chief wasn't finished yet:

"Your Majesty, I'm afraid the stakes of the upcoming clash are much higher than a mere battle," Hans warned, his voice growing more ominous by the second. "Nordkreuz has one of the most powerful ley-line junctions in Northern Hyperion, and there are claims that Asgeirr is a geomancer in addition to being a stormcaller--"

"That rumor is unconfirmed," spymaster Hannes interjected.

"But it's not rare for a mage of his caliber to have more than one specialization," the intelligence colonel insisted. "We must consider the possibility it is true, especially when you think about the amount of magical power he must have channeled thirty years ago." Hans then flung his arms out to impress the seriousness of the situation upon the others. "The man once devastated an ''entire armada'' with hurricane-force winds billowing strong and royal water. There is no reason he cannot do the same against an entire army or even the whole region if he is allowed enough time to access the Nordkreuz junction!"

Kaede couldn't remember the chemistry terms, but strong and royal water --'Aqua Fortis' and 'Aqua Regis'-- were two of the most corrosive acids known to medieval alchemists. The latter was named after its ability to dissolve even noble metals like gold and platinum, which were highly resistant towards corrosion.

"Nordkreuz has been the staging ground of many conflicts between Trinitians and the Northmen for centuries, long before we annexed it from the Holy Imperium," Pascal recognized as even his face grew a shade pale. "If Asgeirr Vintersvend indeed wishes for Skagen to focus its resources on their New World Frontier, then he does not even ''need'' the city. He could simply raze Nordkreuz and its surrounding lands, to create a wasteland buffer region just like what the Dead Mountains have become."

Pascal clenched the projection table as his turquoise eyes darkened. He then turned to meet the King's gaze:

"Your Majesty, we must intercept Admiral Winter and his skywhales ''before'' they can reach the city. Otherwise all Asgeirr has to do is buy time with the Skagen army while he channels a grand sorcery."

"With the ''North Wind'' essentially destroyed, all the Phantom units aside from the ''Phantom Gale'' company are currently conducting raids deep inside Skagen territory." General Wiktor highlighted. "They'll have to ride overnight if they are to make it back ''before'' the main battle."

''We've been caught overextended and out of position,'' Kaede thought as she surveyed the room. The King was clearly worried, as were many of his officers. A few younger faces even revealed creeping traces of fear.

Yet General Neithard, the Manteuffel patriarch, was still as composed as a rock -- an unfeeling boulder that merely scoffed at the storm's attempt to dislodge him.

"This ''admiral'' has some guts, coming halfway across the world into our domain and trying to raze our city..."

Without even waiting for his king, General Neithard pivoted to the signal officers who used ''Farspeak'' spells to stay in contact with far-flung unit commanders:

"Message all of our forces in Skagen. Order every unit to cease any and all ongoing operations. They are to head south and regroup west of the town of Suokamo near the border." he pointed out on the projection map. "I will meet them there with the ''Phantom Gale''. Make haste but avoid engagements until we rally."

"Yes Sir!"

Without waiting for their acknowledgements, the General had already turned his gaze to another -- Colonel Dietrich von Falkenrath, commander of the ''Phantom Gale''.

"Assemble your men, Dietrich. We ride north after nightfall, and we will not stop until we are ready to have whalemeat for dinner."

Kaede heard that the youthful-looking, fifty-seven years old dhampir was one of General Neithard's most able protégés. Standing lean and tall, Dietrich von Falkenrath had sepia brown hair and a short-trimmed walrus mustache that might have been fashionable during World War I. His expressions were almost always neutral. But unlike his mentor, there was a constant, brooding intensity within his eyes, accentuated by two blood-red crosses that contrasted sharply with his emerald-green gaze.

''Talk about minority overrepresentation,'' Kaede reflected as she realized that there were not one or two, but ''three'' dhampirs within the room: chief-of-staff General Wiktor von Falkenhausen, Knight Phantom Colonel Dietrich von Falkenrath, and Black Eagles Colonel Hannes von Falkenberg.

"Yes Sir!" Colonel Dietrich and several officers saluted with snapping boots. They then gave the King a nod of courtesy before marching out.

Kaede barely spotted a faint tightening of King Leopold's lips. His Majesty was clearly not happy that General Neithard's orders were being carried out without waiting for his approval first, even though he stood in this very room.

"Your Majesty, General," Sylviane then spoke next. "If you do not mind, I wish to join in the assault against Admiral Winter's skywhales. Father told me that there will be a decisive battle near Nordkreuz, and I believe this is it."

The Princess' wisteria eyes shone with steely resolve as she declared: "It is the duty of an Oriflamme to lead the charge, and I shall do so as long as the battle begins over Weichsel's airspace."

Kaede watched as General Neithard, in a rare, uncharacteristic moment, looked uncertain. It was as though the elderly Manteuffel felt conflicted, between whether to accept the Princess' help as military necessity, or to politely reject her since he wasn't actually in favor of the Weichsel-Lotharin alliance.

However before Neithard could respond this time, the King made the decision for him. Leopold strode up to the Princess, took her hands into his own, and shook it with appreciation.

"The inspiring courage of the Oriflamme Paladins is ''legendary'' across Hyperion," the King declared. "The knights and soldiers of Weichsel will be proud to follow the Crown Princess of our dearest allies into battle. Isn't that right, Neithard?"

The elderly Manteuffel looked extra stone-faced as he replied in a monotone: "Yes, Your Majesty."

Meanwhile Sylviane nodded back at King Leopold, and for a brief moment it seemed as though the two royals had reached a complete understanding.

"Sir, what about the Phantom Grenadiers?" A young signal officer, who looked barely more than a teen, asked next. "Colonel Erwin von Hammerstein hasn't reported in since two days ago. He hasn't been receiving our ''Farspeak'' calls and we're not even sure where he is..."

General Neithard glared back at the signal officer with such intensity that the young man's hands almost trembled.

"Contact his second-in-command Ariadne von Manteuffel." The elderly Manteuffel declared in voice cold enough to freeze air. "Tell her to inform that old man that if he does not meet us at the rally point, then I will ''personally'' make him a head shorter the next time I see him!"

"Yes Sir!"

At the same time, a puzzled Pascal queried Kaede over their familiar bond:

"<What did you find so nostalgic during the meeting?>"

"<Huh...?>" Kaede was caught off-guard before she remembered that Pascal could sense her emotions. "<nowiki><</nowiki>It just... reminds me of something from my world. The Northmen fit the attackers quite well, apart from those crazy flying whales. But the defenders won that fight, so the concepts might be useful...>"

"<And when were you going to tell me?>" Pascal asked impatiently. "<We are on the clock here.>"

"<Right.>" Kaede nodded sheepishly, realizing now that she had been too swept away by the mood. "<Well, it happened near an island called ''Midway''...>"

...

Ten minutes later, as General Neithard was still discussing their plan of attack with the other officers, Pascal finished drafting out his own plan with Kaede and approached the King:

"Your Majesty, General, I think I have a better idea for an attack plan."

Despite being a mere captain, Pascal's words instantly seized the attention of every high-ranking officer in the room. The King did not hesitate for even a split-second before he gestured with an open palm: "let's hear it then."

General Neithard, on the other hand, looked far more dispassionate. He turned his attention towards Pascal as though merely observing a formality.

"Sire, we know, that the enemy knows, that our cavalry --and particularly our Phantoms-- are scattered within Skagen conducting deep raids. We also know that Admiral Winter deliberately circumvented around the Skagen Peninsula, to strike directly at Nordkreuz from the North Sea. Asgeirr Vintersvend has successfully delayed our ability to detect his skywhales until the last possible moment. He likely did so hoping it would take us time to regroup our air cavalry, which creates a window of opportunity that he can exploit."

"You're saying that Admiral Winter will likely launch an immediate air strike on Nordkreuz?" The King inquired. "If that is the case, should we not order the ''Phantom Gale'' to remain within the city?"

"Yes and no, Your Majesty." Pascal continued. "I believe Skagen's drakes will conduct a sortie tonight to bombard Nordkreuz, before the majority of our Phantoms can return from the peninsula to challenge their air superiority. However, while we know exactly where his skywhales are, thanks to the real-time updates provided to us by the 'Eye of the Dragon', Admiral Winter will not have the same information in regards to the whereabouts of our Knights Phantom in Skagen. And this, gives us a crushing advantage on information."

"My proposal is that once General Neithard regroups with our other Phantom companies, he should commit all of our Knights Phantom in a two-pronged assault against Admiral Winter's skywhales." Pascal insisted. "If we time it correctly, we'll get there before the drakes can return and rest after their sortie. Our primary goal should be to destroy those armored beasts which serve as a mobile base for the drakes, and hopefully kill their admiral alongside them. Without the skywhales to shelter their drakes, we can then use the Phantoms' superior maneuverability to harass their drakes when they must land to rest and recuperate..."

"Stop." General Wiktor interrupted him. "You wish for all of our Phantoms to be committed to attacking their skywhales, and not to deal with the drakes until later. What about the city in the interim then?"

"We hunker down and prepare for the bombardment." Pascal declared with a stiff gaze. "We send all civilians to basement shelters and reinforce them by magic. And we empty the army encampments and evacuate the men. Units trained in anti-air combat should be pulled in to reinforce the city's garrison. However, all other soldiers should take shelter further away from the city under the cover of illusions to spare them from the bombardment."

"You're using the city and the camps as fodder," the King stared back, amazed. "Pascal, Nordkreuz is ''your'' fiefdom."

"I know, Your Majesty," Pascal declared as he felt a chill envelop his body. "But this is also the surest way for Weichsel to ''win''. Nordkreuz will undoubtedly receive damage, but with strengthened anti-air, it will endure and it will survive. The same cannot be said if our forces fail to achieve victory."

"I agree completely," General Neithard remarked stiffly, though his stony gaze also looked upon Pascal with sincere respect for the first time. "We must recognize where the priorities lay. It is clear that the enemy's entire plan revolves around their skywhales, for without them, Admiral Winter will not have a secure shelter to channel his magic from. Therefore we ''must'' eliminate them as our primary objective, even at the cost of reducing the city's defenses."

King Leopold stared at Pascal for a moment longer before he pursed his lips and nodded:

"I see you are resolved, and I accept your proposal. The details I will let you and Wiktor work out. However--"

"However given the risks, Your Majesty must not remain here in Nordkreuz." Colonel Hannes interrupted the King, which caused the latter to raise his eyebrows as he glared back.

"You don't think ''a King'' should stay and set an example for the men?"

"I think the benefits of that would be marginal and the risks great," the dhampir spymaster insisted. "General Wiktor is more than capable of managing the defense of the city. Your Majesty's heir is still an infant. It is important for you, Sire, to act with prudence, and not with your ego."

''Only Hannes would dare say something like that to the King,'' Pascal thought.

Nevertheless, he did agree with the Colonel. King Leopold might hold the rank of Lieutenant-General and was an enthusiastic supporter of the army, but his forte had always been more in politics than in military affairs. For the King to remain in a city that was about to be hit by a massive air raid -- the benefits would be entirely symbolic, while even a fluke hit could lead to severe consequences for the whole nation.

"I concur, Your Majesty," Pascal decided to speak up. ''After all, did King Leopold not express a desire for me to be more candid with him?''

"And so do I," General Wiktor nodded as well.

The King looked between the three of them before he exhaled a deep sigh.

"Very well," he said unhappily. "I will depart back for the capital, but only after we have made all arrangements here," he insisted. "And as I was about to point out -- I think it would be an error in judgment to assume that simply because Admiral Winter will take the opportunity to bombard the city, the skywhales will be left undefended."

"In addition to any onboard soldiers and weaponry, they'll likely retain at least some of their drakes as a defensive air patrol," Lieutenant-Colonel Hans pointed out.

"And that is why we will launch two separate waves," Pascal said as he began to explain the details of his plan. Weichsel might not have any propeller-driven 'torpedo' or 'dive bombers' that Kaede spoke of, but the Knights Phantom were more adaptable and just as deadly.

"We send the first wave on a level attack against the skywhales. The ''Phantom Gale'' can form a wind tunnel and clear a path through any acidic rain clouds they throw at us..."

Pascal knew that Colonel Dietrich von Falkenrath, commander of the ''Phantom Gale'', was one of the best stormcallers in Weichsel. Even if his magical abilities were nowhere near those of an armada-destroying archmage, they should still be sufficient to create a gap through which they may launch their attack.

"Colonel Albrecht von Bittenfeld and his ''Black Lancers'' should then follow the ''Phantom Gale'' in the first attack." Pascal declared next. "The ''Black Lancers'' are at their best in frontal assaults, and their armored gryphons can fight against drakes in close-quarters combat better than any other mount. We can further augment their numbers by sending in the Phantom Grenadiers. This should draw the attention of the skywhales' onboard weaponry as well as any drakes they retained as a defensive air patrol."

"And that's when you spring the second wave," General Neithard commented, as though already seeing through Pascal's plan.

"Yes Sir," Pascal nodded. "The second wave, consisting of the other two Knights Phantom companies, will move into position, hidden in the upper cloud cover. They will dive down at a steep angle to reduce the amount of time the defenders have to react. Their objective will be to deliver precision strikes against those whales' biggest weak spots -- their blowholes."

The blowholes were a relic of the whales' non-magical ancestors. But since all biological creatures needed a vent for air intake, their evolution had left this sole weakness on the skywhales' hardened heads.

Kaede had likened it to a 'thermal exhaust port', which in this context made absolutely no sense.

"Those skywhales will likely carry considerable numbers of anti-air troops on their backs," Hans voiced his concerns. "Especially towards the front to guard such a vulnerability."

"That is why the second wave features two companies when only one could manage the attack," Pascal stated. "Although it would be nice to increase those numbers, it is imperative that the first wave be sufficiently convincing as the 'main attack'."

"In that case, it would be best if I lead the first wave," Sylviane declared. "An Oriflamme's presence will undoubtedly draw their attention. Those volcanic drakes might be tough against fire, but a phoenix's flames will scorch them all the same."

Pascal frowned. ''I just hope Sylv does not do anything too reckless.''

The thought of holding her back never even occurred to him. The mere idea of stopping an Oriflamme Paladin from committing to battle was utter nonsense. Pascal's only worry was that since he lacked a Knight Phantom's training, he would not be able to accompany Sylviane in their mission to attack the skywhales. Instead, he would have to remain behind to help defend the city.

"The general plan is sound." General Neithard declared after a moment of consideration. "I will ride alongside Her Highness in the first wave. However, given the factors of uncertainty, I will hold the ''Dawn Sky'' company from the second wave back as a reserve. Colonel Erwin von Hammerstein's Phantom Grenadiers will be assigned to the second wave instead. They can dive ahead of the other company and clear a path through hostile anti-air. Only once they have the defenders pinned down will the ''real'' second strike dive in."

''He plans to use them as fodder,'' Pascal immediately recognized.

The Phantom Grenadiers may have accrued some battle experience during their raids in Skagen, but they were still a mostly green unit. To throw them at the skywhales' formidable air defenses alone, they could almost certainly expect heavy casualties.

However, since the Phantom Grenadiers were also the least trained of Weichsel's air cavalry units, they were also more expendable than the other, proper knights.

What amazed Pascal was how the General chose this, despite knowing that his own niece was second-in-command of the grenadiers.

''Is he just being callous, or is he deliberately doing this to give her the most dangerous assignment?'' Pascal couldn't help wonder.

After all, units that undertook the most dangerous assignments also had the most valor to gain. It was as though Neithard expected Ariadne to either return with honors... or not at all.

"Even with all of this, the opportunity to deliver critical damage against the skywhales may only last a fleeting moment," General Neithard then added. "We must consider what is our best means of maximizing damage through those blowholes in a single strike."

For a moment everyone fell quiet as they considered their arsenal of military weapons. But try as he might, Pascal couldn't think of a single option that really stood out.

"Since it's their nostrils," noted the King's spymaster, Colonel Hannes. "What about an inhaled poison?"

''Trust a spy to think like an assassin,'' Pascal almost snorted. However the Colonel was also onto something, and the suggestion immediately elicited an idea from him.

"What about prussic acid?" The young landgrave recalled from the previous night when he and Sylviane discussed steelmaking, where the alchemical was used for surface hardening and caused the blackening of the armor that Weichsel preferred. "It is a highly toxic gas that inhibits respiration, is easy to create, and is also extremely flammable. Once we hit them, those whales will not merely suffocate. They will burn from the inside."

<noinclude>
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| Back to [[Daybreak:Volume_2_Chapter_13_Interlude|Interlude Chapter 13.5]]
| Return to [[Daybreak_on_Hyperion|Main Page]]
| Forward to [[Daybreak:Volume_2_Chapter_15|Chapter 15]]
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</noinclude>

Daybreak:Volume 2 Chapter 7

2022-03-18T02:10:59Z

Aorii:

===Chapter 7 - Pecking Order===

"I can't breathe..."

Kaede gasped out as she leaned forward with her hands holding onto the table's edge. Rachel, the head maid, was tightening the laces on her back, and it was impressive how much strength the old woman's bony fingers had.

"Stop complaining. I haven't even finished the first tightening." Rachel retorted as she continued her methodical lace-pulling. The elderly maid then offered some advice: "Breath slowly. I thought you Samarans believed in 'meditating'?"

"I fail to see how 'meditation' has anything to do with strangling my lungs." Kaede gasped out as the leather corset around her waist tightened another notch. She could feel how it forcely shaped her waist into an hourglass-like arc. "Why do I have to wear this again?"

"Because Her Highness suggested it," Rachel reminded the familiar girl. Though her words ran with approval as she continued: "besides, every girl wears one. It helps you maintain better posture and provides support for your back through a day's work. Even the Princess wears one beneath her dress."

Kaede did notice that all of the palace maids wore a pair of leather stays -- an early version of the corset -- around their waist. It hugged their midsections from the breasts to above the hips. The Princess' dress had leather sewn in around her midriff as well. Though in her outfit, the leather simply blended in with the other patches that were meant to anchor armor straps.

''I don't remember seeing anything like this on Ariadne's uniform,'' Kaede thought. It was yet further proof that Rhin-Lotharingie was 'backwards' compared to the more progressive Weichsel.

The Samaran girl then immediately snapped off that train of thought. She closed her eyes and shook her head in self-disgust. ''I sound like an egocentric child.''

"Done." Rachel announced at last as she knotted the laces' extra length. "That's the first tightening. We'll let your body adjust for a few minutes before we finish with a second round."

Kaede groaned. She was already having trouble taking a full breath.

"Isn't this enough? If you pull this any tighter I'm going to pass out."

She really did not want to have first-hand user experience with the infamous 'fainting couch'.

"If you do, you'd enter palace history as the first girl to do so from something so mild." Rachel's reply came flat. She then ran her hand across the exterior of her own leather stays, which wrapped around her midsection and held tight by laces. "I've worn one of these every day for the past century."

"You may be used to them but I'm not!" Kaede's wispy answer came with an exhale.

She reached down with her fingers and traced across a stiff, vertical bump on her corset's exterior. It was hidden beneath a column of pink, floral laces.

"Is this... steel boning?"

"Yes." The elderly woman admitted. "You're right that yours is more constricting than what we wear. Leather adjusts over prolonged use and isn't hard to bend. However we still need to do our chores or, in Her Highness' case, fight in it. You're expected to do neither."

"I can fight. I have a weapon you know."

Kaede pulled out her leather archery gloves and put them on, over the long armgloves of her undergarment. She willed the spring-steel 'morphic blade' from its extradimensional storage into her fingers and grasped the handle of its default, shortsword form. Knowing that she was little more than an amateur in its use, she gave it a quick twirl before putting it away.

However, the head maid continued to look unimpressed.

"You'll find that most Lotharin women carry a knife on them," she noted before reaching down to her boot and producing her own. "We've had too many generations of experience with Imperial Legionnaires."

Kaede winced. Clearly rape by soldiers in Hyperion was no less common than in Earth history.

"Many Lotharin woman also know how to use a hunting bow," Rachel added. "Though that's not of much use against soldiers in proper armor. A military-grade bow however is far more strenuous than what most women can manage."

Kaede nodded sadly as she glanced down at her thin arms. Before coming to this world, Kaede had built up enough arm strength to pull a ''yumi'' greatbow to shoot a dozen consecutive arrows. Now? Her muscles were so weak even carrying stacks of books proved difficult. Strength training seemed a waste of time when her current build was so poorly suited for it. Thus as a result, she had to rely on Pascal's magic whenever she wanted to practice.

"Do Lotharin women serve in the military then?" She asked next, shifting the topic to one involving her curiosity rather than her loss.

"Yes, though only on a voluntary basis." Rachel nodded. "There's even a dedicated knightly order: the Monastic Order of the Knight-Healers of Saint Joan, more commonly known as the Knights Hospitaller. The famous Lady Edith-Estellise, Saint de Lyonesse and the ''Polar Cross'' paladin, is their most notable member."

''And the commander of the Army of Avorica, if I remember correctly from yesterday's meeting.''

There was a clear sense of pride in the way Rachel said Edith's name. It really showed just how much of a role model the saint was to the women of Rhin-Lotharingie.

Nevertheless Kaede sighed inwardly as she thought: ''yet another action hero.''

It was one of Kaede's annoyances about society -- how people most often focused on those who fought on the front lines. Sure, Edith was the 'champion' of Rhin-Lotharingie and widely considered the best Oriflamme Paladin in direct combat. But surely Dame Cosette, who served Emperor Geoffroi as his chief military strategist, should be more famous? This was doubly true for women, as male bodies had a biological advantage in raw strength and stamina, which in turn meant women should establish more role models based on wisdom and intellect.

''Why are the brains always overshadowed by the brawn?'' She filed one of her old complaints.

"I think we've waited long enough." The head maid's voice shook Kaede from her reverie. "Let's finish tightening your laces."

It summoned only a louder, more resentful groan from the Samaran girl.

''Bear with it,'' Kaede had to remind herself.

It was important that she keep her word to the Princess and not create more reasons to be disliked at present. Not to mention she needed to at least work on 'fitting in'. Fashion has always been dictated by the culture of a society and not the individual. Those who refused to accept the 'norm' inevitably attracted prejudice, and the Samaran girl already received enough strange looks as it is.

Besides, Kaede figured that the current status quo wouldn't last since Pascal wasn't the type to just stay in a palace anyway, not when there was a war raging outside. Then, once she had a chance to prove herself before the Princess, perhaps things would change...

"Be glad then that Her Highness isn't the one pulling," Rachel remarked almost off-handedly. "Her standards for a 'proper waistline' are far stricter than mine."

Kaede swallowed. ''Just what kind of unrealistic body image was this princess taught?''

<nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>

Pascal forked a piece of ham before digging his utensil into the tartiflette. The potatoes, onion, and cheese gratin had been baked to a crispy exterior, however the inside was still mushy and he smeared it over his ham before scooping some extra with his fork. The combination was soon brought to his mouth to enjoy.

The sumptuous taste lifted his mood for a brief moment. The potatoes were fairly new to Lotharin cuisine and he had only enjoyed it twice before. It was said that the starchy tuber was a new crop found by the Northmen's expeditions in the 'New World'. It had been brought back to Rhin-Lotharingie by King Alistair himself, when he ended his adventures as a mercenary and began his reign as the King of the Glens.

However Pascal's sourness soon returned when Sylviane giggled in the seat beside him. Her cheeks were turned the other way to face the very same Alistair, whose own fork still sat on the table as his arms gestured to accompany his tale.

"So thanks to that fiasco with the druids, I found myself in a dispute with the Archbishop of Sruighlea." Alistair exclaimed with his usual goofy, boyish grin. "But I thought to myself -- hey, the archbishop likes beekeeping and brewing, right? In that case, can't we just settle this like men over a flagon of mead? Better than him sermoning me to death with hours of biblical preaching!"

''That's because you Highlanders are half-heathens who intermix the Holy Father's teachings with that of your superstitious idols.'' Pascal thought with distaste.

"Thus I invited the good bishop for a drink at my favorite tavern, and brought some of the finest mead I had to share." Alistair continued. "What I didn't expect was that within an hour after we sat down, the bishop was red as roses and swaying from side to side! He was flirting and slapping the rears of every tavern wench who walked by, though he was generous enough with his coin that the girls didn't seem to mind. You'd think a man whose stomach matched his shoulder width wouldn't be such a paperweight! Yet by the time I noticed and offered to take him back, he insisted that he was fine and stumbled outside!"

"I hope you went with him?" Sylviane spoke with amused concern. "He might hurt himself in that state."

"Of course, but I had to pay first, and it gave him a head start," Alistair recounted. "By the time I left the tavern I couldn't believe my eyes. A drove of pigs had wandered outside between the exit and our horses left outside the fence. The good, fat bishop couldn't even tell the difference as he saddled up on the largest hog instead!"

Sylviane almost snorted into her food, while Emperor Geoffroi didn't hold back and burst out laughing. Even Pascal couldn't help but give a chortle. The young landgrave might not like Alistair in many ways, but he had to admit that the King was quite a storyteller. There was a reason why many of Alistair's tales and adventures could now be found circulating the taverns of Rhin-Lotharingie.

"It took a moment for my shock to wear off before I shouted at him: 'Wait Archbishop! That's a pig!'" Alistair feigned yelling. "But the good bishop didn't seem to care as he grabbed the swine by the ears and kicked its rear. The squealing hog charged right through the rickety fence gate and up the meadowed hill to the west. It was dusk too and the image was almost picturesque: a prelate riding a pig off into the sunset!"

Sylviane was now bent over laughing nonstop. She then leaned close to Alistair and gave his back several hearty, congratulatory slaps.

"You should have the scene commissioned! 'The Pig and The Prelate!' It'll be a ''masterpiece!''"

Pascal felt his dislike for the King simmer as he watched her familiarity. He couldn't help but complain ''why doesn't she ever do that with me!''

"Sure sure, but that had to wait until after I found the good bishop. What a disaster it'd be if he rode into a creek and drowned?" Alistair made a horrified face. "I called in my armigers so we could fan out and search for him. It took us hours before we found the porker sound asleep twelve kilos away in a pigsty! And by porker I meant the one in robes, because we couldn't find his stallion of a pig!"

"''Twelve kilopaces!?''" Sylviane was amazed. "Good Lord the bishop can ride!"

"I know right? I was certainly amazed! Alas we took the Archbishop home and thought that was the end of that. It wasn't until the week after, when I paid the Archbishop another visit, that I found him with a new ride: the very same hog that he rode off into the sunset on! Apparently the story had gotten around and he was now posing for a sculptor who wanted a statue of it! Who knew the good bishop had such a sense of humor!"

"Humility too," Geoffroi said with a broad grin before it turned wry. "A rare trait among the ecclesiastical these days."

"Right?" Alistair remained in good humor as he gestured with an open hand. "Didn't take long after that experience for me and the good bishop to become friends. And that's the story of where this mead comes from. The Archbishop will be honored to hear that Your Majesty enjoyed it."

"All the more so when it's made by his hands," Geoffroi declared as he raised his silver goblet for a toast. "To Archbishop Lachlan, may his charity, humility, and diligence never fade!"

"To Archbishop Lachlan." Pascal cooly joined Sylviane, Alistair, and the Emperor in the toast.

Then the King added jokingly: "and may he keep his pants on when tempted by bathhouse wenches!"

Sylviane feigned a scandalized look before she countered:

"Pot calling kettle. As if you could!"

''Normally she would be offended by such boorish behavior.'' Pascal scowled.

"Well I'm unmarried!" Alistair retorted. "Neither to woman nor Holy Father!"

"Keep that attitude up and you never will!" Sylviane teased as she grabbed Alistair's right cheek and pulled on it, which elicited a cry of 'Ow' from the much-older King.

It also sent a spike of annoyance straight up to Pascal's temple.

''Sylv are you not getting a little TOO familiar with him?''

Pascal knew that Sylviane had a 'special relationship' with King Alistair. Somehow the two became friends almost as soon as they met prior to Alistair's coronation. However this was also the first time he had seen them together in an unofficial setting, and the casualness of their interaction had left him with more than a hint of discomfort.

It didn't help that this could have been a private, family dinner, had Sylviane not invited the King to join them. Pascal wished that Kaede had been invited instead. However by the time he found out to ask over their bond, his depressed-sounding familiar had already eaten and retired to her room to read.

He stared at the table's other end, where three phoenixes -- the magnificent Joyeuse, the brightly-feathered Hauteclaire, and the largest bird Almace -- occasionally chirped while they ate their feed. They were the respective familiars of Emperor Geoffroi, Princess Sylviane, and King Alistair. It reminded Pascal that he was the one who sat at this table whose familiar remained absent.

''I haven't seen her all day, or yesterday,'' Pascal complained to himself. ''It's just been meeting, after meeting, after meeting... and why hasn't this King returned to his own kingdom?''

Most of the meetings had been about pay and provisions for the armies. Unlike Pascal's homeland of Weichsel, the Empire of Rhin-Lotharingie didn't have a single 'Ministry of the Interior' to manage national stockpiles. Instead the responsibilities were divided up by the Ministry of Agriculture for granaries, the Ministry of Trade for treasury, the Ministry of Land and Resources for iron and lumber, and finally an overlap between the Ministry of War and Ministry of Industries when managing blacksmith production.

''Who set up this ridiculous system?''

Alas, Sylviane was almost done gathering the information they needed. Next was going over all the data and arranging for transportation to collect the various supplies and send them to the front. Tonight was meant to be a break from the working dinners of yesterday and the day before. However, Pascal didn't find this one bit relaxing, not when that jester king was here and taking all of his betrothed's attention with his jokes and stories!

"Hasn't Lachlan been the Archbishop for over two decades now?" Pascal decided the best course of action was to divert the conversation. He needed to steer Alistair off from all the personal tales, and onto a more serious topic that Pascal could converse in. "Is there any chance of him receiving a cardinal's hat?"

"I highly doubt it," Alistair's countenance turned serious at once. It was a credit to the King that he could switch his mode of thinking so quickly. "Lachlan isn't evangelical enough for the Pope's tastes. The spread of the Trinitian Church in the Highlands has been more or less halted for decades."

"Why is that?"

"The druids of the north and west have reformed and centralized their religion." The Emperor explained. "They had begun to establish a formal scripture almost a quarter century ago. And now they have a circle that meets twice per year to discuss religious issues much like the College of Cardinals. The standardization of their practices have also allowed them to consolidate and offer more spiritual support to their believers. The result is that Trinitian no longer has the advantage in guidance and answers in the eyes of potential followers."

"The same could be said for the believers of the Hyperborean Gods," King Alistair added. "They began their reforms even earlier than the druids. However their progress has been slower as they're spread much thinner -- from their homelands in the Grand Jarldom of Skagen and the Kingdom of Västergötland, to countless isles scattered all across the oceans and even realms in the New World." The King then turned to the Emperor: "I also heard the druidic faith is making a significant comeback in the Kingdom of Ceredigion?"

Geoffroi nodded in confirmation.

"The Church has been growing too corrupt, more interested in tithes and politics than the spiritual enlightenment of the common man. Gone are the days when priests were best known for their alms and orphanages. Is it any surprise that some of the faithful are turning away?"

The Emperor's voice was not just disappointed. Pascal knew that troubles of faith were increasingly plaguing the rulers of Rhin-Lotharingie. King Elisedd of Ceredigion's departure from the Trinitian Church was among the reasons for his growing detachment to the rest of the Empire. King Alistair also found his realm pulled between three different religions: Trinitian, Hyperborean, and Druidic. Meanwhile Pascal had even heard of an entrenched Trinitian heresy spreading in the southern Kingdom of Garona.

For a devoted Trinitian like himself who comes from Weichsel, the 'Northern March of the Trinitian Realm', it felt like the natural order was slowly being overturned in this Empire.

<nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>

Pascal had left the room almost the second after dinner finished. The meal had consumed over three hours of his time, between King Alistair's many stories and their discussions over religion and politics. It felt as though every time they were about to finish, the Princess would bring up another topic that she wanted to talk about. Normally this wouldn't be a problem, except Pascal had another item on his plans for tonight.

He had almost reached the stairs before Sylviane caught up with him.

"Pascal, wait! Where are you going in such a rush?"

The young nobleman turned around and met his fiancée's eyes with a frown. "I am going to see Kaede."

"It's already past curfew for the maids." Sylviane objected. "Besides you know the rules: men aren't allowed up in the female servants' hallway."

"Then I will call her down." Pascal insisted. "I have neither seen nor spoken to her, at least not face-to-face, for two days! I need to know if she has been doing alright in this new place."

Pascal's thoughts replayed Kaede's depressed reply from earlier, when he had asked her if she wanted to join them for dinner. Even now the emotions that emerged across their link remained gloomy and restless. He turned away to grab the handle of the door to the stairway. However before he could open it, Sylviane took hold of his arm and stopped him.

"It's almost eleven. Kaede is probably asleep by now."

"No. She is awake. I can tell."

Pascal didn't see the twitch in the Princess' lips as he reminded her of his familiar bond.

"Head Maid Rachel isn't supposed to let people in and out unless it's an absolute necessity." Sylviane pressed her case. "It would be against the rules."

"You are the crown heir. You can tell Rachel to make an exception this time."

"It is precisely because that I'm the crown heir that I cannot just go around making exceptions to the rules!" Sylviane countered in a firm voice. "What kind of example would I be setting? That the laws we make do not apply to ourselves?"

For a second Pascal did not reply. He might be annoyed but that didn't mean his brain had stopped working. There was sense in Sylviane's words and he knew it. However it also wasn't the real issue, and he released a deep exhale as he tired of this game.

"You are doing this on purpose, are you not?"

"What are you talking about?" Sylviane asked while Pascal slowly turned around to stare at her.

"You are doing this on purpose: trying to keep me from seeing her." Pascal pressed. "It has been over two days since we came and you have not asked her to even sit at a table with us!"

"We've been ''busy!''" The Princess insisted as her wisteria gaze hardened to meet his.

"And what about tonight? Could you not have invited her?" He challenged but left out the accusation in his thoughts: ''You did not even tell me until it was past the servants' dinner and too late for me to invite.''

"King Alistair is leaving tomorrow morning. It's only appropriate that we send him off with a proper dinner!"

"How is that a problem for Kaede to dine with us?" Pascal demanded. "It was a family plus guest dinner!"

"Of course it's inappropriate!" Sylviane retorted. "She's a servant--!"

"She is my ''familiar!''" Pascal cut her off angrily. "I do not see you or Emperor Geoffroi banishing Hauteclaire and Joyeuse to eat elsewhere when you have dinner!"

"Should I ask Captain Moreau's skywhale outside to dine with us also?" Sylviane replied sarcastically.

"You are being deliberately contrarian!" Pascal retorted in a voice just shy of shouting. Not that there was anyone else in the dim hallway to hear it, apart from Sylviane's bodyguard Mari who kept a discretionary distance.

"And you are my fiancé!" Sylviane gritted her teeth as she stared back. "You're here to support me! Not to create more headaches for me!"

"''Create headaches!?''" Pascal responded with an incredulous laugh. "I only asked to see Kaede, to meet my personal responsibilities for the first time in two days!"

He then raised his palms and shook them in the air between them, as though to stress how empty they were.

"I mean what am I even doing here?" The young landgrave fumed. "Listening to your meetings? Attending your meal discussions? I gave up my command for this! I abandoned my Landgraviate for ''this!'' And now you are even making me ignore my familiar!"

"You're supposed to help me--!" The Princess stated. However she had barely finished her sentence before Pascal's voice burst out:

"Then ''let me help!''" He shouted, before taking a deep breath and reducing his volume. "Give me a task that I can do for you! Anything! Do not just ''drag me around'' from meeting to meeting all day with neither role nor purpose, as though I am just a child that you must keep in your sight! I did not come here just to hold onto your hand! And I certainly did not come here for you to tear Kaede from me!"

"I'm not--" Sylviane tried to say before an angry glare from Pascal stopped her cold.

Her eyes swelled as though they were in shock. Her lips were left ajar as though she had forgotten what to even say. There was a glint in her eyes that saw him as something... foreign, even frightening. It was as though she had never seen him like this.

''She might be right too.'' A faint voice in the back of his mind spoke, almost begged for the rest of him to calm down. ''I have never been like this in front of her.''

Pascal pursed his lips as he turned away and exhaled another deep breath. He struggled to suppress his boiling temper as he reached out and pulled open the staircase door. If Sylviane wouldn't let him see Kaede then he could at least talk to his familiar over their telepathy. It was ''ridiculous'' that he didn't even know what Kaede had been up to these past two days and three nights.

But regardless of what he did next, he needed to leave the Princess' presence. In his current emotional state, the longer he stayed the more he was likely to do something he might regret.

"Pascal..." Sylviane was still at a loss for words when he walked through the door.

"I am going to my room." His reply came in a still-harsh tone. "Good night Sylviane!"

<nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>

"<...And he just stormed off after that. Can you believe it?>" Sylviane complained over a ''Farspeak'' spell as she conversed with Cecylia. The dhampir was probably her best, and only, female friend from childhood.

It was strange in many ways: the only real friends Sylviane had as a child were from a country that she had been kidnapped to during wartime. As a kid, she had never been any good at breaking down barriers. The fact that she was a princess had set up a great many of them in any social encounter.

"<All men have tempers, Sylv. Even your beloved Pascal.>" Cecylia's reply was mostly-consoling yet still partly-teasing. "<Besides, Pascal takes his responsibilities seriously. And this is a critical time for him to spend away from his fiefdom. Perhaps he simply wanted to see his familiar for some... familiarity, no implications intended.>"

Sylviane sighed as her heart softened with sympathy. Cecylia was right: Pascal hadn't even seen his father's body or arranged a funeral yet. Nor had he returned to Nordkreuz to officially take up the seat of his inheritance. There were a great many things that undoubtedly awaited his attention back at home. Yet he came to the royal palace upon her beckon without any conditions.

"<You're right,>" the Princess admitted. "<nowiki><I</nowiki> am demanding too much from him.>"

She could almost see Cecylia's satisfied smile as the other continued:

"<Pascal was never the hand-holding kind. He is a doer. He might not be an outright workaholic like his father, but he nevertheless needs something to ''do'', constantly. In fact, it's probably why he summoned a familiar like Kaede -- a walking encyclopedia like her could help him much in whatever he chooses to accomplish. My guess is even when he doesn't have a task to do, he would be bouncing ideas off her all day... that's probably been happening ever since he summoned her a month back.>"

Sylviane pursed her lips as she leaned back and fell into her huge, four-poster bed. This wasn't the first time she had heard Cecylia compare Kaede to an encyclopedia. Nevertheless it brought a surge of irritation as she imagined Pascal and Kaede chatting for hours on end... just like how she and Pascal used to talk on the shores of Cross Lake.

"<nowiki><It's</nowiki> not fair. Why doesn't he talk to me like that anymore...>"

She could almost feel Cecylia giggling to herself the ''Farspeak'' spell's other end.

"<That's because you always have something more specific to talk about nowadays.>" Cecylia noted. "<nowiki><It's</nowiki> always this rowdy lord or that troublesome task. You don't quite have the pleasure to just meander as you used to! But really, you should see this as a ''good'' thing.>"

Sylviane frowned as she stared at her bed's velvet ceiling, which was dyed in her favorite lavender color. "<nowiki><I</nowiki> don't see how.>"

"<You two are having ''adult'' conversations these days! Hehe.>" Cecylia then proceeded to giggle audibly over the telepathic channel. "<Meanwhile he's still a kid with Kaede, just playing around with ideas instead of toys. Besides, you can still jump into those discussions at any time. The only reason you haven't recently is because of your lack of time!>"

Sylviane sighed and closed her eyes. ''Cecylia's right.'' She thought. ''It's just time I'm lacking... time to chat with him like we used to.''

"<By the way,>" the dhampir girl then added. "<You haven't done anything to his familiar, have you?>"

"<No!>" The Princess retorted almost on instinct. "<Well. I had her squeezed into a dress. Apparently the girl had never worn a corset before. But that's all!>"

"<Hehe. That's 'normal' for you. I just wanted to make sure you haven't tortured the poor girl or something. You do have a sadistic streak...>"

Cecylia didn't even finish before Sylviane bolted to sit upright in her bed. Her voice immediately hissed back:

"<nowiki><I</nowiki> am ''not'' sadistic!>"

The other girl paused as though letting the silence sink in.

"<You ''enjoy'' making cute girls cry,>" Cecylia spoke as a matter of fact. "<nowiki><It's</nowiki> why I was concerned. Pascal won't overlook it if you bully her maliciously, you know?>"

Reluctantly, Sylviane nodded to herself. "<nowiki><I</nowiki> know... I've been holding back too...>"

''It's not like I've forced her into any lingerie... yet.''

The Princess thought to compare Kaede with Vivienne, or Vivi as Sylviane affectionately called her. She was always so obedient, wearing what she'd been given and doing as she'd been told. Kaede seemed to be more bashful compared to Vivi, but that also had a charm of its own as it only added to the girl's cuteness.

"<The only 'bullying' I've done was to put her in the servants' quarters to keep her away from Pascal.>" Sylviane admitted.

"<Yeeeahhh I'm not sure that was your best idea,>" Cecylia responded. "<nowiki><It'd</nowiki> be like if someone took Hauteclaire away from you and locked him up in some birdcage.>"

Sylviane scowled as she glanced to the phoenix on his perch. ''She's right. I'd certainly be annoyed if someone did that.''

She was reminded of her father's words -- that mages had a 'unique bond' with their familiars. This was doubly so for those who had special familiars, like the Oriflamme Paladins, the skywhale merchants, or in this case: a young landgrave who contracted a Samaran girl.

"<nowiki><It</nowiki> seemed such a great idea two days ago. But now...>" Sylviane sighed once more.

Cecylia returned a mental shrug. "<nowiki><It</nowiki> happens to all of us. Though I have a feeling your 'self-righteous' moments are just ''a little'' stronger than usual.>" She added sarcastically.

This wasn't the first time Sylviane told Cecylia about a choice that she regretted.

"<nowiki><It's</nowiki> not fair... for him to have such a familiar,>" Sylviane complained.

Though to be honest, she wasn't sure whom she was more envious of: Kaede for being so close with Pascal, or Pascal for having such a cute girl bonded to him.

"<Why? It seems like a plus to me, hehe,>" Cecylia replied in good humor. "<nowiki><I</nowiki> don't understand why you're not seeing the bright side: now you get to have your fiancé ''and'' a free cutie to come alongside that you get to play with. Two different kinds of eye candy in every gaze. What's there not to like?>"

It reminded Sylviane of that 'hungry' look Cecylia occasionally had when the dhampir girl met handsome men.

"<Remember, ''my'' fiancé.>" Sylviane stressed.

Cecylia laughed. "<You don't have to remind me!>"

"<And as for Kaede, what if she starts sleeping with him?>" Sylviane's eyes narrowed. "<And I mean: actually laying together, not just sharing a bed.>"

The Princess noted as she already knew they did that at his academy dormitory.

"<nowiki><I</nowiki> mean sure, she doesn't seem to be romantically interested in him ''now'',>" Sylviane then added. "<But they have over a hundred years of life together ahead!>"

"<Then at least you'll have a guarantee that there isn't some other woman whom he might be spending time with.>" Cecylia answered straight. "<nowiki><I</nowiki> mean think about it, Sylv. You'll be the Empress, and he'll be your Marshal. There'll be months, even years when he goes on campaign and you two will be apart. And like all men pressed into the stress of battle, he'll feel lonely from time the time, seek the comfort of feminine embrace...>"

"<B-but that's high treason!>" Sylviane cut her friend off in retort. "<To cheat on his sovereign! I could have his head for that!>"

"<Yes, you could.>" Cecylia admitted after a brief pause. "<But would you? Even if you were no longer best friends? Brilliant commanders don't come easy to begin with, especially those whom you could trust, politically, beyond any doubt. Pascal has a special bond with you that can never be erased. Do you think you can just find another to replace him?>"

"<You know that's not what I meant.>" Sylviane sighed as she fell back into bed again. ''She's even saying the same thing as Father...''

"<I'm not saying Pascal is guaranteed to be unfaithful, certainly not where it truly counts,>" Cecylia added. "<But he is a ''man''. From that perspective, wouldn't it be better to leave him in the care of a mistress whom you can command and trust, rather than risk the intrusion of some outsider that you can't even predict? You can ''control'' the relationship between Pascal and Kaede. You cannot control if some other woman tries to snake into his life and seduce him.>"

"<And that's exactly what I'm working on.>" Sylviane replied. "<nowiki><It's</nowiki> just...>"

"<You're trying to impose your dominance over her, over their relationship. I know.>" Cecylia filled in after the Princess trailed off. "<But you're going about it too hastily. You have to take it one step at a time. Discipline her, sure, but offer treats for good behavior as well. If Kaede has been obedient to your will, then you should let her see him more as a reward. The girl is trapped in a foreign world entirely different from the one she was raised on. She'll be happy just to hold onto her pillar of support.>"

Sylviane slowly nodded as she thought back to Cecylia's first assessment on the familiar girl. After taking a trip to the Alisia Academy at Sylviane's request, Cecylia concluded that Kaede wasn't the type who adapted to new environments well. The Samaran girl put on a brave face but she was actually quite scared to be in this world. It was why she embraced every pillar of support she could find, unwilling to let go of even a maidservant-turned-traitor whom she befriended.

"<Then... What do you suggest? That I give Pascal a significant task and let Kaede help him?>"

"<Yes, that's ''exactly'' what I would recommend,>" Cecylia stressed. "<As I mentioned, Pascal is a doer. He needs to be kept occupied, and he'll be happier once you assign him some function to take responsibility over. That'll also lighten your plate and hopefully give you more time to relax with him. It's a win-win!>"

"<nowiki><I</nowiki> can see that. And I know Pascal hates being micromanaged, so it's best I leave a task with him and not interfere. But I can't just let Kaede orbit him all day...>" Sylviane scowled.

"<Why not?>" Cecylia countered. "<Sylv, you do realize that keeping them apart is no long term solution? Pascal's sense of responsibility would never allow it. It's why he grew angry with you today. You have to use more subtle means of controlling Kaede if you want to make your future marriage with Pascal work.>"

"<nowiki><I</nowiki> understand that. But it's just...>" Sylviane remarked as she struggled to put her feelings into words.

She knew she was being irrational. She knew that trying to keep Kaede from Pascal wouldn't work, certainly not in the long term. Yet she didn't want these past two days to end, when it was just the Pascal and her once again...

"<You've already made it clear to the girl that you can keep them apart.>" Cecylia pointed out. "<Now you can show her that they can be together too. Just make sure she knows that it is ''at your discretion''. It reinforces the idea that she'll want to stay on your good side.>" The dhampir advised before she explained in a playful voice. "<Kaede has a plucky exterior, but she also has a rather submissive nature. I could tell almost immediately when I teased her that night. Her cultural background seems to give her a preference for following rules and authority. Plus she herself desires stability and predictability in life. Therefore if you offer her a compromise, even if it's on your terms, she will likely accept the ground rules you lay down as long as ''you'' fairly uphold your end of the bargain.>"

Sylviane grinned a little as she nodded along to Cecylia's suggestions. None of this surprised her as she knew exactly how Cecylia operated. Beneath the adorable tease was a shrewd, calculating girl with a domineering personality and an excellent judge of character. Yet despite this, the dhampir had never tried to manipulate the Princess. It was one of the reasons they'd been best friends since childhood.

''If only you weren't a Weichsen, you’d be my closest confidante,'' Sylviane sighed with longing. She never once forgot that Cecylia was also the eyes and ears of King Leopold, which made it... difficult, to discuss certain topics.

This was part of the reason why she grew so close to King Alistair, despite the fact he was more than twice her age. The two of them shared many views when it came to the future of the Lotharin realm. It also helped that Alistair had a candid personality and an excellent sense of humor, which allowed her to hear the truth from him without feeling... inadequate.

''If only Pascal could soften around the edges in the same way,'' the Princess sighed.

Alas, the world wasn't perfect. Sylviane could only work with the hand that it dealt her.

"<Thanks for the advice and tips, both now and before,>" she smiled appreciatively.

"<What are friends for?>" Cecylia rhymed back, before the two of them started giggling again like normal girls their age.

<noinclude>
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| Back to [[Daybreak:Volume_2_Chapter_6|Chapter 6]]
| Return to [[Daybreak_on_Hyperion|Main Page]]
| Forward to [[Daybreak:Volume_2_Chapter_8|Chapter 8]]
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</noinclude>

Daybreak:Volume 2 Chapter 7

2022-03-16T21:00:42Z

Aorii:

===Chapter 7 - Pecking Order===

"I can't breathe..."

Kaede gasped out as she leaned forward with her hands holding onto the table's edge. Rachel, the head maid, was tightening the laces on her back, and it was impressive how much strength the old woman's bony fingers had.

"Stop complaining. I haven't even finished the first tightening." Rachel retorted as she continued her methodical lace-pulling. The elderly maid then offered some advice: "Breath slowly. I thought you Samarans believed in 'meditating'?"

"I fail to see how 'meditation' has anything to do with strangling my lungs." Kaede gasped out as the leather corset around her waist tightened another notch. She could feel how it forcely shaped her waist into an hourglass-like arc. "Why do I have to wear this again?"

"Because Her Highness ordered it," Rachel reminded the familiar girl. Though her words ran with approval as she continued: "besides, every girl wears one. It helps you maintain better posture and provides support for your back through a day's work. Even the Princess wears one beneath her dress."

Kaede did notice that all of the palace maids had a leather cincher around their waist, which hugged their midsections from below the chest to above the hips. The Princess' dress had it was well. Though in her outfit, the leather simply blended in with the other patches that were meant to anchor armor straps.

''I don't remember seeing anything like this on Ariadne's uniform,'' Kaede thought. It was yet further proof that Rhin-Lotharingie was 'backwards' compared to the more progressive Weichsel.

The Samaran girl then immediately snapped off that train of thought. She closed her eyes and shook her head in self-disgust. ''I sound like an egocentric child.''

"Done." Rachel announced at last as she knotted the laces' extra length. "That's the first tightening. We'll let your body adjust for a few minutes before we finish with a second round."

Kaede groaned. She was already having trouble taking a full breath.

"Isn't this enough? If you pull this any tighter I'm going to pass out."

She really did not want to have first-hand user experience with the infamous 'fainting couch'.

"If you do, you'd enter palace history as the first girl to do so from something so mild." Rachel's reply came flat. She then ran her hand across the exterior of her own leather stays, which wrapped around her midsection and held tight by laces. "I've worn one of these every day for the past century."

"You may be used to them but I'm not!" Kaede's wispy answer came with an exhale.

She reached down with her fingers and traced across a stiff, vertical bump on her corset's exterior. It was hidden beneath a column of pink, floral laces.

"Is this... steel boning?"

"Yes." The elderly woman admitted. "You're right that yours is more constricting than what we wear. Leather adjusts over prolonged use and isn't hard to bend. However we still need to do our chores or, in Her Highness' case, fight in it. You're expected to do neither."

"I can fight. I have a weapon you know."

Kaede pulled out her leather archery gloves and put them on, over the long armgloves of her undergarment. She willed the spring-steel 'morphic blade' from its extradimensional storage into her fingers and grasped the handle of its default, shortsword form. Knowing that she was little more than an amateur in its use, she gave it a quick twirl before putting it away.

However, the head maid continued to look unimpressed.

"You'll find that most Lotharin women carry a knife on them," she noted before reaching down to her boot and producing her own. "We've had too many generations of experience with Imperial Legionnaires."

Kaede winced. Clearly rape by soldiers in Hyperion was no less common than in Earth history.

"Many Lotharin woman also know how to use a hunting bow," Rachel added. "Though that's not of much use against soldiers in proper armor. A military-grade bow however is far more strenuous than what most women can manage."

Kaede nodded sadly as she glanced down at her thin arms. Before coming to this world, Kaede had built up enough arm strength to pull a ''yumi'' greatbow to shoot a dozen consecutive arrows. Now? Her muscles were so weak even carrying stacks of books proved difficult. Strength training seemed a waste of time when her current build was so poorly suited for it. Thus as a result, she had to rely on Pascal's magic whenever she wanted to practice.

"Do Lotharin women serve in the military then?" She asked next, shifting the topic to one involving her curiosity rather than her loss.

"Yes, though only on a voluntary basis." Rachel nodded. "There's even a dedicated knightly order: the Monastic Order of the Knight-Healers of Saint Joan, more commonly known as the Knights Hospitaller. The famous Lady Edith-Estellise, Saint de Lyonesse and the ''Polar Cross'' paladin, is their most notable member."

''And the commander of the Army of Avorica, if I remember correctly from yesterday's meeting.''

There was a clear sense of pride in the way Rachel said Edith's name. It really showed just how much of a role model the saint was to the women of Rhin-Lotharingie.

Nevertheless Kaede sighed inwardly as she thought: ''yet another action hero.''

It was one of Kaede's annoyances about society -- how people most often focused on those who fought on the front lines. Sure, Edith was the 'champion' of Rhin-Lotharingie and widely considered the best Oriflamme Paladin in direct combat. But surely Dame Cosette, who served Emperor Geoffroi as his chief military strategist, should be more famous? This was doubly true for women, as male bodies had a biological advantage in raw strength and stamina, which in turn meant women should establish more role models based on wisdom and intellect.

''Why are the brains always overshadowed by the brawn?'' She filed one of her old complaints.

"I think we've waited long enough." The head maid's voice shook Kaede from her reverie. "Let's finish tightening your laces."

It summoned only a louder, more resentful groan from the Samaran girl.

''Bear with it,'' Kaede had to remind herself.

It was important that she keep her word to the Princess and not create more reasons to be disliked at present. Not to mention she needed to at least work on 'fitting in'. Fashion has always been dictated by the culture of a society and not the individual. Those who refused to accept the 'norm' inevitably attracted prejudice, and the Samaran girl already received enough strange looks as it is.

Besides, Kaede figured that the current status quo wouldn't last since Pascal wasn't the type to just stay in a palace anyway, not when there was a war raging outside. Then, once she had a chance to prove herself before the Princess, perhaps things would change...

"Be glad then that Her Highness isn't the one pulling," Rachel remarked almost off-handedly. "Her standards for a 'proper waistline' are far stricter than mine."

Kaede swallowed. ''Just what kind of unrealistic body image was this princess taught?''

<nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>

Pascal forked a piece of ham before digging his utensil into the tartiflette. The potatoes, onion, and cheese gratin had been baked to a crispy exterior, however the inside was still mushy and he smeared it over his ham before scooping some extra with his fork. The combination was soon brought to his mouth to enjoy.

The sumptuous taste lifted his mood for a brief moment. The potatoes were fairly new to Lotharin cuisine and he had only enjoyed it twice before. It was said that the starchy tuber was a new crop found by the Northmen's expeditions in the 'New World'. It had been brought back to Rhin-Lotharingie by King Alistair himself, when he ended his adventures as a mercenary and began his reign as the King of the Glens.

However Pascal's sourness soon returned when Sylviane giggled in the seat beside him. Her cheeks were turned the other way to face the very same Alistair, whose own fork still sat on the table as his arms gestured to accompany his tale.

"So thanks to that fiasco with the druids, I found myself in a dispute with the Archbishop of Sruighlea." Alistair exclaimed with his usual goofy, boyish grin. "But I thought to myself -- hey, the archbishop likes beekeeping and brewing, right? In that case, can't we just settle this like men over a flagon of mead? Better than him sermoning me to death with hours of biblical preaching!"

''That's because you Highlanders are half-heathens who intermix the Holy Father's teachings with that of your superstitious idols.'' Pascal thought with distaste.

"Thus I invited the good bishop for a drink at my favorite tavern, and brought some of the finest mead I had to share." Alistair continued. "What I didn't expect was that within an hour after we sat down, the bishop was red as roses and swaying from side to side! He was flirting and slapping the rears of every tavern wench who walked by, though he was generous enough with his coin that the girls didn't seem to mind. You'd think a man whose stomach matched his shoulder width wouldn't be such a paperweight! Yet by the time I noticed and offered to take him back, he insisted that he was fine and stumbled outside!"

"I hope you went with him?" Sylviane spoke with amused concern. "He might hurt himself in that state."

"Of course, but I had to pay first, and it gave him a head start," Alistair recounted. "By the time I left the tavern I couldn't believe my eyes. A drove of pigs had wandered outside between the exit and our horses left outside the fence. The good, fat bishop couldn't even tell the difference as he saddled up on the largest hog instead!"

Sylviane almost snorted into her food, while Emperor Geoffroi didn't hold back and burst out laughing. Even Pascal couldn't help but give a chortle. The young landgrave might not like Alistair in many ways, but he had to admit that the King was quite a storyteller. There was a reason why many of Alistair's tales and adventures could now be found circulating the taverns of Rhin-Lotharingie.

"It took a moment for my shock to wear off before I shouted at him: 'Wait Archbishop! That's a pig!'" Alistair feigned yelling. "But the good bishop didn't seem to care as he grabbed the swine by the ears and kicked its rear. The squealing hog charged right through the rickety fence gate and up the meadowed hill to the west. It was dusk too and the image was almost picturesque: a prelate riding a pig off into the sunset!"

Sylviane was now bent over laughing nonstop. She then leaned close to Alistair and gave his back several hearty, congratulatory slaps.

"You should have the scene commissioned! 'The Pig and The Prelate!' It'll be a ''masterpiece!''"

Pascal felt his dislike for the King simmer as he watched her familiarity. He couldn't help but complain ''why doesn't she ever do that with me!''

"Sure sure, but that had to wait until after I found the good bishop. What a disaster it'd be if he rode into a creek and drowned?" Alistair made a horrified face. "I called in my armigers so we could fan out and search for him. It took us hours before we found the porker sound asleep twelve kilos away in a pigsty! And by porker I meant the one in robes, because we couldn't find his stallion of a pig!"

"''Twelve kilopaces!?''" Sylviane was amazed. "Good Lord the bishop can ride!"

"I know right? I was certainly amazed! Alas we took the Archbishop home and thought that was the end of that. It wasn't until the week after, when I paid the Archbishop another visit, that I found him with a new ride: the very same hog that he rode off into the sunset on! Apparently the story had gotten around and he was now posing for a sculptor who wanted a statue of it! Who knew the good bishop had such a sense of humor!"

"Humility too," Geoffroi said with a broad grin before it turned wry. "A rare trait among the ecclesiastical these days."

"Right?" Alistair remained in good humor as he gestured with an open hand. "Didn't take long after that experience for me and the good bishop to become friends. And that's the story of where this mead comes from. The Archbishop will be honored to hear that Your Majesty enjoyed it."

"All the more so when it's made by his hands," Geoffroi declared as he raised his silver goblet for a toast. "To Archbishop Lachlan, may his charity, humility, and diligence never fade!"

"To Archbishop Lachlan." Pascal cooly joined Sylviane, Alistair, and the Emperor in the toast.

Then the King added jokingly: "and may he keep his pants on when tempted by bathhouse wenches!"

Sylviane feigned a scandalized look before she countered:

"Pot calling kettle. As if you could!"

''Normally she would be offended by such boorish behavior.'' Pascal scowled.

"Well I'm unmarried!" Alistair retorted. "Neither to woman nor Holy Father!"

"Keep that attitude up and you never will!" Sylviane teased as she grabbed Alistair's right cheek and pulled on it, which elicited a cry of 'Ow' from the much-older King.

It also sent a spike of annoyance straight up to Pascal's temple.

''Sylv are you not getting a little TOO familiar with him?''

Pascal knew that Sylviane had a 'special relationship' with King Alistair. Somehow the two became friends almost as soon as they met prior to Alistair's coronation. However this was also the first time he had seen them together in an unofficial setting, and the casualness of their interaction had left him with more than a hint of discomfort.

It didn't help that this could have been a private, family dinner, had Sylviane not invited the King to join them. Pascal wished that Kaede had been invited instead. However by the time he found out to ask over their bond, his depressed-sounding familiar had already eaten and retired to her room to read.

He stared at the table's other end, where three phoenixes -- the magnificent Joyeuse, the brightly-feathered Hauteclaire, and the largest bird Almace -- occasionally chirped while they ate their feed. They were the respective familiars of Emperor Geoffroi, Princess Sylviane, and King Alistair. It reminded Pascal that he was the one who sat at this table whose familiar remained absent.

''I haven't seen her all day, or yesterday,'' Pascal complained to himself. ''It's just been meeting, after meeting, after meeting... and why hasn't this King returned to his own kingdom?''

Most of the meetings had been about pay and provisions for the armies. Unlike Pascal's homeland of Weichsel, the Empire of Rhin-Lotharingie didn't have a single 'Ministry of the Interior' to manage national stockpiles. Instead the responsibilities were divided up by the Ministry of Agriculture for granaries, the Ministry of Trade for treasury, the Ministry of Land and Resources for iron and lumber, and finally an overlap between the Ministry of War and Ministry of Industries when managing blacksmith production.

''Who set up this ridiculous system?''

Alas, Sylviane was almost done gathering the information they needed. Next was going over all the data and arranging for transportation to collect the various supplies and send them to the front. Tonight was meant to be a break from the working dinners of yesterday and the day before. However, Pascal didn't find this one bit relaxing, not when that jester king was here and taking all of his betrothed's attention with his jokes and stories!

"Hasn't Lachlan been the Archbishop for over two decades now?" Pascal decided the best course of action was to divert the conversation. He needed to steer Alistair off from all the personal tales, and onto a more serious topic that Pascal could converse in. "Is there any chance of him receiving a cardinal's hat?"

"I highly doubt it," Alistair's countenance turned serious at once. It was a credit to the King that he could switch his mode of thinking so quickly. "Lachlan isn't evangelical enough for the Pope's tastes. The spread of the Trinitian Church in the Highlands has been more or less halted for decades."

"Why is that?"

"The druids of the north and west have reformed and centralized their religion." The Emperor explained. "They had begun to establish a formal scripture almost a quarter century ago. And now they have a circle that meets twice per year to discuss religious issues much like the College of Cardinals. The standardization of their practices have also allowed them to consolidate and offer more spiritual support to their believers. The result is that Trinitian no longer has the advantage in guidance and answers in the eyes of potential followers."

"The same could be said for the believers of the Hyperborean Gods," King Alistair added. "They began their reforms even earlier than the druids. However their progress has been slower as they're spread much thinner -- from their homelands in the Grand Jarldom of Skagen and the Kingdom of Västergötland, to countless isles scattered all across the oceans and even realms in the New World." The King then turned to the Emperor: "I also heard the druidic faith is making a significant comeback in the Kingdom of Ceredigion?"

Geoffroi nodded in confirmation.

"The Church has been growing too corrupt, more interested in tithes and politics than the spiritual enlightenment of the common man. Gone are the days when priests were best known for their alms and orphanages. Is it any surprise that some of the faithful are turning away?"

The Emperor's voice was not just disappointed. Pascal knew that troubles of faith were increasingly plaguing the rulers of Rhin-Lotharingie. King Elisedd of Ceredigion's departure from the Trinitian Church was among the reasons for his growing detachment to the rest of the Empire. King Alistair also found his realm pulled between three different religions: Trinitian, Hyperborean, and Druidic. Meanwhile Pascal had even heard of an entrenched Trinitian heresy spreading in the southern Kingdom of Garona.

For a devoted Trinitian like himself who comes from Weichsel, the 'Northern March of the Trinitian Realm', it felt like the natural order was slowly being overturned in this Empire.

<nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>

Pascal had left the room almost the second after dinner finished. The meal had consumed over three hours of his time, between King Alistair's many stories and their discussions over religion and politics. It felt as though every time they were about to finish, the Princess would bring up another topic that she wanted to talk about. Normally this wouldn't be a problem, except Pascal had another item on his plans for tonight.

He had almost reached the stairs before Sylviane caught up with him.

"Pascal, wait! Where are you going in such a rush?"

The young nobleman turned around and met his fiancée's eyes with a frown. "I am going to see Kaede."

"It's already past curfew for the maids." Sylviane objected. "Besides you know the rules: men aren't allowed up in the female servants' hallway."

"Then I will call her down." Pascal insisted. "I have neither seen nor spoken to her, at least not face-to-face, for two days! I need to know if she has been doing alright in this new place."

Pascal's thoughts replayed Kaede's depressed reply from earlier, when he had asked her if she wanted to join them for dinner. Even now the emotions that emerged across their link remained gloomy and restless. He turned away to grab the handle of the door to the stairway. However before he could open it, Sylviane took hold of his arm and stopped him.

"It's almost eleven. Kaede is probably asleep by now."

"No. She is awake. I can tell."

Pascal didn't see the twitch in the Princess' lips as he reminded her of his familiar bond.

"Head Maid Rachel isn't supposed to let people in and out unless it's an absolute necessity." Sylviane pressed her case. "It would be against the rules."

"You are the crown heir. You can tell Rachel to make an exception this time."

"It is precisely because that I'm the crown heir that I cannot just go around making exceptions to the rules!" Sylviane countered in a firm voice. "What kind of example would I be setting? That the laws we make do not apply to ourselves?"

For a second Pascal did not reply. He might be annoyed but that didn't mean his brain had stopped working. There was sense in Sylviane's words and he knew it. However it also wasn't the real issue, and he released a deep exhale as he tired of this game.

"You are doing this on purpose, are you not?"

"What are you talking about?" Sylviane asked while Pascal slowly turned around to stare at her.

"You are doing this on purpose: trying to keep me from seeing her." Pascal pressed. "It has been over two days since we came and you have not asked her to even sit at a table with us!"

"We've been ''busy!''" The Princess insisted as her wisteria gaze hardened to meet his.

"And what about tonight? Could you not have invited her?" He challenged but left out the accusation in his thoughts: ''You did not even tell me until it was past the servants' dinner and too late for me to invite.''

"King Alistair is leaving tomorrow morning. It's only appropriate that we send him off with a proper dinner!"

"How is that a problem for Kaede to dine with us?" Pascal demanded. "It was a family plus guest dinner!"

"Of course it's inappropriate!" Sylviane retorted. "She's a servant--!"

"She is my ''familiar!''" Pascal cut her off angrily. "I do not see you or Emperor Geoffroi banishing Hauteclaire and Joyeuse to eat elsewhere when you have dinner!"

"Should I ask Captain Moreau's skywhale outside to dine with us also?" Sylviane replied sarcastically.

"You are being deliberately contrarian!" Pascal retorted in a voice just shy of shouting. Not that there was anyone else in the dim hallway to hear it, apart from Sylviane's bodyguard Mari who kept a discretionary distance.

"And you are my fiancé!" Sylviane gritted her teeth as she stared back. "You're here to support me! Not to create more headaches for me!"

"''Create headaches!?''" Pascal responded with an incredulous laugh. "I only asked to see Kaede, to meet my personal responsibilities for the first time in two days!"

He then raised his palms and shook them in the air between them, as though to stress how empty they were.

"I mean what am I even doing here?" The young landgrave fumed. "Listening to your meetings? Attending your meal discussions? I gave up my command for this! I abandoned my Landgraviate for ''this!'' And now you are even making me ignore my familiar!"

"You're supposed to help me--!" The Princess stated. However she had barely finished her sentence before Pascal's voice burst out:

"Then ''let me help!''" He shouted, before taking a deep breath and reducing his volume. "Give me a task that I can do for you! Anything! Do not just ''drag me around'' from meeting to meeting all day with neither role nor purpose, as though I am just a child that you must keep in your sight! I did not come here just to hold onto your hand! And I certainly did not come here for you to tear Kaede from me!"

"I'm not--" Sylviane tried to say before an angry glare from Pascal stopped her cold.

Her eyes swelled as though they were in shock. Her lips were left ajar as though she had forgotten what to even say. There was a glint in her eyes that saw him as something... foreign, even frightening. It was as though she had never seen him like this.

''She might be right too.'' A faint voice in the back of his mind spoke, almost begged for the rest of him to calm down. ''I have never been like this in front of her.''

Pascal pursed his lips as he turned away and exhaled another deep breath. He struggled to suppress his boiling temper as he reached out and pulled open the staircase door. If Sylviane wouldn't let him see Kaede then he could at least talk to his familiar over their telepathy. It was ''ridiculous'' that he didn't even know what Kaede had been up to these past two days and three nights.

But regardless of what he did next, he needed to leave the Princess' presence. In his current emotional state, the longer he stayed the more he was likely to do something he might regret.

"Pascal..." Sylviane was still at a loss for words when he walked through the door.

"I am going to my room." His reply came in a still-harsh tone. "Good night Sylviane!"

<nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>

"<...And he just stormed off after that. Can you believe it?>" Sylviane complained over a ''Farspeak'' spell as she conversed with Cecylia. The dhampir was probably her best, and only, female friend from childhood.

It was strange in many ways: the only real friends Sylviane had as a child were from a country that she had been kidnapped to during wartime. As a kid, she had never been any good at breaking down barriers. The fact that she was a princess had set up a great many of them in any social encounter.

"<All men have tempers, Sylv. Even your beloved Pascal.>" Cecylia's reply was mostly-consoling yet still partly-teasing. "<Besides, Pascal takes his responsibilities seriously. And this is a critical time for him to spend away from his fiefdom. Perhaps he simply wanted to see his familiar for some... familiarity, no implications intended.>"

Sylviane sighed as her heart softened with sympathy. Cecylia was right: Pascal hadn't even seen his father's body or arranged a funeral yet. Nor had he returned to Nordkreuz to officially take up the seat of his inheritance. There were a great many things that undoubtedly awaited his attention back at home. Yet he came to the royal palace upon her beckon without any conditions.

"<You're right,>" the Princess admitted. "<nowiki><I</nowiki> am demanding too much from him.>"

She could almost see Cecylia's satisfied smile as the other continued:

"<Pascal was never the hand-holding kind. He is a doer. He might not be an outright workaholic like his father, but he nevertheless needs something to ''do'', constantly. In fact, it's probably why he summoned a familiar like Kaede -- a walking encyclopedia like her could help him much in whatever he chooses to accomplish. My guess is even when he doesn't have a task to do, he would be bouncing ideas off her all day... that's probably been happening ever since he summoned her a month back.>"

Sylviane pursed her lips as she leaned back and fell into her huge, four-poster bed. This wasn't the first time she had heard Cecylia compare Kaede to an encyclopedia. Nevertheless it brought a surge of irritation as she imagined Pascal and Kaede chatting for hours on end... just like how she and Pascal used to talk on the shores of Cross Lake.

"<nowiki><It's</nowiki> not fair. Why doesn't he talk to me like that anymore...>"

She could almost feel Cecylia giggling to herself the ''Farspeak'' spell's other end.

"<That's because you always have something more specific to talk about nowadays.>" Cecylia noted. "<nowiki><It's</nowiki> always this rowdy lord or that troublesome task. You don't quite have the pleasure to just meander as you used to! But really, you should see this as a ''good'' thing.>"

Sylviane frowned as she stared at her bed's velvet ceiling, which was dyed in her favorite lavender color. "<nowiki><I</nowiki> don't see how.>"

"<You two are having ''adult'' conversations these days! Hehe.>" Cecylia then proceeded to giggle audibly over the telepathic channel. "<Meanwhile he's still a kid with Kaede, just playing around with ideas instead of toys. Besides, you can still jump into those discussions at any time. The only reason you haven't recently is because of your lack of time!>"

Sylviane sighed and closed her eyes. ''Cecylia's right.'' She thought. ''It's just time I'm lacking... time to chat with him like we used to.''

"<By the way,>" the dhampir girl then added. "<You haven't done anything to his familiar, have you?>"

"<No!>" The Princess retorted almost on instinct. "<Well. I had her squeezed into a dress. Apparently the girl had never worn a corset before. But that's all!>"

"<Hehe. That's 'normal' for you. I just wanted to make sure you haven't tortured the poor girl or something. You do have a sadistic streak...>"

Cecylia didn't even finish before Sylviane bolted to sit upright in her bed. Her voice immediately hissed back:

"<nowiki><I</nowiki> am ''not'' sadistic!>"

The other girl paused as though letting the silence sink in.

"<You ''enjoy'' making cute girls cry,>" Cecylia spoke as a matter of fact. "<nowiki><It's</nowiki> why I was concerned. Pascal won't overlook it if you bully her maliciously, you know?>"

Reluctantly, Sylviane nodded to herself. "<nowiki><I</nowiki> know... I've been holding back too...>"

''It's not like I've forced her into any lingerie... yet.''

The Princess thought to compare Kaede with Vivienne, or Vivi as Sylviane affectionately called her. She was always so obedient, wearing what she'd been given and doing as she'd been told. Kaede seemed to be more bashful compared to Vivi, but that also had a charm of its own as it only added to the girl's cuteness.

"<The only 'bullying' I've done was to put her in the servants' quarters to keep her away from Pascal.>" Sylviane admitted.

"<Yeeeahhh I'm not sure that was your best idea,>" Cecylia responded. "<nowiki><It'd</nowiki> be like if someone took Hauteclaire away from you and locked him up in some birdcage.>"

Sylviane scowled as she glanced to the phoenix on his perch. ''She's right. I'd certainly be annoyed if someone did that.''

She was reminded of her father's words -- that mages had a 'unique bond' with their familiars. This was doubly so for those who had special familiars, like the Oriflamme Paladins, the skywhale merchants, or in this case: a young landgrave who contracted a Samaran girl.

"<nowiki><It</nowiki> seemed such a great idea two days ago. But now...>" Sylviane sighed once more.

Cecylia returned a mental shrug. "<nowiki><It</nowiki> happens to all of us. Though I have a feeling your 'self-righteous' moments are just ''a little'' stronger than usual.>" She added sarcastically.

This wasn't the first time Sylviane told Cecylia about a choice that she regretted.

"<nowiki><It's</nowiki> not fair... for him to have such a familiar,>" Sylviane complained.

Though to be honest, she wasn't sure whom she was more envious of: Kaede for being so close with Pascal, or Pascal for having such a cute girl bonded to him.

"<Why? It seems like a plus to me, hehe,>" Cecylia replied in good humor. "<nowiki><I</nowiki> don't understand why you're not seeing the bright side: now you get to have your fiancé ''and'' a free cutie to come alongside that you get to play with. Two different kinds of eye candy in every gaze. What's there not to like?>"

It reminded Sylviane of that 'hungry' look Cecylia occasionally had when the dhampir girl met handsome men.

"<Remember, ''my'' fiancé.>" Sylviane stressed.

Cecylia laughed. "<You don't have to remind me!>"

"<And as for Kaede, what if she starts sleeping with him?>" Sylviane's eyes narrowed. "<And I mean: actually laying together, not just sharing a bed.>"

The Princess noted as she already knew they did that at his academy dormitory.

"<nowiki><I</nowiki> mean sure, she doesn't seem to be romantically interested in him ''now'',>" Sylviane then added. "<But they have over a hundred years of life together ahead!>"

"<Then at least you'll have a guarantee that there isn't some other woman whom he might be spending time with.>" Cecylia answered straight. "<nowiki><I</nowiki> mean think about it, Sylv. You'll be the Empress, and he'll be your Marshal. There'll be months, even years when he goes on campaign and you two will be apart. And like all men pressed into the stress of battle, he'll feel lonely from time the time, seek the comfort of feminine embrace...>"

"<B-but that's high treason!>" Sylviane cut her friend off in retort. "<To cheat on his sovereign! I could have his head for that!>"

"<Yes, you could.>" Cecylia admitted after a brief pause. "<But would you? Even if you were no longer best friends? Brilliant commanders don't come easy to begin with, especially those whom you could trust, politically, beyond any doubt. Pascal has a special bond with you that can never be erased. Do you think you can just find another to replace him?>"

"<You know that's not what I meant.>" Sylviane sighed as she fell back into bed again. ''She's even saying the same thing as Father...''

"<I'm not saying Pascal is guaranteed to be unfaithful, certainly not where it truly counts,>" Cecylia added. "<But he is a ''man''. From that perspective, wouldn't it be better to leave him in the care of a mistress whom you can command and trust, rather than risk the intrusion of some outsider that you can't even predict? You can ''control'' the relationship between Pascal and Kaede. You cannot control if some other woman tries to snake into his life and seduce him.>"

"<And that's exactly what I'm working on.>" Sylviane replied. "<nowiki><It's</nowiki> just...>"

"<You're trying to impose your dominance over her, over their relationship. I know.>" Cecylia filled in after the Princess trailed off. "<But you're going about it too hastily. You have to take it one step at a time. Discipline her, sure, but offer treats for good behavior as well. If Kaede has been obedient to your will, then you should let her see him more as a reward. The girl is trapped in a foreign world entirely different from the one she was raised on. She'll be happy just to hold onto her pillar of support.>"

Sylviane slowly nodded as she thought back to Cecylia's first assessment on the familiar girl. After taking a trip to the Alisia Academy at Sylviane's request, Cecylia concluded that Kaede wasn't the type who adapted to new environments well. The Samaran girl put on a brave face but she was actually quite scared to be in this world. It was why she embraced every pillar of support she could find, unwilling to let go of even a maidservant-turned-traitor whom she befriended.

"<Then... What do you suggest? That I give Pascal a significant task and let Kaede help him?>"

"<Yes, that's ''exactly'' what I would recommend,>" Cecylia stressed. "<As I mentioned, Pascal is a doer. He needs to be kept occupied, and he'll be happier once you assign him some function to take responsibility over. That'll also lighten your plate and hopefully give you more time to relax with him. It's a win-win!>"

"<nowiki><I</nowiki> can see that. And I know Pascal hates being micromanaged, so it's best I leave a task with him and not interfere. But I can't just let Kaede orbit him all day...>" Sylviane scowled.

"<Why not?>" Cecylia countered. "<Sylv, you do realize that keeping them apart is no long term solution? Pascal's sense of responsibility would never allow it. It's why he grew angry with you today. You have to use more subtle means of controlling Kaede if you want to make your future marriage with Pascal work.>"

"<nowiki><I</nowiki> understand that. But it's just...>" Sylviane remarked as she struggled to put her feelings into words.

She knew she was being irrational. She knew that trying to keep Kaede from Pascal wouldn't work, certainly not in the long term. Yet she didn't want these past two days to end, when it was just the Pascal and her once again...

"<You've already made it clear to the girl that you can keep them apart.>" Cecylia pointed out. "<Now you can show her that they can be together too. Just make sure she knows that it is ''at your discretion''. It reinforces the idea that she'll want to stay on your good side.>" The dhampir advised before she explained in a playful voice. "<Kaede has a plucky exterior, but she also has a rather submissive nature. I could tell almost immediately when I teased her that night. Her cultural background seems to give her a preference for following rules and authority. Plus she herself desires stability and predictability in life. Therefore if you offer her a compromise, even if it's on your terms, she will likely accept the ground rules you lay down as long as ''you'' fairly uphold your end of the bargain.>"

Sylviane grinned a little as she nodded along to Cecylia's suggestions. None of this surprised her as she knew exactly how Cecylia operated. Beneath the adorable tease was a shrewd, calculating girl with a domineering personality and an excellent judge of character. Yet despite this, the dhampir had never tried to manipulate the Princess. It was one of the reasons they'd been best friends since childhood.

''If only you weren't a Weichsen, you’d be my closest confidante,'' Sylviane sighed with longing. She never once forgot that Cecylia was also the eyes and ears of King Leopold, which made it... difficult, to discuss certain topics.

This was part of the reason why she grew so close to King Alistair, despite the fact he was more than twice her age. The two of them shared many views when it came to the future of the Lotharin realm. It also helped that Alistair had a candid personality and an excellent sense of humor, which allowed her to hear the truth from him without feeling... inadequate.

''If only Pascal could soften around the edges in the same way,'' the Princess sighed.

Alas, the world wasn't perfect. Sylviane could only work with the hand that it dealt her.

"<Thanks for the advice and tips, both now and before,>" she smiled appreciatively.

"<What are friends for?>" Cecylia rhymed back, before the two of them started giggling again like normal girls their age.

<noinclude>
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| Back to [[Daybreak:Volume_2_Chapter_6|Chapter 6]]
| Return to [[Daybreak_on_Hyperion|Main Page]]
| Forward to [[Daybreak:Volume_2_Chapter_8|Chapter 8]]
|-
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</noinclude>

Daybreak:Volume 2 Chapter 7

2022-03-15T23:13:14Z

Aorii:

===Chapter 7 - Pecking Order===

"I can't breathe..."

Kaede gasped out as she leaned forward with her hands holding onto the table's edge. Rachel, the head maid, was tightening the laces on her back, and it was impressive how much strength the old woman's bony fingers had.

"Stop complaining. I haven't even finished the first tightening." Rachel retorted as she continued her methodical lace-pulling. The elderly maid then offered some advice: "Breath slowly. I thought you Samarans believed in 'meditating'?"

"I fail to see how 'meditation' has anything to do with strangling my lungs." Kaede gasped out as the leather corset around her waist tightened another notch. She could feel how it forcely shaped her waist into an hourglass-like arc. "Why do I have to wear this again?"

"Because Her Highness ordered it," Rachel reminded the familiar girl. Though her words ran with approval as she continued: "besides, every girl wears one. It helps you maintain better posture and provides support for your back through a day's work. Even the Princess' dress has a leather corset sewn in."

Kaede did notice that all of the palace maids had a leather cincher around their waist, which hugged their midsections from below the chest to above the hips. The Princess' dress had it was well. Though in her outfit, the leather simply blended in with the other patches that were meant to anchor armor straps.

''I don't remember seeing anything like this on Ariadne's uniform,'' Kaede thought. It was yet further proof that Rhin-Lotharingie was 'backwards' compared to the more progressive Weichsel.

The Samaran girl then immediately snapped off that train of thought. She closed her eyes and shook her head in self-disgust. ''I sound like an egocentric child.''

"Done." Rachel announced at last as she knotted the laces' extra length. "That's the first tightening. We'll let your body adjust for a few minutes before we finish with a second round."

Kaede groaned. She was already having trouble taking a full breath.

"Isn't this enough? If you pull this any tighter I'm going to pass out."

She really did not want to have first-hand user experience with the infamous 'fainting couch'.

"If you do, you'd enter palace history as the first girl to do so from something so mild." Rachel's reply came flat. She then patted the leather waist cincher attached to her own dress. "I've worn one of these every day for the past century."

"I'm pretty sure leather expands more than this one does." Kaede's wispy answer came with an exhale.

She reached down with her fingers and traced across a stiff, vertical bump on the corset's exterior. It was hidden beneath a column of pink, floral laces.

"Is this... steel boning?"

"Yes." The elderly woman admitted. "You're right that yours is more constricting than what we wear. Leather adjusts over prolonged use and isn't hard to bend. However we still need to do our chores or, in Her Highness' case, fight in it. You're expected to do neither."

"I can fight. I have a weapon you know."

Kaede pulled out her leather archery gloves and put them on, over the long armgloves of her undergarment. She willed the spring-steel 'morphic blade' from its extradimensional storage into her fingers and grasped the handle of its default, shortsword form. Knowing that she was little more than an amateur in its use, she gave it a quick twirl before putting it away.

However, the head maid continued to look unimpressed.

"You'll find that most Lotharin women carry a knife on them," she noted before reaching down to her boot and producing her own. "We've had too many generations of experience with Imperial Legionnaires."

Kaede winced. Clearly rape by soldiers in Hyperion was no less common than in Earth history.

"Many Lotharin woman also know how to use a hunting bow," Rachel added. "Though that's not of much use against soldiers in proper armor. A military-grade bow however is far more strenuous than what most women can manage."

Kaede nodded sadly as she glanced down at her thin arms. Before coming to this world, Kaede had built up enough arm strength to pull a ''yumi'' greatbow to shoot a dozen consecutive arrows. Now? Her muscles were so weak even carrying stacks of books proved difficult. Strength training seemed a waste of time when her current build was so poorly suited for it. Thus as a result, she had to rely on Pascal's magic whenever she wanted to practice.

"Do Lotharin women serve in the military then?" She asked next, shifting the topic to one involving her curiosity rather than her loss.

"Yes, though only on a voluntary basis." Rachel nodded. "There's even a dedicated knightly order: the Monastic Order of the Knight-Healers of Saint Joan, more commonly known as the Knights Hospitaller. The famous Lady Edith-Estellise, Saint de Lyonesse and the ''Polar Cross'' paladin, is their most notable member."

''And the commander of the Army of Avorica, if I remember correctly from yesterday's meeting.''

There was a clear sense of pride in the way Rachel said Edith's name. It really showed just how much of a role model the saint was to the women of Rhin-Lotharingie.

Nevertheless Kaede sighed inwardly as she thought: ''yet another action hero.''

It was one of Kaede's annoyances about society -- how people most often focused on those who fought on the front lines. Sure, Edith was the 'champion' of Rhin-Lotharingie and widely considered the best Oriflamme Paladin in direct combat. But surely Dame Cosette, who served Emperor Geoffroi as his chief military strategist, should be more famous? This was doubly true for women, as male bodies had a biological advantage in raw strength and stamina, which in turn meant women should establish more role models based on wisdom and intellect.

''Why are the brains always overshadowed by the brawn?'' She filed one of her old complaints.

"I think we've waited long enough." The head maid's voice shook Kaede from her reverie. "Let's finish tightening your laces."

It summoned only a louder, more resentful groan from the Samaran girl.

''Bear with it,'' Kaede had to remind herself.

It was important that she keep her word to the Princess and not create more reasons to be disliked at present. Not to mention she needed to at least work on 'fitting in'. Fashion has always been dictated by the culture of a society and not the individual. Those who refused to accept the 'norm' inevitably attracted prejudice, and the Samaran girl already received enough strange looks as it is.

Besides, Kaede figured that the current status quo wouldn't last since Pascal wasn't the type to just stay in a palace anyway, not when there was a war raging outside. Then, once she had a chance to prove herself before the Princess, perhaps things would change...

"Be glad then that Her Highness isn't the one pulling," Rachel remarked almost off-handedly. "Her standards for a 'proper waistline' are far stricter than mine."

Kaede swallowed. ''Just what kind of unrealistic body image was this princess taught?''

<nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>

Pascal forked a piece of ham before digging his utensil into the tartiflette. The potatoes, onion, and cheese gratin had been baked to a crispy exterior, however the inside was still mushy and he smeared it over his ham before scooping some extra with his fork. The combination was soon brought to his mouth to enjoy.

The sumptuous taste lifted his mood for a brief moment. The potatoes were fairly new to Lotharin cuisine and he had only enjoyed it twice before. It was said that the starchy tuber was a new crop found by the Northmen's expeditions in the 'New World'. It had been brought back to Rhin-Lotharingie by King Alistair himself, when he ended his adventures as a mercenary and began his reign as the King of the Glens.

However Pascal's sourness soon returned when Sylviane giggled in the seat beside him. Her cheeks were turned the other way to face the very same Alistair, whose own fork still sat on the table as his arms gestured to accompany his tale.

"So thanks to that fiasco with the druids, I found myself in a dispute with the Archbishop of Sruighlea." Alistair exclaimed with his usual goofy, boyish grin. "But I thought to myself -- hey, the archbishop likes beekeeping and brewing, right? In that case, can't we just settle this like men over a flagon of mead? Better than him sermoning me to death with hours of biblical preaching!"

''That's because you Highlanders are half-heathens who intermix the Holy Father's teachings with that of your superstitious idols.'' Pascal thought with distaste.

"Thus I invited the good bishop for a drink at my favorite tavern, and brought some of the finest mead I had to share." Alistair continued. "What I didn't expect was that within an hour after we sat down, the bishop was red as roses and swaying from side to side! He was flirting and slapping the rears of every tavern wench who walked by, though he was generous enough with his coin that the girls didn't seem to mind. You'd think a man whose stomach matched his shoulder width wouldn't be such a paperweight! Yet by the time I noticed and offered to take him back, he insisted that he was fine and stumbled outside!"

"I hope you went with him?" Sylviane spoke with amused concern. "He might hurt himself in that state."

"Of course, but I had to pay first, and it gave him a head start," Alistair recounted. "By the time I left the tavern I couldn't believe my eyes. A drove of pigs had wandered outside between the exit and our horses left outside the fence. The good, fat bishop couldn't even tell the difference as he saddled up on the largest hog instead!"

Sylviane almost snorted into her food, while Emperor Geoffroi didn't hold back and burst out laughing. Even Pascal couldn't help but give a chortle. The young landgrave might not like Alistair in many ways, but he had to admit that the King was quite a storyteller. There was a reason why many of Alistair's tales and adventures could now be found circulating the taverns of Rhin-Lotharingie.

"It took a moment for my shock to wear off before I shouted at him: 'Wait Archbishop! That's a pig!'" Alistair feigned yelling. "But the good bishop didn't seem to care as he grabbed the swine by the ears and kicked its rear. The squealing hog charged right through the rickety fence gate and up the meadowed hill to the west. It was dusk too and the image was almost picturesque: a prelate riding a pig off into the sunset!"

Sylviane was now bent over laughing nonstop. She then leaned close to Alistair and gave his back several hearty, congratulatory slaps.

"You should have the scene commissioned! 'The Pig and The Prelate!' It'll be a ''masterpiece!''"

Pascal felt his dislike for the King simmer as he watched her familiarity. He couldn't help but complain ''why doesn't she ever do that with me!''

"Sure sure, but that had to wait until after I found the good bishop. What a disaster it'd be if he rode into a creek and drowned?" Alistair made a horrified face. "I called in my armigers so we could fan out and search for him. It took us hours before we found the porker sound asleep twelve kilos away in a pigsty! And by porker I meant the one in robes, because we couldn't find his stallion of a pig!"

"''Twelve kilopaces!?''" Sylviane was amazed. "Good Lord the bishop can ride!"

"I know right? I was certainly amazed! Alas we took the Archbishop home and thought that was the end of that. It wasn't until the week after, when I paid the Archbishop another visit, that I found him with a new ride: the very same hog that he rode off into the sunset on! Apparently the story had gotten around and he was now posing for a sculptor who wanted a statue of it! Who knew the good bishop had such a sense of humor!"

"Humility too," Geoffroi said with a broad grin before it turned wry. "A rare trait among the ecclesiastical these days."

"Right?" Alistair remained in good humor as he gestured with an open hand. "Didn't take long after that experience for me and the good bishop to become friends. And that's the story of where this mead comes from. The Archbishop will be honored to hear that Your Majesty enjoyed it."

"All the more so when it's made by his hands," Geoffroi declared as he raised his silver goblet for a toast. "To Archbishop Lachlan, may his charity, humility, and diligence never fade!"

"To Archbishop Lachlan." Pascal cooly joined Sylviane, Alistair, and the Emperor in the toast.

Then the King added jokingly: "and may he keep his pants on when tempted by bathhouse wenches!"

Sylviane feigned a scandalized look before she countered:

"Pot calling kettle. As if you could!"

''Normally she would be offended by such boorish behavior.'' Pascal scowled.

"Well I'm unmarried!" Alistair retorted. "Neither to woman nor Holy Father!"

"Keep that attitude up and you never will!" Sylviane teased as she grabbed Alistair's right cheek and pulled on it, which elicited a cry of 'Ow' from the much-older King.

It also sent a spike of annoyance straight up to Pascal's temple.

''Sylv are you not getting a little TOO familiar with him?''

Pascal knew that Sylviane had a 'special relationship' with King Alistair. Somehow the two became friends almost as soon as they met prior to Alistair's coronation. However this was also the first time he had seen them together in an unofficial setting, and the casualness of their interaction had left him with more than a hint of discomfort.

It didn't help that this could have been a private, family dinner, had Sylviane not invited the King to join them. Pascal wished that Kaede had been invited instead. However by the time he found out to ask over their bond, his depressed-sounding familiar had already eaten and retired to her room to read.

He stared at the table's other end, where three phoenixes -- the magnificent Joyeuse, the brightly-feathered Hauteclaire, and the largest bird Almace -- occasionally chirped while they ate their feed. They were the respective familiars of Emperor Geoffroi, Princess Sylviane, and King Alistair. It reminded Pascal that he was the one who sat at this table whose familiar remained absent.

''I haven't seen her all day, or yesterday,'' Pascal complained to himself. ''It's just been meeting, after meeting, after meeting... and why hasn't this King returned to his own kingdom?''

Most of the meetings had been about pay and provisions for the armies. Unlike Pascal's homeland of Weichsel, the Empire of Rhin-Lotharingie didn't have a single 'Ministry of the Interior' to manage national stockpiles. Instead the responsibilities were divided up by the Ministry of Agriculture for granaries, the Ministry of Trade for treasury, the Ministry of Land and Resources for iron and lumber, and finally an overlap between the Ministry of War and Ministry of Industries when managing blacksmith production.

''Who set up this ridiculous system?''

Alas, Sylviane was almost done gathering the information they needed. Next was going over all the data and arranging for transportation to collect the various supplies and send them to the front. Tonight was meant to be a break from the working dinners of yesterday and the day before. However, Pascal didn't find this one bit relaxing, not when that jester king was here and taking all of his betrothed's attention with his jokes and stories!

"Hasn't Lachlan been the Archbishop for over two decades now?" Pascal decided the best course of action was to divert the conversation. He needed to steer Alistair off from all the personal tales, and onto a more serious topic that Pascal could converse in. "Is there any chance of him receiving a cardinal's hat?"

"I highly doubt it," Alistair's countenance turned serious at once. It was a credit to the King that he could switch his mode of thinking so quickly. "Lachlan isn't evangelical enough for the Pope's tastes. The spread of the Trinitian Church in the Highlands has been more or less halted for decades."

"Why is that?"

"The druids of the north and west have reformed and centralized their religion." The Emperor explained. "They had begun to establish a formal scripture almost a quarter century ago. And now they have a circle that meets twice per year to discuss religious issues much like the College of Cardinals. The standardization of their practices have also allowed them to consolidate and offer more spiritual support to their believers. The result is that Trinitian no longer has the advantage in guidance and answers in the eyes of potential followers."

"The same could be said for the believers of the Hyperborean Gods," King Alistair added. "They began their reforms even earlier than the druids. However their progress has been slower as they're spread much thinner -- from their homelands in the Grand Jarldom of Skagen and the Kingdom of Västergötland, to countless isles scattered all across the oceans and even realms in the New World." The King then turned to the Emperor: "I also heard the druidic faith is making a significant comeback in the Kingdom of Ceredigion?"

Geoffroi nodded in confirmation.

"The Church has been growing too corrupt, more interested in tithes and politics than the spiritual enlightenment of the common man. Gone are the days when priests were best known for their alms and orphanages. Is it any surprise that some of the faithful are turning away?"

The Emperor's voice was not just disappointed. Pascal knew that troubles of faith were increasingly plaguing the rulers of Rhin-Lotharingie. King Elisedd of Ceredigion's departure from the Trinitian Church was among the reasons for his growing detachment to the rest of the Empire. King Alistair also found his realm pulled between three different religions: Trinitian, Hyperborean, and Druidic. Meanwhile Pascal had even heard of an entrenched Trinitian heresy spreading in the southern Kingdom of Garona.

For a devoted Trinitian like himself who comes from Weichsel, the 'Northern March of the Trinitian Realm', it felt like the natural order was slowly being overturned in this Empire.

<nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>

Pascal had left the room almost the second after dinner finished. The meal had consumed over three hours of his time, between King Alistair's many stories and their discussions over religion and politics. It felt as though every time they were about to finish, the Princess would bring up another topic that she wanted to talk about. Normally this wouldn't be a problem, except Pascal had another item on his plans for tonight.

He had almost reached the stairs before Sylviane caught up with him.

"Pascal, wait! Where are you going in such a rush?"

The young nobleman turned around and met his fiancée's eyes with a frown. "I am going to see Kaede."

"It's already past curfew for the maids." Sylviane objected. "Besides you know the rules: men aren't allowed up in the female servants' hallway."

"Then I will call her down." Pascal insisted. "I have neither seen nor spoken to her, at least not face-to-face, for two days! I need to know if she has been doing alright in this new place."

Pascal's thoughts replayed Kaede's depressed reply from earlier, when he had asked her if she wanted to join them for dinner. Even now the emotions that emerged across their link remained gloomy and restless. He turned away to grab the handle of the door to the stairway. However before he could open it, Sylviane took hold of his arm and stopped him.

"It's almost eleven. Kaede is probably asleep by now."

"No. She is awake. I can tell."

Pascal didn't see the twitch in the Princess' lips as he reminded her of his familiar bond.

"Head Maid Rachel isn't supposed to let people in and out unless it's an absolute necessity." Sylviane pressed her case. "It would be against the rules."

"You are the crown heir. You can tell Rachel to make an exception this time."

"It is precisely because that I'm the crown heir that I cannot just go around making exceptions to the rules!" Sylviane countered in a firm voice. "What kind of example would I be setting? That the laws we make do not apply to ourselves?"

For a second Pascal did not reply. He might be annoyed but that didn't mean his brain had stopped working. There was sense in Sylviane's words and he knew it. However it also wasn't the real issue, and he released a deep exhale as he tired of this game.

"You are doing this on purpose, are you not?"

"What are you talking about?" Sylviane asked while Pascal slowly turned around to stare at her.

"You are doing this on purpose: trying to keep me from seeing her." Pascal pressed. "It has been over two days since we came and you have not asked her to even sit at a table with us!"

"We've been ''busy!''" The Princess insisted as her wisteria gaze hardened to meet his.

"And what about tonight? Could you not have invited her?" He challenged but left out the accusation in his thoughts: ''You did not even tell me until it was past the servants' dinner and too late for me to invite.''

"King Alistair is leaving tomorrow morning. It's only appropriate that we send him off with a proper dinner!"

"How is that a problem for Kaede to dine with us?" Pascal demanded. "It was a family plus guest dinner!"

"Of course it's inappropriate!" Sylviane retorted. "She's a servant--!"

"She is my ''familiar!''" Pascal cut her off angrily. "I do not see you or Emperor Geoffroi banishing Hauteclaire and Joyeuse to eat elsewhere when you have dinner!"

"Should I ask Captain Moreau's skywhale outside to dine with us also?" Sylviane replied sarcastically.

"You are being deliberately contrarian!" Pascal retorted in a voice just shy of shouting. Not that there was anyone else in the dim hallway to hear it, apart from Sylviane's bodyguard Mari who kept a discretionary distance.

"And you are my fiancé!" Sylviane gritted her teeth as she stared back. "You're here to support me! Not to create more headaches for me!"

"''Create headaches!?''" Pascal responded with an incredulous laugh. "I only asked to see Kaede, to meet my personal responsibilities for the first time in two days!"

He then raised his palms and shook them in the air between them, as though to stress how empty they were.

"I mean what am I even doing here?" The young landgrave fumed. "Listening to your meetings? Attending your meal discussions? I gave up my command for this! I abandoned my Landgraviate for ''this!'' And now you are even making me ignore my familiar!"

"You're supposed to help me--!" The Princess stated. However she had barely finished her sentence before Pascal's voice burst out:

"Then ''let me help!''" He shouted, before taking a deep breath and reducing his volume. "Give me a task that I can do for you! Anything! Do not just ''drag me around'' from meeting to meeting all day with neither role nor purpose, as though I am just a child that you must keep in your sight! I did not come here just to hold onto your hand! And I certainly did not come here for you to tear Kaede from me!"

"I'm not--" Sylviane tried to say before an angry glare from Pascal stopped her cold.

Her eyes swelled as though they were in shock. Her lips were left ajar as though she had forgotten what to even say. There was a glint in her eyes that saw him as something... foreign, even frightening. It was as though she had never seen him like this.

''She might be right too.'' A faint voice in the back of his mind spoke, almost begged for the rest of him to calm down. ''I have never been like this in front of her.''

Pascal pursed his lips as he turned away and exhaled another deep breath. He struggled to suppress his boiling temper as he reached out and pulled open the staircase door. If Sylviane wouldn't let him see Kaede then he could at least talk to his familiar over their telepathy. It was ''ridiculous'' that he didn't even know what Kaede had been up to these past two days and three nights.

But regardless of what he did next, he needed to leave the Princess' presence. In his current emotional state, the longer he stayed the more he was likely to do something he might regret.

"Pascal..." Sylviane was still at a loss for words when he walked through the door.

"I am going to my room." His reply came in a still-harsh tone. "Good night Sylviane!"

<nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>

"<...And he just stormed off after that. Can you believe it?>" Sylviane complained over a ''Farspeak'' spell as she conversed with Cecylia. The dhampir was probably her best, and only, female friend from childhood.

It was strange in many ways: the only real friends Sylviane had as a child were from a country that she had been kidnapped to during wartime. As a kid, she had never been any good at breaking down barriers. The fact that she was a princess had set up a great many of them in any social encounter.

"<All men have tempers, Sylv. Even your beloved Pascal.>" Cecylia's reply was mostly-consoling yet still partly-teasing. "<Besides, Pascal takes his responsibilities seriously. And this is a critical time for him to spend away from his fiefdom. Perhaps he simply wanted to see his familiar for some... familiarity, no implications intended.>"

Sylviane sighed as her heart softened with sympathy. Cecylia was right: Pascal hadn't even seen his father's body or arranged a funeral yet. Nor had he returned to Nordkreuz to officially take up the seat of his inheritance. There were a great many things that undoubtedly awaited his attention back at home. Yet he came to the royal palace upon her beckon without any conditions.

"<You're right,>" the Princess admitted. "<nowiki><I</nowiki> am demanding too much from him.>"

She could almost see Cecylia's satisfied smile as the other continued:

"<Pascal was never the hand-holding kind. He is a doer. He might not be an outright workaholic like his father, but he nevertheless needs something to ''do'', constantly. In fact, it's probably why he summoned a familiar like Kaede -- a walking encyclopedia like her could help him much in whatever he chooses to accomplish. My guess is even when he doesn't have a task to do, he would be bouncing ideas off her all day... that's probably been happening ever since he summoned her a month back.>"

Sylviane pursed her lips as she leaned back and fell into her huge, four-poster bed. This wasn't the first time she had heard Cecylia compare Kaede to an encyclopedia. Nevertheless it brought a surge of irritation as she imagined Pascal and Kaede chatting for hours on end... just like how she and Pascal used to talk on the shores of Cross Lake.

"<nowiki><It's</nowiki> not fair. Why doesn't he talk to me like that anymore...>"

She could almost feel Cecylia giggling to herself the ''Farspeak'' spell's other end.

"<That's because you always have something more specific to talk about nowadays.>" Cecylia noted. "<nowiki><It's</nowiki> always this rowdy lord or that troublesome task. You don't quite have the pleasure to just meander as you used to! But really, you should see this as a ''good'' thing.>"

Sylviane frowned as she stared at her bed's velvet ceiling, which was dyed in her favorite lavender color. "<nowiki><I</nowiki> don't see how.>"

"<You two are having ''adult'' conversations these days! Hehe.>" Cecylia then proceeded to giggle audibly over the telepathic channel. "<Meanwhile he's still a kid with Kaede, just playing around with ideas instead of toys. Besides, you can still jump into those discussions at any time. The only reason you haven't recently is because of your lack of time!>"

Sylviane sighed and closed her eyes. ''Cecylia's right.'' She thought. ''It's just time I'm lacking... time to chat with him like we used to.''

"<By the way,>" the dhampir girl then added. "<You haven't done anything to his familiar, have you?>"

"<No!>" The Princess retorted almost on instinct. "<Well. I had her squeezed into a dress. Apparently the girl had never worn a corset before. But that's all!>"

"<Hehe. That's 'normal' for you. I just wanted to make sure you haven't tortured the poor girl or something. You do have a sadistic streak...>"

Cecylia didn't even finish before Sylviane bolted to sit upright in her bed. Her voice immediately hissed back:

"<nowiki><I</nowiki> am ''not'' sadistic!>"

The other girl paused as though letting the silence sink in.

"<You ''enjoy'' making cute girls cry,>" Cecylia spoke as a matter of fact. "<nowiki><It's</nowiki> why I was concerned. Pascal won't overlook it if you bully her maliciously, you know?>"

Reluctantly, Sylviane nodded to herself. "<nowiki><I</nowiki> know... I've been holding back too...>"

''It's not like I've forced her into any lingerie... yet.''

The Princess thought to compare Kaede with Vivienne, or Vivi as Sylviane affectionately called her. She was always so obedient, wearing what she'd been given and doing as she'd been told. Kaede seemed to be more bashful compared to Vivi, but that also had a charm of its own as it only added to the girl's cuteness.

"<The only 'bullying' I've done was to put her in the servants' quarters to keep her away from Pascal.>" Sylviane admitted.

"<Yeeeahhh I'm not sure that was your best idea,>" Cecylia responded. "<nowiki><It'd</nowiki> be like if someone took Hauteclaire away from you and locked him up in some birdcage.>"

Sylviane scowled as she glanced to the phoenix on his perch. ''She's right. I'd certainly be annoyed if someone did that.''

She was reminded of her father's words -- that mages had a 'unique bond' with their familiars. This was doubly so for those who had special familiars, like the Oriflamme Paladins, the skywhale merchants, or in this case: a young landgrave who contracted a Samaran girl.

"<nowiki><It</nowiki> seemed such a great idea two days ago. But now...>" Sylviane sighed once more.

Cecylia returned a mental shrug. "<nowiki><It</nowiki> happens to all of us. Though I have a feeling your 'self-righteous' moments are just ''a little'' stronger than usual.>" She added sarcastically.

This wasn't the first time Sylviane told Cecylia about a choice that she regretted.

"<nowiki><It's</nowiki> not fair... for him to have such a familiar,>" Sylviane complained.

Though to be honest, she wasn't sure whom she was more envious of: Kaede for being so close with Pascal, or Pascal for having such a cute girl bonded to him.

"<Why? It seems like a plus to me, hehe,>" Cecylia replied in good humor. "<nowiki><I</nowiki> don't understand why you're not seeing the bright side: now you get to have your fiancé ''and'' a free cutie to come alongside that you get to play with. Two different kinds of eye candy in every gaze. What's there not to like?>"

It reminded Sylviane of that 'hungry' look Cecylia occasionally had when the dhampir girl met handsome men.

"<Remember, ''my'' fiancé.>" Sylviane stressed.

Cecylia laughed. "<You don't have to remind me!>"

"<And as for Kaede, what if she starts sleeping with him?>" Sylviane's eyes narrowed. "<And I mean: actually laying together, not just sharing a bed.>"

The Princess noted as she already knew they did that at his academy dormitory.

"<nowiki><I</nowiki> mean sure, she doesn't seem to be romantically interested in him ''now'',>" Sylviane then added. "<But they have over a hundred years of life together ahead!>"

"<Then at least you'll have a guarantee that there isn't some other woman whom he might be spending time with.>" Cecylia answered straight. "<nowiki><I</nowiki> mean think about it, Sylv. You'll be the Empress, and he'll be your Marshal. There'll be months, even years when he goes on campaign and you two will be apart. And like all men pressed into the stress of battle, he'll feel lonely from time the time, seek the comfort of feminine embrace...>"

"<B-but that's high treason!>" Sylviane cut her friend off in retort. "<To cheat on his sovereign! I could have his head for that!>"

"<Yes, you could.>" Cecylia admitted after a brief pause. "<But would you? Even if you were no longer best friends? Brilliant commanders don't come easy to begin with, especially those whom you could trust, politically, beyond any doubt. Pascal has a special bond with you that can never be erased. Do you think you can just find another to replace him?>"

"<You know that's not what I meant.>" Sylviane sighed as she fell back into bed again. ''She's even saying the same thing as Father...''

"<I'm not saying Pascal is guaranteed to be unfaithful, certainly not where it truly counts,>" Cecylia added. "<But he is a ''man''. From that perspective, wouldn't it be better to leave him in the care of a mistress whom you can command and trust, rather than risk the intrusion of some outsider that you can't even predict? You can ''control'' the relationship between Pascal and Kaede. You cannot control if some other woman tries to snake into his life and seduce him.>"

"<And that's exactly what I'm working on.>" Sylviane replied. "<nowiki><It's</nowiki> just...>"

"<You're trying to impose your dominance over her, over their relationship. I know.>" Cecylia filled in after the Princess trailed off. "<But you're going about it too hastily. You have to take it one step at a time. Discipline her, sure, but offer treats for good behavior as well. If Kaede has been obedient to your will, then you should let her see him more as a reward. The girl is trapped in a foreign world entirely different from the one she was raised on. She'll be happy just to hold onto her pillar of support.>"

Sylviane slowly nodded as she thought back to Cecylia's first assessment on the familiar girl. After taking a trip to the Alisia Academy at Sylviane's request, Cecylia concluded that Kaede wasn't the type who adapted to new environments well. The Samaran girl put on a brave face but she was actually quite scared to be in this world. It was why she embraced every pillar of support she could find, unwilling to let go of even a maidservant-turned-traitor whom she befriended.

"<Then... What do you suggest? That I give Pascal a significant task and let Kaede help him?>"

"<Yes, that's ''exactly'' what I would recommend,>" Cecylia stressed. "<As I mentioned, Pascal is a doer. He needs to be kept occupied, and he'll be happier once you assign him some function to take responsibility over. That'll also lighten your plate and hopefully give you more time to relax with him. It's a win-win!>"

"<nowiki><I</nowiki> can see that. And I know Pascal hates being micromanaged, so it's best I leave a task with him and not interfere. But I can't just let Kaede orbit him all day...>" Sylviane scowled.

"<Why not?>" Cecylia countered. "<Sylv, you do realize that keeping them apart is no long term solution? Pascal's sense of responsibility would never allow it. It's why he grew angry with you today. You have to use more subtle means of controlling Kaede if you want to make your future marriage with Pascal work.>"

"<nowiki><I</nowiki> understand that. But it's just...>" Sylviane remarked as she struggled to put her feelings into words.

She knew she was being irrational. She knew that trying to keep Kaede from Pascal wouldn't work, certainly not in the long term. Yet she didn't want these past two days to end, when it was just the Pascal and her once again...

"<You've already made it clear to the girl that you can keep them apart.>" Cecylia pointed out. "<Now you can show her that they can be together too. Just make sure she knows that it is ''at your discretion''. It reinforces the idea that she'll want to stay on your good side.>" The dhampir advised before she explained in a playful voice. "<Kaede has a plucky exterior, but she also has a rather submissive nature. I could tell almost immediately when I teased her that night. Her cultural background seems to give her a preference for following rules and authority. Plus she herself desires stability and predictability in life. Therefore if you offer her a compromise, even if it's on your terms, she will likely accept the ground rules you lay down as long as ''you'' fairly uphold your end of the bargain.>"

Sylviane grinned a little as she nodded along to Cecylia's suggestions. None of this surprised her as she knew exactly how Cecylia operated. Beneath the adorable tease was a shrewd, calculating girl with a domineering personality and an excellent judge of character. Yet despite this, the dhampir had never tried to manipulate the Princess. It was one of the reasons they'd been best friends since childhood.

''If only you weren't a Weichsen, you’d be my closest confidante,'' Sylviane sighed with longing. She never once forgot that Cecylia was also the eyes and ears of King Leopold, which made it... difficult, to discuss certain topics.

This was part of the reason why she grew so close to King Alistair, despite the fact he was more than twice her age. The two of them shared many views when it came to the future of the Lotharin realm. It also helped that Alistair had a candid personality and an excellent sense of humor, which allowed her to hear the truth from him without feeling... inadequate.

''If only Pascal could soften around the edges in the same way,'' the Princess sighed.

Alas, the world wasn't perfect. Sylviane could only work with the hand that it dealt her.

"<Thanks for the advice and tips, both now and before,>" she smiled appreciatively.

"<What are friends for?>" Cecylia rhymed back, before the two of them started giggling again like normal girls their age.

<noinclude>
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| Back to [[Daybreak:Volume_2_Chapter_6|Chapter 6]]
| Return to [[Daybreak_on_Hyperion|Main Page]]
| Forward to [[Daybreak:Volume_2_Chapter_8|Chapter 8]]
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</noinclude>

Daybreak:Volume 2 Chapter 12

2022-03-01T14:48:53Z

Aorii:

===Chapter 12 - Late Night Confidence===

Kaede couldn't stop feeling nervous as she sat at the same table as a King, two generals, four brigadiers, two colonels, a landgrave, plus the crown princess and her bodyguard. The fact she was one of only two people not wearing a uniform didn't help her anxiety, especially as the other was Princess Sylviane who sat on the far side of the table from her.

Despite the Keep's austere exterior, Pascal's father had the public areas inside built and decorated with no expenses spared. The opulent dining room exemplified this with its huge crystal chandeliers and life-sized paintings. It was fit to host state banquets -- something Kaede would never have imagined attending, let alone as a girl.

The Samaran girl fidgeted as she pulled on the soft velvet that clung to the top of her arms. Her bared shoulders and half-exposed back made her feel uneasy, especially as she sat in the presence of royalty.

''What do womens' dresses have against shoulders anyway?''

The evening dress she wore was a deep, garnet-red over white and looked somewhat victorian in design. It left everything above her breasts exposed, except for her neck which was hidden beneath a wide choker. Pascal must have used her measurements to order the dress in advance for it to fit her so perfectly. Sylviane had forced Kaede to change into it before dinner when the Princess herself switched into her own starry, deep-violet gown.

It also made Kaede realize that even Weichsel's formalwear for ladies involved a leather corset, only it was hidden underneath.

The one bit of good news was that Pascal had at least seated her directly to his left. Meanwhile King Leopold sat on the far side of the table from his host, with Princess Sylviane playing the role of the hostess as she sat left of the King. The arrangement seemed almost natural, given that everybody knew Pascal and Sylviane were betrothed. But it was also convenient, as it offered the Princess plenty of opportunity to talk to His Majesty. At the same time, Cecylia's father General Wiktor sat to the King's right and could help promote the continued Weichsel-Lotharin Alliance.

However at the current moment, King Leopold was eyeing the snowy-haired familiar as he asked Pascal with an amused grin:

"So you really did summon a Samaran girl for a familiar. I could scarcely believe it when I first heard the report from Gerhard."

The King's question across the length of the table seized everyone's attention with ease. Kaede froze in her seat as she felt most of the attendees' eyes fall upon her.

"Yes, and she has been worth every effort," Pascal grinned and he declared with staunch pride in his voice.

"It's certainly not every day when a familiar sets an ambush for professional assassins and succeeds at it," the King acknowledged. "Tell me, Miss Familiar, what other talents did you bring from your former life?"

''Does the King know I'm not from this world?'' Kaede thought. He should, considering that Cecylia knew about it and she worked as an agent of the King. Yet the King made no mention of it.

...And unless he did, Kaede wouldn't either, as she wasn't keen on disclosing it to any more people and having to explain through it all.

"I-I-I w-was a student, Your Majesty," she stuttered as nervousness filled her wispy voice. "H-history and cultural studies, mostly. I'm a-afraid my role against the assassins was a l-lucky coincidence due to their misinformation on me."

"I see the Samaran reputation for humbleness continues to hold true," King Leopold smiled with amusement. "Opportunity may arise by luck, but the ability to recognize and exploit it requires both acuity and skill. I'd say you've learned well from your history lessons, Miss Familiar."

"T-thank you, Your Majesty," Kaede returned an awkward smile but she was too skittish to think of anything else to say.

Unfortunately, the King wasn't done with her yet.

"Tell me, Miss Familiar, what is your thought on the Trans-Hyperion Polarity Rail that the Grand Republic is currently building? I've heard the project was much debated within the Grand Republic."

The King then looked towards one of his colonels, a particularly beautiful officer with straight, light-blonde that reached down to his thin shoulders. In fact, had it not been for Pascal telling her, Kaede wouldn't even be able to tell if Colonel Hannes von Falkenberg --commander of the Black Eagles-- was a man.

He was also a dhampir, as revealed by the sapphire-blue crosses in his ocean-blue gaze.

"The project was approved by the State Duma and the Grand Prince six year ago," Hannes nodded to his king. "Construction began after three years of preparations, with the first tracks laid westward from the capital city of Ilmen." The dhampir then turned his attention towards Kaede: "the project is certainly of great interest to all neighboring countries, considering the sheer scope and tremendous expense of such a mega-infrastructure undertaking."

''Polarity Rail?'' Kaede almost voiced her confusion out loud when the King asked. Her anxiety shot skyward and her mind almost blanked out as the King questioned her over something she knew ''nothing'' about.

Thankfully, her thoughts had echoed it over her familiar bond instead.

"<nowiki><</nowiki>It is similar to the 'high-speed rail' network you mentioned from your home country of Japan, except its speed is anything but 'high' as even a horse could run faster,>" Pascal helpfully explained over their private link. Both his voice and the recognizable topic went a long way to help calm Kaede's nerves.

"<Nevertheless, the polarity rail represents the cutting-edge of geomancy. It is built along ley-lines and utilizes the inexhaustible ether source to transport bulk cargo by means of lodestone repulsion.>"

''Lodestones?'' Kaede puzzled as she took a deep breath. She remembered that they were the term used for naturally-magnetized magnetite, which had been used by the ancient Chinese to create the first compass. To build a 'rail' system based on lodestones implied that the 'polarity rail' ran on magnetic repulsion. The reliance on ley-lines and its ether hinted that the magnetic forces were amplified by magic. This somehow gave it enough strength that made it viable to carry freight over long distances.

''It sounds like Samara already began on this world's equivalent of the 'Trans-Siberian Railroad','' Kaede pondered in awe as her composure slowly returned. Unlike Earth, both the Europe and Asia of this world were grouped under the single supercontinent 'Hyperion'.

"I-I think the expense is worth the undertaking, Your Majesty," Kaede reflected. "A transcontinental freight line between eastern and western Hyperion would cement Samara's dominance over the sil..."

She almost said 'silk road' before correcting herself.

"--Over the east-west trade between the cultural spheres of the two Imperiums. This is especially important for the Grand Republic to maintain its trade dominance while advancements in seafaring technology continues to improve the efficiency of maritime trade, which the Grand Republic lacks access compared to other states. Furthermore, given Samara's sheer size and the distances between its cities, any improvements in infrastructure to reduce transport costs would be a great asset in stimulating both commerce and industry."

Kaede didn't forget that one of the reasons for the decline of Imperial Russia in 19th century Earth was its failure to keep up in railroad construction, which was exacerbated by the vast distances between Russian cities. The inability to transport materials and goods efficiently created a downward spiral which made Russia lag behind the other great powers in industrialization and trade.

The Samaran girl also didn't notice that she had stopped her occasional stutter, and was now speaking almost naturally before the King.

"Is the Grand Republic not worried that such a megaproject would bankrupt the state?" General Neithard asked from the opposite side of the table. His expression was a poker face as always, but there was a hint in his tone that gave Kaede the impression that he disapproved of it. "At the very least, such a heavy burden on state finances for years if not decades would leave it vulnerable -- neither able to respond effectively to crisis, nor able to exploit opportunities."

It reminded Kaede that the elderly Manteuffel was the leader of Weichsel's conservative faction, and 'conservative' in internal affairs meant they wished to preserve the socioeconomic status quo.

"That's why it's important for the rail to be built in segments," Kaede stated, hoping that the Samarans of this world were just as smart as project planners back on Earth. "The existing cities and trade hubs of the Grand Republic should be connected, one at a time, with priority given to cities that show the highest projected benefits. As each segment of rail becomes operational, the linked cities can immediately start profiting from the investment while the next phase of construction begins. This breaks even a most daunting megaproject into manageable, bite-sized chunks with steady payoffs.

"A war or other 'black swan' event might disrupt this endeavor and bring a temporary halt to the project," she continued. "But as the country becomes more interconnected thanks to improved infrastructure, it also enhances the ability of the state to respond to such events."

"'Black swan?'" The King raised an eyebrow.

"Sorry, Your Majesty. It's a metaphor from my homeland," Kaede explained sheepishly. "It means an unexpected if not unforeseeable event that creates a ripple effect, leading to a chain of consequences that significantly affects macroeconomics and geopolitics."

"Charming expression," King Leopold beamed with an impressed nod. "It seems to me that you are not just a student of history, but also in economics and geopolitical strategy."

"I've... dabbled in it," Kaede replied with an awkward smile, as she thought of the countless discussions she had with her father on the topic, or the many papers and articles he shared with her over the years.

"Tell me, what do you think would be Weichsel's optimal response to such a megaproject?" King Leopold asked next.

"Uhhhh, I-I'm not sure my knowledge of Weichsel is s-sufficient enough to offer a good reply, Your Majesty," Kaede began to stutter again, as her nervousness from prior returned upon her entry into unfamiliar territory.

"Try anyway," the King smiled encouragingly.

Kaede was about to look towards Pascal when she heard her master's confidence as well. "<You can do it.>"

"Ummmm, I-I think... t-the best course that I can see Weichsel embarking on... is to c-construct its own rail system," Kaede thought aloud. "Weichsel occupies a strategic location in the Saale Corridor, which --thanks to the impassable Dead Mountains and the dangerous North Sea-- forms the only land link between Western Hyperion and the Grand Republic of Samara. If a rail line could be built from the Weichsel-Samara border all the way to Nordkreuz, Weichsel could cement itself as the nexus of trade and exchange between four major cultures: the Imperium in the south through the Albis river, the Lotharins in the west through the twin Lotharingie rivers, the Hyperboreans to the north through the the North Sea, and Samarans in the east as well as through it, the Dawn Imperium to the far east."

"And such a position would provide us a tremendous boost in trade income, a great boon to the coffers and development of Weichsel," General Wiktor pitched in from the far end. His voice was one of clear approval, making it obvious that he was in support of such a project.

However the same could be not said for General Neithard, who interceded as the devil's advocate again:

"But what about security?" He asked with a concerned look. "Wealth spurs envy, and wealthy lands entice the gaze of would-be conquerors. If Weichsel links itself by polarity rail to the Grand Republic, how could we guarantee that the next train which comes through is not carrying goods for trade, but supply and ammunition to accompany an invasion force?"

''Not this drivel again,'' Kaede found herself instinctively annoyed, before remembering that this wasn't Europe and the general wasn't alluding to the 'Russian Menace'. She also recalled that Tsar Nicolas I of Russia decided to make the Russian rail gauge different from the rest of Europe, which precisely addressed the concern that the elderly Manteuffel spoke of.

After all, from Poland-Lithuania to Carolean Sweden to Napoleonic France to Nazi Germany, Russia had found itself invaded and ravaged by European powers roughly once every century. The ensuing cultural trauma made Russians extremely wary of their national security. This made them pursue an 'aggressive defense' policy that sought to create buffer states and limit their exposure to future invasions. However, this often played straight into the propaganda of its adversaries, who claimed Russia was a menace that wanted to 'dominate Europe'.

Thankfully, the same did not apply to the Grand Republic of Samara, since the accursed Dead Mountains created a natural barrier that shielded it from Western Hyperion. This allowed the Russians of this world to focus on what their ancestors did best -- long-distance trade and taming the wilderness.

"In that case, why not use part of the new tax revenues to build additional fortresses?" Kaede suggested. "The Saale Corridor is already narrow and easy to defend. Trying to conquer a fortified pass is like trying to catch a porcupine. We Samarans are a peaceful people. And even if the Grand Republic suddenly became militaristic, the prospect of throwing away profitable trade links just to bite down on a rock simply isn't worth the shattered teeth."

By the time Kaede finished and focused back on the King, she noticed that Leopold was giving Pascal an odd, knowing look.

"I swear I did not tell her any of that, Your Majesty," Pascal declared with pride.

"I guess even your familiar takes after your father," Leopold's lips formed a bemused smirk. "Her arguments are roughly similar to Karl's from the economic angle. Of course, Karl also did not miss the ''military'' benefits of having our country connected by Polarity Rail." He added before looking to his 'Accountant General'.

"It would certainly make my job a great deal easier," General Wiktor chuckled. "The Polarity Rail's overland speed is comparable to encumbered horses. However trains need neither rest nor fodder whereas animals do. Transporting troops and equipment around the country would be significantly faster, and..."

The dhampir general trailed off as the door to the dining room opened and in marched a line of Pascal's household servants, each carrying a tray of food. Like the others, Kaede immediately found her gaze drawn in by the delicious aroma of spanferkel. Two roasted suckling pigs were cooked to a luscious golden brown and sliced in a way that maintained their shape. Along with it came roasted beet and soused herring salad, honey mustard chicken salad, white asparagus in hollandaise, and many other dishes.

''A proper holiday feast at last!'' Kaede rejoiced.

She had missed the Winter Solstice feast back at the academy, and their New Year's Eve dinner had been largely occupied by discussions of logistics. She had never imagined herself spending a holiday travelling and attending conferences, but the state dinner was a welcomed reward.

Kaede didn't even mind that she was more than a hint famished as the potbellied majordomo began serving the guests, starting from the King. However, as her eyes examined the other dishes that were added straight to the table, her gaze fell upon a familiar figure while her mind froze.

''Marina.''

The maid wore a forced smile as she placed a bowl of salad on the table and backed away. However, before she departed the room, her eyes met Kaede's with a cold, distant stare.

''I really should have prepared for this,'' Kaede thought to herself. Between the royals, the politics, and all the generals, she had completely forgotten that she would be meeting Marina again.

Nevertheless, as the lieutenant-colonel who sat besides her leaned over to chat, the Samaran girl resolved herself to talk to Marina after dinner tonight. She wasn't sure what face she should put on to confront her one-time friend. But she knew that she had to at least ''try'' to salvage their relationship.

...

Despite Kaede's apprehension towards meeting Marina again, it was inevitable that the long meal and its dinner chatter would pull her in. There were simply too many interesting people seated around the table. This included one balding, late-forties intelligence officer who sat next to her.

"You can't cast? At all?" The familiar remarked in astonishment as she stared with open lips.

"Believe me I've tried. Even pretended I could, back in my younger days," Lieutenant-Colonel Hans Ostergalen chuckled at himself. "But no, not even a spark. All it did was make me look silly."

"I did tell you that the lieutenant-colonel was a commoner, not a yeoman," Pascal commented from her right before taking another mouthful of his own dinner, which as always came with a bowl of cheesy beer soup. He then nudged her over telepathy, "<and you are being rude.>"

"Sorry, I didn't mean..." Kaede broke off her stare and looked back down, before realizing that she had forgotten about the sliced spanferkel on her fork.

"That's quite alright," Hans grinned back with a natural smile that foretold his future life as a jolly old grandpa. "I've met plenty of others who were just as surprised. It's certainly very unusual for an officer without any magical ability to advance beyond captain."

"And doubly rare to be promoted past major. That is the career ceiling for most officers: anyone without special talent," Pascal added. Clearly, Hans was someone competent enough to earn his respect.

"You must have worked ''really'' hard to get here," Kaede looked back up in admiration.

"It certainly wasn't easy," Hans' smile turned wry as he shrugged. "Commanding officers from platoon to battalion level are all expected to fight alongside frontline troops and raise defensive wards. It's why they're called MCOs, or Magic-Capable Officers. I can't cast any, so I've had to climb the ladder without a single battlefield command experience."

Kaede nodded back as she ate. Career building in the military expected a broad range of experiences across different roles, with combat leadership being the most important. To rise through the ranks without ever being a frontline commander was like trying to run a marathon in crutches.

"It also doesn't help that I can only stay in the military for fifty years at most, while the mages have well over a century before they reach retirement age," Hans scowled, with a slow sigh that exposed the lingering bitterness underneath his begrudging acceptance. "Still, complaining about it isn't going to change my birth. I got over what I don't have, and focused on what I do."

''Make the best of a situation. He's just like me,'' Kaede thought with a smile. "You must be one of Weichsel's best analysts if you rose this high on staff experience alone."

"Father used to compare you to Marshal Mittermeyer." Pascal expressed next as he casually stirred his soup. His compliment, however, almost made the lieutenant-colonel choke on his food.

"I'm flattered, but I'm nowhere near that level!" Hans replied as he wiped his lips with a napkin. "My forte lies in analyzing our adversaries' actions and predicting their next moves, but it still falls upon others to translate that into a proper operational plan. That's a longshot from Hermann von Mittermeyer. After all, his strategic acumen was crucial in King Ferdinand's campaign against the Great Heathen Army."

The name was renowned enough for even Kaede to recognize. Hermann Mittermeyer began his career as a mere stable boy to the young Ferdinand I von Drachenlanzen, the founding King of Weichsel. After saving the King's life in an ambush, he became one of Ferdinand's aides, where his keen military insight would propel him through the ranks to eventually become a general and marshal -- the only commoner to do so in Western Hyperion history.

His legacy also cemented the nation's meritocratic military traditions. Furthermore, he established a precedent in the west for being the first non-yeoman commoner to be given a hereditary rank of nobility. Though it was only after he married a noblewoman to ensure that his descendants had magical affinity.

"Perhaps not marshal, but Father thought you had the making of a general in you," Pascal then added with a bittersweet smile. "It was why he suggested that I talk to you more back during the autumn campaign, so I could absorb more of your insight. Though he laughed when I told him that I would surely catch up to you with a decade or two of experience."

"As an analyst? You'll need more than just a decade," Hans smirked back as he tilted his head and propped it casually with his left arm, his filled plate already miraculously emptied. "Remember, my biggest lacking also gives me an advantage in focus: unlike you, I don't have to spend thousands of hours learning to cast spells and maintaining that expertise."

"And that's a lot of time you can focus on studying Weichsel's enemies," Kaede realized, prompting a pleased, almost-smug nod from the lieutenant-colonel.

"For an analyst, it's important to keep up to date with news from around the world, and not just the big headline items either," Hans explained. "It helps to understand countries and people, particularly leaders, when you have a long-term view of their character established over years if not decades. Knowing their behavior patterns and core values can provide an in-depth understanding of how they view any situation and prioritize goals. However, scouring through that much news also takes a lot of time. The Black Eagles generate a tremendous amount of intelligence, and not all of it useful."

''In other words, he's been info-stalking everyone important and building character profiles on them for decades.'' Kaede thought. She could certainly appreciate how it worked, considering her own father often discussed the politics of Earth leaders like Angela Merkel and Vladimir Putin by citing their long career history and how it shaped their worldview.

"So do you know what makes Pascal tick then?" Kaede joked with a beaming smile.

"Talk to me afterwards," Hans whispered openly with a playful wink.

"Sir, I must protest: conspiring against me with my familiar is ''not'' a good way of maintaining my support," Pascal grinned a little himself. "Though I am surprised that you did not request a vice-brigadier position for this campaign. Brigade command hardly cares about one's capacity in spellcraft. And while the position normally expects a full colonel, I am sure there are opportunities now that the King has invoked the ''Writ of Universal Conscription''."

Hans smiled a little before sitting back upright. However Kaede could also see that a shade of caution had crept into his brown eyes.

"This campaign will make or break General Neithard's candidacy for Marshal. I owe the general everything I am today. I'm not about to abandon him in his hour of need."

Kaede found herself almost astonished. It was hard to imagine the stone-faced elderly Manteuffel --who had excused himself from the room earlier, possibly to visit the latrines-- being a gracious superior, especially to a commoner given that his conservative faction was dominated by the old noble families. But clearly, he had some virtues to gain the staunch loyalty of his subordinates -- enough to make Pascal worried about his growing influence within the army.

"And of course, if he manages that, you would have a better chance of achieving generalship yourself in the future," Pascal added with a knowing smirk.

"I never said it was ''entirely'' selflessness on my part," Hans chuckled.

<nowiki>------ * * * ------</nowiki>

The room Kaede received as her own had recently been furnished. Its size was modest and comparable to modern bedrooms, but the contents were far more opulent than she was used to. A queen-size four-poster bed layered in rich fabrics took the center, its sides lined by long, intricate rugs. A small writing desk and bookshelf stayed against the wall on one side, while a large dressing table flanked by mahogany wardrobes occupied the other.

There was also a closet in the corner that camouflaged itself as a small wardrobe, but actually hid the chamber pot that she hated to be reminded of.

The bedcovers and window curtains all came in a gentle floral-pink, then adorned with a vine-like green pattern that gave it the semblance of a flowerbed. Their overabundance of ruffles and laces projected an air of extreme girlishness. Combined with the large wardrobes that devoted way too much space for clothing --including another dress that Pascal had already prepared for her-- it made Kaede wonder:

''Is Pascal deliberately trying to feminize me?''

She definitely needed to have a talk with Pascal about this. Nevertheless, Kaede did appreciate the fact that Pascal at least kept her interests in mind. This was most noticeable in how he left several books on Weichsel in her room, as well as a huge map of Western Hyperion which hung from the wall.

Most meaningful of all -- her room was in the same corridor as Pascal's own, just down the hall that was meant for only the lord's immediate family. It certainly explained the attitude of the maids, who politely addressed Kaede as 'Milady' when they met, only to whisper quietly once she was out of ordinary earshot.

Kaede scowled as she remembered hearing the word 'whore' at least once.

They were partially right though: Kaede wasn't a 'lady' by any means. She had neither the upbringing nor the refinement, and certainly not the noble blood. Furthermore, familiars were meant to be servants for their mage masters, and Kaede's unusual relationship with Pascal certainly seemed to have become a topic of much gossip.

In hindsight, Princess Sylviane had been perfectly reasonable when she arranged for Kaede to stay in the servants' quarters of Oriflamme Palace. But even that did little to quell the rumor mongering.

''Give me a break already.'' Kaede thought as she fell back into her soft bed. ''Can't a girl just fit in without being judged?''

She rather doubted she would have any of these troubles if she was still a boy.

Nevertheless, as Kaede looked to the ceiling of her four-poster bed, she couldn't help feel touched by Pascal's gesture. His summoning had ripped Kaede from her family back on Earth. In exchange, he was offering her the chance to join a new one.

Kaede felt a hint of moisture gather in her eyes as she thought of it that way.

There was never any doubt on whether Kaede would accept. After everything she promised on the roof of Alisia Academy's dormitory keep, she wasn't about to leave Pascal to occupy this hallway by himself. The fact he refused to move into the master bedroom showed that he still wasn't over his father's death, despite the brave front he put on to show the world.

In the meantime though, she had another concern -- and it was one that she needed to tackle now.

"Marina, please take a seat," Kaede said as she sat back upright on the velvet bedcovers. Then, when the maid looked hesitant, her pink eyes almost pleaded: "''Please''."

The petite maid sat down on the cushy chair at Kaede's reading desk. An uncomfortable silence fell upon the two once more. Even Kaede had trouble starting the conversation as she eyed the shade of black under Marina's reddened eyes. The maid had clearly been crying a lot over the past few weeks.

"How are they treating you here?" Kaede asked before glancing down. Her words were more wispy than usual.

"It's a life." Marina shrugged. Her voice wasn't hateful, but neither did it contain any other emotion. "Majordomo Karsten judges us on a purely professional basis, so he's cordial as long as my work is done proper."

"How are they forcing you to stay?"

Kaede was curious, but now that she asked she felt like a block of insensitivity. Marina's life had been reduced to one of slavery, and here all she could think of was ask more questions.

"They don't need to..." The maid's tone stayed bland even as she pulled up one sleeve and revealed a faintly-glowing tattoo inscribed just above her wrist. It featured two links of chains crossed with what looked like a broom. The symbol seemed to mark Marina as an indentured domestic servant. The word 'law' written just beneath made it obvious that it had been done so on judicial grounds.

"It's a ''Geas'' brand," Marina's eyes teared as she explained in a whisper, as though her words might set it off had they rang any louder. "It forbids me from leaving the estate's premises without permission, and will shock me if I attempt to. It also makes it impossible for me to lie when activated, which Majordomo Karsten did before he let me come with you."

Kaede had wondered why Pascal trusted Marina to attend her -- because there wasn't any actual 'trust' involved.

Ever since Marina had been sent away from the academy, Kaede had began reading about the institution of slavery on Hyperion. The practice had been outlawed centuries ago by the Dawn Imperium in the east and the Grand Republic in the north. Even the Holy Imperium, with its historic economy built on slave labor, recognized that slaves were persons and offered them limited rights.

The countries of Weichsel and Rhin-Lotharingie both abandoned slavery in its traditional form. However both continued to use 'indentured servitude' as a means of debt collection and punishment. The practice was widely seen as an effective means of 'justice', as it forced the criminal to provide recompense for their crimes by working off a timed contract for the wronged party. However just like the Imperium did for slaves, both nations also gave indentured servants certain rights -- for example Marina could own private property, and received legal protection from murder or even crippling punishments.

"Can it be removed?"

Marina shook her head.

"They said that while any spell can be dispelled with enough power, this mark will detect any attempt and activate at max intensity. So sure, it's removable. But whether I survive the attempt or not..." She finished before she pulled down her sleeves and covered the mark once more. "The same thing will happen if the brand runs out of mana, which Majordomo Karsten fills periodically as long as I serve here."

"Then... how long do they expect you to stay... an indentured servant?"

Just forcing out those two words burned Kaede's tongue. It might be common in a traditional, eye-for-an-eye legal system. But being synonymous to slavery still gave it a barbaric edge in her worldview. After all, the last society on Earth that practiced systemic slavery was brought to an end when China overthrew the Dalai Lama's caste-based theocracy in Tibet.

"For assisting the attempted murder of a high noble? Life for a life." Marina stated. Then, the maid finally unveiled her acidic disdain as she added: "What did your naive little head think it was going to be? Maybe I would be quietly hung with a sack over my face?"

Kaede winced. Perhaps the activated brand was making Marina a little ''too honest.''

"I'm sorry, Marina, but ''please'' believe me. I didn't want anything this bad for you..."

Yet even as she said that, Kaede couldn't look Marina in the eyes. It wasn't even naivety. Kaede simply didn't ''think'' about it much back then. Sure, she had voiced objections, but she also allowed herself to be silenced the moment Pascal grew insistent. Though at the same time Marina was also right -- any punishment feudal law would have handed down for her role in the assassination attempt would be far worse than this.

The Samaran girl then took a deep breath and tried again:

"You paid loyalty to a master for raising you. I can understand that. I even respect it. But my own life is tied to Pascal's. So just as you saw no other choice, neither did I."

"W-why do you ''care'' if I believe you?" Marina retorted in a standoffish tone. "I mean, if that's what you believe, then why are you even being nice to me? I could have killed you in connection to him."

"Because I know you were candid in your offer," Kaede answered as she forced her sincere gaze to stay on Marina's swollen sea-green eyes. "And because if you hadn't said anything, that assassin's arrow would have shot straight through my neck."

"Isn't that why you had my punishment reduced to this?" The maid interrupted, though her tone softened mid-sentence. It was a faint sign that behind the barbed wires of pride, there was also a shadow of gratitude.

Clearly, the maid had conflicts of her own when it came to Kaede. There was no doubt that Marina blamed Kaede for her current predicament. After all, Kaede did trick Marina and used her to bait the assassins into a trap. But at the same time, Marina also seemed to recognize that Kaede did ''help'' her -- even if this help didn't actually leave her with much of a life.

"I had wanted to go further but... Pascal wouldn't budge." Kaede explained. "However I don't think this is the right treatment for you, not for what you did. And... there is one more reason..." The familiar girl noted as her wispy voice fell to barely a whisper. "You were my first friend in this world, Marina, and I really didn't want to let go."

"Well that's impossible now," Marina's sour retort came as a matter of fact.

A brief silence returned, followed by a deep, heartfelt sigh from Kaede.

"I know... I'm occasionally idealistic, not spontaneously idiotic."

The Samaran girl wondered if she would ever again see that angelic smile -- the one that lifted her spirits during her gloomy initial week in this world. An idea then struck her and Kaede pursed her lips in deep thought as she struggled to consider its details. Pascal's intentions for her standing did seem quite obvious, which meant she needed a servant she could rely on.

She only wished that her 'trust' wasn't founded on a penal curse.

"Marina, I think... I can still offer you something," Kaede gently tested the waters. "Since Pascal will probably assign me a servant, would you be willing to become my maid? I promise I'll treat you as kindly as I can. And I welcome you to voice your objections when I do misstep."

Marina's eyes swelled in surprise. Yet within those rounded, glassy orbs also clashed a conflict between disbelief and suspicion. If there were any appreciation at all, they were very faint traces.

''It's going to take a looooong time for her to trust me again.'' Kaede sighed. "Would it help if I let you hit me?"

The maid's eyebrows went up further. Of all things, she clearly wasn't expecting that.

"I'm told the spell will also activate if I try to physically harm another person," she muttered.

Though one point was clear: she did want to hit Kaede, or give the familiar a hard slap, or some other medium of venting anger and frustration upon the Samaran girl who tricked her back at the academy.

''That's... probably a good sign, actually,'' Kaede thought. The desire to vent was both more direct and less extreme than the alternative -- when anger transformed into hatred and buried itself as a scheming desire for revenge. ''Maybe there's a slim chance after all.''

"You won't always have his favor like now, you know," Marina warned as she wiped her eyes. "Especially once he becomes the Lotharins' king consort. There will be more people around him then, powerful figures far more ''interesting'' than just a novelty familiar."

It was an odd way to agree, however tentative it was. But at this point Kaede simply sagged with relief to hear an opportunity.

"Then I just have to keep up," she answered, a faint smile finally returning to her expression.

It was easier said than done. However Pascal had summoned her for a companion in his long journey, and Kaede promised that she would do her best to support him. Besides, knowing what she did about Pascal, Kaede doubted that the young lord was the fickle type. He had promised her that she would become part of his household, and Pascal took his promises very seriously.

She also didn't forget Marina's former occupation for a second.

"Although... that does lead me to a request for you, Marina," Kaede began. "Since you were an observer for an Imperial lord before this..."

Marina blinked several times, her expression suddenly blank and lost.

"I won't ask about your former master's identity," Kaede reassured with a wave. "But could you keep a tab on as many happenings within this keep as you can? Inconspicuously? And tell me if you find anything that I may find of interest, especially anything that feels out of place or suspicious."

After all, there was no better counterespionage than the eyes of a former spy.

"You want me to ''spy'' on the staff and visitors for you?" the maid whispered with incredulity, as if the list of surprises would never end.

"I'm not sure if 'spying' is the best word. More like, 'looking out for spies'," Kaede returned an awkward smile. "Heaven knows that a landgrave has his foes. I don't think Pascal underestimates most opponents, but arrogance certainly leaves chinks in the armor. And it's part of my job to watch out for his back."

"What makes this any different from my last mission then?"

Marina struck Kaede with one last hammer for the night, but the latter made almost an immediate recovery this time:

"Because you can just leave any info with me," she smiled back with tired eyes, "and I'll handle the reckless parts this time."

...

The next morning, when Kaede inquired Pascal about her idea at breakfast, the latter replied with an incredulous tone:

"You want to make her a ''lady's maid?''"

"I don't know how much of a 'lady' I am, but why not?" Kaede asked. "I know her well. She's trained, in more ways than one. It seems a good fit."

Pascal shook his head in disbelief.

"Marina is qualified. That I have no doubt. But a lady's maid --and you are a lady, as far as this household is concerned-- is a considerable step up from just an average housemaid, let alone an ''indentured'' maid."

Pascal then met her stiff gaze and finally seemed to realize ''why'' she was doing this.

"You are being way too easy on her." He sighed.

"'In war, resolution; in defeat, defiance; in victory, magnanimity'... doubly so since she did try to help me," Kaede stated with a faint smile. "Besides, I still like her."

Pascal looked thoughtful for a moment, then:

"Is that another quote from your world?"

"Winston Churchill. Some consider him a great leader," Kaede added with a sarcastic tone. "I thought he was a racist warmongerer who committed crimes against humanity." She thought of the policy-induced Bengal Famine before shrugging. "But even people like him have at least ''some'' kindness."

<noinclude>
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| Back to [[Daybreak:Volume_2_Chapter_11_Interlude|Interlude Chapter 1]]
| Return to [[Daybreak_on_Hyperion|Main Page]]
| Forward to [[Daybreak:Volume_2_Chapter_13|Chapter 13]]
|-
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</noinclude>

Daybreak:Volume 2 Chapter 6

2022-02-27T19:35:29Z

Aorii:

===Chapter 6 - The Third Wheel===

Kaede loitered in the castle as the dusk sky dimmed outside. Sylviane had dragged Pascal off to the Emperor's privy council meeting. However unlike the war council earlier, the privy council was a much more limited affair. There also wasn't any tradition of bringing in junior lieutenants.

''Even Queens didn't usually attend privy council sessions,'' Kaede reflected from Earth history. ''It would be unusual if Pascal brought me.''

Nevertheless, it made her feel like an unwanted outsider again. Pascal and Sylviane were a pair in more ways than one. Apart from being the next royal couple of Rhin-Lotharingie, they were both talented if not brilliant in their own way. Both of them were also willful and determined to shape the future of their countries. It was as though the two of them were fated to leave their mark on history.

''Meanwhile... I'm just some average student from Japan.'' Kaede sighed.

Well, that wasn't exactly true. She could at least justify being 'above average'. She had been accepted by one of the best universities in the world, and she had spent her formative years debating history and international relations with her father, a university professor in history.

While Kaede's friends indulged themselves in romcom fiction or action manga, she was consuming world history and treatises on geopolitics. Her celebrities were world leaders and statesmen. Her heroes were great thinkers who applied history to shape the world: men like the Cold War strategist George Kennan, the cultural-political scientist Samuel Huntington, and of course, the 'grand master' of geopolitics Lee Kuan Yew.

It had always left her a bit of an outcast in pop-culture discussions. It was part of why while Kaede had plenty of acquaintances in school, there were few whom ''he'' could call a true friend.

The Samaran girl sighed again as she strode up to yet another painting and examined it. The beautifully-detailed artwork had a frame as wide as a dining room and ran from hip-high to almost reach the ceiling. Like all the others found in the Oriflamme Palace, its focus was another paladin of Rhin-Lotharingie -- this time a lean-shouldered, handsome, if somewhat effeminate young man. Clad in mail armor, the paladin sprouted flame-feathered phoenix wings and glowed in a halo of white-blue flames. He flew above the ground with his armigers, leading far ahead of a massive charge of mixed cavalry and heavy, wagon-like chariots.

''Are those... mongols with cannons?''

Kaede examined the 'enemy' painted in ominous grey. The flanks were predominantly light cavalry, with many pulling back recurve bows. However the center was mostly infantry carrying wooden planks with small iron tubes affixed to them. Interspersed among them were wheeled, wooden platforms that carried a black, metallic tube. One of them even belched forth flames as the primitive bombard unleashed its shot.

"Leslie Eachann Barclay of Tollaigh, Voivode of Dvina." Kaede muttered as she knelt down to inspect the label inscribed onto the frame's bottom.

According to the Lotharin history books she read, Leslie the Paladin was a mercenary captain from the clans of Gleann Mòr. He joined the Grand Republic of Samara's predecessor state in repelling an invasion from the east. At the time, almost nobody knew of him back in the Rhin-Lotharingie lands, even though he clearly did well in establishing himself as a 'Voivode' -- which on Earth was an Eastern European name for a ducal-level military commander.

His fame only spread to his homeland three centuries later, when it was Leslie's legacy which brought in a Samaran expeditionary force to aid the Lotharins during the Rhin-Lotharingie Independence War. Today, Leslie's name was known even among children. Their rhymes sang of ''Leslie's blessing'' which brought hope during difficult times.

It was hard to tell if anyone on Leslie's side in the painting was a Samaran since they mostly wore helmets. However as Kaede combed through the allied ranks, she did spot a young lady with flowing white hair. The girl stood on top of one of the leading heavy chariots. Her hands steadied the scorpion-like light artillery affixed to the wagon-bed while her companion loaded the weapon.

"You like the painting?"

Kaede turned as she stood up. Her eyes met the gaze of a smiling, elderly maid. The wrinkled old woman was thinly built and dressed in elegant black and white. Though the small, bejeweled hairpin that she wore in her french-bun showed that she was no common servant.

"Yes. I'm no connoisseur of paintings, but its history fascinates me." Kaede answered before realizing that she had better identify herself, lest they treat her as an intruder in the palace. "Sorry, I'm Kaede, the familiar of Landgrave Pascal von Moltewitz of Nordkreuz."

"Yes, I know." The matron replied warmly. "I'm Head Maid Rachel. Her Highness Princess Sylviane asked me to come find and bring you to dinner."

Kaede's stomach growled as if on cue. It brought a sheepish smile to the Samaran girl's lips. Apart from a few pastries that Sylviane had requested in the royal sitting room, Kaede hadn't eaten since breakfast back at the academy. The winter sun set early so they were only entering dinnertime. Nevertheless Kaede felt famished now that she was no longer distracted by historical artworks.

"I'm afraid the food isn't ''quite'' ready yet," Rachel smiled back. "Is there anything you would like to know about these paintings while we wait for a few more minutes? I happen to also serve as a curator in my secondary role."

Kaede's eyebrows rose. ''That... sort of makes sense, actually.''

She had noticed that Emperor Geoffroi clearly did not believe in hiring many servants. Kaede wasn't sure if this was because of frugality or the need to reduce palace expenditures. However it definitely felt like the royal court had less attendants than Alisia Academy, and certainly less than any palace from Earth as shown in historical dramas.

"I've read about Leslie the Paladin in books but... to see a scene of it depicted in such grand detail. It's... ''awe inspiring.''" Kaede tried to describe her feelings as she looked over the huge painting. "Was this an actual battle that Leslie commanded?"

"Commanded? No. This painting depicts the Second Battle of Desna River." Rachel explained as she pointed out the blue streak that could just be seen behind the friendly cavalry. "It's a visualization of the climatic moment, when Leslie the Paladin joined Lidiya the White Rose as they led the charge of the elite Polisian, and later Samaran, 2nd Guards Cavalry Brigade against the Great Khan's ''Divine Engine Division''."

The head maid then grinned proudly. "His Majesty always said that this battle forever changed world history."

Kaede frowned. It was strange to see a battle in Hyperion where large numbers of gunpowder weapons were employed. In all of Kaede's research for Pascal, she hadn't read a single one.

"I presume it has something to do with this ''Divine Engine Division'' and their gun... blast powder weapons?"

"Yes." Rachel confirmed Kaede's suspicions. "They were an experimental formation originally established by the eastern Dawn Imperium. The unit was later enlisted by the Great Khan after he all but vanquished that eastern superpower, having conquered it at least for a few decades. The Dawn Imperium has a tendency to bounce back as a superpower after every calamity, even if it takes them a century or two."

''They're definitely the China of this world,'' Kaede concluded.

"The division was recorded to be armed with a variety of weapons including mortars, grenades, hand-cannons, bombards, and uhh... I think these were called 'rockets'." She highlighted the trails of smoke that flew over the battlefield, even as streaks of mana rushed up from the friendly forces to intercept them."

Kaede could feel her curiosity growing more and more. "What happened exactly?"

"Leslie had volunteered to lead the vanguard attack before the main charge." The Head Maid answered. "Since blast powder is volatile and an Oriflamme burns the very air around them, the soldiers caught fire one after another and their 'divine engines' exploded. The Polisian cavalry then poured through the collapsing center and broke the Easterners' battle line. It was a complete disaster for the forces of the Great Khan and it turned the tide of the war."

"Is that why the Emperor said the battle forever changed history?" Kaede asked, though she could already guess at the answer.

"No." Rachel shook her head. "His Majesty said that this battle was the first and last time blast powder would play a decisive role on the battlefield. After this, no army would rely upon such a volatile technology. Therefore despite their potential, blast powder weapons would, at best, be used in a supporting role."

''Sounds like the Emperor is a student of history as well.''

Kaede knew that on Earth, early gunpowder weapons were often considered questionably useful due to their low accuracy and tendency to explode. Even as late as the Napoleonic Wars, gunpowder's susceptibility to the elements meant exposure to rain could cripple an army. In a world where every mage was capable of conjuring fire and water, gunpowder weapons were never given the opportunity to evolve. Its innovation had been stifled long before sealed cartridges could be developed, which took centuries of use in warfare even back on Earth.

"Does His Majesty read many books?" Kaede inquired.

"Oh yes, His Majesty is a voracious reader. Even back when the late Empress blessed these halls with her grace, his books would cost the palace more gold per year than her jewels and dresses." Rachel gave a nostalgic smile. "Would you like to see the library?"

"I'd sure like to know where it is. Though I probably shouldn't distract myself further before dinner."

"Certainly. Please follow me." Rachel announced before leading Kaede down the hallway.

"What kind of person was the late Empress?" Kaede added in curiosity of Princess Sylviane's mother. ''It's said that while fathers taught skill and determination, it was the mother who shaped a child's morale character.''

"She was a kind and gentle woman, if a bit too... innocent, for the intrigues of the court," Rachel reminiscenced. "She had dedicated her life to bringing up her three children, to be upright, industrious, and dedicated. It's such a great injustice what happened to her and the two princes."

Kaede had heard from Pascal that Sylviane had lost her mother and both elder brothers to Imperial Mantis Blade assassins. It was merely another example of the deep, blood-soaked hatred between the Empire of Rhin-Lotharingie and the Holy Imperium of the Inner Sea.

"It's been over a decade since her death and His Majesty has never even shown an inkling of interest in remarrying." Rachel noted sadly. "He has even kept her old room exactly the way it was. Some say it's because her fae magic melded the Emperor's soul to her own, and when she left she took a part of him with her. I think it's simply because His Majesty loves her that much."

"Fae magic?" Kaede's eyebrows rose as they turned to another hallway.

It was the second time she heard the phrase spoken today.

"Yes. The late Empress was a faekissed, the daughter of a minor earl from Ceredigion." Rachel began to explain, clearly realizing that Kaede had never heard of them before. "The faekissed are descendants of the faerie lords, whose rule over these lands is described in the ancient ''Book of Invasions''. During the height of their power, they had dominated all of Western Hyperion as far as the reaches of modern day Samara. However, for reasons unknown, they have since retreated through the portals back to their world. All that remains of them today are the stone rings, the faekissed, and the various artifacts that could be found throughout the land -- like the armor Her Highness wears."

"I would never have guessed," Kaede muttered in astonishment. "I mean... she looks so ''human!''"

But then, perhaps Kaede shouldn't be surprised. After all, she herself had a Samaran body, yet the only way to tell from external appearance was her snowy-white hair. Meanwhile Cecylia was a dhampir, a heritaged shown only in her gaze. Even the Princess' purple hair didn't mean much, as many mages had tresses dyed by the color of their mana, for instance Ariadne's floral-pink hair.

It was only then that Kaede realized that she was being rude. However Rachel at least took no offense as the old maid simply chuckled:

"It's been several thousand years since the faerie lords left our world. That's several dozen generations, even with the longevity given by the blessing of magic. Most faekissed have but a drop of fae blood in them today. Though even that blood is enough to make a big difference from most humans."

"Could you tell me about some of those differences?"

The head maid looked back and smiled. "You're a real scholar aren't you? The questions just don't stop coming."

"Ah, sorry..."

"No, I'm happy to answer. You're just not what I expected." Rachel answered as she turned back and kept on walking. "Just like her mother, Her Highness is an autumnborn. As the name implies, she was born in October, and Fall is her favorite time of the year -- she could spend hours just watching the leaves fall outside. She also has absolutely dreadful spring allergies, and tends to be moody and irritable during that season."

''So, walk on eggshells around her then.'' Kaede made a mental note.

After all, it wasn't like she was asking merely out of curiosity. Relationship building benefited from research and planning just like any other activity. Professionals like diplomats usually began their task by seeking an understanding of the other side's background and temperament. And while Kaede normally wouldn't go this far, she knew that as long as she stayed with Pascal, managing her relationship with the Princess will be one of her greatest challenges.

"The autumnborn favor acumen," Rachel continued in the meantime, "though they're not as logical as their cold and stoic winter brethren. They also have a tendency to get jealous, though they're never as passionate as their summer kin. They dislike airheads above all, probably due to their rivalry with spring. Though I'd say you're in no danger of that."

''And I thank every buddha for this small blessing.''

"And here we are, the royal library." Rachel announced as she pushed open a pair of wooden, double doors. "It's not quite as grand as the one at the Alisia Academy where you were living. But I'd say you'll find plenty to read here."

For a brief moment Kaede stared in awe as she eyed the rows upon rows of bookshelves. There was enough here to make even a modern public library proud. Furthermore, unlike the massive collection at the Alisia Academy of Magic, this library was meant for the royal family's personal use. Its size and abundance certainly showed just how many rulers of the Gaetane dynasty were of erudite character.

"You know, in all my years, you are the first individual who is more interested in His Majesty's library than his throne room." Rachel spoke with amusement as she watched the young girl's reaction.

"The throne?" Kaede turned towards the head maid with raised eyebrows. ''It's just a fancy chair, isn't it?''

Kaede had seen enough thrones on Earth to know that they were always magnificent and opulent and often downright excessive. From the Winter Palace to the Kyoto Imperial Palace to the Palace of Versailles, the thrones of Kings and Emperors were always purposefully set up to make anyone who stood before them feel awe and a sense of insignificance by comparison.

However, when one peeled away all the unnecessary pomp and pretentiousness, the throne was always just a room with a seat. Everything else was just an illusion of grandeur, as even the most grandiose throne in the world provided little meaningful value to the well-being of a nation-state. The garish colors of the Chrysanthemum Throne was certainly less than worthless during Japan's ''Sengoku Jidai'', as it became a focal point of conflict inside a fracturing nation, torn asunder by a dozen simultaneous civil wars.

The same could not be said for a well-kept royal library, which was the physical manifestation of the ruler's breadth of knowledge and their capacity for learning.

Nevertheless, Kaede merely shrugged and gave a sheepish smile. It seemed unkind to speak her thoughts to the head maid. After all, Rachel's whole career was to maintain the palace so that it could be presented to dignitaries in its most awe-inspiring state.

"I guess I just find this room far more practical, and telling of the Emperor's character." The young girl added.

Somehow, Rachel found this surprising as her eyebrows shifted upwards. "How much do you know about the throne of Rhin-Lotharingie?"

"Only that it's called the 'Burning Throne'," Kaede frowned with a perplexed tilt. ''But that's just hyperbole, isn't it?''

She remembered reading mentions of it on several occasions. But each time she simply continued on without a second thought. After all, just because the Japanese Emperor had the 'Chrysanthemum Throne' didn't mean he sat on an actual throne of flowers. It was all just symbolism and embellishment.

Her moment of silence was all the answer the head maid needed. Rachel smiled knowingly as she gently ushered Kaede from the library and closed its doors.

"Follow me," the head maid spoke before leading the familiar girl down a hallway.

They turned twice before reaching the main entrance hall. Yet after her single request, Rachel did not say another word and instead wore a playful little smile as though she had a surprise planned. The Samaran girl could only follow the elderly maid in silence before they reached a double-door that had an armiger guard on each side. It was the only place outside the Emperor's presence where Kaede had met stationary guardsmen in the palace, and she felt keenly aware of their wary gazes which both fell upon her.

However neither of the guards said anything as they each grasped a handle and pulled the heavy, wrought iron doors open. Clearly the head maid's presence was enough to satisfy them that Kaede was not trespassing.

"Do you still think it's not practical?" Rachel spoke with amusement.

Kaede had to blink her eyes in disbelief as she took in her first view of the throne room.

The chamber itself was not exceptionally large and certainly not opulent by the standards of Earth. It was built almost entirely of polished blue granite and little else. The royal seat took its customary spot on the far end, elevated above the rest of the floor by a stone pedestal three steps high. However, what instantly drew Kaede's attention and almost made her jaw hit ground was the chair itself:

It was a blocky, heavy, uncomfortable-looking stone seat that was ablaze with blue-white flames.

It did not escape Kaede's attention that the royal chair burned in the same color as Rhin-Lotharingie's phoenixes. The embers seemed to emanate from the stone itself, and they were so bright and hot that she could almost feel the heat emanating across the room from it.

''When Pascal said only an Oriflamme may inherit the throne, I didn't think he meant it physically,'' Kaede thought.

She did not even realize that in her awestruck state, she had whispered it audibly.

"There's a reason why the 'Burning Throne' is famous throughout Hyperion," Rachel spoke with pride. "It was enchanted by one of the companions of the founding emperor -- the Oriflamme Queen and artificer, Gwendolen the ''Faerie Sword''. No man or woman whose character has not been vouched by the sacred phoenixes may sit upon it. Anyone else who attempts to do so will be burned to ashes within the minute."

It was a sure symbol of what it took to wield the authority of the Emperor. Blood, charisma, power -- none of those were enough. Only those worthy enough to be chosen by the phoenixes could sit upon the throne of Rhin-Lotharingie.

Reflecting upon this, Kaede couldn't help but feel impressed by the legacy left by the nation's founders. Through a single item, they managed to create one of the most capable guarantors of their country's future.

''At least in theory,'' she thought. After all, the succession of Rhin-Lotharingie had yet to be tested by a true crisis -- what political scientists called the <nowiki>'</nowiki>''acid test of reality''<nowiki>'</nowiki>.

...

Kaede was far less impressed by the time she sat down at a crowded, long dining table. Apparently, the Princess had arranged for her to eat with the other servants. They also ate earlier than the usual dinner time, since many of the maids and footmen would have to serve dinner to the privy council.

''Not that I've caught a case of contagious snobbishness, but...''

Kaede looked through the doorway to the kitchens, where everything from roast pig to fattened goose had been prepared. The mouthwatering aroma wafted through the air and filled the servants' areas. It made the simple meat and cabbage stew she had look downright unappetizing by comparison.

"What's wrong? Is the food not good enough for our little mistress?" A young maid who sat next to Kaede spoke. Her unfriendly tone elicited even a few jeering smiles from others.

"No, it's not that..." Kaede struggled to come up with an excuse as she pulled her eyes away from the kitchen.

"Oh, you want your master's food. Don't worry about that. I'm sure he'll feed you some in bed later." Another maid remarked unkindly.

The male servants said nothing. When Kaede caught one of the young men's gazes, he hurriedly looked away with a sudden and intense interest towards the wall clock. It was clear the handsome young footman found her attractive, which only further aggravated the maids who now took stabs at her with cutting phrases.

"Ahem!"

It was only thanks to Head Maid Rachel, who sat at the long table's other end, that Kaede gained a moment of reprieve. The eldly woman sent her an apologetic look before speaking to the gathered servants, who numbered just under two dozen.

"If you have time to chatter, you have time to eat. Be quick about it. His Majesty and the privy council will need their meal in ten minutes."

"<Sorry about that.>" Rachel's voice then emerged in Kaede's mind. "<Her Highness is quite generous to the girls so they're very keen with her. I'm afraid they find your master's actions offensive to the Princess' honor.>"

Clearly, the Head Maid was a mage. ''Or more precisely a yeoman,'' Kaede guessed.

She reached over to her right forearm and pressed the first spell-storing rune. Her hand waved briefly at Rachel as the ''Telepathy'' spell activated.

"<nowiki><I</nowiki> completely understand,>" Kaede replied, much to Rachel's astonishment as the old woman's eyes went wide. "<But please remember that His Grace was the one who summoned me as a familiar. I had no choice in the matter. Plus Her Highness already gave him a piece of her mind.>"

"<nowiki><I'm</nowiki> glad to hear that.>" Rachel showed a satisfied smile. Clearly she agreed with the maids insofar as the Princess' honor was concerned. "<Unfortunately though, I don't think these maids understand how such magic works, nor do they care to listen. It may not be fair, but I'm afraid you'll have to bear your master's sins in this regard.>"

Kaede exhaled a quiet sigh. ''What else is new?''

"<When you finish, feel free to peruse the library.> Rachel then added. "<I'm sure His Majesty wouldn't mind, as he encourages us -- at least, those of us who can read -- to use it as well. I'll collect you after His Majesty's dinner is finished and show you to your quarters.>"

...

"I realized you were bookish, but I didn't think you'd be this keen."

Kaede heard Rachel's amazement as she balanced the four heavy tomes in her thin arms. Her breathing was laden with exertion as she climbed up yet another rotation of the stone, circular stairway. She had already counted four stories from the second floor library. It was clear by now that Kaede's new quarters were just beneath the keep's roof.

''If I knew I'd have to climb this much I wouldn't have taken so many!'' She thought. She had forgotten to bring her extra-dimensional messenger bag from the academy. It didn't help now that she couldn't see her own footing on the steep staircase, which made her take even longer than usual to climb.

Unfortunately for her, Rachel also wasn't interested in helping like Pascal did back at the academy. Kaede couldn't blame the woman either. Stairs were treacherous and the head maid was already of elderly age.

''Finally!'' Kaede's mind cried out in joy as they reached the last landing. Rachel opened the heavy door for her as they walked into the hallway for the servants' bedrooms.

"This hallway is for the maids only. Men are not allowed up here, and that includes your master." The head maid explained the rules. "I will be turning the hall's lights off by eleven, though you may use a candle after that if needed. Breakfast is at six tomorrow morning. I suggest you get up early if you're interested in the leftovers from the privy council's dinner -- the boys have voracious appetites and will devour the remnants faster than carrion. You may plan tomorrow's day as you like otherwise."

Clearly, Princess Sylviane was intent on treating Kaede like any other servant. However, Rachel also didn't know what to do with her since she wasn't a palace maid. This unfortunately left Kaede in limbo, where she would have to live with the other servants, yet couldn't find acceptance among them through working together.

''This sucks.'' Kaede complained to herself, just before Rachel opened the door to her assigned bedroom.

"I thought it would be best to give you your own bedroom, instead of sharing with one of the other maids. Unfortunately this room hasn't been used in a long time, and we've had no time today to give it a cleaning."

The room was simple enough: two single beds, two small dressers, two chairs, and one desk by the window. However the stifling air supported Rachel's words that this room had laid empty for far too long. The furniture and windowsill even collected a layer of visible dust. The beds also lay buried under boxes and various assorted items as the place had been used as a storage room.

"Not a problem. I can clean it up. Thank you." Kaede said as she laid the books down on the desk's only empty corner.

She had forced a smile to her lips. However it was difficult to sound enthusiastic when she felt so disappointed inside.

''What did I expect? That the Princess would let me use one of her guest rooms?'' Kaede tried not to scowl, as Sylviane's message in these arrangements was not lost on her. ''She clearly wants me to know my place -- that I'm just a servant.''

"Her Highness also found you a more ''appropriate'' outfit." Rachel stressed the word as though she didn't agree at all. She gestured towards a frilly dress that had been laid out on the bed's only available surface. "One of the maids can help you with any adjustments you need to it tomorrow. Though I expect you'll find it a perfect fit. You do have the exact same height and build as Lady Vivienne whom this dress was originally made for."

''So 'Vivi' really is Vivienne,'' Kaede thought. It was ''almost'' enough to confirm her hypothesis: that the girl whom Sylviane treated as a dress-up doll was none other than Rhin-Lotharingie's youngest Paladin.

"Thank you. I appreciate it." The Samaran girl tried to sound like she meant it, but she doubted that Rachel was fooled.

"I believe that is all." The Head Maid concluded. "I've told the other maids not to bother you, so you shouldn't be disturbed as long as you're in here. You may need one of us to help in getting dressed tomorrow though. I live just down the hallway, first room from the entrance to the right. Knock if you have any further needs."

"Thank you." Kaede nodded. "And have a good night."

"Good night Miss Kaede." Rachel smiled warmly before she exited the door and closed it behind her.

Kaede's forced smile vanished instantly as she collapsed onto the bed where her new outfit had been placed. She sighed deeply as she exhaled all of the dejection she felt inside.

''Pascal... you idiot.'' She thought. ''Why'd you have to summon me into a girl's body?''

Everyone spoke of the Princess' kindness, except Kaede didn't feel an ounce of it thanks to Sylviane's apparent jealousy.

It took her a few minutes before she finally forced herself to stand. It took even longer for her to clear out her bed and move all the miscellaneous items to the spare. The room was still cluttered and messy but that couldn't be helped. She would have to air and dust the place tomorrow, but for tonight she would just have to manage.

Returning to sit upon her bed, Kaede lifted the one-piece dress that had been prepared for her. It was lavender with soft-pink accents, and had an extravagant amount of frills and laces which gave it a 'lolita' feel. Its tiered, ankle-length skirt alone contained over a half dozen layers with all its petticoats, including a crinoline. Meanwhile the frilled top was an off-shoulder design, held up by halter straps and translucent chiffon-lace that connected to a wide choker around the neck.

None of that though was intolerable. Instead, it was the built-in corset that filled Kaede with dread and made her groan.

''So the Princess can strangle me with it.'' The familiar girl mulled as she tugged at the laces.

With another sigh, Kaede decided there was nothing to do but sleep. She wasn't in the mood for much reading tonight. And she did want to wake up early tomorrow so there was still sumptuous food to be had.

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| Forward to [[Daybreak:Volume_2_Chapter_7|Chapter 7]]
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</noinclude>

Daybreak:Volume 2 Chapter 5

2022-02-27T19:35:08Z

Aorii:

===Chapter 5 - A Royal Eccentricity===

For weeks at the academy, Kaede had felt less like Pascal's servant and more like... something akin to a close friend. Pascal had never left her out of any conversation that she was present for, and he often solicited her thoughts on topics that she had knowledge of.

But today reminded Kaede once again that in the eyes of society and everyone else, she was still just a servant.

The war council was her first experience in being seen but not heard, as she spent the whole time standing still and silent. It was understandable though, as just like Cecylia -- who stood silent behind the ambassador through the whole meeting -- Kaede was far too inconsequential to speak out in a gathering of Empire-ranking bigwigs. Even Sylviane and Pascal barely had any opportunity. The two of them only sat at the same table due to their position as heirs. Meanwhile the other attendees were either lifelong career officials or seasoned political leaders with an established power base.

However, Kaede did not extend the same understanding to her exclusion from Pascal's meeting with Sylviane and Emperor Geoffroi. She might have promised Pascal on the roof last night that she would always be family to him. Yet a real family member would not have been kept outside the doors like she was now...

A real family member would be sitting inside in their private meeting, not left waiting outside with a mere bodyguard.

''Maybe that's not entirely fair,'' the familiar girl thought.

Kaede glanced at the female armiger who stood on the other side of the closed doors. The young lady appeared somewhere in her early twenties, which for a mage meant anywhere between actually twenty to half a century old. She was a hint taller than average, with chestnut-brown hair that barely draped over her narrow shoulders. Her eyes were a cloudy gray, and while her face held the ideal 'almond' shape, her wide nose and freckled cheeks were just proportional enough to not be homely.

She also wore heavy half-plate armor, although Kaede had never heard it clink. She carried a steel heater shield on her back, while the weapon that hung from her crossed double-belt was a heavy mace. This imposing wardrobe made it clear that she was ready for action at any moment. Though thankfully her vigilant gaze stayed on the empty hallway rather than looking at Kaede with suspicion.

Sylviane had addressed her affectionately as 'Mari', so it was clear that she was very close to the Princess. Kaede knew that royal bodyguards also routinely served as confidants, and Mari was likely no exception.

"So... what's the Princess like?" Kaede finally worked up the courage to ask.

It felt rather uncomfortable just standing there with a fully-armored lady in silence.

"You'll find out in a moment." Mari replied simply.

''That is so extremely not helpful,'' Kaede's face fell.

Though before she could file any more silent complaints, Mari looked at her and added:

"Word of advice though: I would tread carefully if I were you. His Grace may be quite laid back when it comes to noble courtesy, but Her Highness is a stickler to etiquette. You didn't exactly start on the right foot by virtue of being his familiar."

''The Princess is the jealous type then.'' Kaede swallowed as she muttered "thank you". Mari's sympathetic warning was definitely precious insider knowledge of Sylviane's character.

Then, as if on cue, the doors to the private chamber opened.

"I'll let you two work out your problems," Emperor Geoffroi's deep yet affectionate voice came. "Don't forget the meeting this afternoon Sylv."

"I won't, Father."

The brawny Emperor then stepped out from the room. He paused briefly and examined Kaede with a stern gaze, which made the familiar girl feel like she had just been brain-scanned by a MRI machine.

The Emperor's mustache then curled upwards as he offered a fatherly smile.

"Kaede, is it?"

"Y-yes, Your Majesty," Kaede hurriedly replied with a curtsy. She almost stumbled in her anxiety.

Geoffroi chuckled, which did wonders to calm Kaede's nerves in her first time greeting an ''Emperor''.

"Don't worry. I'm used to Pascal's outlandish ideas in 'proper behavior'. There is no need to fear me, so long as you treat my daughter with the appropriate respect that she deserves and do not seek to undermine their relationship."

Kaede did not miss the conditionality of his statement which also made it a warning.

"Of course, Your Majesty." She nodded firmly.

"Sylv told me that you're from another world, but you're nevertheless a Samaran in ours." Geoffroi added with curiosity in his gaze. "Would you like to meet the ambassador from the Grand Republic of Samara? He is in charge of all Samaran relations in Rhin-Lotharingie. I believe he is still away on business, but we can certainly have arrangements made."

Kaede's eyes lit up. Considering the problems that Samarans faced outside the Grand Republic, the ambassador would certainly be a man who could offer advice and protection to her kind. The only issue was, of course, the fact that she wasn't ''actually'' from the Grand Republic.

"Y-yes! Thank you very much, Your Majesty!" She bowed this time.

The Emperor simply nodded with a mild smile before he strode off. He met his own bodyguards further down the hallway before turning and vanishing from sight.

"Mari, you can bring her in now." Kaede heard the Princess' voice from inside.

The knight-in-waiting nodded to Kaede, as though reminding the familiar girl of what she had just said. She then followed just behind Kaede into the room, and closed the door gently almost as soon as the smaller girl stepped past the threshold.

Kaede swallowed again as she walked into the middle of the room under the Princess' unimpressed gaze. Sylviane sat regally upon a plush armchair. Even Pascal looked a hint nervous as he sat on another armchair to her side. It certainly did not help Kaede's nerves to see even her master tense, as he was normally so unflappable if not downright insolent towards figures of authority.

The young girl carefully lowered herself in the most sincere curtsy she had given yet.

A silent moment of eye contact soon followed. Yet as uncomfortable as the air grew, Kaede did not shy away from Sylviane's steady gaze. In a situation where she had nothing to be guilty about, weakness would only mislead the other's judgment to worse ends. All she could do was wait patiently for her turn to speak: a courtesy appropriate for differences in social rank, as Pascal reminded her this morning.

''She isn't just some noble from the academy either.'' Kaede reminded herself as she tried not to fidget in her small heels. ''She's Pascal's dear fiancée, someone I MUST try to stay cordial with...''

After what seemed an eternity, Sylviane finally bestowed upon Kaede the grace of a gentle smile. Her hands, which were clad in long, periwinkle gloves, left the armchair's sides and folded on top of her lap. Her violet, mid-calf skirt had clearly been smoothed out after she sat, as it did not show even a single wrinkle over her legs.

Her actions were straight and simple, yet they exemplified the Princess' behavior. Sylviane's movements held neither natural grace nor crudeness. However they were all taken with a delicate touch, as though she concentrated upon her image with every step.

"Don't worry," the Princess spoke at last. "I won't bite even if you are his kept woman."

Kaede's attempt to smile back was wry at best:

"I'm not. I'm his familiar."

"Which... is far worse, if you'll pardon the expression," Sylviane replied in calm words. "I realize that it's no fault of your own, and I ''am'' grateful that you saved his life. I gathered from his report that you were quite central to the bait-and-trap scheme. But..."

The Princess closed her eyes and sighed, almost in exasperation, before reestablishing contact.

"Courtesans I can deal with. It is simply a matter of fact that few men of greatness and ambition are ever completely faithful to only one woman. Even my father, as family-oriented as Gaetane traditions go, had a second lover when he was younger. He's not proud of it, and while I don't understand what drives men to unfaithfulness, the simple fact is that powerful men often do: it's a cardinal sin of their kind." Sylviane answered with a glance towards Pascal, who oddly kept his silence even though his frowning gaze clearly wanted to retort.

Kaede returned a bare nod. It hardly took a historian to know just how common affairs were among the nobility and the modern political elite. Media-aware scandals represented merely a tiny tip of the iceberg. Female activists might debate biologists on the role of genetics, but as a scholar the evidence to Kaede was overwhelming.

Far more interesting was Sylviane's willingness to share this history with her, since royalty did not normally air their dirty laundry to outsiders.

"But such 'concubines' are also temporary, or at the very least, informal," Sylviane continued as her voice gradually hardened to almost a lecture. "I am willing to tolerate Pascal having one as long as he continues to hold ''me'' in the highest regard and is discrete about his affair -- which means keeping her tucked away, in some remote residence, unseen and unheard."

''In other words, keep the dirty tramp out of my sight,'' Kaede thought. It was somewhat bitter too, as she was the harlot of this conversation, even if the princess avoided saying so.

Sylviane then grew solemn:

"Unfortunately, you are none of those."

"I'm also not intimate with him, whereas a concubine would be." Kaede held her ground, though even her stiffened voice remained wispy.

She then blanched a little when Sylviane's eyebrows shifted up just a hair to betray her revelation...

''Seriously! Why do all nobles, even the sensible ones, always jump that conclusion!?''

Of all the changes brought by Kaede's gender switch, the social view that kept seeing her as some sexual object was easily the most irritating. It was as though her femininity came before her identity as a ''person'', and she would rather suffer her menstrual period again than deal with this every time.

Though ultimately, it hardly even mattered to Sylviane:

"Yes, but you ''are'' a girl officially attached to him. Furthermore, your bond is even more permanent than the sanctity of marriage, as not even the Pope can divorce you. As a mage's familiar, it is part of your ''function'' to be present and active," Sylviane stated. "This you have already proven through foiling the assassination plot against Pascal."

"In other words," Kaede moodily interjected, "you would have the same problem with a sister, if Pascal had one."

She heard a groan from Pascal. Only then did Kaede realize that she just completely tore up his request of "''speak only when you are asked.''".

"Apologies, Your Highness." She hurriedly added, finally breaking eye contact to glance down. "That was inappropriate of me."

The air grew silent once more. The atmosphere became almost oppressive.

Kaede also couldn't help wonder what the penalties for disrespecting royalty were. As a crown princess, Sylviane would inherit far more dungeons than Pascal ever could. They might even come with their own secret police department, with medieval sensibilities capable of making Stalin's gulags seem like a beach resort by comparison.

But as she snuck a glance back up, all of her imagined pressure evaporated at once.

Sylviane was still staring at her, but now with an odd, almost bittersweet smile before she broke out in a chuckle. The Princess then turned towards her betrothed:

"I can see why you like her." She followed with a sigh.

"I told you she was fun to talk with." Pascal grinned as he finally confirmed that his betrothed hadn't put a silencing spell on him.

"I think your idea of 'fun' is different from most people's." Sylviane's voice was somewhere between amusement and exasperation.

"On that note, please stop grouping me with other men." Pascal remained unabashed. "Last I checked, it was you who encouraged me to court other girls at the academy to 'broaden my experiences'. I have never initiated a relationship with another girl without your approval."

''He's clearly henpecked,'' Kaede thought. It was apparent now that Sylviane had asked him to hold his tongue, so that the Princess could assess Kaede for herself.

''Does that mean I passed?'' The familiar couldn't help wonder.

In the meantime Sylviane countered flatly:

"Except this one."

"Yes, well, I did not think a familiar would apply." Pascal at least had the courtesy to look sheepish. "In my defense, I just wanted a companion."

"Should have tried the other gender." The Princess tossed back as her eyes gave Kaede another up-and-down sweep. They weren't exactly grumpy or unhappy, more like... conflicted.

"I do not think the Church would approve," Pascal grumbled into the air.

Sylviane's gaze immediately froze. Then, as her eyes widened and her cheeks flushed, she spun around to cast an outraged glare at Pascal:

"You know what I meant! And they don't approve of this any more than the other!"

Kaede wondered if religious conservatism actually turned girls off from fantasizing forbidden romance like Japanese schoolgirls often did, or if Sylviane only rejected it because the prospect of her ''fiancée'' being gay was... extremely not cool.

''And here I was worried about being seen as a guy, by a girl, as paired with another guy, when I'm now a girl, but was a guy...'' her thoughts looped about.

''This is so surreal.''

"I honestly believed you would like her," Pascal mumbled out again, paying triple to the concept that anything a man could say in such a situation only made it worse. "I mean... you can tell by the looks alone."

Sylviane's gaze upon Kaede was conflicted again. There was even a look of familiarity in her eyes, as though Kaede reminded her of someone. Nevertheless, she turned away to her betrothed and asked pointedly:

"And how far down did that rank in your original motivations for summoning a cute girl as your familiar?"

Kaede blinked a few times. Wives simply did not refer to mistresses as 'cute'. Perhaps that meant she was now past the first hurdle of being seen as a direct threat?

"Does that mean you do like her?" Pascal asked with rising hopes.

"SHE is not the problem. YOU are!" Sylviane declared as she jabbed her index finger his way. "A familiar does not choose the summoner, but I have no doubt that you ''did'' specify the result, ''Runelord!''"

"I cannot deny that one," the lord himself admitted. "She even gave me the fisticuffs for pulling her out of her life in another world. Left me sore for days."

Sylviane spun towards Kaede with an incredulous look:

"Is that true?"

Kaede hesitantly nodded. "Sorry. It was the morning after he summoned me, and my emotions had gotten the better part of me."

"Oh you don't need to apologize." The Princess giggled with amusement. "I'd been tempted to give him a good slap ever since he told me. It's nice to know that you've already done the deed, even if it's not quite as satisfying."

The Princess then grinned at Pascal's rolling eyes before her gaze returned to Kaede and hardened into a stare:

"However in the future, I ''will'' have you arrested if you assault my future husband, is that understood?"

"Crystal." Kaede rushed to nod. It was clear that Sylviane wished to reserve the privilege of dealing with Pascal for herself.

Satisfied with her answer, the Princess' expression softened.

"Did you really come from another world?" She then asked in curiosity.

"Yes, Your Highness. A far more technological realm that's sent men to the moon, but with no magic at all," Kaede clarified. "I would say more socially advanced as well, but discussions with Cecylia proved that may just be bias from my perspective."

"How could one travel to celestial bodies without magic...?"

Kaede's eyebrows shot up instantly. ''Did that mean mages figured out space travel?''

Nevertheless the Princess puzzled for merely a brief second, before her eyes soon refocused upon Kaede. Sylviane would not be side-tracked easily, a sign of mental discipline as expected from someone whom Pascal deeply respects.

"Never mind. It's good that you've talked to Cecylia at length. She's an excellent judge of character and one whom I trust very much."

With a preoccupied frown, Kaede halted her other thoughts as she realized that Sylviane and Cecylia didn't just know one another; they were on excellent terms. Since they were both Pascal's childhood friends, it was likely they met way back then and kept in touch. Plus Cecylia was a trained intelligence analyst, thus the Princess had the best eyes and ears for monitoring Pascal back when he was at the Königsfeld Academy. Though this might be a little more awkward today, considering that Cecylia was a spy for another country, alliance notwithstanding.

A brief shiver went through Kaede as she remembered her near-paralysis when those scarlet-crossed dhampir eyes came up close and personal...

''Not sure if I want a reference like that.''

"I do admit, Kaede, that your intrusion into our relationship may be similar to that of a sister." Sylviane noted back to their prior conversation before Pascal spoke. "Except that men don't summon sisters, however much some of them may want to."

Kaede nodded back. After her recent years in Japan, she became very familiar with that concept. It was one that she found more amusing than anything else, since she actually grew up with an older sister.

"There is also a natural limit between siblings, however close they might become," the Princess continued. "That limitation does not exist when you do not share any blood relations with him."

''Incest is a near-universal taboo, after all,'' Kaede nodded as she understood. Sure, there were a few cultures in history which saw a siblings' union as 'sacred'. However, it was clear that the Trinitian Church teachings which spread through Western Hyperion did not harbor such views.

Then, Sylviane spoke with a stern face fitting of a tigress marking her own grounds:

"Could you promise me that you will not develop romantic relations with my husband-to-be then?"

"Of course!" Kaede rushed to answer. ''It's not like I've ever felt attraction towards a man before!''

Yet even as she said that, she felt something uneasy deep within: was this really something she could promise? When she could be spending untold years in this body?

However Kaede completely ignored it as she went on:

"In fact, Your Highness, there is something you should know about me. I don't know if Pascal told you, but..."

"She is a ''boy'', or was." Pascal interjected as he stole her thunder. "I ''really'' was not looking for anything of romantic or sensual interest, honestly!"

After freezing for a brief moment, Sylviane locked her gaze upon Kaede once more and leaned forward in her seat. Her waist-long, dark-purple hair fluttered about in voluminous tresses as she stared straight at the familiar with shock-enlarged eyes.

Kaede felt like an exotic animal being scrutinized over. Even the armiger Mari was now gawking at her from the door, all pretense of disinterest abandoned.

The rapidly growing curiosity, perhaps even fascination, in the Princess' eyes did not help. Within moments, Sylviane stood up and closed the distance between them. She reached out to Kaede's cheeks and shoulders, gently feeling them through silken gloves as though confirming the reality of what she saw. Her hands then trailed down, brushed past the familiar's small chest before settling on a firm hold at the narrow waist.

"I would ''never'' have guessed..." Sylviane spoke through an almost trance-like voice, before stepping to Kaede's side and gliding one hand gently through the snowy-white long hair. "It's like you were meant to be a girl. How does it feel?"

"Uh... smaller?"

Kaede honestly wasn't sure what kind response the Princess sought from her. After adapting to countless changes over the past few weeks, her entire experience was simply too overwhelming to describe by words alone.

"I guess I'm starting to get used to everything." Kaede shrugged as she glanced down in dejection. "Not that I have another choice: even Pascal has no idea how to fix this."

"I guess it must have been a shock, suddenly finding yourself like this."

Kaede nodded back as images of that fateful first night flashed through her mind:

"Waking up in some stranger's bed and finding myself stripped and dressed in 'bridal lingerie' was... not exactly pleasant."

"<Did you have to...>"

Pascal's mental voice cut off as his fiancée slowly rotated back towards him. His entire body stiffened as her petrifying glare laid him against the chopping block.

"<Well, it's true,>" Kaede commented, relieved to have the Princess' examining eyes off her again. "<Besides, payback is fair.>"

"Uh, I would like to point out that you have done that too," Pascal stated. "Well, the lingerie, at least. Your collection for Vivi is just ''obsessive''..."

"It's not even two dozen--" Sylviane let slip before she loudly retorted: "I do NOT have an obsession!"

Pascal didn't say a word after being interrupted. He simply stared at his future wife with a knowing look, arched eyebrows included. Somehow he had reversed the situation in an instant, and it was now Sylviane who sported a light blush while trying to recover her momentum:

"A-anyways, I'm a girl. I'm allowed to play with dolls."

Kaede shivered as she felt a chill sweep across her from Sylviane's words. Pascal's mention of 'Vivi' also left her curious if Sylviane kept some ornate, life-sized doll.

"You're a ''man'', aren't you?" The Princess's voice grew adamant. "What are you doing in my domain?"

"So it is acceptable for ladies to take sword-and-shield but we are not allowed to enjoy cuteness!?" Her betrothed immediately cried unfair. "What kind of gendered hypocrisy is this!"

"The practical kind, since by the grace of magic we can fight just as well as you do." Sylviane countered. "In case you forgot, the last five times you dueled me..."

"I have not forgotten a thing and you can stop rubbing salt in every chance you get," Pascal cut her off with a torrent of words, his drawling arrogance completely abandoned by this point. "Can we get back on topic please?"

''He must be really desperate if he'd rather talk about...''

"Sure, let us revisit how you summoned a girl, took advantage of her helplessness, stripped her bare naked, and had your way with her, when you're already engaged..."

Sylviane leaned forward over him, forcing herself deep into his personal space to continue her offensive without giving him a moment of respite. Even Pascal's steadfast determination to hold his ground soon began to buckle under the relentless verbal assault:

"I have a portable projector if you would like to show us your memories. I'm sure your eagerness of the moment will be perfectly noted by your ravishing hands as they anxiously stroked every length of that porcelain skin, carefully examining a girl's most intimate parts. Or when..."

Kaede felt her cheeks ignite as Sylviane's exaggerated descriptions began conjuring vivid, uncensored images in her mind. Before she knew it, her thin arms had wrapped themselves around herself in a tight, protective embrace while her glare fixed itself on Pascal.

She felt dirty from just the visualization. Worse yet, Pascal could have done exactly ''that'' and she wouldn't even know...

With his back arced away from his fiancée, Pascal was also blushing a fiery red. He soon threw up both hands in defeat:

"I surrender! Unconditionally! Just state your demands already! And please stop making me sound like such an irredeemably lecherous pervert!"

Sylviane finally returned to standing upright. Even her cheeks were flushed with embarrassment, although her shortness of breath was mostly due to the machine-gun fire of accusations.

"Well... you did say that you honestly thought I would like her, right?"

After taking a few steps back and pivoting towards her fiancée's familiar, Sylviane sent Kaede a warm smile: the delight of a victor as she admired her prize.

''I have a bad feeling about this...''

"I will allow you to accompany him wherever he goes. But in exchange, I want you to obey my authority in all matters at home." Sylviane dictated her terms and conditions. "That means if I want to borrow you this afternoon, or request that you keep your distance from him for a week, you will do so. I will also tell you where to sleep. I reserve the right to determine what you can or cannot wear. And I may demand changes in your etiquette or behavior."

Sylviane then rotated back to Pascal:

"And you will not object or interfere in any way. Is that acceptable?"

''She's a natural dictator,'' Kaede thought. Still, a part of her did have to admit: ''this is quite mature for her age.''

It was an old trick in the book, especially in cultures that once practiced polygamy. When a husband of authority grew interested in another female, a shrewd wife would often seek to establish dominance over the new girl, and therefore control any budding relationship. Although there was usually far more subtlety and less... tyranny.

Furthermore, none of the authorities Sylviane demanded was unusual when Kaede thought about old aristocratic sensibilities. A lady of the house easily held all of that, and more, over her maid servants. It was simply part of how noble households used to be run, even back on Earth a century or two ago.

''I just need to play along for now until I can get on her good side first, then maybe we can renegotiate.'' Kaede thought of the warning that Pascal gave before setting out.

Meanwhile, Pascal's first response was a deep frown.

"I do have obligations to take care of her after summoning her into our world."

"And I'm not unreasonable," Sylviane replied. Then, almost jokingly: "besides, if I were mean enough to desire harm upon her, I hardly require your permission to manage it."

''Of course. She has plenty of guards and agents at her beckon...''

Kaede sighed. Sylviane wasn't exactly subtle in reminding her of their difference in rank. It felt as though they were negotiating a transfer of her 'ownership'. This might be common to their 'medieval' sensibilities, but it certainly wasn't in the modern age that Kaede grew up in.

"Fine," Pascal begrudgingly agreed. "But I retain my right to intervene in the interests of her well-being." His voice then grew unyielding: "I ''will not'' relinquish my obligations to her, on any grounds."

"Wouldn't have it any other way," Sylviane replied with a genuinely sweet smile. "You being responsible in personal relationships is a rare and good thing."

Her royal gaze then bore down upon Kaede in expectation of a response. Though there was a hint of light within them that was already admiring a newly-acquired possession.

"Of course..." Kaede answered. Not that she had any other realistic choice but to play along for now. Then, as nonchalantly as she could: "should I address Your Highness any differently then?"

She honestly wasn't sure this time. Historical events were one thing, but details like the evolving etiquette of different time periods confused her, even if Hyperion followed similar trends to Earth.

Sylviane went back to staring at Pascal again, her eyebrows raised halfway between surprise and curiosity:

"What weird things are you making the poor girl call...?"

"NOTHING-!!!" His near-shout came on instinct before she even finished. "She just calls me Pascal!"

The Princess' grin was still humored as her sight returned to Kaede.

"'Your Highness' is still the formal way to address me. But among us and my other servants? 'Milady' will suffice adequately."

"Yes Milady," Kaede answered as she gave a slow curtsy, seeking as much elegance as she could manage. "I'm in your care."

"Don't worry, I'm a far more reasonable person than Sir ''Runelord'' here," Sylviane beamed with reassurance. "I'm certain we shall come to know each other real well. However, I will hold you to the promise you made me earlier."

That ill sense of unease in Kaede's chest only grew worse as she nodded back.

...

Kaede wasn't sure how the situation had evolved so quickly...

Before the hour was up, she was already sitting next to the Princess on a rich velvet couch, with the unusual pleasure of having her hair brushed by royal hands.

...Except that she was stiff as a board and too nervous to enjoy it.

Meanwhile, Pascal remained in a large and comfortable armchair right across from them. He watched his fiancée with a peaceful smile. Though his turquoise gaze seemed distant and preoccupied under the soft, golden curls.

"<Relax. This is normal for her.>" He had told Kaede some minutes ago. But that was far easier said than done given how out of place she felt.

Sylviane's hairbrush then vanished into an extra-dimensional pocket somewhere near her waist. With both hands on Kaede's thin shoulders, she adjusted the smaller girl's position before leaning over.

Kaede felt the pressure build on her back. The Princess' arms were soon draped over both shoulders, while soft cheeks nuzzled against the silky, straight hair behind her head.

"I take it the past month was quite stressful." Pascal finally broke the silence.

The weight atop Kaede's head increased as it was turned into a royal headrest. She rather doubted that the slim-waisted Princess was heavy, but her own body was smaller and hardly built for strength.

''Apparently I'm a large teddy bear,'' Kaede thought.

Still, being treated like an oversized ornament wasn't that bad of price if it meant earning the Princess' trust over time. The real question that troubled Kaede was: ''where does this go?''

"Edith took Vivi south with her, so I haven't even had any chances to relax like this in the past few weeks," Sylviane complained as she crossed her hands over Kaede's chest. Meanwhile she continued to rub her cheeks against Kaede's silky hair. "And you weren't around to help either."

For the first time, it dawned upon Kaede that 'Vivi' might actually be a person, another girl whom the Princess treated as a cuddle-toy like her. However if she remembered correctly from the meeting, 'Edith' was the name of one of the front line commanders...

''Wait, are they talking about Vivienne? The Paladin-Bard Pascal mentioned on the way here?''

Kaede could not fathom why one of Rhin-Lotharingie's most notable individuals would allow themselves to be treated like... well, a stuffed animal.

In the meantime, the familiar could almost feel Sylviane's pout press into the top of her head. Compared to the poised and careful princess, this was Sylviane's true, relaxed form.

"I kept calling though," Pascal kept his voice neutral as he defended himself. "You never accepted the ''Farspeak''..."

"Like I said, you weren't helping," Sylviane interjected before going back to brushing her cheeks against silky soft hair.

Pascal took his own turn for a long sigh, as though in acceptance that he couldn't win against royal unfairness.

"Alright. Fine. What did I miss helping with? Last we talked, you spoke of tensions down south, but were more preoccupied with the unrest up north."

"We knew that tensions were brewing in the south, thanks to all the lies that the Imperator spread about our treatment of Tauheed worshippers. Though we had no idea how ''overwhelming'' the Caliph's readied forces were." Sylviane spoke as she continued to use Kaede as a headrest. "Nevertheless, Father told me to help King Alistair resolve his domestic issues as quickly as possible, since the north has always provided Rhin-Lotharingie with its best soldiers during times of war. Unfortunately, the 'Ducal Alliance' under that agitator Fitzgerald was on the brink of open revolt. They demanded King Alistair sign their 'Charter of Liberties' to undermine his authority -- no taxation without the lords' approval, no revocation of aristocratic property, no punishment without consent by a court of peers..."

"It is a load of horse manure, just like I had told you then." Pascal scoffed. "Their claim of 'liberty' is laughable at best. It is nothing more than a brazen grab for more privileges! With a 'court of peers', all they have to do is to win a popularity contest and now they can walk free from even the worst criminal offenses! It makes a mockery of the law, as cases should be judged by those who have spent their lives studying legality. Verdict should ''never'' be passed by some random gaggle of lords whose only qualification is their birth, who could be bribed, emotionally manipulated, or simply given promises to sway their opinion!"

Pascal's fuming voice made it clear that he found the demands downright offensive. It wasn't even a surprise for Kaede. Pascal had always been someone who believed that responsibility and power should be given based on professional merit.

Meanwhile, Sylviane sighed with a wry, little smile, as though she expected this from him as well. She leaned away from Kaede and began to brush the familiar's snowy hair once more.

"I know you felt strongly about the 'Trial by Jury' part. And the taxation point is just..."

"Blatant exceptionalism?" Pascal's scowl grew. "No one likes paying taxes. Yet without taxes, how shall the state grow? Weichsel certainly did not develop its roads, canals, hospitals, its fortresses using only the King's personal funds. Rhin-Lotharingie is vast and sorely lacking in infrastructure to tap its abundant resources. Yet every time the Emperor tries to secure coin for projects, the collective dukes whine and pretend poverty, as though the wealth they took from their own lands had suddenly vanished!"

Kaede was still trying to grasp the whole picture of their conversation. But this 'charter' felt oddly familiar despite the fact she only just heard of it. However it was clear from the exchange and all their past conversations: Pascal was a firm supporter of crown authority over what he considered the 'petty and selfish nobility'.

"Pascal you're a monarchist then?" Kaede inquired.

"He's an absolutist." Sylviane chuckled in reply. "Though Pascal does have extremely high expectations for rulers. I wonder if I can even meet them when I become Empress?"

"You will do fine." Pascal said simply.

Kaede couldn't see Sylviane's expression, but there was something in the Princess' humored voice which sounded genuinely worried.

"Either way, you know I agree with you on the point about taxation," Sylviane frowned. "However, I don't think all their demands are unreasonable. What about the guaranteeing of private property, noble or otherwise? I believe Weichsel has such a law?"

"Of course! Otherwise there would be robber barons who try to seize merchant wares under false pretenses!" Pascal answered. "Even Kaede here understands the logic behind it."

He then paused and looked expectantly at Kaede, as though asking her to fill in the rest.

''Does he want me to show off before the Princess?''

"Uhhh... because the guaranteeing of private property is essential for boosting commerce, especially trade." Kaede answered. "For a merchant, any risk to their wares spells an increase in prices and thus lowers both supply and demand. However if such risk can be mitigated or eliminated, then the flow of goods will increase while making it cheaper for people to receive what they need. This can have a snowball effect, as cheaper materials and tools will improve local productivity and wealth, which in turn brings in more trade."

Pascal's smile showed that she scored full marks. Meanwhile Sylviane stroked her hair as though the Princess saw her as an even more deluxe toy.

"Adorable ''and'' smart. You ''are'' a treasure."

Kaede wasn't sure if this was a good outcome or not. She felt distinctly like she was being even more objectified.

"But this is why a property guarantee law is something that Rhin-Lotharingie could actually use," Sylviane added. "I'm less sure about the nobles' land rights, though we can discuss those details another time."

"You are more interested in this Charter than I expected. Just how exactly did you resolve the issue for King Alistair?"

Pascal's look wasn't just inquisitive. He also spoke the King's name with a smattering of disdain. He had tried to hide it, but Kaede could still tell.

''I wonder what happened between them?''

It felt like whenever they turned, there was someone else whom Pascal had a rocky relationship with. However if Princess Sylviane noticed, she said nothing about it as she went on to explain:

"Fitzgerald was already starting to gather his forces by the time I arrived. Alistair had hoped to try one last time to negotiate, though by that point he had already resigned to meet them in the open field. He had hoped to cut a path to the rebel commanders in battle and eliminate them before the fighting took too many lives."

"That King still thinks like a mercenary." Pascal shook his head with disapproval. "So did you negotiate with them?"

"No. I agreed with Alistair that Fitzgerald had grown too egotistical and wouldn't accept anything less than near-complete concessions. Alistair asked me to contact Duke Kenneth Randolph and persuade him to join the King's side. When I did, I found out that Kenneth had been invited to the other group also. Kenneth didn't really like Alistair and he did agree with some of the Charter's demands. Nevertheless, he refused to join the rebels as he had no wish to betray the crown -- even if Alistair was never legitimized as a bastard."

Kaede's eyebrows rose. She did remember reading that the Kingdom of Gleann Mòr had some kind of succession crisis less than a decade ago.

''But... an illegitimate King? No wonder why his nobles are trying to undermine him.''

"Of course Duke Kenneth does not wish to be remembered for treason. He is a descendent of Douglas the Black's second-in-command." Pascal raised the name of the Lotharin hero from the Independence War. "However Kenneth does have a formidable army and is an experienced veteran. I heard that even the elite 'Black Guard' looks up to him."

"Precisely."

Kaede could now hear the knife in Sylviane's humored tone as the Princess continued:

"Kenneth was too good for the Ducal Alliance to pass up, even if they were suspicious of him changing his mind. So I negotiated a compromise with him: I would take the Charter's seventeen points to my father and we'll give some of it due consideration on which ones would be good for the Empire. In exchange, he would join the Ducal Alliance under false allegiance, on the condition that he would be given command of the entire rebel army."

"And they agreed?" Pascal looked incredulous. "The moronic idiots!"

Even Kaede felt surprised, though for a completely different reason: ''Sylviane cannot be more than a year or two older than Pascal!''

Yet, the Princess clearly had a talent for devious schemes.

"Never underestimate the power of ambition and greed." Sylviane mused. "With that one stroke we defanged the rebel alliance. It wasn't hard for Kenneth to arrange an opportunity for me and Alistair to raid their camp and capture their leaders in one stroke, all without a single major battle. Alistair was quite merciful though, as he pardoned most of the minor lords. However Fitzgerald and the other top leaders had to be made an example of."

It was then when Kaede finally realized why the whole story sounded familiar. It reminded her of the circumstances behind the ''Magna Carta'' during the First Barons' War of England. Kaede had always found it ironic that Anglo-Saxon historiography paints the ''Magna Carta'' as some sort of great leap for democratic values. When in reality it was written by a cabal of treasonous barons who demanded exemptions and special treatment from their King.

''Just like the modern elite and their tax loopholes!'' She could almost hear her father's voice complain.

It was another one of those moments that gave Kaede a pang of homesickness.

"Is that the reason why you are so keen to talk about the Charter's details?" Pascal asked.

"Yes." Sylviane nodded. "I did promise Duke Kenneth to seriously consider its contents. It was a promise made in good faith and I intend to keep it."

''Devious to her foes, yet honest to her allies,'' Kaede reflected. ''She really does have great potential as a leader. If only I could find a way to earn her respect...''

The conversation was then interrupted as several taps came from the window.

Sylviane's bodyguard Mari, who had stood against the door with a look of complete disinterest for the past hour, swiftly crossed the floor without waiting for the Princess' word.

As she turned to the source, Kaede saw the entire window glass enshrouded by a light blue haze. The bird hovering just outside reminded her of a lean falcon, except with a magnificent, flowing tail decorated by tiny sapphire gems. It was covered in cerulean feathers that progressively grew lighter towards the wings and tail. Meanwhile its body emitted white-blue flames that sent ripples of heat through the surrounding air.

It was one of the twelve sacred phoenixes of Rhin-Lotharingie: the noblest of magical beasts.

But rather than staring in awe, Kaede tensed up further as the phoenix flew through the opened window and towards its master. The familial girl tried to shift away, except the Princess, who was still draped over her shoulders, pinned her firmly in place.

Kaede braced herself for the heat of scorching air so close to the flame source. Yet as the phoenix settled on Sylviane's shoulder, she felt only the envelopment of a soothing warmth. It was as though she lay just far enough away to enjoy a lit fireplace on this wintry day.

"Relax," Sylviane reassured. "Phoenixes are natural empaths. Hauteclaire's flames only burn those he detect hostility from."

"Was that a test then? Milady?" Kaede asked with relief, wondering how weird they must look to Pascal's amused eyes right now: bird standing regally on top of a Princess who lazied over his familiar girl.

"Not really. Although if I ''was'' wrong about you, you might start to sizzle a little right now. Be a shame though..."

There was a deadly nonchalance in her voice, and Kaede made a mental note that whatever else Princess Sylviane might be, she was not someone to be scorned. The phrase 'off with his head' came to her as naturally as placing an order for dinner.

Perhaps it was just another way for the Princess to warn 'you ''really'' do not want to become my enemy'.

Sylviane then patted down Kaede's hair twice before rubbing cheeks against them once more. "A little heat and they're even softer now," the Princess happily noted.

''Like a blanket fresh out of the dryer,'' Kaede thought as she looked towards Pascal for support, but he merely shrugged with amusement:

"<You do make a nice, soft pillow.>"

Only the phoenix Hauteclaire seemed to sympathize with his fellow familiar as he gave a low whistling chirp of solidarity.

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| Forward to [[Daybreak:Volume_2_Chapter_6|Chapter 6]]
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Daybreak:Volume 2 Chapter 4

2022-02-27T19:34:41Z

Aorii:

===Chapter 4 - Council of War===

As Pascal followed Sylviane into the Emperor's 'war room', he noticed the curious glances from those assembled around the oval table that dominated the spacious chamber. Most of them lingered on him for only a moment, though a few of them lasted longer as Kaede walked in behind him.

Even Emperor Geoffroi's sight drifted as he briefly eyed the Samaran girl.

A lady in her late middle-ages had just finished presenting the strategic situation using the illusory projection in the table's center. The conjured figment was a three-dimensional terrain map of Rhin-Lotharingie, complete with its mountains, rivers, roads, and settlements.

[[Image:Daybreak_on_Hyperion_Rhin_Lotharingie_Map.png|thumb|The Empire of Rhin-Lotharingie|right]]

"Do you think the second line fortresses near Pirenèus will hold?" The Emperor asked.

Broad-shouldered and tall, Geoffroi Jean de Gaetane had an imposing figure that towered over most others even as he sat. The Emperor was almost a century old, which for a mage meant he was approaching the end of his adult prime. His face was fairly wide, with plum-black hair and an intense blue-violet gaze that felt as though he saw straight through people. His prominent nose and thick mustache gave him an ever-stern expression, while his shaved cheeks held a thin stubble that he often rubbed in deep thought.

"The southwestern mountain passes will hold without doubt. The 'Trio' may cry a shortage of troops, but they have the advantage of terrain backed by formidable mountain fortresses. In such narrow lanes of advance limited by the steep South Lotharingie Mountains, the martial prowess of three Oriflammes will easily make up for our severe numeric disadvantage."

Standing next to the Emperor was Dame Cosette Louise Granger, whose thin figure and unassuming appearance contrasted greatly with that of her liege. Cosette was widely known as the lifelong mistress of the illustrious Duke Gaston, though she was neither a great beauty nor of aristocratic birth. The woman was just shy of old age and upheld a respectful elegance in her classy dress and calm image. However Pascal knew that behind her silver-gray hair and plain gray eyes lay one of the best minds of Rhin-Lotharingie.

It had taken considerable time for even an Emperor as wise as Geoffroi to realize that she was behind Gaston's string of victories in previous wars. Nevertheless Geoffroi acted swiftly when he found out a decade ago. He had promoted her to the position of 'Marshal of the Empire' which effectively made her the commander of the Rhin-Lotharingie military, outranking even her lover.

''Though in reality she has very limited authority,'' Pascal thought. ''Unlike Weichsel, the Empire's feudal nature resists centralized command.''

The young landgrave took a seat next to Sylviane, who sat across the oval table from her father. Her faithful maid and bodyguard Mari stood behind her left side, just as Kaede came to stand behind Pascal's right. They were not the only attendants either, as several figures he recognized stood behind the other nobles present. That didn't even include the four phoenixes perched near a ceiling corner who chirped quietly to one another.

"The two coastal regions, however, are a different story." Cosette pointed at the coasts of Avorica and Garona respectively with an extendible rod in hand. "The Inner Sea front is my main concern, and I plan to rejoin Gaston in Garona as soon as our meetings end. The Caliphate's forces there are undoubtedly the strongest of their three thrusts. With the support of Duke-Regent Raymond and his famous Hippo-Cuirassiers, I hope to blunt the Cataliyan advance along the banks of the River Ròse."

"And therefore you choose to ignore Avorica's plight?" Queen Katell de Penteur, of the Kingdom of Avorica, spoke in a cold voice.

Pascal was surprised that the beautiful young queen with golden-blonde hair and sapphire eyes came to Alis Avern in person. She was already in her second trimester of pregnancy, and it showed noticeably despite her narrow frame. House Penteur was also one of the Emperor's more vocal opponents in recent decades. Perhaps it was for that reason that Queen Katell braved the journey, to represent her homeland in person so that it might receive the military aid it needed.

"I have no intention of such." Cosette calmly defended her actions as she sat back down. "The Army of Avorica is led by Dame Edith-Estellise and the Knights Hospitaller. Knowing her, she will fight for every centipace of Avorican land, even if it's not necessarily wise to do so. Nevertheless, Edith ''is'' the champion of Rhin-Lotharingie and the best of the paladins in direct combat. She will make the Cataliyans bleed even if she is forced back along the Avorican coastline."

"But you admit that Edith will be forced back," Queen Katell stressed. "Surrender Avorican lands to the infidels?"

"That is inevitable unless the Army of Avorica can receive backup from the Kingdom of Ceredigion." Cosette frowned as she looked towards an empty seat, where the representative from Ceredigion was noticeably absent.

"Is that not the jurisdiction of Your Majesty's?" The Queen turned her glare upon the Emperor.

"It is. But you have made it difficult for me over the preceding decade." Emperor Geoffroi replied. "Ever since the War of Imperial Succession, or even before that, your alliance with King Elisedd of Ceredigion in opposition to my authority has undermined my influence in the Empire's western territories. I have sent for King Elisedd and called upon his forces. Yet, as you can see." Geoffroi gestured at the empty chair.

''You reap what you sow,'' Pascal thought as his lips twisted into a faint smirk. The young queen however did not miss this as she sent him a quick glare.

"And what of reinforcements from King Alistair?" She looked towards the King of the northern Kingdom of Gleann Mòr.

Alistair Aileas Mackay-Martel wasn't a handsome man by any means. He was youthful and tall, appearing in his late-twenties with a towering height and broad, muscular shoulders. However his head leaned on the squarish side, his eyes were faded blue, and his hair a dull brown. Apart from a rustic smile and a goatee-like fuzz, his face could easily blend in among the crowd.

The King raised his hands in an almost casual shrug:

"What can I tell you? Winter is setting in. The snow is locking my bannermen in their valleys and mountain holds even as we speak."

"Surely your troops can march through a little snow?"

"Have you never travelled up north?" The King's voice was casual yet mocking. "This isn't like a dusting upon the white sands of the Avorican coast. A pace or two of heavy snow and even the tallest man could barely walk, let alone roll wagon wheels. There is no 'marching' under such conditions. Even with the aid of the stone circles, we might, ''at best'', bring down a few hundred troops at a time."

"Then why have we still not seen any northern troops in Avorica?"

"Because I advised the King to send his men to Gervais, to the mountain garrisons that the 'Trio' must defend." Cosette answered. "Given the narrow width of marching routes in the mountains, quality trumps quantity. Therefore, if Gleann Mòr can only send men in the hundreds, it is ideal that they send their best highland troops which we may use to bolster the center front."

"You..." Queen Katell gritted her teeth. "You are ''deliberately'' choosing to sacrifice Avorican lands then!"

"Yes. Yes I am." Corsette admitted as she met the Queen's angry gaze with a plain but willful stare. "If the Cataliyans breach our mountain fortress in the center, then they only have to march downhill until they pour into the Lotharin heartlands. Meanwhile if Caliphate forces cross the River Ròse, they will lay siege to the Garona capital of Narbonnaise. Both of these two positions are too strategically vital to lose, and both of them are under immediate pressure from the invasion. Meanwhile, the Avorican capital of Roazhon is situated to the Kingdom's north, and we can afford to retreat across two duchies before it comes under threat."

Dame Cosette leaned back as she finished presenting her assessment. She neither smiled nor returned Queen Katell's cold glare. Her refusal to be provoked revealed an unflappable confidence in the superiority of her own rational judgment. However, this only further annoyed Queen Katell as the pregnant royal rose slowly from her seat.

Yet before the Queen could speak further, it was Geoffroi who remarked diplomatically to settle the issue:

"As Emperor, I shall continue to impress upon King Elisedd of Ceredigion that he has sworn an oath to defend all Lotharins within the Empire." He then turned towards the young queen: "however, it would be best if the influence of House Penteur could be applied as well."

"Of course I will press that perfidious King for reinforcements!" The Queen retorted. "But Avorica also needs support from the rest of Rhin-Lotharingie."

''<nowiki>'</nowiki>Perfidious' is you as well, who switch sides in the politics of the realm as easily as you change your hairpiece.'' Pascal commented dryly in his own mind.

Between Dame Cosette and Queen Katell, Pascal knew whom he would support in a heartbeat. The former was a born tactician in the art of defense, while the latter was a political opportunist who backstabbed others behind closed doors.

"Then I suggest we continue to hear the regional reports," the Emperor replied with a knowing look before turning away. "Duke Hugh? What is the readiness of the eastern territories?"

Duke Hugh de La Tours de Lorraine was the head of the powerful La Tours family that Perceval came from. Nevertheless, it did not please Pascal one bit to sit next to the grossly overweight man. The Duke had to rest on a special armchair as the seats provided for the others were insufficient to bear his girth. His bejeweled, fat fingers stroked the small, blonde beard he grew in an attempt to hide his quadruple chins.

Even before coming to Rhin-Lotharingie, Pascal has heard of his unflattering nickname: 'Duke Huge the Rotund'. Though if it had merely been a matter of weight, Pascal wouldn't feel as offended by his proximity. The problem was that behind his layers of blubber was a greedy, selfish, and aggravatingly shortsighted bird-brain.

"Your Majesty." The Duke began in a haughty, high-pitched voice. "The eastern duchies of Rhétie are in the process of mobilization. However I do not see it as prudent to send our forces southwest. My spies claim that the Holy Imperium's northern field army has swelled to a strength of twenty legions, including two of their elite Tagmata Legions. They now stand adjacent to our borders in the east, no doubt ready to reclaim lands lost in the last war should we show any sign of weakness."

"But the war in the south requires troops from the rest of the Empire, including your family's domains and those of your allies." Geoffroi demanded. "I should remind you that the same people who ask for your help now are those sent aid to your front during the last war."

The Emperor did not have to vocalize the implied threat: should the Duke renege on his duties, he might find himself similarly ignored the next time Rhin-Lotharingie clashed with the Holy Imperium.

"Yes, Your Majesty, I do understand. However, the eastern territories cannot afford to strip our defenses down to a minimum at this time."

"Do you have an alternative suggestion then, Duke Hugh?" The Emperor asked next.

"If Your Majesty can provide me with funding, I can raise no less than thirty thousand additional troops from the Rhétie duchies. The other dukes and I can reinforce this with a further ten thousand before dispatching them south."

''As if your coffers aren't bloated enough already,'' Pascal thought. It was an open secret that the La Tours main family often took bribes from sources within the Imperium.

The Emperor clearly shared Pascal's opinions as his deep voice rose with cold, simmering temper:

"Duke Hugh, the Empire's treasury is already taxed to its limit by the war's financial needs. Your family has a long history and deep pockets of its own. Do you not feel ''embarrassed'' to beg for coins from the Empire's coffers at a time like this? You are the descendent of Roland the Gallant, not a poor beggar on the street!"

"Yes. Yes, Your Majesty." The duke seemed to visibly cower beneath the Emperor's overbearing pressure.

"You will gather and dispatch the ten thousand men that you can spare immediately upon your return. And you, along with the other dukes, shall raise the additional forces using your own gold. You will send additional reinforcements in waves of five thousand each as soon as new men could be recruited to take their place. Is that understood, Duke Hugh?"

"Yes, perfectly. Your Majesty." The obese duke bowed his head. The rest of his body couldn't bend even if he tried.

The Emperor took a deep exhale before he turned to the last Lotharin figure at the table:

"Gabriel, what of the Belges territories?"

Duke Gabriel Gautier de Gaetane was Emperor Geoffroi's older brother. However appearances were deceiving and he seemed the younger with his lean and handsome image. He had the same plum-black hair and and blue-violet eyes as his brother the Emperor, except his face was more oval and his height was modest compared to his imposing liege. His well-kept appearance also looked to be in his best years, despite the fact he was now past his prime and the first century of his life.

"The dukes of the northeast are assembling an army of thirty thousand even as we speak," Gabriel answered with a dutiful smile. "They will begin the march south under my banner before the end of this week."

Emperor Geoffroi grinned as he exchanged nods with the Duke. "Thank you, brother. I knew I could count on you."

"We must all strive to make father in heaven proud," Gabriel replied with one hand against his chest in a display of sincerity and courtesy.

''They really are brothers who grew up together like Sylv said,'' Pascal thought with a smile. It was moments like these when he wished he wasn't an only child.

Geoffroi then turned towards Queen Katell:

"Once Marshal Cosette blunts the Caliphate's push in Garona -- and I have every confidence that she will succeed -- Gabriel's reinforcements will head to Avorica to stabilize the front. Together with Edith's army, they will drive back the invaders to reclaim any ''temporarily'' lost lands."

The queen of Avorica nodded back, satisfied at last by the promise of support.

"Last but not least, I would like to hear from our Weichsen allies." Geoffroi said next as he turned towards Ambassador Gerhard and Pascal. "Your Excellency? Your Grace?"

Ambassador Gerhard August von Gneisenau was a dashing man with a coffee-brown hair and jade-green eyes. He was broad shouldered and above average in height, but it was his youthful appearance despite his seniority which really stood out. Although he was a retired general over a century old, he still had the pink cheeks of a boyish young man in early adulthood. It didn't help that he kept neither a mustache nor a beard. Instead, his squarish face ended in a sharp, clean-shaven chin, and his charming smile seemed natural and came without effort.

Standing behind his right flank was Cecylia, whose scarlet-crossed gaze Pascal had already met several times, though neither of them spoke a word.

"Your Majesty," the ambassador stood up with a courteous bow. "Weichsel has begun mobilizing as soon as we heard of the invasion and our allies' plight. King Leopold is prepared to commit an army of no less than forty thousand to the defense of not only Rhin-Lotharingie, but that of our Trinitian realm. The expeditionary forces are gathering in the city of Nordkreuz even as we speak. We anticipate the first columns to begin marching out in one week's time."

''It cannot be that simple. Not after the Pope's excommunication and Father's death.'' Pascal frowned as the ambassador finished his statement. However, he did not wish to speak out against his King's official representative to the Rhin-Lotharingie court.

"That is also what I hear from back home," the young Landgrave concurred. He was being honest too, at least based on his information from two days ago.

However, given the events of the last two days, Pascal also knew that his knowledge was already obsolete.

A brief meeting of gazes with the Emperor revealed that Geoffroi noticed his doubts. Yet the Emperor replied with a broad grin as though he noticed nothing wrong:

"That is the ''best news'' I have heard all morning." Geoffroi stood up before walking over to Ambassador Gerhard. "Weichsel's troops have always been known for their quality. Their professionalism surpasses even that of the Imperium." The burly Emperor then clasped Gerhard's shoulders with a hearty laugh. "Please tell King Leopold that I owe a personal debt of gratitude for his quick response and his devotion to the allied cause."

"Of course, Your Majesty." Gerhard answered with a humble bow before he sat back down. Pascal could see noticeable unease in the ambassador's eyes, as though he felt guilty over not disclosing the full details.

It was only then when Pascal understood why Geoffroi played up his gratitude. Gerhard may be a diplomat but he was also once a general. To hide information from their sworn allies was not the conduct of a proper soldier, and he will surely try to make up for this in the future.

"Now... let us end on this bright note if that is all we have to discuss."

The Emperor had barely finished his sentence before Dame Cosette stood back up.

"Sire, we still have one more issue that requires your attention. I do not wish to sour this meeting's end but it ''cannot'' wait."

Geoffroi's smile vanished as quickly as it came. He gestured towards her as he strode back to his seat: "Go ahead, Marshal."

"As you all know, Duke Guy of Avro-Calent chose a martyr's death rather than withdraw from the first-line fortresses as he was ordered." Cosette spoke with steadfast composure, but everyone in the room knew that it was ''her command'' that the late Duke had defied. "This is extremely unfortunate for our forces in the south, as his castle had been used as the main supply depot for our armies near the Cataliyan border. Now, with the loss of its stockpiles, our armies in the south are in danger of starvation. They still have supplies and coin to manage for two to three weeks, but they don't have anywhere near enough to make it through winter."

"An army marches on its stomach. This is indeed of critical importance." Geoffroi agreed as he sat back down. "It's a pity that the harvest in Garona this year was poor. Though even if they hadn't, that mountainous kingdom is hardly the breadbasket of the Empire."

Cosette nodded. "It's another reason why I must prioritize the Garona front. Their capital Narbonnaise simply does not have the provisions to withstand a major siege."

"Queen Katell," the Emperor turned towards the young monarch. "I shall entrust you with supplying Edith's army in Avorica as well as Gervais' forces in the mountains. The harvest in Avorica this year has been bountiful and you should have enough to spare."

"Your Majesty," the young queen was quick to object. "Avorica is the smallest of the four kingdoms within the Empire. We might be able to feed and pay Edith's army, but surely you cannot expect us to take on the burden of supplying the 'Trio' as well! That responsibility should rightly fall upon the heartlands' granaries!"

''And at the Emperor's expense,'' Pascal added in his thoughts.

It was moments like these when he missed the absolute authority of his king in Weichsel.

"You're correct that the heartland's granaries are better suited to carry such a burden," Geoffroi admitted. "However, the heartland duchies are also far from the front lines. The Empire's roads and waterways have limited transport capacity. We cannot expect them to ferry everything, from reinforcements to food to arrows to winter clothing. Therefore we must choose -- because if we are to supply an additional army across such a distance, it will likely slow down the reinforcements bound for Avorica."

The Emperor concluded by offering Queen Katell the illusion of a choice. However there was never any doubt of which option she would take.

The young royal bit down on her lips and reluctantly agreed:

"Very well then. Avorica will supply Gervais' forces in the mountains. The reinforcements ''must'' be given priority in transit."

"Please remember that the 'Trio' also guards the backdoor into Avorica," Dame Cosette added for good measure, just in case the Queen thought she might cheat her new role.

Pascal only had to take one look at the map before he realized: if the mountains passes fell and the Caliphate emerged on the northern side, they would be able to block the narrow gap that linked Avorica and Ceredigion to the Lotharin heartlands.

"In the meantime, Sylv," Emperor Geoffroi called upon his daughter at last. "I want you to ascertain all available provisions in the Lotharin heartlands and organize transportation to supply our forces in Garona."

"Yes, Father." The Princess answered without hesitation.

"With that said, I believe we've covered everything." Geoffroi looked about to all participants before he declared. "This meeting is adjourned. Marshal Cosette," he then turned towards the senior lady as her azure phoenix familiar flew down from the ceiling corner. "Good luck, and may Veillantif guide your hand to victory."

"Thank you, Your Majesty." Cosette bowed in deference while her familiar -- the phoenix Veillantif -- chirped back. However Geoffroi would have none of the formality as he took the lady's hand with both palms and gave it a heartfelt shake.

"Rhin-Lotharingie is counting on you." Geoffroi added in earnest.

At that moment, Pascal felt a ping in the back of his mind. He accepted the ''Telepathy'' with a mental pull, and Ambassador Gerhard's voice emerged into his thoughts:

"<Your Grace,>" Gerhard began as he approached Pascal in reality as well. "<On behalf of King Leopold, please accept our deepest condolences for your father's death. He was an irreplaceable pillar for Weichsel, and there is no man in our country who does not mourn his passing.>"

The Ambassador's voice seemed to echo as he spoke over both open air and telepathy. However, while Gerhard's audible voice ended as he bowed in deep reverence, his telepathic words continued:

"<Please take extra care in your conversations with the Emperor. The situation in Weichsel right now is complex and unstable. I have my orders from the King and I am not at liberty to disclose further to the Lotharins. Nevertheless, the alliance your father forged is necessary for the long-term security of Weichsel, and I for one do not wish to see it falter.>"

''Father, do you see this? This is what your work meant to our people...''

Pascal's eyes grew glassy at mentions of his father's legacy. Even as the young noble shared a hug offered by his childhood friend Cecylia, he could not stop reflecting on how deeply felt the ambassador's words were to him.

Gerhard did not need to mention that Cecylia was a member of the King's Black Eagles. The young dhampir may have only graduated from Konigsfeld Academy last year, but she nevertheless served as the eyes and ears of King Leopold in the Empire's capital.

It was the first time Pascal felt that a friend he knew for many years was intruding upon his meeting with a near-stranger.

"<nowiki><I</nowiki> understand. You may trust me to act for the best interests of Weichsel.>" The young noble responded in private before his public face finally composed itself to vocalize a sincere "Thank you."

...

Ten minutes later, Pascal sat in a royal sitting room with only his betrothed and his future father-in-law. Even his familiar and their bodyguards had been kept outside, as the Emperor requested a private 'family moment'.

"Pascal," Geoffroi began in a deep, fatherly voice that he usually reserved for Sylviane. "I know this must be a difficult time for you, and you do not need me to add to it. However the Marshal's early death has pushed you into the crossroads of life. And I wanted to tell you plainly that you have an immediate choice before you."

As the young noble slowly nodded in understanding, the Emperor leaned back into his seat with a deep exhale.

"You are a noble lord of Weichsel. But you are also the future Prince Consort of Rhin-Lotharingie. Unfortunately these two identities cannot always be reconciled. Will you follow your King and hide the truth from me as your ambassador did? Or will you speak the facts to honor your betrothal and the realm of your future wife?"

Pascal pursed his lips. ''Of course Geoffroi the Great already knows.''

"It is not my wish for you to make a hasty decision." Geoffroi added. "However these are the facts you must keep in mind. Pick a path and stay true to it, for the alternative is that you may satisfy neither side and be seen as unfaithful to both."

"Your Majesty," Pascal began in earnest as he met the Emperor eye-to-eye. "You are correct that Ambassador Gerhard has not been forthcoming with you. Before he left, the ambassador told me in private that the situation in Weichsel is 'complex and unstable'. I may not be as practiced in the art of intrigue as him or my father, but I can nevertheless deduce the basic situation in my home country."

As the Emperor offered a simple gesture for him to continue, Pascal spoke on to explain the politics of Weichsel:

"As you know, ever since its founding, Weichsel's foreign policy has been driven by one of Papal Appeasement. The Holy Imperium has been the sole superpower of Western Hyperion, and Weichsel has always sought to use the church as a means of keeping Imperial ambitions in check. However, during the War of Imperial Succession, my father has taken the first steps away from this as he waged an undeclared war against the Holy Imperium. Because of this, Weichsel is now at its own crossroads, split between those who share my father's vision of a new system of alliances with our neighbors, and those who believe in the old ways established by our first King."

Geoffroi nodded, partly in agreement and partly... Pascal was now certain that the Emperor already knew everything he said.

"Which side do you think the ambassador favors?"

"My Father's, without a doubt," Pascal stated with confidence. "Unfortunately, my father's death also left a power vacuum in Weichsel, and the two generals likely to succeed him are of opposing factions. Wiktor von Falkenhausen was my father's chief-of-staff and will likely continue to champion his vision. Meanwhile, Neithard Mittermeyer von Manteuffel is the General of Cavalry and the head of the powerful Manteuffel family. He has always been the leader of the conservatives and was opposed to my father's aims of a Lotharin-Weichsel alliance. With the Pope's excommunication complicating the picture, Weichsel's next moves will be decided by whichever of these two who becomes the next Marshal."

The Emperor nodded again, this time with greater understanding and a deep, thoughtful frown. His stern expression then lifted for a brief moment as he cracked open a thin smile.

"Not that I don't appreciate your sincerity, Pascal, but are you sure you should be telling us all this? When even Ambassador Gerhard has kept his silence?"

"Ambassador Gerhard has his orders and may not be free to choose his own actions. However I am, and I have the will to see through my own beliefs," Pascal declared as he raised a hand to his chest. "I am the son of my father, whom he entrusted to serve as the future link between Weichsel and Rhin-Lotharingie. I wish to preserve this alliance with every means at my disposal, even if that means being more truthful than the King would like and more unfiltered than you might wish to hear. I ''will'' serve both the interests of Weichsel and Rhin-Lotharingie to the best of my abilities, to ensure that both countries' goals are united on the road forward, and not divided to go separate ways."

With his gaze still locked with the Emperor's, Pascal could see from his peripheral vision that his fiancée the Princess smiled and looked expectantly to her father. Meanwhile Geoffroi's blue-violet eyes measured his determination for a minute longer before his own grin broadened:

"If that is your will, then I pray that you succeed."

<nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>

Pascal never heard the telepathic dialogue that the Emperor and his daughter kept running this entire time. Most of it was merely to digest the new information that Pascal offered, as much of it was new to Sylviane and even a few pieces were unknown to Geoffroi before now. However as their conversations began to round down, the Emperor remarked to his daughter as a loving father would:

"<He'll no doubt make an excellent general one day, but he is too forthright for courtly intrigue. I would certainly keep and treasure him if I were you, Sylv. I doubt you will find another this earnest and reliable for your future reign.>"

Sylviane's shoulders slumped slightly as she replied: "<nowiki><</nowiki>I know, Father, I know.>"

"<Speaking of, who is the Samaran girl who follows him around?>" Geoffroi then asked in curiosity. "<nowiki><</nowiki>I do not remember her the last time I met him.>"

The Princess sighed, perhaps a bit too loudly as she drew Pascal's notice.

"<She's his new familiar... and the new problem.>"

<noinclude>
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</noinclude>

Daybreak:Volume 2 Chapter 3

2022-02-27T19:34:04Z

Aorii:

===Chapter 3 - The Oriflamme Princess===

Kaede hated teleportation more every time she did it. The feeling of undergoing simultaneous freezing and sublimation, all while being flushed down a whirlpool, simply wasn't something she could acclimate herself to. She confirmed all her body parts while their nerves reconnected. Her thoughts felt immensely grateful that Reynaud took only two jumps on their hundred-kilopace journal to Alis Avern, as Pascal commented that it would have taken him at least four jumps to match the same distance.

She was even ready to forgive all the times he had annoyingly called her 'buttercup'. Maybe.

''He's still a pervert.'' Kaede reflected as she kept her distance from Reynaud by staying on Pascal's other side.

Alis Avern was rather unimpressive for a capital. The streets were narrow, the houses were small, and the planning was nonexistent. Even most larger 'avenues' could barely manage two wagons passing side-by-side, and the smaller alleys could fit a handcart at best. Most buildings were wooden with thatched roofs raised two-stories high. The winding roads snaked up and down the hilly terrain with no discernable pattern, while homes were crammed onto sloped hills like stepping stones.

It certainly showed that Rhin-Lotharingie was far from a wealthy country. Though if Kaede had to pick one charming quality, it's that the city felt very... organic. The way the streets circled around large trees and giant boulders. It made the place feel less like a city and more like an overgrown town of rural tradition.

"Where are you heading?" Pascal asked Reynaud as the three of them walked uphill along a cobblestone street.

"Same place as you -- the palace." Reynaud grinned. "I'm meeting my father there."

"Your father works in Oriflamme Palace?" Pascal raised an eyebrow.

"No. He arrived yesterday with King Alistair and Princess Sylviane. Delivered them in person, more like," Reynaud answered with pride.

"What? On both hands?"

"Ha-ha, funny." Reynaud retorted. "Papa is a sky merchant, though these days he acts more as a captain for the King than a trader. The Emperor gave him the title of Chevalier for his services during the War of Imperial Succession. But Father prefers working with King Alistair. They're almost best friends."

''Of course they are.'' Kaede thought. She wasn't sure about the others, but that last part was almost certainly a boast.

"Is that the reason why you summoned a baby skywhale familiar? To follow in your father's footsteps?" Pascal asked before he realized that didn't make sense. "But you are a military cadet in the academy."

"I knew my familiar before I summoned her." Reynaud smirked as though it was finally his turn to tout special privileges. "Priscilla was a baby whale that father's Marianna gave birth to. And speaking of Marianna, she's right there..."

Through a gap in the buildings, the redhead pointed to the side of the rocky crag that the Oriflamme Palace was built on top of. Sure enough, there was a sperm whale hovering adjacent to one of the outer wall's towers. The beast was even more colossal than its Earth equivalent, and would need a clearing the size of an ice hockey rink to land. It also had tentacle-like appendages extending out from above her jaws like some long mustache, and the huge, block-shaped head glistened with a metallic shine.

However, the most interesting detail was the steel-framed wooden structure strapped beneath the belly. Its size was somewhere between a large bus and a small ferry. Behind it dangled massive cargo nets, although they were mostly empty at the moment, as well as a small platform with two ballistae on each side. The entire design reminded Kaede of a dirigible airship, except with structural supports wrapped around the back of an oversized whale instead.

''Well, it's not sentient tofu,'' Kaede thought. Her logic still lay bloated with incredulity, but at least it didn't require emergency resuscitation.

She had read about skywhales after Perceval spoke of Reynaud's familiar. Wild skywhales traveled across the northern skies in tight-knit, highly-protective groups. Adults were too powerful and intelligent to tame, therefore the only skywhales that worked with humans were those summoned as a familiar during early childhood and brought up over the course of two decades. They were easily the strongest beast of burden on Hyperion, but only for the lucky few who had one.

"How do they stay afloat?" Kaede asked, incredulous.

She didn't even notice that she had stopped in her tracks and fallen behind.

"Magic." Pascal replied with a smirk, which attracted an annoyed glance from his familiar.

"Skywhales have three magical traits: levitation flight, steelskin, and flourish." Reynaud was kind enough to explain. "Their size combined with their ability to turn their own skin into armor makes them one of the apex predators of Hyperion."

"And flourish?" Kaede puzzled.

"Those mustache-like tentacles. They can grow them at will to snatch game from the ground and deliver to its mouth."

"And what do they eat?"

"Fish, mostly. But they also gobble up large land animals, anything from elk to musk ox." Pascal explained this time. "Cattle and reindeer herders treat them like a roaming natural disaster, since it takes an army, and willingness to take massive casualties, to take down a pod of skywhales. For that reason, private skywhales like this one are often commandeered during times of war, to be used as anything from giant battering rams to airborne siege platforms."

"So your familiar is going to grow into one of those?" Kaede pointed as she finally caught up with the two young men.

"Well, they don't grow the gondola structure. That has to be built by human hands." Reynaud noted with a grin. "In fact, most gondolas are designed to be detachable, so the skywhales can land them somewhere and then go fishing on their own. The ridiculous amount of food they consume makes their upkeep too expensive otherwise."

He then tried to wrap an arm around Kaede after she absentmindedly walked between them. However the Samaran girl slipped from his grasp and spun around to Pascal's other side.

"Stop that!" She said as she tugged on Pascal's sleeve almost by instinct.

"Hands off, Reynaud. Kaede is my familiar. Summon your own girl." Pascal added before the cadet relented.

''Why does it always take another man to say it before they'll take it seriously?'' Kaede thought.

"Sheesh, stingy!" The redhead complained in an exaggerated tone. Yet he kept smiling and continued as though nothing had happened. "I'm not ''entirely'' sure how my familiar is connected to my future yet. My goal is to become an Oriflamme Armiger -- since I clearly failed to summon a phoenix myself -- and there's only a hundred-forty-four of those positions, ''at best'', throughout the entirety of Rhin-Lotharingie. Being good at combat helps but it's often not enough. It's why I learned to be a Wayfarer as well. Every Paladin needs one of those, and I have dual expertise in conjuration and alchemy!"

"Why only a hundred-forty-four?" Kaede asked as her curiosity replaced her earlier distaste.

"There are only twelve sacred phoenixes so, at best, you might have twelve Paladins at any time," Reynaud added. "And it's tradition that each Paladin takes no more than twelve armigers as their personal retinue."

''Don't tell me the Lotharins built an entire national myth around the limitation that there are only twelve birds?'' Kaede thought.

She could just imagine how awkward it'd be if one of them had a baby. ''Sorry Sir, we must now change everything to thirteen.''

"I read that the Oriflamme Paladins are chosen by the twelve phoenixes of Rhin-Lotharingie to serve as the nation's guardians. What else is special about them?" Kaede inquired further.

The response came back with the excitement of a starry-eyed fanboy zealously worshiping his heroes:

"Only that they're some of the best spellswords across Hyperion, both in prowess and sheer ''style''. When duty calls, they form a union with their phoenix familiars, and look absolutely kickass in their halo of golden blue-white flames." Reynaud even gestured as though he held his dual kukris while he explained. "They glide through the air on burning wings and hurl blue fire that melts through plated steel... any knight of Hyperion who claims that they aren't envious of the Oriflammes in some way is outright lying."

Kaede wondered just how much resemblance they bore to Arthur's Knights of the Round Table, or perhaps more appropriately, the Twelve Peers of Charlemagne. The translation magic did match their name up with 'Oriflamme', the golden flame battle standard once carried by the Kings of France until it was lost at Agincourt.

"There are currently only ten Paladins though." Reynald continued in his buoyant enthusiasm as he began to list his heroes. "There's the sworn Paladin Trio: Gervais, Laurent, and Edgard. Duke Gaston the 'Pristine Lord' and his mistress, Cosette the 'Tide Breaker'. Sylviane the 'Cerulean Princess' and her father, Emperor Geoffroi the Great. Alistair the 'Hound King' and the crusader, Edith-Estellise the 'Polar Cross'. And last as well as most recent..."

Reynaud then paused as he struggled to conjure the last name.

"Vivienne. She had yet to fight her first battle so most do not know her." Pascal filled in as he continued in his stride, which forced Kaede to scurry along at his side. "It is not all sword-and-sorcery either. The Paladins also make some of Rhin-Lotharingie's best commanders and mages. In fact, Vivienne is a young concordist: a bard who uses rare fae magic. Furthermore, only Oriflamme Paladins -- their character proven by the phoenixes' choice -- may inherit the throne. Therefore the phoenixes always select at least one individual from the royal line of succession. As you can imagine, Sylviane's appointment is more political than purely martial."

''Wait, did he say 'fae magic'?'' Kaede thought. She was about to ask when Reynaud spoke out first.

"How is it that you always manage to pick the most hopelessly realistic thing to say? Way to ruin my romantic childhood dreams of knights-in-burning-armor."

"I ''practice''," Pascal replied sarcastically. "Romanticism has no place in my army, or any army..."

"''Your'' army?" Reynaud cut in. "Think the King of Weichsel might care to hear this?"

"The King is the one who kept comparing me and father when he ''personally'' knighted me. Mark my words: I will become Marshal, be it in Weichsel or in Rhin-Lotharingie. It is just a matter of time..."

"Aren't you--"

Pascal then trampled over Reynaud's interjection by the sheer weight of his stern voice:

"But as to the point: we already have enough necessary wars, Reynaud. There is no need for unnecessary ones because some foreign idiot believes it is 'noble' for them to launch one."

"I wholeheartedly agree with that," Kaede added with a firm nod. Philosophers might disagree over how 'necessary' any war was. But as a historian, she couldn't be more proud of Pascal's attitude towards his profession.

"Yes yes, I agree too. It isn't as if the last war hasn't impacted my family. But come on, knights-in-''burning''-armor!"

Reynaud gestured wildly as he accentuated his final words. Then, as Pascal gave no response and Kaede almost giggled, he tossed in rather hypothetically:

"Besides, I thought real generals only felt at home on the battlefield?"

"'Real generals' also do not enjoy seeing their men get killed," Pascal countered harshly. "There are other ways to simulate a battlefield, whether over a beer casket or under a projector. Kaede even introduced me to a term from her home realm. It is marvelously simplistic really: they call it 'wargaming'."

The three of them finally arrived at the citadel's front gates. They marched across the drawbridge and over a rocky ravine before stopping at the gatehouse. Several guardsmen wearing chainmail armor and blue tabards approached them from inside.

Stepping forth, Pascal produced a tightly bound scroll from his enchanted pockets before handing it to the officer in charge:

"I am Captain Sir Pascal Kay Lennart von Moltewitz, Landgrave of Nordkreuz. These two are my retainers. I am here to see the Emperor at the behest of Crown Princess Sylviane, my fiancée."

Reynaud shot him an evil glare from the side before stepping forward as well. "I'm Reynaud Moreau, son of Sir Claude Moreau, captain of the skywhale parked just outside. My father was the one who brought King Alistair and Princess Sylviane to the palace yesterday. He summoned me to the castle at the behest of the Emperor for... well I don't really know." The redhead finished with a shrug before handing over a scroll of his own.

The officer was meticulous. He first scanned both scrolls with magic, and then did the same thing to all three of them.

"She's a familiar?" His eyebrows shot up in surprise as he finished examining Kaede.

"Yes. She is ''my'' familiar." Pascal answered with evident pride.

"Must be a Weichsen thing," the officer shook his head in disbelief. "Your aura signatures confirm and there are no signs of deceptive illusion or alchemy." He then bowed slightly in courtesy. "Welcome to the Oriflamme Citadel, Your Grace."

"Thank you," Pascal nodded curtly before continuing on into the outermost castle courtyard. Reynaud waited until he received his scroll back before catching up.

"Retainer? What am I, your squire?" Reynaud snubbed back as his voice dripped with sarcasm: "would you like your armor polished with that, ''Your Grace''?"

"After the trip here? You can be my stablehand."

"Do you two always have to be this pleasant around one another?" Kaede sighed.

The two men answered almost at once as even their voices clashed against one another:

"Blame the firestarter lord of sarcastic hill..."

"Not my fault his ass is still glued to the same old arrogant high horse."

...

The Oriflamme Palace was certainly more impressive than the city outside it. The hexagonal keep was built from blocks of blue granite, some no doubt quarried from the rocky crag it sat on top of. The walls and floors inside were marbled and partially paved with carpets. The hanging chandeliers and landscape art weren't overly extravagant, but they were sufficient for a palace.

As two guards led the trio through the halls, Kaede noticed that every landscape painting that stretched along the walls depicted a scene which included a blue-feathered phoenix. She wasn't sure if the artworks told the founding story of Rhin-Lotharingie or paid homage to each of its Oriflamme Paladins.

''The nationalism is certainly strong here,'' she thought. ''Though perhaps that's not a surprise, given the price they paid for their independence.''

The palace was also fairly empty. They could walk through an entire hallway without meeting a single new guard or servant.

"Mind if I follow along and meet the Princess?" Reynaud finally broke the silence that had settled between them since entering the palace.

"You may come along as my gratitude for your help. But let me make one thing clear," Pascal replied with a warning. "I will not tolerate any of your disrespect towards my fiancée. She is far more sensitive than I am."

"Ha! As if you have any sensitivity to speak of..."

Reynaud's retort attracted a harsh glare from Pascal. As a result the redhead quickly appended to his answer:

"Don't worry you playboy. I have no desire to put my head on a chopping block. She's royalty, the first Oriflamme ''Princess'' too, even if she isn't quite a match for the others on a battlefield," the redhead spoke with awe as he examined yet another painting. "Besides, I know how to treat a proper lady."

''Does that mean I'm not a proper lady?'' Kaede thought, annoyed, before another mental voice rushed in to counter: ''What am I thinking? Of course I'm not a lady!''

The gender issue was still giving her a serious case of identity confusion. Was it more important to be respected in her current form, or was it preferable to not stress such proper male-female courtesy? Kaede had no answer for this, so she pushed it aside to focus on the bigger picture.

She also realized that for all of Reynaud's contempt towards proper aristocratic decorum, he seemed surprisingly willing to follow them as long as it brought him into the graces of a beautiful noblewoman.

As the trio and their guards rounded another corner, they saw another group of three coming down the hallway towards them. The newcomers were led by a young lady, followed by two protective bodyguards, one male and one female, both wearing armor.

The two guardsmen were quick to stiffen their postures, while both Pascal and Reynaud stopped talking and tried to look their best. A glance at Pascal revealed to Kaede that his focus was locked onto the approaching lady's figure, while his eyes shone with a hint of anxiety amidst a sea of fondness and admiration.

"''I do not believe a girl more beautiful than her could exist...''"

Those were Pascal's exact words when Kaede first asked about his fiancée. Given that he once courted Ariadne, who epitomized grace and noble elegance, Kaede had always imagined that the Princess would be a gorgeous beauty no less stunning.

However as the approaching lady drew close, Kaede's first thought was that not everything lived up to expectations.

To put it simply: Crown Princess Sylviane seemed almost... average.

That wasn't entirely fair. Sylviane was still pretty by any standard. She was about the same age as Pascal and stood with confidence at a moderate height. Her voluminous, dark-purple hair draped across both of her narrow shoulders. It stopped short of her petite chest in front and reached just beyond her slender waist in the back. Her eyes were large and caring, as they carried the color of wisteria flowers. Below them lay a feminine nose, a pair of small, peachy-pale lips, and fair cheeks that were a hint pudgy. Combined with the blank, composed expression she wore, it gave her an innocent air that went oddly with the royal bearing.

In essence, she was pretty and cute in a rather ordinary way. Sylviane appeared more like the daughter of a backwater baron than the Princess of an Emperor monickered 'the Great'. She certainly lacked the graceful elegance and calming serenity that Ariadne radiated with each step and every smile.

''Maybe that's rather unfair,'' Kaede thought to herself. Few nobles anywhere could match such competition.

Crowned by a modest silvery-cerulean tiara, the Princess wore what could best be described as a 'battledress' dyed from sky-blue to violet. Soft leather in darker iris padded her shoulders and embraced her waist, which marked the fitting spots for absent armor. Meanwhile a wide skirt below the belts extended outwards in sectioned fabrics.

"Pascal," the Princess spoke with a soft smile as the two betrothed stopped within an arm's reach.

Pascal gave a deep and courteous bow before straightening his back. He gently raised her offered hand and clasped it between his palms. "It is wonderful to see you again, Sylv."

Time seemed to stand still as the two betrothed's gazes met in the emotional exchange of a long-overdue greeting.

Meanwhile, the guards who accompanied Pascal's group here saluted and departed. Their departure left Kaede feeling like she was intruding on a private meeting. Only Reynaud's presence, as well as the two armigers flanking the Princess, kept her standing still instead of quietly backing away. The Princess' guards, one male and one female, also examined her and Reynaud with a wary gaze.

"I'm sorry about what happened."

Sylviane's soft words carried a surging torrent of sympathy, so much that Kaede barely caught the touch of remorse hidden deep within.

"Thank you."

Pascal breathed out a sigh of gratitude, not just sincere but also... humble, without even a trace of his habitual arrogance. Then, Kaede swore that she missed something hidden in their exchange as Pascal probed with a hopeful uncertainty that was most unlike him:

"Does this mean we are back to before?"

The Princess slowly shook her head.

"I doubt that's possible at this point..."

She sent Kaede a quick, almost inquisitive glance. It lasted no more than a mere second, but nevertheless produced a key that clicked with perfect timing in the young Samaran's mind:

''They had a falling out... because Pascal summoned me...''

"However," Sylviane continued with a forgiving smile, "it was my wrong to simply pull away. We have to work this out... together."

The young landgrave was about to say something else, when the Princess stopped him with a raised finger:

"Not right now. You know the rules: official business first. The Emperor's council is in session. I only ducked out so I could come greet you."

It was their last word on the subject for the time being. Pascal soon nodded in understanding as he proceeded to follow Sylviane. Yet, to Kaede, this short exchange had reaffirmed her suspicion into a firm, doubtless realization:

Pascal truly held Sylviane as a special, irreplaceable figure in his life. His words that the Princess was the most beautiful girl in his life weren't praises or boasts, but a true expression of how his eyes viewed her every step.

''But does the Princess feel likewise?''

In any other circumstance, Kaede would say yes. But Sylviane wasn't just anyone: she was a politician, and her nation was desperately in need of aid from Pascal's home country.

However, before the princess took a step, she turned back around and faced Reynaud.

"You must be Reynaud, the son of Captain Moreau."

"Yes, Your Highness." Reynaud gave a deep and respectful bow of his own. He then kissed the back of the Princess' offered hand with such grace that it astonished Kaede. His demeanor had flipped to the mirror opposite of his usual unruliness. "I am honored Your Highness knows me by name."

"Pascal wrote of you in the report he forwarded to me and my father," said Sylviane. "You have my sincere gratitude for helping save the life of my betrothed."

"I would do no less for a comrade and personal friend, Your Highness."

''Okay now you're just outright lying,'' Kaede thought to herself as she tried to keep a straight face at Reynaud's proud grin.

"It's alright, you don't have to force yourself to speak nicely of him..." Sylviane's smile widened as she almost chuckled. "I have known Pascal since childhood. I know perfectly well that he can be a complete pain at times, especially to those he doesn't understand."

It was Reynaud who failed to cover up his astonishment this time as his own presumptions lay shattered.

"I will not ask for you to be nice to him." The Princess went on in her gentle voice. "But if you could continue to offer him your acquaintance and aid him against our shared foes, then I shall be personally grateful."

''...Though a few bruises when he deserves them are perfectly fine,'' Kaede added in the safety of her own mind.

Anxieties notwithstanding, Kaede couldn't help appreciate her growing impression of the Princess. Royal politician or not, there was a candid sincerity in the way Sylviane expressed herself. If nothing else, she seemed a reasonable person who could think through others' perspectives: which was far more than Kaede could say for Pascal, or most nobles in general.

The fact their opinions of him drew parallels certainly supported Kaede's opinion.

"I shall do what I can, Your Highness." Reynaud smoothly laid his right palm flat across the chest and gave another respectful bow.

"Thank you," Sylviane replied with a courteous nod before turning to one of her armigers, a boyishly pretty young man with a handsome face. "Sir Robert, please escort Sir Reynaud to meet his father."

"Yes, Your Highness."

"Sir...?" Reynaud looked stunned.

"My father will be awarding you the title of Chevalier later today," Sylviane smiled. "In the meantime, if you'll excuse me, I have a council to return to."

The Princess then turned away and led Pascal down the hall from whence she came.

Kaede couldn't help but scowl as she felt ignored. Princess Sylviane never even acknowledged her presence except through a cursory glance, even though she had helped Pascal as much as Reynaud did during the incident at the academy, if not more. Her stomach tied itself in knots as this was not a good sign of future relations with the Princess.

''It's not fair.'' She couldn't help but complain to herself. ''I never chose this body.''

Nevertheless, she scurried after Pascal with her soft steps. Being found alone in a royal palace was the last thing she wanted to do.

<noinclude>
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| Forward to [[Daybreak:Volume_2_Chapter_4|Chapter 4]]
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</noinclude>

Daybreak:Volume 2 Chapter 2

2022-02-27T19:02:26Z

Aorii:

===Chapter 2 - Gendered Recollections===

"Morning Ma! Morning Pa!"

Stifling a mild yawn with his hand, the seventeen-year-old young man strode into the modest kitchen-bar-dining room his family shared.

"Morning, Kaede. I was wondering if I might need to wake you up for once."

His mother offered a bright smile before turning back to the kitchen counter. Her long ponytail swayed behind her as she chopped vegetables to prepare lunch at a quick beat.

Honoka was petite and slight of build, with a height even shorter than the average Japanese woman. Although technically she was of Ainu ethnicity, a fact that the more pretentious and xenophobic local residents never allowed her to forget, even up here in the northern prefecture of Hokkaido.

"No practice this morning, Ma," Kaede explained in Russian as he stepped up to the two pieces of honey-covered french toast his mother set on the kitchen bar.

It was routine in the Suvorsky household to speak Russian when only family members were around. Kaede's parents had been afraid that his proficiency with the language would deteriorate after years of living in Japan. Indeed, Kaede's writing skills had already regressed. Reading, on the other hand, was kept up by an endless flow of articles shared by his father.

"Those piss-condoms are still at it," that same father swore from a dining chair as he finally put the tablet down, an electronic news article displayed across the screen.

"Language, dear," the mother admonished, though her voice was more velvet than steel. "It amazes me to this day that Kaede didn't grow up with a foul mouth like yours."

"Perhaps I'm just too cultured for him," the youth grinned back, only to void his own claim by stuffing an entire piece of toast into his mouth.

"Oh please! Who taught you all that--" his father spun around the chair as he began to retort, only to halt as the mother cleared her throat aloud. "--Well, at least half that culture?"

Kaede shrugged back, still grinning as his stuffed cheeks grounded down the sweet breakfast with haste.

Konstantin was a Russian of mostly Komi ethnicity. He had bright, slate-gray eyes, sharp eyebrows, and a straight nose, all well-centered upon a somewhat rectangular face. The thin, brown hair above his surprisingly-smooth forehead was graying steadily, which gave a respectable professor look alongside the large spectacles that adorned his image.

"Whaf--" Kaede shoved the chewed food to one side of his cheeks before gesturing at the tablet on the table: "--happened this time?"

"More finger-pointing by the Americans. Not that it's anything new," Konstantin commented with disgust before he picked up the tablet and swiped. "There is more interesting news though -- Motegi met with Lavrov to discuss 'concrete steps' in resolving the Kuril Islands dispute," he read the title before his lips formed something between a grin and a scowl. "The tides are finally turning. The Japanese are growing the balls to think foreign policy for themselves, instead of simply adopting whatever their American overlords wished."

"Abe and Xi's meeting last year certainly ruffled the Americans' feathers," Kaede pitched in before he grabbed a glass of orange juice. Honey on toast was his favorite at breakfast, but it was perhaps a bit too dry by itself.

International politics was arguably his father's biggest hobby. As a result, Kaede found himself well-versed in the maneuvering of leaders and nation-states.

"Indeed, and now the Americans are starting to bend over backwards: anything Japan wants so long as it aligns with their anti-China policy," Konstantin snorted. "Just look at what the bastards are doing. China is mobilizing its entire country to tackle this new virus. Even a centuries-old rival like Japan knows how to be a good neighbor."

Kaede nodded in agreement. He never thought he'd see the day when a renowned Japanese troupe would sing the Chinese National Anthem -- an ''anti-Japanese'' song written during the World War -- as a sign of solidarity for Wuhan. When he first showed the video to his Chinese friend, the latter almost shed tears.

"Meanwhile what do the Americans do?" Konstantin continued. "They politicize every technical mistake the Chinese make, even going as far as making the World Health Organization their whipping post! Anyone with half a brain should know that 'discovery' is a process of trial-and-error. It would be more surprising if the Chinese did ''not'' make major blunders when they're the first to encounter the virus."

"Is it any surprise though?" Kaede thought aloud. "''Thucycides' Trap'' -- a declining hegemon is always fearful of a rising power. Isn't that what you've taught me?"

The father turned to look upon his son with a gruff but proud smile.

"Yes. But in decline or not, America is still the dominant power of the world, and will likely remain so for another quarter century. They should at least pretend to be diplomatic, and not like gleeful bandits overjoyed by the arsonist's crimes," Konstantin explained as he stirred the hot bowl of Shchi cabbage soup that he preferred in the morning. "Still, the virus has made its landfall in America. We'll soon see if they retain the right to call themselves 'world leader', or if their politicians only know how to bullshit."

"I doubt 'diplomatic' is in their current president's vocabulary." Kaede gave an amused shrug, which prompted a snort from his father.

"You're not wrong about that!" His father loudly agreed with a twisted smirk. "Whatever else you can say about Trump, he's at least frank about the Americans' daydreams. They've always sought to strut the globe and enrich themselves at the world's expense, only to turn around and claim it's 'freedom'. Maybe the Clintons should pay a visit to the markets of bombed-out Libya and tell the enslaved African migrants how ''free'' they ought to be feeling!"

A scowl stretched across Konstantin's lips as he leaned in to drink a spoonful of soup. There was nothing that riled him up as quickly as the topic of American Imperialism.

Therefore Kaede decided to soften the mood, if only by a little:

"So, have you liberated your rear of its 'Freedom Gas' today?" He referred to recent news of Americans naming their natural gas 'Molecules of Freedom' and trying to force Europe to buy them.

The explosive laughter that came from his father sent spittles of vegetables and soup flying in every direction.

"Kaede!" Honoka shouted in warning from the kitchen.

"Sorry Ma," the young man's smile turned sheepish. In hindsight, he did feel somewhat bad about it, since it was his mother who now had to clean up the mess.

"Trump..." His father snorted out between laughing coughs. "Has the subtlety of a baboon's arse."

"Which is exactly why his voters like him," Kaede shrugged. "Look on the bright side though -- all the US-China scuffles have pulled their 'free press' off Russia-bashing for a few months, at least until their elections swing around."

It was more for his father's benefit than his own. Kaede was proud to have Russian roots from his father's side, but he himself had at least been able to keep a degree of distance. In online comment threads, Kaede had been called everything from a 'Russian Troll' to a 'Chinese Wumao' to a 'Muslim Terrorist' to a 'Zionist Jew'...

It was actually something he was proud of. It showed that he could often grasp and even represent another culture's viewpoint.

"''The US doesn't need allies, only vassals'' -- Putin could not have said truer words," Konstantin declared with an annoyed sigh. "I admit that their media is right about one thing: Putin is an ambitious tyrant surrounded by kleptocrats, and we all know it. But he's also the most competent leader Russia has seen since Catherine the Great. Only an imbecile can think that just because he's gone, someone better would take his place."

Kaede gave a noncommittal shrug again. Once again, he wasn't sure if he'd agree with his father. Though it was certainly true that Russia hadn't seen many great rulers in the past two centuries. Stalin was competent and knew how to get things done, however he also practiced murder on an industrial scale. Putin's policies may have grown more controversial, but he would always be remembered by older Russians for pulling the Motherland out of its post-Cold-War economic collapse. Families tended to remember the day when paychecks started flowing and food could be put on the table again.

Regardless, the young man settled on a realist answer instead: "probably why the Americans hate him so much -- the tragedy of Great Power politics."

''If only this rivalry didn't manifest into an intense Russophobia that caricatures all Russians.'' Kaede hid his faint scowl.

Meanwhile, Konstantin nodded with a smirk. His gaze was full of pride for the son who had learned so much from him.

"Of course, they'd much rather a piss drunkard like Yeltsin stay in charge, pawning off the Motherland's assets to the highest bidder and pocketing the change. Gorbachev sold us out and we learned the hard way that Russia can never coexist with NATO! We made it absolutely clear to them back in 2008 that NATO expansion into Ukraine and Georgia were red lines, yet they still treat us like idiots!"

His father was still not done when his mother came to interject with gentle smile:

"Kaede, you might want to take off before your father's rants make you late for school."

"Got it Ma! See you Pa! Try not to argue with your fellow professors too much today!" Kaede called back as he rushed out, the remaining slice of toast soon dangling from his mouth.

...

"Daichi! Kaede is already here! You're going to be late if you take any longer!"

Mrs. Ho called into the house before turning back to Kaede with a shallow yet respectful bow:

"Thank you so much for coming here every day, Kaede."

"No not at all, Aunty." Kaede rushed to reply with an even lower bow. It always made him uncomfortable when people a generation above him showed that much courtesy.

"I'm coming, I'm coming!" Daichi finally rushed into view, pulled on his shoes, and swirled right around his mother to dart out the door. "See ya later Ma!"

"Have a good day at school!" the elegant Mrs. Ho waved from the door as the two young men departed.

Daichi was a high school boy with a classic athletic build. Round-headed with rather large eyes for an Asian, he paced at an above-average height -- especially among Japanese males -- with a lean and confident stride. He might not be the best looking in their grade, but he was up there in popularity, and being the Kendo team captain certainly didn't hurt.

"Wish Sayuri was the one picking me up every mooooooorning," he expressed through a great yawn before looking at Kaede with drooping eyes still half-asleep.

''Good thing I look nothing like your girlfriend,'' Kaede suddenly thought. Otherwise his spine might be shivering with discomfort right now.

"Don't confuse reality with that lame anime you watch," he retorted from besides Daichi as the two walked up the hill.

"Then how come you manage it every morning?"

"Because you're my oldest friend here and you live on my way to school," came the nonchalant reply. "Sayuri is on the wrong side of town."

"I wish I had a cuter childhood friend," Daichi mumbled out.

"Even if I were cuter I'm still a boy," Kaede smirked back before nudging the other's shoulder. "Think your parents might be aghast if you tried that."

"Ugh, no. No way! ''Hell no!''"

Daichi's eyes sprang wide, bulging with nightmarish alertness as his friend began to laugh out loud.

He wasn't exactly Kaede's 'childhood friend'. The two hadn’t met until middle school, mere months after Kaede came to Japan. At a time when Kaede was still trying to fit in with his poor Japanese and mixed-blood appearance, he met the half-Chinese Daichi during the school's activities fair.

Kaede still remembered that moment when he walked by the Calligraphy Club's stall and heard the young boy remark: "look at those ''beautiful'' symbols! I wonder who they stole them from?"

The half-Russian had burst into uncontrolled laughter in that very moment, unable to suppress it even after receiving several annoyed stares.

The two of them became best friends almost immediately. It certainly helped that they both showed an interest in archaic martial arts: swords for Daichi and bows for Kaede. Furthermore, Daichi was half-Chinese and therefore half-fascinated in history and politics by blood.

"How come you know where Sayuri lives anyway?" Daichi returned to the topic once more.

"I'm the one who introduced her to you, in case you forgot," Kaede answered, his expression plain except for the tilted eyebrows. "I walked her and several other girls home once when they stayed late for a culture fair project."

Daichi groaned aloud:

"I swear, you are just asking for the girls to friendzone you! No wonder why you're on such good terms with the girls yet still don't have a girlfriend!"

"Morning, Surusuke-kun!" a girl in class called out in greeting just as they rounded the corner.

"Morning!" Kaede waved back with friendly enthusiasm.

He had long grown used to everyone mispronouncing his surname.

"See!" Daichi cried out, his open palm gesturing between them as they continued on their way. "This is what I'm talking about!"

"I don't know about you, but my parents taught me manners," Kaede shrugged it off with another smile. "Besides, what kind of a man would you be to ''not'' walk a group of stranded girls home?"

"That's not what I meant!" Daichi retorted, his tempo rising as he spoke. "I meant your overt friendliness! You need to at least keep some distance with the girls so that when you do approach them it's ''exciting!'' That's what a budding relationship needs! Emotion! Thrill! ''Passion!''"

Daichi struck a cool pose as he laid one gesturing hand right beneath his smirking chin.

"I'll never let Sayuri see me and only think 'oh hey, it's Daichi'. I want her heart to skip a beat every time she rounds the corner and sees me!"

"She's not about to round that corner ahead, you know that right?" Kaede joked it off to pull Daichi out of his silly posture before defending his own lifestyle:

"Besides, what's wrong with being friends with girls? I want a love that grows out of friendship. Because in years from now, when that youthful spark of passion gradually wanes, it's companionship and trust that keeps couples together and happy."

"There you go again, trying to be 'Mister Mature' and talking like some old salaryman..."

Daichi let loose a deep and exasperated sigh that essentially cried 'what is wrong with you?'

"Come on! You're seventeen! Enjoy life's youth and beauty while you can! Most girls our age aren't interested in some safe, platonic relationship, you know?"

Kaede grimaced. Just barely, so light that his best friend never even noticed.

He didn't need a reminder. He still remembered ''that'' incident quite well. His attempt at high school romance had ended in heartbreak. His once girlfriend leaving with some rather barbed words for him.

"As you said, I'm still young. I have tons that I want to do, so I'm not in a rush for this either," Kaede declared. "If the girls we know aren't mature enough for a stable, long-term, and adult relationship, then I'm willing to wait until they are."

A distant corner of Kaede's mind wondered if those statements were really true, or if he was simply trying to avoid another hurtful experience.

"I swear, keep up this attitude and you'll be ''thirty'' before you find a good..."

"Can we get off this topic?" Kaede objected as Daichi kept up the walking commentary. "We're clearly not seeing eye-to-eye here."

"Fiiiiine..." the other begrudgingly dropped it at last.

A moment of silence followed, which Kaede didn't mind. However Daichi always found such lapses uncomfortable, and he was quick to break it:

"So, in other 'Mister Mature' news, did you hear back from..."

"Tokyo U? Yes. I'm going," Kaede beamed, all shadows chased from his sunlit smile within the second.

"Damn overachiever."

"Hey you could at least..."

"Congratulations."

Daichi expressed his sincerity as he hooked his arm around Kaede's neck and pulled his friend in. The latter's chestnut-brown hair was soon a mess as two of them held a friendly wrestle in the middle of the sidewalk.

"But I still get to gripe about it, you damn overachiever."

...

Standing a hundred paces from the practice target, Kaede kept his footing with his left side facing the target. His hand drew a fresh arrow, and his body straightened into the proper form: pelvis and shoulders in parallel, back straight from neck to feet.

He held his ''yumi'' greatbow diagonally in hand, before gripping the bow string with his right glove. A grooved piece of horn sewn into the thumb's crouch in his three-fingered archery glove caught onto the bowstring. Meanwhile his left hand readjusted itself on the bow's grip.

Kyūdō archery wasn't just a sport. It was also a ritual, a contemplative prayer to the perfection of form.

''Ashibumi'', ''Dozukuri'', ''Torikake'', ''Tenouchi'', and now -- as Kaede turned his eyes to face the target once more -- ''Monomi''.

A cold, Spring breeze swept through the archery range where he stood. However Kaede hardly even felt the chill as his mind zoned out everything else in the world. He raised the greatbow above his head, paused, then pulled it back down. His hands drew away the string while pushing his bow forward at the same time.

His posture reached ''Kai'' -- the full draw. His mind melded into the arrowhead to form one entity. His eyes saw nothing but the target itself. His thumb and fingers then released the string, hurling the arrow out through the open air.

The arrow in flight represented something sacred to Kaede, bringing him a sense of perfect serenity.

...Just before it soared straight into the straw dummy.

Lowering his bow, Kaede's concentration relaxed from his intense focus. It had felt good to leave the world behind, to put aside all of his frustrations and consider only the absolute truth of the moment:

His arrow was fated to pierce the target dead center.

"Perfect shot," Kaede heard Daichi's voice from behind him.

"Nah. Perfect is when I learn to split my own arrows," Kaede turned around to meet his best friend with a smile.

"Oh shut it, you overachiever," Daichi grabbed Kaede by the neck and began pressing his fist into his friend's head.

"Ow! That hurt! Come on I've enough of a headache today!"

The best friend and kendo captain let go at once. His earlier grin faltered in apology.

"Math again?" He asked.

"''Calculus,''" Kaede emphasized and insisted upon the difference. "I'm good at math. We were equals back in algebra and geometry."

"''Almost'' equals," Daichi grinned. Mathematics was his best subject and one of only two in which he beat Kaede. The other was Japanese, thanks to the unfair advantage provided by the Chinese-Kanji connection.

"But clearly I can't do differentials worth squat." Kaede scowled as he led the way to the changing room. "I mean how the heck am I supposed to calculate something I can't even envision?"

Daichi shrugged. "Abstract thinking?"

"Easy for you to say, Mister Numbers," Kaede protested as he took off his gear. "I'm a pictographic thinker. Need a mental image."

"Does it really matter though?" Daichi leaned against the wall as he replied. "You've been accepted to Tokyo U already. You're planning on studying history and media, so it's unlikely you'll ever use calculus. All you need in that class for the rest of the year is a passing grade."

Kaede was in the middle of taking off his equipment when he turned to frown at his best friend.

"I don't do things half-hearted," he retorted. "Maybe calculus will be useful in my life. Maybe it won't. But if I'm going to study it, then I want to ''learn'' it. We didn't come to school for our parents' sake."

Daichi sighed as he tilted and scratched his head. As someone with a Chinese parent, the complaint of 'who am I learning this for' was one he filed often.

"Sure, sure, Mister Mature. But don't distract yourself like this right before the big tournament." Daichi advised. "Tell you what -- if it helps put your mind at ease, I'll tutor you after the tournament. We've got time now that our college admissions are settled. I'm sure that between my calligraphy and your interest in art, we'll find some way of turning Laplace Transforms into a Monet painting."

As Kaede placed the last piece of his archery uniform in his bag, he gave his best friend a knowing look.

"Your calligraphy is terrible. What did your father call it again?"

"''Chicken scratch.''" The two of them said at the same time before bursting into laughter.

It was one of those activities that Daichi had no real interest in, and only practiced because his parents insisted on it.

"But thanks, I'll take you up on that offer," Kaede grinned.

"Oooh, I have a pupil now!" Daichi looked proud of himself as the two of them started to leave. "Call me--"

"I am ''not'' calling you 'Master', you Shounen fanatic," Kaede retorted.

"''Wuxia'', not Shounen." Daichi insisted. "That Japanese stuff is a pale imitation. And you should know better. Since when have you ever met someone who learned how to discuss real politics from Shounen?"

It was another one of their shared interests. Daichi's background even gave him a unique perspective. His grandfathers, both of them, had fought in the World War... on opposite sides of the Chinese front.

''Life is wonderful and full of irony.'' Kaede thought with a smile.

The two continued to chat until they arrived at the school's bus station. It was getting late and Kaede wasn't in the mood to walk several kilometers home today.

"I still have some errands to run, so I'll be seeing you," Daichi commented as they saw a bus coming down the road. "When do you leave tomorrow morning?"

"Six-thirty."

"Ooomph, way too early. I need my beauty sleep."

"You mean you're going to stay up late playing video games again," Kaede returned another knowing look.

"Hey what can I say, the world isn't going to conquer itself," Daichi shrugged as the bus pulled in and the doors opened. Then, with a final pat on his friend's shoulders. "Get 'em at the tournament, Tiger. Show 'em what we ''Hafu'' are made of."

"Will do!" Kaede grinned back with appreciation.

<nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>

''I never did make it to the tournament.'' Kaede thought as she buttoned up her shirt.

Her gaze was fixated on her image in the dresser mirror, though in reality her mind wasn't there at all. She watched as her small hands tightened the short, black tie around her stiffly-folded collars, followed then by the pink ribbons around her sleeves just below the shoulders. Her dainty, stockinged feet stepped into her short petticoat. She soon had its upper hem compressed around her narrow waist, followed by that of her skirt.

Her uniform-like white jacket came last. She straightened its black lines and pink ribbons before buckling the narrow belt around her thin waist.

The entire experience had a certain... out-of-body quality to it. It wasn't new, as every time Kaede looked upon the mirror since coming to this world, she always had this weird feeling that she was in the wrong body, that it wasn't hers. Yet now, as she finally began to accept her life here for what it was, it felt like her new body was going through the motions without any conscious thought to it.

Her mind was stuck in a turmoil of emotions. Her recollection of last night intermixed with that of her 'dream', memories of the day before she had been summoned.

''Have I really become a girl?'' She thought.

Her behavior last night -- not just comforting Pascal on the roof but even letting him hold her while she slept -- was simply not usual for any male in a non-romantic relationship. Men, especially ''Russian'' men, tended to keep a certain distance when sharing their worst troubles and deepest emotions.

Kaede remembered how her mother often complained of her father pushing people away whenever he was in a poor mood. It had taken her years to wean him off alcohol as an emotional management tool, but he still had trouble connecting with others whenever he was depressed or angry or frustrated... which was often, thanks to his political views.

It wasn't easy being a Russian male in a post-Cold-War world. Negative stereotypes were abundant, from the terrible Vodka jokes to the insinuation that even their most common names sounded 'evil', due to the prevalence of Russian villains in stories and films. It was part of why Kaede preferred to use her Japanese given name than her Russian one. 'Nikita' had a tendency to summon suspicious looks and mockeries of 'we will bury you'. Even though the Soviet leader whom Kaede shared a name with never said that -- it had been a mistranslation from the very beginning, yet popular media wouldn't let it go as it confirmed the stereotype of the 'Russian menace'.

A young, twelve-year-old Kaede once found an article to explain ''his'' father's behavior to ''his'' mother. Even back then, Kaede had learned to research whenever ''he'' stumbled across a difficult topic. It had turned out that the male tendency to isolate themselves while in poor mood was more than just a common trend. The differences in genders, from brain wiring to bodily hormones, literally made it ''difficult'' for males to express their most heartfelt emotions.

''Is that why I acted the exact opposite last night?'' Kaede thought.

She could still feel Pascal's warmth from when she wrapped her arms around him. Her cheeks colored slightly as she thought about how she had completely tore down any barriers that still existed between them. It had only taken a month since her coming to this world to bridge the gap between them. She doubted that could have been possible if she was still male.

Nevertheless, Kaede needed the bond between her and Pascal to stay within a safe zone. It wasn't even a matter of whether or not she wanted romance as a girl. Her life in the new world simply depended too much on the stability of their relationship for her to risk anything beyond mere friendliness.

''...Especially when he's betrothed to a Princess.'' She reminded herself.

Kaede stole another glance at Pascal. Facing his mirrored reflection, a blank expression replaced his usual dashing smirk as he adjusted his collar and the Knight's Cross hanging below it. His countenance was still stern as he proudly saluted his own image before turning to face her.

She hurriedly glanced back to her own wardrobe before their eyes could meet.

"Ready to depart?"

His tone was composed, or perhaps 'controlled' was a better description. It certainly lacked the humored arrogance he began most days with.

"Y-yeah..."

She had to will herself not to pull away as Pascal leaned in to adjust her appearance to the perfection he demanded.

"Have you already told the others?" She remembered to ask. After all, Pascal had originally said that he'd be joining Ariadne on her trip back to Weichsel, while Perceval would come along as the healer for his new command of a Noble Reiter company.

"Yes." He answered. "Ariadne is still leaving today, possibly by herself. Perceval will be staying behind until he receives an update from me. Reynaud will take us to Alis Avern this morning as he is apparently meeting his father. He has already received his Wayfarer license."

Kaede had read that Wayfarers were mages who specialized in teleportation magic. They could transport up to a dozen people and take them to a beacon as far as a hundred kilopaces away. This meant that a network of Wayfarers who stationed themselves in various towns and cities effectively functioned as Hyperion's 'shuttle service'. They often kept to a schedule but also allowed people to reserve appointments, which allowed travellers to plan their trips in advance.

Prominent figures, such as rich patricians, upper nobility, and certainly most royalty, also hired their own, personal Wayfarers. It was easily one of the most highly demanded services in this world. Many mages, particularly those of yeomen birth, became Wayfarers for its guaranteed employment opportunities.

''Though I doubt that's Reynaud's reason,'' Kaede thought.

"What is... the Emperor like?" She then asked. She could feel that her anxiety was making her stomach do somersaults.

"Emperor Geoffroi is a stern man. A bit sarcastic at times, but also good-hearted underneath. He is an excellent leader of his people and a good father." Pascal spoke with admiration towards his future father-in-law. "Regal is in his nature. So, do not be impertinent. Speak only when you are asked." Pascal warned. "He will not hesitate to throw someone with no political authority into the dungeons."

Kaede nodded back faintly. With everything else on her mind, the stress of an impending royal audience did not add well to her nerves. But however daunting meeting an Emperor may be, the prospect of facing Pascal's royal fiancée while being a ''girl'' bonded to him was... far worse.

She didn't even have to ask before Pascal volunteered that information:

"Sylviane, thanks to her upbringing, is overly serious and pressured by her role as the Crown Princess. Be courteous, look cute, and stay on your best behavior. I am certain she will warm up to you given time, but best you tread carefully at the start."

His advice didn't make her feel any better, nor the hints of worry in his own voice. Kaede simply couldn't shake the feeling that she was like a mistress about to be introduced to the official wife. It made her wonder...

''Wouldn't 'look cute' just aggravate her?''

With one finger under her chin, Pascal brought her eyes back to his turquoise gaze. He waved his hand and its glowing ring over her face. The usual ''Refreshen'' spell soon brightened her appearance.

His usual demeanor finally made Kaede realize that she was being awkward by herself.

Sure, his expressions were different. His attitude was unusual. But that was expected for any normal person who just lost their parents. The key point however, was that he treated her the exact same way as before. Meanwhile she was trying to keep more distance, reneging upon the very words she said to him on the rooftop last night. If she kept this up, she would unintentionally harm him during a time he needed support the most.

"Well... would you prefer I address you as Milord, Sir, or ''Master'' then while we're in public?" She forced out her words, half-jokingly as she sought familiar ground in the atmosphere between the two of them.

Pascal paused as he returned a frowning scowl. Kaede soon berated herself as she found out why.

"As my father is now gone, I am the new Landgrave of Nordkreuz. It is a title of ducal rank, therefore the proper style to address me by is 'Your Grace'. It overrides the 'Sir' for addressing my knighthood or as a noble head of household. And, as I had told you on the first night, I am not some faux noble who needs ego stroking, so please do not give me some weird reputation with the last..."

Then, Pascal finally smirked. It was light, almost faint, but it was nevertheless the first time he showed any semblance of joy all morning.

"Although if you wish to do so ''in private'', I would not really mind."

Kaede squeezed her right hand as she felt an urge to strike that handsome face again.

It was the first time she found her feeling at his expression oddly reassuring.

<noinclude>
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|-
| Back to [[Daybreak:Volume_2_Chapter_1|Chapter 1]]
| Return to [[Daybreak_on_Hyperion|Main Page]]
| Forward to [[Daybreak:Volume_2_Chapter_3|Chapter 3]]
|-
|}
</noinclude>

Daybreak:Volume 2 Chapter 1

2022-02-27T18:57:58Z

Aorii:

===Chapter 1 - By the Crossroad Shores===

The chamber was lavishly furnished and fit for royalty. Its wide floors were layered with rugs of the richest wool and spacious enough to park three carriages. Dressers and drawers built from the finest mahogany lay interspersed along the walls, while two renowned watercolor landscapes sat within gilded frames larger than shelves. Atop the nearby bedside counter sat a tray of gleaming silver, filled with breakfast pastries and sweets almost too beautiful to eat.

None of that changed the fact it was a prison, occupied by a young girl no more than nine years old.

The sun that poured through the windows was approaching its noontime high. However the girl still laid awake in bed, curled up under the bedsheets with only her head poking out. Her light-violet eyes were bloodshot after an entire night spent weeping, while her tears continued to stain her soft cheeks.

It was part of why she refused to come out of bed. No one must be allowed to see her like this, not even the maid who delivered the food. To reveal her disgraceful state would be worse than embarrassment. It would humiliate the proud people of her entire nation before the eyes of their enemy.

Perhaps it was just as well, as she certainly did not wish to partake in anything else in her depressed mood.

The sound of scampering footsteps resounded from the hall outside her door, which had laid silent for hours other than the occasional clink of armor.

"She is inside right? Open the door."

The childish voice couldn't have belonged to anyone older than a mere boy. Yet it held a pride and confidence capable of matching any crown prince.

"I'm sorry Milord, Marshal---"

The soldier's feeble retort was cut off before he could finish.

"My father has already left this morning, which leaves me lord of this castle. Perhaps you are not aware of how insolent your behavior is towards a presiding lord? The word of a mere ''guard'' against the prodigious son of a Landgrave and Weichsel's hero. Who do you think your commanding officer will believe when my men come to arrest you?"

Even across the wide room and through closed doors, the girl could feel the pressure of the young boy's threats.

"But the Marshal expressly forbid any---"

"Does that include the maids who deliver food? Does that include the King should he stop by? I am now the castle's ''lord''. It is only natural that I pay homage to our guest of honor. Did my father expressly forbid ''me'' from carrying out my duties as nobility demands?"

"No Milord!" The soldier almost shouted, before clinking armor could be heard beyond the door once again.

The soft click of a door unlocking soon followed, and the girl rushed to toss the bedcovers over her head once again.

"Thank you, soldier. Carry on."

Light footsteps marched in, and the thick doors closed shut behind them.

For a minute, nothing happened. Then she heard a single word spoken near the door, voiced in Ancient Draconic -- the preferred language across Hyperion for mnemonic spellcasting.

''He must be older than me then,'' the girl thought. She was just starting to learn before she had been kidnapped, and few mages managed to cast any actual spells before the age of ten.

"I know you are awake. Do not worry. That was merely a simple ''Silence'' spell on the door."

She neither moved nor answered, so the boy continued on in his self-assured tone:

"My name is Pascal Kay Lennart von Moltewitz, son of Weichsel Field Marshal Karl August von Moltewitz and heir to the Langrave of Nordkreuz. What of Your Highness?"

The girl being addressed neither shifted nor replied. And a nervous silence soon fell upon the room.

One minute passed...

Five minutes passed...

Ten minutes later, she began to wonder if he had quietly left, with the door's closing silenced by his spell. She slowly peeped out from under the covers, only to meet eye to eye with a boy of her own age.

Pascal wore a faint grin below turquoise eyes brightened by curiosity. His golden soft curls were neatly cut and draped over both ears. His visage was well-proportioned, poised confidently atop a balanced build. Even at a mere nine years old, it was already apparent that he would grow up to become a handsome young man.

For a moment she paused, her attention captured by his gaze. Another few seconds passed before she realized her need to pull the covers back up.

"I just saw your eyes, by the way. You need not hide your tears any longer."

His calm words of sympathy only annoyed her further.

"I am NOT crying!" she declared as her hands pushed off the comforter.

"Of course not. You are a Lotharin Princess after all. Though... you are not exactly what I expected."

With eyes full of amused curiosity, Pascal's slow speech had a nature of being almost... irritating.

"What, did you expect me to wear a flower tiara as appropriate of the ''tribal'' Lotharins!? You arrogant Weichsens are little better than Imperials!" she retorted in an almost yell.

Yet somehow, Pascal smiled:

"Not really. Though I thought princesses had more... you know, attitude. ''Bow down before me!'' and all that..."

Her cheeks heated as embarrassment permeated them, which was followed closely by annoyance and anger.

She didn't need some petty Weichsel lordling to tell her that. She had already heard enough growing up. As the third and youngest child of Emperor Geoffroi Jean de Gaetane, ruler of the Empire of Rhin-Lotharingie, she had spent her years with the adoration of two older brothers. They were perfect noblemen, as handsome as they are talented, as capable as they are kind. Few younger sisters enjoyed the blessing of even one admirable and caring older brother, let alone two. Yet even though she loved them with all her heart, she couldn't help but feel the slow creep of inferiority every time she watched them from afar.

It certainly didn't help to hear the nobles, or even the ''servants''' chatter from behind corners. They admired how 'princely' her brothers were while expressing that she looked less like a princess and more like a mere baron's daughter.

"But of course, none of that really matters," the boy named Pascal continued. "Still, there are some protocols to follow."

He then bowed down, his hands waving in the perfect gestures of a nobleman placing a request towards a lady:

"May I have the honor of hearing your name, my beautiful princess?"

The praise 'beautiful' was never one she could seriously take from another, but she nevertheless responded with composure as she sat up in her bed:

"Sylviane Etiennette de Gaetane, daughter of Emperor Geoffroi Jean de Gaetane of the Empire of Rhin-Lotharingie."

Pascal then stood back up straight. A playful smile stretched across his countenance:

"That was not too hard, was it now? Although I could certainly see how one would be troubled by worries in such a stuffy room. What was father thinking!? No maps, no projectors, not even a single shelf of books. Forget the bright sun and open air to let the mind flourish!"

The girl named Sylviane blinked. The boy's lines seemed almost... contradictory. His first three items listed were precisely the culprits that palace servants often accused of stuffiness. Meanwhile free sun and air were simply not comforts normally given to any prisoner of war, which she certainly was.

"So! How about it, my princess? Do you ''dare'' to brave the foreign lands of a hostile liege? Or would you rather cower inside this bedchamber, doomed to dust and mold like the expensive but nonetheless useless furnishings of a trophy room?"

''Who does he think he is!?''

Her temper, although not exactly matching that of her father's, was at least finally rising. Yet oddly enough, Pascal seemed ''happy'' to see it.

"Only if your bravado is capable of getting me out of this room," she retorted.

"Now that is a challenge no knight could possibly refuse. Shall we go then?"

Pascal offered his hand. However Sylviane merely looked down at the white blouse with violet ribbons she was wearing.

"I need to get changed first."

"Sure," he turned around and left. But rather than departing, he merely went to the nearby dressers, pulled out a long, purple dress, and walked back to her.

"Here, let me help." He offered as he laid the dress down on the bed.

"Whoever heard of any man other than her husband helping a ''lady'' dress!? Now GET OUT!" Sylviane finally snapped.

She didn't miss Pascal's humored grin as he strode away.

As Sylviane dressed herself in a violet dress two shades lighter than her dark-purple hair, she heard the boy toss more barely-veiled threats at the guards outside in between enticing them with bribery.

"--What use does my father have for you if your entire unit cannot even keep watch over two ''kids'' by the lakeside!? Or do you think you will be free of responsibility if father returned to find her gravely ill because she did nothing but mope inside a gloomy room all day? Would it not be better for everyone involved to breathe fresh air and stay happier while your friends earned some extra silver for bar tabs this weekend...?"

In just one meeting, Sylviane decided that she had never met a nobleman, or noble son, as rude, audacious, downright impertinent, and -- Holy Father forbid -- as ''interesting'' as Pascal.

<nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>

"I still can't believe I'm sitting next to Cross Lake."

Sylviane's wisteria eyes gazed across the calm waters, towards the horizon and the unseen shores of her home country. It was a peaceful autumn day. The soothing sound of gentle waves rolling onto the stone embankments was the essence of tranquility for the second largest lake in Northern Hyperion. Yet her eyes couldn't help but moisten as yet another surge of homesickness washed over her.

The princess suppressed it, hard. This was no place to be seen crying.

Aside from the boy Pascal, who laid back beside her against the grassy earthen motte, there were also at least two dozen soldiers who kept watch over the two kids. Some of them were Pascal's men-at-arms and had already learned the bodyguards' art of discretion. But most were garrison soldiers responsible for the captive princess, and she could almost feel their glances continuously sweep across her back.

Sylviane had just enough introductory martial training to realize how suicidal it would be to take on this many soldiers at once, even assuming she had a weapon. Yet just because she was helpless didn't mean she could allow them to see it.

"Let me guess -- your father wished he stood here." Pascal asked with nonchalance after a moment's thought.

She almost spoke the truth before holding herself back and deciding for a more neutral answer:

"Why do you say that?"

Pascal bolted back to sitting upright before his bright turquoise gaze caught hold of her eyes once again.

"Do ''you'' know how strategically important this Lake is?"

It wasn't a question, but a challenge.

Thinking back, Sylviane was beginning to realize that many of this nine-year-old boy's statements were precisely that: challenges, tests.

''But for what?'' She didn't have a clue.

"I don't remember the maps well, but father once said that the Cross Lake is where the Lotharingie Rivers united before flowing towards the sea."

"Do you know what that implies?" he asked again.

Sylviane took a minute to ponder it over. Even for royalty, she was still too young to receive schooling on military or economic strategy. But it hardly required official lessons to understand the importance of rivers to transportation, and therefore every aspect of civilization.

"Ummm... that whoever holds Cross Lake controls the two largest rivers of Rhin-Lotharingie, and... through them, project military power across the whole Lotharin heartlands?"

It would take years before she realized how much difference this simple answer by her ten-year-old self made in the course of her life.

"'Control' might be a bit excessive," the boy followed up. "However there is definitely a strong military influence, and maybe dominance over trade. Not to mention the third river, Albis, that flows here from the northern parts of the Holy Imperium. One could definitely say that this lake is the crux, the most important strategic location in Northern Hyperion."

Pascal then shrugged before a wide grin lit up his expression from cheek to cheek:

"But good enough! Wow, a princess is a ''princess''. You really are different from all those other noble daughters. I have met plenty twice your age, yet all they know is gossip and arts."

It was the first time Sylviane had received such conflicting words from outside the family. On one hand, his sincerity towards her worthiness as a 'princess' was so genuine she could almost taste it. On the other hand, he indirectly insulted one of her favorite interests -- one that her parents encouraged and the nobles praised.

Between shy modesty and annoyed retorts, her pride automatically seized the second:

"What's wrong with arts?" Sylviane pouted. "I ''like'' music -- especially Lotharin music. It's festive, and joyous, and easy to understand. Never fails to cheer the heart. Not like your Weichsel orchestral, all martial and stuck up on drums and trumpets."

"That is because Lotharin music source from folk songs. They are popular among the commoners even here in Weichsel. But you misunderstand, Your Highness..."

"Sylviane is fine." she cut in. "All this 'Your Highness' when you're the one actually in charge makes it feel like you're mocking me."

Truth be told, Sylviane couldn't help but feel envious of Pascal. She had always felt daunted by her royal rank, always afraid she would not live up to expectations. Yet here beside her sat a boy her own age, who spoke and acted as though he was born to command others.

"Sure, Princess Sylviane," Pascal beamed back, completely ignoring the annoyed pout she gave him. "As I was saying, I have nothing against the fine arts. But people cannot live on art and culture alone. What can noble artistry accomplish when the people starve from poor agriculture, when they wallow in destitution due to a lack of commerce? Father believes too many nobles forget this as they raise their heirs, daughters especially, and I fully agree."

"But mother and father said that it was still too early for me to study what my elder brothers learned." She countered with a matter-of-fact tone. "They just want me to train a properly royal demeanor for now. They said an interest in the arts would help my image."

"Royal demeanor? Attitude is easy to fake. Watch me!"

Pascal hurriedly stood up atop a nearby rock. With his back straight and chin high, he began to gesture sternly at the lake with pointed fingers while calling out in a deliberately pitched voice:

"Hmph! You better be grateful! That is a royal gift from the house of de Gaetane...!"

"Don't misunderstand. I am merely issuing you a fair reward for your accomplishments..."

"As a princess, I must show kindness to loyal attendants. That is all there is to it!"

He then gracefully sat back down.

"Well, what do you think?"

Sylviane's entranced eyes were lost between astonishment and stupefaction.

"It definitely has 'attitude'. But nothing like what my tutors taught me."

"Please! What do those old men and women know about being a ''princess''!?" Pascal's voice held nothing but disdain as he began to speak of his hired tutors. "I chased away three of them before father gave it up. Not a single one of them could stand up to me in either a contest of will or knowledge, always resorting to barbaric violence instead! Of course... if your mother had advice, that would be something else entirely."

"Mother was only the daughter of a Count before father married her," she replied. "As much as we love her, mother has never grown accustomed to being empress. There's no way I would bother her for such advice!"

"A mere Count?" Pascal's brows shot up. "I thought noble marriages were usually made for more political gain than that? A lone county will not offer much to help back up an Emperor's authority."

Sylviane snapped her irritated glare back onto him. Only then did she realize that his eyes held not an ounce of condescension, merely curiosity and surprise.

After taking a deep breath and donning her 'royal composure' once again, the princess started to explain:

"Father always said that political marriages are the folly of short-sighted nobles and certainly not the 'Gaetane' way. He told my elder brothers and me that because we are royalty who bear the burden of the realm, we must take extra care to marry well and create warm, caring families. Because only a good family may raise a good heir, and only a responsible child with a healthy mind may become an excellent liege..."

She paused for a moment in uncertainty before continuing:

"I'm still a child, so I don't really understand it all. But I know they're right! It's because of father and mother that my brothers became the kind, smart, and diligent young men that they are. Just the thought of father and mother disappointed and ashamed, after everything they've done for us... I don't think any of us could bear that."

Sylviane watched as Pascal turned back to the lake. He seemed to think it over as his soft, golden curls swayed in the waterside breeze. Then, with his eyes still far away, he began with pensive words:

"I think you are probably right. My mother died before I really knew her, and father is too busy to return home often. But it does not matter how tired or how far away he is, he always makes sure to write to me, or send long messages every week through our Majordomo Karsten. He is one of the main reasons I want to learn and understand all manners of stately affairs, and magic too--!"

Pascal's tone suddenly rose in excitement:

"I simply cannot wait for the day when I can receive ''Farspeak'' calls directly from him!"

He then turned back around and met the amethyst eyes of the princess. His gaze held a new light even as he repeated old words:

"Like I said, a princess is a ''princess!'' You are just so much better than all those other noble girls!"

This time, Sylviane no longer had the distraction of another mood. This time, she turned away coyly as her cheeks flushed pink.

"You're actually the first one outside my family who sincerely meant that," she admitted. "Everyone else keeps whispering behind my back that I'm not graceful enough, or not beautiful enough, or lack that alluring aristocratic refinement..."

"Oh please, do not tell me you actually listen to those idiots." Pascal cut in. His hard eyes were insistent if not imperative, more pressuring than any tutor she met.

"Sure, some noble girls may ''look'' nice -- beautiful as a peacock! With just as little birdbrains! I have met many of them, and most of their thought capacity barely extends beyond squealing like pigs and chirping over which set of feathers to admire tomorrow. Seriously, those 'nobles' can go jump off a cliff and the world would hardly have lost a thing."

Sylviane knew that his statement was rather excessive and mean if not outright horrible. Yet she nevertheless smiled and grinned as he bashed upon the same people she always held an inferiority complex towards.

As disdain rapidly drained from his gaze, Pascal returned to his appreciative voice:

"Now being a ''real princess'' -- that requires skills and knowledge. Royal demeanor is important too, but that is easy to learn and project! The rest is what truly requires work. I cannot say that I am sufficiently learned myself to teach you, but I could certainly help you study!"

At the time, Sylviane mostly thought that Pascal was boasting. After all, even if he was smarter than the average, how much could a mere nine-year-old understand about affairs of state and governance?

It took but days before the princess realized how wrong she was.

While other children their age spent most of their time playing outside, learning language, numbers, etiquette, and equestrian skills, Pascal had already skipped ahead by several steps. Instead of comparing dresses and dance steps or matching bravado with wooden swords, the young lord spent every day dragging her to study map displays and book projections:

-- Administrative sectors and the effect of synergistic coupling on managerial efficiency.

-- Trade networks and their convergence points' need for transport expansion.

-- Climate zones and the inevitable limitations of agriculture based on weather.

-- Resource maps and the optimal placement of supply-production chains.

-- Military strongholds and their potential for mutual support and coordinated defense.

The list went on and on...

For nearly a year Sylviane stayed at the Moltewitz estate in the Landgraviate of Nordkreuz as a political hostage. Landgrave Karl August von Moltewitz never disrespected her. Even King Leopold of Weichsel treated her as the royalty she was during his cordial visit. Other than her limited freedoms and the dozen soldiers constantly tailing her, one could easily mistake her for some other noble daughter staying at the fortified estate as Pascal's study-mate.

However, after many months of playing catchup, Sylviane slowly came to the realization that she had never been a foreigner in his eyes. She had held a suspicion since her first week that the entire meeting with Pascal may have been set up by his father the Marshal. Yet in the end it hardly mattered whether or not the old man plotted and schemed, for Pascal himself was truly sincere.

It had been a precious chance for Pascal to garner a new friend... one of only two at that.

Yet despite all their time spent huddled in libraries and studies, despite all their heated lakeside discussions and peaceful, humored strolls, it was Pascal's words during her last day beside the shores of Cross Lake that would forever be engraved into her memories:

"Tell your father I think he should hire healers to check his court nobles for vision problems." The ten-year-old Pascal said nonchalantly as his beautiful turquoise eyes left the glittering, sunlit lake and turned towards her.

Sylviane almost giggled. Saying something equivalent to 'tell the Emperor to do this' was just... such a Pascal thing to do.

"Why is that?"

"Because blindness is their only excuse for belittling the sight of the most beautiful girl I have ever met."

Completely unabashed, Pascal was positively beaming in his childish innocence.

For a second, Sylviane almost thought she misheard.

For a moment after that, she thought he was joking or perhaps teasing her again.

Then, her entire face ripened like an apple as she realized that he was absolutely serious. If embarrassment actually burned as hot as it felt, Sylviane was certain that her lightheaded brain, her overheating shoulders, her fluttering chest... her entire body would have erupted with steam.

Her light-violet eyes reflexively turned away as they fled his gaze and sought the cool blue ripples of the lake.

"D-d-don't get too ahead of yourself with flattery!" Her failing voice stuttered out. "I am still the Royal Princess of Rhin-Lotharingie!"

"Of course, Your Highness."

Joyous pride filled Pascal's voice as he lifted and kissed the back of her hand.

...

Sylviane never figured out if Pascal intentionally did it or if his lack of social common sense simply left him misguided. However, her father certainly did not appreciate Pascal's idea of 'royal attitude' rubbing off on her. With the rest of the family now gone, Emperor Geoffroi took it upon himself in the following months to stamp almost every vestige of it out of her.

<nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>

"Your Highness?"

The words of Sir Robert de Dunois, wayfarer mage and Oriflamme Armiger to the ''Cerulean Princess'', pulled Sylviane's thoughts back to the present.

''I'll see him soon enough,'' she thought.

"Just planning ahead, Sir Robert."

Crown Princess Sylviane lied through her royal mask of imperturbable confidence. Her shoulders felt heavy and burdened by responsibility. Yet she could not reveal one iota of it -- not to her closest guards, not to the ministers in court, not to anyone, except maybe the three most important men in her life.

Fairy tales aside, being a royal princess had never been about an enviable and enjoyable life. It was hard, and lonely, and just outright tiring.

It was but another reason why no true heir of the Gaetane dynasty ever wanted the throne.

"Your Highness!" A friendly cry interrupted Sylviane's thoughts. "We're here!"

The Princess looked towards the front of the deck. King Alistair was in the prime of his adulthood and wore an imposing suit of half-plate armor. Yet his countenance held the expression of a boy who had just received birthday presents. Sylviane never understood how Alistair could be so lax and cheerful at moments like these, even though she felt like the world was collapsing and that she was one of the few who bore its weight.

Sylviane couldn't help feel envious as she looked up to meet his faded-blue gaze. The King wasn't merely pretending to be happy. His eyes truly looked like that of an excited, tail-wagging puppy.

''But then... this is part of why they call him the 'Hound King'.'' She smiled a little as she stood up from her chair. She strode forward with firm steps as she joined the tall, broad-shouldered man almost thrice her age.

"Come on, Sylviane. Join us on the front deck. You're missing all the scenery!"

"Surely this cannot be your first time in Alis Avern, Your Majesty?" The Princess replied rather stiffly -- a sign of her anxiety and worries.

"It's ''Alistair.'' There are no outsiders here." The King insisted playfully, and not for the first time.

Sylviane exhaled a sigh before she smiled and chuckled to herself. ''This man never holds to protocol. Must be all those years he spent as a mercenary.''

"Alistair." She addressed him more casually. "I'm sure you've been to the capital before."

"Of course I have!" He answered with an infectious smile. "But never from this altitude before! And never from the bridge of a skywhale!"

The deck corridor that they strode along soon ended. It opened up to a semi-circular viewing deck, which was surrounded on three sides by floor-to-ceiling windows. At least a dozen Oriflamme Armigers, mostly Alistair's and also a few of Sylviane's, chatted as they pointed to the ground below. The crew compartment they stood in hung under the belly of a skywhale. They were still over a thousand paces off the ground and the windows offered a perfect view.

"Captain Moreau," Alistair turned to face a tall, red-haired man who had just passed his prime. "Bring us to dock please. And make sure to give Geoffroi an eyeful." He then leaned over to Sylviane and half-whispered: "I want to make your father jealous."

"Yes, Your Dippisty."

"Dippy?" Alistair looked taken aback, yet he remained in good humor. "That's a new one."

"The Captain isn't wrong." Sylviane shook her head. "Only you would annoy my father like this."

"Only I ''can'' annoy your father like this." Alistair grinned from ear to ear. "Call it the privilege of being his most loyal supporter."

''Yet another reason why they call you the 'Hound King'.'' Sylviane chuckled.

Sylviane looked out through the giant windows and watched as the Oriflamme Palace grew in size at a steady pace. The skywhale still flew over the waters of Lake Alise, the largest lake in Western Hyperion. The capital city of Alise Avern, built by the refugees of the Averni tribe after the fall of Fort Alisia, was situated on the northern tip of an island in the middle of the lake.

There, at the island's northernmost point, was a hill formed by a single, gargantuan rock. On top of this rock was the citadel of the capital's fortifications -- a tall, hexagon-shaped keep, surrounded by a curtain wall with twelve towers devoted to the twelve sacred phoenixes of the realm.

The stone keep in the center was almost boring in its blue granite construction. It wasn't awe-inspiring like the Black Dragon Castle of Weichsel. It wasn't elegant like the tower of the 'Perennial Court' in Ceredigion's Caernarfon Castle. It wasn't even as beautiful as the landscape surrounding Alistair's home in Highcliff Castle.

But this boring looking keep was nevertheless the Oriflamme Palace, the place where she grew up.

''I'm home.'' Sylviane finally smiled in earnest to herself.

<noinclude>
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| Back to [[Daybreak:Volume_1_Chapter_14|Volume 1]]
| Return to [[Daybreak_on_Hyperion|Main Page]]
| Forward to [[Daybreak:Volume_2_Chapter_2|Chapter 2]]
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</noinclude>

Daybreak:Volume 1 Chapter 13

2022-02-27T18:57:08Z

Aorii:

===Chapter 13 - A World of Difference===

Kaede spent most of the next two days in bed, skipping even mealtime trips to the dining hall. Thankfully, Pascal brought her a tray of aristocratic food back every time. Even better, he told her that Perceval started inviting him over to join Ariadne, Reynaud, and others during meals, so she didn't even have to feel bad about leaving him to eat alone again.

Although he would have deserved it, as all of her discomfort for the past days could be explained as 'his fault'.

By Wednesday afternoon however, her menstrual cramps had lessened enough for her to effectively concentrate on other things. Kaede only missed dinner due to being completely engrossed in her book on Rhin-Lotharingie history:

The Empire of Rhin-Lotharingie was forged only 256 years ago, making it the youngest nation in Western Hyperion by far. It was created after Charles the Bold united the twelve Oriflamme Paladins and led the first successful Lotharin revolt against the Holy Imperium of the Inner Sea. The rebellion culminated in the Fifth Alisia Campaign, where Charles outmaneuvered the Imperium's northern field army and destroyed a total of twelve Imperial Legions. After that, the rebellion grew like wildfire as the various Lotharin tribes, long discontent over the Imperium's efforts to impose their cultural and religious values, united under Charles' banner in the Rhin-Lotharingie Independence War.

''If first you don't succeed, try, try, try, try again,'' Kaede thought with a wry smile.

It made for a good fable, to be certain. But she could only imagine the generational cost in blood and lives the Lotharins paid.

She also found it a bit ironic. Because after centuries of slow integration and conversion, the Lotharins were more like the Imperials than they would like to admit. Trinitian might not be the 'official' state religion of Rhin-Lotharingie, but it was pretty close as only pockets of the old gods held out.

Nevertheless, the Lotharins managed to carve out a 'National Myth' for themselves. This includes many heroes such as Charles the Bold, Douglas the Black, Gwendolyn the Faerie Sword, et cetera. The number twelve also took on a sacred significance in Lotharin historiography: the twelve Paladins, the twelve original tribes, the twelve weeks campaign that resulted in twelve shattered Legions... ''Which is almost certainly an exaggeration,'' Kaede thought.

The Lotharins would claim otherwise, as they had enshrined the twelve captured Legionary Eagles in their royal palace. But even an amateur historian like Kaede could see the signs. For example, the Lotharins took great pride in depicting how Charles' persistent appeals eventually united the squabbling tribes under a common banner of unity, which they claimed was the reason for the revolt's success. However that ignored the international factors which also played a decisive role. This included:

Arms sales from the Kingdom of Weichsel as it pulled away from the Imperial sphere of influence...

Money and military support from the Grand Republic of Samara, in repayment for the help they received from Leslie the Paladin over three hundred years ago during the Great Northern War...

...And last but certainly not the least, the Caliph's decision to launch the 1st Tauheed Holy War against the Imperium at the same time.

If Kaede hadn't cross-referenced the events between multiple historical sources, she might not even have realized. However such efforts were far beyond the scope of the average citizen, even if they read.

''Magic or not, history is still written by the victor,'' Kaede thought. It was a fact of life she had long come to accept, but it still bothered her to think about. Just as it disturbed her when she first saw how, back in 1950, most of continental Europe agreed that it was the Soviet Union who played the greatest role in the defeat of Nazi Germany. Yet after seventy years and one Cold War, it was the Americans who raised themselves onto that pedestal.

Kaede's frown was soon abated when a mouthwatering scent wafted into the room. Except Pascal wasn't carrying anything as he strode into view.

"You are being invited to dinner, sort of. Ariadne is just outside the door."

His broad shoulders gave a noncommittal shrug, followed by a silent reminder as he saw how Kaede only wore an unbuttoned jacket over her undergarments.

"<You should get dressed properly first.>"

According to Pascal, Ariadne had mostly put away their past after her epic -- and publicly humiliating -- slap. But not hating his guts wasn't the same as being on good terms.

Kaede nodded back and rushed to put on her white pseudo-uniform, a task far simpler than with any of those dresses. She also stuffed two hot water pads into its belt pouches.

Pascal then stopped her before she could walk out. He took care to make sure her appearance was immaculate and wouldn't embarrass him before the noblest of ladies.

Two of them, as it turned out.

"Good evening Kaede. Thought you could use a little chat and company after two days." Ariadne's angelic smile radiated from just beyond the room's doorway, with a food tray hovering above one palm and the other hand waving at her. "My friend Cecylia is paying a visit from Alis Avern. Would you be interested in joining us?"

"Pleased to make your acquaintance." The petite girl who stood beside Ariadne's pink cascade beamed and waved energetically.

Kaede wasn't exactly in a mood to meet new people tonight, but this wasn't an offer she could refuse politely.

"The pleasure is mine," she tried her best to curtsy in return.

Cecylia was slightly taller than Kaede. She had fine, glossy black hair, trimmed short and pulled back by a white ribbon. Standing next to the mature and elegant Ariadne, she seemed almost fragile with her petite and thin figure, which only enhanced her undeniably cute appearance. Her small nose and lips lay under a pair of vibrant, dark-ruby eyes that held something odd about them, giving off a mysteriously alluring light. Her skin was fair to the point of bearing nearly a translucent silky sheen, which was accentuated by a black uniform similar to what Pascal wore. Except hers had no crimson stripes and came with a long, wide skirt instead of trousers.

As Kaede neared the doorway, she gasped and nearly tripped into a tray of wiener schnitzel and a steaming bowl of vegetable soup. She had just realized what that 'something odd' about Cecylia was:

Inside the round black pupils within her deep-red iris, Cecylia's eyes held tiny scarlet-red crosses.

The new girl's hands gently steadied Kaede as she looked back up. Her gaze was unerringly drawn to the depth of those eyes before she could pull back and glance away.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to stare."

"Hehe, don't worry about it," Cecylia giggled in her schoolgirl soprano. "I'll explain when we get back to Aria's room."

She then turned towards Pascal while reaching for the doorknob:

"See you later Pascal! Don't worry, we'll take good care of her!"

Her cheery voice gave Kaede bit of a surprise, who mentally asked Pascal: "<Made a new friend already?>"

"Good night," Pascal bid before sending back a somewhat wistful response:

"<No. We spoke quite a bit before I fell out with Ariadne, then until today she mostly avoided me. Cecylia Renata von Falkenhausen is the third child of General Wiktor von Falkenhausen, my father's second-in-command. Since we are the same age, our fathers had us meet when we were six. She is actually the one who introduced me to Ariadne.>"

''Bet your breakup came as a personal embarrassment for her then.'' Kaede thought as Cecylia took her hand and began pulling her down the hall with Ariadne following behind.

"<Be careful though. She likes to drag others to her pace before turning it back on them.>"

But rather than cautionary, Pascal sounded almost... admiring.

So Kaede wrote down another name on her mental list of people that Pascal actually respected.

...

The third-year girls' dorms were just one floor above, and Ariadne's room turned out to be... very feminine.

The bedsheets and curtains were in a soft pink that matched her hair, decorated by an abundance of white laces and frills. Frames of natural scenery on watercolor canvas decorated the walls, while a baby grand piano lay against the far corner.

''This is definitely the room of a highborn lady.''

Even before the door closed behind them, Kaede found herself greeted by a plump cat with lush white and gray fur. It laid down before Kaede and gazed at her through teal eyes before giving an adorable purr.

She knelt down to pet and stroke its wonderfully soft coat.

"Kaede, you might want to finish your dinner before getting too friendly with Ania," Ariadne suggested as she took the tray to the writing desk by the window. "She loves to steal food, and it's hard to keep watch on all of them."

"All of them?"

"Ania is a matryoshka cat from Samara." Cecylia watched with an amused grin. "She's also my familiar."

Kaede stood back up, puzzled.

"Matryoshka?"

Even as Kaede asked, Ania looked up, and another feline face, identical but slightly smaller, emerged from below her furry stomach. The smaller cat soon pulled herself out, laid down next to the larger Ania, and the process repeated itself.

Kaede soon found herself wide-eyed and speechless, surrounded by nine purring cats of decreasing size and plumpness.

"Are they... separate...?" she struggled to find the right words.

"They share the same psyche, as far as we know," Cecylia explained. "Matryoshka cats use shadow magic to make duplicates of themselves to scout for predators and trap prey. The largest one is always the main body, even though tapping its senses always feel like the smallest one is the primary.

"Speaking of eyes and ears, are you..."

"Not since I got annoyed with him and told him to stop. Pascal did promise not to intrude upon my senses without permission," Kaede answered as she wondered how many times she would have to explain this to people.

"Good!" Cecylia grinned. "Not that he's the voyeur type. But we don't need him to catch an eye-full during girls' night."

''Oh... OH!''

''This must be the 'slumber party' guys are so intrigued over.''

Kaede began to fidget just inside the entrance. Her cheeks heated up and her eyes glanced away as Cecylia wasted no time before starting to undress, with a set of black velvet pajamas with pink frills already laid out on the bed before her.

Ariadne was quick to notice as usual, soon commenting in her peaceful smile from the other side of the room:

"Cecylia, you're making our guest uncomfortable."

"Rules are rules: sleepwear only! No stupid layers of formality on girls' night!"

"I think changing in front of someone you recently met goes far beyond mere 'casual'."

"Hehe well, we'll just get familiar ''that'' much faster then!"

Before Kaede knew it, Cecylia had finished changing and bounced back. Her first thought was that Cecylia's exposed shoulders above her camisole easily had the smoothest, pearly skin she had ever seen, even with modern cosmetics and skincare products. In fact, it seemed almost unnatural.

"Eek!"

Backed into the wall, Kaede yelped in surprise as Cecylia's delicate fingers snaked in and started undoing her buttons with swift precision.

"S-stop!"

She turned towards Ariadne with her eyes pleading. The noble lady then tilted her head with a scowl before she walked over and pulled the overenthusiastic Cecylia off by the wrists.

"At least get to know someone properly before you start being forceful. You're going to drive Kaede off with this kind of behavior!"

"Awww but I wanna see! Pascal has pretty good tastes you know!"

With her shirt open and halfway down her shoulders, Kaede hugged her small chest and pressed herself against the wall. She could feel her cheeks blushing furiously, her exposed skin reddening as they met the warm indoor air again. Oddly enough, she found this far more embarrassing than wearing the same thing in front of Pascal.

''Girls by themselves are way too scary...''

"Oh, Sylv is going to have ''so much fun'' with her!"

Cecylia kept her brightly lit eyes fixated on Kaede, as though savoring an alluring piece of artwork.

Trying to defuse the situation, Ariadne herself began to undress and change to her sleepwear. She started by revealing a soft-pink bustier that tightly hugged her ample bosom.

It didn't have quite the intended effect. Kaede merely looked for more inconspicuous objects to fascinate over.

...

"You still haven't introduced yourself like you promised," Kaede grumbled before she leaned over the bedside counter and bit into another slice of wiener schnitzel.

Delicious food always made her feel better about things.

She even stopped obsessing over the fact that she wore nothing more than white lingerie as the three of them sat on Ariadne's king-sized four-poster bed between 'nine' furry cats. Although it would take a while before she could grow accustomed to it, if that were possible at all.

"Hehe, I do still owe an explanation don't I?" Cecylia replied cheerily. "I take it's your first time meeting a dhampir?"

Kaede nearly choked. 'Dhampir' of slavic folklore was the child between a human and...

"One of your parents... is a vampire?" She asked as her coughs subsided with the help of Ariadne stroking her back.

"Ah... you really aren't from our world are you?"

Cecylia's scarlet-cross eyes grew fascinated as a mischievous grin lit up her face. She held up the smallest kitty and twiddled its paw towards Kaede while launching into a lively explanation that totally contrasted with its contents:

"The vampire clans were wiped out centuries ago by the not-yet-Holy Imperium, although not before their curses destroyed sixteen whole legions and left the Dead Mountains perpetually filled with murderous mist. Dhampir are the descendants of vampires, still carrying the core of the fiendish blood curse that first created them during the Demonic Invasion. But the magic have at least diluted enough that the church could seal its effects, which..." she pointed to her pupils, "is what this cross is. I've had it since my baptism, dyed by my own magic over the years in the same way Ariadne's rosy mana colors her hair."

"So... you don't drink blood anymore then?"

The moment Cecylia put her kitten back onto the bedcovers, all nine cats scurried forward and surrounded Kaede's sides and rear like a furry trolley train.

"We do not urge for blood. But we certainly still ''enjoy'' it..."

Cecylia's grin slanted into a smirk at just the right angle, highlighting the little fang of a canine she sported. Oddly enough, only one was slightly bigger than usual. But Kaede hardly thought about it as the dhampir leaned in with a hungry, blood-red gaze.

With her entire body shivering, Kaede had never felt so aware of her Samaran body, nor the fact her blood was literally 'health food' for the predatory girl before her.

"Most dhampirs follow our cultural tradition of ''taking'' blood..."

Kaede could feel Cecylia's thin yet firm fingers slide down her bare shoulders, pinning her arms on each side. Hot breaths tickled her exposed collarbone as two deep-red eyes leaned in. Already quivering with trepidation, Kaede shook uselessly against Cecylia's unyielding grasp. It was as though those very pupils made her feel weak, yet Kaede couldn't break eye contact. She then cringed as she felt the dhampir's moist lips touched her skin... and kissed her gently.

Cecylia then leaned back with the broad smile of a joke well played.

"Y-you're horrible." Kaede muttered in her wispy, shaky voice as she wiped the tears from her glaring eyes. She genuinely felt scared for a moment as it felt like her whole body had been paralyzed.

"Hehe sorry. You're just so cute that I couldn't resist teasing a teeny bit extra." Cecylia responded. Her playful words didn't harbor the slightest drop of apology.

Meanwhile, her nine cats returned to the center of the bed, forming a full circle around her while each playfully chased the swaying tail of the kitten before them.

"Don't worry though, we only take blood from the partners we marry." Cecylia announced proudly. "Dhampirs lack the regenerative vitality of vampires, so drinking blood has become a rather private issue -- diseases and all that."

''So... dhampirs are dead afraid of Sexually Transmitted Diseases.''

Kaede was still trying to calm down her heartbeat. Nevertheless she sent a note to her future self that the next time a dhampir threatens to bite her, she should just warn them of syphilis.

"Although we no longer need it, consuming fresh human blood does make us appear younger." Cecylia added. "You should see my father, hundred-fifty-eight years old and still drawing the attention of every lady across the hall like a stud beefcake. Mother gets jealous all the time, even though he's never cheated on her once after a century of marriage. We dhampirs tend to be rather devoted in matrimony, blood of our cherished mate flowing through us and all."

Ariadne had watched the entire exchange with a serene smile, completely unperturbed, while her hands continued to brush her long, flowing pink hair. Now, she finally reentered the conversation:

"That's pretty rare among us. Most noble lords have at least one affair during their youth. It's almost something of a 'proud' achievement among them. The Trinitian Church may require monogamy, but aristocratic culture always tend to turn a blind eye toward mistresses."

"It's worse in Rhin-Lotharingie." Cecylia noted. "They haven't shrugged off their old pagan traditions of concubines equaling prestige. But here complains the girl whose beloved suitor has eyes only for her."

Cecylia's sigh was almost longing, but Ariadne had no intention of playing into it.

"And you've got how many boys chasing after you?"

"Not here." Cecylia's smile faltered a little. "Most Lotharins only need to see my eyes before they decide I'm a sinner."

"Didn't stop Reynaud and Gerard."

Cecylia almost laughed. "Reynaud flirts with half of everything female and walking on two legs, plus I prefer someone taller than me. Gerard is a nice guy and a real diligent worker. Sweet, definitely the romantic type, not to mention those ''perfect'' abs the last time he wrestled with Reynaud."

Her dhampir eyes had that 'hungry' look again...

"But... if I court him he'd expect me to become his housewife or something. Nope!"

Cecylia retrieved a tennis-sized ball of red yarn and tossed it onto the bed, where the nine Anias began to juggle and bounce it around like some kind of feline volleyball game.

"Finding the ideal man is overrated. It's far better to help a boy with potential reach his manly peak. That, is where true and lasting love lay."

Ariadne's calm response sounded more like a profession of wisdom. But with Pascal's rooftop apology to Perceval only days past, Kaede quickly realized that the lady was speaking from personal experience.

"Of course it doesn't hurt when that boy you help comes from a powerful dynasty and is the heir to a duchy." Cecylia leaned into Ariadne with a smirk. "It's why the Marshal sent you here on this program even though you're a Knight Phantom. Isn't that right, future Baguette Duchess?"

Kaede rushed a hand to her mouth as she almost snorted with laughter.

At the same time she realized: if the Field Marshal, Pascal's father, was the one who picked Ariadne for the cultural exchange, then chances were he was the one who selected Pascal as well.

''A father's love truly is difficult,'' she thought.

Meanwhile Ariadne retorted with a blush: "That's not at all why I picked him!"

"No. No. You're getting power, wealth, ''and'' love. The impossible triangle!" Cecylia grinned. "Just be sure to bake plenty of little baguettes in that oven someday." She patted Ariadne's flat stomach. "Perceval is definitely the type to be a family man." She added before turning to Kaede as though looking for agreement.

The Samaran girl was still smiling when an uncomfortable thought entered her mind:

''Love relationships with a man...''

It was hardly a topic that Kaede felt comfortable discussing, especially not if they lingered and the two girls grew interested in 'her tastes'.

"What about you, Cecylia? What are you aiming for? It sounds like you're career motivated?"

Kaede took the opportunity to change topics as she ate her last two slices of veal. She could swear at least four slices were missing, although that was still an acceptable price to pay for the adorable kittens whose furry tails continued to brush by every few seconds.

"Cecylia isn't an 'exchange student', unlike me and Pascal." Ariadne returned an appreciative look for coming to her rescue, which was an unintended bonus. "She graduated from Königsfeld last year and works in the Weichsen embassy in Alis Avern."

''Same year as you and Pascal then.''

"I'm a member of the King's Black Eagles and a junior military attaché," Cecylia smiled. "My specialty is information control and public security."

Kaede blinked. Her reading on Weichsel was considerably less than her research on Rhin-Lotharingie. However she remembered that the Black Eagles were the intelligence and special ops branch of the Weichsel military, who reported directly to the King. Combining that with Cecylia's claims about her specialty...

''In other words, you're a propagandist.'' Kaede realized.

"She's also a foreign culture expert. I could have sworn her crosses turned into glittering stars when I first told her about you Kaede," Ariadne joked.

"Then you're a..."

Kaede struggled to find a better word. However Cecylia wasn't the slightest bit shy about what she did.

"I'm a spy. Yep!" She declared with a grin. "It's not all cloak and dagger, you know. In fact, the Lotharins know exactly what I do. I analyze the information we see and hear from them, and then send it back to Weichsel for the King. I think my ultimate goal can be either spymaster or ambassador. One gets to know all the juicy bits and help nudge the country along the right path. Meanwhile the other gets to enjoy the high life while receiving all sorts of benefits."

''A counter-propagandist then.'' Kaede fixed her initial impression. She had a feeling that she and Cecylia would get along just fine, despite the latter's more... eccentric tendencies.

"But really, Aria, can you blame me for getting excited?" Cecylia turned towards her friend. "It's not everyday that one gets to meet a Samaran, and one from another world at that! Sure, I've met a few Samarans before -- actual Samarans and not just average humans from the Grand Republic. But most of them are so tight-lipped that you can barely get anything out of them."

''Probably because they don't feel safe outside Samara,'' Kaede reflected upon all the accounts of trafficking that she had read.

"What are they like?" She couldn't help but feel curious. "I've never actually met a Samaran before. They don't exist in the world where I come from."

Ariadne looked noticeably shocked by this. But Cecylia took it in stride:

"Well, you have met yourself!"

"Ha-ha." Kaede gave a fake laugh. "No seriously. I wake up and find myself reborn as a Samaran, yet I don't know a thing about what Samarans are like, how I'm supposed to behave, et cetera."

"Wellll," Cecylia tilted her head and cutely pressed a finger into her cheeks. "I can only give you my basic impression of them, plus some of the things I've heard from the other Black Eagles. Though since I've never had a mission in the Grand Republic, I don't have access to the full packet of information on them."

''Not that you'd share with me even if you did.'' Kaede thought.

She knew what it was like to work with those in intelligence. She had a brother-in-law who did so. He was the only man Kaede knew who never touched a drop of alcohol, and who was so tight-tipped one could barely get a word about work out of him.

"It's still more than I have," she then shrugged.

"So among the Black Eagles, the most often-said trait about Samarans... is that they're prudes." Cecylia giggled before her schoolgirl soprano deepened in a remarkably good imitation of a male voice: "''Never try to seduce one'', they say. ''You're more likely to bed my great-grandmother.''"

"That can't be right," Kaede thought aloud. "Samarans must still feel attraction."

"Ohhhhh? So who are you attracted to?" Cecylia scurried forward playfully until her knees were almost touching Kaede's.

Kaede could feel the fire that spontaneously erupted in her cheeks. "That's not what I meant. I mean..." She rushed to find an excuse. "They still have kids, don't they? All biological species feel attraction. Otherwise they'd have long gone extinct."

''Even pandas get in the mood... eventually,'' she thought back to how researchers used panda porn to encourage breeding, which her father couldn't stop laughing about.

It made her feel a little homesick.

"That's why I hear that even in the Grand Republic, Samarans are kind of... rare." Cecylia shrugged. "I don't know the real reason. But the gist of what I hear is that Samarans just aren't particularly interested in anything sexual, even though they take relationships very, very seriously."

"What do you mean by that?" Kaede felt her curiosity grow.

"They say a Samaran will never forget anything you did for them. And no matter how long it's been, they'll always repay the favor in kind. Apparently they believe in this concept called 'karma', and that every good deed should be repaid."

Kaede smiled. Buddhism ranked high on the list of Earth religions she had been attracted to for precisely this reason.

"Is that the reason why the Grand Republic sent aid to the Lotharins during the Rhin-Lotharingie Independence War?" She asked.

Cecylia looked taken aback. She exchanged a glance with Ariadne.

"I told you she was a quick study for books," the lady knight grinned.

"Yes, actually." Cecylia nodded as her gaze returned to Kaede. "If there's one thing one could say about the Grand Republic, it's that any diplomatic relationship with them is ''extremely'' predictable, almost painfully so. You can't just go on a charm offensive and hope they'll like you. You have to actually build relations with them over time. During the Great Northern War five centuries ago when the Great Khan invaded Samara from the east, there was an Oriflamme Paladin named Leslie who led his band into Samara and lent them his services as a mercenary. The Samarans remembered this even three centuries later and repaid the aid in spades."

''Does that mean the Mongols' invasion of Russia failed in this world?'' Kaede couldn't help ponder. ''Though Samaran foreign policy sounds more like... China's, obsessed with history.''

"Aria told me you found our world fascinating, though I'm a bit surprised by how quickly you're learning." Cecylia gave an encouraging smile. "So how similar is your world compared to ours? Other than the part where your humanity never received the gift of magic from the dragonlords?"

"By 'dragonlords', you mean..."

"Yes, I speak of the dragons that descended upon Hyperion roughly four thousand years ago, and departed at the end of the Dragon Age." Cecylia added. "We call them 'dragonlords' out of respect. After all, they protected our tribal ancestors during the Dragon-Demon Wars, not to mention blessed our forefathers with the ability and knowledge to shape magic. This is especially the case for the Dragonlord Hyperion -- the son of the Holy Father whom ended the Dragon-Demon Wars."

Kaede had to blink several times as she took all that in. She had been too focused on learning about the civilized history of this world, as opposed to the ancient history that, at least back on Earth, were more appropriate to anthropologists than historians. She had encountered mentions of the dragons during her reading, but they were mostly in passing as she had never focused her research on the topic.

"The world I came from had dragons also, but only in myths and legends," the Samaran girl replied.

"Well, they're certainly not limited to myths or legends here," Cecylia grinned. "The legacy of the dragonlords is well researched and documented, from battlefield remains to the artifacts they've left behind."

''Clearly, I should pay more attention to the 'prehistory' of this world.'' Kaede made a mental note to herself before returning to topic.

"But aside from magic, I'd say this world and mine are extremely similar? In fact, Hyperion feels like what my world might have been if neither the Roman Empire -- who conquered most of the Western World just like your Inner Sea Imperium -- nor the Catholic Church underwent schism. So instead of a long, slow decline, our version of the Imperium collapsed within a few centuries and lead to the 'Dark Ages' on the European continent."

In later hindsight, Kaede was surprised by how easily her words rushed out, even though this was their first meeting. But after being nearly stripped and bitten by Cecylia, delving into deep discussions felt almost... casual.

"Let me start closer to here and run nation by nation: Rhin-Lotharingie is like Celtic Gaul and Celtic Britain smushed together, except in my world the Romans' Celtic Holocaust basically wiped out their culture. The Empire as it stands now, however, reminds me of my world's Frankish Empire under the Carolingians, except without the Gavelkind succession which later tore them asunder..."

"Gavelkind?"

Cecylia cut her off almost instantly, a tribute to the girl's sheer mental processing speed even as she absorbed information that was literally out-of-this-world.

"It's a succession law where the father's realm and assets is split up between all of his sons. My world's history is rather patriarchal." Kaede noted with an apologetic shrug towards the two ladies.

"Since your world didn't have magic, it would certainly be much harder for women to match the men in any contest of power or strength," Ariadne commented as though she wasn't surprised. "The duties of nobility always began with military leadership, and if women can't match up on the battlefield then they automatically forfeit such positions of power."

"That's likely among the reasons, and certainly one of the more apparent differences." Kaede nodded as she pondered. "Though from a worldly perspective, I'd say the biggest difference between this world and mine is that nation-states changed a lot more in my world, with far more division and fragmentation. France and Germany. Eastern and Western Roman Empire. Caliphates of Cordoba and Baghdad. Even the Churches of Rome, Constantinople, and Alexandria."

She had a feeling that one of the reasons was because mages lived far longer. But that only meant Hyperion's history 'slowed down' compared to that of Europe on Earth. It didn't explain some of the more dramatic differences, like the fact there were almost no 'small states'. Even the Kingdom of Weichsel -- a comparatively 'minor power' in Hyperion -- came in a size that would make Prussian King Frederick the Great proud.

"Well, distance is a problem when it comes to administration of large realms. So it's easy to break down into smaller state entities," Cecylia suggested as a possible cause. "What did you use for communications? Without magic you wouldn't have access to our ''Farspeak'' spell to instantly relay information across thousands of kilopaces."

"Uhhh... back then? Horse and rider? Mail by pigeon? It took a ''long time'' to get messages across any empire, at least until we invented the telegraph which ran on electricity... lightning-power." Kaede noted.

"Well that's the problem," Cecylia pointed out. "You can't govern an empire effectively if messages take a month to reach the emperor and another to return. We don't even need a device that catches lightning to send messages. A ''Farspeak'' spell can be cast within minutes and allows you to converse with any mage that you've met once in person."

''First gunpowder, now this.''

It was beginning to sink in just how truly world-altering magic was. Not only did it shift the development paths of technology, it also changed the rules of how human institutions behaved.

<nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>

"How did your night go?" Pascal asked Kaede at brunch the next day as she sat down next to him.

"Pretty well."

Kaede and Cecylia ended up comparing the cultural and geopolitical evolution of the two worlds late into the night. Even with the dhampir's earlier behavior lingering in her mind, Kaede found herself quickly warming up to Cecylia thanks to their mutual interests.

Cecylia then left first thing this morning. She didn't even wait for breakfast and simply took a few pastries from the kitchens. Her departing words to Pascal and Ariadne was somewhat ominous though:

"Remember what I told you last night -- prepare yourselves."

The two of them pressed her for answers on what for. However all the dhampir girl would say was a cryptic "hopefully nothing, but possibly everything".

It really reminded Kaede that despite how outgoing Cecylia seemed, she was still a keeper of secrets.

After Cecylia left, Kaede decided that she owed Ariadne an apology. The lady who epitomized nobility spoke little most of the night and simply kept up her gentle smile. Engrossed in their discussion, Kaede did not notice until after the fact.

Ariadne's response had been a truly affectionate "I'm glad you enjoyed yourself. You needed it after the last few days."

It made Kaede feel unworthy of befriending such a wonderful person.

"Morning Gerard!"

Perceval's friendly call brought Kaede back from her thoughts.

"Hello Perceval. Clearly, I must have missed something ''big'' if the Runelord is sitting next to you."

"The Holy Father does his work in mysterious ways," Perceval smiled back. "Pascal I don't need to introduce. This is Kaede..."

"The famous familiar girl, I recognized."

Gerard nodded towards Pascal while giving Kaede a slight bow:

"I'm Gerard Fournier. Pleasure to meet you."

Gerard was easily the tallest of the group, as his height was at least a few finger-widths higher than either Pascal or Perceval. His short, straight hair was black. His firm eyes were ash-blue. Below them, his hard, chiseled chin and a slightly tall, Balkan nose dominated his image. He wore a loose fitting tunic and a jacket over it, both of which looked too plain for a noble. However despite his lax clothing, it was clear that his body held an incredibly firm musculature. Tough and well-built, but no steroids monster either.

"Ah... nice to meet you as well."

"Fournier?" Pascal puzzled. "I don't recognize that name."

"My parents are bakers." Gerard shrugged before his voice hardened. "Yeomen, lower middle class. Perceval was the one who sponsored my attendance here. You have a problem with it?"

"I did not know Alisia Academy had a patron program?" Pascal asked. However even his casual voice sounded haughty and was definitely rubbing Gerard the wrong way.

"It's not a program." Perceval explained. "Reynaud introduced him to me. Apparently they met through his parents' bakery."

"He makes the most adorable animal bread, presented in beautiful confection houses." Reynaud grinned. "When I asked him how, he started telling me about how the dough needed just the right mix and had to be set just right so they'd expand in a certain way, yadda yadda. The rest went over my head."

"Like I've told you -- baking is a science." Gerard insisted.

"Which is precisely why I didn't get it." Reynaud remained smiling as he patted the back of the man who was over a head taller than him. "I mean do you ever see me reading a science book? Or any book?"

"You read map books." Perceval interjected.

"Yeah, well, those are fun. Seeing all the places I can go to? Tickles the imagination."

"I still do not see how baking has any connection with this academy."

Pascal's comment made Kaede want to slam her head into the table. ''You've just made new friends! Don't ruin it already!''

Thankfully, Perceval addressed the issue as he explained with pride in his voice:

"Gerard ranked sixth on the entry assessment exam for his year. He is now the best among his class of 4th year civil engineers. Only reason he returned late is because of his internship with the Ministry of Land and Resources in the capital."

"Impressive." Pascal's attitude switch was instantaneous, even if his tone was not.

"<Would it hurt you to show your admiration a little more in your public voice?>" Kaede prodded over telepathy, which Pascal utterly ignored.

Gerard shrugged, his blank expression seemingly not caring:

"You may think as you like. Most nobles here only put up with me thanks to Perceval and Ariadne."

"Most nobles here are ''incompetent''." Pascal clarified as his turquoise gaze swept the dining hall. "Birth, standing, prestige, none of those matter. Intellect, resolve, and the skills it brings are what counts."

Apart from Kaede, everyone else looked back at Pascal with some shade of surprise.

"I was just talking to my father the other day about the 'Imperial Examination System' that Kaede spoke of from her memories, which could elevate the poorest civilian to important officials of state. The performance bottleneck to the Weichsen army's Mobility Doctrine has always been a limit of capable officers, as commanders in the field must be able to think and act independently according to circumstance instead of waiting for orders. Father told me to draft him a formal proposal on how we could apply a standardized testing and scholarship system for promising cadets. When you mentioned patronage I wondered if Rhin-Lotharingie was already ahead of Weichsel in this."

Kaede smiled a little. She wasn't sure where this world's version of China was. Probably the 'Dawn Imperium' that sat as the other superpower in the far east. However she was certain they wouldn't mind her plagiarizing their 2,000 year tradition of meritocracy.

By the end of Pascal's speech, Gerard stood in awe with his mouth ajar.

"The Marshal of Weichsel is interested in this?" he asked, almost in disbelief.

Pascal nodded back, his stiff gaze confirming:

"Why is this a surprise? Weichsel's military ''is'' a meritocracy. The enemy will not care about how famous your family is."

"Yet your enemies will always recognize your family name." Gerard countered in a flat voice. "You can't get promoted if your superiors don't remember your name to match your deeds. And if you don't think there's a noble preference there then you've been blinded by your own experience. Still, better some opportunity than none."

Gerard then pulled out a seat right across from Pascal and sat down.

"I'll be happy to give you some ''proper'' perspective from a lowborn."

...

Surrounded by other acquaintances, Perceval's group broke to separate conversations as they enjoyed their meal. Kaede was introduced to nearly two dozen other noble acquaintances who sat nearby, although none of them spoke another word to her afterwards. She quickly realized that Gerard's situation was milder but somewhat similar to her own, patronage or not.

In the eyes of most highborns, the two of them were seen as little more than servants who shadowed their master's footsteps.

Unfortunately, Kaede did not receive much of a chance to consult her senior. Gerard spent almost the entire meal digging details out of Pascal, much to the annoyance of other nearby nobles who saw an easy opportunity to approach the Runelord.

It soon became apparent that most of the other peers who surrounded Perceval were not like-minded individuals. His affable demeanor and generous personality did make him easy to befriend. However, Kaede was fairly certain that Perceval's family heritage probably wasn't any lower than that of Ariadne's. In fact, she was fairly certain that one of the Paladins who fought during the Independence War carried his family name of 'La Tours'.

Personal politics and alliance-building worked the same way no matter where one went, especially among junior aristocrats. This was particularly true for those sociable enough to begin a snowball effect: the more acquaintances a high society circle gathered, the harder it became to refuse or ignore them.

Regardless, the same patterns of conversation kept up for the next two days. The only difference was that Pascal began to draft his idea for a 'scholarship examination' system. He solicited suggestions from those around him, and sent an evil eye to any noble who scoffed at the proposal. Both Kaede and Gerard were only too happy to pitch in, and soon Pascal had what he considered his 'initial draft'.

When Kaede asked how many drafts he usually went through, Pascal answered: "as many as it takes until I am satisfied."

She couldn't decide if this was due to his perfectionist tendencies or his father's strictness. Probably some of both.

Pascal might have made more progress if he also used his time with Kaede back in the dormitories to work on the proposal. Instead, he spent almost all of that time inscribing new runestones and infusing mana into newly cut gemstones. Half of the reason was because Kaede had expended a significant portion of his rune stockpile to lay her trap for the assassins. The other half was because of Cecylia's cryptic warnings.

And so, the week after the assassination attempt passed in a peaceful school setting... at least until Saturday's lunchtime when the entire hall was disrupted.

At the time, Kaede was watching Pascal and Gerard have another conversation, when a 4th year military cadet who wore their blue gambeson uniform rushed in from the hallway:

"WAR! WAR!" He yelled at the top of his lungs before stopping just inside the entrance to catch his breath.

All chatter in the dining hall died instantly as everyone awaited his explanation:

"THE CATALIYAN CALIPHATE HAS DECLARED HOLY WAR AGAINST US! Their armies have already crossed the border!"

The entire dining hall erupted back into loud, chaotic conversations. Some voices were worried, others anxious, and a few just plain scared.

Pascal was one of the few who completely kept his cool.

"Well, at least this answers the riddle of why the Holy Imperium suddenly wants me dead."

Most of Perceval's close friends nodded back in agreement, their expressions varying between alarm and apprehension.

None of them appreciated the frightening implications of being simultaneously hostile to the two largest powers of the Western World.

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| Return to [[Daybreak_on_Hyperion|Main Page]]
| Forward to [[Daybreak:Volume_1_Chapter_14|Chapter 14]]
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</noinclude>

Daybreak:Volume 1 Extra 2

2022-02-27T18:53:51Z

Aorii:

===Extra Chapter 2 - Magic and Hierarchy===

[''Author's Foreword: Daybreak extra chapters are either scenes that doesn't fit neatly into the story's pacing, or are meant to address the interests of specific audiences and aren't for everyone. This particular chapter is written for those with an interest in the rules of its magic system, as many readers (myself included) dislikes too much magibabble. It helps to understand the world of Hyperion, how magic affects its society, and Kaede’s opinion on magic. But it's not necessary for the story. It takes place towards the end of volume 1, between chapters 13 and 14.'']

"--If a system of promotion strictly by merit is in place, then shouldn't yeomen -- who are born with magic just as nobles are -- be able to climb the career ladder in the same fashion?"

Kaede watched at the dining table as Pascal chatted with Gerard, the civil engineering intern who attended Alisia Academy thanks to Perceval's patronage. Gerard had taken a keen interest in Pascal ever since the young lord mentioned that he was working on a proposal to his father, the Marshal of Weichsel, to set up standardized exams in enlisting candidates for officer corp training. The idea was to offer more career advancement opportunities for those of non-aristocratic birth. However Gerard kept insisting to Pascal that it was far too little by itself.

"It's not that simple," Gerard replied plainly as he waved half a baguette in his hand. "The disadvantages faced by yeomen throughout their entire lives can't be equalized just by offering them a simple test. By the time they are ready to face such an exam, they are already years behind their noble-born competition. If your father is serious in wanting to increase the recruitment of non-noble officers, you really have to approach this problem holistically."

"I should remind you that Weichsel once had a ''commoner'' -- not even a yeomen -- climb all the way to the rank of Marshal, second only to the King in military command," Pascal retorted.

"Just because one golden apple falls within your sight doesn't mean the rest of them will be noticed," Gerard countered. "I've heard of the story of Marshal Mittermeyer. He only had the opportunities he did because he was the King's groom. How many yeomen do you think are lucky enough to work within eyeshot of a wise King?"

Kaede noticed that Pascal was about to retort again when she nudged him with her foot. "<Listen before you react, would you? He's saying Weichsel could do better, not that its current system is bad.>"

It was obvious to her that Pascal was getting too defensive in regards to the fairness of promotions within Weichsel's military. Clearly, her master saw this matter as one of personal honor. It was a pattern of behavior she saw all too often among modern nationalists.

However, a true nationalist also prioritized ''improving'' their nation. And to achieve that, they had to first understand where their country's existing policies fell short.

Pascal scowled at her but nevertheless changed his behavior. "Explain on. I am listening."

Gerard raised his eyebrows as he clearly had not anticipated that response. He looked puzzled for a moment before sending a questioning glance towards Kaede. His lips then curled a faint smile before he marched ahead at full steam.

"The major obstacles to yeomen in pursuing any higher career really come down to three categories -- opportunities, connections, and equipment. Now, opportunities you already recognize. I know I'm among the lucky few just to be able to sit here and engage with you. My family was well-off enough to send me to basic schooling at the local monastery. But there's ''no way'' my family could afford the tuition here, and little chance that I could learn a topic as complex as engineering without coming to a proper institution such as this. Had I not met Reynaud and been introduced to Perceval, or had Perceval not offered to become my patron, there's ''almost zero chance'' I could become an engineer! In fact, I'd probably just spend my entire life building bread houses and cake castles in my family's bakery."

Kaede couldn't help but smile as she imagined the tall and muscular Gerard carefully sculpting icing into crenellations on a chocolate-vanilla wedding cake castle. It was astonishing to think that a man with large, rough hands like his could have such finesse for detail.

"Most yeomen families are middle class artisans," Gerard went on. "That affords them enough money to send their children, or at least the ''male'' children, to receive a basic education: reading, writing, accounting, and the like. However that's a longshot from the physics of load bearing or recognizing the importance of volcanic ash in hydraulic mortar. Perceval had to buy me a set of books --and they were ''expensive''-- just so I could prepare myself for the engineering program's entrance exam. Now how many yeomen do you think are lucky enough to have all these opportunities that I did? Or fortunate enough to have even a single connection like Perceval to aid them?"

Pascal frowned for a moment as he took another sip of his beer soup. Then he began to slowly nod.

"I do see your point. Weichsel's Königsfeld Academy does have a scholarship program for those of poorer background. However, only a handful is accepted each year, and the entrance exam requires candidates to grasp the fundamentals of arithmetics, reasoning, rhetoric, and spellcasting."

"I can certainly tell you that rhetoric is not part of the basic education offered at monasteries," Gerard scowled in complaint. "Sure, many of the core concepts of rhetoric may be learned by simply being adept at social skills. But even if you are a socialite, there's still a disconnect between street-smarts and academic terminology such as ethos, pathos, and logos. You really need a special tutor for that kind of learning, and that's beyond the financial ability of most middle class families! Education is like a long, steep staircase. You miss one step, and suddenly you find it difficult to pull yourself onto the next."

"What about spellcasting then?" Kaede asked next. "Does monastic schooling teach such a thing?"

"No," Gerard answered straight. "The schooling of magic is too time intensive for group-teaching. It has to be done one-on-one. Most nobles rely on tutors, while yeomen families pass down their magic, parent to child. However this only further limits the knowledge of yeomen mages, as most yeomen only learn spells for daily life and specialized magic relating to their family professions. Even if they're lucky enough to inherit a spellbook that teaches them how to use... say, battle magic, most don't have the opportunity to practice such spells enough to master them."

"How much do you have to practice a spell to achieve mastery then?" Kaede raised her eyebrows.

Placing his spoon back down, Pascal extended his right arm over the table, fingers extended as though about to cast a spell.

"Remember what you read about ether refinement and spellcrafting?"

"Yes," Kaede nodded, recognizing this as another one of Pascal's tests. Her master, on a rare occasion, had ''ordered her'' to read a book on the basics of magical theory. It was partly because Kaede kept putting it off, since she found the society built on magic far more interesting than magic itself -- much like how she favored history over physics textbooks in the modern world.

"Ether is the free spiritual power adrift in our surroundings, produced and scattered by all living beings. It is a pure, spiritual energy that does not react directly with any physical forces, and cannot be manipulated through any mechanical apparatus or chemical reaction known to man. Only mages can manipulate ether, achieved by absorbing it through magically conductive nerves. The ether is then transmitted to the soul to be refined into mana. Mana is malleable spiritual power, which serves as the fuel for spellcrafting..."

Basically, if mana was the gasoline required to power the internal combustion engine of spells and magical items, then ether was crude oil in its natural, unrefined form.

"Spellcasters must use their nerve system as conduits to form an internalized spell array. They pour their refined mana in to create this array, channeling it to flow through a precise pattern to craft and shape a spell -- hence the word 'spellcraft'," Kaede continued to regurgitate from memory. "Mana has two important properties -- repulsion and dissipation. Repulsion means mana from any two different sources, particularly two mages, will repel one another. Meanwhile dissipation means that any mana released into open will quickly dissipate back into unrefined ether, hence Aura Magic uses a spell-focus item to condense the magical output for a hardened 'shell' that encapsulates the spell."

"Correct," Pascal acknowledged with a satisfied smile. "Trying to control the flow of mana through the nerve system is not a simple affair. Human biology simply was not designed for such finesse. The only way to manage is to purposefully send the mana to different parts of the body, often many locations at once. The nerves tingle as the mana courses through them, which gives the caster some sense of timing. This is important as more complicated spell arrays will often require path rerouting..."

''Of course, this all means that mages could somehow direct the flow of mana within their bodies.'' Kaede thought. Not being a mage herself, it was impossible to her to truly understand how this entire process worked. But one fact was for certain -- those blessed with an affinity for magic from birth had a sixth sense that non-mages anatomically lacked.

"--Doing any of this requires great concentration and internal focus, which is hardly possible in tense situations like combat," Pascal continued to explain. "Spell arrays must be mastered to achieve ''fluency'', so that they may be created swiftly and effortlessly. Such mastery can only be achieved through repetition. And it takes thousands of times -- hours and days spent crafting the same spell over and over -- for the process to be familiarized enough so that it becomes embedded into muscle memory."

Kaede nodded back. Motor learning was a widely adapted concept, utilized by humans on everything from vibrating vocal cords for speech to reflexive evasion while piloting a jet aircraft. It was part of the reason why the book she read constantly compared spellcasting to learning another language.

"Reminds me of how, back as a kid, I thought spells could be crafted just by shouting some mystical words while making dramatic gestures," Gerard chuckled. "Which of course is just silly, when anyone actually sits down to think about it."

"The ancient Draconic spellwords we use exist solely as mnemonics to help expedite the memorization process and to act as a trigger word," Pascal clarified. "Furthermore, mastered spellwords must be used regularly in order to retain that fluency. And the more complex a spell, the more it must be practiced."

"But if Aura Magic uses your body to craft a spell and then expel it through a spell-focus, then how does Runic Magic work?" Kaede asked. "I doubt rocks have 'nerve-systems'."

"Oh you'd be surprised," Gerard chuckled. "Some rocks are very smart--"

"Stop feeding her rubbish that might cause a misunderstanding," Pascal sternly cut him off. "What is obvious to you and me is not necessarily so for her."

Kaede's face fell. "I don't think I'm ''that'' stupid."

"No. But you do come from a place that defies our common sense," Pascal insisted. "Runic Magic actually involves the storage of partially complete spells inside a runestone. A rune-mage has to finish casting the spell first before the shaped mana -- which has yet to manifest its effects -- is put on pause. The runestone then holds onto this incomplete spell until it is activated, which must be done by touch, either by the user or through contact with something else. This 'touch activation' happens to be the main weakness of Runic Magic. But in return, a mage can store far larger quantities of prepared runes, with each costing only a fraction of their full mana cost in upkeep."

Kaede nodded. "So Runic Magic uses the same spellcasting method then? Except because they're 'prepared spells', they lack the situational adaptability that Aura Magic possesses?"

"Precisely," Pascal nodded as his raised hand went back down to his soup. "The Dawn Imperium first invented the system of Adaptive Spell Construction, which gave them an absolute advantage in magical superiority for about a century before the rest of the world began following suit. The concept is that each spellword is a mnemonic for a single array pattern of mana manipulation. Each spellword produces an unique supernatural effect. Multiple words are then grouped together to combine multiple effects into a single spell, just like how multiple words in speech are combined to form a sentence. The order of words used also matters as it determines chronology and priority of each effect. In essence, Adaptive Spell Construction transformed the art of spellcrafting into a system of language and linguistics, with both vocabulary and grammar. This made magic not just more flexible in use, but easier to learn as well."

''Hence why they call spellcasting a 'language','' Kaede thought. "Though, if we are to compare spellcraft to linguistics, what would you classify as the nouns, verbs, and adjectives?"

"Most spellwords are effect words, as in to create a single effect," Gerard explained this time as Pascal took his time to eat. "I guess you can call them verbs. Meanwhile the 'form' words like ''Field'', ''Beam'', or ''Sanctum'' define the area, or target, of that effect, which makes them sort of like a noun or pronoun? Then there are 'meta' words like ''Chain'', ''Catalyst'', and ''Phalanx'' which modifies the behavior of the spell effects -- they're the adverbs. Lastly you have the 'mode' words like ''Burst'', ''Condense'', and ''Bombard'' which changes how your body constructs spells entirely. And that..."

"Is kind of like a grammatical tense?" Pascal chipped in when Gerard struggled to come up with an analogy.

"That's pretty close," Gerard nodded. "Except 'mode' words are always used separately. Outside the 'spell sentence' and declared on their own."

"No 'adjectives' then?" Kaede mused.

"That is what the 'effect verbs' are for," Pascal smirked. "To give your target an adjective, like 'defeated'."

"Military folks," Gerard rolled his eyes. "Do you guys ever think of anything outside conflict and destruction?"

"I said 'defeat', not 'destroy'," Pascal countered. "Identities are built upon victories, be it Weichsen or Lotharin."

"Well there's truth to that," Gerard sighed as though they wished it wasn't so. "But back on magic -- the average yeomen is fluent in only about two dozen spellwords, while most nobles learn three to four dozen. Sure, even two dozen offers thousands of spell permutations to choose from. However the gap is significant. And unlike the nobles who have servants to do their chores and estates to maintain their lifestyles, most yeomen simply cannot afford to spend as much time on practicing spellcraft and maintaining fluency."

"It's actually kind of amazing to hear that nobles dedicate so much time to magic, considering how exhaustive achieving and maintaining spell fluency is." Kaede remarked as she thought of the freeloading nobles so common among many Earth societies.

"Magic is the pride of the nobility," Pascal declared. "The impact of magic upon society is simply too great, whether it is in military, industrial, or agricultural applications. This is not to say there are no useless nobles. But any culture that fails to instill its nobility with at least a ''minimum'' of responsibility will quickly become dominated by those who did."

''Probably why you even go so far as ending your prayers with 'noblesse oblige','' Kaede thought before she turned to Gerard. "In that case, why do you not consider magic one of the main hindrances to a yeomen climbing the ladders?"

"It is an obstacle, but not as major as the others," Gerard replied. "Since even without fluency, we can still cast spells by looking them up."

"You can?"

The Samaran girl sounded incredulous, while her master reached into an extra-dimensional pocket and pulled out a thick book in response.

"We can cast spells by following instructions, either from memory or straight from the book," the young lord explained. "This is assuming that the spell is not too difficult for the mage's level of spellcraft expertise. It just takes a lot more effort, time, and concentration."

"And many failed attempts to learn," Gerard injected. Though based on Pascal's smirk, it seemed as though this didn't apply to him.

Kaede took the offered book and flipped to a random page. On one side was a human anatomical diagram, with color-coded arrow lines drawn inside the figure to trace the flow of mana when constructing the spell array. A paragraph-long description of the effect preceded the drawing, while complicated written instructions followed the diagram. Lastly, two lists presented the best methods on how to transition this spell array to another, as well as suggested spellwords to combine with.

"Phantasm - tier three advanced enchantment spell," Kaede read in her wispy voice. "Projects all sensory input of a non-existent, interactive physical entity into a creature's mind. The entity may be seen, heard, touched, smelled, and tasted as the caster wills, but only by the target..."

Gerard began to snicker as Kaede read, prompting the familiar to look up and wonder why the large man was blushing slightly.

"What?"

"That spell... it's quite popular among the students, as well as red light district salons," Gerard chuckled.

For a moment Kaede couldn't understand why. Then, her mind conjured the image of a lone, shadowy individual who cast this spell on himself before proceeding to hump the air in an act of virtual sex. Her cheeks immediately flushed a shade of scarlet red as she turned to stare at her master with a half-scandalized, half-amused expression.

''Did I just find Pascal's porn stash in his spellbook?''

It was apparent that magic or no magic, some tenants of man always held firm -- anything that ''could'' be adapted for sexual purposes ''was'' used for such.

"Just to be clear," the young lord stressed. "I did ''not'' write that spell in there for that."

Yet even the normally imperturbable Pascal wore a faint blush.

''But it doesn't preclude you from using it for that,'' Kaede thought as her lips formed a tiny, catty grin while she continued to stare at him.

This, however, played straight into Pascal's hands.

"Do you have a male model in mind that you would like to experience this spell with?" He asked with a mostly straight face. "You look like you are already in dreamland."

"Wha... No! I don't need anything of the sort!" Kaede felt her cheeks ignite. She hurriedly shut the spellbook as though she was about to be cursed, which prompted a laugh from both of the men.

Then, as her bubbling curiosity forced her to realize that she wasn't done yet, she reopened the book to yet another page.

"Hindsight - level four expert divination spell. Examine an individual, object, or location's recent history. Details decline with age. Prolonged concentration is required. Special focus may be necessary if the caster is not personally familiar with the target."

"Ah, the best friend of detectives and cheated wives," Gerard grinned before he turned towards Pascal. "You can cast that?"

"A few times," Pascal replied. "It is not as good as you might think. The details can be quite foggy. It is more a method to hunt for clues than to give ready-made answers."

"Still, I'm impressed," Gerard said with a sincere look to match. He then saw Kaede's curious look before explaining, "tier four spells are generally considered 'career spells'. In other words, only those whose professions rely on them usually learn to cast them. Of course there are exceptions like the always-popular ''Astral Teleport'' spell. But most people won't bother going through the trouble just to learn an investigation spell that they almost never use."

"How many tiers are there?" Kaede then asked.

"Six in total," Pascal noted. "Tier one through three are universal. Everyone can learn to craft those spells. Tier four are also called 'career spells', as due to their complexity most people only learn a handful. Tier five are 'master spells', used only by seasoned specialists. And tier six are 'experimental spells' -- magic so powerful and dangerous only the best mages even dare to use them."

"It's said that archmages never pass down the tier six spells they invent, in fear that it may be misused by others," Gerard added.

"I find that highly unlikely," Pascal countered with a skeptical look. "Every nation and organization will try to hold onto its arcane secrets. The real question is whom they can trust to access such a dangerous inheritance. An archmage with the correct specialization is usually required to handle such immensely powerful magic."

"Specialization like enchantment and divination?" Kaede guessed.

"Not quite," Pascal said. "There are six disciplines of spellcasting, sometimes called 'schools'. These are alchemy and enchantment, which manipulates either the physical and mental states. Both are extremely powerful but are subject to mana repulsion, making it difficult for one mage to affect another--"

''Though only mages, and familiars like me, have that 'magic resistance','' Kaede thought. It really was hard to emphasize just how much of a disadvantage commoners had in this world.

"--Then there is conjuration and evocation, the former creates natural phenomenons such as fire and lightning, while the latter forms magical effects such as ''lockdown'' wards," Pascal continued. "The general rule is that anything that can be conjured should rely on conjuration and not evocation, since following natural laws makes spellcasting easier and more mana-efficient. This also happens to be why most mages learn at least some physics and chemistry."

"That's actually part of why most yeomen don't learn battle magic," Gerard interjected. "Battlefield spells require power and scale, to affect large numbers of foes and punch through their defensive wards. You need a basic grasp of the physics behind natural phenomena such as flash freezing or electrostatic discharge. Most yeomen simply don't have that."

"Most Magic-Capable Officers prioritize defensive warding spells over offensive battle magic anyway," Pascal shrugged before he returned to the previous topic. "The last two schools are divination and illusion, which governs magic that either discerns or hides information about reality. These six main disciplines are then broken down further into specializations, such as Wayfarers and their teleportation spells which helps network society, Stormcallers and their weather spells that manage agriculture, Geomancers and their ley-line tapping spells, et cetera."

"Ley-lines?" Kaede's eyebrows shot up.

"Why can you not put some of this interest in reading more books on magical theory?" Pascal complained. "It would be much easier than having me explain it all."

"I will. They're just not as high as others on my interest list," Kaede shrugged. "Besides, those books are about as dry as physics textbooks back where I came from. ''You'' might find them fascinating since you can feel the magic in your fingertips. But for me it's all abstract."

Pascal sighed before he relented and explained anyway:

"Ley-lines are ether streams tied to the geography. We are still unsure of how exactly they were formed in the first place. But the easiest way is to think of them as invisible rivers of spiritual power that flow across the land. And just like real rivers, ley-lines form an important foundation for modern civilization."

"Because there is more ether to be refined into mana?" Kaede wondered.

"Far more than that." Pascal voiced. "I believe I have explained to you how 'mana upkeep' works?"

"Yes," Kaede nodded. "All spells, runes, and other magical equipment consume mana over time, either to fuel the magical effect, or losing it to mana dissipation. This loss must be replenished by a mage -- or a familiar using her master's mana in my case -- to maintain the magic's function. This is 'mana upkeep', and without it, spells will slowly unravel, runes will lose their power, and magic items will cease to be magical."

The need to provide 'mana upkeep' also created an upper limit for how many magic items any mage could keep, or how many inscribed runes a runic spellcaster could hold onto. Furthermore, due to the magic of their familiar bond, Kaede imposed an 'upkeep' on Pascal merely by existing. And the more she tried to use anything magical, the less mana she left for Pascal's own needs.

"Good, you remembered," Pascal remarked in a strict tone. Perhaps a little too strict, as Gerard had caught on.

"Did she do something?"

The young lord shot his familiar a stern gaze. "<You explain it.>"

Kaede pouted back, but her master was insistent this time.

"I... went to the gardens the other day to take a stroll," the familiar spoke meekly, her wispy voice barely audible. "The flowerbed looked dry. And with the war starting, I had wondered if they had forgotten to take care of it. So I went back and grabbed Pascal's silver goblet..."

"She then watered the gardens by summoning purified drinking water, one goblet at a time." Pascal finished for her with an exasperated roll of his eyes. "I still needed to replenish all the runes I expended during the assassination attempt. That ''did not'' help."

''It seemed like a good idea at the time,'' Kaede thought as she shrunk herself. Meanwhile Gerard chortled while his broad shoulders shook with suppressed laughter.

"What did you expect? You summoned a ''teenage girl'' for your familiar." Gerard then turned to Kaede, "your master wasn't too harsh on you, was he?"

Kaede shook her head. "He said he'd let me off once, but he'd 'punish me' if I ever wasted mana again."

"Kinky," Gerard added in a humored voice, which earned him a stare from Pascal this time.

"You are as bad as Reynaud."

"Yes, well, I guess spending so much time around him has rubbed off on me," Gerard shrugged before he turned to a still-embarrassed Kaede. "But back to where we were -- ley-lines and geomancers, as they come hand-in-hand, are the one exception to the 'everything has mana upkeep' rule. Well, sort of..."

He took a bite of baguette and went on to explain while still chewing.

"Geomancers have the ability to attune either a fixed spell or piece of equipment to run directly off the ether of a local ley-line. This mostly comes from the fact that ether, when injected in a controlled manner into a magical effect, takes on some of mana's qualities. The attunement process that geomancy requires is pretty time-consuming. They also need a special, dedicated focus to be made and installed in place as a 'purifier anchor'. But for settlements, geomancy is vital as it allows for the creation of permanent wards, as well as the installation of infrastructure and industrial equipment, such as mage lanterns or arcane forges. This is why all the rich towns, fortresses, and noble manors are built along ley-lines."

"Most anchors use a gemstone embedded into a slab of granite," Pascal then appended.

"Is that what your 'gem magic' consists of?" Kaede asked.

"No," Pascal chuckled as he shook his head. "Sadly, I have no talent for geomancy."

"You don't need more 'gifts'," Gerard interjected.

"There is ''no such thing'' as too many talents," Pascal waved it off with a smirk. "But at any rate, gemstones have a unique property in dealing with magic. The refraction properties that allow cut-gems to keep light in also has a mirror effect on ether and mana. At the basic level, this means well-cut gemstones have reduced mana dissipation. Meanwhile the crystal lattice structures allow more compact storage. With proper infusion techniques, this allows mana to be compacted and stored at greater efficiency inside gemstones. It also makes gemstones easier to enhance with magic than most other objects."

"As if your runestones aren't enough to give you an advantage," Gerard rolled his eyes.

"Desire has no ceiling. To say that we only need a finite amount of resources is folly," Pascal reasoned, which prompted Kaede to think: ''just like the modern world's need for electricity,''

"--Nevertheless, what I use as 'gem magic' really only scratches the surface of the discipline. Geomancers generally take it to a much higher level, as they use gemstones to control the flow of ether."

"And I'm guessing the only reason for the rarity of 'gem magic' is because..." Kaede asked after Pascal finished.

"Gemstones don't grow on trees," Gerard highlighted in a gruff tone. "Which actually reminds me of why I listed 'equipment' as the third lacking for yeomen. Magical items are super-helpful, but they also get expensive fast, since only the upper classes can craft them and their time is valuable. Imbuing an object with spells in a way that minimizes mana dissipation over time is an art that requires both talent ''and'' practice."

"Indeed," Pascal replied with a frown. "I wish I had more time to practice it."

"You're a natural enhancer too?" Gerard exclaimed.

"I am not sure about 'natural'," Pascal commented dryly. "But I have enough affinity for enhancement that I can create a few trinkets for myself."

"Oh, come on," Gerard rolled his eyes towards the ceiling. "Holy Father you're just not being fair!"

''Since when has the universe ever been fair?'' Kaede scowled as she felt the fabric of her skirt. ''At least you still have the right genitals.''

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</noinclude>

Daybreak:Volume 1 Extra 1

2022-02-27T18:53:34Z

Aorii:

===Extra Chapter 1 - Switched Perspectives===

[''Author's Foreword: Daybreak extra chapters are either scenes that doesn't fit neatly into the story's pacing, or are meant to address the interests of specific audiences and aren't for everyone. This particulary chapter is a slice-of-life aside between Kaede and Pascal that does an early dive into how Kaede views gender -- an issue that becomes progressively more important as the series goes on. It takes place towards the end of volume 1, between chapters 13 and 14.'']

Kaede shut the massive tome and lifted it with both hands. Carefully straining to maintain balance in her upper body, she reached over to deposit it on the bedside counter.

It always felt odd that something so simple in her previous body -- an act that she could have accomplished one-handed without thought -- now required care and concentration.

Since arriving in Hyperion, Kaede did consider putting herself on a physical training regime beyond just her archery exercise. It was a hassle to find oneself so weak that even daily tasks proved difficult at times.

However...

'Athletic' didn't quite define her. Other than archery, Kaede had only found sports and martial arts fun when friends dragged ''him'' in, when ''he'' felt like part of a team.

Even if it was just two boys beating each other up with bamboo sticks and laughing about it afterwards.

But here in Alisia Academy, not only did Kaede lack workout buddies, she also attracted odd stares and whispers wherever she went. For the first time in her life, she had felt genuine sympathy and understanding for ''hikikomoris'' -- shut-ins suffering from acute social withdrawal.

So while Kaede holed up in Pascal's room pouring over tomes of the new world, she made herself one excuse after another for why she wasn't jogging circles outside.

...The weather was too windy.

...The morning was already late and cadets had began their outdoor classes.

...Her body felt sluggish from sleeping too few hours last night.

...And most recently, her loathsome period.

But most of all, Kaede questioned if it even helped for her to exercise.

Without the testosterone levels of male hormones, bodybuilding was not just slow but also limited in effect. Given her low initial strength, spending hours per week in addition to her meditative archery for a five or ten percent boost just didn't seem a worthwhile investment of time.

...Or perhaps that was yet another excuse.

After forgetting to pull her comforter back up, Kaede shivered as she felt yet another breeze blow in from the window.

She had opened it after Pascal's departure to help ventilate the room. Another 'side effect' of being a girl was that she found male odors... a little too obvious.

Kaede pulled off the bedcovers to stand beside the bed. She then stepped forth on her thin legs. Her exposed shoulders and thighs could feel the chill as she walked over to the window. The self-heating magical undergarments might keep her body warm, but that didn't stop the tingling on her skin from the early winter air.

Kaede reached out with her small hands and pulled the window closed before seizing up in one last tremble. Her delicate arms wrapped themselves around her chest again as she made her way back to the enticing warmth of her... well, Pascal's bed.

There was once a time when Kaede wondered if small and cute girls ever felt as fragile as they looked.

In her experience at least, the answer was a resounding yes.

Her wrists didn't just ''look'' thin. They even felt like they might snap whenever she tried to lift something too heavy for her.

Her bare shoulders always felt chilly and desired the embrace of warmth. Her small feet wanted precise, dainty steps to uphold the same steady balance. Even her slim fingers would examine items with a delicate touch before attempting to pick them up.

Every simple act left a different sensation from the 'apply strength to everything' approach that came naturally to men.

Not every girl was petite and small. But with such feelings in mind, Kaede could certainly understand why the aspiration for ''protection'' was so prevalent among feminine desire.

The yearning for safety, for security -- mingled in among the feminine culture of romanticism and love.

Of course, to seek shelter from danger was a trait shared by all biological species. But since the macho-oriented culture that governed 'acceptable' male behavior considered it a 'weakness', men rarely yearned for such thoughts and feelings.

...Not on a conscious level, at least. Certainly not in public, as it would be an admittance of cowardice.

'Safety' was unmanly. A true man would strive for ambition and adventurous thrill.

To seek fame like Achilles, to journey the unknown like Odysseus. To forge dreams into reality like the great kings of old.

So for Kaede, casting a spotlight on such emotions was an experience -- one she wasn't exactly opposed to either, to her curiosity and surprise.

Not that one minor detail like this meant she was agreeing with Pascal.

Perhaps she was meant to be a girl? ''No way.'' Perfectly male or female personalities were the exception rather than the rule. Most people belonged somewhere in between. It simply took introspective self-reflection for one to recognize their other self -- which unfortunately, women did far better than men.

After all, examining oneself for weaknesses was 'unmanly'. The macho creed was to claim invincibility and shift all imperfections away, right?

The side-effect of too much testosterone was outright idiocy.

Though it would be far-fetched to declare that Kaede was happy inhabiting a girl's body. Sure, she has always disliked the alpha contests of male expectations. And she was certainly sick of being told that she was 'too sensitive' and needed to 'toughen up'. However the bladed whispers of women as they stabbed their way up the social pecking order was just as painful.

The reality was that Kaede couldn't fit neatly into either traditional gender role. As a result she didn't feel strongly attached to either.

''Why can't the world view gender in more grayscale than polarized?'' The Samaran girl thought.

It was a complaint she had towards so many other topics in the world...

Regardless, as Kaede lifted the comforter once more, she pulled her legs back under the soothing warmth of soft fabrics. A gentle smile spread across her lips as she felt the silky skin of her body rubbing against smooth charmeuse once more.

It would be an exaggeration to claim that Kaede completely recognized this body as her own. She still felt weirdly out-of-place in it, especially whenever she looked at a mirror and saw a cute girl with snowy hair and rose-quartz eyes staring back. Nevertheless it was the body she now inhabited. And apart from the obvious physical changes, like how tall she was or how she expelled liquids, there were also a bunch of unseen nuances that came with both its good and bad.

For example, her skin. It was soft, smooth, and delicate, translucent like perfect porcelain, flawless to behold and touch.

Even she couldn't help but admire it.

For a girl back on Earth to have such skin, Kaede would have to wonder how much daily effort was spent on lotions, moisturizers, and even baby oil.

But those same attributes also made it really sensitive.

This... was actually a problem.

Being an aristocrat, Pascal's part-wool part-cotton bedsheets probably weren't that bad compared to the modern ones Kaede used to sleep on. He apparently found it an acceptable balance between comfort and firmness, at any rate.

But while the old Kaede didn't need fancy imported cotton in the high hundreds thread count. The new Kaede however, was extremely picky.

It wasn't sandpaper, but it felt like... bare skin against the carpet, or something like that. The scraping felt a hint itchy.

First World Problems, sure. It didn't even bother her unless she moved. Except she did, a lot, since trying to sleep with everything on her mind was hard.

But what else could she do? Ask for him to switch to finer sheets? She was no connoisseur of this world's thread quality. Should she ask him for muslin? Silk? Satin?

Kaede had no doubt Pascal would offer plenty of wisecracks about that one.

So during the first week she did the easiest thing.

The long gloves and stockings of her undergarment set were charmeuse, satin-weave, and covered most of her arms and legs, particularly the parts that did the most rubbing. Kaede had never admired girls for their fabrics before. But these... they were unfair.

Well, they were meant to be sleepwear. However embarrassing wearing pure-white 'bridal lingerie' was, they were also her only undergarments. Plus, they were blissfully comfortable, and she loved how the warm and silky fabrics tightly enveloped her delicate skin.

As Kaede considered herself a pragmatic person, the choice was obvious.

She would never have imagined herself sleeping in long gloves, thighhigh stockings, and a backless, halter-top with an attached skirt. Not to mention there was an extravagant, white-gold crest with diamonds laid onto the chest. But then, just the 'herself' part was already beyond belief even a month ago.

Slowly taking off one glove with the help of her lips, Kaede gently ran her fingers across the exposed top of her thigh. The gliding touch felt halfway between a caress and a tickle. Its comforting sensation soon tugging at the edge of her lips.

No wonder why girls enjoyed skinship so much. Who wouldn't like touching and snuggling, with feelings like these?

...Certainly aeons better than the touch of coarse, hairy limbs from men.

Yet at that same moment, Kaede noticed that something was... off.

She had been in Hyperion for weeks already. Yet her legs remained as bare as a newborn babe. Forget exposed hair, there wasn't even a hair follicle in sight.

Some men might like to pretend that a girl's body was self-maintaining, but Kaede knew better. She had not shaved her legs or anywhere else for the weeks she spent in that body, yet...

There wasn't any sign of hair in her armpits either.

In fact, now that she thought about it, Kaede was sure she was completely bald beneath her neck.

Just what was going on?

...

"Hey Pascal," Kaede asked the minute he returned from afternoon training. "Why is it that I don't grow any hair beneath my neck?"

"Magic." An amused grin stretched across his lips as he surveyed the Samaran girl still sitting in his bed.

Kaede swore he answered that way just to irritate her. The obvious pleasure in his eyes as he took in her sight didn't help one bit.

She hardly even noticed when her cheeks began to pout under narrowing eyes.

"Do you shave my legs while I'm asleep or something?"

"Just what kind of pervert do you take me for?"

''The kind that summoned me in bridal lingerie.''

Kaede barely managed to avoid saying it out loud. The last time she retorted with those last two words, he ended up making her far more embarrassed than he was.

Pascal was someone who had no problems admitting anything he chose to do in the first place. Trying to shame him into a disadvantage almost never worked, especially when his skin was several crocodiles thicker than her own.

With a shallow sigh from his lopsided smirk, Pascal soon began to explain in his drawling fashion:

"Shaving is an uncouth method best left to commoners. We nobles have far more efficient means of tackling such trite inconveniences..."

Kaede felt her lips twisting as she listened. Although now that she considered it, she had never seen Pascal trim his hair or even shave his beard. Sure, he was barely a man in age, but there should still be ''something'' there.

"Those undergarments have enchantments built in that nullify hair growth across your body," he continued with his head held high in a proud, 'you-should-be-thanking-me' pose. "You never need to worry about removing any hair below your chin as they are kept from growing in the first place. After all, a problem should be tackled at its source, not by suppressing its after-effects."

"Too bad you couldn't take the same wisdom to periods then." Kaede cut him off with her first thought. "Stop it altogether, instead of just absorbing the blood."

"I am not really a medical expert." The reply came under furrowed brows. "But I have read that the menstrual period is an important aspect of the reproductive cycle, although the bleeding is more a byproduct than intended function. As for the cramps -- like we discussed the other day -- it would be inappropriate to trust a mere enchanted item to interfere in the function of primary nerves."

Despite her scowl, Kaede slowly nodded back. She certainly agreed that automation -- magical or not -- should only go so far when taking care of biological functions... even one as unpleasant as menstrual periods.

"There are some claims that a contraceptive spell may regulate your period and perhaps even lighten it. There is a lengthy medical research article in the library about it if you have time to read up more on the topic." Pascal noted. "Although I warn you that the terminology is rather too specialized for ease of understanding."

''Does that mean,'' Kaede blinked as she paused for a moment, ''he looked it up to see if he could help me?''

Even though Pascal's know-it-all attitude often annoyed her to no end, she had to appreciate that same desire to understand and help at times like these.

"Then... do you know how to cast a contraceptive spell?" Kaede asked.

She felt her cheeks flush with embarrassment. It felt like she was asking for condoms, or perhaps more appropriately, birth control pills.

"Of course!" Pascal smirked in amusement. "Father taught me when I came of age. I have never actually cast it on a real girl. But I know how to do it. That being said, the version I know is a low duration one taught to noblemen for when they bed a commoner. It would have to be applied daily."

Kaede's face grew hotter as she realized what this meant. She wasn't just asking him for birth control pills. She was essentially asking him to feed them to her on a daily basis. Yet even that seemed worth it if it could reduce the pain of her menstrual cramps, not to mention regulating the cycle so she could better gauge its timing.

"Could... c-could you cast it on me then?" Kaede felt her voice drop to a shy whisper.

"Of course." His grin spread from ear to ear as he walked over to the bed and sat beside her. "I will need to touch your pelvis though."

Kaede narrowed her eyes. Most other spells could be cast by touching anywhere on the body. Why the difference with this one?

Pascal seemed to read her thoughts as he clarified. "I am not lying to you. It is a sensitive spell."

''Well, that's true I guess.'' She thought. "Can't you just give me a rune?"

"So you can scratch a rock against your cute stomach? Not a chance." He grinned. "Besides, I do not know the rune for this spell."

''Right, two completely different magic systems.'' Kaede thought. It was one of those things that showed Pascal's prodigy. Most mages had enough trouble learning dozens of spells in one system. Pascal had to do it twice for many spells he used.

"Fine." Kaede answered begrudgingly. "You don't also need skin contact, do you?"

Her underwear was a one-piece 'leotard', though with buttons in the back for the tight fabric between her legs. To expose her lower abdomen, she would have to show off her privates.

Not that she had much in the way of breasts. The tiny lumps on her chest might, at most, be a B-cup in size. Kaede actually found this rather convenient as they never stood in the way. They never bothered her even if she slept on her stomach.

"I would not mind." Pascal's smile came without shame.

"Not a chance." Kaede retorted.

"I can take my shirt off if that would make you feel more comfortable."

"No, it doesn't!" Kaede snapped back. "Stop trying to get me naked!"

''What is with some men and always looking to get girls to strip?'' She fumed.

"Oh well, it was worth a try." Pascal shrugged as he raised the hand with his turquoise signet ring.

"You ready?" He asked.

"No. One moment." Kaede added before she closed her eyes and took a deep, meditative breath. ''Let's get this over with.''

She peeled away the comforter with her small hands, until her abdomen was almost completely exposed. She could feel Pascal's ring press against her pelvis. He spoke a word in ancient Draconic and a warm tingling began to grow in her belly, then faded away as quickly as it came.

The pressure from his ring then lifted. After all his teasing, he never even touched her with his fingertips. Kaede felt a sense of gratitude for that at least.

She reopened her eyes and met his turquoise gaze. "Thanks for making it quick."

"I was tempted." He added, then with a grin: "Are you disappointed?"

"Don't confuse me with your fantasies." Kaede replied in a deadpan.

For whatever reason, Kaede had absolutely no interest in exploring her own private parts. She was considerably less interested in them compared to when she was a man, and she doubted it was because of female hormones. As far as she knew, it wasn't just the boys in puberty who fooled around. Girls did also, even if society often pretended otherwise.

''The most often-said trait about Samarans... is that they're prudes.'' She couldn't help remember Cecylia's words. Which made her ponder: ''Are Samarans asexual?''

Kaede had once read an article on gender orientation when he discovered that one of ''his'' friends back in school was a secret lesbian. Japanese society was not exactly tolerant towards such behavior, as much as 'yuri' anime might pretend otherwise. The article claimed that asexuality was, by far, the least studied of all orientations. However, it didn't necessarily mean that the individual had zero sexual attraction -- it might require emotional bonding first, or it could mean they were romantic but merely weren't interested in the act of reproduction.

''Either way, it doesn't change my views.'' Kaede thought. ''I have no intention of having a man screw me as my first time.''

Even if she was a girl now, she still had ''some'' dignity as a man left.

Meanwhile, Pascal looked as though he was pondering something.

"As much as I enjoy this, would you prefer I enchant something with this effect?" He asked with a serious face. "Then you would not have to go through this every day."

Kaede couldn't help but smile. Pascal might seem insensitive and self-centered most of the time, but he also found ways to express how he truly cared. Clearly, he recognized her discomfort and offered.

"That would be greatly appreciated." She beamed at him in thanks.

However her smile had come way too soon, and not for the first time:

"By the way, the current enchantments on your undergarments also provide skin care, assuming you take care of yourself and not do something like lay under a blistering sun all afternoon."

Then, with his lopsided smirk returning once more:

"Try to keep yourself in pristine condition for my enjoyment, all right?"

The only response Pascal received this time was a pillow tossed into his face.

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| Back to [[Daybreak:Volume_1_Epilogue|Epilogue]]
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| Forward to [[Daybreak:Volume_1_Extra_2|Extra Chapter 2]]
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</noinclude>

Daybreak:Volume 1 Chapter 14

2022-02-27T18:52:54Z

Aorii:

===Chapter 14 - Outbreak of War===

The next week went by in a blur as Rhin-Lotharingie began to mobilize for war.

Emperor Geoffroi Jean de Gaetane issued a general call-to-arms across the entire Empire. However the response that came back was fragmented at best. The war came at an extremely inopportune time as it was already mid-December. Winter was beginning to seal the North Lotharingie Mountains' passes under ice and snow. Meanwhile the winter holidays, including the Winter Solstice, New Year, and Liturgy Day, were just around the corner.

Worse yet, the borders between Rhin-Lotharingie and the Cataliyan Caliphate were fairly new. It had been created due to each side's gains at the expense of the Holy Imperium ten years ago. Before that the Lotharins had always thought of the Caliphate as "my enemy's enemy". Many Lotharins were not used to seeing the Caliph as a new foe.

As a result, opinions toward the war were deeply divided. The differing attitudes of the various regions could readily be seen through the academy's students.

Those from the southern kingdoms of Avorica and Garona, both of which border the Cataliyan Caliphate, were swift to adopt a zealous stance. They spoke of the war as a struggle between good and evil, between noble Trinitians and Tauheed infidels. The Avorican cadets left to raise troops from their family fiefs and prayed that the Pope would call for a Crusade. The Garonans were at odds with the Church, and instead they took the extreme measure of initiating ''levée en masse'' and demanded the same from the rest of the empire. Most of their students, some as young as sixteen, began returning home to join the army.

Meanwhile, the students from the northern Kingdom of Gleann Mòr dragged their feet, citing how the Winter was already here and that it would be better to wait until the campaigning season in Spring. However even they weren't as problematic as those from the Kingdom of Ceredigion, many of whom blamed the war on the Emperor's religious policies and diplomatic failures, with some even pretending that this wasn't their problem.

There had already been three scuffles between students over political differences in viewpoint.

Students from the Lotharin heartlands, including both Reynaud and Gerard, often found themselves caught between these two poles. They supported the gathering of feudal armies to defend their nation, but most were neither in favor of a Crusade -- which pulled in foreign armies that pillaged the land -- nor mandated conscription. Those who lived further east anxiously pointed out that the Imperium still covetted their family lands. They insisted that the last thing Rhin-Lotharingie could afford to do was to strip bare its other defenses.

This confused situation in Rhin-Lotharingie stood in sharp contrast to that of Weichsel, as Pascal conversed almost daily with his father back home to receive updates.

King Leopold von Drachenlanzen of Weichsel saw no choice but to honor their alliance. This was the first war against the Empire of Rhin-Lotharingie since signing the defensive treaty. Failing to uphold the pledge would not only invalidate their coalition in the eyes of the world, but also risk condemnation from Weichsel's only influential ally within the Holy Imperium of the Inner Sea.

Ever since Ferdinand I, the founding King of Weichsel, allowed himself to be crowned by the Pope, the small nation in the north has maintained the confidence of the Holy See. It served as a bastion of Trinitian might against the barbaric pagans of the north.

Papal Appeasement was Weichsel's foremost deterrence against southern aggression, especially after hostilities during the War of Imperial Succession. Doubling Weichsel's landmass had been worth the papal condemnation it earned them that time. It had been silenced by generous donations of gold while leaving church assets alone during territorial annexation. But King Leopold could ill afford further disapproval.

The King had invoked the ''Writ of Universal Conscription'', calling for 'General Mobilization' in the name of the Holy Father. Using this first stage of Weichsel's Fourfold Mobilization system, the standing army would quadruple in size as professional soldiers were augmented by militia reservists. Furthermore, Noble Reiter units, formed by drafting the magic-blessed nobility, would supplement the professional Weichsel Cavalry that consisted of noble spellsword knights and their retainer troops.

However even with Weichsel coming to Rhin-Lotharingie's aid, their armies were months away at least. In the meantime the invasion had caught the Empire of Rhin-Lotharingie sorely unprepared.

Emperor Geoffroi did respond to the Caliphate's military buildup in the south by reinforcing his border garrisons. However the spy reports that reached the eyes of the Emperor grossly underestimated both the readiness and the tidal scale of the Caliphate's invasion. News from the borders claimed of Cataliyan armies numbering in the hundreds of thousands. They poured over the southern mountain passes in three separate army groups. The Lotharin border troops, hopeless to stop the approaching juggernaut, fell back across the entire front and sought to regroup at a second line.

They left six undefended duchies in their wake.

Five, technically. Duke Guy of Avro-Calent refused the general retreat order. His proud, multi-layered concentric castle boasted the strongest fortification in Southern Rhin-Lotharingie. However, the Cataliyan vanguard forces simply bypassed his castle. Rear army units then surrounded the fortress and bombarded it nonstop for three days, followed by a nineteen-hour relentless assault which seized the citadel from its exhausted defenders. In the end, the Duke's bravado and 'glorious death' not only failed to halt or even significantly slow the invasion, but cost the Rhin-Lotharingie three thousand precious seasoned troops and an entire stockpile of army grain.

<nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>

"I have ''never'' seen someone so bad on a horse."

Kaede lay flat on the ground as she ignored Pascal's scathing remark. This was her third practice session with a mount, and she still almost fell off twice during a prolonged canter. Then the white war steed went into a full gallop, and only Pascal's ''Air Cushion'' spell kept her from injuring her back.

Among Kaede's kendo friends back on Earth, Kaede's coordination and reflexes had been mediocre at best. It was yet another reason why ''he'' preferred the meditative and procedural movements of archery over the rapid assaults and reactionary parries of swordplay. Coming to Hyperion and adapting to a new, smaller body hadn't helped her in attaining better control over her muscles... or lack thereof.

At least her period had ended. The first practice session had far less pleasant results.

"She's not that bad. You should have seen Gerard when he first learned how to ride. That guy was a true sack of potatoes. It makes one appreciate how far he's come."

Perceval tried to encourage Kaede every time he came by to see Ariadne, who offered Kaede what pointers she could. Unsurprisingly, the pegasus knight was an exceptional rider. The Manteuffels weren't literally raised in the saddle like their nomadic ancestors. However as Ariadne first learned to ride a pony since she was four, it wasn't far from the truth either.

"Excuse me for not being born ''noble''." Kaede retorted to Pascal as she stood back up, rubbing her painful behind.

The ''Air Cushion'' softened the landing enough to prevent injuries, but there was still some impact. Combined with all the ups and downs in the saddle, it made Kaede's butt hurt, which was not a place used to it given the wonders of modern vehicle suspension.

The horsemanship problem was hardly a new one. Even during the pre-industrial eras of Earth, cavalry was predominantly a noble occupation. Only the wealthy could afford to grow up accustomed to a proper war steed. Farmers had horses and mules as well, but a docile, plow-towing animal was far different from one bred for battle.

As for Kaede? She had never even petted a pony before, let alone ride a galloping stallion.

"Again?" she asked, watching Pascal whistle the horse back around.

"No. Dinner is almost upon us, and that was your fourth try this session. Give your backside a rest already."

Kaede quickly put her hands away. She wasn't aware it had been that obvious.

"Nobody is going to become good in just a few days. Only a ''prodigy'' would be foolish enough to expect that, even though your own horsemanship is hardly worth bragging about..."

Ariadne's words were cutting, yet they still came with a smile. She walked over from the wall Perceval and her had been leaning against. Her delicate fingers extended back to cup her waist-length hair, which swayed in the courtyard's strong crosswinds like a pink waterfall.

"Besides, isn't hanging onto a canter enough? Not like she's going to join a thundering charge, even in the very unlikely scenario that you did."

With the reins back in his hands, Pascal's turquoise gaze was still examining Kaede as he began his reply:

"I was hoping she could act as my courier should the opportunity arise. The telepathic link grounded in our familiar bond would allow me to communicate with anyone directly through her. It is exceedingly useful given how normal ''Telepathy'' spells cannot function in a battlefield full of clashing mana and ''Farspeak'' spells require concentration to maintain. It would be a good reason for her to come with me."

"I thought mages often brought their familiars along?" Kaede puzzled.

Her own hair was long enough that she stuffed its other end into her belt pouch. With most of her time spent reading, Kaede rarely minded the sheer length of her snowy-white hair, which reached all the way down to her thighs. In fact, she rather enjoyed how soft and comfortable it was. Though it was also annoying on windy days when she came outside.

"Yes. In most other cases, I would not worry about it." Pascal answered. "But bringing a ''girl'' from my household does raise questions, and not the kind good for army morale."

At the same time, Perceval strode up from behind Ariadne and put his arm around her shoulders with a smile. His hands carefully brushed her hair back into place. After receiving an appreciative smile from her, he turned his gaze towards Pascal:

"Speaking of armies, are you planning to leave for Weichsel? I know Aria is leaving tomorrow morning. And she tells me you've been offered the command of a Noble Reiter company."

'Reiter' was one of the few military terms Kaede knew from German history: one of the first cavalry in Europe who raised firearms to the status of primary weapons. The fact her familiar bond's 'translation' feature picked this word in specific meant that the magic actually tried to match Weichsel's language to her specific knowledge.

It was a rather appropriate choice too. Unlike the professional 'Weichsel Cavalry' which used a combination of polearms, projectiles, and spells, the entirely aristocratic Noble Reiters were cavalrymen who served only as artillery-mages. Their lack of proper combat training reflected in their poor ability to hold out in close combat.

"I am not actually sure yet. I would like to go to Alis Avern and find out what is going on at the front lines. Study the war as it progresses. May even make a suggestion or two. The company hardly needs me to march into Rhin-Lotharingie." Pascal frowned. "But..."

"A Captain who does not march with his men cannot command his men in battle." Ariadne noted, which led to a sigh from Pascal.

"Basically what my father said. So yes, I think I will be departing with her tomorrow. What about you?" Pascal then looked at Perceval. "Are you planning to stay here while there is a war on?"

"No." Perceval declared without a moment of hesitation. "I can't just stay here pretending to be a healer, while there are thousands of dying soldiers on the frontlines who are in desperate need of one. However, I think it'd be better if I join an organization instead of act alone. Except I don't know what to join yet, or whom to join, if I am to go with the troops of a lord."

"You could join my company." Pascal proposed without a second thought. "We will be assembling in Nordkreuz, the same place as Ariadne's unit. And I promise you that once we reach the front, I will always go where we are needed most."

"Are you sure? You don't think I'm too Lotharin and boring?"

Perceval glanced away at the last second, and Kaede wondered if he regretted impulsively scratching that old wound the moment those words left his mouth.

"Command does not mind outsiders for a healer, since there are never enough for them to go around." Pascal stated. "And I would be ''honored'' if you would join me."

The two men looked at one another, before each of them nodded in silent recognition with a slight smirk.

"I think I also have an answer on how to bring your familiar without any problems."

Both Pascal and Kaede stared at Perceval for several moments. Neither could figure out the meaning behind his words before the two of them spoke at once:

"How?"

"Easy," the healer's eyes almost sparkled under his brown bangs. "Medical supplies."

''Oh right, walking Blood Bank of Samara,'' Kaede remembered. As she faced the grinning Perceval and the giggling Ariadne, her wispy response came out completely flat.

"Oh ha-ha. Very funny."

Meanwhile, Pascal looked even less amused than his familiar:

"Fair warning: if she faints, I am holding ''you'' responsible."

...

After returning the horse to the stablemaster, Kaede followed Pascal back to the dorms because he wanted to "deal with something first."

Thus she sat down on the bed and took out a tome to read while he finished whatever errand he had.

Except he just stood there staring at her.

"What is it?"

"I received something from the postmaster for you today."

Pascal spoke with a not-serious, not-joyous, not-angry, but oddly peaceful and gentle expression as he handed her a wrapped parchment scroll. He then turned the chair at his work desk around to face her before sitting down on it.

''Who would send something to me?''

Kaede frowned as she took the scroll. Rolling it over, her eyes widened at the black dragon crest of Weichsel on its official wax seal. Her small hands almost fumbled in their rush to unwrap it. She pulled it open before her gaze to scan through...

All speculative trains of thoughts came to crashing halts as she registered its impossible content.

Kaede had always avoided thinking about it. But despite trying her best to forget it, her memories would never let go of that dreadful first meeting with the headmaster, or even the exact words his horribly raspy voice used to announced her fate in this world:

"''No, Miss Familiar. You are neither a citizen of Rhin-Lotharingie nor Weichsel. You are not even a holder of any lawfully issued identification. Furthermore, you were summoned by a mage through his contractual ritual. In the eyes of our national laws, you are a non-entity that is only recognized as part of his responsibility. You are not property, but due to the lack of legal precedence, you are not far above it, either.''"

She couldn't even begin to count the number of times those words, spoken in that exact same voice, returned to haunt her as she laid awake in bed into the depth of the night.

Returning to the beginning of the scroll, Kaede carefully read each line and every word. She took care to ascertain its reality, that she wasn't merely misinterpreting through wishful thinking:

''By the powers invested in me by His Majesty King Leopold Karl-Wilhelm von Drachenlanzen, I hereby recognize and certify Miss Kaede Nikita Konstantinovich Suvorsky, member to the noble household of Sir Karl August von Moltewitz, Landgrave of Nordkreuz, as a resident of the Kingdom of Weichsel, with all the rights, privileges, and duties of...''

She couldn't continue anymore as moisture invaded her eyes and blurred her sight.

''I can't believe it.''

"This... this is..." her dry voice choked out.

For a pre-modern society, 'household' simply saw her as a servant to the Landgrave's family. But this was nevertheless infinitely better than mere 'property'.

"It is an official certification of residency in the Kingdom of Weichsel, personally signed by the Department Chief of Immigration from the Ministry of the Interior. As long as you abide by our laws, this residency will turn into lawful citizenship after ten years of either living within Weichsel's domains or serving the interests of Weichsel on foreign soil, which will certainly be the case when you're with me."

''Residency... it's been only... a month since I came to this world!''

Kaede had never applied for citizenship herself. But even she knew that such changes in status usually took years, months at the very least. She had already resigned herself for being completely without rights and reliant upon his protection for the foreseeable future...

"How did you get this so--"

"The process normally takes at least two years. But since high government positions are mostly filled by military officers who retired into the reserves, my family has plenty of contacts within the ministries..."

Pascal was totally unabashed. To him, using back-doors for personal affairs like this was his right.

"Some bribery also paved the way, of course. But I saw how shocked you were over this when the headmaster first mentioned it. Given that particular worry, expediency became an urgent need."

''Even so, he must have started the weekend after I came...''

Kaede felt her tears' wet warmth streak down her cheeks. Her glassy eyes continued to gaze upon the scroll. Her fingers were almost shaking as she slowly closed the thick parchment back into a roll.

She finally let out the breath she had been unknowingly holding. Her hands brought the certificate close to her chest, protectively clutching what was easily the most precious item Pascal had given her since coming to this fantasy realm.

Yet in hindsight, it wasn't his best present to her. More precisely, it was merely a representation of the rest:

In a land where she had absolutely nothing to her name, he had given her a warm and secure place to call home.

It was easy, so easy to consider this his obligation, as Pascal was the one who tore Kaede away from her past life by summoning her into this world. But she also knew that few individuals placed in such circumstances would have taken the same position or invested the same effort for her sake.

It might be his responsibility, but it was a responsibility he took in full measure and upheld even without being asked.

"Thank you..."

Kaede smiled back at Pascal through her blurry gaze. Her hand reached up to wipe away the tears, but even then she had trouble clearly making out his countenance.

"I can't even begin to describe... but... this really, ''really'' means a lot to me. Everything..."

The water in her eyes wouldn't stop coming out. It formed a small yet steady stream that her hands kept clearing away.

Throughout her entire life, Kaede almost never lost control of her emotions this way. Yet this was already her second time since coming to Hyperion.

A small corner of her mind couldn't help but wonder if having the hormone imbalance of a teenage girl had something to do with it. There was also the fact that female brains were wired very differently from male brains, or how neurotransmitter roles varied between genders, or...

Perhaps shedding a few more tears were the least of her self-adapting changes since arriving in this new world.

"I know I should at least give you a hug or something in gratitude over this. Yet I can't even stop crying here..."

Thinking back, Kaede had never felt more glad that she picked his side. She had never been more assured that she made the right decision when she joined the assassination scheme against him for his protection. Yet she couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt over her brief indecision. Even back then, when she chose whether or not to partake in his murder, he had already started his work to help her feel at ease.

''I could have done so much wrong...''

Wordlessly, Pascal stood up from his chair, walked over to the bed, and wrapped both of his arms around her thin shoulders.

She could feel his protective warmth as he pulled her into his firm chest.

"The hugs are free." He said in that odd joking tone of his.

Still buried in his chest, Kaede couldn't help but crack an unseen smile:

''Such inappropriate timing...''

She didn't even have the urge to hit him this time.

After nearly a minute, Pascal pulled back just enough to look down into her glassy eyes. His fingers reached up to carefully wipe them away.

"As much as I enjoy how huggable you are, we really should go down for the feast. Otherwise, Ariadne and the rest are going to believe I am chastising you over today's practice."

Kaede couldn't help but smile back at him. Her rose-quartz eyes were still swollen red:

"Then you better help me clean this up first. Otherwise, they'll ''know'' you've been bullying me."

<nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>

As Kaede followed Pascal into the main keep, they found Professor Albert waiting for him with a stern, almost grim expression.

"Sir Pascal, please come with me for a moment. There is something private I must inform you of."

Kaede tilted her head slightly as she looked at Pascal, whose poker face went on instantly.

"Go join Perceval and the rest in the dining hall. I will be there shortly." He told her before following his advisor into the dark hallways of the stone keep.

She hesitated for a minute before leaving. Something about Pascal, about the entire situation just didn't feel right. Yet at the same time, it didn't do her any good to wait there.

This turned out to be the first time Kaede walked into the great dining hall by herself.

Today was December 25th, exactly one month since Kaede came to this world. It was the day of the Winter Solstice in Hyperion. Yet despite being a day of feasting, the halls remained plain and the tables half-empty. Over a third of the students have either left to go join the military, or departed for home to seek safety. Apart from the whiff of sumptuous food, there wasn't the slightest air of celebration in the dining hall.

Nevertheless, Kaede received plenty of odd stares on her way to her seat. Some were merely curious, presumably over where her master was. Meanwhile others held her in contempt, disgusted over how the familiar could be allowed to stride unescorted across noble grounds in her proud bearing, as though she deserved to eat there.

Thankfully, nobody approached or stopped her. She walked up to Perceval's diminished group, where Ariadne saw her and wondered aloud:

"Where's Pascal?"

"Professor Albert stopped him along the way to tell him something."

Kaede sat down and waited. Her eyes kept peeled at the entrance.

Several minutes later, she watched as Professor Albert entered the hall. But there was no sign of Pascal following him.

As Albert sat down at the staff table, he looked over to a Lotharin professor and they had an exchange. Kaede did not know the lady's name. However it seems that ever since Duke Gaston, the combat and art instructor, left to join the war, she had been elevated to the role of the senior professor. For a moment Albert and her jousted verbally. Then, with an obvious sigh, the lady stood up and her gloved hand cupped her throat for a second before she spoke out:

"May I have your attention please."

Despite the polite words, her magically amplified voice did not speak them in the tone of a request, but as an order.

Under her commanding presence, the entire dining hall quieted down within seconds. Even the nobles fell silent in respect and courtesy.

"Before we offer our prayers to the Holy Father, I have two announcements to make. I ask you all to brace yourselves, for neither of them bear pleasant news."

Kaede's stomach twisted itself in knots as she anxiously awaited the bad news that almost undoubtedly involved Pascal.

"First, His Holiness Pope Vigilius has recognized the late Duke Guy of Avro-Calent, as a martyr of the faith and canonized him as a saint..."

It was an obvious backhanded slap towards the Emperor of Rhin-Lotharingie, who gave the order for a general retreat from the Lotharin-Cataliyan borders. But what came next was far, far worse as the lady professor continued in her grim voice with rising disgust, as though the very contents she read were revolting garbage:

"His Holiness is distressed by the loss of the helpless and the faithful to infidel hands, made possible only by... what he accuses as 'cowardice' on the part of our Emperor Geoffroi, who 'performed no deeds in the eyes of the Church, yet basked in greed over the past decades against the pious and good people of the Holy Imperium'... this is absolutely drivel!" She spat out as she could bear it no more.

"Since when has 'His Holiness' ever tended to his flock among the Lotharins? Since when has 'His Holiness' ever shielded us against the Imperium?" The lady professor shook the parchment in her hands as many of the students nodded in agreement. "And now this pope is excommunicating our Emperor from the Trinitian faith. It is nothing but a stab in the back in our time of crisis!"

Hushed murmurs began across the hall as students asked about what would happen now. That was when Professor Albert stood up and applied the same sorcery to his throat and voice.

"Second, I regret to inform you all that tragedy has befell the Kingdom of Weichsel." He declared to the students. "On this morning, during a trip out to inspect the troops rallying outside the capital of Königsfeld, Field Marshal Sir Karl August von Moltewitz..."

Kaede could feel the hammer that knocked the air out from her lungs.

"--Commanding Officer of the Weichsel Army and the Landgrave of Nordkreuz, plus twenty-eight staff members and bodyguards, were cowardly ambushed by ''Imperial'' assassins. Reinforcements from Königsfeld did not arrive in time to intercede, and the entire group has been confirmed dead."

This time people didn't even try to stay silent. Conversations erupted across the dining hall like wildfire. Several students even stood up and shouted at Professor Albert:

"Will Weichsel still join us?"

"Will your King honor his word and obligations?"

But Kaede had already stopped paying attention.

She only waited long enough not to be an embarrassment to Pascal in the eyes of the gathered nobles. He would need his dignity more than ever in the coming days. But the moment Professor Albert finished and the hall erupted into chaos, she pushed back her chair and began striding towards the entrance.

There was no way Pascal was coming here.

In the back of her mind, Kaede also realized...

This was the first time Pascal broke his word.

...

Pascal was not in his dorm room.

Kaede thought it was unfair that he could always figure out where she was, but not the other way around. Only then did she finally remember the telepathy channel. She had been subconsciously avoiding it. In this kind of situation, its use felt like cheating.

But it was still better than not being there.

"<Where are you?>"

She didn't even bother to ask 'are you alright'. That would have been purely insensitive. There was no way he could be fine after his father's death. Whatever odd 'daddy issues' Pascal had, there was also no doubt that he only spoke the word 'father' with reverence and respect.

"<On the roof.>"

Pascal's mental voice could not be any more monotoned.

Kaede climbed up three more flights of stairs, before she emerged onto the rooftop to find Pascal standing in the middle of the gently falling snow. His hardened turquoise gaze did not turn. He continued to watch the far-side battlements and the indigo gas giant draped over the horizon.

A noticeable layer of snowflakes had already accumulated on his broad, uniformed shoulders. It felt almost like the morning after she came to this world, had their roles been reversed.

Kaede tentatively took her first step towards Pascal. She was uncertain of what she should do, what she ''could'' do.

"Sorry about..."

"You don't need to apologize." She stopped his dry words.

Kaede knew perfectly well why he did not join her at the dining hall. Once he entered it, there was no way for him to leave with dignity until he finished his meal. It would be an entire hour spent under the gaze of hundreds, whose eyes were pitying at best and accusing at worst. He would have to spend a full dinner listening to people's sympathies, regardless of whether they sincerely bared their hearts or merely paid lip service before voicing their demands for Weichsel's action...

Neither of those would be something Pascal's pride could handle, not in this delicate moment when his mask was most brittle.

"I am fine, rea..."

"You don't have to hold it in." Her soft voice interrupted him again.

Silence returned to the rooftop once more, disrupted only by her quiet footsteps as his statue continued to gaze upon the distant planet. His stilled, half-turned eyes reflected the dim light of the heavens as hardened turquoise softened into glass.

Then, as Kaede took her last step behind him, she reached around with both of her thin arms and wrapped them across his lower chest. At that moment, Pascal's deep, anguished voice finally shattered the last vestige of peace:

"I ''warned'' him..."

Kaede kept her silence as she leaned her head into him. She hoped, ''prayed'' that their bond, the empathic link she cursed so many times, would give Pascal the emotional support he badly needed.

"Given what Reynaud said about the Mantis Blades, I told him, TOLD HIM, that after their attempt on my head, he was in serious, grave danger as the logical next target. That IN NO UNCERTAIN TERMS he should ''immediately'' discontinue his habitual personal visits to individual army camps for the coming months, ''at least'' until the Weichsel army is fully engaged in the war and the Imperium has missed its window of opportunity... but when does he EVER listen to me...!?"

It wasn't entirely fair. Kaede stood certain that had Pascal received a similar warning in that same position, he probably would not have altered his habits either. Generals did not succumb to fear over the mere likelihood of danger. They certainly did not alter schedules and change routines with ease -- which would clearly announce their fright to their soldiers.

Besides, had the elder von Moltewitz stopped his visits, how long must he cower under the threat of assassins? As the Marshal of Weichsel, every enemy of the state wanted him dead on a daily basis.

The thin line between courage in the face of danger and recklessness could only be seen in hindsight. Yet it was the willingness of commanders brave enough to tip that line that gained them the trust, admiration, and loyalty of their troops.

But this was no time for Kaede to wax philosophy.

She could only hold back her thoughts as Pascal's voice grew hoarse:

"--NO! Of course not! I am just the immature son whom he did not entrust with an independent command and sent off to Rhin-Lotharingie!"

Pascal did not cry out when she knocked out two of his teeth and broke three of his ribs on this spot. He did not complain once about pain after his left arm was mangled by assassins, a feat even Reynaud respected in the redhead's exaggerated storytelling. Nor did he flinch when he faced the most humiliating moments of his life, apologizing to Perceval and Ariadne over years of regret on this very rooftop.

It wasn't even a matter of masculine pride. The man was born and raised to be a soldier, a commander, a leader.

He was simply ''not allowed'' to falter, to ever show weakness.

He ''must'' be confident and assured at all times, never to reveal a single doubt towards the inevitability of victory.

Yet under the distant glittering starlight, basked in the glow from the indigo planet, Kaede watched as a shining stream of tears slid down his half-turned cheeks.

But his next words -- spoken as unforgiving as the arctic cold -- almost made her own heart freeze:

"I should have returned in person earlier! I should have joined him ''personally!''"

Survivor's guilt was renowned enough that she recognized it instantly.

"Don't be ridiculous Pascal. Your father undoubtedly took some of his best bodyguards. They must have faced at least several Mantis Blade squads, if not additional mercenaries. ''How'' could you have done what they couldn't!?"

Kaede knew that she was no psychiatrist, but Pascal was also a bastion of logic and willful integrity. She did not need to debate such points with him.

"But... but..."

All she needed to do was point out the obvious, then let him argue it out with himself.

"But... he was... the only family I had left..."

Kaede could feel Pascal's tears streaming down through his broken voice.

She didn't say anything. She didn't even know ''what'' to say. All she did was bury her own tear-stained cheeks into his back and tighten her arms around his chest.

She knew his mother had died early. But in hindsight, if Pascal had been raised by servants, then his extended family must have been lacking as well.

Her borrowed genealogy references did mention that Pascal's father Karl was also an only son. His parents, or Pascal's paternal grandparents, were minor gentry displaced by political fallout from the Rhin-Lotharingie Independence War and fallen to yeomanry. The name 'Moltewitz' was Karl's own creation, by merging a family surname prefix to the clan name suffix of his Weichsel bride.

Pascal and Kaede had a brief discussion over it once. But he never mentioned his mother's side, even though plenty of his maternal relations should still be alive...

"Y-your mother's family?" Kaede was almost afraid to ask.

Pascal didn't answer.

He only began after his voice finally regained a fragment of its composure:

"Father's relationship with Mother's side of the family deteriorated after she died. A Northmen invasion after that laid waste to my maternal grandparents' estate, and everyone blamed ''him'' for not sending reinforcements fast enough. They accused father of delaying aid over a personal grudge, even though half the coast was under attack and he ''couldn't'' just blatantly favor his own family..."

There was no need to explain what happened after that.

Everyone always expected leaders to be accomplished in everything, to be perfect and superhuman, to flawlessly address every need. In turn, those with responsibility were blamed and accused and reviled and criticized over every cent of error, even as they juggled the pros and cons of every decision, agonized over every sacrifice they made for a strategic victory -- for the 'greater good'.

After all, there was no point to winning the battle and losing the war. Yet in sacrificing a pawn to assure victory across the board, a leader could only cut off a part of themselves.

For some, that meant their flesh and blood.

For others, their heart and soul.

Perhaps that was part of why history had precious few enlightened absolutists, overshadowed by hordes of greedy and cruel tyrants who had lost their humanity. Contrary to popular claims, what didn't kill us didn't necessarily make us stronger. It merely stripped the 'soft' part of humanity from us.

Nevertheless, Pascal was doomed to face the worst of it, for nothing accentuated the contradiction in human decision-making more than the realm of military strategy.

In that moment under the sky, the stars, and the gas giant 'moon', Kaede finally realized the core of Pascal's being:

Why he was confident, arrogant, and intolerant.

Why he expected the best from everyone, only to lay scorn upon those who could not meet his demands.

It was because he expected the same qualities from himself.

It was his wish to be 'perfect' in his worldly role. To not merely rise beyond the renown of his father, but to achieve what his father could not.

Losses may be inevitable in war, but he would at least seek to win them without 'sacrifice'.

Yet no floor was smooth from the cut of a single tile. No rope could hold from the strength of only one strand. And just the same, no general could win 'perfect' victories without staffers, lieutenants, and even soldiers of the highest quality.

In seeking his 'perfection', Pascal inadvertently created his greatest flaw: even though he had the charisma to persuade and intimidate, his social skills were abysmal because he lacked ''empathy'' -- the ability to not just understand, but anticipate the needs of others.

It also happened to be a skill that Kaede had plenty of experience in.

This was why he summoned her. For without friends, no leader could stay in the light. Not even an aspiring one.

Kaede's decision turned out to be remarkably easy.

It was less than an hour ago when she read her certificate of residency. Now, it felt as though a lifetime had passed. But within it was one line of words she would ''never'' forget:

"''Kaede Nikita Konstantinovich Suvorsky, member to the noble household of Sir Karl August von Moltewitz''..."

That household now belonged to Pascal.

"You're wrong about one thing, Pascal."

Still embracing him tightly, Kaede's wispy voice came muffled by the proximity of his uniform jacket. It was barely more than a whisper, yet its content rang clearly in the silence between them:

"No one will ever replace your father, but he's not the only family you have left."

Pascal didn't say a word as he brought his own arms up, covering her small, chilled hands with the warmth of his palms as she continued.

"I'm sure the people of your estate, those who watched you grow up and raised you, all consider you part of the same family."

She also thought of his fiancée Sylviane. But having never met the other side of their political betrothal, she couldn't be sure of the princess' intentions. Not to mention that for the first time, she felt... odd, to bring up the name of his betrothed.

Kaede paused for a few more seconds as she reviewed her decision. She knew exactly how critical this moment was, and she would neither tarnish it with false promises, nor soil it with ambiguous misunderstandings.

"Even more than that, you have me... I can't promise I'll always be here. I can't swear I won't dream of my old life and world. But I ''will'' always be your familiar. I ''will'' always be your family. And so long as I remain on this world, I will support you to the best of my abilities..."

This was her declaration, her solemn pledge.

Families could still separate, grow apart. But even in the unlikely chance Kaede ever discovered how to return to her world, they would still be master and familiar, still try to remain part of each others' lives.

Hyperion was no longer merely an endless dream or nightmare. She would finally, truly embrace it as her ''reality''.

"You have my oath."

Pascal's large hands wrapped around her own, and gripped hers with firm determination. His gaze, however, never left the distant horizon.

"Thank you. That is more than I could ever ask for."

<nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>

Two hours later, as Pascal laid down next to Kaede and pulled up the bedcovers as usual...

The overhead light was still on as he turned towards her. His gaze pulled in her rose-quartz eyes as she did likewise.

"What is it?" Kaede smiled back at him.

Her countenance was serene. Her visage was beautiful. From her long silky hair, to the thinly-curled lashes above caring eyes still tinged with a trace of worry, to her small nose and cute lips...

She was angelic.

Pascal was sure, for the second time, that he was staring at his personal guardian angel.

How else could all the changes to his life in the past few weeks be explained?

Yet never before has he needed the blessing of another as much as tonight:

"I once told you that I would never touch you while sleeping without consent, but... may I hold on to you while we sleep?"

Her flawless white skin immediately flushed seven shades of scarlet.

Pascal knew he was being unfair to ask on such a night, especially after what just happened. But Kaede voiced none of her reluctance. Shyly pulling the covers up a little further, she returned two small but firm nods.

''She's just way too cute.''

He carefully wrapped his arms around her before slowly pulling her closer, as though afraid to break a delicate gem.

He could almost feel her heartbeat quicken and her cheeks burning as he held her soft body against the firm musculature of his arms and chest. His right hand then reach behind her head, gently stroking her silky long hair as he tried to calm her back down.

''...Too huggable as well.''

Pascal closed the last remaining distance between them, and placed a tender kiss on her forehead.

"Thank you, and good night."

She never resisted, never recoiled, never even voiced the slightest sound of objection.

Pascal held onto Kaede until her breathing evened out, until she had drifted away under the rhythmic stroking of her long hair. It was the first time he noticed her falling asleep before him.

It was her way of expressing how truly she had accepted him.

After his loneliness finally subsided, Pascal couldn't help but feel somewhat guilty for forcing her into it. He carefully -- with a bit of magical help -- extracted his arms from her, and settled for just holding onto her hand.

...

It was not until hours later, late into the night, when a still-wide-awake Pascal felt the pinging sensation of an incoming ''Farspeak'' spell.

''Farspeak'' calls had a range and reliability unmatched by conventional ''Telepathy''. But it also had glaring weaknesses: each person may only join one such link, and both users must concentrate to keep the channel open. Furthermore, the spell not only took minutes to cast but could also be easily missed if one wasn't paying attention.

Pascal's mind soon visualized the source: it was from his fiancée. The first time in weeks that she was willing to speak to him.

He rushed, mentally of course, to open up the channel from his receiving end. Yet for nearly a minute, silence reigned across the channel as neither he nor Sylviane spoke.

Pascal was anxious. However it was common courtesy to allow the caller to speak first, especially after they had already spent minutes casting the spell.

Then, her message began with only three sorrowful words:

"<Pascal. I'm sorry.>"

It was the one opening that Pascal did not know how to respond to. Should he offer to take the blame for their last call, or should he accept her sympathy?

He was about to choose option one -- better safe than sorry -- when a second line soon arrived on the heels of the first:

"<I've just returned to the palace in Alis Avern today. I've been busy with official business but... I want to see you tomorrow. I ''want'' to talk to you...>"

"<Of course. I will come.>"

Pascal was a fast thinker when he needed to be, but he was still not quick enough. Before he could even expand his phrase into a proper response, she had slipped him a quiet, third communique:

"<nowiki><I</nowiki> missed you.>"

Then the link cut off.

Even if it didn't, it would have taken Pascal at least a moment to recover from that.

Three simple words, spoken in a shy, almost embarrassed voice, yet drowned in a mixture of exhaustion and longing that Sylviane had never expressed.

He always believed that at least part of his interest towards her was because their personalities were peas from the same pod, even if she was far more approachable and friendly. However his fiancée made one error in judgment.

After the news of recent days, Pascal knew exactly why she had returned to Alis Avern. She was now the crown heir of an empire at war, an empire now endangered by the potential abandonment of their only ally.

Pascal's first order of business upon daybreak now stood clear: he must travel to Alis Avern and join his betrothed. He must show solidity with her as the new Landgrave of Nordkreuz. Their alliance was his father's greatest legacy, and he would fight tooth and nail to see it fulfilled.

History might only remember the Caliphate's declaration of Holy War from days ago as the ignition point for the chaos that would sweep the continent. But for Pascal Kay Lennart von Moltewitz, it was tonight when the war truly began.

And it would not stop until all of Hyperion lay changed.

<noinclude>
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| Back to [[Daybreak:Volume_1_Chapter_12|Chapter 12]]
| Return to [[Daybreak_on_Hyperion|Main Page]]
| Forward to [[Daybreak:Volume_1_Epilogue|Epilogue]]
|-
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</noinclude>

Daybreak:Volume 1 Chapter 13

2022-02-27T18:52:34Z

Aorii:

===Chapter 13 - A World of Difference===

Kaede spent most of the next two days in bed, skipping even mealtime trips to the dining hall. Thankfully, Pascal brought her a tray of aristocratic food back every time. Even better, he told her that Perceval started inviting him over to join Ariadne, Reynaud, and others during meals, so she didn't even have to feel bad about leaving him to eat alone again.

Although he would have deserved it, as all of her discomfort for the past days could be explained as 'his fault'.

By Wednesday afternoon however, her menstrual cramps had lessened enough for her to effectively concentrate on other things. Kaede only missed dinner due to being completely engrossed in her book on Rhin-Lotharingie history:

The Empire of Rhin-Lotharingie was forged only 256 years ago, making it the youngest nation in Western Hyperion by far. It was created after Charles the Bold united the twelve Oriflamme Paladins and led the first successful Lotharin revolt against the Holy Imperium of the Inner Sea. The rebellion culminated in the Fifth Alisia Campaign, where Charles outmaneuvered the Imperium's northern field army and destroyed a total of twelve Imperial Legions. After that, the rebellion grew like wildfire as the various Lotharin tribes, long discontent over the Imperium's efforts to impose their cultural and religious values, united under Charles' banner in the Rhin-Lotharingie Independence War.

''If first you don't succeed, try, try, try, try again,'' Kaede thought with a wry smile.

It made for a good fable, to be certain. But she could only imagine the generational cost in blood and lives the Lotharins paid.

She also found it a bit ironic. Because after centuries of slow integration and conversion, the Lotharins were more like the Imperials than they would like to admit. Trinitian might not be the 'official' state religion of Rhin-Lotharingie, but it was pretty close as only pockets of the old gods held out.

Nevertheless, the Lotharins managed to carve out a 'National Myth' for themselves. This includes many heroes such as Charles the Bold, Douglas the Black, Gwendolyn the Faerie Sword, et cetera. The number twelve also took on a sacred significance in Lotharin historiography: the twelve Paladins, the twelve original tribes, the twelve weeks campaign that resulted in twelve shattered Legions... ''Which is almost certainly an exaggeration,'' Kaede thought.

The Lotharins would claim otherwise, as they had enshrined the twelve captured Legionary Eagles in their royal palace. But even an amateur historian like Kaede could see the signs. For example, the Lotharins took great pride in depicting how Charles' persistent appeals eventually united the squabbling tribes under a common banner of unity, which they claimed was the reason for the revolt's success. However that ignored the international factors which also played a decisive role. This included:

Arms sales from the Kingdom of Weichsel as it pulled away from the Imperial sphere of influence...

Money and military support from the Grand Republic of Samara, in repayment for the help they received from Leslie the Paladin over three hundred years ago during the Great Northern War...

...And last but certainly not the least, the Caliph's decision to launch the 1st Tauheed Holy War against the Imperium at the same time.

If Kaede hadn't cross-referenced the events between multiple historical sources, she might not even have realized. However such efforts were far beyond the scope of the average citizen, even if they read.

''Magic or not, history is still written by the victor,'' Kaede thought. It was a fact of life she had long come to accept, but it still bothered her to think about. Just as it disturbed her when she first saw how, back in 1950, most of continental Europe agreed that it was the Soviet Union who played the greatest role in the defeat of Nazi Germany. Yet after seventy years and one Cold War, it was the Americans who raised themselves onto that pedestal.

Kaede's frown was soon abated when a mouthwatering scent wafted into the room. Except Pascal wasn't carrying anything as he strode into view.

"You are being invited to dinner, sort of. Ariadne is just outside the door."

His broad shoulders gave a noncommittal shrug, followed by a silent reminder as he saw how Kaede only wore an unbuttoned jacket over her undergarments.

"<You should get dressed properly first.>"

According to Pascal, Ariadne had mostly put away their past after her epic -- and publicly humiliating -- slap. But not hating his guts wasn't the same as being on good terms.

Kaede nodded back and rushed to put on her white pseudo-uniform, a task far simpler than with any of those dresses. She also stuffed two hot water pads into its belt pouches.

Pascal then stopped her before she could walk out. He took care to make sure her appearance was immaculate and wouldn't embarrass him before the noblest of ladies.

Two of them, as it turned out.

"Good evening Kaede. Thought you could use a little chat and company after two days." Ariadne's angelic smile radiated from just beyond the room's doorway, with a food tray hovering above one palm and the other hand waving at her. "My friend Cecylia is paying a visit from Alis Avern. Would you be interested in joining us?"

"Pleased to make your acquaintance." The petite girl who stood beside Ariadne's pink cascade beamed and waved energetically.

Kaede wasn't exactly in a mood to meet new people tonight, but this wasn't an offer she could refuse politely.

"The pleasure is mine," she tried her best to curtsy in return.

Cecylia was slightly taller than Kaede. She had fine, glossy black hair, trimmed short and pulled back by a white ribbon. Standing next to the mature and elegant Ariadne, she seemed almost fragile with her petite and thin figure, which only enhanced her undeniably cute appearance. Her small nose and lips lay under a pair of vibrant, dark-ruby eyes that held something odd about them, giving off a mysteriously alluring light. Her skin was fair to the point of bearing nearly a translucent silky sheen, which was accentuated by a black uniform similar to what Pascal wore. Except hers had no crimson stripes and came with a long, wide skirt instead of trousers.

As Kaede neared the doorway, she gasped and nearly tripped into a tray of wiener schnitzel and a steaming bowl of vegetable soup. She had just realized what that 'something odd' about Cecylia was:

Inside the round black pupils within her deep-red iris, Cecylia's eyes held tiny scarlet-red crosses.

The new girl's hands gently steadied Kaede as she looked back up. Her gaze was unerringly drawn to the depth of those eyes before she could pull back and glance away.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to stare."

"Hehe, don't worry about it," Cecylia giggled in her schoolgirl soprano. "I'll explain when we get back to Aria's room."

She then turned towards Pascal while reaching for the doorknob:

"See you later Pascal! Don't worry, we'll take good care of her!"

Her cheery voice gave Kaede bit of a surprise, who mentally asked Pascal: "<Made a new friend already?>"

"Good night," Pascal bid before sending back a somewhat wistful response:

"<No. We spoke quite a bit before I fell out with Ariadne, then until today she mostly avoided me. Cecylia Renata von Falkenhausen is the third child of General Wiktor von Falkenhausen, my father's second-in-command. Since we are the same age, our fathers had us meet when we were six. She is actually the one who introduced me to Ariadne.>"

''Bet your breakup came as a personal embarrassment for her then.'' Kaede thought as Cecylia took her hand and began pulling her down the hall with Ariadne following behind.

"<Be careful though. She likes to drag others to her pace before turning it back on them.>"

But rather than cautionary, Pascal sounded almost... admiring.

So Kaede wrote down another name on her mental list of people that Pascal actually respected.

...

The third-year girls' dorms were just one floor above, and Ariadne's room turned out to be... very feminine.

The bedsheets and curtains were in a soft pink that matched her hair, decorated by an abundance of white laces and frills. Frames of natural scenery on watercolor canvas decorated the walls, while a baby grand piano lay against the far corner.

''This is definitely the room of a highborn lady.''

Even before the door closed behind them, Kaede found herself greeted by a plump cat with lush white and gray fur. It laid down before Kaede and gazed at her through teal eyes before giving an adorable purr.

She knelt down to pet and stroke its wonderfully soft coat.

"Kaede, you might want to finish your dinner before getting too friendly with Ania," Ariadne suggested as she took the tray to the writing desk by the window. "She loves to steal food, and it's hard to keep watch on all of them."

"All of them?"

"Ania is a matryoshka cat from Samara." Cecylia watched with an amused grin. "She's also my familiar."

Kaede stood back up, puzzled.

"Matryoshka?"

Even as Kaede asked, Ania looked up, and another feline face, identical but slightly smaller, emerged from below her furry stomach. The smaller cat soon pulled herself out, laid down next to the larger Ania, and the process repeated itself.

Kaede soon found herself wide-eyed and speechless, surrounded by nine purring cats of decreasing size and plumpness.

"Are they... separate...?" she struggled to find the right words.

"They share the same psyche, as far as we know," Cecylia explained. "Matryoshka cats use shadow magic to make duplicates of themselves to scout for predators and trap prey. The largest one is always the main body, even though tapping its senses always feel like the smallest one is the primary.

"Speaking of eyes and ears, are you..."

"Not since I got annoyed with him and told him to stop. Pascal did promise not to intrude upon my senses without permission," Kaede answered as she wondered how many times she would have to explain this to people.

"Good!" Cecylia grinned. "Not that he's the voyeur type. But we don't need him to catch an eye-full during girls' night."

''Oh... OH!''

''This must be the 'slumber party' guys are so intrigued over.''

Kaede began to fidget just inside the entrance. Her cheeks heated up and her eyes glanced away as Cecylia wasted no time before starting to undress, with a set of black velvet pajamas with pink frills already laid out on the bed before her.

Ariadne was quick to notice as usual, soon commenting in her peaceful smile from the other side of the room:

"Cecylia, you're making our guest uncomfortable."

"Rules are rules: sleepwear only! No stupid layers of formality on girls' night!"

"I think changing in front of someone you recently met goes far beyond mere 'casual'."

"Hehe well, we'll just get familiar ''that'' much faster then!"

Before Kaede knew it, Cecylia had finished changing and bounced back. Her first thought was that Cecylia's exposed shoulders above her camisole easily had the smoothest, pearly skin she had ever seen, even with modern cosmetics and skincare products. In fact, it seemed almost unnatural.

"Eek!"

Backed into the wall, Kaede yelped in surprise as Cecylia's delicate fingers snaked in and started undoing her buttons with swift precision.

"S-stop!"

She turned towards Ariadne with her eyes pleading. The noble lady then tilted her head with a scowl before she walked over and pulled the overenthusiastic Cecylia off by the wrists.

"At least get to know someone properly before you start being forceful. You're going to drive Kaede off with this kind of behavior!"

"Awww but I wanna see! Pascal has pretty good tastes you know!"

With her shirt open and halfway down her shoulders, Kaede hugged her small chest and pressed herself against the wall. She could feel her cheeks blushing furiously, her exposed skin reddening as they met the warm indoor air again. Oddly enough, she found this far more embarrassing than wearing the same thing in front of Pascal.

''Girls by themselves are way too scary...''

"Oh, Sylv is going to have ''so much fun'' with her!"

Cecylia kept her brightly lit eyes fixated on Kaede, as though savoring an alluring piece of artwork.

Trying to defuse the situation, Ariadne herself began to undress and change to her sleepwear. She started by revealing a soft-pink bustier that tightly hugged her ample bosom.

It didn't have quite the intended effect. Kaede merely looked for more inconspicuous objects to fascinate over.

...

"You still haven't introduced yourself like you promised," Kaede grumbled before she leaned over the bedside counter and bit into another slice of wiener schnitzel.

Delicious food always made her feel better about things.

She even stopped obsessing over the fact that she wore nothing more than white lingerie as the three of them sat on Ariadne's king-sized four-poster bed between 'nine' furry cats. Although it would take a while before she could grow accustomed to it, if that were possible at all.

"Hehe, I do still owe an explanation don't I?" Cecylia replied cheerily. "I take it's your first time meeting a dhampir?"

Kaede nearly choked. 'Dhampir' of slavic folklore was the child between a human and...

"One of your parents... is a vampire?" She asked as her coughs subsided with the help of Ariadne stroking her back.

"Ah... you really aren't from our world are you?"

Cecylia's scarlet-cross eyes grew fascinated as a mischievous grin lit up her face. She held up the smallest kitty and twiddled its paw towards Kaede while launching into a lively explanation that totally contrasted with its contents:

"The vampire clans were wiped out centuries ago by the not-yet-Holy Imperium, although not before their curses destroyed sixteen whole legions and left the Dead Mountains perpetually filled with murderous mist. Dhampir are the descendants of vampires, still carrying the core of the fiendish blood curse that first created them during the Demonic Invasion. But the magic have at least diluted enough that the church could seal its effects, which..." she pointed to her pupils, "is what this cross is. I've had it since my baptism, dyed by my own magic over the years in the same way Ariadne's rosy mana colors her hair."

"So... you don't drink blood anymore then?"

The moment Cecylia put her kitten back onto the bedcovers, all nine cats scurried forward and surrounded Kaede's sides and rear like a furry trolley train.

"We do not urge for blood. But we certainly still ''enjoy'' it..."

Cecylia's grin slanted into a smirk at just the right angle, highlighting the little fang of a canine she sported. Oddly enough, only one was slightly bigger than usual. But Kaede hardly thought about it as the dhampir leaned in with a hungry, blood-red gaze.

With her entire body shivering, Kaede had never felt so aware of her Samaran body, nor the fact her blood was literally 'health food' for the predatory girl before her.

"Most dhampirs follow our cultural tradition of ''taking'' blood..."

Kaede could feel Cecylia's thin yet firm fingers slide down her bare shoulders, pinning her arms on each side. Hot breaths tickled her exposed collarbone as two deep-red eyes leaned in. Already quivering with trepidation, Kaede shook uselessly against Cecylia's unyielding grasp. It was as though those very pupils made her feel weak, yet Kaede couldn't break eye contact. She then cringed as she felt the dhampir's moist lips touched her skin... and kissed her gently.

Cecylia then leaned back with the broad smile of a joke well played.

"Y-you're horrible." Kaede muttered in her wispy, shaky voice as she wiped the tears from her glaring eyes. She genuinely felt scared for a moment as it felt like her whole body had been paralyzed.

"Hehe sorry. You're just so cute that I couldn't resist teasing a teeny bit extra." Cecylia responded. Her playful words didn't harbor the slightest drop of apology.

Meanwhile, her nine cats returned to the center of the bed, forming a full circle around her while each playfully chased the swaying tail of the kitten before them.

"Don't worry though, we only take blood from the partners we marry." Cecylia announced proudly. "Dhampirs lack the regenerative vitality of vampires, so drinking blood has become a rather private issue -- diseases and all that."

''So... dhampirs are dead afraid of Sexually Transmitted Diseases.''

Kaede was still trying to calm down her heartbeat. Nevertheless she sent a note to her future self that the next time a dhampir threatens to bite her, she should just warn them of syphilis.

"Although we no longer need it, consuming fresh human blood does make us appear younger." Cecylia added. "You should see my father, hundred-fifty-eight years old and still drawing the attention of every lady across the hall like a stud beefcake. Mother gets jealous all the time, even though he's never cheated on her once after a century of marriage. We dhampirs tend to be rather devoted in matrimony, blood of our cherished mate flowing through us and all."

Ariadne had watched the entire exchange with a serene smile, completely unperturbed, while her hands continued to brush her long, flowing pink hair. Now, she finally reentered the conversation:

"That's pretty rare among us. Most noble lords have at least one affair during their youth. It's almost something of a 'proud' achievement among them. The Trinitian Church may require monogamy, but aristocratic culture always tend to turn a blind eye toward mistresses."

"It's worse in Rhin-Lotharingie." Cecylia noted. "They haven't shrugged off their old pagan traditions of concubines equaling prestige. But here complains the girl whose beloved suitor has eyes only for her."

Cecylia's sigh was almost longing, but Ariadne had no intention of playing into it.

"And you've got how many boys chasing after you?"

"Not here." Cecylia's smile faltered a little. "Most Lotharins only need to see my eyes before they decide I'm a sinner."

"Didn't stop Reynaud and Gerard."

Cecylia almost laughed. "Reynaud flirts with half of everything female and walking on two legs, plus I prefer someone taller than me. Gerard is a nice guy and a real diligent worker. Sweet, definitely the romantic type, not to mention those ''perfect'' abs the last time he wrestled with Reynaud."

Her dhampir eyes had that 'hungry' look again...

"But... if I court him he'd expect me to become his housewife or something. Nope!"

Cecylia retrieved a tennis-sized ball of red yarn and tossed it onto the bed, where the nine Anias began to juggle and bounce it around like some kind of feline volleyball game.

"Finding the ideal man is overrated. It's far better to help a boy with potential reach his manly peak. That, is where true and lasting love lay."

Ariadne's calm response sounded more like a profession of wisdom. But with Pascal's rooftop apology to Perceval only days past, Kaede quickly realized that the lady was speaking from personal experience.

"Of course it doesn't hurt when that boy you help comes from a powerful dynasty and is the heir to a duchy." Cecylia leaned into Ariadne with a smirk. "It's why the Marshal sent you here on this program even though you're a Knight Phantom. Isn't that right, future Baguette Duchess?"

Kaede rushed a hand to her mouth as she almost snorted with laughter.

At the same time she realized: if the Field Marshal, Pascal's father, was the one who picked Ariadne for the cultural exchange, then chances were he was the one who selected Pascal as well.

''A father's love truly is difficult,'' she thought.

Meanwhile Ariadne retorted with a blush: "That's not at all why I picked him!"

"No. No. You're getting power, wealth, ''and'' love. The impossible triangle!" Cecylia grinned. "Just be sure to bake plenty of little baguettes in that oven someday." She patted Ariadne's flat stomach. "Perceval is definitely the type to be a family man." She added before turning to Kaede as though looking for agreement.

The Samaran girl was still smiling when an uncomfortable thought entered her mind:

''Love relationships with a man...''

It was hardly a topic that Kaede felt comfortable discussing, especially not if they lingered and the two girls grew interested in 'her tastes'.

"What about you, Cecylia? What are you aiming for? It sounds like you're career motivated?"

Kaede took the opportunity to change topics as she ate her last two slices of veal. She could swear at least four slices were missing, although that was still an acceptable price to pay for the adorable kittens whose furry tails continued to brush by every few seconds.

"Cecylia isn't an 'exchange student', unlike me and Pascal." Ariadne returned an appreciative look for coming to her rescue, which was an unintended bonus. "She graduated from Königsfeld last year and works in the Weichsen embassy in Alis Avern."

''Same year as you and Pascal then.''

"I'm a member of the King's Black Eagles and a junior military attaché," Cecylia smiled. "My specialty is information control and public security."

Kaede blinked. Her reading on Weichsel was considerably less than her research on Rhin-Lotharingie. However she remembered that the Black Eagles were the intelligence and special ops branch of the Weichsel military, who reported directly to the King. Combining that with Cecylia's claims about her specialty...

''In other words, you're a propagandist.'' Kaede realized.

"She's also a foreign culture expert. I could have sworn her crosses turned into glittering stars when I first told her about you Kaede," Ariadne joked.

"Then you're a..."

Kaede struggled to find a better word. However Cecylia wasn't the slightest bit shy about what she did.

"I'm a spy. Yep!" She declared with a grin. "It's not all cloak and dagger, you know. In fact, the Lotharins know exactly what I do. I analyze the information we see and hear from them, and then send it back to Weichsel for the King. I think my ultimate goal can be either spymaster or ambassador. One gets to know all the juicy bits and help nudge the country along the right path. Meanwhile the other gets to enjoy the high life while receiving all sorts of benefits."

''A counter-propagandist then.'' Kaede fixed her initial impression. She had a feeling that she and Cecylia would get along just fine, despite the latter's more... eccentric tendencies.

"But really, Aria, can you blame me for getting excited?" Cecylia turned towards her friend. "It's not everyday that one gets to meet a Samaran, and one from another world at that! Sure, I've met a few Samarans before -- actual Samarans and not just average humans from the Grand Republic. But most of them are so tight-lipped that you can barely get anything out of them."

''Probably because they don't feel safe outside Samara,'' Kaede reflected upon all the accounts of trafficking that she had read.

"What are they like?" She couldn't help but feel curious. "I've never actually met a Samaran before. They don't exist in the world where I come from."

Ariadne looked noticeably shocked by this. But Cecylia took it in stride:

"Well, you have met yourself!"

"Ha-ha." Kaede gave a fake laugh. "No seriously. I wake up and find myself reborn as a Samaran, yet I don't know a thing about what Samarans are like, how I'm supposed to behave, et cetera."

"Wellll," Cecylia tilted her head and cutely pressed a finger into her cheeks. "I can only give you my basic impression of them, plus some of the things I've heard from the other Black Eagles. Though since I've never had a mission in the Grand Republic, I don't have access to the full packet of information on them."

''Not that you'd share with me even if you did.'' Kaede thought.

She knew what it was like to work with those in intelligence. She had a brother-in-law who did so for the Russians. He was the only man Kaede knew who never touched a drop of alcohol, and who was so tight-tipped one could barely get a word about work out of him.

"It's still more than I have," she then shrugged.

"So among the Black Eagles, the most often-said trait about Samarans... is that they're prudes." Cecylia giggled before her schoolgirl soprano deepened in a remarkably good imitation of a male voice: "''Never try to seduce one'', they say. ''You're more likely to bed my great-grandmother.''"

"That can't be right," Kaede thought aloud. "Samarans must still feel attraction."

"Ohhhhh? So who are you attracted to?" Cecylia scurried forward playfully until her knees were almost touching Kaede's.

Kaede could feel the fire that spontaneously erupted in her cheeks. "That's not what I meant. I mean..." She rushed to find an excuse. "They still have kids, don't they? All biological species feel attraction. Otherwise they'd have long gone extinct."

''Even pandas get in the mood... eventually,'' she thought back to how researchers used panda porn to encourage breeding, which her father couldn't stop laughing about.

It made her feel a little homesick.

"That's why I hear that even in the Grand Republic, Samarans are kind of... rare." Cecylia shrugged. "I don't know the real reason. But the gist of what I hear is that Samarans just aren't particularly interested in anything sexual, even though they take relationships very, very seriously."

"What do you mean by that?" Kaede felt her curiosity grow.

"They say a Samaran will never forget anything you did for them. And no matter how long it's been, they'll always repay the favor in kind. Apparently they believe in this concept called 'karma', and that every good deed should be repaid."

Kaede smiled. Buddhism ranked high on the list of Earth religions she had been attracted to for precisely this reason.

"Is that the reason why the Grand Republic sent aid to the Lotharins during the Rhin-Lotharingie Independence War?" She asked.

Cecylia looked taken aback. She exchanged a glance with Ariadne.

"I told you she was a quick study for books," the lady knight grinned.

"Yes, actually." Cecylia nodded as her gaze returned to Kaede. "If there's one thing one could say about the Grand Republic, it's that any diplomatic relationship with them is ''extremely'' predictable, almost painfully so. You can't just go on a charm offensive and hope they'll like you. You have to actually build relations with them over time. During the Great Northern War five centuries ago when the Great Khan invaded Samara from the east, there was an Oriflamme Paladin named Leslie who led his band into Samara and lent them his services as a mercenary. The Samarans remembered this even three centuries later and repaid the aid in spades."

''Does that mean the Mongols' invasion of Russia failed in this world?'' Kaede couldn't help ponder. ''Though Samaran foreign policy sounds more like... China's, obsessed with history.''

"Aria told me you found our world fascinating, though I'm a bit surprised by how quickly you're learning." Cecylia gave an encouraging smile. "So how similar is your world compared to ours? Other than the part where your humanity never received the gift of magic from the dragonlords?"

"By 'dragonlords', you mean..."

"Yes, I speak of the dragons that descended upon Hyperion roughly four thousand years ago, and departed at the end of the Dragon Age." Cecylia added. "We call them 'dragonlords' out of respect. After all, they protected our tribal ancestors during the Dragon-Demon Wars, not to mention blessed our forefathers with the ability and knowledge to shape magic. This is especially the case for the Dragonlord Hyperion -- the son of the Holy Father whom ended the Dragon-Demon Wars."

Kaede had to blink several times as she took all that in. She had been too focused on learning about the civilized history of this world, as opposed to the ancient history that, at least back on Earth, were more appropriate to anthropologists than historians. She had encountered mentions of the dragons during her reading, but they were mostly in passing as she had never focused her research on the topic.

"The world I came from had dragons also, but only in myths and legends," the Samaran girl replied.

"Well, they're certainly not limited to myths or legends here," Cecylia grinned. "The legacy of the dragonlords is well researched and documented, from battlefield remains to the artifacts they've left behind."

''Clearly, I should pay more attention to the 'prehistory' of this world.'' Kaede made a mental note to herself before returning to topic.

"But aside from magic, I'd say this world and mine are extremely similar? In fact, Hyperion feels like what my world might have been if neither the Roman Empire -- who conquered most of the Western World just like your Inner Sea Imperium -- nor the Catholic Church underwent schism. So instead of a long, slow decline, our version of the Imperium collapsed within a few centuries and lead to the 'Dark Ages' on the European continent."

In later hindsight, Kaede was surprised by how easily her words rushed out, even though this was their first meeting. But after being nearly stripped and bitten by Cecylia, delving into deep discussions felt almost... casual.

"Let me start closer to here and run nation by nation: Rhin-Lotharingie is like Celtic Gaul and Celtic Britain smushed together, except in my world the Romans' Celtic Holocaust basically wiped out their culture. The Empire as it stands now, however, reminds me of my world's Frankish Empire under the Carolingians, except without the Gavelkind succession which later tore them asunder..."

"Gavelkind?"

Cecylia cut her off almost instantly, a tribute to the girl's sheer mental processing speed even as she absorbed information that was literally out-of-this-world.

"It's a succession law where the father's realm and assets is split up between all of his sons. My world's history is rather patriarchal." Kaede noted with an apologetic shrug towards the two ladies.

"Since your world didn't have magic, it would certainly be much harder for women to match the men in any contest of power or strength," Ariadne commented as though she wasn't surprised. "The duties of nobility always began with military leadership, and if women can't match up on the battlefield then they automatically forfeit such positions of power."

"That's likely among the reasons, and certainly one of the more apparent differences." Kaede nodded as she pondered. "Though from a worldly perspective, I'd say the biggest difference between this world and mine is that nation-states changed a lot more in my world, with far more division and fragmentation. France and Germany. Eastern and Western Roman Empire. Caliphates of Cordoba and Baghdad. Even the Churches of Rome, Constantinople, and Alexandria."

She had a feeling that one of the reasons was because mages lived far longer. But that only meant Hyperion's history 'slowed down' compared to that of Europe on Earth. It didn't explain some of the more dramatic differences, like the fact there were almost no 'small states'. Even the Kingdom of Weichsel -- a comparatively 'minor power' in Hyperion -- came in a size that would make Prussian King Frederick the Great proud.

"Well, distance is a problem when it comes to administration of large realms. So it's easy to break down into smaller state entities," Cecylia suggested as a possible cause. "What did you use for communications? Without magic you wouldn't have access to our ''Farspeak'' spell to instantly relay information across thousands of kilopaces."

"Uhhh... back then? Horse and rider? Mail by pigeon? It took a ''long time'' to get messages across any empire, at least until we invented the telegraph which ran on electricity... lightning-power." Kaede noted.

"Well that's the problem," Cecylia pointed out. "You can't govern an empire effectively if messages take a month to reach the emperor and another to return. We don't even need a device that catches lightning to send messages. A ''Farspeak'' spell can be cast within minutes and allows you to converse with any mage that you've met once in person."

''First gunpowder, now this.''

It was beginning to sink in just how truly world-altering magic was. Not only did it shift the development paths of technology, it also changed the rules of how human institutions behaved.

<nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>

"How did your night go?" Pascal asked Kaede at brunch the next day as she sat down next to him.

"Pretty well."

Kaede and Cecylia ended up comparing the cultural and geopolitical evolution of the two worlds late into the night. Even with the dhampir's earlier behavior lingering in her mind, Kaede found herself quickly warming up to Cecylia thanks to their mutual interests.

Cecylia then left first thing this morning. She didn't even wait for breakfast and simply took a few pastries from the kitchens. Her departing words to Pascal and Ariadne was somewhat ominous though:

"Remember what I told you last night -- prepare yourselves."

The two of them pressed her for answers on what for. However all the dhampir girl would say was a cryptic "hopefully nothing, but possibly everything".

It really reminded Kaede that despite how outgoing Cecylia seemed, she was still a keeper of secrets.

After Cecylia left, Kaede decided that she owed Ariadne an apology. The lady who epitomized nobility spoke little most of the night and simply kept up her gentle smile. Engrossed in their discussion, Kaede did not notice until after the fact.

Ariadne's response had been a truly affectionate "I'm glad you enjoyed yourself. You needed it after the last few days."

It made Kaede feel unworthy of befriending such a wonderful person.

"Morning Gerard!"

Perceval's friendly call brought Kaede back from her thoughts.

"Hello Perceval. Clearly, I must have missed something ''big'' if the Runelord is sitting next to you."

"The Holy Father does his work in mysterious ways," Perceval smiled back. "Pascal I don't need to introduce. This is Kaede..."

"The famous familiar girl, I recognized."

Gerard nodded towards Pascal while giving Kaede a slight bow:

"I'm Gerard Fournier. Pleasure to meet you."

Gerard was easily the tallest of the group, as his height was at least a few finger-widths higher than either Pascal or Perceval. His short, straight hair was black. His firm eyes were ash-blue. Below them, his hard, chiseled chin and a slightly tall, Balkan nose dominated his image. He wore a loose fitting tunic and a jacket over it, both of which looked too plain for a noble. However despite his lax clothing, it was clear that his body held an incredibly firm musculature. Tough and well-built, but no steroids monster either.

"Ah... nice to meet you as well."

"Fournier?" Pascal puzzled. "I don't recognize that name."

"My parents are bakers." Gerard shrugged before his voice hardened. "Yeomen, lower middle class. Perceval was the one who sponsored my attendance here. You have a problem with it?"

"I did not know Alisia Academy had a patron program?" Pascal asked. However even his casual voice sounded haughty and was definitely rubbing Gerard the wrong way.

"It's not a program." Perceval explained. "Reynaud introduced him to me. Apparently they met through his parents' bakery."

"He makes the most adorable animal bread, presented in beautiful confection houses." Reynaud grinned. "When I asked him how, he started telling me about how the dough needed just the right mix and had to be set just right so they'd expand in a certain way, yadda yadda. The rest went over my head."

"Like I've told you -- baking is a science." Gerard insisted.

"Which is precisely why I didn't get it." Reynaud remained smiling as he patted the back of the man who was over a head taller than him. "I mean do you ever see me reading a science book? Or any book?"

"You read map books." Perceval interjected.

"Yeah, well, those are fun. Seeing all the places I can go to? Tickles the imagination."

"I still do not see how baking has any connection with this academy."

Pascal's comment made Kaede want to slam her head into the table. ''You've just made new friends! Don't ruin it already!''

Thankfully, Perceval addressed the issue as he explained with pride in his voice:

"Gerard ranked sixth on the entry assessment exam for his year. He is now the best among his class of 4th year civil engineers. Only reason he returned late is because of his internship with the Ministry of Land and Resources in the capital."

"Impressive." Pascal's attitude switch was instantaneous, even if his tone was not.

"<Would it hurt you to show your admiration a little more in your public voice?>" Kaede prodded over telepathy, which Pascal utterly ignored.

Gerard shrugged, his blank expression seemingly not caring:

"You may think as you like. Most nobles here only put up with me thanks to Perceval and Ariadne."

"Most nobles here are ''incompetent''." Pascal clarified as his turquoise gaze swept the dining hall. "Birth, standing, prestige, none of those matter. Intellect, resolve, and the skills it brings are what counts."

Apart from Kaede, everyone else looked back at Pascal with some shade of surprise.

"I was just talking to my father the other day about the 'Imperial Examination System' that Kaede spoke of from her memories, which could elevate the poorest civilian to important officials of state. The performance bottleneck to the Weichsen army's Mobility Doctrine has always been a limit of capable officers, as commanders in the field must be able to think and act independently according to circumstance instead of waiting for orders. Father told me to draft him a formal proposal on how we could apply a standardized testing and scholarship system for promising cadets. When you mentioned patronage I wondered if Rhin-Lotharingie was already ahead of Weichsel in this."

Kaede smiled a little. She wasn't sure where this world's version of China was. Probably the 'Dawn Imperium' that sat as the other superpower in the far east. However she was certain they wouldn't mind her plagiarizing their 2,000 year tradition of meritocracy.

By the end of Pascal's speech, Gerard stood in awe with his mouth ajar.

"The Marshal of Weichsel is interested in this?" he asked, almost in disbelief.

Pascal nodded back, his stiff gaze confirming:

"Why is this a surprise? Weichsel's military ''is'' a meritocracy. The enemy will not care about how famous your family is."

"Yet your enemies will always recognize your family name." Gerard countered in a flat voice. "You can't get promoted if your superiors don't remember your name to match your deeds. And if you don't think there's a noble preference there then you've been blinded by your own experience. Still, better some opportunity than none."

Gerard then pulled out a seat right across from Pascal and sat down.

"I'll be happy to give you some ''proper'' perspective from a lowborn."

...

Surrounded by other acquaintances, Perceval's group broke to separate conversations as they enjoyed their meal. Kaede was introduced to nearly two dozen other noble acquaintances who sat nearby, although none of them spoke another word to her afterwards. She quickly realized that Gerard's situation was milder but somewhat similar to her own, patronage or not.

In the eyes of most highborns, the two of them were seen as little more than servants who shadowed their master's footsteps.

Unfortunately, Kaede did not receive much of a chance to consult her senior. Gerard spent almost the entire meal digging details out of Pascal, much to the annoyance of other nearby nobles who saw an easy opportunity to approach the Runelord.

It soon became apparent that most of the other peers who surrounded Perceval were not like-minded individuals. His affable demeanor and generous personality did make him easy to befriend. However, Kaede was fairly certain that Perceval's family heritage probably wasn't any lower than that of Ariadne's. In fact, she was fairly certain that one of the Paladins who fought during the Independence War carried his family name of 'La Tours'.

Personal politics and alliance-building worked the same way no matter where one went, especially among junior aristocrats. This was particularly true for those sociable enough to begin a snowball effect: the more acquaintances a high society circle gathered, the harder it became to refuse or ignore them.

Regardless, the same patterns of conversation kept up for the next two days. The only difference was that Pascal began to draft his idea for a 'scholarship examination' system. He solicited suggestions from those around him, and sent an evil eye to any noble who scoffed at the proposal. Both Kaede and Gerard were only too happy to pitch in, and soon Pascal had what he considered his 'initial draft'.

When Kaede asked how many drafts he usually went through, Pascal answered: "as many as it takes until I am satisfied."

She couldn't decide if this was due to his perfectionist tendencies or his father's strictness. Probably some of both.

Pascal might have made more progress if he also used his time with Kaede back in the dormitories to work on the proposal. Instead, he spent almost all of that time inscribing new runestones and infusing mana into newly cut gemstones. Half of the reason was because Kaede had expended a significant portion of his rune stockpile to lay her trap for the assassins. The other half was because of Cecylia's cryptic warnings.

And so, the week after the assassination attempt passed in a peaceful school setting... at least until Saturday's lunchtime when the entire hall was disrupted.

At the time, Kaede was watching Pascal and Gerard have another conversation, when a 4th year military cadet who wore their blue gambeson uniform rushed in from the hallway:

"WAR! WAR!" He yelled at the top of his lungs before stopping just inside the entrance to catch his breath.

All chatter in the dining hall died instantly as everyone awaited his explanation:

"THE CATALIYAN CALIPHATE HAS DECLARED HOLY WAR AGAINST US! Their armies have already crossed the border!"

The entire dining hall erupted back into loud, chaotic conversations. Some voices were worried, others anxious, and a few just plain scared.

Pascal was one of the few who completely kept his cool.

"Well, at least this answers the riddle of why the Holy Imperium suddenly wants me dead."

Most of Perceval's close friends nodded back in agreement, their expressions varying between alarm and apprehension.

None of them appreciated the frightening implications of being simultaneously hostile to the two largest powers of the Western World.

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| Back to [[Daybreak:Volume_1_Chapter_12|Chapter 12]]
| Return to [[Daybreak_on_Hyperion|Main Page]]
| Forward to [[Daybreak:Volume_1_Chapter_14|Chapter 14]]
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</noinclude>

Daybreak:Volume 1 Chapter 13

2022-02-27T18:52:01Z

Aorii:

Daybreak:Volume 1 Chapter 13

2022-02-27T18:51:27Z

Aorii:

===Chapter 14 - Outbreak of War===

The next week went by in a blur as Rhin-Lotharingie began to mobilize for war.

Emperor Geoffroi Jean de Gaetane issued a general call-to-arms across the entire Empire. However the response that came back was fragmented at best. The war came at an extremely inopportune time as it was already mid-December. Winter was beginning to seal the North Lotharingie Mountains' passes under ice and snow. Meanwhile the winter holidays, including the Winter Solstice, New Year, and Liturgy Day, were just around the corner.

Worse yet, the borders between Rhin-Lotharingie and the Cataliyan Caliphate were fairly new. It had been created due to each side's gains at the expense of the Holy Imperium ten years ago. Before that the Lotharins had always thought of the Caliphate as "my enemy's enemy". Many Lotharins were not used to seeing the Caliph as a new foe.

As a result, opinions toward the war were deeply divided. The differing attitudes of the various regions could readily be seen through the academy's students.

Those from the southern kingdoms of Avorica and Garona, both of which border the Cataliyan Caliphate, were swift to adopt a zealous stance. They spoke of the war as a struggle between good and evil, between noble Trinitians and Tauheed infidels. The Avorican cadets left to raise troops from their family fiefs and prayed that the Pope would call for a Crusade. The Garonans were at odds with the Church, and instead they took the extreme measure of initiating ''levée en masse'' and demanded the same from the rest of the empire. Most of their students, some as young as sixteen, began returning home to join the army.

Meanwhile, the students from the northern Kingdom of Gleann Mòr dragged their feet, citing how the Winter was already here and that it would be better to wait until the campaigning season in Spring. However even they weren't as problematic as those from the Kingdom of Ceredigion, many of whom blamed the war on the Emperor's religious policies and diplomatic failures, with some even pretending that this wasn't their problem.

There had already been three scuffles between students over political differences in viewpoint.

Students from the Lotharin heartlands, including both Reynaud and Gerard, often found themselves caught between these two poles. They supported the gathering of feudal armies to defend their nation, but most were neither in favor of a Crusade -- which pulled in foreign armies that pillaged the land -- nor mandated conscription. Those who lived further east anxiously pointed out that the Imperium still covetted their family lands. They insisted that the last thing Rhin-Lotharingie could afford to do was to strip bare its other defenses.

This confused situation in Rhin-Lotharingie stood in sharp contrast to that of Weichsel, as Pascal conversed almost daily with his father back home to receive updates.

King Leopold von Drachenlanzen of Weichsel saw no choice but to honor their alliance. This was the first war against the Empire of Rhin-Lotharingie since signing the defensive treaty. Failing to uphold the pledge would not only invalidate their coalition in the eyes of the world, but also risk condemnation from Weichsel's only influential ally within the Holy Imperium of the Inner Sea.

Ever since Ferdinand I, the founding King of Weichsel, allowed himself to be crowned by the Pope, the small nation in the north has maintained the confidence of the Holy See. It served as a bastion of Trinitian might against the barbaric pagans of the north.

Papal Appeasement was Weichsel's foremost deterrence against southern aggression, especially after hostilities during the War of Imperial Succession. Doubling Weichsel's landmass had been worth the papal condemnation it earned them that time. It had been silenced by generous donations of gold while leaving church assets alone during territorial annexation. But King Leopold could ill afford further disapproval.

The King had invoked the ''Writ of Universal Conscription'', calling for 'General Mobilization' in the name of the Holy Father. Using this first stage of Weichsel's Fourfold Mobilization system, the standing army would quadruple in size as professional soldiers were augmented by militia reservists. Furthermore, Noble Reiter units, formed by drafting the magic-blessed nobility, would supplement the professional Weichsel Cavalry that consisted of noble spellsword knights and their retainer troops.

However even with Weichsel coming to Rhin-Lotharingie's aid, their armies were months away at least. In the meantime the invasion had caught the Empire of Rhin-Lotharingie sorely unprepared.

Emperor Geoffroi did respond to the Caliphate's military buildup in the south by reinforcing his border garrisons. However the spy reports that reached the eyes of the Emperor grossly underestimated both the readiness and the tidal scale of the Caliphate's invasion. News from the borders claimed of Cataliyan armies numbering in the hundreds of thousands. They poured over the southern mountain passes in three separate army groups. The Lotharin border troops, hopeless to stop the approaching juggernaut, fell back across the entire front and sought to regroup at a second line.

They left six undefended duchies in their wake.

Five, technically. Duke Guy of Avro-Calent refused the general retreat order. His proud, multi-layered concentric castle boasted the strongest fortification in Southern Rhin-Lotharingie. However, the Cataliyan vanguard forces simply bypassed his castle. Rear army units then surrounded the fortress and bombarded it nonstop for three days, followed by a nineteen-hour relentless assault which seized the citadel from its exhausted defenders. In the end, the Duke's bravado and 'glorious death' not only failed to halt or even significantly slow the invasion, but cost the Rhin-Lotharingie three thousand precious seasoned troops and an entire stockpile of army grain.

<nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>

"I have ''never'' seen someone so bad on a horse."

Kaede lay flat on the ground as she ignored Pascal's scathing remark. This was her third practice session with a mount, and she still almost fell off twice during a prolonged canter. Then the white war steed went into a full gallop, and only Pascal's ''Air Cushion'' spell kept her from injuring her back.

Among Kaede's kendo friends back on Earth, Kaede's coordination and reflexes had been mediocre at best. It was yet another reason why ''he'' preferred the meditative and procedural movements of archery over the rapid assaults and reactionary parries of swordplay. Coming to Hyperion and adapting to a new, smaller body hadn't helped her in attaining better control over her muscles... or lack thereof.

At least her period had ended. The first practice session had far less pleasant results.

"She's not that bad. You should have seen Gerard when he first learned how to ride. That guy was a true sack of potatoes. It makes one appreciate how far he's come."

Perceval tried to encourage Kaede every time he came by to see Ariadne, who offered Kaede what pointers she could. Unsurprisingly, the pegasus knight was an exceptional rider. The Manteuffels weren't literally raised in the saddle like their nomadic ancestors. However as Ariadne first learned to ride a pony since she was four, it wasn't far from the truth either.

"Excuse me for not being born ''noble''." Kaede retorted to Pascal as she stood back up, rubbing her painful behind.

The ''Air Cushion'' softened the landing enough to prevent injuries, but there was still some impact. Combined with all the ups and downs in the saddle, it made Kaede's butt hurt, which was not a place used to it given the wonders of modern vehicle suspension.

The horsemanship problem was hardly a new one. Even during the pre-industrial eras of Earth, cavalry was predominantly a noble occupation. Only the wealthy could afford to grow up accustomed to a proper war steed. Farmers had horses and mules as well, but a docile, plow-towing animal was far different from one bred for battle.

As for Kaede? She had never even petted a pony before, let alone ride a galloping stallion.

"Again?" she asked, watching Pascal whistle the horse back around.

"No. Dinner is almost upon us, and that was your fourth try this session. Give your backside a rest already."

Kaede quickly put her hands away. She wasn't aware it had been that obvious.

"Nobody is going to become good in just a few days. Only a ''prodigy'' would be foolish enough to expect that, even though your own horsemanship is hardly worth bragging about..."

Ariadne's words were cutting, yet they still came with a smile. She walked over from the wall Perceval and her had been leaning against. Her delicate fingers extended back to cup her waist-length hair, which swayed in the courtyard's strong crosswinds like a pink waterfall.

"Besides, isn't hanging onto a canter enough? Not like she's going to join a thundering charge, even in the very unlikely scenario that you did."

With the reins back in his hands, Pascal's turquoise gaze was still examining Kaede as he began his reply:

"I was hoping she could act as my courier should the opportunity arise. The telepathic link grounded in our familiar bond would allow me to communicate with anyone directly through her. It is exceedingly useful given how normal ''Telepathy'' spells cannot function in a battlefield full of clashing mana and ''Farspeak'' spells require concentration to maintain. It would be a good reason for her to come with me."

"I thought mages often brought their familiars along?" Kaede puzzled.

Her own hair was long enough that she stuffed its other end into her belt pouch. With most of her time spent reading, Kaede rarely minded the sheer length of her snowy-white hair, which reached all the way down to her thighs. In fact, she rather enjoyed how soft and comfortable it was. Though it was also annoying on windy days when she came outside.

"Yes. In most other cases, I would not worry about it." Pascal answered. "But bringing a ''girl'' from my household does raise questions, and not the kind good for army morale."

At the same time, Perceval strode up from behind Ariadne and put his arm around her shoulders with a smile. His hands carefully brushed her hair back into place. After receiving an appreciative smile from her, he turned his gaze towards Pascal:

"Speaking of armies, are you planning to leave for Weichsel? I know Aria is leaving tomorrow morning. And she tells me you've been offered the command of a Noble Reiter company."

'Reiter' was one of the few military terms Kaede knew from German history: one of the first cavalry in Europe who raised firearms to the status of primary weapons. The fact her familiar bond's 'translation' feature picked this word in specific meant that the magic actually tried to match Weichsel's language to her specific knowledge.

It was a rather appropriate choice too. Unlike the professional 'Weichsel Cavalry' which used a combination of polearms, projectiles, and spells, the entirely aristocratic Noble Reiters were cavalrymen who served only as artillery-mages. Their lack of proper combat training reflected in their poor ability to hold out in close combat.

"I am not actually sure yet. I would like to go to Alis Avern and find out what is going on at the front lines. Study the war as it progresses. May even make a suggestion or two. The company hardly needs me to march into Rhin-Lotharingie." Pascal frowned. "But..."

"A Captain who does not march with his men cannot command his men in battle." Ariadne noted, which led to a sigh from Pascal.

"Basically what my father said. So yes, I think I will be departing with her tomorrow. What about you?" Pascal then looked at Perceval. "Are you planning to stay here while there is a war on?"

"No." Perceval declared without a moment of hesitation. "I can't just stay here pretending to be a healer, while there are thousands of dying soldiers on the frontlines who are in desperate need of one. However, I think it'd be better if I join an organization instead of act alone. Except I don't know what to join yet, or whom to join, if I am to go with the troops of a lord."

"You could join my company." Pascal proposed without a second thought. "We will be assembling in Nordkreuz, the same place as Ariadne's unit. And I promise you that once we reach the front, I will always go where we are needed most."

"Are you sure? You don't think I'm too Lotharin and boring?"

Perceval glanced away at the last second, and Kaede wondered if he regretted impulsively scratching that old wound the moment those words left his mouth.

"Command does not mind outsiders for a healer, since there are never enough for them to go around." Pascal stated. "And I would be ''honored'' if you would join me."

The two men looked at one another, before each of them nodded in silent recognition with a slight smirk.

"I think I also have an answer on how to bring your familiar without any problems."

Both Pascal and Kaede stared at Perceval for several moments. Neither could figure out the meaning behind his words before the two of them spoke at once:

"How?"

"Easy," the healer's eyes almost sparkled under his brown bangs. "Medical supplies."

''Oh right, walking Blood Bank of Samara,'' Kaede remembered. As she faced the grinning Perceval and the giggling Ariadne, her wispy response came out completely flat.

"Oh ha-ha. Very funny."

Meanwhile, Pascal looked even less amused than his familiar:

"Fair warning: if she faints, I am holding ''you'' responsible."

...

After returning the horse to the stablemaster, Kaede followed Pascal back to the dorms because he wanted to "deal with something first."

Thus she sat down on the bed and took out a tome to read while he finished whatever errand he had.

Except he just stood there staring at her.

"What is it?"

"I received something from the postmaster for you today."

Pascal spoke with a not-serious, not-joyous, not-angry, but oddly peaceful and gentle expression as he handed her a wrapped parchment scroll. He then turned the chair at his work desk around to face her before sitting down on it.

''Who would send something to me?''

Kaede frowned as she took the scroll. Rolling it over, her eyes widened at the black dragon crest of Weichsel on its official wax seal. Her small hands almost fumbled in their rush to unwrap it. She pulled it open before her gaze to scan through...

All speculative trains of thoughts came to crashing halts as she registered its impossible content.

Kaede had always avoided thinking about it. But despite trying her best to forget it, her memories would never let go of that dreadful first meeting with the headmaster, or even the exact words his horribly raspy voice used to announced her fate in this world:

"''No, Miss Familiar. You are neither a citizen of Rhin-Lotharingie nor Weichsel. You are not even a holder of any lawfully issued identification. Furthermore, you were summoned by a mage through his contractual ritual. In the eyes of our national laws, you are a non-entity that is only recognized as part of his responsibility. You are not property, but due to the lack of legal precedence, you are not far above it, either.''"

She couldn't even begin to count the number of times those words, spoken in that exact same voice, returned to haunt her as she laid awake in bed into the depth of the night.

Returning to the beginning of the scroll, Kaede carefully read each line and every word. She took care to ascertain its reality, that she wasn't merely misinterpreting through wishful thinking:

''By the powers invested in me by His Majesty King Leopold Karl-Wilhelm von Drachenlanzen, I hereby recognize and certify Miss Kaede Nikita Konstantinovich Suvorsky, member to the noble household of Sir Karl August von Moltewitz, Landgrave of Nordkreuz, as a resident of the Kingdom of Weichsel, with all the rights, privileges, and duties of...''

She couldn't continue anymore as moisture invaded her eyes and blurred her sight.

''I can't believe it.''

"This... this is..." her dry voice choked out.

For a pre-modern society, 'household' simply saw her as a servant to the Landgrave's family. But this was nevertheless infinitely better than mere 'property'.

"It is an official certification of residency in the Kingdom of Weichsel, personally signed by the Department Chief of Immigration from the Ministry of the Interior. As long as you abide by our laws, this residency will turn into lawful citizenship after ten years of either living within Weichsel's domains or serving the interests of Weichsel on foreign soil, which will certainly be the case when you're with me."

''Residency... it's been only... a month since I came to this world!''

Kaede had never applied for citizenship herself. But even she knew that such changes in status usually took years, months at the very least. She had already resigned herself for being completely without rights and reliant upon his protection for the foreseeable future...

"How did you get this so--"

"The process normally takes at least two years. But since high government positions are mostly filled by military officers who retired into the reserves, my family has plenty of contacts within the ministries..."

Pascal was totally unabashed. To him, using back-doors for personal affairs like this was his right.

"Some bribery also paved the way, of course. But I saw how shocked you were over this when the headmaster first mentioned it. Given that particular worry, expediency became an urgent need."

''Even so, he must have started the weekend after I came...''

Kaede felt her tears' wet warmth streak down her cheeks. Her glassy eyes continued to gaze upon the scroll. Her fingers were almost shaking as she slowly closed the thick parchment back into a roll.

She finally let out the breath she had been unknowingly holding. Her hands brought the certificate close to her chest, protectively clutching what was easily the most precious item Pascal had given her since coming to this fantasy realm.

Yet in hindsight, it wasn't his best present to her. More precisely, it was merely a representation of the rest:

In a land where she had absolutely nothing to her name, he had given her a warm and secure place to call home.

It was easy, so easy to consider this his obligation, as Pascal was the one who tore Kaede away from her past life by summoning her into this world. But she also knew that few individuals placed in such circumstances would have taken the same position or invested the same effort for her sake.

It might be his responsibility, but it was a responsibility he took in full measure and upheld even without being asked.

"Thank you..."

Kaede smiled back at Pascal through her blurry gaze. Her hand reached up to wipe away the tears, but even then she had trouble clearly making out his countenance.

"I can't even begin to describe... but... this really, ''really'' means a lot to me. Everything..."

The water in her eyes wouldn't stop coming out. It formed a small yet steady stream that her hands kept clearing away.

Throughout her entire life, Kaede almost never lost control of her emotions this way. Yet this was already her second time since coming to Hyperion.

A small corner of her mind couldn't help but wonder if having the hormone imbalance of a teenage girl had something to do with it. There was also the fact that female brains were wired very differently from male brains, or how neurotransmitter roles varied between genders, or...

Perhaps shedding a few more tears were the least of her self-adapting changes since arriving in this new world.

"I know I should at least give you a hug or something in gratitude over this. Yet I can't even stop crying here..."

Thinking back, Kaede had never felt more glad that she picked his side. She had never been more assured that she made the right decision when she joined the assassination scheme against him for his protection. Yet she couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt over her brief indecision. Even back then, when she chose whether or not to partake in his murder, he had already started his work to help her feel at ease.

''I could have done so much wrong...''

Wordlessly, Pascal stood up from his chair, walked over to the bed, and wrapped both of his arms around her thin shoulders.

She could feel his protective warmth as he pulled her into his firm chest.

"The hugs are free." He said in that odd joking tone of his.

Still buried in his chest, Kaede couldn't help but crack an unseen smile:

''Such inappropriate timing...''

She didn't even have the urge to hit him this time.

After nearly a minute, Pascal pulled back just enough to look down into her glassy eyes. His fingers reached up to carefully wipe them away.

"As much as I enjoy how huggable you are, we really should go down for the feast. Otherwise, Ariadne and the rest are going to believe I am chastising you over today's practice."

Kaede couldn't help but smile back at him. Her rose-quartz eyes were still swollen red:

"Then you better help me clean this up first. Otherwise, they'll ''know'' you've been bullying me."

<nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>

As Kaede followed Pascal into the main keep, they found Professor Albert waiting for him with a stern, almost grim expression.

"Sir Pascal, please come with me for a moment. There is something private I must inform you of."

Kaede tilted her head slightly as she looked at Pascal, whose poker face went on instantly.

"Go join Perceval and the rest in the dining hall. I will be there shortly." He told her before following his advisor into the dark hallways of the stone keep.

She hesitated for a minute before leaving. Something about Pascal, about the entire situation just didn't feel right. Yet at the same time, it didn't do her any good to wait there.

This turned out to be the first time Kaede walked into the great dining hall by herself.

Today was December 25th, exactly one month since Kaede came to this world. It was the day of the Winter Solstice in Hyperion. Yet despite being a day of feasting, the halls remained plain and the tables half-empty. Over a third of the students have either left to go join the military, or departed for home to seek safety. Apart from the whiff of sumptuous food, there wasn't the slightest air of celebration in the dining hall.

Nevertheless, Kaede received plenty of odd stares on her way to her seat. Some were merely curious, presumably over where her master was. Meanwhile others held her in contempt, disgusted over how the familiar could be allowed to stride unescorted across noble grounds in her proud bearing, as though she deserved to eat there.

Thankfully, nobody approached or stopped her. She walked up to Perceval's diminished group, where Ariadne saw her and wondered aloud:

"Where's Pascal?"

"Professor Albert stopped him along the way to tell him something."

Kaede sat down and waited. Her eyes kept peeled at the entrance.

Several minutes later, she watched as Professor Albert entered the hall. But there was no sign of Pascal following him.

As Albert sat down at the staff table, he looked over to a Lotharin professor and they had an exchange. Kaede did not know the lady's name. However it seems that ever since Duke Gaston, the combat and art instructor, left to join the war, she had been elevated to the role of the senior professor. For a moment Albert and her jousted verbally. Then, with an obvious sigh, the lady stood up and her gloved hand cupped her throat for a second before she spoke out:

"May I have your attention please."

Despite the polite words, her magically amplified voice did not speak them in the tone of a request, but as an order.

Under her commanding presence, the entire dining hall quieted down within seconds. Even the nobles fell silent in respect and courtesy.

"Before we offer our prayers to the Holy Father, I have two announcements to make. I ask you all to brace yourselves, for neither of them bear pleasant news."

Kaede's stomach twisted itself in knots as she anxiously awaited the bad news that almost undoubtedly involved Pascal.

"First, His Holiness Pope Vigilius has recognized the late Duke Guy of Avro-Calent, as a martyr of the faith and canonized him as a saint..."

It was an obvious backhanded slap towards the Emperor of Rhin-Lotharingie, who gave the order for a general retreat from the Lotharin-Cataliyan borders. But what came next was far, far worse as the lady professor continued in her grim voice with rising disgust, as though the very contents she read were revolting garbage:

"His Holiness is distressed by the loss of the helpless and the faithful to infidel hands, made possible only by... what he accuses as 'cowardice' on the part of our Emperor Geoffroi, who 'performed no deeds in the eyes of the Church, yet basked in greed over the past decades against the pious and good people of the Holy Imperium'... this is absolutely drivel!" She spat out as she could bear it no more.

"Since when has 'His Holiness' ever tended to his flock among the Lotharins? Since when has 'His Holiness' ever shielded us against the Imperium?" The lady professor shook the parchment in her hands as many of the students nodded in agreement. "And now this pope is excommunicating our Emperor from the Trinitian faith. It is nothing but a stab in the back in our time of crisis!"

Hushed murmurs began across the hall as students asked about what would happen now. That was when Professor Albert stood up and applied the same sorcery to his throat and voice.

"Second, I regret to inform you all that tragedy has befell the Kingdom of Weichsel." He declared to the students. "On this morning, during a trip out to inspect the troops rallying outside the capital of Königsfeld, Field Marshal Sir Karl August von Moltewitz..."

Kaede could feel the hammer that knocked the air out from her lungs.

"--Commanding Officer of the Weichsel Army and the Landgrave of Nordkreuz, plus twenty-eight staff members and bodyguards, were cowardly ambushed by ''Imperial'' assassins. Reinforcements from Königsfeld did not arrive in time to intercede, and the entire group has been confirmed dead."

This time people didn't even try to stay silent. Conversations erupted across the dining hall like wildfire. Several students even stood up and shouted at Professor Albert:

"Will Weichsel still join us?"

"Will your King honor his word and obligations?"

But Kaede had already stopped paying attention.

She only waited long enough not to be an embarrassment to Pascal in the eyes of the gathered nobles. He would need his dignity more than ever in the coming days. But the moment Professor Albert finished and the hall erupted into chaos, she pushed back her chair and began striding towards the entrance.

There was no way Pascal was coming here.

In the back of her mind, Kaede also realized...

This was the first time Pascal broke his word.

...

Pascal was not in his dorm room.

Kaede thought it was unfair that he could always figure out where she was, but not the other way around. Only then did she finally remember the telepathy channel. She had been subconsciously avoiding it. In this kind of situation, its use felt like cheating.

But it was still better than not being there.

"<Where are you?>"

She didn't even bother to ask 'are you alright'. That would have been purely insensitive. There was no way he could be fine after his father's death. Whatever odd 'daddy issues' Pascal had, there was also no doubt that he only spoke the word 'father' with reverence and respect.

"<On the roof.>"

Pascal's mental voice could not be any more monotoned.

Kaede climbed up three more flights of stairs, before she emerged onto the rooftop to find Pascal standing in the middle of the gently falling snow. His hardened turquoise gaze did not turn. He continued to watch the far-side battlements and the indigo gas giant draped over the horizon.

A noticeable layer of snowflakes had already accumulated on his broad, uniformed shoulders. It felt almost like the morning after she came to this world, had their roles been reversed.

Kaede tentatively took her first step towards Pascal. She was uncertain of what she should do, what she ''could'' do.

"Sorry about..."

"You don't need to apologize." She stopped his dry words.

Kaede knew perfectly well why he did not join her at the dining hall. Once he entered it, there was no way for him to leave with dignity until he finished his meal. It would be an entire hour spent under the gaze of hundreds, whose eyes were pitying at best and accusing at worst. He would have to spend a full dinner listening to people's sympathies, regardless of whether they sincerely bared their hearts or merely paid lip service before voicing their demands for Weichsel's action...

Neither of those would be something Pascal's pride could handle, not in this delicate moment when his mask was most brittle.

"I am fine, rea..."

"You don't have to hold it in." Her soft voice interrupted him again.

Silence returned to the rooftop once more, disrupted only by her quiet footsteps as his statue continued to gaze upon the distant planet. His stilled, half-turned eyes reflected the dim light of the heavens as hardened turquoise softened into glass.

Then, as Kaede took her last step behind him, she reached around with both of her thin arms and wrapped them across his lower chest. At that moment, Pascal's deep, anguished voice finally shattered the last vestige of peace:

"I ''warned'' him..."

Kaede kept her silence as she leaned her head into him. She hoped, ''prayed'' that their bond, the empathic link she cursed so many times, would give Pascal the emotional support he badly needed.

"Given what Reynaud said about the Mantis Blades, I told him, TOLD HIM, that after their attempt on my head, he was in serious, grave danger as the logical next target. That IN NO UNCERTAIN TERMS he should ''immediately'' discontinue his habitual personal visits to individual army camps for the coming months, ''at least'' until the Weichsel army is fully engaged in the war and the Imperium has missed its window of opportunity... but when does he EVER listen to me...!?"

It wasn't entirely fair. Kaede stood certain that had Pascal received a similar warning in that same position, he probably would not have altered his habits either. Generals did not succumb to fear over the mere likelihood of danger. They certainly did not alter schedules and change routines with ease -- which would clearly announce their fright to their soldiers.

Besides, had the elder von Moltewitz stopped his visits, how long must he cower under the threat of assassins? As the Marshal of Weichsel, every enemy of the state wanted him dead on a daily basis.

The thin line between courage in the face of danger and recklessness could only be seen in hindsight. Yet it was the willingness of commanders brave enough to tip that line that gained them the trust, admiration, and loyalty of their troops.

But this was no time for Kaede to wax philosophy.

She could only hold back her thoughts as Pascal's voice grew hoarse:

"--NO! Of course not! I am just the immature son whom he did not entrust with an independent command and sent off to Rhin-Lotharingie!"

Pascal did not cry out when she knocked out two of his teeth and broke three of his ribs on this spot. He did not complain once about pain after his left arm was mangled by assassins, a feat even Reynaud respected in the redhead's exaggerated storytelling. Nor did he flinch when he faced the most humiliating moments of his life, apologizing to Perceval and Ariadne over years of regret on this very rooftop.

It wasn't even a matter of masculine pride. The man was born and raised to be a soldier, a commander, a leader.

He was simply ''not allowed'' to falter, to ever show weakness.

He ''must'' be confident and assured at all times, never to reveal a single doubt towards the inevitability of victory.

Yet under the distant glittering starlight, basked in the glow from the indigo planet, Kaede watched as a shining stream of tears slid down his half-turned cheeks.

But his next words -- spoken as unforgiving as the arctic cold -- almost made her own heart freeze:

"I should have returned in person earlier! I should have joined him ''personally!''"

Survivor's guilt was renowned enough that she recognized it instantly.

"Don't be ridiculous Pascal. Your father undoubtedly took some of his best bodyguards. They must have faced at least several Mantis Blade squads, if not additional mercenaries. ''How'' could you have done what they couldn't!?"

Kaede knew that she was no psychiatrist, but Pascal was also a bastion of logic and willful integrity. She did not need to debate such points with him.

"But... but..."

All she needed to do was point out the obvious, then let him argue it out with himself.

"But... he was... the only family I had left..."

Kaede could feel Pascal's tears streaming down through his broken voice.

She didn't say anything. She didn't even know ''what'' to say. All she did was bury her own tear-stained cheeks into his back and tighten her arms around his chest.

She knew his mother had died early. But in hindsight, if Pascal had been raised by servants, then his extended family must have been lacking as well.

Her borrowed genealogy references did mention that Pascal's father Karl was also an only son. His parents, or Pascal's paternal grandparents, were minor gentry displaced by political fallout from the Rhin-Lotharingie Independence War and fallen to yeomanry. The name 'Moltewitz' was Karl's own creation, by merging a family surname prefix to the clan name suffix of his Weichsel bride.

Pascal and Kaede had a brief discussion over it once. But he never mentioned his mother's side, even though plenty of his maternal relations should still be alive...

"Y-your mother's family?" Kaede was almost afraid to ask.

Pascal didn't answer.

He only began after his voice finally regained a fragment of its composure:

"Father's relationship with Mother's side of the family deteriorated after she died. A Northmen invasion after that laid waste to my maternal grandparents' estate, and everyone blamed ''him'' for not sending reinforcements fast enough. They accused father of delaying aid over a personal grudge, even though half the coast was under attack and he ''couldn't'' just blatantly favor his own family..."

There was no need to explain what happened after that.

Everyone always expected leaders to be accomplished in everything, to be perfect and superhuman, to flawlessly address every need. In turn, those with responsibility were blamed and accused and reviled and criticized over every cent of error, even as they juggled the pros and cons of every decision, agonized over every sacrifice they made for a strategic victory -- for the 'greater good'.

After all, there was no point to winning the battle and losing the war. Yet in sacrificing a pawn to assure victory across the board, a leader could only cut off a part of themselves.

For some, that meant their flesh and blood.

For others, their heart and soul.

Perhaps that was part of why history had precious few enlightened absolutists, overshadowed by hordes of greedy and cruel tyrants who had lost their humanity. Contrary to popular claims, what didn't kill us didn't necessarily make us stronger. It merely stripped the 'soft' part of humanity from us.

Nevertheless, Pascal was doomed to face the worst of it, for nothing accentuated the contradiction in human decision-making more than the realm of military strategy.

In that moment under the sky, the stars, and the gas giant 'moon', Kaede finally realized the core of Pascal's being:

Why he was confident, arrogant, and intolerant.

Why he expected the best from everyone, only to lay scorn upon those who could not meet his demands.

It was because he expected the same qualities from himself.

It was his wish to be 'perfect' in his worldly role. To not merely rise beyond the renown of his father, but to achieve what his father could not.

Losses may be inevitable in war, but he would at least seek to win them without 'sacrifice'.

Yet no floor was smooth from the cut of a single tile. No rope could hold from the strength of only one strand. And just the same, no general could win 'perfect' victories without staffers, lieutenants, and even soldiers of the highest quality.

In seeking his 'perfection', Pascal inadvertently created his greatest flaw: even though he had the charisma to persuade and intimidate, his social skills were abysmal because he lacked ''empathy'' -- the ability to not just understand, but anticipate the needs of others.

It also happened to be a skill that Kaede had plenty of experience in.

This was why he summoned her. For without friends, no leader could stay in the light. Not even an aspiring one.

Kaede's decision turned out to be remarkably easy.

It was less than an hour ago when she read her certificate of residency. Now, it felt as though a lifetime had passed. But within it was one line of words she would ''never'' forget:

"''Kaede Nikita Konstantinovich Suvorsky, member to the noble household of Sir Karl August von Moltewitz''..."

That household now belonged to Pascal.

"You're wrong about one thing, Pascal."

Still embracing him tightly, Kaede's wispy voice came muffled by the proximity of his uniform jacket. It was barely more than a whisper, yet its content rang clearly in the silence between them:

"No one will ever replace your father, but he's not the only family you have left."

Pascal didn't say a word as he brought his own arms up, covering her small, chilled hands with the warmth of his palms as she continued.

"I'm sure the people of your estate, those who watched you grow up and raised you, all consider you part of the same family."

She also thought of his fiancée Sylviane. But having never met the other side of their political betrothal, she couldn't be sure of the princess' intentions. Not to mention that for the first time, she felt... odd, to bring up the name of his betrothed.

Kaede paused for a few more seconds as she reviewed her decision. She knew exactly how critical this moment was, and she would neither tarnish it with false promises, nor soil it with ambiguous misunderstandings.

"Even more than that, you have me... I can't promise I'll always be here. I can't swear I won't dream of my old life and world. But I ''will'' always be your familiar. I ''will'' always be your family. And so long as I remain on this world, I will support you to the best of my abilities..."

This was her declaration, her solemn pledge.

Families could still separate, grow apart. But even in the unlikely chance Kaede ever discovered how to return to her world, they would still be master and familiar, still try to remain part of each others' lives.

Hyperion was no longer merely an endless dream or nightmare. She would finally, truly embrace it as her ''reality''.

"You have my oath."

Pascal's large hands wrapped around her own, and gripped hers with firm determination. His gaze, however, never left the distant horizon.

"Thank you. That is more than I could ever ask for."

<nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>

Two hours later, as Pascal laid down next to Kaede and pulled up the bedcovers as usual...

The overhead light was still on as he turned towards her. His gaze pulled in her rose-quartz eyes as she did likewise.

"What is it?" Kaede smiled back at him.

Her countenance was serene. Her visage was beautiful. From her long silky hair, to the thinly-curled lashes above caring eyes still tinged with a trace of worry, to her small nose and cute lips...

She was angelic.

Pascal was sure, for the second time, that he was staring at his personal guardian angel.

How else could all the changes to his life in the past few weeks be explained?

Yet never before has he needed the blessing of another as much as tonight:

"I once told you that I would never touch you while sleeping without consent, but... may I hold on to you while we sleep?"

Her flawless white skin immediately flushed seven shades of scarlet.

Pascal knew he was being unfair to ask on such a night, especially after what just happened. But Kaede voiced none of her reluctance. Shyly pulling the covers up a little further, she returned two small but firm nods.

''She's just way too cute.''

He carefully wrapped his arms around her before slowly pulling her closer, as though afraid to break a delicate gem.

He could almost feel her heartbeat quicken and her cheeks burning as he held her soft body against the firm musculature of his arms and chest. His right hand then reach behind her head, gently stroking her silky long hair as he tried to calm her back down.

''...Too huggable as well.''

Pascal closed the last remaining distance between them, and placed a tender kiss on her forehead.

"Thank you, and good night."

She never resisted, never recoiled, never even voiced the slightest sound of objection.

Pascal held onto Kaede until her breathing evened out, until she had drifted away under the rhythmic stroking of her long hair. It was the first time he noticed her falling asleep before him.

It was her way of expressing how truly she had accepted him.

After his loneliness finally subsided, Pascal couldn't help but feel somewhat guilty for forcing her into it. He carefully -- with a bit of magical help -- extracted his arms from her, and settled for just holding onto her hand.

...

It was not until hours later, late into the night, when a still-wide-awake Pascal felt the pinging sensation of an incoming ''Farspeak'' spell.

''Farspeak'' calls had a range and reliability unmatched by conventional ''Telepathy''. But it also had glaring weaknesses: each person may only join one such link, and both users must concentrate to keep the channel open. Furthermore, the spell not only took minutes to cast but could also be easily missed if one wasn't paying attention.

Pascal's mind soon visualized the source: it was from his fiancée. The first time in weeks that she was willing to speak to him.

He rushed, mentally of course, to open up the channel from his receiving end. Yet for nearly a minute, silence reigned across the channel as neither he nor Sylviane spoke.

Pascal was anxious. However it was common courtesy to allow the caller to speak first, especially after they had already spent minutes casting the spell.

Then, her message began with only three sorrowful words:

"<Pascal. I'm sorry.>"

It was the one opening that Pascal did not know how to respond to. Should he offer to take the blame for their last call, or should he accept her sympathy?

He was about to choose option one -- better safe than sorry -- when a second line soon arrived on the heels of the first:

"<I've just returned to the palace in Alis Avern today. I've been busy with official business but... I want to see you tomorrow. I ''want'' to talk to you...>"

"<Of course. I will come.>"

Pascal was a fast thinker when he needed to be, but he was still not quick enough. Before he could even expand his phrase into a proper response, she had slipped him a quiet, third communique:

"<nowiki><I</nowiki> missed you.>"

Then the link cut off.

Even if it didn't, it would have taken Pascal at least a moment to recover from that.

Three simple words, spoken in a shy, almost embarrassed voice, yet drowned in a mixture of exhaustion and longing that Sylviane had never expressed.

He always believed that at least part of his interest towards her was because their personalities were peas from the same pod, even if she was far more approachable and friendly. However his fiancée made one error in judgment.

After the news of recent days, Pascal knew exactly why she had returned to Alis Avern. She was now the crown heir of an empire at war, an empire now endangered by the potential abandonment of their only ally.

Pascal's first order of business upon daybreak now stood clear: he must travel to Alis Avern and join his betrothed. He must show solidity with her as the new Landgrave of Nordkreuz. Their alliance was his father's greatest legacy, and he would fight tooth and nail to see it fulfilled.

History might only remember the Caliphate's declaration of Holy War from days ago as the ignition point for the chaos that would sweep the continent. But for Pascal Kay Lennart von Moltewitz, it was tonight when the war truly began.

And it would not stop until all of Hyperion lay changed.

<noinclude>
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| Back to [[Daybreak:Volume_1_Chapter_13|Chapter 13]]
| Return to [[Daybreak_on_Hyperion|Main Page]]
| Forward to [[Daybreak:Volume_1_Epilogue|Epilogue]]
|-
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</noinclude>

Daybreak:Volume 1 Chapter 13

2022-02-27T18:51:17Z

Aorii:

===Chapter 13 - A World of Difference===

Kaede spent most of the next two days in bed, skipping even mealtime trips to the dining hall. Thankfully, Pascal brought her a tray of aristocratic food back every time. Even better, he told her that Perceval started inviting him over to join Ariadne, Reynaud, and others during meals, so she didn't even have to feel bad about leaving him to eat alone again.

Although he would have deserved it, as all of her discomfort for the past days could be explained as 'his fault'.

By Wednesday afternoon however, her menstrual cramps had lessened enough for her to effectively concentrate on other things. Kaede only missed dinner due to being completely engrossed in her book on Rhin-Lotharingie history:

The Empire of Rhin-Lotharingie was forged only 256 years ago, making it the youngest nation in Western Hyperion by far. It was created after Charles the Bold united the twelve Oriflamme Paladins and led the first successful Lotharin revolt against the Holy Imperium of the Inner Sea. The rebellion culminated in the Fifth Alisia Campaign, where Charles outmaneuvered the Imperium's northern field army and destroyed a total of twelve Imperial Legions. After that, the rebellion grew like wildfire as the various Lotharin tribes, long discontent over the Imperium's efforts to impose their cultural and religious values, united under Charles' banner in the Rhin-Lotharingie Independence War.

''If first you don't succeed, try, try, try, try again,'' Kaede thought with a wry smile.

It made for a good fable, to be certain. But she could only imagine the generational cost in blood and lives the Lotharins paid.

She also found it a bit ironic. Because after centuries of slow integration and conversion, the Lotharins were more like the Imperials than they would like to admit. Trinitian might not be the 'official' state religion of Rhin-Lotharingie, but it was pretty close as only pockets of the old gods held out.

Nevertheless, the Lotharins managed to carve out a 'National Myth' for themselves. This includes many heroes such as Charles the Bold, Douglas the Black, Gwendolyn the Faerie Sword, et cetera. The number twelve also took on a sacred significance in Lotharin historiography: the twelve Paladins, the twelve original tribes, the twelve weeks campaign that resulted in twelve shattered Legions... ''Which is almost certainly an exaggeration,'' Kaede thought.

The Lotharins would claim otherwise, as they had enshrined the twelve captured Legionary Eagles in their royal palace. But even an amateur historian like Kaede could see the signs. For example, the Lotharins took great pride in depicting how Charles' persistent appeals eventually united the squabbling tribes under a common banner of unity, which they claimed was the reason for the revolt's success. However that ignored the international factors which also played a decisive role. This included:

Arms sales from the Kingdom of Weichsel as it pulled away from the Imperial sphere of influence...

Money and military support from the Grand Republic of Samara, in repayment for the help they received from Leslie the Paladin over three hundred years ago during the Great Northern War...

...And last but certainly not the least, the Caliph's decision to launch the 1st Tauheed Holy War against the Imperium at the same time.

If Kaede hadn't cross-referenced the events between multiple historical sources, she might not even have realized. However such efforts were far beyond the scope of the average citizen, even if they read.

''Magic or not, history is still written by the victor,'' Kaede thought. It was a fact of life she had long come to accept, but it still bothered her to think about. Just as it disturbed her when she first saw how, back in 1950, most of continental Europe agreed that it was the Soviet Union who played the greatest role in the defeat of Nazi Germany. Yet after seventy years and one Cold War, it was the Americans who raised themselves onto that pedestal.

Kaede's frown was soon abated when a mouthwatering scent wafted into the room. Except Pascal wasn't carrying anything as he strode into view.

"You are being invited to dinner, sort of. Ariadne is just outside the door."

His broad shoulders gave a noncommittal shrug, followed by a silent reminder as he saw how Kaede only wore an unbuttoned jacket over her undergarments.

"<You should get dressed properly first.>"

According to Pascal, Ariadne had mostly put away their past after her epic -- and publicly humiliating -- slap. But not hating his guts wasn't the same as being on good terms.

Kaede nodded back and rushed to put on her white pseudo-uniform, a task far simpler than with any of those dresses. She also stuffed two hot water pads into its belt pouches.

Pascal then stopped her before she could walk out. He took care to make sure her appearance was immaculate and wouldn't embarrass him before the noblest of ladies.

Two of them, as it turned out.

"Good evening Kaede. Thought you could use a little chat and company after two days." Ariadne's angelic smile radiated from just beyond the room's doorway, with a food tray hovering above one palm and the other hand waving at her. "My friend Cecylia is paying a visit from Alis Avern. Would you be interested in joining us?"

"Pleased to make your acquaintance." The petite girl who stood beside Ariadne's pink cascade beamed and waved energetically.

Kaede wasn't exactly in a mood to meet new people tonight, but this wasn't an offer she could refuse politely.

"The pleasure is mine," she tried her best to curtsy in return.

Cecylia was slightly taller than Kaede. She had fine, glossy black hair, trimmed short and pulled back by a white ribbon. Standing next to the mature and elegant Ariadne, she seemed almost fragile with her petite and thin figure, which only enhanced her undeniably cute appearance. Her small nose and lips lay under a pair of vibrant, dark-ruby eyes that held something odd about them, giving off a mysteriously alluring light. Her skin was fair to the point of bearing nearly a translucent silky sheen, which was accentuated by a black uniform similar to what Pascal wore. Except hers had no crimson stripes and came with a long, wide skirt instead of trousers.

As Kaede neared the doorway, she gasped and nearly tripped into a tray of wiener schnitzel and a steaming bowl of vegetable soup. She had just realized what that 'something odd' about Cecylia was:

Inside the round black pupils within her deep-red iris, Cecylia's eyes held tiny scarlet-red crosses.

The new girl's hands gently steadied Kaede as she looked back up. Her gaze was unerringly drawn to the depth of those eyes before she could pull back and glance away.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to stare."

"Hehe, don't worry about it," Cecylia giggled in her schoolgirl soprano. "I'll explain when we get back to Aria's room."

She then turned towards Pascal while reaching for the doorknob:

"See you later Pascal! Don't worry, we'll take good care of her!"

Her cheery voice gave Kaede bit of a surprise, who mentally asked Pascal: "<Made a new friend already?>"

"Good night," Pascal bid before sending back a somewhat wistful response:

"<No. We spoke quite a bit before I fell out with Ariadne, then until today she mostly avoided me. Cecylia Renata von Falkenhausen is the third child of General Wiktor von Falkenhausen, my father's second-in-command. Since we are the same age, our fathers had us meet when we were six. She is actually the one who introduced me to Ariadne.>"

''Bet your breakup came as a personal embarrassment for her then.'' Kaede thought as Cecylia took her hand and began pulling her down the hall with Ariadne following behind.

"<Be careful though. She likes to drag others to her pace before turning it back on them.>"

But rather than cautionary, Pascal sounded almost... admiring.

So Kaede wrote down another name on her mental list of people that Pascal actually respected.

...

The third-year girls' dorms were just one floor above, and Ariadne's room turned out to be... very feminine.

The bedsheets and curtains were in a soft pink that matched her hair, decorated by an abundance of white laces and frills. Frames of natural scenery on watercolor canvas decorated the walls, while a baby grand piano lay against the far corner.

''This is definitely the room of a highborn lady.''

Even before the door closed behind them, Kaede found herself greeted by a plump cat with lush white and gray fur. It laid down before Kaede and gazed at her through teal eyes before giving an adorable purr.

She knelt down to pet and stroke its wonderfully soft coat.

"Kaede, you might want to finish your dinner before getting too friendly with Ania," Ariadne suggested as she took the tray to the writing desk by the window. "She loves to steal food, and it's hard to keep watch on all of them."

"All of them?"

"Ania is a matryoshka cat from Samara." Cecylia watched with an amused grin. "She's also my familiar."

Kaede stood back up, puzzled.

"Matryoshka?"

Even as Kaede asked, Ania looked up, and another feline face, identical but slightly smaller, emerged from below her furry stomach. The smaller cat soon pulled herself out, laid down next to the larger Ania, and the process repeated itself.

Kaede soon found herself wide-eyed and speechless, surrounded by nine purring cats of decreasing size and plumpness.

"Are they... separate...?" she struggled to find the right words.

"They share the same psyche, as far as we know," Cecylia explained. "Matryoshka cats use shadow magic to make duplicates of themselves to scout for predators and trap prey. The largest one is always the main body, even though tapping its senses always feel like the smallest one is the primary.

"Speaking of eyes and ears, are you..."

"Not since I got annoyed with him and told him to stop. Pascal did promise not to intrude upon my senses without permission," Kaede answered as she wondered how many times she would have to explain this to people.

"Good!" Cecylia grinned. "Not that he's the voyeur type. But we don't need him to catch an eye-full during girls' night."

''Oh... OH!''

''This must be the 'slumber party' guys are so intrigued over.''

Kaede began to fidget just inside the entrance. Her cheeks heated up and her eyes glanced away as Cecylia wasted no time before starting to undress, with a set of black velvet pajamas with pink frills already laid out on the bed before her.

Ariadne was quick to notice as usual, soon commenting in her peaceful smile from the other side of the room:

"Cecylia, you're making our guest uncomfortable."

"Rules are rules: sleepwear only! No stupid layers of formality on girls' night!"

"I think changing in front of someone you recently met goes far beyond mere 'casual'."

"Hehe well, we'll just get familiar ''that'' much faster then!"

Before Kaede knew it, Cecylia had finished changing and bounced back. Her first thought was that Cecylia's exposed shoulders above her camisole easily had the smoothest, pearly skin she had ever seen, even with modern cosmetics and skincare products. In fact, it seemed almost unnatural.

"Eek!"

Backed into the wall, Kaede yelped in surprise as Cecylia's delicate fingers snaked in and started undoing her buttons with swift precision.

"S-stop!"

She turned towards Ariadne with her eyes pleading. The noble lady then tilted her head with a scowl before she walked over and pulled the overenthusiastic Cecylia off by the wrists.

"At least get to know someone properly before you start being forceful. You're going to drive Kaede off with this kind of behavior!"

"Awww but I wanna see! Pascal has pretty good tastes you know!"

With her shirt open and halfway down her shoulders, Kaede hugged her small chest and pressed herself against the wall. She could feel her cheeks blushing furiously, her exposed skin reddening as they met the warm indoor air again. Oddly enough, she found this far more embarrassing than wearing the same thing in front of Pascal.

''Girls by themselves are way too scary...''

"Oh, Sylv is going to have ''so much fun'' with her!"

Cecylia kept her brightly lit eyes fixated on Kaede, as though savoring an alluring piece of artwork.

Trying to defuse the situation, Ariadne herself began to undress and change to her sleepwear. She started by revealing a soft-pink bustier that tightly hugged her ample bosom.

It didn't have quite the intended effect. Kaede merely looked for more inconspicuous objects to fascinate over.

...

"You still haven't introduced yourself like you promised," Kaede grumbled before she leaned over the bedside counter and bit into another slice of wiener schnitzel.

Delicious food always made her feel better about things.

She even stopped obsessing over the fact that she wore nothing more than white lingerie as the three of them sat on Ariadne's king-sized four-poster bed between 'nine' furry cats. Although it would take a while before she could grow accustomed to it, if that were possible at all.

"Hehe, I do still owe an explanation don't I?" Cecylia replied cheerily. "I take it's your first time meeting a dhampir?"

Kaede nearly choked. 'Dhampir' of slavic folklore was the child between a human and...

"One of your parents... is a vampire?" She asked as her coughs subsided with the help of Ariadne stroking her back.

"Ah... you really aren't from our world are you?"

Cecylia's scarlet-cross eyes grew fascinated as a mischievous grin lit up her face. She held up the smallest kitty and twiddled its paw towards Kaede while launching into a lively explanation that totally contrasted with its contents:

"The vampire clans were wiped out centuries ago by the not-yet-Holy Imperium, although not before their curses destroyed sixteen whole legions and left the Dead Mountains perpetually filled with murderous mist. Dhampir are the descendants of vampires, still carrying the core of the fiendish blood curse that first created them during the Demonic Invasion. But the magic have at least diluted enough that the church could seal its effects, which..." she pointed to her pupils, "is what this cross is. I've had it since my baptism, dyed by my own magic over the years in the same way Ariadne's rosy mana colors her hair."

"So... you don't drink blood anymore then?"

The moment Cecylia put her kitten back onto the bedcovers, all nine cats scurried forward and surrounded Kaede's sides and rear like a furry trolley train.

"We do not urge for blood. But we certainly still ''enjoy'' it..."

Cecylia's grin slanted into a smirk at just the right angle, highlighting the little fang of a canine she sported. Oddly enough, only one was slightly bigger than usual. But Kaede hardly thought about it as the dhampir leaned in with a hungry, blood-red gaze.

With her entire body shivering, Kaede had never felt so aware of her Samaran body, nor the fact her blood was literally 'health food' for the predatory girl before her.

"Most dhampirs follow our cultural tradition of ''taking'' blood..."

Kaede could feel Cecylia's thin yet firm fingers slide down her bare shoulders, pinning her arms on each side. Hot breaths tickled her exposed collarbone as two deep-red eyes leaned in. Already quivering with trepidation, Kaede shook uselessly against Cecylia's unyielding grasp. It was as though those very pupils made her feel weak, yet Kaede couldn't break eye contact. She then cringed as she felt the dhampir's moist lips touched her skin... and kissed her gently.

Cecylia then leaned back with the broad smile of a joke well played.

"Y-you're horrible." Kaede muttered in her wispy, shaky voice as she wiped the tears from her glaring eyes. She genuinely felt scared for a moment as it felt like her whole body had been paralyzed.

"Hehe sorry. You're just so cute that I couldn't resist teasing a teeny bit extra." Cecylia responded. Her playful words didn't harbor the slightest drop of apology.

Meanwhile, her nine cats returned to the center of the bed, forming a full circle around her while each playfully chased the swaying tail of the kitten before them.

"Don't worry though, we only take blood from the partners we marry." Cecylia announced proudly. "Dhampirs lack the regenerative vitality of vampires, so drinking blood has become a rather private issue -- diseases and all that."

''So... dhampirs are dead afraid of Sexually Transmitted Diseases.''

Kaede was still trying to calm down her heartbeat. Nevertheless she sent a note to her future self that the next time a dhampir threatens to bite her, she should just warn them of syphilis.

"Although we no longer need it, consuming fresh human blood does make us appear younger." Cecylia added. "You should see my father, hundred-fifty-eight years old and still drawing the attention of every lady across the hall like a stud beefcake. Mother gets jealous all the time, even though he's never cheated on her once after a century of marriage. We dhampirs tend to be rather devoted in matrimony, blood of our cherished mate flowing through us and all."

Ariadne had watched the entire exchange with a serene smile, completely unperturbed, while her hands continued to brush her long, flowing pink hair. Now, she finally reentered the conversation:

"That's pretty rare among us. Most noble lords have at least one affair during their youth. It's almost something of a 'proud' achievement among them. The Trinitian Church may require monogamy, but aristocratic culture always tend to turn a blind eye toward mistresses."

"It's worse in Rhin-Lotharingie." Cecylia noted. "They haven't shrugged off their old pagan traditions of concubines equaling prestige. But here complains the girl whose beloved suitor has eyes only for her."

Cecylia's sigh was almost longing, but Ariadne had no intention of playing into it.

"And you've got how many boys chasing after you?"

"Not here." Cecylia's smile faltered a little. "Most Lotharins only need to see my eyes before they decide I'm a sinner."

"Didn't stop Reynaud and Gerard."

Cecylia almost laughed. "Reynaud flirts with half of everything female and walking on two legs, plus I prefer someone taller than me. Gerard is a nice guy and a real diligent worker. Sweet, definitely the romantic type, not to mention those ''perfect'' abs the last time he wrestled with Reynaud."

Her dhampir eyes had that 'hungry' look again...

"But... if I court him he'd expect me to become his housewife or something. Nope!"

Cecylia retrieved a tennis-sized ball of red yarn and tossed it onto the bed, where the nine Anias began to juggle and bounce it around like some kind of feline volleyball game.

"Finding the ideal man is overrated. It's far better to help a boy with potential reach his manly peak. That, is where true and lasting love lay."

Ariadne's calm response sounded more like a profession of wisdom. But with Pascal's rooftop apology to Perceval only days past, Kaede quickly realized that the lady was speaking from personal experience.

"Of course it doesn't hurt when that boy you help comes from a powerful dynasty and is the heir to a duchy." Cecylia leaned into Ariadne with a smirk. "It's why the Marshal sent you here on this program even though you're a Knight Phantom. Isn't that right, future Baguette Duchess?"

Kaede rushed a hand to her mouth as she almost snorted with laughter.

At the same time she realized: if the Field Marshal, Pascal's father, was the one who picked Ariadne for the cultural exchange, then chances were he was the one who selected Pascal as well.

''A father's love truly is difficult,'' she thought.

Meanwhile Ariadne retorted with a blush: "That's not at all why I picked him!"

"No. No. You're getting power, wealth, ''and'' love. The impossible triangle!" Cecylia grinned. "Just be sure to bake plenty of little baguettes in that oven someday." She patted Ariadne's flat stomach. "Perceval is definitely the type to be a family man." She added before turning to Kaede as though looking for agreement.

The Samaran girl was still smiling when an uncomfortable thought entered her mind:

''Love relationships with a man...''

It was hardly a topic that Kaede felt comfortable discussing, especially not if they lingered and the two girls grew interested in 'her tastes'.

"What about you, Cecylia? What are you aiming for? It sounds like you're career motivated?"

Kaede took the opportunity to change topics as she ate her last two slices of veal. She could swear at least four slices were missing, although that was still an acceptable price to pay for the adorable kittens whose furry tails continued to brush by every few seconds.

"Cecylia isn't an 'exchange student', unlike me and Pascal." Ariadne returned an appreciative look for coming to her rescue, which was an unintended bonus. "She graduated from Königsfeld last year and works in the Weichsen embassy in Alis Avern."

''Same year as you and Pascal then.''

"I'm a member of the King's Black Eagles and a junior military attaché," Cecylia smiled. "My specialty is information control and public security."

Kaede blinked. Her reading on Weichsel was considerably less than her research on Rhin-Lotharingie. However she remembered that the Black Eagles were the intelligence and special ops branch of the Weichsel military, who reported directly to the King. Combining that with Cecylia's claims about her specialty...

''In other words, you're a propagandist.'' Kaede realized.

"She's also a foreign culture expert. I could have sworn her crosses turned into glittering stars when I first told her about you Kaede," Ariadne joked.

"Then you're a..."

Kaede struggled to find a better word. However Cecylia wasn't the slightest bit shy about what she did.

"I'm a spy. Yep!" She declared with a grin. "It's not all cloak and dagger, you know. In fact, the Lotharins know exactly what I do. I analyze the information we see and hear from them, and then send it back to Weichsel for the King. I think my ultimate goal can be either spymaster or ambassador. One gets to know all the juicy bits and help nudge the country along the right path. Meanwhile the other gets to enjoy the high life while receiving all sorts of benefits."

''A counter-propagandist then.'' Kaede fixed her initial impression. She had a feeling that she and Cecylia would get along just fine, despite the latter's more... eccentric tendencies.

"But really, Aria, can you blame me for getting excited?" Cecylia turned towards her friend. "It's not everyday that one gets to meet a Samaran, and one from another world at that! Sure, I've met a few Samarans before -- actual Samarans and not just average humans from the Grand Republic. But most of them are so tight-lipped that you can barely get anything out of them."

''Probably because they don't feel safe outside Samara,'' Kaede reflected upon all the accounts of trafficking that she had read.

"What are they like?" She couldn't help but feel curious. "I've never actually met a Samaran before. They don't exist in the world where I come from."

Ariadne looked noticeably shocked by this. But Cecylia took it in stride:

"Well, you have met yourself!"

"Ha-ha." Kaede gave a fake laugh. "No seriously. I wake up and find myself reborn as a Samaran, yet I don't know a thing about what Samarans are like, how I'm supposed to behave, et cetera."

"Wellll," Cecylia tilted her head and cutely pressed a finger into her cheeks. "I can only give you my basic impression of them, plus some of the things I've heard from the other Black Eagles. Though since I've never had a mission in the Grand Republic, I don't have access to the full packet of information on them."

''Not that you'd share with me even if you did.'' Kaede thought.

She knew what it was like to work with those in intelligence. She had a brother-in-law who did so for the Russians. He was the only man Kaede knew who never touched a drop of alcohol, and who was so tight-tipped one could barely get a word about work out of him.

"It's still more than I have," she then shrugged.

"So among the Black Eagles, the most often-said trait about Samarans... is that they're prudes." Cecylia giggled before her schoolgirl soprano deepened in a remarkably good imitation of a male voice: "''Never try to seduce one'', they say. ''You're more likely to bed my great-grandmother.''"

"That can't be right," Kaede thought aloud. "Samarans must still feel attraction."

"Ohhhhh? So who are you attracted to?" Cecylia scurried forward playfully until her knees were almost touching Kaede's.

Kaede could feel the fire that spontaneously erupted in her cheeks. "That's not what I meant. I mean..." She rushed to find an excuse. "They still have kids, don't they? All biological species feel attraction. Otherwise they'd have long gone extinct."

''Even pandas get in the mood... eventually,'' she thought back to how researchers used panda porn to encourage breeding, which her father couldn't stop laughing about.

It made her feel a little homesick.

"That's why I hear that even in the Grand Republic, Samarans are kind of... rare." Cecylia shrugged. "I don't know the real reason. But the gist of what I hear is that Samarans just aren't particularly interested in anything sexual, even though they take relationships very, very seriously."

"What do you mean by that?" Kaede felt her curiosity grow.

"They say a Samaran will never forget anything you did for them. And no matter how long it's been, they'll always repay the favor in kind. Apparently they believe in this concept called 'karma', and that every good deed should be repaid."

Kaede smiled. Buddhism ranked high on the list of Earth religions she had been attracted to for precisely this reason.

"Is that the reason why the Grand Republic sent aid to the Lotharins during the Rhin-Lotharingie Independence War?" She asked.

Cecylia looked taken aback. She exchanged a glance with Ariadne.

"I told you she was a quick study for books," the lady knight grinned.

"Yes, actually." Cecylia nodded as her gaze returned to Kaede. "If there's one thing one could say about the Grand Republic, it's that any diplomatic relationship with them is ''extremely'' predictable, almost painfully so. You can't just go on a charm offensive and hope they'll like you. You have to actually build relations with them over time. During the Great Northern War five centuries ago when the Great Khan invaded Samara from the east, there was an Oriflamme Paladin named Leslie who led his band into Samara and lent them his services as a mercenary. The Samarans remembered this even three centuries later and repaid the aid in spades."

''Does that mean the Mongols' invasion of Russia failed in this world?'' Kaede couldn't help ponder. ''Though Samaran foreign policy sounds more like... China's, obsessed with history.''

"Aria told me you found our world fascinating, though I'm a bit surprised by how quickly you're learning." Cecylia gave an encouraging smile. "So how similar is your world compared to ours? Other than the part where your humanity never received the gift of magic from the dragonlords?"

"By 'dragonlords', you mean..."

"Yes, I speak of the dragons that descended upon Hyperion roughly four thousand years ago, and departed at the end of the Dragon Age." Cecylia added. "We call them 'dragonlords' out of respect. After all, they protected our tribal ancestors during the Dragon-Demon Wars, not to mention blessed our forefathers with the ability and knowledge to shape magic. This is especially the case for the Dragonlord Hyperion -- the son of the Holy Father whom ended the Dragon-Demon Wars."

Kaede had to blink several times as she took all that in. She had been too focused on learning about the civilized history of this world, as opposed to the ancient history that, at least back on Earth, were more appropriate to anthropologists than historians. She had encountered mentions of the dragons during her reading, but they were mostly in passing as she had never focused her research on the topic.

"The world I came from had dragons also, but only in myths and legends," the Samaran girl replied.

"Well, they're certainly not limited to myths or legends here," Cecylia grinned. "The legacy of the dragonlords is well researched and documented, from battlefield remains to the artifacts they've left behind."

''Clearly, I should pay more attention to the 'prehistory' of this world.'' Kaede made a mental note to herself before returning to topic.

"But aside from magic, I'd say this world and mine are extremely similar? In fact, Hyperion feels like what my world might have been if neither the Roman Empire -- who conquered most of the Western World just like your Inner Sea Imperium -- nor the Catholic Church underwent schism. So instead of a long, slow decline, our version of the Imperium collapsed within a few centuries and lead to the 'Dark Ages' on the European continent."

In later hindsight, Kaede was surprised by how easily her words rushed out, even though this was their first meeting. But after being nearly stripped and bitten by Cecylia, delving into deep discussions felt almost... casual.

"Let me start closer to here and run nation by nation: Rhin-Lotharingie is like Celtic Gaul and Celtic Britain smushed together, except in my world the Romans' Celtic Holocaust basically wiped out their culture. The Empire as it stands now, however, reminds me of my world's Frankish Empire under the Carolingians, except without the Gavelkind succession which later tore them asunder..."

"Gavelkind?"

Cecylia cut her off almost instantly, a tribute to the girl's sheer mental processing speed even as she absorbed information that was literally out-of-this-world.

"It's a succession law where the father's realm and assets is split up between all of his sons. My world's history is rather patriarchal." Kaede noted with an apologetic shrug towards the two ladies.

"Since your world didn't have magic, it would certainly be much harder for women to match the men in any contest of power or strength," Ariadne commented as though she wasn't surprised. "The duties of nobility always began with military leadership, and if women can't match up on the battlefield then they automatically forfeit such positions of power."

"That's likely among the reasons, and certainly one of the more apparent differences." Kaede nodded as she pondered. "Though from a worldly perspective, I'd say the biggest difference between this world and mine is that nation-states changed a lot more in my world, with far more division and fragmentation. France and Germany. Eastern and Western Roman Empire. Caliphates of Cordoba and Baghdad. Even the Churches of Rome, Constantinople, and Alexandria."

She had a feeling that one of the reasons was because mages lived far longer. But that only meant Hyperion's history 'slowed down' compared to that of Europe on Earth. It didn't explain some of the more dramatic differences, like the fact there were almost no 'small states'. Even the Kingdom of Weichsel -- a comparatively 'minor power' in Hyperion -- came in a size that would make Prussian King Frederick the Great proud.

"Well, distance is a problem when it comes to administration of large realms. So it's easy to break down into smaller state entities," Cecylia suggested as a possible cause. "What did you use for communications? Without magic you wouldn't have access to our ''Farspeak'' spell to instantly relay information across thousands of kilopaces."

"Uhhh... back then? Horse and rider? Mail by pigeon? It took a ''long time'' to get messages across any empire, at least until we invented the telegraph which ran on electricity... lightning-power." Kaede noted.

"Well that's the problem," Cecylia pointed out. "You can't govern an empire effectively if messages take a month to reach the emperor and another to return. We don't even need a device that catches lightning to send messages. A ''Farspeak'' spell can be cast within minutes and allows you to converse with any mage that you've met once in person."

''First gunpowder, now this.''

It was beginning to sink in just how truly world-altering magic was. Not only did it shift the development paths of technology, it also changed the rules of how human institutions behaved.

<nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>

"How did your night go?" Pascal asked Kaede at brunch the next day as she sat down next to him.

"Pretty well."

Kaede and Cecylia ended up comparing the cultural and geopolitical evolution of the two worlds late into the night. Even with the dhampir's earlier behavior lingering in her mind, Kaede found herself quickly warming up to Cecylia thanks to their mutual interests.

Cecylia then left first thing this morning. She didn't even wait for breakfast and simply took a few pastries from the kitchens. Her departing words to Pascal and Ariadne was somewhat ominous though:

"Remember what I told you last night -- prepare yourselves."

The two of them pressed her for answers on what for. However all the dhampir girl would say was a cryptic "hopefully nothing, but possibly everything".

It really reminded Kaede that despite how outgoing Cecylia seemed, she was still a keeper of secrets.

After Cecylia left, Kaede decided that she owed Ariadne an apology. The lady who epitomized nobility spoke little most of the night and simply kept up her gentle smile. Engrossed in their discussion, Kaede did not notice until after the fact.

Ariadne's response had been a truly affectionate "I'm glad you enjoyed yourself. You needed it after the last few days."

It made Kaede feel unworthy of befriending such a wonderful person.

"Morning Gerard!"

Perceval's friendly call brought Kaede back from her thoughts.

"Hello Perceval. Clearly, I must have missed something ''big'' if the Runelord is sitting next to you."

"The Holy Father does his work in mysterious ways," Perceval smiled back. "Pascal I don't need to introduce. This is Kaede..."

"The famous familiar girl, I recognized."

Gerard nodded towards Pascal while giving Kaede a slight bow:

"I'm Gerard Fournier. Pleasure to meet you."

Gerard was easily the tallest of the group, as his height was at least a few finger-widths higher than either Pascal or Perceval. His short, straight hair was black. His firm eyes were ash-blue. Below them, his hard, chiseled chin and a slightly tall, Balkan nose dominated his image. He wore a loose fitting tunic and a jacket over it, both of which looked too plain for a noble. However despite his lax clothing, it was clear that his body held an incredibly firm musculature. Tough and well-built, but no steroids monster either.

"Ah... nice to meet you as well."

"Fournier?" Pascal puzzled. "I don't recognize that name."

"My parents are bakers." Gerard shrugged before his voice hardened. "Yeomen, lower middle class. Perceval was the one who sponsored my attendance here. You have a problem with it?"

"I did not know Alisia Academy had a patron program?" Pascal asked. However even his casual voice sounded haughty and was definitely rubbing Gerard the wrong way.

"It's not a program." Perceval explained. "Reynaud introduced him to me. Apparently they met through his parents' bakery."

"He makes the most adorable animal bread, presented in beautiful confection houses." Reynaud grinned. "When I asked him how, he started telling me about how the dough needed just the right mix and had to be set just right so they'd expand in a certain way, yadda yadda. The rest went over my head."

"Like I've told you -- baking is a science." Gerard insisted.

"Which is precisely why I didn't get it." Reynaud remained smiling as he patted the back of the man who was over a head taller than him. "I mean do you ever see me reading a science book? Or any book?"

"You read map books." Perceval interjected.

"Yeah, well, those are fun. Seeing all the places I can go to? Tickles the imagination."

"I still do not see how baking has any connection with this academy."

Pascal's comment made Kaede want to slam her head into the table. ''You've just made new friends! Don't ruin it already!''

Thankfully, Perceval addressed the issue as he explained with pride in his voice:

"Gerard ranked sixth on the entry assessment exam for his year. He is now the best among his class of 4th year civil engineers. Only reason he returned late is because of his internship with the Ministry of Land and Resources in the capital."

"Impressive." Pascal's attitude switch was instantaneous, even if his tone was not.

"<Would it hurt you to show your admiration a little more in your public voice?>" Kaede prodded over telepathy, which Pascal utterly ignored.

Gerard shrugged, his blank expression seemingly not caring:

"You may think as you like. Most nobles here only put up with me thanks to Perceval and Ariadne."

"Most nobles here are ''incompetent''." Pascal clarified as his turquoise gaze swept the dining hall. "Birth, standing, prestige, none of those matter. Intellect, resolve, and the skills it brings are what counts."

Apart from Kaede, everyone else looked back at Pascal with some shade of surprise.

"I was just talking to my father the other day about the 'Imperial Examination System' that Kaede spoke of from her memories, which could elevate the poorest civilian to important officials of state. The performance bottleneck to the Weichsen army's Mobility Doctrine has always been a limit of capable officers, as commanders in the field must be able to think and act independently according to circumstance instead of waiting for orders. Father told me to draft him a formal proposal on how we could apply a standardized testing and scholarship system for promising cadets. When you mentioned patronage I wondered if Rhin-Lotharingie was already ahead of Weichsel in this."

Kaede smiled a little. She wasn't sure where this world's version of China was. Probably the 'Dawn Imperium' that sat as the other superpower in the far east. However she was certain they wouldn't mind her plagiarizing their 2,000 year tradition of meritocracy.

By the end of Pascal's speech, Gerard stood in awe with his mouth ajar.

"The Marshal of Weichsel is interested in this?" he asked, almost in disbelief.

Pascal nodded back, his stiff gaze confirming:

"Why is this a surprise? Weichsel's military ''is'' a meritocracy. The enemy will not care about how famous your family is."

"Yet your enemies will always recognize your family name." Gerard countered in a flat voice. "You can't get promoted if your superiors don't remember your name to match your deeds. And if you don't think there's a noble preference there then you've been blinded by your own experience. Still, better some opportunity than none."

Gerard then pulled out a seat right across from Pascal and sat down.

"I'll be happy to give you some ''proper'' perspective from a lowborn."

...

Surrounded by other acquaintances, Perceval's group broke to separate conversations as they enjoyed their meal. Kaede was introduced to nearly two dozen other noble acquaintances who sat nearby, although none of them spoke another word to her afterwards. She quickly realized that Gerard's situation was milder but somewhat similar to her own, patronage or not.

In the eyes of most highborns, the two of them were seen as little more than servants who shadowed their master's footsteps.

Unfortunately, Kaede did not receive much of a chance to consult her senior. Gerard spent almost the entire meal digging details out of Pascal, much to the annoyance of other nearby nobles who saw an easy opportunity to approach the Runelord.

It soon became apparent that most of the other peers who surrounded Perceval were not like-minded individuals. His affable demeanor and generous personality did make him easy to befriend. However, Kaede was fairly certain that Perceval's family heritage probably wasn't any lower than that of Ariadne's. In fact, she was fairly certain that one of the Paladins who fought during the Independence War carried his family name of 'La Tours'.

Personal politics and alliance-building worked the same way no matter where one went, especially among junior aristocrats. This was particularly true for those sociable enough to begin a snowball effect: the more acquaintances a high society circle gathered, the harder it became to refuse or ignore them.

Regardless, the same patterns of conversation kept up for the next two days. The only difference was that Pascal began to draft his idea for a 'scholarship examination' system. He solicited suggestions from those around him, and sent an evil eye to any noble who scoffed at the proposal. Both Kaede and Gerard were only too happy to pitch in, and soon Pascal had what he considered his 'initial draft'.

When Kaede asked how many drafts he usually went through, Pascal answered: "as many as it takes until I am satisfied."

She couldn't decide if this was due to his perfectionist tendencies or his father's strictness. Probably some of both.

Pascal might have made more progress if he also used his time with Kaede back in the dormitories to work on the proposal. Instead, he spent almost all of that time inscribing new runestones and infusing mana into newly cut gemstones. Half of the reason was because Kaede had expended a significant portion of his rune stockpile to lay her trap for the assassins. The other half was because of Cecylia's cryptic warnings.

And so, the week after the assassination attempt passed in a peaceful school setting... at least until Saturday's lunchtime when the entire hall was disrupted.

At the time, Kaede was watching Pascal and Gerard have another conversation, when a 4th year military cadet who wore their blue gambeson uniform rushed in from the hallway:

"WAR! WAR!" He yelled at the top of his lungs before stopping just inside the entrance to catch his breath.

All chatter in the dining hall died instantly as everyone awaited his explanation:

"THE CATALIYAN CALIPHATE HAS DECLARED HOLY WAR AGAINST US! Their armies have already crossed the border!"

The entire dining hall erupted back into loud, chaotic conversations. Some voices were worried, others anxious, and a few just plain scared.

Pascal was one of the few who completely kept his cool.

"Well, at least this answers the riddle of why the Holy Imperium suddenly wants me dead."

Most of Perceval's close friends nodded back in agreement, their expressions varying between alarm and apprehension.

None of them appreciated the frightening implications of being simultaneously hostile to the two largest powers of the Western World.

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| Back to [[Daybreak:Volume_1_Chapter_12|Chapter 12]]
| Return to [[Daybreak_on_Hyperion|Main Page]]
| Forward to [[Daybreak:Volume_1_Chapter_14|Chapter 14]]
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</noinclude>

Daybreak:Volume 1 Chapter 12

2022-02-27T18:50:57Z

Aorii:

===Chapter 12 - Better Late Than Never===

Kaede jolted upright on her cold and squishy seat. The shivering aftereffects of a light shock still coursed through her body. Her eyes snapped open and met the glow of a dozen bright white lights that floated overhead. Meanwhile, two blurry figures before her solidified into appearances she knew and trusted.

Night had already fallen, lit by stars and the indigo gas giant stretching across the horizon.

"That's what a ''Rejuvenate'' spell actually feels like." Perceval was crouched at her side as he gave her a gentle smile. His eyes were still closed as the soothing warmth from his glove coursed through her right shoulder. "Some shock alongside the healing; bit contradictory, but effective."

Pascal, on the other hand, wasn't smiling at all. The frown under his golden soft curls was halfway between worried and stern:

"How long did that arrow stay in you?"

"I don't know. Maybe five minutes?" She almost shrugged but caught herself in time. "Counting time isn't the best way of trying to stay conscious while pretending to be the opposite."

As she examined her situation, Kaede found herself lying on Perceval's giant tofu, its top in the form of a cushy lounge chair. Her shoulder was no longer hurting. Instead, it felt as though submerged in hot springs, with her muscles relaxing and tensions fading.

"Well, I guess passing off as dead was your safest option at the time. Just try not to jump off any buildings again." Pascal scowled and shook his head.

"Give me a break! That was my second time using...!"

"And thank you." Pascal headed off her retort, his head nodding with gratitude. "If you did not lure them in, there was no way the garrison could have caught an Imperial Mantis Blade squad. Sooner or later, one of their plans would have succeeded in catching me off guard, instead of finding themselves baited into a trap."

Kaede felt that something was off about Pascal. She could see it in his expression, hear it in his voice. This was still him, yet ''different''... or perhaps unusual was a better term.

So she turned towards the other puzzling topic: ''I thought they were from Rhin-Lotharingie.'' Then she realized that Marina had no reason to tell her the truth.

She really needed to stop underestimating those tears from the un-spy-like maid.

"Well, you're all set now," Perceval patted her shoulder before standing back up. His work left a lingering warmth on her smooth skin where the wound used to be. "I left an ''Invigorate'' spell that should tie up any loose ends over the course of the night."

"Thank you so much." Kaede bowed from her seat before grinning back. "And your familiar, for saving my life back there." She patted the giant tofu before standing up.

"Don't mention it." He waved it off with a friendly smile. "I'm just glad Putty got there in time."

''Talk about a fitting name...''

Kaede sent the white pudding familiar a grin as well. She could have sworn it wobbled with joy. Her eyes then passed beyond the giant tofu, and she bowed at the tired-but-otherwise-healed Ariadne and Reynaud.

The blackened-steel half-plate that Ariadne wore during battle was already gone without a trace. The two of them nodded back in their respective uniforms, beaming, while their gloves continued to shed the light of healing. Lying between them was the pegasus Edelweiss, who still nursed a bandaged wing but appeared mostly healthy.

"And I must thank you all as well." Pascal nodded towards the others.

Perceval's and Reynaud's change in attitude was nearly instantaneous as their smiles flipped upside down. Yet Pascal nevertheless pressed on:

"I know none of you three wish to hear it from me. But that only makes it more important that I ''must'' convey my utmost gratitude. You were all willing to overlook our past... differences. For the sake of our countries, you put your lives in danger against the best assassins in Hyperion. You have chosen to save my life for the noblest of reasons. I swear now that House Moltewitz will not forget this debt, nor fail to honor and repay it."

Pascal bowed with perfect courtesy. Then he turned around without the slightest expectation of acknowledgment.

"Come, Kaede." He said as his legs took the first steps of departure.

His words were lonely. His tone regretful and melancholic. It reminded Kaede of a conversation on her first day in this world, during their first meal, when he begrudgingly admitted his past faults against the admirable Ariadne. It was clear now that he held a great deal of respect for all three of them, even if he had not before tonight. Even more apparent was his wish that things had turned out differently between them to this point.

Glancing around, Kaede found the trio just as taken aback. It was clear that not one of them had expected such words from the prodigious and prideful ''Runelord''.

There would never be a better opportunity than this one, right now.

She turned to the departing Pascal, who was just another step away from the stairwell doors, and shouted after him:

"How long are you going to keep regretting the past instead of facing the present!?"

Pascal spun around to glare at her. However Kaede had no intention of keeping this conversation private, not yet.

"I stand by what I told you: it's not always enough, but it's never too late!"

His legs stood stiff while his body stilled. But his eyes wavered, caught amid hesitation and resentment, uncertain between a chance to seek the unpleasant light, or returning to the familiar yet cold shadows.

But Kaede knew that Pascal would not be Pascal without his resolve to follow rational judgment in his own way. After a silent moment and a profound sigh, his feet turned themselves around. He cautiously stepped back towards Kaede as she unwittingly broke into a welcoming smile.

"<You said you will not fail to honor and repay the debt. Then why not start now with everything you have? Better than your half-way apologies that do nothing but tarnish your word.>"

"<Apologies could use more efficiency and less self-injury...>" His complaint was bitter.

Kaede's hands propped against her waist as she goaded Pascal with the one line he could not possibly ignore:

"<Yes, tell me about how 'efficient' apologies are when you actually make a sincere one for the first time in your life. It's not pride holding you back now. It's cowardice, you gutless wonder. Seriously, how many years will you keep accumulating interest? There are things you can't fix with magic or genius Pascal... you have to do it the old fashioned way.>"

For a moment, he merely stared back.

"<Fine.>" He finally agreed, as his irritated thoughts silently met her challenge: "<since I am going to do it anyway, I will show you exactly how proper of an apology I can accomplish.>"

Now meeting the others eye to eye, Pascal took a deep breath, and began in a deep and sincere voice:

"Kaede is correct. I know that you have no reason to grant me any favors, but I ask for only a moment of your time. I have realized all too late that in my foolish immaturity of years past, I committed inexcusable acts of rudeness against the two of you, Perceval and Ariadne, and for that I owe each of you a most sincere apology."

Even Kaede was stunned by the depth of Pascal's remorse, which sounded even more genuine than she expected. But what followed completely eclipsed even her impression of just how long and deeply Pascal must have considered his past mistakes:

"Perceval," spoke Pascal, turning towards the healer who had his arms crossed. "I only wish I could take back the childish words I used that day to bring you low. I knew, even back then, that you hated your magical affinity and held a crisis of confidence. It was dirty and despicable of me. And I probably did it because even then, I knew your generosity towards a girl you barely knew made my rudeness look more intolerable by comparison. I am glad that you received the gratitude and the beautiful girl you deserved, and that Ariadne helped shape you into the capable man you are today..."

Whether it was because of unpreparedness or due to Pascal's thoroughly uncharacteristic behavior, Perceval and his two friends were stunned by the prodigy's admission of guilt. Their poker faces, and Ariadne's once-serene smile, were left agape, eyes blinking in disbelief amidst the dying flames of residual anger.

It wasn't exactly very encouraging for the person actually trying to apologize.

"<You can do this, Pascal.>"

Kaede noted that his eyes had slid back down to stare upon a faraway battlement. His shoulders were slumping more by the second, wavering on the precipice of yet another plunge from pride.

''I know this can't be easy on you, but...''

She decided it was time to inject some real motivation again:

"<You've told me that you didn't want to owe Ariadne anything else. But what about your debts now...? You know this is the right thing to do.>"

Pascal sent her another glare. And a reassured if not slightly amused Kaede returned her encouraging smile.

"And Ariadne," he took a deep breath before he focused onto the lady's widened eyes. "When I discovered the differences in our approaches to life, I tried to break up with you by pressing all the blame onto you. It was low, and immoral, and cowardly of me, all the more so when I humiliated you by doing it in public, against all sense of decency. I cannot apologize enough for my past actions. And if I do not get the chance again, I wish you happiness with Perceval, for he is a far better man than I was."

And that took almost every ounce of will, every strand of self-discipline that Pascal had.

His gaze lingered for but one second before he spun around and strode straight towards the rooftop door. He had just shredded his pride and bared his filth to the critiquing eyes of peers, and he could not withstand it for another moment longer.

"<nowiki><I</nowiki> will never forgive you for that.>" His ego lashed out in an attempt to regain itself, to rebuild its protective shell.

"<You're welcome.>" Kaede simply smiled back, for the first time feeling proud of the man who called her into this alien world.

She then turned towards the three still hanging onto stunned expressions, and curtsied as graciously as she could before rushing off after Pascal.

The only one she heard recover before her departure was Reynaud. Although his utterance was still filled with disbelief:

"''The Runelord apologizing?'' You've got to be shitting me..."

<nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>

Pascal had told Kaede that while she was still unconscious, Duke Gaston had flown to the roof and questioned their group before leaving to assess the situation around the castle.

They saw no reason to wake her up for that unpleasant session.

Kaede was grateful, but it also didn't leave her much time to wrap up loose ends.

"<Why do you even care about this? Just let the guards deal with that maid.>" Pascal asked as he followed Kaede down the dining hall. There, servants and mages alike were cleaning up the mess left by the battle's collateral damage.

"<Because she offered me an option, in her own way. I intend to return the favor.>" Kaede answered.

"<Let me restate: you are trying to help a maid that worked with assassins who ''just tried to kill you''.>"

"<Yes, because the best assassins of your world are so incompetent that their arrow struck just above my lungs from a flat trajectory shot.>"

"<Well fine, they tried to kill me.>" Pascal relented, but only slightly. "<This is a terrible idea.>"

"<nowiki><I</nowiki> know it's a terrible idea.>" Kaede spun her heels around, her eyes filled with a painful need as she gazed back at Pascal: "<Look, I really, really wanted her to be my friend. I thought she ''was'' the first friend I made in this world, alright? So, just let me reach out to her this once to get it off my conscience... please?>" She begged.

Pascal stared back. He met and tested her with his eyes, before he sighed audibly.

"<Fine, I will lend you one favor this time. According to Reynaud, the seven members we killed were a full Imperial Mantis Blade operations squad. Any helpers they managed to recruit along the way will not yield us any useful information. This maid has already been here for two years. Her role was definitely not specific to this mission. By my guess, she is simply the eyes and ears for some imperial governor-general whose intelligence network the Mantis Blades tapped into. Any state intelligence organization would certainly have the jurisdiction.>"

"<Then... how many favors do you owe me for saving your life?>"

"<None. You are my familiar.>"

Kaede sighed. She was starting to recognize the tone that signaled one of Pascal's off-putting and inappropriately-timed jokes.

They soon arrived outside the servant's room Marina lived in. Its door was now flanked by two armored guards.

"I am Sir Pascal Kay Lennart von Moltewitz," he moved up to introduce himself. "We wish to speak with the prisoner."

"Sir Pascal, this case is currently pending investigations by Professor Sir..." The soldier replied before Pascal cut him off with a glare cold enough to freeze air:

"May I remind you that I am a Captain in Weichsel's service and a feudal lord by right of succession, who happened to be the target of this attack. I am also your future Prince Consort, and my betrothed your future Empress. In addition, I have no doubt that my father, the Marshal of Weichsel, and my King will demand answers for this unprovoked treachery. Now, do you ''seriously'' intend to keep me from getting the answers that I rightfully and lawfully deserve, soldier?"

"No Sir!" The guard raised his head up high, eyes glancing at the other side's walls before stepping aside.

''So many privileges, it's not even fair,'' Kaede suppressed a grin as Pascal opened the door and lead her inside.

The room was exactly as she last remembered it: two bunk beds and a table with clothes hanging everywhere. The only difference was that a screen of shimmering violet magic now lay over the window, sealing it completely. Kaede guessed that there were probably also guards on the other side.

The brown-haired petite maid was lying on her bed. Her hands were bound behind her back and her wet eyes apathetic to the new guests.

"C-congratulations, Kaede." Marina sniffed. "I guess you deserve the faithful familiar award after all."

Pascal finished twirling his hand about in mostly the same motions as Ariadne's ''Sanctum Veil'' spell from earlier in the day. He then presented a 'your turn' gesture before leaning back against the other bunk bed.

"I didn't come here to be spiteful or interrogate you, Marina." Kaede spoke dryly as she met the maid's glassy sea-green eyes. "I don't want things to end this way between us, but there wasn't much of a choice before now."

"Of course... you have y-your master. I have mine."

"You owe him for your upbringing and your life. I respect that allegiance, I really do. But can't you see that he's also using you, and ordering you to throw your life away for him in these missions? Isn't once enough to repay that? How many..."

"I-if... if you think I'm going to talk just because my fate is already sealed, then you can leave now." The maid retorted, her defiant words completely contradictory to her teary gaze.

Pascal practically snorted before interjecting with a contemptuous sneer:

"Do not flatter yourself. If we thought you had anything of value, there are ways to rip it out of your mind. It is below proper nobility to use such hideous magic, but there are matters of national importance that outweigh the honor of nobles... for me, at least. I am certain the King's Black Eagles would agree, and Rhin-Lotharingie will be happy to hand you over to resolve this diplomatic incident. Not that there would be anything left of your psyche afterwards to comment on the matter."

Marina began to sob again, and Kaede sent an exasperated look towards Pascal:

"<You're not helping.>"

"I said we are ''not'' interrogating you, and I meant it." Kaede insisted. "Obviously, I can't speak for the other involved parties, but that's also why I'm here. If I can find you a way out of this -- and I'm not promising, because I honestly don't know -- then will you take it?"

"W-why are you doing this?" The maid whimpered once more.

"Because if you hadn't asked the assassins to keep me alive, I'm certain I'd be dead by now regardless of how successful Pascal and the rest were."

"E-except I asked you to help kill him..." Marina nodded towards Pascal. "W-what's the catch this time?"

Kaede hadn't really thought this part through. She looked towards Pascal, hoping for an inspiration on the legal side.

"<How much do you think you can trust her?>" he asked silently.

"<She would rather die painfully for the one who raised her than give up any information. What does that tell you about her sense of loyalty?>"

Pascal sighed and shook his head before answering:

"''If'' I can get the authorities to agree, it will be to release you into my jurisdiction. I am entitled to compensation as the directly wronged party. You can work on my estate as an indentured servant. However it will be under the condition that you accept a binding magical contract that will put strict limits on your actions."

''Indentured... servant.''

"<You're asking her to be a slave!?>" Kaede glared at him. "<nowiki><I</nowiki> thought that was abolished in Weichsel!>"

"<Why? Indentured servitude is a perfectly practical form of punishment. We are not bartering them like trade goods as the Holy Imperium does.>" Pascal answered stiffly. "<And she did assist them in trying to kill me. Fair is fair.>"

"<But...!>"

"<There is also no way the higher-ups will accept it if I do not give her at least this much punishment. Sixteen people ''died'' in this attack, Kaede, including one professor. I am not willing to indulge ''your'' sense of ethics so much to lose my own, understand?>"

Kaede didn't say another word. His accusation that she was pushing her cultural mores onto him had stung. She knew perfectly well that it was one of the worst mistakes in cross-cultural relations.

"What is your response?" Pascal intoned, sternly.

"Like I have any choice." Marina looked towards Kaede

The latter shrugged with a 'sorry, best I can do' expression.

Meanwhile, Pascal stood in contemplation, as though still trying to decide something.

Nearly two minutes passed, and Kaede began to wonder if he was silently accessing some memory storage device to check legality. Then:

"It is settled. Pack your essentials. Assuming Rhin-Lotharingie is willing to hand you over, and I do believe they will, you will depart tonight, before any unpleasant circumstances change. I will arrange for someone to bring you to Nordkreuz. Once you reach my family's estate, the Majordomo will arrange for the binding magical contract."

"But we don't even..." Kaede blurted out.

Just then, the door swung open. In walked Pascal's advisor, Professor Albert.

"I believe your familiar thinks me a fool, that you can just sneak in, under my nose, without my notice." The balding professor scathed. His eyes glanced over Kaede with disdain before locking sight with Pascal.

"Not a chance of it, Professor Sir." Pascal replied as he stood upright in military posture, hands back and chest high.

"See to it then. I'll talk to the Headmaster. You arrange the transportation. I want this spy of a maid gone before the morning."

Professor Albert tugged on his well-trimmed mustache once before he left the room. His striding steps now echoing up the hallway.

It took a moment before Kaede was able to recover and figured out what had just happened. Being an old-styled frame with a cheap lock, the door had a see-through keyhole, which was just in line to cast a ''Telepathy'' spell on Pascal's position.

"<How long had he been there?>"

She felt like she just made a complete fool of herself.

"<Around when I first spoke.>" Pascal shrugged, his eyes still examining Marina. "<Using ''Detect'' spells from that ring of yours would be a little obvious, so I did not bother to add it -- a poor judgment in hindsight that I intend to fix as soon as I can. Furthermore, since you are my familiar, we really should work on improving your magic sensitivity. The hallway had at least three layers of Professor Albert's ''Alarm'' wards. The third was extremely subtle, but the first two were glaringly obvious.>"

Without waiting for a response, Pascal took Kaede's wrist and dragged her back down the hallway.

"Wait a minute..." She called as her thin legs scurried along, trying to keep up with his stride.

"<You two can talk later, when she is no longer at the scene of her crime, and once she has had some time to cool her head. I doubt any conversation now will be to your advantage. As for the rest of tonight, I want you back in bed and resting. Two brushes with death are enough for one day when you are clearly running low on beginner's luck.>"

...

Despite being forced to rest early, Kaede did not sleep well overnight. With Pascal's room wrecked and repairs delayed in an attempt to collect evidence, they had to relocate to a different one. Another unfamiliar ceiling, plus her anxieties about facing the trio tomorrow easily kept her up late.

There was also something wrong with her stomach...

<nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>

After finishing his usual morning workout, Perceval refreshed himself before heading to the main keep for a holiday brunch. His walk across the grounds, hand-in-hand with Ariadne, was quiet as usual.

Reynaud yawned from a step ahead. He had stayed up late last night, boasting of his martial exploits to impress anyone who stayed in the castle and was curious about what had happened.

Perceval didn't mind. His friend deserved the spotlight. Reynaud was already giving Perceval more credit than he would like. He was still coming to terms with not only the fact he had killed someone, but the gruesome way he had accomplished it. Worse yet was the sense of ''satisfaction'' a part of him felt when the muffled assassin vanished under the brambles.

He had prayed long and hard to the Holy Father last night for his soul to be cleansed of its sinful taint.

But that wasn't the only thing on his mind.

Before yesterday, if someone had told him that the arrogant, condescending, judgmental, obstinate, intolerant -- he could go on for a while -- ''Runelord'' Pascal would apologize to him over the source of their enmity from years ago, Perceval would have responded that celestial enlightenment was more likely to sweep across Hell first.

Maybe it had. Part of him wondered what other miracles the Holy Father orchestrated last night.

But that left him the dilemma of how to respond.

Years-long grudges did not disappear over a single apology, no matter how thorough and sincere it was. Perceval certainly had not forgotten how hurtful it was back then, when a younger him had been convinced, utterly certain, that his incompetence in most fields of magic meant his dreams would never amount to anything. As far as he was concerned, he would remain insignificant and uselessly boring throughout his life.

He could never thank his friends enough for giving him the self-respect to hold his head high over the course of two years. That was especially true for Ariadne, the most beautiful and popular girl in the academy who sat beside him, listening to his pessimistic complaints and encouraging him with saintly patience.

Perceval prayed to the Holy Father every night for sending the angel that changed his life.

But if the warm, welcoming embrace of friendship could bless his life, why should this divine grace not be extended toward others?

Unlike Ariadne who turned it into yet another self-motivator, Perceval had done his best to isolate his dislike for Pascal and keep it buried. Hatred was sinful. He may not have the compassion to simply forgive, but he would not allow his life to be ruled by dark emotions either.

...Except they still clouded his judgment, until Reynaud opened his eyes to the grander picture yesterday.

For him to still hold onto that grudge after Pascal had shown the deepest remorse... it would be immature, childish even. Not only did it go against the teachings of the Holy Father, but it also represented the intolerance that he so hated in Pascal.

Perceval knew that man was doomed to hypocrisy. However he would strive his best to escape it.

Engrossed in his thoughts, Perceval had unknowingly walked into the great dining hall. Now, seeing the lonely figures of Pascal and Kaede near a far-side corner, he knew that there was only one real choice, only one act that the Holy Father would approve of.

A healer's task did not end with merely physical wounds, but troubles of the mind, heart, and soul as well.

"Come on," Perceval beckoned to Reynaud, before his feet turned and his hand lead Ariadne down the long table.

"Oh you've ''got'' to be kidding me," Reynaud complained. But he followed nonetheless.

It was time to extend an olive branch to the man both admired and scorned as the ''Runelord'', and appeal to the soul of the boy that lived within.

As he pulled out the next seat and sat down, Perceval wondered if Pascal's astonished expression mirrored his own from the previous night.

"Thought you might appreciate some company after yesterday."

...

Of course, Perceval never heard the telepathic exchange between Reynaud and Ariadne as they sat down:

"<Are you okay with this, Ariadne?>" The best friend asked, worried.

"<Of course I'm ''not'' okay with this!>"

"<I'm sorry. Perceval is just getting carried away again. I'm sure he didn't mean to...>"

"<Oh don't worry about that,>" the girl reassured. "<His headstrong sense of ethics is part of why I love him.>"

It reminded Reynaud of why everyone else, Perceval especially, thought Ariadne was 'the perfect girl'.

"<It's that prick who better prepare himself!>"

...Even if she wasn't actually perfect.

<nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>

Kaede knew that nothing ended that easily.

Perceval kept the banter focused over the course of brunch, discussing mostly the events of last night and the turmoil within the academy that followed. Reynaud soon pitched in with tactical analysis made using his knowledge of Mantis Blade ''modus operandi'', occasionally interrupting himself to attempt flirting with Kaede, who he continued to call 'Buttercup'.

She didn't hit him this time. It was partly because the men didn't need any sparks of hostility, and partly due to her cramping and aching stomach sapping all her energy.

According to Pascal, he had never personally wronged Reynaud over the years. Furthermore, the short redhead had taken every opportunity to mock him, not to mention handing him one humiliating defeat after another in their ''Advanced Spellsword Combat'' training.

Therefore it was not surprising that Reynaud had followed his best friend's lead as soon as he fulfilled his quota of evil glares.

Ariadne, however, was a different case entirely. She still wore her angelic smile through all of brunch, still lovingly offered food to Perceval through raised forks. But she did not, even once, speak a single word to Pascal.

Until they all stood up to leave.

"I believe I still owe you something, you self-centered prick," Ariadne declared as she closed the distance between them to arm's length.

Just as when Perceval first walked up to Pascal, a wave of silence rippled outwards through the hall. Within seconds, every moving body stilled as their eyes gazed upon the noble lady facing the Runelord.

Meanwhile, Pascal's puzzled expression didn't have a clue of what Ariadne was talking about... until her right hand drew a wide arc and exploded against his face in a slap that resounded through the dining hall.

Several of Pascal's 'fangirls' squeaked, but none dared to challenge the lady.

Kaede was certain Ariadne's glove was glowing. There was simply no way someone could ''slap'' that hard without magic, regardless of how big a sword they twirled around every day.

The force of the impact lifted Pascal's feet off the ground and threw him backwards like a rag doll. He crashed into the ground several paces away on his back. A red handprint now adorned the left side of his face. His skin quickly bruised with internal bleeding under the partial cover of his soft golden curls.

"Owww," Pascal remarked as he sat back up, his hand rushing to cradle his swelling cheek. "I do rot rememper drawing plood with mere words."

Sure enough, a small stream of red dripped down from the corner of his mouth before his other hand wiped it off.

"Consider it interest, Pascal, and I reserve the right to slap you again whenever your ''prick'' self surfaces."

A half-dozen people in the sparse hall even clapped and cheered. But for Kaede, it was the first time she ever heard Ariadne use his name.

Perceval shook his head with a chuckle, then leaned over to offer Pascal a hand back up. The latter took it with a firm grip and a muttered, embarrassed "thanks".

Still sitting on the other side of the table, Kaede tried to smile as she watched the bonding moment that would hopefully, with time, develop into something far more. But all she managed was a wry smirk that seemed more like a grimace.

Her stomach pains were growing worse.

As chatter returned across the dining hall, Ariadne was the first to notice the problem:

"Kaede what's wrong?"

"My stomach..."

"She's been having pains in her lower abdominal region all morning, and apparently last night as well," Pascal filled in for her. His right hand was now rubbing the swollen left cheek while his turquoise ring glowed.

Perceval leaned over the table to take a look before swiftly pulling back upright. He then glanced at Ariadne while his finger tapped in the air towards Kaede.

"Oh dear." The lady muttered, and she rushed her way around the long table.

Pascal's confusion returned as he looked between Perceval and Reynaud. The healer kept his silence for the moment, while the duelist simply shrugged, clueless.

"Some prodigy you are, Pascal. Half a day goes by and you don't even notice basic biology?" Ariadne complained as she knelt down besides Kaede.

''Are you kidding me!?''

Already doubled over in pain, Kaede banged her head into the table as she realized exactly what the noblewoman implied.

"Kaede, you must be on your cycle... or whatever your people call a menstrual period."

Thanks to the translation magic integrated into her familiar bond, Kaede herself had no problem understanding Ariadne's terminology. The contents themselves, however, were far too appalling to think about.

"But... b-but I'm not bleeding." She objected. Even ''she'' would recognize the most obvious sign of a feminine body entering 'that time of the month'.

"If your undergarments are appropriately enchanted, they'll clean it up before the blood can even stain." Ariadne explained as she rubbed Kaede's lower back.

Variations of two thoughts filled Kaede's mind as their numbers multiplied explosively, quickly drowning out every other line of reason:

''I should have known...''

''This can't be happening to me...''

<nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>

Kaede spent the rest of the holiday in bed, feeling almost as sorry for herself as the day she first came to this world. She was certain her hormones were to blame for that, but the knowledge itself didn't raise her mood.

She'd have to deal with this ''every month'' for the foreseeable future...

Her stomach pains and cramps had not alleviated any since morning. Her one hope of relief had been dashed as soon as it came. Ariadne was quick to point out that there was a spell for mostly suppressing the discomfort during a period. But Perceval had to remind her that the magic involved direct manipulation of the nerve-conduits, which limited its use to the caster herself. It was why no male healer ever learned the spell for helping another through particularly painful cycles.

''Meaning I can't use the blessing that's the privilege of noble ladies'', Kaede reflected irritatingly. ''I have to suffer like the commoner girls do.''

''Screw this society.''

It didn't stop Sir 'I-am-a-prodigy' Pascal from trying... and failing spectacularly. He somehow managed to loosen his own lower controls, which resulted in soiling himself.

Perceval said that he got lucky. The last male healer who tried to invent a fix for his commoner wife ended up with a painful, day-long erection. After that, nobody wanted to attempt again.

So they returned to the tried-and-true method: applying direct heating to relax the muscles and soothe the discomfort.

That proved simple. Her undergarments had the effect built in. Perceval also managed to obtain a few rubber hot-water pads, which he enchanted with heating spells to apply warm pressure from underneath. This was how Kaede spent her last few hours: not moving and unable to distract herself with books. All she could do was lay there face-down, groaning and feeling sorry for herself.

Even Pascal looked like he felt bad for her.

"I have never apologized for pulling you into my world, have I?" He spoke from his work desk as Kaede whimpered from her latest cramp.

"No. It's why I still hate you," she retorted grumpily.

In hindsight, nothing from her had come out nicely today.

"Well, I am sorry."

"Better late than never. Next time, you try being the one to menstruate!"

<noinclude>
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| Back to [[Daybreak:Volume_1_Chapter_11|Chapter 11]]
| Return to [[Daybreak_on_Hyperion|Main Page]]
| Forward to [[Daybreak:Volume_1_Chapter_13|Chapter 13]]
|-
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</noinclude>

Daybreak:Volume 1 Chapter 11

2022-02-27T18:50:36Z

Aorii:

===Chapter 11 - For Country, Not You===

Prefect Gelasius lowered his composite bow as he rose from the shadows of the far side battlements. Projectile weapons were disdained by most Imperial mages, but they also had no aura flare to allow for an early detection. This, combined with a ''Stonemeld'' spell that merged his body into the keep itself, had allowed him to completely conceal his presence until the last moment.

The stupid, unprotected familiar never stood a chance.

Two minutes later, six vaguely humanoid clouds blew onto the rooftop. They solidified into people within seconds. Their outfits were all dark gray, each hidden beneath a hooded cloak.

"<Didn't you promise that maid Marina that our informant would remain safe?>"

"<Did I?>" Gelasius spoke casually over their linked telepathic channel as he stowed the bow away in a belt pouch. "<nowiki><I</nowiki> believe the words were 'I'll try to bring her out alive if the operation succeeds'. She's still alive, isn't she? I don't need a dumb girl getting in the way until we're ready to leave.>"

"<And if she dies of her wounds?>"

"<Then sadly, the familiar didn't survive her master's death.>" The prefect's stern voice then stamped the discussion with finality: "<Enough. Sebastian, take your section down and eliminate the target. Gallien, go with them in case they need help, but keep some distance and an eye on their back. Placidia, Cassio, and I will stay here to maintain situational control and await your return.>"

"<Yes sir.>"

Sebastian then led two other assassins into the keep, their steps silent and their silhouettes blending into the shadows. They were soon followed by one more figure as the wardbreaker Gallien, who allowed them undetected entry onto the academy grounds, also melded into the darkness of the spiral stairway. Meanwhile, the spellsniper Placidia and spellstorm Cassio camouflaged themselves, maintaining a vigilant watch on opposing corners of the keep.

Gelasius missed the days when he personally led the hunt as the strike section leader. Being the prefect of the entire operation squad meant that not only did he have to remain on reserve, he also had to wait anxiously while Sebastian took the thrill of the kill.

He ignored the faint, wheezy breathing that came from the unmoving familiar. After all, her role in this entire operation was already over.

<nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>

"<Ready?>"

Two other hoods nodded as their owners each drew twin kukri blades beneath their protective cloaks.

Sebastian then turned the dispelled door handle before all three stepped inside. Nearly blinded by the glare from hundreds of magical auras that saturated the room, he dismissed his ''Aura Sight'' spell before advancing.

Their target sat in a chair on the far side, knocked unconscious by the antimagic poison. His head lay motionless across a book on the work desk.

The two other assassins took guard positions on each side as Sebastian advanced forward for the kill. By tradition, they strove to rely on the most certain method of elimination whenever possible: death by decapitation.

Then, just as he crossed the middle of the room, a deafening thunderclap erupted from behind. The hallway furnishings ignited into flames under the raw power of a lightning blast.

"<Company! No, intervention!>" yelled Gallien over the telepathic communication channel.

With his attention distracted for a split second, Sebastian barely noticed the 'unconscious' figure's slight arm movement. It brought a turquoise spell-focus ring into clear view.

"''Cyclone Blast''," muttered Pascal even as he lifted and turned his eyes. Both of the assassins in the rear unleashed cutting hexes with a reflexive wave of their blades. However their magic splashed against glimmering turquoise shields as eight runic pebbles expended themselves between Pascal's fingers, layering on his entire defensive spell set.

The strike leader Sebastian spun aside to dodge the gush of hurricane-force winds. But the impact itself had never been Pascal's aim. The blast of air acted as a contingency trigger, pulling dozens of runic pebbles that Kaede had scattered around the room into the air. They hurled about the enclosed room like a whirlwind of destruction. The glyphic stones bounced harmlessly off walls and furniture, but each time one of them met a living entity that did not carry the mana of their creator, they exploded.

Detonations rocked the room as the air was instantly filled by flying shrapnel. Cutting shards of rock and jagged splinters of wood were blown off the nearby furniture and walls. Yet while Pascal lay safe behind his ''Barrier Armor'' and ''Spellshield Fortress'', the same could not be said for his would-be killers. The layers of defensive magic that enhanced their protective cloaks would have easily repulsed such conventional projectiles, had they not been riddled with holes from absorbing powerful explosions.

The strike section of three assassins had walked straight into a trap.

With all three of them bloodied by the ambush, Marcellius, the junior member who stood closest to the entrance, spun back around the doorframe and into the hallway. He arrived just in time to see another bolt of lightning streak by, and realized a second too late as sparks transformed back into a person. Two blades materialized from thin air and chopped off his head, turning his torso into a fountain of blood.

Spells flew through the hall as the wardbreaker Gallien laid down covering fire from behind conjured stone battlements. But the other assassin, Valeria, took no chances as she hurled a specially enchanted kukri outside. The curved blade ricocheted off the walls with perfect bounces, multiplying by three each time. Within mere seconds, a roaming cloud of whirling steel swept down the hall, which diced anything softer than rock with impunity.

Meanwhile, Sebastian charged at Pascal without hesitation. Even with one arm shattered by the runic assault, his other was still functional and ready to rend the flesh from his foe. With a single thought, he activated the bread and butter of spellswords -- the ''Negation Surge'' spell imbued into his kukri that diminished the effectiveness of magical barriers. His first hack cleaved through one of Pascal's spellshields as though meeting mere leather. However, that split-second delay of resistance allowed his target to spin away against the desk's edge.

Sebastian renewed his penetration aid with a flourish of the blade. His second slash struck horizontally and sliced through two more spellshields. Sharpened steel then pierced the translucent turquoise armor before entering Pascal's left forearm. But too much momentum had been lost to cut through the bone.

Pascal gritted his teeth against the burning pain. He twisted his own arm against the blade, using his ''Barrier Armor'' and reinforced flesh to bind the weapon before it could be withdrawn. He followed with a right hook, and his turquoise ring met cheekbones under the tattered hood with a resounding crack. Surging anger poured through his spell-focus in the form of volatile mana, and the spontaneous burst of raw magic blew Sebastian's head apart in a shower of blood and gore.

The rest of the strike leader's body promptly disintegrated into dust. It was a contingency spell with deadman's trigger, common among assassins.

But Pascal was now down to one arm and two spellshields as he faced off against the last assassin, who had already sealed the entrance with a wall of metal.

Should he replenish his outer defenses? Should he attempt to draw the estoc stored in the glove of his limp left arm?

His own room had been turned into a battlefield. Here, there were no rules or points awarded for extravagance. Here, lives would flicker and drown in the blink of an eye.

<nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>

Reynaud almost snorted as he burst across the stone battlements and cut the enemy mage down. To a spellsword who charged by transforming his body into lightning, cover made from non-conductive materials was inconsequential.

However, the vortex of blades advancing towards him was a different matter.

A blast of wind, a barrage of rocks, a burst of antimagic... not a single spell could knock off more than a mere handful of blades. The cloud of whirling steel continued its inevitable advance, as slow and unstoppable as a glacier.

It was easy to evade. However Reynaud could not afford to run away. He was the promised cavalry. He ''needed'' to rush inside that room.

"''Dispelling Screen!''" Perceval shouted from the other side of the hall. But nothing happened. The advanced spell combination simply wasn't a type that he had any affinity with.

Yet its inspiration was sufficient.

"''Catalyst Dispelling Field''." Reynaud announced as he held up his right hand, fingers outstretched. Waves of antimagic poured off his shining glove as he marched into the steel storm. His burning-red aura surrounded him like a globe of protection, and every blade that touched its edge vanished from existence.

Except one: the original. Forged from real steel that ignored the dispelling antimagic, it sliced right through the unarmored underside of his wrist.

"GAHHHH!" Reynaud cried out as he dropped his other weapon to grip the bleeding stump. ''Should have freaking added a Repulsion effect!''

"Sorry," Perceval grimaced as he rushed up to collect his friend's severed right hand. "We need to reconnect this, immediately."

"N-no time," came the response between Reynaud's gritted teeth as his feet shuffled forward. "You'll have to take front."

"You know I can't use attack spells worth anything!" The healer retorted as he took Reynaud's wrist stump. He then cast a localized ''Sensory Blackout'' spell over it to suppress the pain.

"Yeah and you just cast a potent attack curse if you applied it without restraint. I know you lack the intent to kill after what happened to your parents, but sometimes you have to kill to save someone!"

Reynaud soon reached the entrance to Pascal's room, now sealed by a curtain of iron. As he leaned against the wall while breathing heavily in pain, the short redhead addressed his best friend with a gaze as determined as any seasoned veteran:

"I'll disintegrate this in a sec. Remember what I told you before: your specialty is bio-alchemy. If there's no foliage in the fight, then conjure some ferocious man-eating plants or something to use. Unless you hate Pascal enough to see his father crying over a son's mangled corpse and his cute little familiar girl dead as well."

Motivation came instantly even if clarity did not. Perceval's brows were folded with uncertainty, but he nodded to Reynaud with determination as his friend's glove stretched out against the iron wall.

"''Disintegration!''"

After concentrating his magic, Reynaud's remaining fist slammed against the barrier. It opened a man-sized hole through layers of metal. Alchemy spells weren't always effective against other mages since every spellcaster's mana repelled foreign sources. But against objects and non-magical creatures, the results were decisive.

"''Flourishing Brambles. Animated Assault!''"

Perceval conjured a single sprout, then poured in transmutation magic to make it grow into a mass of thorny vines. Spreading out across the room, the spiked tendrils leaped towards the last assassin like an unstoppable torrent.

Caught off-guard by the attack from her rear, the assassin slashed and cut with her blade on impulse. But there was simply far too many. The veritable horde of vines quickly wrapped around her body, pushing between every gap to wring out her life with a merciless crushing grip. As she opened her mouth to scream, spiked tendrils forced their way inside and down her throat.

All three men in the room watched with horror as the writhing, muffled figure vanished beneath the green biomass. The assassin struggled for a few more moments before the entire cocoon collapsed, presumably as her disintegration spell triggered.

"Holy Father have mercy..." Pascal blurted out through a face of stunned shock.

"Remind me never to piss you off." Reynaud remarked through a similar expression.

Perceval's own trembling eyes looked the most horrified of all. But after working in forensics and surgeons' labs, there wasn't much that could truly freeze the intern healer. He quickly returned to the task of reconnecting and healing Reynaud's severed hand.

Meanwhile, the mass of vines that crushed Pascal's bed began to shrivel. It soon became little more than a small pile of dried stems before vanishing entirely. Most conjuration magic rarely lasted more than a few minutes before the magically-created materials broke down. The exception was when it summoned something real from elsewhere.

"Thank you. I did not--" Pascal began as he stowed away his sword and attempted to make his mangled left arm look presentable.

"Stuff a sock in it, ''Runelord''." Reynaud shot back with a disinterested glance. "This is for Rhin-Lotharingie and Weichsel, not you. Let's just get patched up and see if the girls need help... even if that's not darn likely with Ariadne."

Meanwhile, Perceval was muttering to himself even as he concentrated on healing Reynaud's wound:

"I just killed somebody..."

<nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>

"<Comp... No, int...!>"

Gallien's telepathic shout came garbled. The academy was simply too saturated with magic for any ungrounded telepathic link to function properly without line-of-sight.

But the thunderous noise and tremor that came from below made the situation apparent, even without Placidia's follow-up:

"<Rider in the air!>"

The hit squad's spellsniper was already taking aim along an outstretched arm. Three translucent black rings of magical energy formed the firing barrel as she charged up a pulsing multi-hit ''Shredder Beam''. But her shot missed as the pegasus corkscrewed across the air in a display of unparalleled horsemanship.

Prefect Gelasius cursed as he recognized the dark, shadowy barding that cloaked the pegasus, not to mention the blackened-steel armor and burning-red uniform of its rider. The winged horse galloped across the open skies like a burning cloud of smoke. It was the unmistakable sign of a Knight Phantom: the elite order of marauding equestrians from Weichsel that struck fear into every participant of the last war.

"<Cassio!>"

The squad's spellstorm hardly needed orders. Dozens of topaz bolts surrounded him like a cloud of daggers, each spinning within a ring of magical energy. With one wave of his hand, the entire volley hurled out to meet the rider in a single coordinated barrage.

Meanwhile, eleven defensive homing bullets -- a ''Mana Seeker'' interception spell -- shot out from the knight with a slash of her sword. Streaking across the open air, the two volleys met each other with explosive fury. However Cassio's projectiles easily emerged victorious through weight of numbers. They zoomed towards the airborne cavalier like guided projectiles.

His target weaved and dodged, soaring through the air with evasive maneuvers as Cassio's shots chased after her. A second wave of ''Mana Seekers'' reduced the numbers further, but the spellstorm was already conjuring another barrage while maintaining control of the first.

The pegasus knight suddenly broke into seven copies, each streaking across the air on a different path towards the keep. A moment of confusion was enough for Cassio to lose touch with his first volley, and they shot wide as he tried to discern the real rider among the illusions.

"<Third from the east.>" Gelasius ordered as his eyes swept the targets. His refined control over the ''Aura Sight'' spell was one of his specialties. It allowed him to apply the handy utility spell on small portions of his vision coverage, even in a battle zone where the magical glare would quickly blind most conventional users.

"<Yes sir.>"

With the prefect's guidance, Cassio unleashed his second volley. But the pegasus dived towards the ground, and the spellstorm's view became blocked by the stony roof. A resounding detonation shook the main keep as the explosive bombardment crashed into its side.

"<Go to the corner for clearance! Northwest!>" Prefect Gelasius ordered as he and Placidia sniped at defenders on the surrounding towers.

The shooting in the skies had drawn the attention of the academy's guards and staff, who had joined the battle by taking shots against the intruders with spellfire and arrows. They were more an inconvenience than a threat at the moment, but that would not last long if Gelasius allowed them to organize and coordinate.

A professor shooting from the residence keep crumbled into a hundred pieces -- Placidia's black ''Shredder Beam'' had blasted through his window and tore him into minced meat...

<nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>

Trying to monitor the situation was hard when Kaede lay facing the other way. She was doing her best to appear unconscious. The fact that her enemies didn't even speak to communicate made it far harder to figure out the circumstances.

The only thing she could see was topaz spellfire shooting out from behind her. Waves of magical bolts shot after a weaving pegasus in the skies.

Kaede had dropped onto the ground as soon as she saw the arrow that pierced her shoulder. At the time, she still wasn't sure if her cover had been blown. She only knew that if she ''didn't'' pretend to fall unconscious or dead, another steel tip with her name on it would soon be on its way.

She had almost failed to stifle her voice on the hard landing, especially when the impact shook the arrow lodged inside her. The only upside was that the sharp burst of intense pain had actually pierced her mental fog. It helped to drive away any fuzziness that might have built up from blood loss.

The few minutes after that were the most nerve-wracking of her life. There was no way to know if she would be killed in just another couple of seconds.

But when she heard the dormitory keep door creak open and still no one approached her body, Kaede decided that they must have bought the lure after all -- hook, line, and sinker. In hindsight, this should have been obvious from the start. No assassin's arrow would have missed her vitals from this close a range. The shot had been deliberate.

So Kaede kept up the ruse by maintaining her only protection: the illusion of an incompetent, unconscious girl. After all, it didn't require actual magic to make another believe something false, leading to a severe underestimation of both the situation and their opponent.

Pascal's telepathic "<they are here... engaging!>" confirmed the situation at hand. Her intellectual side remained worried, as these were obviously professional killers. But just as he had faith in her, she would uphold her belief in him.

Besides, as Ariadne's Edelweiss took to the skies and combat began topside, Kaede had to focus on tracking the battle with only her hearing and limited sight. This was actually a blessing, as it gave her something other than the burning pain stuck in her shoulder to think about.

Her first insight was that Ariadne was gaining too much altitude, probably to maintain distance for reaction time as she approached the keep for an overhead dive. The problem was she should be doing the exact opposite. Kaede doubted pegasus knights made good high-altitude bombers, and slow-flying ''Sturmoviks'' hugged the ground to avoid anti-air artillery during World War II, not the other way around.

Kaede slowly inched her right hand towards her left. Her fingers sought her remaining ''Telepathy'' rune while praying that no one would notice. It would also allow her to activate the second four spells of Pascal's defensive set. All of these were internal buffs that gave no visible sign and would help her should any opportunities arise. It was too risky to chance the motion before. But now, her life was no longer the only one at stake.

If nothing else, experiencing a life and death situation together automatically made these her newfound friends.

''I may be an introvert, but I am NOT a shut-in...'' she stressed to nobody but herself.

<nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>

"<Drop down! Out of his sight! Use the buildings for cover!>"

Ariadne heard Kaede's voice resound through her mind. She followed them instinctively, weaving and dodging between stone construction even as she pondered the familiar's fate. Last she saw, Kaede was lying still in a corner with an arrow through her back, presumably either unconscious or dead.

''...Or not.'' She smiled, realizing that the familiar was quietly biding her time.

Now using the terrain to her advantage, Ariadne swerved through the gaps between buildings with precise horsemanship. She neared the dormitory keep before rising back into the air to level with the rooftop. As her mount climbed over the battlements from but ten paces away, she came face to face with a hooded figure surrounded by yet ''another'' wave of magical projectiles.

''Damn.''

Time came to a standstill as Ariadne locked gazes with topaz eyes determined to kill her. Expletives coursed through her frantic mind, but she knew it was already too late to evade...

Then, a corner of her sight picked up movement near the rooftop floor. Kaede's slumped body lay right besides the cloaked caster. With a painful yell of her wispy voice, the familiar girl pulled out the arrow lodged in her upper chest and, in the same motion, stabbed it straight into the mage's left leg.

The caster's balance faltered. Most of his shots flew wide. Nevertheless, three of them grazed Edelweiss' wings and exploded on contact. The pegasus' phantom barding thinned as they focused on the points of impact to absorb the damage. Edelweiss would suffer no worse than three nasty bruises, but Ariadne doubted the shadowy 'armor' could withstand another similar hit.

Cursing audibly, the hooded mage waved his hand while his injured foot kicked out at Kaede, striking her in the face and leaving a bloody nose. Meanwhile, the arcane bolts that he had managed to maintain control over -- a swarm of two dozen -- turned around to chase after Ariadne's rising mount.

But the sorely underestimated familiar girl wasn't finished.

Kaede's right hand grasped at her left. In a single swing, she drew a thin shortsword from the glove and slashed at the mage's calves, slicing into one leg just above the leather boots and cutting through the bone. Withdrawing the blade, Kaede leaped off the floor and tackled him at the waist. Her attempted backstab failed to pierce the enchanted cloak. However her impact sent the swaying mage over the battlements' low firing gap and into a plummet.

Unfortunately, the momentum also sent the Samaran girl tumbling over, and Ariadne watched in horror as the familiar's left hand struggled to hold onto the fortifications. Before she could finish casting an ''Air Glide'' spell to protect Kaede, the hand slipped off the stone and vanished from sight.

Ariadne reined Edelweiss into a sharp bank. Perhaps she could still spot Kaede in time to save her. Perhaps...

The distraction allowed another hooded assassin to catch the pegasus with a beam harnessing the sun's energy. With his entire right wing torn by scorching heat and his eyes blinded by intense light, Edelweiss crashed towards the keep from twenty paces above.

"''Air Cushion!''" Ariadne cast upon her familiar mount before her enraged eyes returned to her foe. Grabbing a wooden grenade from her belt pouch, she hurled it towards the keep and shouted "''Ignition Dispel!''"

The spell caught the 'grenade' mid-flight, tearing away the shrinking spell to reveal a massive chest-high barrel which promptly ignited. The opposing mage dove aside to evade the crushing object. But the cask struck the stone rooftop and burst apart, covering his surroundings with a conflagration of flaming pitch and tar.

As the burning assassin-mage busied himself putting out the grease fire with a blast of intense cold, Ariadne called upon another trick the Knights were known for: "''Phantom Charge!''"

The last remnants of Edelweiss' shadowy barding tore away just before her mount crashed. It formed a spectral steed that caught ablaze as it charged across the roof, then rammed the offending mage head-on before detonating into a blazing inferno.

<nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>

The fortifications were still slippery from the melted daytime snow. Kaede had hardly three fingers' grasp on them. She had already activated the four rune-stored buffs that didn't visually reveal her consciousness, including the ''Elemental Body of Earth'' spell which heightened her strength, as well as ''Shift Impulse'' which had accelerated her tackle beyond expectations. But even with ''Mental Clarity'' reducing the debilitating fog of pain, she was barely able to hold onto her consciousness.

Pulling out an entire arrow shaft, including the accursed tail fletching, through a puncture wound already closed by Samaran fast-healing was far more excruciating than anything she had ever experienced.

Her last reservoir of strength had been depleted and her injuries were draining away any remaining energy. She held on for hardly more than a few seconds before plummeting six stories towards the ground below.

''Looks like I don't belong here after all...'' she thought.

At least she heard the horrified scream of the assassin-mage she sent falling first, until his yell was suddenly muffled, as though by a thick blanket.

Kaede glanced down just before a giant mass of soft whiteness cushioned her fall. Its very sight was enough to trigger the most incredulous memory of her life.

It was Perceval's giant tofu, shifting up and down as though 'munching' on something... no, someone: the previously fallen mage.

"<Kaede are you alright? I just felt something go wrong.>" Pascal's worried voice chimed in.

She finally let go of her breath.

"<Barely. Saved by Perceval's giant tofu.>"

"<What is that?>" came the incredulous reply.

"<nowiki><I</nowiki> meant his familiar.>"

After finishing whatever it was doing, the giant tofu bounced up to the wall. Then, somehow, it began to climb using its silken white skin. Most of its amorphous body shifted as close to the wall as possible, yet it maintained a 'platform' large enough to hold her. It even extended two tendrils to wrap tightly across her bent legs to keep her from falling off.

"<We just eliminated the threat below and are heading up to the roof to help.>" announced Pascal.

''Perceval must be controlling it then,'' Kaede concluded.

Although the putty felt cold and jiggled as it moved, it was as soft as a pillow. Despite having no legs, it also climbed with shocking speed. Within a minute, it reached over the battlements and poured onto the roof.

Kaede was still mounted upon the giant tofu as she took a moment to absorb the situation. A one-winged pegasus lay bleeding and maimed on the stone roof, while Ariadne spun her double-bladed swordstaff merely ten paces away. The lady knight danced across the floor with swift footwork, exchanging lightning-fast blows against the assassin's dual kukris. They clashed with one another like two bladed gales. Meanwhile another mage stood in the far corner, shooting at targets unseen on the other side of the keep.

The giant tofu began to leap again, bounding towards the far-side caster in the pudding equivalent of a charge.

The spellsniper took notice and turned around to power up another spell. Yet before she could unleash even one beam, a storm of forest-green rays arced in from behind her like a rocket barrage. Most of the magic either missed or glanced off her barriers, striking harmlessly against stone fortifications. But two shots connected with the caster.

The human body had fine tolerances over its composition, which easily made many alchemy spells deadly. Utility magic invented for harmless purposes like ''Extract Water'', ''Solidify Liquid'', or ''Transmute X to Y'' could easily kill any man, although mages usually resisted it through their innate mana resistance. But with reserves running low after continuous use of high-powered spells, the spellsniper left herself open to hostile alchemy purposed specifically to kill.

Her head and shoulders petrified into granite for a split second before she disintegrated into the winds.

Now only one foe remained.

<nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>

Although Kaede couldn't tell due to the sheer speed of the sword fight, Ariadne knew perfectly well that she was being pressed. Even slowed by burns, the superior experience and prowess of her opponent showed through the precision of his strikes. She had lost the initiative almost as soon as the match began, forced onto the defensive to parry and block. Her armor, both magical and real, was the only reason why he hadn't drawn blood after three grazing hits.

Unfortunately, she knew that the returning Kaede was in no position to help. This was a deathmatch between two accomplished swordsmen. Any amateurish interference was as dangerous to one as the other.

Then, for the slightest fragment of a second, the assassin leader -- she was certain of it -- slowed his assault as his spellsniper vanished from this world.

The Holy Father had graced her with an opportunity. She seized it without hesitation for an all-out attack.

Spinning her twin-bladed Manteuffel sword around, Ariadne parried the larger kukri upwards while bringing her sword up and overhead into a full-aggression stance. It caught his full attention, while she tapped the trigger that toggled her sword's two forms. This launched the shorter rear-blade at a downward angle. Her opponent had already lost his outer barriers and protective cloak to her flame assaults. It allowed the cable-anchored steel edge to pierce his right ankle and boot.

The assassin swung his other kukri forward. Its blade cut through Ariadne's magical armor and into the armpit gap in her steel cuirass. Yet this hardly affected the outcome as the lady knight brought her main blade down with a mighty two-handed swing. Slowed down by his injured foot, the last assassin was cut from shoulder to waist before bursting into ashes.

As she panted with exertion and pain, Ariadne propped herself up with her swordstaff while her left hand unbuckled the breastplate to clutch the wound underneath. Then, as if on cue, the wooden door into the keep burst open, spilling forth three men with weapons drawn.

Ariadne swept her eyes across all three before she chuckled, which soon turned into a bloody, hacking cough. It immediately prompted Perceval to rush over.

"Perceval... you should go take a look at Kaede first," she waved him towards the smaller girl, whose body now slumped unconscious atop the white pudding familiar. "I bet her wounds are healing the wrong way after she left an arrow in for that long."

Perceval paused for a moment, clearly torn between caring for his girl's injuries and listening to her wishes. But as Ariadne wiped the blood from her lips and sent him a reassuring smile, he nodded and headed off to meet her request.

"W-well... would you look at us? Other than Perceval, we've sure been taught a bloody lesson."

Ariadne's tone was dry as she staggered back towards her familiar mount. Edelweiss the second was unconscious but otherwise alive. That was good, as she didn't want to compete for the world record of most familiars lost by age twenty.

"I doubt these were run-of-the-mill assassins," Reynaud replied, still warming up to his reconnected right wrist by rotating it in circles. "I don't suppose you picked up any clues? Seeing as they all disintegrated."

"Actually..." Ariadne hesitated before continuing: "...the leader fought like you. Same dual kukri flurry style."

"I agree," Pascal nodded. "The three assassins that led the attack on me also fought with two kukris each, one longer than the other. Their style emphasized striking speed."

Reynaud's brows rose. He then turned towards Pascal with a contemptuous gaze:

"Great. You've got Imperial Mantis Blades on your ass now." Then, as both of them looked at him with agape expressions: "What? Did you forget my mama was one? Where do you think my martial skills come from? Papa, the merchant captain? Ha! He'd rather hold onto her coat while she bloodied thugs with hairpins."

Reynaud then puffed up his chest:

"Be proud, ladies and lords! Few could boast of surviving an assassination attempt by an entire Mantis Blade hit squad!"

Silence filled the air as everyone else absorbed this discomforting fact.

"Well..." Pascal cleared his throat sheepishly. "I am profoundly grateful--"

"Oh, shut up for a moment you self-centered prick," Ariadne spat out bits of blood alongside her words. "We did this for Weichsel, for Rhin-Lotharingie, and maybe some for your familiar, but certainly not you!"

<noinclude>
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| Back to [[Daybreak:Volume_1_Chapter_10|Chapter 10]]
| Return to [[Daybreak_on_Hyperion|Main Page]]
| Forward to [[Daybreak:Volume_1_Chapter_12|Chapter 12]]
|-
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</noinclude>

Daybreak:Volume 1 Chapter 10

2022-02-27T18:50:19Z

Aorii:

===Chapter 10 - Critical Appeal===

The first winter cold front had arrived early this year. Flakes of snow already dotted the skies, leaving a sheen of moisture on the dormitory keep's stony roof.

It was Sunday morning, and Kaede was meditating through archery as usual. Except this time, shooting was as much a nerve-calming exercise as an excuse to stay up there.

After she received her update from Marina, Kaede had spent most of her waking hours over the past two days planning out different scenarios. There was no way Pascal didn't notice her reduction in research output, but he didn't say a word.

Since the plot on Pascal's life did not launch into full swing on Monday night, Kaede surmised that the assassins must have Pascal and her under surveillance. This had allowed them to call off the final strike when she, instead of him, fell unconscious to the poison. However, it also meant she had to tread carefully to maintain the facade that she was still on-board with the plan. It pushed her first action as far back as Sunday morning, for there was no other way to accost Ariadne without drawing excessive suspicion.

Thankfully, Ariadne was also a stickler for personal schedules, and Kaede waved the lady down from her joyride without a hitch.

"Isn't it a bit chilly to be flying today?" Kaede made her pleasantries with the usual cheerfulness while pressing a rune on her arm. She had asked Pascal -- privately over telepathy -- to load one set with utility spells instead of defensive enhancements. This first rune sent a telepathic whisper straight to Ariadne's thoughts:

"<Sorry Ariadne, but I need help. I'm certain I'm being watched. Do you have a spell to guarantee a private conversation? Best if it's as inconspicuous as possible.>"

"My uniform has thermal adjustment, so a little cold doesn't really bother me." Ariadne nodded before her right hand twisted about in a series of odd gestures. "I'm guessing that prick ordered most of your clothes here, so ask him which one he had the enhancement put on. It's probably the one he expects you to wear most often. The self-adjustment should do its job once you've worn it several times, although you may need to tweak it for extra warming since you're so thin. Imperative thoughts should work -- most magic items take orders that way."

Kaede instantly knew which one: ''no wonder why I feel more than just chilly unless I'm wearing this lingerie from the first night. And here I thought it was just the material...''

Her body was soon wrapped by a comfortable warmth that reminded her of insulated heating pads. Meanwhile, Ariadne's entire soft-leather glove glowed for a brief second. She then explained through her angelic smile:

"''Sanctum Veil'' spell. Anyone trying to observe or listen in from the outside will just see and hear us discussing everyday things like the weather. Chances are they're observing from afar though. Scrying sensors are easy to detect for any vigilant mage who periodically scans their surroundings, and nobody ever blamed your prick of a master for sloth or stupidity."

"So," Ariadne stood eagerly with her hands propped at her waist. "What do you need help with? Need to give that self-centered prick a longer-lasting lesson?"

''Pascal must have been a lot worse two years ago to make her like this.'' Kaede almost shuddered.

"Actually, the opposite. I need help because someone is making an attempt on Pascal's life, for ''political gains'' as a matter of ''national security''."

Kaede gave her keywords the verbal highlight to make sure Ariadne understood that this was not a personal matter, but one of interest to any knight of Weichsel. Otherwise, there was no way Ariadne would listen to a plan on helping her nemesis.

Just as she had hoped, the lady's smile froze.

"I'm listening."

It took a while for Kaede to explain her episode of being poisoned, her encounter with the maid, and her accepting their offer.

"Marina, I take it?" Ariadne chuckled at Kaede's surprise. "Easy to figure that one out. She's the maid responsible for cleaning the older boys' dorms, and that's where your prick of a master resides as well." Then more sternly: "I'm surprised you didn't just report her. I'm also surprised that Pascal didn't jump to the same conclusion."

"If I reported it, her group would just disperse into hiding before they could be caught. That would merely delay them for a few weeks before they try again." Kaede countered, her eyes hard with determination. "I want to drag them out into the open and clean the entire mess in one sweep. As for Pascal," she shrugged, "I might have given him the impression that my fatigue was to blame."

"You don't think this is way over your head? Assuming you weren't a spy or something before the summoning?"

"Nothing of the sort," Kaede almost laughed as she waved it off. "I was an ordinary student. However I also don't think anything is completely above trying, even if I'm just an amateur. History is altered not just by grand sweeping plans, but by all the little individual actions that made it possible."

Ariadne nodded with her usual smile: "You sound like my friend Gerard. Go on."

"I'm also not stupid enough to tackle this alone, which is why I need your help. These people are trained killers, and I know barely enough to defend myself. However this academy has many knights and aspiring officers, including you and your friends." Kaede took a deep breath as she opened her argument: "I realize you have no reason to help Pascal in anything, and neither does he deserve it. But you are also nobles who value ''duty'' to your country enough to serve it as your career. I have faith in you all to pick the greater good over personal grudges, however deserving they may be. So I see no reason why we cannot do this."

It was immediately apparent that Kaede had at least partially succeeded. Ariadne pressed one finger into her cheek in serious consideration over the proposal.

"I'm surprised you waited until today to ask me. I had almost taken up an offer to visit some friends over the holiday."

"Sorry, but I couldn't approach you without being conspicuous, and everything depends on maintaining the lie." Kaede explained in apology, before she pulled herself back: "Wait... holiday?"

"Tomorrow is December 12th -- Rhin-Lotharingie's Twelve-Twelfth Day, also known as Unity Day. I take it you didn't know?" Ariadne asked, and Kaede shook her head. "Weichsel is too far for me. A round trip in two days is possible, but not worthwhile. However my friend Cecylia had invited me to join her in Alis Avern. I only cancelled those plans when Perceval told me he would be staying behind as well. If I was gone already, what would you have done then?"

The elegant smile that backed the question somehow made it more daunting.

"I could discreetly approach your beloved Perceval for help," Kaede shrugged as she silently scolded herself, as she realized how much worse that alternative was. "But otherwise this really would be beyond me and I'd have to call off the bluff. Meeting Pascal's professor is as good as declaring my intentions to the other side, and I've barely even spoken to anyone else."

The air between the two fell into a nervous silence as Kaede felt examined, scrutinized under magnifying eyes, while the noblewoman contemplated with one finger still held against her cheek. Then, just as Kaede was about to continue her drafted thoughts on persuasion, Ariadne nodded with a calm smile:

"It's the Holy Father's will then. I'll need to consult my friends before giving you a confirmation, but consider us tentatively ''in''. Your clothes came in at the store also, so I'll pick them up and give them to you this afternoon. It's the perfect opportunity to discreetly pass you a message."

For seconds, Kaede stood speechless while the lady smiled sweetly back at her.

"That was a lot easier than I anticipated... thank you. But why?"

"I'll take offense if you think me a fool in politics, you know," Ariadne declared cheerily while puffing up her prominent chest. "The betrothal between that prick and Crown Princess Sylviane of Rhin-Lotharingie is well known..."

Kaede felt her thoughts halted, then blown away as a second, far larger tidal wave struck her.

"It's also one of the founding stones of Weichsel's defensive military alliance with Rhin-Lotharingie. Marina claimed her master is a Lotharin duke, so perhaps fracturing the alliance isn't their goal as much as preventing suspected manipulation of the throne by a foreigner. However it doesn't change the effects should they succeed."

''He... he...'' Kaede's mind was still sorting out the information pileup.

"Pascal is ENGAGED!?"

"You didn't know? I thought that prick at least had enough sense to tell that to a girl before courting her! What else did you think was of political importance on a national scale?"

Kaede then shook her head as she denied it outright:

"We're not in that kind of relationship. In fact, that would be outright impossible for me even if he sought it..."

Somehow, the mere thought of telling Ariadne about her gender mix-up just felt... wrong.

"Anyway, I simply thought they were trying to provoke Pascal's father, the Field Marshal, into some kind of rash response in an upcoming incident. The commander's heir killed in a foreign country? Wouldn't be the first time wars started prematurely because of an angry family member."

"Part of the reason Weichsel and Rhin-Lotharingie set aside their differences to form this alliance was because of an enraged Emperor who lost two sons to Imperial assassins, but that's a story for a different time." Ariadne said before returning to the main topic. "So assuming everything on my side works out, what's your plan of action?"

"I couldn't really narrow down much detail," Kaede admitted. "I have no clue about the combat potential of your friends. But since Pascal is their main goal, his dorm is where we'll need the most help. I figured since Reynaud is a fourth-year military cadet, his room should be on the same floor...?"

Ariadne nodded in confirmation.

"Then Perceval can join his friend there beforehand, and they can sandwich the attackers in from behind while Pascal buys time. Meanwhile, since I have to stay on the roof to keep the assassins fooled, I would appreciate some help once the cover blows. After all, I have no desire to get killed in this."

"I can work with that plan." Ariadne agreed, her bright-cyan gaze smiling with approval. "If any changes are necessary, I'll pass them back with the reply. Either way, it sounds like I have a busy day ahead, so I will see you later, Kaede."

With a boot placed into the stirrup, Ariadne mounted her white pegasus in one swift motion. She then waved goodbye before taking off from the dormitory keep roof.

''And the day begins...''

Kaede continued shooting for a good half hour before she went back inside, just to be sure her meeting with Ariadne didn't seem deliberate.

<nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>

"Why didn't you tell me you were engaged?" Kaede asked after Pascal returned from his morning errands and workout.

It was hard to tell at times, as unsurprisingly, mages had a spell for refreshing up after a sweat as well. In fact, they had so many cantrips for keeping clean and maintaining appearances that showering was more of a luxury for them than a periodic need.

"I am used to it being common knowledge. Also, there is not much to say? I have not even seen Sylv for nearly a year thanks to our schedules, and she has not been responding to my calls of late."

Kaede knew that wasn't unusual for political arrangements of the period. However Pascal didn't just sound irritated. There was also a powerful longing buried underneath.

"How is she?"

"I do not believe a girl more beautiful than her could exist." He spoke of the princess with an admiration that shined through even the dark clouds of his melancholy. "She is a wonderful person as well, and will make an excellent Empress one day. Unfortunately, her spare time is only going to wane further."

''He's definitely smitten with her.''

Kaede smiled. It was hard to tell whether or not Pascal actually loved his fiancée -- that was exceptionally rare in the political marriage custom. But it was obvious that he respected, valued, and even trusted her, all of which were far more important than love in any union among feudal aristocrats, let alone future heads of state.

She also felt an odd sense of relief, since Pascal truly liking another girl greatly reduced any chances of something awkward happening between the two of them.

"Since when have you two been betrothed?"

"Since I was ten," Pascal began to explain as a nostalgic smile entered his expression. "My father's Knight Phantoms took her captive on one of their deep raids into Lotharin territory during the War of Imperial Succession. Although at the time, she still had older brothers and was not the crown heir. I first met her while she was held on our estate. We became friends during her one-and-a-half years' stay there.

"Weichsel and Rhin-Lotharingie were not formally at war during that chaotic time. Both countries simply sought to take advantage of the Holy Imperium's civil war to lay claims, except these claims overlapped with each other. So when my father negotiated an end to hostilities between the two states and a partnership against our real foe in the south, her father, Geoffroi the Great, requested our matrilineal betrothal as the bargaining price. Father agreed."

Matrilineal arrangements indicated that any descendants would be traced through the maternal side, which meant that Pascal would be marrying into another family -- the Rhin-Lotharingie royal family, in his case.

"Aren't you the heir of Nordkreuz?" Kaede furrowed her brows. "How does that work for your domain then?"

"Yes. Although Nordkreuz was gifted to Father through lands annexed during that war, it was also a contested strategic position on the border. Our betrothal contained a special clause that the city of Nordkreuz would eventually become a 'free city' with joint jurisdiction by both nations. The treaty was very unconventional, especially since we were ''winning'' at the time. But Father also knew Weichsel was a small nation caught between several giants, and he was planning for the long run."

Pascal's admiring words came out in a somewhat pensive tone, and Kaede soon realized why:

''He also has daddy issues. Not surprising though, having to live in such an accomplished father's shadow.''

"I'm surprised you still courted Ariadne and other girls, then."

"That was Father's idea, and Sylv agreed to it as well. They both said that I needed 'experience', whatever that is supposed to imply." Pascal shrugged.

Kaede thought it was best to stay away from that bombshell.

"So you have no siblings to contest the succession then?"

While his father often came up in conversations, Pascal almost never spoke of his family.

"I am the only child," he sighed. "Mother died from a crippling war injury when I was just three, and Father never remarried. I guess you could say that I was mostly raised by servants."

''No wonder you have social problems.''

<nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>

"Since Gerard is away on holiday, it's down to the three of us." Reynaud heard Ariadne say as she sat next to Perceval on her bed, his right hand held tightly in hers.

It was against all propriety for a lady to invite multiple men into her room. However this was also the only way she could guarantee their privacy. Unlike Perceval, who wasn't good at any magic except bio-alchemy, and Reynaud, who simply didn't care, Ariadne actually maintained periodic sweeps of her room.

Reynaud knew that as a member of the gentry, he was supposed to keep a healthy dose of paranoia. But that assumed he gave a single care about being 'proper' in the first place.

He also sat backwards in a chair with his legs splayed. It was hardly the most appropriate when facing a lady.

"But this is Pascal we're talking about..." Perceval replied.

His voice was almost frozen, and Reynaud wondered how cold his grip must be at the moment. From Ariadne's concealed wince, it couldn't be comfortable.

"Let the ''Runelord'' deal with it by himself. He's always so high and mighty, so sure that he can do everything single-handedly. Well, here's his chance. If anything, I'm surprised his familiar even cares enough to intervene."

"But if he fails and dies, it would put the alliance between Weichsel and Rhin-Lotharingie in jeopardy," Ariadne raised the political card as her worried eyes kept their focus on her beloved.

"Would that really be a problem?" Perceval countered. "The treaty was controversial to begin with. Most Lotharins believe that Geoffroi should not have broken tradition, that the future empress should marry a noble from one of the four kingdoms, instead of an outsider that would no doubt influence the throne towards their home country. Meanwhile from what I hear, many Weichsens claim the treaty was 'unequal', that they should not give us part of Nordkreuz when they had been winning at the time."

"Aria," he then turned towards his beloved. "Didn't you tell me even your uncle, the head of House Manteuffel, was against it as well?"

"Yes," Ariadne nodded. Though the hesitation she showed was a clear sign that she was of two minds about this.

''On one hand, she's a Manteuffel, one of the most powerful houses in Weichsel,'' Reynaud considered. ''On that other hand, she's in love with a Lotharin.''

''Perceval you knucklehead.'' The redhead scowled.

Certainly, Perceval was correct in that there were many on both sides of the border who disliked the treaty. Reynaud even heard that there were some in Weichsel who accused their Marshal of treason and selling out their country. However that was not the way Reynaud saw it. Sure, Pascal would become the Prince-Consort of Rhin-Lotharingie, but his successors would bear the name 'de Gaetane' instead of 'von Moltewitz'.

For the nobles' game of dynastic political ambitions, it was tantamount to clan suicide.

Reynaud hadn't forgotten about his childhood days, when Weichsel and Rhin-Lotharingie were still hostile adversaries. The first time he heard about the elder Moltewitz was when two of his cousins, newly knighted armigers entrusted to protect Princess Sylviane, were killed by a raid launched by the Marshal of Weichsel. Back then Reynaud thought the worst of Marshal Moltewitz. After all, kidnapping a young princess from her castle was textbook villainy like those in fairy tales.

However since the war's end, Raynaud had learned to admire the Marshal's many qualities, particularly his farsighted geopolitical acumen in seeking a long-term military alliance between Weichsel and Rhin-Lotharingie. There are some, like Pascal, who thought Reynaud's opinions simply swayed with the government's propaganda. However that ignored the fact that Reynaud actually spent time travelling in Weichsel, talking to veterans of the last war so that he might better understand his one-time enemies.

It wasn't easy, especially when two deaths in the family were involved. But Reynaud understood that soldiers fought and killed for the glory of their country. It was nothing personal. After having spent time on both sides of the fence, Reynaud felt like he had a very objective view of the Marshal... or at least he liked to believe so.

Meanwhile, Ariadne looked hesitant to continue. In fact, she was even ''nodding'' to Perceval's continued list of accusations and complaints.

Reynaud considered Ariadne a great girl for his best friend. But the Holy Father was fair. In spite of her numerous good qualities, she also held one major flaw: the girl was vain enough to put others' opinions before her own sense of duty and morals, even if the 'others' were being stupid and pushing her into a terrible choice.

In this case, the disapproval of a loved one accounted for dozens of 'stupid others'.

"Brother. Stop. I'm sorry to say this, but you're spouting nonsense now."

Unfortunately, Perceval was also as stubborn as a mule and held onto grudges with a memory better than elephants.

"Reynaud, I know you admire the Marshal a great deal, but you can't--"

"Oh, you remember that, don't you?" Reynaud cut in with deliberately acidic words. "How come you don't remember that I also lost my two cousins during the last war thanks to the Marshal's raids? Or the fact I rarely spoke favorably of him when you first befriended a newly knighted merchant's son like me? It took me ''years'' to grow past my dislike for the Marshal of Weichsel. That was part of why I went to Königsfeld to study abroad with you -- so I could see and judge for myself what the Weichsens were really like!"

Sometimes a bull was the only thing that could stop another rampaging bull. Perceval's mouth shut instantly as he realized the mine-infested china shop he had entered.

Reynaud knew he had the baton now, and he wasn't about to let it go:

"Cut all that bullshit from the Marshal's enemies already and look at things from his perspective. Do you seriously think a man who spends ninety percent of his time in army camps, who has barely gone back home ever since his wife died sixteen years ago, who used his only son as a bargaining chip for diplomacy, would honestly sell Weichsel to the Lotharins? Outside of his country, does that man even have a life ''left!?''

"Which only goes to show that he is trying to influence our throne for Weichsel's benefit!" Perceval countered, grasping onto the second platform now that Reynaud had taken apart the first.

"Of course he is. Just like Ariadne here will influence you for her needs. That's what a ''relationship'' is! We may not like to say it out loud, but anyone in a relationship will expect some ''benefits'' for all their efforts! And what do you think an alliance between nations is? A ''relationship'' between states! And you can bet our Emperor, Geoffroi ''the Great'', knows exactly what he wants out of it!"

As Reynaud finished, he added a quick apologetic look to the girl for dragging her into this. Having witnessed her feud with the Runelord, he ''really'' didn't want to get recorded in her book of grudges.

Thankfully, it doesn't look like Ariadne was offended. If anything, her faint smile was almost grateful.

"I'm standing up for the Marshal not because of some stupid immature fantasy, but because in matters of military affairs of state, the man is almost always right. Bloody-minded and merciless? Yes. My own family history proves it. But a natural genius in the art of war who proved his foresight many times over? Also yes."

Reynaud gestured towards Ariadne with an open hand. What she needed now was precisely the approval of her original idea from others. That way she could snap out of the moment of weakness that Perceval had dragged her into.

"I agree with Ariadne's suggestion. In fact, I believe she's absolutely right! This is above personal relationships we have with Pascal or his father. ALL of them. It is a matter of ''state'', and we have the perfect opportunity to take care of it."

"But we're still students. Something like this should be left...!"

"Like Ariadne said, if we inform the authorities now, they would either pull the wrong muscle and blow the entire thing, or pick the right brains who wouldn't get here in time."

''Well, she was a lot more diplomatic than that...'' Reynaud left unsaid.

"But... but..."

One of the best aspects about Perceval was that he never gave up easily. Reynaud learned that when Perceval spent weeks showing kindness to a younger and more cynical version of himself. Unfortunately, this also tended to be the case even when Perceval was ''wrong''.

"Think of it this way, brother. If we lose this alliance with Weichsel, and the Imperium takes this as an opportunity to stick a vengeful sword in our backs... how many ''more'' people do you think are gonna get killed because we don't have any ally to support us? Are you really sure you're willing to take that chance?"

Perceval did not speak another word of disapproval after that. His instincts as a healer simply overruled the rest of him.

"Alright, so what's the plan?" Reynaud asked after several moments of silence, and Ariadne simply gawked back at him.

"What? I'm just the dumb fighter," he grinned. "Perceval may be the heart of our little group, but you're the Captain here, girl!"

<nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>

"What is that? Your uniform?" Pascal asked as Kaede took a few steps to jump and spin about in her new clothes.

The outfit did indeed have a uniform-like design, with its stiffly-cut shoulders, folded collar, and black tie. It was mostly white, except with several black lines and edges as highlights, as well as a few pink ribbons to match Kaede's eyes. Its colors made for an excellent contrast to Pascal's crimson-on-black uniform. The short skirt and its longer lace petticoat made it easier to move. Meanwhile a pair of short, white tights reached down to tuck under her white, thigh-high stockings, completely covering her legs to ensure that propriety wouldn't be an issue.

Her outfit also came with a pair of calf-high, white leather boots. The shop owner had recommended platform wedge heels that gave her almost 10cm of extra height. Kaede had been skeptical at first, but the boot gave her surprisingly good footing while adding to her short height.

"Yep," Kaede replied with nervous cheer as she read Ariadne's note for the third time:

''Mission is accepted. Perceval and Reynaud will monitor the situation and engage the assassins from behind. Please leave the coin scrying focus in your room. I'll be attending to Edelweiss in the stables until Perceval gives me the signal through his familiar. After which I'll take off to assist you as needed and assert battlefield air superiority should any attackers attempt escape. - Ariadne''

After a late lunch, the clock was already past mid-afternoon. The plan was to begin by the early dusk of winter.

"<Pascal, please sit still and pretend you're reading.>" Kaede asked over the telepathic channel. "<nowiki><I</nowiki> have no clue how they might be watching us, but it's time for me to tell you what is going on.>"

Half an hour went by as Kaede explained everything that happened, including the operational plan. True to his word on trusting her, Pascal never looked suspicious or angry. He merely nodded along, and occasionally requested clarification, until her conversation with Ariadne came into the picture:

"<nowiki><I</nowiki> told you that I do not wish to owe Ariadne any-->"

"<If they can put aside their personal grudges against you for the sake of ''your country'', then at least you can respond in kind!>"

Silence fell over the two for several moments as Pascal flipped a page to keep up the pretense.

"<Fine,>" he relented. "<And I admit Reynaud is an excellent fighter to have as backup. I doubt Perceval will be of much use, though.>"

"<Healers ''always'' come in handy. It's better to be safe than sorry.>"

Kaede filled Pascal's chalice with freshly-conjured water. She then poured the antimagic poison in her vial into her cup in front of the chalice. Any observer from outside the windows would only see it being added to Pascal's drink. A sleight of hand as she picked both up and turned around easily sent the cup onto the floor without being noticed.

"Here, before you complain of thirst again."

Pascal's eyes never left the book as he took the chalice and put it on the table.

"<nowiki><I</nowiki> assume I will not be drinking the poison and passing out, then?>"

"<Of course not. You're going to drink this water and pretend to pass out. Then I will go to the roof and signal the assassins. I've already hidden a number of your defensive runes around the room. They should activate to your usual triggers.>"

"<Then this should go smoothly.>" Pascal concluded before closing his book. He reached his right hand for the goblet, while his left took out a pair of small, white gloves and laid them on the table.

"<You know, for a complete novice, your planning is pretty decent.>"

Kaede sent a mental shrug:

"<nowiki><I</nowiki> did tell you: read enough history and apply some creativity, and you'll have at least one good idea for any occasion.>"

"<Then hopefully, by the time I receive my first command, I will be able to appoint you a position on my staff. You are not allowed to get yourself killed tonight, do I make myself clear?>" Pascal ordered as he held up the chalice and began to drink in gulps.

"<Crystal.>"

After he downed much of the cup, Pascal's grip slowly let the goblet clang to the floor while he slumped over onto the desk. Even from directly behind him, Kaede thought it was a very convincing performance. Then, as though to confirm his consciousness, his voice continued to resound in her head:

"<Take the gloves. They have a built-in pocket dimension like the type most mages use. Held within the left one is a morphic blade -- consider it a gift from me. It is forged from flexible spring-steel. Its enchantment can transform it into any non-mechanical weapon you imagine.>"

Kaede prodded Pascal twice, as though testing the poison's effects, before she reached over and took the gloves. They were made of soft leather, with a full glove on the left and a three-fingered archery glove for her right, just like she had once described to him.

"<Don't worry, I'll make them regret ever thinking I'm just a familiar.>"

"<Of course. You are ''my'' familiar.>"

...

The last half-hour before dusk passed away in an instant. Kaede soon stood on the northwest corner of the dormitory keep's roof, just as she was told.

There was no longer any way for her to back out. However that did not mean the knots in her stomach make it easy to move forward.

"''Alea iacta est...''" she repeated Caesar's famous words from memory. It was rather ironic, considering that she stood atop a millenia old battlefield where the Caesar of this world failed to crush the Lotharins.

Bathed in the orange light of the setting sun, Kaede drew a deep breath before raising her right hand into the air.

It was as their agreed-upon signal.

She hadn't even exhaled before a weight struck her back and sent a burning sensation through her chest.

Looking down, she saw the bloody tip of an arrow protruding from just above her right breast.

''Did I... mess up?''

It was Kaede's last thought before she collapsed on the stone roof.

<noinclude>
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| Back to [[Daybreak:Volume_1_Chapter_9|Chapter 9]]
| Return to [[Daybreak_on_Hyperion|Main Page]]
| Forward to [[Daybreak:Volume_1_Chapter_11|Chapter 11]]
|-
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</noinclude>

Daybreak:Volume 1 Chapter 9

2022-02-27T18:49:59Z

Aorii:

===Chapter 9 - Bonds of Faith===

"Marina! You have a visitor," the burly chef called out. He then nodded towards Kaede before returning to the kitchen.

"Thank you."

It was only a half-hour after breakfast at the dining hall. By now, the rest of the students had already started their daily courses, while the staff busied themselves with cleaning. It was the perfect time to accost one of them without being overheard by the rest.

The petite, brown-haired maid rushed out in under a minute, still wiping her hands with a cleaning towel.

"Oh, I should have known it was you."

"You don't seem very happy about it," Kaede grinned.

Marina's hands rushed to wave it off.

"No, no, of course I'm glad! I was just surprised. Thought it was a staff member or something."

"I do wish this was purely a social call, but... I need your advice on something." Kaede kept up her smile, but the rest of her face fell serious. "Do you have a private room here? Or should we go back to mine? Pascal won't be back for hours, and I need to ask you something important."

Marina's shoulders stiffened as her smile froze. She looked almost paralyzed for several seconds, then:

"Probably m-mine. I can think of nobles spying on one another or keeping tabs on their rooms with surveillance spells. However I'm just a lowly servant below their notice. The walls here may be thin, but all of the other servants are out busy at this hour. It should be fine as long as we keep quiet." She then turned around towards the kitchens' rear. "Please follow me."

''Is it usual for a maid to know even that much?'' Kaede wondered. ''I guess they would be wary of working under watchful eyes. It only takes one incident to leave a lasting lesson among the servants.''

The wide hallway behind the kitchen connected directly to outside. On one wall were doors leading down to storage cellars, some of which Marina introduced as magical 'purification' rooms housing foodstuffs. The other side held two doorways that linked to the servants' quarters, segregated by gender. These proved no different from old boarding schools' dormitories, with each room furnished in a utilitarian manner: two to four bunk beds lay against exposed stone walls, plus a desk or two close to the glass windows.

Marina pulled Kaede into a small room just barely large enough to fit two sets of beds and still cram in a table. Clothes, including girls' underwear, hung off a horizontal bar just above each bed.

Closing the door behind her, Kaede hovered her palm above its knob and sealed the lock. Facing the wide-eyed maid, she waved her right hand with the thin turquoise-set ring around her middle finger:

"Spell-activation focus from Pascal. I can channel his magic to use a few basics."

Marina nodded as she gestured for Kaede to sit on one bed before following suit on the other. Despite sitting right under several drying undergarments, Kaede barely even noticed her embarrassment before her focus marched right past it.

"So, what is it that y-you wanted to ask?"

The mask that hid the maid's anxiety and nervousness was paper thin. It felt like the day they first met, rather than the relaxed conversations they had nowadays.

''If she really is a spy, she's not a very good one,'' Kaede thought. ''Probably some noble just bribed or blackmailed her into doing it. Hopefully, that means I can resolve this without hurting our friendship much.''

"Marina, I collapsed last night after taking a drink from Pascal's silver chalice that was on the night counter."

Being an amateur at this herself, Kaede opted for the direct approach again. At least the weight of information kept the momentum on her side and gave her a better chance at reading the other:

"The healers couldn't find anything wrong, so they suspected there was foul play involved. Since you were there cleaning in the afternoon, do you know if anything might have gotten in?"

"Uh, no? I don't r-remember doing anything there except dusting. Are you alright?"

Her concern seemed genuine, but something in her eyes didn't feel right.

"I am now, thanks. But are you sure you don't remember anything weird in there when you moved it for dusting?"

"No... Honestly, I didn't really p-pay much attention to it... And even if I did, magic could easily hide something like that with glamor."

Kaede couldn't place an impression on her statement, but she did agree with its content:

"True, and it's not like you'd be able to detect that kind of thing. I really should get Pascal to add that to the ring."

"I've heard many nobles have a habit of running detection magic before they eat or drink; some so ingrained that they don't even have to think about it." Marina's relieved tone was exactly what she wanted.

"Do you remember anything else that may have seemed unusual? Like residues or dust imprints? Other than the chalice, Pascal almost never uses that counter..."

Kaede trailed off as she thought back to her original plan. She had held back any direct blame to give Marina a moment of reprieve after the opening. But if she was to boomerang the pressure back, it must be done now or she would soon forfeit the initiative in this conversation.

"No... nothing that caught my eye."

"Are you sure? Because you were the ''only'' other person who came inside all day."

"Y-yes I'm sure. I didn't do anything other than move it to clean."

Kaede took the maid's hands and looked into her sea-green eyes, pleading:

"Marina, I really want to have you as a friend, so please, please don't lie to me. I won't tell Pascal about any of this. He doesn't even know that I'm here. I mean, seriously, why should it matter to me if that asshat gets poisoned or not?" She felt a prickle of guilt as she spoke her prepared lines. "But this didn't affect him, it made ''me'' sick! And I want to know what it was!"

"B-but I'm telling you the truth!" Marina almost wailed.

The two of them simply sat on their respective beds, staring each other down. More precisely, Kaede did the staring, all the while feeling like the villain as tears pooled in Marina's eyes.

''This is getting nowhere.''

Kaede really wished she could trust in Marina's words, but something just wasn't right. It felt like their eyes met yet failed to see each other. It was an intuitive feeling that she couldn't explain. Nevertheless, she still had one more idea left, but it was also an all-or-nothing gamble. If Marina was truly innocent, going down this path would seriously damage their growing relationship.

''But if I don't clear my doubts now, how can I have faith in her in the future? What kind of friendship would that be?''

Marina's tears began to trickle down her cheeks, and Kaede hated herself as she gritted her mental teeth to press on.

''I swear this is the last one...''

"No, you're not. I borrowed a thought detection rune from Pascal," she bluffed with her sternest expression. "Of course, he doesn't know what it's for. But I can use it well enough to know that you're lying to me."

The maid stiffened into a board as her glassy eyes grew wide, finally giving Kaede a sign of what she sought.

"But you're m-mistaken! I really didn't n-notice anything!"

Leaning back against the wall, Kaede used the bunk beds to cast a shadow over her disappointed expression and deepened her voice to as ominous as possible:

"Then what are you hiding? You did do something... I want to know what it is and what for. Otherwise I'll have no choice but to report this."

Color rushed out of Marina's countenance as she rushed to her feet:

"H-he'll know anyway... you're his..."

Kaede sighed. She wasn't sure how she would manage if her gamble had proved wrong. But now, it was time to stop waving the big stick and go back to speaking softly. Interrogation wasn't exactly twentieth century foreign policy. However persuasion was persuasion, even if it bordered on blackmail.

"Pascal promised he will not intrude upon my senses without asking. If nothing else, he's a noble who values his pride and sense of honor. I trust him to keep his word on that, and I promise your secret is safe with me."

"H-how can I..."

"You'll just have to ''trust me''," Kaede finished for her. "I'm the only one who can help you keep this under wraps."

She skipped the part that she was also the only one who could do the exact opposite.

"It's... it's... i-it's just a knockout poison," the maid finally stuttered out. "It just leaves the one who drinks it unconscious for about twelve hours."

"What's the point of something that weak?"

"It's... it's the strongest antimagic poison available."

Sirens blazed through Kaede's mind as Marina revealed the latest information. Immunity to magic instantly solved the riddle of why Pascal could neither detect nor neutralize it. But something so advanced that even his profound knowledge had never heard of could only come from a major benefactor.

''The academy and all its security made capture half-impossible, so the only reason to knock Pascal out for that long would be a silent assassination...''

"Why are you trying to kill Pascal?"

Kaede felt her blood chill as she struggled to keep her tone merely curious.

"W-wouldn't you like to have the link cut and be rid of your master? T-that way you could return to your home in Samara," Marina forced out through her teary gaze.

Kaede almost froze on the spot. Her eyes sprang wide as she realized that she had almost made a deadly mistake: the maid's seeming naivety and apparent stress under amateurish interrogation could have been all an act. It certainly did not suppress a keen mind that was busy preparing a counterattack.

Thankfully, she had left herself an opening earlier when Marina's guilt was still uncertain.

"I'd love for an opportunity to go back," Kaede's dry voice spelled out her wistful hope. "But that's..."

"I-impossible? That your life would be forfeit if the link was severed? O-of course ''he'' would tell you that."

Kaede's eyes narrowed at Marina. Her stony gaze demanded an explanation.

"I-I don't know all the specifics but... f-familiars of older nobles who die naturally from age manage fine right? I-if familiars only die when their master's life ends suddenly, that shouldn't be the case if he p-passed away while unconscious."

"Even if that's true... that doesn't help me get back to where I come from." Kaede decided it was best to extract a proposal without revealing that she was from another world.

"My m-master has an excellent Wayfarer -- a teleportation expert. I-I'm sure he could arrange something."

Kaede remembered that Pascal had also sought the aid of a Professor specializing in it. She realized that the key to returning home probably laid in the wormhole-like effect of teleportation. Pascal had also said that something kept her from being 'banished', cast back into her world of origin, and one of the possible causes was their familiar link.

It wasn't an assured ticket back. But with no alternative answers, it was also her only shot. Except the price for it...

"P-please," Marina knelt down and begged as tears streaked down her soft cheeks. "If you can get your master to drink it -- even just coating his chalice with it will work -- my master's men will be able to smuggle us out of the country once their task is complete."

Kaede felt a cold, metal vial press into her palm. She slowly wrapped her delicate fingers around it as though it was precious and fragile. Meanwhile, her own emotions and thoughts lay in utter chaos:

''Can I even trust her? Compared to Pascal?''

She quickly decided that was a stupid question. Pascal might not always treat her with the respect she wants, but he did take his responsibilities seriously. Kaede could reliably expect support, protection, and shelter from him. She was less sure about that from someone else.

''But then... will I even have another chance?''

The answer to that was 'unlikely'. It has become clear to Kaede that while many nobles didn't like Pascal and would be happy to take advantage of any situation to make him look bad, they also weren't interested in a direct confrontation given the potential political repercussions. They certainly had little reason they would help a mere 'servant commoner' like Kaede.

''Still, isn't this premeditated murder!? Even if my hands don't draw blood, I'd still be an accomplice!''

Pascal's selfishness might have ruined her old life, caused all her recent problems, and put her in this dilemma. But there was no way Kaede believed that murder in cold blood was a justifiable response.

''But what other choices do I have? Even Pascal said that the only way to cut the link, to sever my connection to this world, was through the death of one of us...''

The other voices in her mind objected, crying that even this presumption was a gamble, as the backlash that Marina downplayed might simply kill her anyway. However before Kaede could take any of them into account, it was her voice of conscience that yelled the loudest:

''How is murder ever acceptable just for my own gains? For a mere chance of returning?''

Kaede squeezed the vial in her hands. She was certain that her answer should be obvious. Yet she was nevertheless unwilling to close the other door.

"How do I know that your master and his men will keep their word?"

For a moment, Marina looked uncertain. Then:

"R-remember when I told you I was an orphan? I was raised by a duke on the eastern fringes of the Empire, and I've spied for him ever since to repay the life I owe. I can't g-guarantee it, but I doubt my master will throw away a decade of work so easily while I can still prove my worth. They will definitely give me a way out, which means helping a second isn't much harder. Besides, we're friends," Marina promised through a tear-stained smile. "And once we return, giving you a teleport home should be easy."

Barely nodding, Kaede looked down at the metal cylinder in her shaking hand. It was wrong. It stood against everything she believed in. Yet it was also her only opportunity for salvation, for her to go back to her old life.

She couldn't stop herself from testing the waters once more:

"You want me to coat the chalice in this? Do I need to give you a signal or anything if it worked?"

After thinking it over again, Marina clarified as she wiped away her tears:

"Wait until tomorrow afternoon. I'll c-contact the others to make arrangements today, then give you an update tomorrow on how to proceed. If you want to back out, this is your last chance. Once I tell the rest, they won't hesitate to k-kill you if you try to leave the plan."

A cold shiver went down Kaede's spine, but she nevertheless closed her fingers around the vial of antimagic poison.

Kaede wasn't sure if she dared to risk taking Marina's offer, realistically or morally. But she did know one thing for certain: regardless of which way she leaned, accepting the task and becoming part of the plan was her best option.

"No. Count me in."

<nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>

"How could... why did you decide that on your own!?" The chief groundskeeper snarled again, this time in the dark confines of a storage cellar. "Our role is to observe and provide those killers with info, not to get involved ourselves!"

The maid was sniffling with tears running down both cheeks. But he wasn't fooled. She had been raised for subterfuge because their master recognized that although she gave off a naive impression and cried easily when under pressure, emotional turmoil didn't stopper this girl's thoughts the way it would for most. Marina was intelligent and resourceful to begin with. Her tears effectively disarmed others and made them underestimate how capable her mind was even under duress.

"S-she's a Samaran. She dreams of returning home. And I k-know she hates aristocrats and her life here. She only stands to gain from helping us..."

"But she's also our target's familiar! However abnormal it may be for a person to be a familiar, she's still bound by the same links!"

"I-I believe her dislike of her master is g-genuine. It's known throughout the academy that she h-hurt him on the roof, even if she took him by surprise rather than with any kind of skill," Marina explained. "There is c-clearly no loyalty to speak of. Furthermore, if I did not b-bring her in, she would certainly have revealed us to her master."

"And you think she's reliable just because of that!?"

"S-she can be used as long as she has some t-trust in me, enough to give her hope. B-besides, I told her that we worked for a duke within the Empire. This way, even if she t-tells, we could at least use her for disinformation."

The groundskeeper sighed. There were indeed nobles in the Empire of Rhin-Lotharingie who opposed their crown princess' betrothal -- even a matrilineal betrothal -- to the scion of Marshal Moltewitz. This wasn't just a red herring. It held the potential to redirect Weichsel's anger towards Rhin-Lotharingie.

"We'll need to ensure that she understands there will be consequences, immediate and deadly, should she dare to betray us. Have her carry out the task this Sunday afternoon. The following holiday will see the dorms thinned out once all the nobles with nearer estates leave for their homes. Once our target is unconscious, she is to come to the dormitory keep's exposed roof at dusk and raise her hand as the signal. If the information checks out, the others will reveal themselves and make their move. But if anything even looks like a trap, she'll be dead on the spot."

"I-I understand. I'll inform her tomorrow."

<nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>

"Are you alright? You've been... conflicted, confused even, since early morning," Pascal voiced as they returned to the dorm room after dinner. His turquoise eyes turned around and met Kaede's with deep concern.

...Or was it suspicion? She couldn't tell. She already knew that it probably wasn't possible to hide her emotions from their 'passive link'. Her sense of guilt was a dead giveaway.

It really wasn't fair that he had a gateway straight to her heart and mind, one that she couldn't even shut. Not that she could close the other bonds either. All she had was his promise not to use the keys without permission.

Her life now was not just one completely dependent on another, but one at the mercy of another. In this foreign and fantastic land, she didn't even have any basic rights. It was a terrifying basis of living. No matter how much pragmatism she applied, no matter how much she forced herself to adapt, and no matter how much she focused on her interest in this world, approaching the problem at its core would always yield one result:

She hated this life.

She would do almost anything to wake up from this dream.

Except it wasn't a dream. She couldn't wake from it. She was stuck in this world whether she liked it or not. All she could do was to make the best of it.

"Tell me Pascal, what am I to you?" Kaede turned her gaze away.

"You are my familiar, of course..." Pascal's reply was deep and sincere.

Yet with that lay the problem. She had no wish to be a mage's pet for her remaining life. She had well over a century of it too, given a Samaran's life expectancy.

"You are my companion and partner that, by the grace of the Holy Father, will be with me until the end of my days, or..." his voice dropped low, "at least until we come across a solution for your return."

Kaede was almost surprised by that. He had managed to keep it in mind after all, however begrudgingly, however hopeless the task might seem.

Almost, because the slightest hindsight told her that his answer should have been expected. She had only known Pascal for two weeks, yet within this time he had upheld every promise he had made to the letter. Even, especially, that night when he invoked his nobility against his own superiors in her defense.

He could have cast her out from day one when she committed assault, yet he stayed up to watch over her when she was ill -- even if that was also his fault. He wasn't always thoughtful. He swayed between impenetrable composure and lashing out with childish tantrums. But in the end, Pascal always upheld what he saw as his personal responsibility with a steely grip.

Had the circumstances been different, Kaede would have loved to work with such a man. He had a potential for visionary guidance and reliable management. He might even become an admirable leader with a little more maturity and growth -- a boss she would be proud to follow, to even consider a personal friend.

"Companion and partner, huh?" Kaede repeated with the hint of a smile. ''Isn't that what a good friend is?''

There was no way she could contribute to killing someone who only wished for that. ''Even if'' she managed to return to her old life, she would not be able to live with herself. Her conscience alone would haunt her life and destroy her future -- that was something far worse than this situation could ever be.

"Then, Pascal, do you trust me?" Kaede locked her eyes back onto his.

"That is a stupid question," Pascal replied without an instant of hesitation. "You are my familiar. Of course I trust you."

Kaede wasn't sure how much would have changed had he not said that, or had he hesitated, or...

But her path was clear now.

Pascal couldn't have known what she did, but he also grew up in a courtly atmosphere of hiding daggers behind smiles. Kaede knew she had all the worrisome signs, even more so because they shared the familiar link. Yet he still placed his faith in her, unwavering. Because that was what one did for a dear friend, for a true partner.

It was a goodwill that she had to return in kind. To do otherwise would not only be impolite and inappropriate. It would have violated her core belief, her personal -- and far more pragmatic -- variation of the saintly golden rule:

''Do unto others as they would do for you.''

She would put her faith in him. She would trust that her 'master' would make this a life worth living, and, should the opportunity arise, find her a way back.

"Leave this problem to me then," she gave him a confident smile.

Pascal looked confused for a moment before he replied with a lopsided grin: "just call me if you need help."

It was the first assurance that she made the right call.

<noinclude>
{| border="1" cellpadding="5" cellspacing="0" style="margin: 1em 1em 1em 0; background: #f9f9f9; border: 1px #aaaaaa solid; padding: 0.2em; border-collapse: collapse;"
|-
| Back to [[Daybreak:Volume_1_Chapter_8|Chapter 8]]
| Return to [[Daybreak_on_Hyperion|Main Page]]
| Forward to [[Daybreak:Volume_1_Chapter_10|Chapter 10]]
|-
|}
</noinclude>

Daybreak:Volume 1 Chapter 7

2022-02-27T18:49:27Z

Aorii:

===Chapter 7 - The Perfect Contrast===

After just one week, life in the new world was already starting to fit into a schedule. As usual on Sunday, Kaede went to the roof to meditate through archery. And just like every Sunday morning, Ariadne was taking a self-rewarding joyride on her pegasus.

As Kaede spotted the latter, she hesitated for a moment. But she decided to wave down the angelic rider nonetheless.

Her reasons were mostly split between ''I don't want to become a shut-in'' and ''she's as true as nobility gets''. Although if Kaede examined her decision tree, ''she's absolutely gorgeous'' also ranked in the top five list.

It was hard not to feel attraction towards a gracious lady so stunningly beautiful. Doubly so as Ariadne was also the first person to help her in this world.

After the usual pleasantries, Ariadne happily dropped what Kaede considered a bombshell question:

"I'm going into town for an errand today. Would you be interested in joining me? We can shop for your clothes while we're there."

''Calm down, calm down!'' Kaede's thoughts scrambled, her cheeks instantly glowing. ''You're a girl now. There's nothing unusual about this!''

Ariadne's smile only seemed to grow wider as Kaede took a moment to cool.

"Of course I'm interested! Although... I'd better ask Pascal first." Kaede left out the ''or there'll be hell to pay.''

"Of course, but please remind that self-centered prick that we are shopping to give his cute familiar a makeover. Oh, and tell him that my ''beloved'' Perceval is coming along--"

Kaede almost envisioned hearts bubbling off Ariadne when she accentuated 'beloved' in a proud and flirtatious voice.

"Since we're meeting an old friend dropping by. We leave in an hour. Please meet us at the south wall gates before then."

''Was that display meant for Pascal as well?''

He may have stopped freely using Kaede as an extra sensory organ. But to everyone else, she was still his familiar, his 'eyes and ears'.

Kaede wasn't certain, yet she couldn't help but feel rather put off after hearing it.

<nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>

The indecisive look did not fit Pascal at all.

"Please? Please please? Pretty please?" Kaede begged, no longer uncertain about the universal expressiveness of hands in prayer.

"Fine," Pascal gave in at last, before turning to rummage through a drawer. "At least with that borejob Perceval going, she will not do anything unexpected. Here," he tossed her a small pouch. "Make sure you pay correctly for what you buy. Hell will freeze solid before I owe Ariadne anything else."

''Being a girl does come in handy at times,'' Kaede grinned back. She was almost tempted to give him a hug.

"Also, I want you back by fourteen hundred. We have a ton of work to go through. I received another task yesterday, and reading up on spell research will be a good opportunity for you to get acquainted with our sorcery," he noted, his expression reflecting her eager smile.

''...Or, maybe not.'' Her urge died instantly as she replied with a deadpan "Yes Sir."

Pascal's world and history might fascinate her. However, the intricacies of magical theory was about as interesting to her as quantum physics.

<nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>

Given Ariadne's breathtaking charm, Perceval didn't turn out nearly as outstanding as Kaede imagined. He was still handsome in an above average way, with short brown hair above pretty aquamarine eyes, a wide nose, and a strong jaw. His height was also above average and around the same as Pascal's. Meanwhile his lean musculature emphasized his strong legs, yet his steps were soft, almost silent.

Perceval also did not wear a uniform, since he was not part of the academy's military school. Instead he wore a tight-fitting doublet of midnight blue, its exterior decorated by criss-crossing patterns. A small, pink cross was sewn onto his right breast, which Kaede learned was the Hyperion symbol for healers. But apart from that, his wardrobe was fairly unassuming compared to most nobles.

"Hello, Miss Suvorsky." He barely nodded, not all that pleased to see her. "I'm Perceval de La Tours de Baguette."

"Baguette?" Kaede blurted out in a whisper, before she rushed her small hands to cover her mouth.

Perceval sighed.

"Don't worry. I'm used to it. Even Aria had that reaction when she first met me."

Realizing that she was already off to an iffy start, Kaede put in her best effort as she dipped down in her blizzard-blue dress in a curtsy. However, her inexperienced movements were noticeably rough around the edges, as Pascal had only taught her how to do one three days ago.

She still found it suspicious that he could do it perfectly.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, milord. I'm honored by Dame Ariadne's invitation to come along."

The nobleman attempted to hide his sour expression. It was obvious that he was anything but glad in agreeing to this. Yet he swiftly plastered a forced smile across his lips as Ariadne turned towards him.

''Can't really blame him. I am kind of ruining their time alone.''

"Just call him Perceval. The formality will kill the mood." Ariadne said as she grasped his hand, intertwined their fingers, and took a few seconds to snuggle into his chest.

Kaede thought it best to just smile and wait out the intimate moment. Then, still leaning against him, Ariadne turned them around and led them out of the south gates. If the people of this society looked down upon public displays of affection, Ariadne was completely unabashed in showing it off to the world.

"Morning, Ariadne! Morning, Perceval!"

"Going for another outing?"

"Trip to the town? Say hello to Lucas for me."

Almost every person the couple came across greeted them with a friendly face: noble or commoner, staff or servant, it didn't seem to matter. Their network of acquaintances and friends appeared to cover the entire academy.

It was a world of difference compared to how Pascal was treated. Sure, he also stood in the center of attention, but few ever bothered to talk to him.

"Good morning, Gerard. Exciting plans this weekend?"

Perhaps the greatest surprise to Kaede was how genial Perceval was. His greetings lacked Ariadne's energy, but his smile was always gentle and delightful. Not once did he show another the distaste he revealed to Kaede.

''I'm sick of starting on people's bad side because of Pascal,'' she complained to herself.

Still, there wasn't much she could do about it. Her master was an ego-centric jerk and people naturally associated her with him. It wasn't all that different from children being judged due to their parents' sins.

Kaede then realized that she was still in telepathy range from Pascal. The complaints she could file later. But there was a curiosity she wanted to know right now.

"<Pascal, is there really a House Baguette?>"

For a brief second it sounded like Pascal chortled.

"<No. It is a duchy. The Duchy of Baguette. ''Home of the real baguette.''>" He added in good humor as though it was a motto. "<Duke Mathias thought that since his new fief was long and thin, he would name it after his greatest invention. The old man is actually quite brilliant. It is a shame his grandson Perceval is his polar opposite.>"

''Must be birds of a feather,'' Kaede thought.

...

It wasn't until they left the outer walls before Kaede finally spoke up:

"Ummm, pardon me, but how are we getting there?"

"We're teleporting once we leave the ''Lockdown'' ward." Ariadne answered. "I'm not a Wayfarer. Even with Perceval's help, my jump range is limited to just twenty kilopaces. Thankfully that's enough to bring us to the nearest town."

Kaede shivered. The prospect of being broken down into tiny pieces and reassembled at the target did not appeal to her one bit... At least, that was how teleportation was usually portrayed as.

"Uh, what happens if we wind up overlapping with a passerby, or something like that, when teleporting?"

"There are precautions built into the ''Astral Teleport'' spell to prevent that." Ariadne reassured. "The spell is designed to lock on to an appropriate exit point. Its limited range is largely due to safety concerns, as being even a few paces off target could leave you inside a wall or underground. Towns also have beacons to guide teleportation into a sparse area. Otherwise it's always possible to bounce off a warded home and land in a weird alley, or even wind up inside a commoner's shop since warding is expensive. Fortified cities and military installations, on the other hand, are often entirely warded with ''Lockdown'' to prevent teleportation in or out."

''Of course. Any convenience must also be defended against.'' Kaede reflected. ''Nice to see that humanity remains the same wherever you go.''

The pair then turned halfway around as Ariadne extended her delicate fingers:

"We're outside the wards now. Grab my hand and hold on."

Kaede took up her offer. Despite her anxieties, she struggled to keep her eyes wide open. Reality was about to be bent, and she had no intention of missing it.

However, both aristocrats did close their eyes as they chanted in unison through phrases in the ancient Draconic language:

"Merge Targeting... Beacon Lock... Environment Set. ''Chain, Astral Teleport!''"

Kaede braced herself, but it proved impossible to prepare for. It felt as if her entire body was suddenly enveloped by ice, then sublimated in gas and scattered in the air. Her consciousness was pulled through a tiny hole in the fabric of space that materialized before her eyes, while her surroundings dissolved into it like scenery flushed down a drain.

Then, as quick as it came, everything popped back out and returned to normal. Except her body still felt like it was reconnecting itself while her vision swapped -- they now stood in a stone-paved square just outside a small town.

If this was only twenty kilopaces, then Kaede was glad she was unconscious when Pascal summoned her across world boundaries.

"Should we bring the little miss to 'Midnight Crescent' and let them take care of her? It wouldn't do to drag her with us to meet Eckhart." Perceval spoke this time. His polite words may have phrased a question, but his unwavering tone left little room for negotiation.

"Sure," Ariadne answered without a second thought.

Merely two lines of exchange quickly rewrote the balance of their relationship in Kaede's eyes.

''It's not that Perceval has no charisma. He's just fine with Ariadne making most of the choices until there's something he really wants.''

<nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>

Auxois proved to be a hybrid between a sleepy rural town and a trade stop that supplied the Alisia Academy. Other than the local church and tavern, the only large building was a supply depot under the jurisdiction of the academy quartermaster. The market square lay next to it, connected to the only stone-paved road that ran through the town. It was the same path that lead to the academy's gates, barely wide enough to fit a single truck.

What Kaede found most surprising was how remarkably clean Auxois was compared to the medieval towns of Earth. There were no exposed sewage, no muddied paths, not even any aired garbage outside the usual litter. It was as though the injection of magic into a culture also encouraged better sanitation than its European equivalent.

In the end, Kaede was left behind in Ariadne's recommended 'Midnight Crescent' tailor shop while the couple went off to meet their guest and enjoy the day. She couldn't really complain; it was their day after all.

Besides, the owner, Claire, an elderly lady in her late fifties, was very enthusiastic. With both a keen eye and a creative sense of fashion, she quickly put together several designs based on Kaede's tastes. This included both spiffy uniform-like dresses that were easier to move around in and combination outfits that wore leggings below a shorter skirt -- although Claire admitted worriedly that it was very unorthodox and barely met social decorum. The designs were mostly black or white or some mix thereof as Kaede preferred, with sewn borders and silk ribbons in floral-pink to bring out the color of her eyes.

Unfortunately for all her talents, Claire wasn't a mage. Therefore her designs had to be sent elsewhere for manufacture and enchantment in the highest quality nobles expected. Nevertheless, Ariadne had remarked that the store was a popular shop for the academy's students and earned good money for their designs.

By one o'clock, Ariadne returned by herself to pick up and send Kaede back. Apparently the meeting was taking far longer than anticipated.

"Sorry about this, even though I invited you," the lady apologized. "Perceval is usually friendly to everyone, but he dislikes your prick of a master in particular. I was hoping he'd treat you differently, but I guess that was asking a bit much."

Kaede didn't even hesitate:

"What did Pascal do this time?"

Ariadne left behind her ever-present smile for a faint scowl as she continued:

"Perceval is on the administration track as well as a practicing intern healer. His dream is to one day become a royal surgeon, who advises the Emperor on matters of health for the entire empire. Three years ago, he was studying abroad in Weichsel's Königsfeld Academy when I had 'the fight' with your arrogant prick of a master. Perceval tried to interfere on my side, only to get brushed off and called 'Bore-ceful' in return. It's a really childish thing, but it struck a personal complex that really hurt him."

''Bore-ceful? Really, Pascal? Is your mental age seven or something?''

"That idiot," Kaede voiced. ''This probably explains why she flaunts their relationship so much. What is she, the perfect girlfriend? Talk about missing out on Pascal's part.''

Whether it was from a male or female perspective, Kaede couldn't help but feel envious of Ariadne and Perceval.

<nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>

"You are late!" Pascal growled.

"Sorry! It's hard to run in these heels, and it was a long walk." Kaede then looked at the clock. "I'm barely two minutes late!"

"The enemy will not wait a single second for you. Late is still late! Come on, we are off to the library. That will be the only break you get today and tomorrow," Pascal decreed as he took her wrist and dragged her out the door. His tight grip was painful and his quick stride almost made her trip several times.

''Sheesh, I'm not a stress ball. Don't take your irritation out on me!''

<nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>

Once the rising pearl of the Inner Sea region, the coastal metropolis of Arcadia had since fallen into decadence and slow decline. As the Capital of the Holy Imperium, the city was still ringed by high walls and dotted by garish palaces, but the fluidity and nonstop expansion of its harbors and marketplaces had given way to the territorial oligopolies of urban guilds and corporations. Their control of the markets discouraged competitiveness and brought stagnation, widening the class divide through the reduction of opportunities.

The result was social stratification, rising crime, and economic recession as the bright, the motivated, and the daring left to seek new frontiers.

What remained was a city of servants and courtiers, plebeians who slaved day and night for the Senators and their wealthy patrician supporters. Here, the beating heart of the Imperium lay sickened by centuries of political decadence. The civil legislature had long stopped being a representation of the people, its subcommittees fraught with corruption and lobbyists' interests.

Once, the people looked to the populist leaders, consuls who proved themselves in the field of battle and claimed they would bring that same competence to the civil administration. But after dozens of Emperors, even the great autocrats and the philosopher kings of old have vanished.

Historians of the Imperium proudly speak of the 'Five Righteous Emperors' who achieved great deeds. Nevertheless the tradition of adopting sons for the throne laid a disastrous precedence to the line of Imperial Succession. When Theodosius III, the previous ''Imperator Augustus'', died sixteen years ago from a sudden cerebral hemorrhage, he left behind both a biological and an adoptive son.

The ensuing civil war tore the Holy Imperium apart and scorched its lands for six long years. Known as the 'War of Imperial Succession', it quickly engulfed the entire continent, as the Imperium's neighbors and enemies took advantage of the chaos to slice off and annex border states.

With the help of the patricians' bottomless funding and the Legions once loyal to his late birth father, the adopted Skantarios Aurelius brought an end to the bloodshed by seizing the laurels. Yet even in his moment of triumph, he looked towards the northern horizon with bloodied eyes, never forgetting the treachery of nations that should have been his allies against the infidels of the south.

It took ten years to consolidate his power, ten years to rebuild the Legions to full strength, ten years to bribe and negotiate and wrangle for all the arrangements.

And now...

"What is our status, Stilius?" Imperator Augustus Skantarios asked as he strolled down the shadowy halls. Only his most trusted servant followed him, the foreigner who thrice saved his life from overwhelming odds, rising from a mere mercenary to Magister Militum of the entire Holy Imperium.

"Our spies in Cataliya confirm that the Caliphate is mobilizing. Troops are pouring across the Grand Strait Bridge by the thousands every day as they march towards the Rhin-Lotharingie border. The Caliphate now stands committed, regardless of whether they believed our emissaries' claims. It is only a matter of time before they declare Holy War against the Empire of Rhin-Lotharingie."

"Good, and the Pope?"

"The Papal Legate assures me that if Geoffroi folds before the infidel invasion and pulls back his border armies, His Holiness will have a more-than-long-enough list of transgressions to have him excommunicated."

The Imperator sneered. He knew that Pope Vigilius had long harbored a hatred for Emperor Geoffroi of Rhin-Lotharingie for his revocation of Papal Investiture within the Empire. Neither had the Holy See forgotten Geoffroi's swift eagerness to take advantage of the civil war by stripping the Imperium of its western territories, instead of intervening against the Caliphate's invasion.

In a game of thrones, machinations involving the church had never been about piety. Here, Imperator Augustus Skantarios proved it yet again as he discussed his plot to maneuver the infidels against fellow rulers of the same faith.

"Excellent." His deep voice rang pleased against the dark halls. "Even without aid from those petty Lotharin nobles, that alone should be enough to fracture the Empire during its most critical hour. It will also strip Geoffroi of any right to call upon aid from crusaders. What of their newfound ally, that upstart Kingdom of Weichsel?"

"Imperator, during the War of Imperial Succession, Weichsel not only doubled their landmass by stealing our northern territories, but also struck fear into the heart of Rhin-Lotharingie before the two states could forge a defensive treaty against Imperial retaliation. It is not wise to..."

Old companions or not, Skantarios cut off his foremost general without a moment of hesitance:

"When we want your sermons, Stilius, we will ask for it. Continue, or must we repeat ourselves?"

"Yes, Imperator." The General bowed his head in servitude. "As you already know, the Jarls of Västergötland, desperate after the epidemic that scythed through their herds and blinded by their eagerness for our gold, launched their invasion before the Caliph was ready. Weichsel's Field Marshal handed them a series of disastrous defeats before winter could embrace the North Sea. By now, it is fair to assume that our efforts in Västergötland have been wasted, and the Greater Jarldom of Skagen stands unwilling to commit without their pagan allies."

The Emperor cared nothing for the barbaric Northmen who still worshipped pagan gods. He wouldn't bat an eye if their entire civilization ceased from starvation. However, their presence was necessary to occupy the Imperium's northern foes.

"A great shame. We can only pray that tensions at their northern border will at least pull Weichsel's armies away. What of our own forces?"

"The Northern Legions stand ready under Gaius Aetius. They're assembled near the Weichsel-Lotharin border, poised to apply pressure against either military. The Western Legions were officially furloughed by Marcus Belisarius. However his forces have merely broken down into organized labor units and can swiftly regroup once the time is right. The Southern Legions have been recalled home under my personal command to remove their presence from the borders, so that the Caliph may focus on waging his war."

The Emperor nodded thoughtfully. With geopolitics always being a game of balance, great powers with capable rulers did not wage war unless they could guarantee the noninterference of their neighbors. However, even ''wiser'' rulers did not reveal their fangs until their foes were battered and ripe for the taking.

"You have done well, Stilius." The Emperor gave his praise. "Once the Caliphate and Rhin-Lotharingie maul each other to exhaustion, we shall have the perfect opportunity to seek permission for a new Crusade. Then, I shall become the first Imperator Augustus in five centuries to reclaim lands lost by the Holy Imperium. The patricians will be pleased by the wealth new conquests shall bring, while ''your'' name will rise above even that of Consul Marius, immortalized as the most celebrated general in Imperial history."

"You are most generous, Imperator." Stilius bowed, suppressing the urge to warn his liege of counting chickens before they hatch.

"The Grand Republic has adopted a policy of non-interference for centuries and should hopefully stay out of the conflict this time. The Shahdom of Chorasmia is once again engaged in a border war against our treaty partners in the east, the Dawn Imperium. Our only known threat at the moment remains the Kingdom of Weichsel." The Emperor turned towards his general with raised fingers: "I want that alliance fractured if not broken, Stilius. Be discreet, but otherwise do whatever it takes."

"Yes, Imperator. I have already dispatched three of our best Mantis Blade squads north. It should not be long before one of my plans bear fruit."

Skantarios nodded. Stilius was a first rate general who had never failed him before. But it was precisely that flawless record which made protocols of authority ever more important: for if the master did not command the servant, the servant would surely rise to become a new master.

"See to it, Magister Militum." He ordered in a deep, stern tone, weighed to fit for a true Imperator.

He hardly cared if it rang dark and sinister against the shadowy halls. After all, history was written by the victor. Villainy was not a trademark of evil, merely foolish incompetence and stupidity.

...And he was no fool.

<noinclude>
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|-
| Back to [[Daybreak:Volume_1_Chapter_6|Chapter 6]]
| Return to [[Daybreak_on_Hyperion|Main Page]]
| Forward to [[Daybreak:Volume_1_Chapter_8|Chapter 8]]
|-
|}
</noinclude>

Daybreak:Volume 1 Chapter 6

2022-02-27T18:49:09Z

Aorii:

===Chapter 6 - A Peaceful Day===

Pascal affixed his shirt's top button, before wrapping the medal around his neck and tightening it into place. He then flipped down his collars and adjusted it carefully. He made sure the gleaming black Knight's Cross outlined in white gold was perfectly centered. Staring back at the dresser mirror, he examined the dashing grin that reflected back before giving it a nod of approval.

He spun on his leather boots' heels before walking around the bed.

Today was the first time that Pascal had seen Kaede's sleeping face. Even inside the warmth of the dormitory keep, the girl snuggled into the thick comforter with only her head exposed. Turned to the side, her snowy hair scattered across her gentle sleeping face. Her expression was serene and peaceful, except for the dark outlines beneath her eyes.

Another stab of guilt sunk into his chest, but Pascal steeled himself and shook her through the bedcovers.

There was no response, so he did it again.

"Come on, wake up already," he called after the fifth time, finally eliciting a response:

"Uhhhhnnnnn?"

"I said wake up!"

Two small hands emerged from the bedcovers to rub her eyes.

"Talk about a heavy sleeper..."

"C-couldn't give me just a few more minutes?" Kaede yawned as her thin arms stretched out while her eyes remained closed. "I couldn't sleep till like three-something..."

"Sleep earlier then. I have already given you leeway today. You need to wake up at the same time as everyone else when I go campaigning."

Her pink eyes finally opened, highlighting the shadows below them as her cherry lips formed a scowl.

Pascal slowly waved his hand over her while he whispered a ''Refreshen'' spell. Her countenance instantly grew less pale. The bags under her eyes disappeared while a healthy tinge of pink returned to her cheeks.

Maybe he overdid it a little. Kaede looked like she was sporting a disgruntled blush.

''Kind of cute, actually,'' Pascal smiled.

"Better. Now, dress up and remember your research tasks today. Get up earlier tomorrow if you want breakfast. I cannot wait any longer; have morning practice in fifteen. I will see you at lunch."

With that, Pascal went straight out the door.

<nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>

"...What's that commoner girl doing here? This is a prestigious library!"

"Orders from the ''Runelord'', who else? Must have gotten her special treatment..."

"...She's still blushing about last night? Has she no shame?"

Kaede swore that the familiars' whole 'eyes and ears' concept made her senses more keen than necessary. She couldn't even concentrate with all the whispering that reached her ears.

It was a Monday morning. However a few dozen people occupied the library nonetheless. They all looked like either senior students or research assistants working on a project. Most of these mages completely ignored her, but just a few gossiping mouths were more than enough to irritate.

"Hey, familiar girl," a tall lady with long, golden-blond curls slammed her palms into the desk. "Tell your master to keep you on a shorter leash. You're an eyesore here by yourself. This is a nobles' academic sanctuary, not a whorehouse!"

Kaede flipped another page.

"Are you listening, you ignorant commoner!?"

Kaede finally tilted her head and looked upwards with half-open eyes that barely cared:

"Pascal says you're a blithering idiot and that I should ignore you. I think I agree."

The noblewoman looked like her face was about to spontaneously combust and explode.

Kaede went back to reading, or trying to...

"Listen here you little bitch. I don't care if your master reserved this desk. You get the hell out of here or I'm going to give you the whipping you deserve. Do I make myself clear?"

"<Ah, that is Emilia de Morini.>" Pascal's voice popped into her head. "<Talk about pot calling kettle black. How does that tramp have the brain capacity to attack you when she can barely scrub two cells together for a passing grade?>"

"<You're not helping, Pascal. And would you knock before tapping in like this?>"

"<Tell her that-->"

"<Look, they may be afraid to challenge the ''Runelord'' to a duel, but if I keep it up after dropping your name and they don't relent, they're going to challenge me.>"

"<So give them the beatdown you showed me. They will not even see it coming.>" Pascal sounded oddly proud.

''What, just like you didn't?'' Kaede amused herself before sending back:

"<Precisely. Most of them probably believe I'm just a pushover familiar girl who surprised you with a punch, and that the story got exaggerated somehow. Ariadne does harbor a very ''public'' grudge against you, after all. I'd prefer it if they kept thinking that way.>

"<Not bad at all.>

Pascal's reply rang with approval. It made Kaede wonder if he was really being impulsive, or if he was just testing her.

Sighing, Kaede stood up from her chair, piled her book plus three others into a small stack, and left without a word.

''Whatever, not like I can concentrate here anyway.''

Without someone she was friendly with -- or at least growing friendly with -- Kaede didn't exactly feel comfortable around new people or places. With her books in hand, she ignored the noblewoman's departing screech and headed back to the dormitories.

She felt the disdain of the librarian's glance as she walked past.

''Yeah yeah, I'm just a commoner, foreigner at that. Get used to it, you prissy nobles.''

Kaede rather missed having Pascal's 'you-are-all-idiots' attitude shield her from the rest of the world. Sure, his disdainful eyes were annoying. But a roomful of nobles hitching their arrogant noses at her made that seem a paradise by comparison.

<nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>

After another lunch in the dining hall with Pascal, Kaede returned to his room to continue her research. She found three interesting historical references, along with two unexpected realizations as she browsed through the military history of the nation she lived in right now -- the Empire of Rhin-Lotharingie.

First of all, calling Rhin-Lotharingie an 'empire' was giving it far too much credit. The realm of Rhin-Lotharingie included four autonomous kingdoms -- Gleann Mòr to the north, Ceredigion to the west, Avorica to the southwest, and Garona to the south. Each of these kingdoms had their own monarch, who in turn swore an oath of allegiance to the Emperor. Sure, there were also many heartland duchies who did not answer to a King before the Emperor. However this layered feudal system which evolved from a tribal confederation left the realm extremely decentralized.

It made Kaede wonder: just how much power did the 'Emperor' really have?

''This throne sounds like a pain for whoever inherits it,'' she concluded.

Perhaps that was the reason whenever the word 'Imperial' was used, it actually referred to the Holy Imperium of the Inner Sea. That emperor, with the sufficiently fancy title of ''Imperator Augustus'', was a true autocrat who could summon legions with a handwave.

Second, it seems that before the various Lotharin cultures banded together to form their 'empire', they were constantly at the mercy of imperial expansion. Just as Ariadne said, the Lotharins had fought wars with the Imperium for centuries, and almost all of the major battles were won by the Imperial side. Yet no matter how much they tried, the Imperium could not stamp out Lotharin resistance, not even in the territories they conquered.

It was as though magic made it more difficult to crush and integrate foreign peoples. This was no doubt aided by the fact that mages, including both their national heroes and the cultural elite, could live for well over a century.

One notable example of this was the historical 'Siege of Alisia', fought over the very ground this academy was built on. Here, the first Imperator of the Inner Sea Imperium besieged the hilltop fortress of an influential Lotharin chieftain. However a Lotharin archmage had activated a stone circle outside to create a gateway, which transported the majority of the tribespeople to an island in the middle of a huge lake. There, they escaped enslavement from the Imperium and founded the city of Alis Avern, which was now the capital of Rhin-Lotharingie.

''Wait a minute,'' Kaede finally noticed. ''That's why the academy's name sounds familiar! The Battle of Alesia was when Julius Caesar crushed the uprising by the Celtic Gauls!''

Yet it seemed that the Romans of this world failed to subjugate the Celtic people, who later banded together to form their own 'empire'.

''I wonder what the connection is between this world and mine?'' Kaede puzzled. ''This can't just all be a coincidence?''

Despite being engrossed in her own questions, Kaede never forgot to loop in Pascal whenever she found something he could use. Each time Pascal would tap her senses directly to read in. The convenience was undeniable. However it was also annoying, not to mention bizarre to turn pages for a pair of eyes that served as someone else's camera.

It was worse when Pascal just dropped into her head without warning, often for no other reason than he felt her curiosity. By the third time, she finally had enough and gave Pascal an earful:

"Would you ''at least'' ASK POLITELY before you reach through my eyes and ears!?" She fumed. "Or do you also enter girls' rooms without knocking and barging in while they're dressing like some scumbag pervert!?"

His reply was a defensive "all right, I will ask first in the future, I promise!"

Apart from all the knowledge of a new world, there were also two other, more personal thoughts that kept bouncing to the fore of her mind:

First of all, fantasy realms ''needed'' a magical version of the Internet, not to mention magical Google and Wikipedia. They could probably skip Magebook though, given how bad of an influence it was on society at large. Information processing and networking spells couldn't be ''that'' hard when Pascal managed to tap into her own biological sensory network this easily.

Secondly, she was rapidly becoming a shut-in, emerging only to retrieve food and books. She was conversing with barely more than one person per day. This was worrisome indeed.

<nowiki>*Knock, knock*</nowiki>

The door then opened without waiting for a response. A petite young maid with short brown hair backed into the room with a large cart in tow. She was the same one who often served Pascal in the dining halls.

She almost dropped the handle when she turned around.

"I'm sorry Miss. I thought Sir Pascal was in a class right now. I d-didn't actually expect anyone here."

Sitting on the bed in an orchid-pink dress, Kaede put down her book and returned a welcoming smile.

"Don't worry about it. My name is Kaede, what's yours?"

"M-marina," she bowed. "I'm one of the maids responsible for the male dorms, Miss Kaede."

"Just Kaede is fine. It's not like I'm one of those noblemen."

"Ah, I've heard... that you were summoned from afar... as a familiar."

"That's right." Kaede tried not to make the maid Marina any more nervous. However all she managed to keep up was a wry smile. "Do you normally only clean when nobody is here?"

"Yes!" Marina nodded a bit too eagerly. "The nobles do not appreciate seeing us servants at work, so we try to be discreet whenever possible."

Thinking back to her dining hall experiences, Kaede remembered that Pascal never even acknowledged, let alone thanked, the servants who brought his food. Nor, for that matter, did most other nobles she saw, except...

"Ariadne seemed friendly with you all though."

Marina's lips finally curled upwards with a hint of joy.

"Dame Ariadne is one of the few nobles who do greet us with friendliness." Then, sighing: "unfortunately, she's a very rare minority. Most of them pretend we don't exist."

"Stupid nobles with their oversized noses and squinty eyes need to learn some respect," Kaede lashed out at the opulent room she stayed in. Her gaze then returned to find Marina smiling back reluctantly, as though she was in agreement wasn't brave enough to express it.

However, the maid's expression soon returned to one of sympathy and worry intermixed with curiosity:

"I also heard you gave Mister... I mean Sir Pascal a beating? Did your master punish you any further than cutting meals? He was in a foul mood even as recently as yesterday morning, yet he seemed all better today."

Kaede's eyebrows disappeared into her bangs for a second.

''I swear, how do nobles keep any secrets from these servants?''

"Yeah, a surprise kick to the crotch and he couldn't even defend himself, imagine that," Kaede lied with a totally unapologetic grin. "And not really, Pascal has actually respected me more since then. Goes to show that we can't just take things lying down or these nobles will just see us as useless. We have to push back whenever we get the chance!"

For a brief second, Kaede thought Marina's eyes glittered in amazement. Within minutes, they were chatting like friends, bonding through the power of complaints.

Grumbling to others wasn't something Kaede used to do much. In fact, she hadn't even realized that since becoming a girl, she had become far whinier, albeit for good reasons. Nevertheless, it quickly bridged the distance before Marina was comfortable enough to ask her first personal question:

"Kaede, do you miss your home back in Samara? I mean, I'm guessing by your appearance that you are Samaran?"

Kaede's grin froze as a torrent of nostalgic images flooded in: her best friend's congratulations for being accepted to Tokyo U, her clubmates chatting after practice, her parents welcoming her home...

"''I'msorrythatwasinappropriateofme''!" Marina blurted out as a tear slid down Kaede's cheeks.

The latter girl shook her head. She felt melancholic and glassy-eyed, but still forced herself to wear a wistful smile.

"Yes, I do miss home. I wish I could return, but I can't. So there's no point worrying over it."

She didn't even bother correcting Marina's guess about her origins. There just wasn't a point anymore.

Marina had to return to her work soon afterwards. Meanwhile Kaede rediscovered her amusement at what seemed to be a magical vacuum cleaner powered by mana-storing crystals. Not being a mage, Marina couldn't actually turn the appliance on or off, only manipulate its intake controls.

The same cleaner also had an enchanted nozzle for cleaning chamber pots.

Whatever modern impressions Kaede had towards the role, being a ''medieval'' maid, at least, was not a job that she envied at all.

<nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>

Pascal's last course of the day was held in the second drill hall. It was more of a stone amphitheater, but with a massive stage ringed by only three meager rows of benches. ''Advanced Spellsword Combat'' was an elective class open to upperclassmen and offered every season, so at the moment only thirty-one cadets stood in loose formation.

It was also the only 100% practical course in the academy. Books, parchment, and ink weren't even allowed here. The only acceptable tools of teaching and learning were spells and swords. The usual homework was recovering from injuries, which understandably made students strive for perfection.

As Professor Albert's assistant, Pascal was not required to attend a class that Albert did not teach. However, since Pascal was planning on being a career military officer, he seized upon the opportunity to sharpen his combat skills. Sure, a commanding officer did not need to be a champion, for they relied on brains and not brawn to lead the men. Nevertheless, it would be embarrassing if a mere lieutenant could break into his future headquarters and defeat him.

"As we've covered before, the most commonly practiced combat magic style in Hyperion is Aura Magic. It is utilized for its multiple stances that shift and adapt to circumstances, as well as high channeling speed which allows rapid mana transfer and spellshaping. However, contrary to many claims, the popularity of Aura Magic is not an indicator of superiority."

It was difficult to remember that Duke Gaston de La Conde was actually one of the most powerful men in Rhin-Lotharingie. It wasn't because he looked ordinary, as despite being just short of old age, Gaston was a dandy who only ever dressed in silver-lined white clothes and sported a meticulously curled mustache. His long face could be described as dignified and moderately handsome, but far more memorable were his wavy brown curls and a deep, violet gaze.

However, even though Gaston was an Oriflamme Paladin and one of the top commanders in the Rhin-Lotharingie military, he spent most of his time teaching students art and dueling while leaving his administrative duties to his mistress Cosette.

"For example: Runic Magic remains a favorite in the Kingdom of Gleann Mòr, not to mention our Northmen neighbors in the Greater Jarldom of Skagen. Its capacity for precast and contingent spells that may be activated in a second cannot be underestimated -- as many of you learned the hard way from Sir Pascal." Gaston smirked as he turned to the young man in question.

"The key to winning is found not just in practice and experience, but a thorough understanding of the other styles' capabilities. Runic Magic may bring a large cache of prepared spells that may be dumped into battle in an instant, but its glyphs only activate by touch. This hampers its offensive potential and allows a skilled Aura Magic user to keep his distance until he can level the playing field. Sir Pascal, Mister Moreau, would you be gracious enough to demonstrate."

Duke Gaston and the rest of the class quickly left the platform for the benches. Only Pascal and the fiery-haired Reynaud remained on stage. Both of them had agreed heartily to the professor's request, but neither of them looked thrilled as they confronted the another.

"What's wrong, ''Runelord'', cold feet in the face of superiority?" Reynaud smirked a savage grin as he lowered the mass of his already short stature.

His weapons of choice were a wooden kukri in each hand, though one was longer than the other and could almost be considered a falcata. He also wore an open helmet and a brigandine vest for protection, just like every other student including his opponent.

Pascal meanwhile didn't even bother to respond. His steely gaze met the challenge with an imperturbable poker face. He held his wooden estoc in an aggressive fencing stance -- the blade raised above his right shoulder, its tip pointed forward and ready to strike.

"You may begin!" The Duke's words rang like a starting bell.

Pascal leaped forward and charged Reynaud without delay. He stretched out his left hand with fingers extended, activating his extra-dimensional storage glove as four rune-engraved pebbles materialized between his fingers. These runes activated a split second later, surrounding Pascal with the invisible aura of his anti-projectile ''Repulsion Field'', five rotating turquoise shields of his auto-blocking ''Spellshield Fortress'', and the unseen plates of his weightless ''Barrier Armor'', which grew translucent as the magic-resistant ''Barrier Guard'' layered onto it.

With four powerful defensive enhancements set in the blink of an eye, Pascal could focus his attention completely on offense. He thrust his estoc towards Reynaud's torso. His first stab was light and aimed just beneath the neck. But as expected, the faster redhead dodged it by stepping back and shifting his weight to one side.

Pascal withdrew his weapon immediately and gripped the estoc's handle with both hands. He stabbed forth again, this time for real and aiming at Reynaud's center torso. However Reynaud twisted his body to one side and spun as though he was dancing. The weapon slid past his opponent's armor just millipaces short of contact.

But this time Reynaud did not stay on the defensive, as he used his rotation to build momentum which he transferred into a slash from one wooden kukri, followed by the other. Yet with Pascal's layered, magical defenses in place, the two short blades harmlessly bounced off the automated guard of a hovering spellshield.

Taking the opportunity, Pascal retracted his estoc and stabbed again, this time angled towards Reynaud's right and beneath the shoulder. His wooden blade was almost horizontal as he soon transitioned the stab into a diagonal, cutting motion. His target was a common weak spot just beneath the armpit.

Yet once again Reynaud proved that he was both faster and more agile. The short redhead pivoted his leftover momentum to fall away from Pascal's strike, where he transitioned into a roll before bouncing back to his feet. Before Pascal could follow up with another attack, Reynaud muttered his favorite spell and flashed to the other side of the platform in a bolt of lightning, literally.

"''Armor Aura Burst!''" The redhead cried from his new spot, sending out a pressurized blast of air as he used his aura stance switch to conjure an invisible suit of magic armor to layer over his brigandine vest. He then crossed his twin kukris before his eyes.

Meanwhile Pascal activated the second four enhancements of his usual defensive array, followed by scattering an entire bag of runic pebbles across the arena. With the field under his control, he dashed forward again, his estoc raised and ready for another two-handed thrust.

However before he could even get close, Reynaud unleashed the crimson magic he had pumped into his practice weapons with a set of Ancient Draconic words:

"''Scourge Catalyst Fragmentation Dispel!''"

A four-part spell with multiple advanced spellwords normally took up to a minute to cast. However, ''Burst''-mode Aura Magic was known for having the fastest channeling speed of all spellcasting styles. It did had a high tendency to overwhelm the nerve conduits and leave the body numb though, and prolonged use could even lead to temporary or permanent paralysis.

The X-shaped fire blast sucked in air like a black hole as it soared towards Pascal. His ''Repulsion Field'' popped like a bubble under a gargantuan hammer. One of his turquoise shields then met the attack, breaking into three pieces under its power but shattering the offensive spell.

Yet instead of dispersing, Reynaud's dispel fragmented into four parts that pierced into Pascal's translucent armor. The entire suit glowed as ''Barrier Guard'' fought to maintain the defense, only to collapse into a kaleidoscopic burst of mana less than two seconds later. Not done with its job, the shards of fiery-red magic then penetrated Pascal himself.

The Runelord staggered. Steam began to pour from his sizzling body as hostile antimagic crashed against his own mana. His second set of four self-enhancements backfired, fueling the hostile incursion as ''Elemental Body of Earth'', ''Shift Impulse'', ''Mental Clarity'', and ''Metabolic Boost'' transformed into volatile mana. His speed broke as his teeth clenched down in pain.

A second lightning-transformation put Reynaud just behind the distracted Pascal. Coming out in a spin and infused with the ward-piercing ''Negation'' spell, his dual kukris struck the Runelord like twin rotor blades, bringing the latter to his knees.

"Stop!" The Duke called out as he stepped back onto the stage. "Thank you, Sir Pascal. Mister Moreau, please escort him to..."

Kneeling on all fours and panting in pain did not stop Pascal from cutting in:

"I am fine, Your Grace!"

Duke Gaston nodded before turning back to the class:

"The four-part spell Mister Moreau just used is the bane of Runic Magic users' tendency to over-enhance themselves. ''Dispel'' is your classic antimagic spell. ''Catalyst'' allows it to push through multiple defenses in an increasingly-powerful cascading chain reaction. ''Fragmentation'' gives it a chance to break past even the most powerful dispel-warding barriers. And ''Scourge'' not only boosts penetration power, but destabilizes the target's own mana to burn their bodies.

"Remember that a spellsword relies neither on blasting the opponent nor overwhelming them through pure martial prowess, but by a synergistic combination of arcana, steel, and tricks," the Duke emphasized. "''Barrier Armor'' plus steel will reduce most physical attacks to mere bruises. Infused ''Guard'', ''Resistance'', and other defensive magic diminish most hostile spellfire down to tolerable nuisances. This goes doubly so for alchemy or enchantment spells which a mage's innate mana may outright repulse."

The Professor then scanned his students before concluding:

"To score a decisive hit, you must be flexible, you must be adaptive. Think on your feet and respond accordingly, let magic be your fist and bring home victory!"

"Now," Gaston followed by raising his arm into the air with a proud grin. Six quarterstaves lifted themselves from the ground and began to hover in a formation around him. "How many of you think you can land a hit on me?"

Five people raised their hands. A slightly winded Reynaud was one of those who did.

"Good." The Duke smiled. "You cannot win if you're hesitant to unsheathe your blade, especially when facing a superior adversary. Your assignment today, class, is to form groups of five and try to land a hit on me. Anyone who succeeds will automatically receive a perfect grade."

...

An hour later and near the end of class, Reynaud accosted Pascal again after both of them restored their health.

"Up for a real duel that isn't pre-scripted this time? Doesn't exactly please me any to win a fixed match."

"Of course," Pascal grunted as he stood back up, still sore all over. "You know I could have easily dodged that blast."

"We'll see," Reynaud sneered back.

<nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>

"So... where's my bed?" Kaede didn't even bother taking her eyes off her book.

"In Phantasia," Pascal grumbled before climbing into bed bare-chested, snuggling just close enough without touching her. "Ugh, my back still hurts. That Reynaud is unnaturally good at dueling... you think someone stupid and gullible enough to fall for every propaganda piece would not be a spellsword genius."

"His Holiness is fair," she replied, her casual eyes still reading. "With one noodly appendage he giveth, with the other he taketh away."

Pascal just stared at her for a few seconds, then waved the light off:

"Your world is crazy."

Sighing, Kaede pulled down the bookmark string, closed the tome, and laid it on her bedside table.

''Why can't he learn to ask first?''

And just like that, another day passed in the new world. The rest of the week went by the same way, except after Friday's afternoon chat-break, Kaede was sure she could now consider Marina a new friend. This was an important milestone to Kaede, as it averted, or at least delayed, her fear of becoming a 'shut-in'.

<nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>

"You ''still'' haven't managed it?" The new chief groundskeeper snarled. He was a yeomen, a 'middle-class commoner' capable of using magic, who was hired only two weeks ago to fill a vacancy left when his predecessor died in an accident.

"I-I'm sorry," Marina trembled, her eyes nailed to his feet. "K-Kaede... his familiar girl is in his room all day. It's hard to do without being noticed. I'm trying to gain her trust."

"Well, you have one more week. If we miss the deadline and our lord is punished by the Imperator, it will be on your hands, girl. I certainly do not wish to be deemed worthless and a security risk by that squad of killers in town." He warned before departing from the shadowy alcove where he had cornered her.

<noinclude>
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| Back to [[Daybreak:Volume_1_Chapter_5|Chapter 5]]
| Return to [[Daybreak_on_Hyperion|Main Page]]
| Forward to [[Daybreak:Volume_1_Chapter_7|Chapter 7]]
|-
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</noinclude>

Daybreak:Volume 1 Chapter 5

2022-02-27T18:48:51Z

Aorii:

===Chapter 5 - Status of Life===

Even on a Sunday, Ariadne's morning began at 6AM. In early winter, that was before daybreak.

She always started with an hour of studying, to take advantage of her fresh mind. On a Sunday, this meant a quick read through next week's teaching materials, so that she might fulfill her duty as a professor's assistant.

After that came a full set of warm-ups, from squats to sit-ups, while she watched the dawning light permeate the horizon in grapefruit red. It was followed by an hour of sword practice, slashing away at illusory opponents provided by the academy's drill hall.

The Manteuffel clan used a signature weapon that was a variant of the Weichsel swordstaff. It featured a blade the length of one's forearm, attached to the tip of a quarterstaff. A second, shorter blade was concealed in the shaft's bottom, and could be ejected from the rear end. The weapon could be interchangeably used as a sword, a polearm, or even a double-tipped spear. Furthermore, it could magically grow into a heavy lance over six paces long, tipped by a frightful blade.

These swords symbolized the family's customs and pride: adaptive to circumstance, creative in its use, mastered only through diligence, and deadly beyond all doubt in combat.

Ariadne was the fourth child of a branch family, the only daughter behind three older brothers. In a life where everyone expected her every step to be overshadowed by more prestigious clansmen, she managed to come out with her head held high and her name near the top.

With her morning routine finished and an off-day ahead, Ariadne indulged her impeccable horsemanship by taking her pegasus familiar Edelweiss out on a joy ride. Soaring across the castle perimeter from ten stories up, she noticed another girl practicing early in the morning.

It was Pascal's familiar, shooting arrows across the roof again with a longbow. Her archery style was ''odd'', to say the least. Her ability to pull the bow also clearly relied on magic, as there was no way a small, thin girl like her could exert the arm strength.

"Good morning, Miss Suvorsky!" Ariadne called out as she guided Edelweiss into a flawless landing atop the dormitory keep. Having only spoken to the familiar girl once before, Ariadne had to tap her memory necklace -- which she used as a diary -- for a reminder on the other girl's name.

"Good morning, uh, milady." The same could not be said for the other girl as she stood uncertain.

"Ariadne is fine." The noblewoman radiated an ever-gentle smile as she walked up.

The smaller girl finally pulled out of her loading stance. Her long, snowy-white hair swayed in the rooftop breeze.

"In that case, please call me Kaede as well."

"I take it that you practiced archery back in your world?" Ariadne tested the waters, still not entirely believing the 'otherworld' story. But Kaede dispelled Ariadne's lingering suspicions in an instant as her pensive mood cast a gloom over her entire figure.

"Yes... I practiced on most mornings back in my world, though my bow is very different from this one. Still, the activity is meditative for me, and keeping up the routine helps when everything else has changed so much."

"So how are you managing? Has that self-centered prick been treating you alright?"

Kaede shrugged.

"I have a sturdy roof to live under, hearty food to enjoy, and a comfy bed to sleep in. Other than my lack of purpose here, and the unusual... changes, I guess I really should be grateful. It certainly could've been far worse. Pascal isn't really a bad person. The summoning is his fault, sure, but I can't do anything about what's already done. I just wish he stopped treating me like his property."

''Not a bad person? He's a walking insult to everyone around him!''

Ariadne still remembered the night when he shattered their relationship by listing everything she did that he resented.

''Nobody treats me like that and walks away with it!''

"The prick does that with everyone. He acts like he's the crown prince, that anyone who isn't a superior must come under his unrelenting judgment and degradation. He's so condescending that he doesn't even respect most nobles as people, and he outright ignores commoners."

It might amaze others that such bitter words could emerge from a sunny smile. But Kaede's surprised, raised brows soon transformed into a sympathetic grin of her own.

"Well, if he gives you any trouble, please feel free to confide in me about it." Ariadne left the other half of her thoughts unsaid: ''I'll give him a real scandal -- one that will send enough evil glares his way that even he'll flinch.''

For a moment, Kaede seemed eager to take up the offer as her lips parted to speak. However the Samaran girl soon stopped as a cautious look filled her gaze. It felt as though she had prior experience in the politics of nobles and was therefore hesitant to become involved. As a result, all that eventually came out was: "Thanks. I'll keep that in mind."

Ariadne shrugged off her rising disappointment. ''Don't be greedy'', she silently scolded herself. ''It takes time to build trust.''

If there was one thing Ariadne enjoyed more than riding, and wanted more than a renowned career in the Knights Phantom, it was the trust, recognition, and admiration of everyone around her. This went doubly so for the closest person to one of her few enemies -- that self-centered prick who had dared to scorn her. And based on how the younger girl's gaze had been rooted on her this entire time, she held no doubts that Kaede's trust and respect were steadily growing.

Her beloved Perceval once joked, amicably of course, that 'vanity' should have been her middle name. Her response was to ask him: "What's wrong with that?"

"So what's your impression of our world?"

"Fantastic, decadent, and beautifully unclaimed." Kaede shrugged again: "I haven't left the castle though, so I can't really say."

"To nobility, decadence is an expression of prestige." Ariadne smiled as though it was just one of those facts of reality that one had to accept. "I'm not sure what you mean by 'unclaimed' though."

Kaede's face lit up in a broad smile as she spread her arms towards the lake in the distance.

"Every morning I can come out and see forests and rolling hills, most of it untouched for as far as the eye can see." She enjoyed the scenery before taking a deep, relaxing breath. "The air is so pure, completely free of pollution. I haven't lived in a place like this since my early childhood in the Russian countryside. There are simply too many people in my world."

"Rhin-Lotharingie is indeed a beautiful country," Ariadne beamed in return. "Though I wouldn't praise the Lotharins about their low population density. They have a bit of a sore spot over it."

"How come?" Kaede pivoted back around with a puzzled face.

"The Empire of Rhin-Lotharingie was formed from a coalition of tribes that spent several centuries fighting the Inner Sea Imperium," Ariadne explained. "Their persistence is... incredible. But they also paid for it in blood."

For a second Kaede's expression grew sympathetic yet nostalgic. It was as though she could tell the same tale about her homeland.

"I take it the Lotharins don't get along with the Imperium?" The familiar asked next, even though she clearly knew the answer. "Probably quite difficult when the Inner Sea Imperium is the premier superpower of the west?"

"Yes, on both accounts," Ariadne replied, feeling quite impressed by how quickly the girl was learning about their world. "The Inner Sea Imperium may be in decline, but they still dominate the politics of Western Hyperion. Thanks to their influence, most people see Rhin-Lotharingie as little more than a huge frontier full of half-civilized barbarians. I certainly did before I came here," she admitted.

Kaede sighed as she bore that expression again. It was as though she understood exactly what it meant to belong to a group constantly being vilified by a hegemonic imperial state.

"Just like Russia and America," the familiar girl muttered in a barely audible voice.

"Sorry?"

"Nevermind. Sorry. Just thinking about comparisons from this world to mine," Kaede finished with a somewhat wry smile under her chilled rosy cheeks. "It really reminds me that history loves to rhyme."

Ariadne smiled. She wasn't entirely sure what the familiar meant by that. But...

"I can see that you're very interested in our world."

"''Interest'' is an understatement," the Samaran girl chuckled. "I study history and culture. Your world is absolutely ''fascinating''."

''Well that's unexpected,'' Ariadne thought to herself even as she kept up her charming smile. ''I never took her for a bookworm.''

"I'm glad you can at least enjoy some aspects of your new life." Ariadne continued with the tone of a caring, older sister. "Is there anything you need? Like I mentioned before, don't hesitate to ask. There's no way a man could anticipate everything a girl needs, even if he was the caretaker type."

Ariadne didn't even need to append: ''which that self-centered prick certainly isn't''.

The familiar looked thoughtful for a minute. She then glanced down at her blizzard-blue dress, and pushed against its petticoat layers with her leg, bare except for snow-white stockings.

"Well... Pascal's clothes for me are all dresses that he wants to doll me up in." Her voice came with more than a hint of exasperation. "This is rather improper, but... could you help me get some... trousers?"

"Trousers for women are only worn as a part of military uniforms," Ariadne answered straight. "Outside that, it's considered religious impropriety. Therefore I have to say no. I'm sorry."

"No, no, not at all," Kaede frantically waved her hands. "I'm sorry for asking. I didn't realize there were rules on it in this world."

The Samaran girl eyed Ariadne's hi-low skirt. It had mid-thigh front hem, exposing the tight leggings underneath that hugged her beautiful long legs.

"What about a shorter skirt then?"

The noblewoman in Ariadne felt scandalized. She had to remind herself again: ''She's from another place. Different norms and customs and all.''

"In our society, it's proper modesty for a girl to keep both legs fully covered. Even short skirts like mine which exposes the leggings is rather uncommon outside active military service. Although..." the lady smiled as a thought came to her. "Let me think about this. I might be able to arrange something."

Kaede beamed in response. It was a cute smile that truly lit up her doll-like appearance.

In that moment, Ariadne thought it was kind of a shame: "Do ladies in your world mostly wear trousers?"

She actually felt relieved when the smaller girl shook her head.

The two continued to make comparisons between their worlds for a good hour, until Ariadne saw Perceval on his daily run around the grounds and left to join him. Though even as she left, she still had trouble believing that another realm, one without the aid of magic, could advance to a more technological level of civilization.

Ariadne had heard that the Samarans often claimed to have 'memories of past lives', including from other worlds. It was part of why they had a unique relationship with the Trinitian Church, and were considered 'tolerated heathens' as they were impossible to convert. Official Church scripture declared that the Samarans were undergoing a form of mortal purgatory. However there were many whom believed what the Samarans' memories were tainted by whispers of the devil.

Nevertheless, the Samarans' unique biology not only gave them longevity rivaling the healthiest of mages, but also allowed them to provide a substance that the rest of the world badly needed. Ariadne wasn't sure where exactly the religious differences ended and politics began, but she did know that anything a Samaran claimed about their 'other lives' should be considered with a healthy heaping of salt.

<nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>

It wasn't until near midday when Pascal telepathically called Kaede down to the dining hall for brunch. He then followed it by dragging her off to the library.

"You can read those tomes all you want on your own time," he explained after sitting her down at a table with both ends piled high with books. "But while the sun is still up, you are going to help me research for this."

Facing her from his chair on the other side, Pascal slapped a piece of parchment down on the table.

"Victory through ordered chaos and destruction of organizational, logistical, and political assets to inflict total system paralysis - Pandemonium Doctrine," Kaede read, before quickly scanning through the rest of the research proposal that received a perfect grade.

It called upon unknown military treatises from this world as well as the names of battles from recent wars, and suggested a recompilation of operational guidelines to create a new military doctrine -- one which emphasized speed, mobility, and fluidity to guide multiple, simultaneous thrusts deep into enemy territory. The focus was to destroy the enemy's logistical assets, command infrastructure, and lines of communications, instead of fighting their combat forces directly. Its goal was to defeat the enemy not by relying on pitched battle, but through 'total paralysis' which degraded the enemy's fighting potential.

''Blitzkrieg...? No, not quite. Blitzkrieg focused on tactical battlefield destruction of opposing forces. This sounds more strategic...''

Kaede remembered how his father once proudly explained how 'Soviet Deep Battle' doctrine worked and how it had been used to destroy the mighty Nazi Wehrmacht, even though the German generals refused to admit their failures and whined only of winter and 'endless Russian hordes'. Nevertheless, his lecture was too complicated and her understanding of military tactics was too shallow back then to understand it. She did however attain enough of a basic idea to feel that this was... somewhat similar.

"You're writing a new military doctrine?" She asked, her mind barely grasping the reality of the parchment in her hands. ''He's only twenty!''

"Many of the basic concepts were already employed by my father during the War of Imperial Succession ten years ago, the same war that earned him a hero's fame and the title Landgrave of Nordkreuz." Pascal actually had enough humility for a faint blush for once. "But I need as many field examples as possible. Since you are into reading all those boring history books, finding the right battle records for me to examine will be your task!"

Kaede didn't mind studying. If anything, she ''enjoyed'' learning. But, as her gaze swept across the table and saw the dozens of dusty tomes piled up in thick columns, she could feel her eyelids tiring already.

''Where is Wikipedia when you need its shorthand summaries? Or at least a library index?''

<nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>

With three knocks on the thick mahogany door, Professor Albert opened it and led the two inside.

Kaede first met Professor Albert von Marienfeld five minutes ago. He had balding gray hair above onyx eyes as sharp as an eagle's, and beneath them were an imposing set of well-trimmed long mustaches. His build was lean with just a bit of belly, his thick arms a remnant of wrestling days long passed. One didn't even need to see him in uniform, impeccable and proudly decorated with medals including the Knight's Cross, to recognize that he was no mere scholar.

He also glanced over Kaede with just one look and never bothered to introduce himself. The key words that ensured Pascal's attention were: "The Headmaster has returned and wishes to see you, ''now''."

Those words had brought them all to this room: an oversized office with a massive table backed by huge windows. Several luxurious chairs and couches sat on top of the rich rugs that covered the room's center. The hour was dusk, and the entire office was currently bathed in sunset orange.

Not satisfied with his face being shadowed by the light from the windows, the Headmaster also wore a bucket helmet on top of his gray robes. His outfit exposed not a patch of skin. Even his hands were covered by thick gloves.

Kaede found it a novel experience, to say the least.

"Sir Pascal, welcome."

A raspy voice emerged from behind the steel faceplate. It sounded like the voice of a man with an incurable throat disease.

"First of all, allow me to extend a belated congratulations for your recent promotion and knighthood."

"Thank you, Sir."

"Nevertheless, it distresses me to hear that you have freely altered the sacred familiar summoning ceremony beyond acceptable boundaries and called forth a foreign girl as a familiar."

"There is a first time for everything, Sir." Pascal reported back in military posture: hands back and chest high. "Our ancestors did not pioneer the art of familiars through tradition."

"Right you are. However, I hope you planned to face the same scrutiny and examination that they did."

"What kind of examination, Sir?" Pascal couldn't sound less thrilled.

"We will need to assess the humanity of your familiar, to determine that she brings no health risks or magical dangers from faraway lands. We will also need to tag her for periodic checks to monitor the resulting long-term effects."

"I understand, Sir. But I can do that myself." His tone was on the verge of protesting.

Kaede ''loved'' how they were talking about her -- not just in third person, but as though an experimental specimen -- when she stood within this very room.

"Headmaster, Sir, don't I have rights as a human being for any say in this?"

The helmet leaned forward, and Kaede envisioned a skeletal lich behind it as a voice colder than any human responded:

"No, Miss Familiar. You are neither a citizen of Rhin-Lotharingie nor Weichsel. You are not even a holder of any lawfully issued identification. Furthermore, you were summoned by a mage through his contractual ritual. In the eyes of our national laws, you are a non-entity that is only recognized as part of his responsibility. You are not property, but due to the lack of legal precedence, you are not far above it, either."

Kaede felt like a trap door just opened below her. Her mind stopped all thinking as an impenetrable horror overwhelmed it.

Sitting back, the headmaster continued:

"As for you, Sir Pascal, the answer is no. A third-party validation is required per academic procedure."

Pascal cast a worried glance her way, before turning back to the shadowy grille that hid the headmaster's expression:

"I neither ''need'' nor care for academic recognition for this, Sir. In fact, I invoke my rights as a feudal noble to assert that she is my right and responsibility, Sir!"

For a minute, all signs of passing time stopped as the room froze in the wake of his challenge. Then, it was Professor Albert who cleared his throat from a rear corner of the room:

"Sir Pascal, I suggest you reconsider. As you are a member of House Moltewitz, any repercussions for your actions will therefore fall under the responsibility of your father the Landgrave. Furthermore, as we are currently in Rhin-Lotharingie and not Weichsel, any overstepping of authority may escalate into a diplomatic incident."

Pascal visibly flinched as his father was mentioned.

"I understand, Sir. But I must also take responsibility for my ward, to my ward, for what I have done to her." Pascal's unwavering tone snapped Kaede out of her daze, and she began to stare at him with gaping lips. "Having witnessed the procedures allowed on prisoners-of-war, I ''cannot'' allow the same to be forced upon her in good conscience!"

After being raised from the depths of despair, Kaede suddenly felt her sight becoming glassy and her emotions stirred. Sure, it was ''completely'' his fault that she was stuck in such a situation in the first place. Yet, not only was Pascal backing his promise to the full before her, he was also, in his roundabout way, finally admitting and apologizing for the injustice he committed.

Shock and hopelessness had passed away to reason. She was now too relieved to feel angry, even if that relief was still premature.

Surprisingly, it was Professor Albert who followed up in the contest of will between Pascal and the headmaster:

"With your permission, Sir, I would like to advise Sir Pascal in performing the proper checks to ensure that no disaster befall us. I shall also shoulder any responsibility from his errors under my oversight. I am, after all, his advisor and the leader of this cultural embassy."

Silence fell upon the room again. Kaede could almost feel the shifting air pressure as two invisible forces dueled one another for supremacy. In the end, it was the headmaster who gave in first:

"Very well," he finalized in his raspy voice. "See to it that history does not repeat itself."

Once back in the hallway, Pascal asked his adviser with lingering disbelief still dangling from his words:

"Sir, this is the first time you have supported an independent action of mine in... anything!"

"Well, this is the first time you've shown a willingness to make amends for your own foolishness." Professor Albert sounded a touch surprised himself.

"What does the headmaster mean by history not repeating itself?"

"See, if you had done your research in human-to-human binding, you would have known that there is an unspoken taboo on pact magic between us and the Samarans," began the Professor. "Five hundred years ago, a Prince of the Polisian Federation -- the Grand Republic's predecessor state -- sealed a binding magical contract with his Samaran love. According to some Inner Sea historians, this was the event that unleashed the Great Plague, which killed a third of the population across Western Hyperion before a Samaran alchemist eventually synthesized a cure."

"But..."

"The origins of the Great Plague has never been proven. All we have is speculation and propaganda, since the Imperium also fell out with Polisia-Samara around that same time." Professor Albert continued after cutting Pascal off. "You know as well as I do that taboo or not, the profit margins of trade would entice merchants to continue seeking reliable business contracts between the western states and the Grand Republic. I don't believe for a moment that no binding magical contracts have been formed since, yet no sweeping plagues have emerged for centuries."

"Then..."

Pascal tried to interject, but the Professor still wasn't finished.

"The headmaster just wants an excuse to force his way into cutting-edge arcane research, which he can easily take credit for. Remember to do your homework thoroughly next time so you don't give someone else the opportunity to interfere."

"Yes Sir. Thank you, Sir." Pascal answered, followed by a still-overwhelmed Kaede mirroring his gratitude.

The professor, however, never so much as looked at her. After a nod of acknowledgment to Pascal, he walked off:

"I expect your preliminary report by tomorrow morning, Sir Pascal. Assume nothing, confirm! And don't forget your next research project milestone!"

<nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>

Dinner included a gourmet shepherd's pie and chicken soup, which Kaede desperately ate to warm her soul back up.

In hindsight, she should have anticipated the news. Even on modern Earth, many illegal immigrants were denied their basic rights due to the fact they fell outside the legal system. Here in Hyperion, Kaede had no history, no identification, not even a hometown where she'd be recognized. It would not be an exaggeration to say that she could be 'vanished' and nobody would even miss her!

-- Nobody except Pascal. The same man who had caused all of her misery was also the only person who stood up for her.

''How am I supposed to even think about this!?'' Kaede found herself struggling to untangle it all.

It wasn't until after they returned to his dorms when she regained the energy to breach the topic with him:

"Was that your first time meeting the headmaster?"

"No. I have met him a few times, for... various things." Pascal didn't seem interested in explaining.

"Why does he wear all that in his office?" Kaede shivered as she remembered that cold, raspy voice informing her that she had no more rights than mere property.

"Headmaster Amaury has not shown his face since before I came here. Rumors have it that he caught leprosy from some magical experiment and was forced to seclude himself from the public."

"Still... uh, Pascal?"

"Yes?" He asked without looking at Kaede. His attention continued to rush about the room, either collecting or setting up various pieces of equipment.

"Thank you for what you did. I really mean it... even if the whole thing was your fault to begin with." Kaede spoke out in her wispy voice.

She had decided to thank him after all. Not because she had lost perspective, but because she wanted to make the best of a situation. Professor Albert was right in that good behavior should be encouraged. And it became clear after meeting the Headmaster that as long as Kaede lived in this world, she also ''needed'' Pascal.

"Though seriously," she then added in a huff. "What the heck were you thinking, forging a familiar contract with another person without even doing your homework properly?"

"I figured nobody else had ever tried making another person a familiar..."

Kaede was surprised Pascal managed to say that with a straight face. History ''always'' offered a precedence, similar in circumstances if not the same.

"Besides, you may wish to hold onto that gratitude until ''after'' I run through all the checks, which will involve prodding some private places."

As soon as Kaede realized what he meant, she looked away in embarrassment.

"Don't get full of yourself either. Your help is still a long way from canceling out your misdeeds."

She meant every word, but her complexion still made her look shy about it.

"Yes yes," Pascal smiled slightly as he knelt down on one knee before her. He gently took her left hand and folded back her sleeve, then raised what looked like a small syringe before readying it against her skin. The needle entered her arm with a sting, and he soon began to draw blood from her.

What came out was a crystal clear liquid, tinged only by a shade of pink.

Unlike her, Pascal calmly finished the procedure and pulled out the needle before he froze. Both of them stared at the syringe that held translucent blood the color of cotton candy.

"W-what does this mean?" Kaede heard her own voice from far away.

"It means that you really are Samaran, or at least your body is. Only they have blood like this. The color is supposed to be a light, crystal red. However this is within deviation from the expected spectrum."

"And w-what does that mean?"

After laying the syringe on a bedside table, Pascal leaned forward and clasped Kaede on both shoulders. His turquoise gaze pulled her rose-quartz eyes up, before his blank expression continued with earnest words:

"The Samarans believe in reincarnation, born in this life after their last passed away. I cannot confirm or deny since I am not one of them, but they all claim to retain shards, fragments, images and memories of past lives. Some even claim that those memories are often not of this world."

Her mind stood still even at the green light. It refused to process the implications of his dire words.

"A-and that means...?"

"If what they claim is correct, then Kaede, I did not turn you into a girl. Perhaps instead of transporting, my familiar spell may have created a humanoid form which hijacked a soul departing from another world. Kaede, it is likely that -- in that other world, you died."

''That can't be... no!''

Kaede could only shake her head slowly. Her mind felt overwhelmed by torrents of denial, her eyes pointing but not seeing.

"I am sorry to tell you this, Kaede. But it is a truth that we must face. It would certainly explain why your soul was naturalized anew in our world, rather than coming here in an alien body. Perhaps it was part of the Holy Father's plans all along. Perhaps you were meant to live as a girl."

By that point, her gaping expression had already stilled into a delicate statue.

Pascal figured this was as good a time to begin as any, even as a faint grin tugged at his lips.

...

Fifteen minutes and an unknown number of observations and measurements later, Kaede's head finally started cranking again:

"That can't be right! I don't just remember fragments. I have ''all'' my prior memories! Besides, you said it was a summoning spell -- then why would it create a whole new body!"

Pascal shrugged as he stirred a potion vial that included several strands of her hair.

"Don't jump to a conclusion just because it removes blame from you!" Kaede glared, seething. Being told that she had died was another shock she could have gone without this day.

After piling so much weight in the past few hours onto an already overburdened mind, she found herself already on the verge of yet another stressful outburst.

"I did not say that is what happened. I merely said it was a likely scenario." His focus was still concentrated on the vial. His poker face was impenetrable.

Kaede huffed and collapsed back into the bed:

"''Great'', now I can't even be sure whether my parents think I'm missing or just dead. Not that there's anything I can do about it outside of useless worrying."

Yet despite her comment, she held no doubt that many sleepless hours would be spent precisely over this 'useless worrying'. It was impossible not to, perhaps even inhuman. That was an odd thought because Kaede wasn't even sure if she was still considered 'human' at this point.

She was now a Samaran without even understanding what 'being a Samaran' meant. How did this affect her body? Or more importantly, her mind? Did Samaran psychology even work the same way as normal humans? She wasn't sure about any of this!

"Do not bother getting too comfortable. I need a urine sample from you soon," Pascal noted, only to receive a groan in response.

Nevertheless, Kaede took her opportunity to do a quick, 'square breathing' exercise. She might not have the time to do proper meditation now, but at least she could chase the evil thoughts away to a corner of her mind. Then, after sitting back up, Kaede pouted towards the corner closet door that held the heavy chamber pot. Leaning against the wall next to it, there was now a pile of treated wood, packed cotton, and velvet fabrics.

"Is that..."

"Materials for fabricating a bed? Yes. I retrieved it from the quartermaster this morning," Pascal commented as he scrutinized the vial's color change. "However, your business has taken all my free time today. Plus I have a busy week ahead, especially with the next project milestone..."

Pascal then looked over with a Cheshire grin:

"I think you should just get used to warming my bed."

If looks could kill, the one Pascal received wouldn't have left even a speck of dust. Instead the only damage he took was from a flying pillow, which splashed the vial's contents across his cheeks, now magically dyed a glowing blue.

Kaede realized that perhaps the greatest struggle of her new life was wrestling with the daily urge to beat the very person whom she depended on senseless.

<noinclude>
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| Back to [[Daybreak:Volume_1_Chapter_4|Chapter 4]]
| Return to [[Daybreak_on_Hyperion|Main Page]]
| Forward to [[Daybreak:Volume_1_Chapter_6|Chapter 6]]
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</noinclude>

Daybreak:Volume 1 Chapter 4

2022-02-27T18:48:23Z

Aorii:

===Chapter 4 - Regressions of Time===

Dusk had fallen by the time they left the library.

Kaede followed behind Pascal as she balanced four massive tomes in her small hands. With her concentration focused on her heels to prevent any missteps, she couldn't help but start to fall behind as her thin arms held up what felt like a boulder's weight.

Her body was also bothering her with another pressure... and it was becoming harder to ignore by the second.

"W-wait!" she called out, her breaths already starting to fall short. ''These books might be heavy but they should have been manageable. This body is such a pain!''

Ten paces ahead of her, Pascal sent a backwards glance. He sighed audibly and swiveled around, marched right up to her, and pulled all four tomes out of her hands.

''Wow, the prick is voluntarily helping!''

Kaede never thought she could be amazed by something so minor. It truly showed just how low her expectations for him had sunk.

"Come on." He started walking towards the dormitories again. His pace slowed with books in hand. "You really had to check out all these old history tomes? Not something more substantial like a book on geography or magical treatise? How is a collection of past events, dates, and dead people going to help you?"

"Don't look down on history," she snapped back. "History is the foundation of cultural values and geopolitical relations. It's so much more than just a timeline of events and people. It illustrates how entire societies think, act, and relate to each other.

"Seriously, it's annoying how most schools treat something so important as just a bunch of dates, names, and all those useless details. It makes people lose respect for history." Kaede launched straight into an impromptu rant. "The 'what' is only worth a third of the attention given to any event. Instead of focusing on useless details, they should spend more time discussing ''why'' it happened and ''how'' it affected the flow of civilization, exploring what could have happened had a different choice been made, et cetera. Here is a record of people succeeding and failing, with world-altering implications, for thousands of years! From how policies affected social trends to how arsenals decided battles! And instead of analyzing and referencing it for their own use, most people just shrug it off as useless! Seriously!"

Now really short of breath, Kaede finally noticed that Pascal was examining her with an odd expression. He had a lopsided smile and a single raised eyebrow. Amusement danced across his eyes as he asked: "Professor or scholar?"

"I wanted to be." She replied in a low, somber whisper filled with nostalgia. "Not teach in the traditional sense, but to write books and become the historical advisor to a media studio. Only scholars delve deep into academic books. Spreading the wisdom of history would require the use of games, serializations, movies, all that and more."

Though there was also another reason Kaede took all these books, one she was less keen to admit. After over twenty hours and still no sign of waking up, it was clear to her that she was trapped in this world and body. History was not only her gateway to understanding a foreign society like this one, it was also her favorite pastime where she could seek shelter from the stress of life. Kaede might not have her own private room here. However she could at least still take refuge in the comforts of her own mind.

Meanwhile, Pascal was looking more and more intrigued as he turned into one of the dormitory keep's spiraling tower staircases. "How is a game supposed to teach history? And what is a movie?"

"In my world we have tools capable of running a display screen -- kind of similar to those illusion projectors in the library. Games running on those tools can be made to simulate a variety of circumstances, from managing a business to fighting a battle to even leading an entire country. Of course, it's far simpler than the real thing and made to entertain by stimulating people's need for an intellectual challenge. Movies are similar, except instead of being a simulation, it merely shows a recording of actors portraying a scripted story."

"Sounds like commoners in your world are considerably more intelligent than those of this realm." His wistful comment came out more like a complaint.

"It's called 'standardized education' -- when society provides a free basic education to every child as they grow up," Kaede explained with pride. "It doesn't mean every individual will be wise enough to seek knowledge. However it encourages people to, and it ensures that those who do, know how to find it."

"It sounds like an impressive system, and your world must be quite wealthy to afford it." Pascal thoughtfully commented. "Education is expensive, and in this world only the nobles and the wealthy upper-middle class can afford to send their children to comprehensive schooling. My homeland of Weichsel certainly does not have sufficient state funding to offer a 'standardized education' for every child. And the Empire of Rhin-Lotharingie where we are now is even more lacking in resources."

His words really made Kaede realize just how much the society she comes from takes for granted.

"What about scholarships?" Kaede asked. "Free education opportunities for those who are both gifted and passionate?"

"There is a patronage system, but it is very limited." Pascal concluded with a sigh. "It is difficult to look for talent when most peasants and even some yeomen are illiterate and cannot even read a notice board, let alone a book. Nevertheless..." he turned towards her with a smile. "Remind me to bring up this topic again when you meet my father. He has been thinking of ways to expand Weichsel's talent pool for as long as I remember. We may be able to learn something from the institutions of your world."

The two of them soon reached his dormitory room. Pascal waved his hand and spoke a term for ''Unlock'', and the door clicked open.

Kaede stared at the lock as they walked inside.

"Can anyone open it with just a spell like that?"

"No. There is a mana identifier installed on the lock." He said before placing the tomes onto a nearby table. Another wave, wordlessly this time, and the crystal orb mounted on the ceiling filled the room with bright light.

"Every mage has a unique mana signature, and this lock recognizes mine. I will make you a ring with the ''Unlock'' cantrip later tonight. Then you should be able to use my mana to open the door. But come now, we are late for dinner."

"W-wait!" she called out as he started to leave.

She really didn't want to publicly raise a fuss over this, but the pressure below her waist was beginning to push her limits. She had hoped she would have found one by now...

"W-where do I find a bathroom or toilet room or whatever-you-call-it around here?"

"Bath-room? Why do you want a bath before dinner? And what is a toilet?" Pascal stared back.

Kaede's eyes widened as she felt horrified by what he was implying.

"Come on, we are already running late." He turned his back towards her again.

"I, I..."

Pascal stopped again as looked quizzically at the stuttering Kaede with growing impatience.

"Just say it already."

"I need to pee!" Kaede felt her cheeks glowing like charcoals as she finally said it out loud.

It was already troublesome enough imagining herself working with a different set of private parts than she was used to. Kaede didn't need to feel judged by him at the same time!

"Oh." Pascal closed the door again. He moved to a corner and pulled open a small closet, then took out something large, heavy, and porcelain before setting it down on the carpet.

''You must be joking!''

But Pascal looked completely casual as he looked back at her:

"There is no public latrine in this building. So just use that. The servants will empty it later."

What sat on the ground could only be described as a tall, fancy chamber pot, complete with a wide rim for sitting on and heavy lid over it.

''It's weird enough doing it in this body! Stop making things even more needlessly complicated!''

"Please hurry up. We really are running late."

"Then get out," she stared at him with an annoyed look.

"Excuse me?" Pascal narrowed his gaze, as though in disbelief over what he just heard.

"Get. Out!" She repeated herself by escalating her wispy voice into a half-yell.

"This is ''my room'', you know..."

"Fine. Would you ''please'' leave the room?" Kaede added in an exasperated voice. At the same time, she stepped over the porcelain pot and began fumbling with her long and overly-fancy 'maid dress' at the same time. Without much luck in shedding its frills and petticoats, she simply pulled the entire skirt up and reached in for her underwear.

"Or are you that anxious to watch a ''girl'' take a piss?" She added, hoping he'd realize the obvious at last.

Pascal's eyes widened as he ''finally'' seemed to understand. He spun around and rushed to the door. "I'll wait outside," he muttered before shutting it.

''Was this prick born tone-deaf or something?'' The familiar couldn't help complain as she sat down at last.

<nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>

"Oh Holy Father, we thank you for your blessings in this wonderful meal and the bountiful harvest this year. We praise you for your grace in maintaining the peace that reigns across our lands. May your light of guidance continue to show us the path of the devoted, the faithful, and the righteous. In your heavenly name, noblesse oblige."

"Noblesse oblige," repeated the entire dining hall, before the Lotharin-speaking professor who led the prayers sat back down.

The nightly feast then began with the clattering of utensils and plates.

Once again, Kaede found herself sitting next to Pascal near a corner of the dining hall, isolated from everyone else. The grand hall had more than enough capacity, and the nearest people were five seats down -- a clique of gossiping girls that sent a steady stream of glances their way.

Based on the words that drifted through the air, Kaede had the distinct feeling that at least some of these were Pascal's admiring 'fans'. Unfortunately, many of them were also taking some verbal jabs at her:

"...Who does she think she is, sitting at the same table as us nobles?"

"Does it matter? She's still just a commoner, and a domestic servant as that."

"You know what young lords tend to do with servants that are a little cute...."

The 'fan group' started snickering.

Pascal and Kaede had arrived just in time for prayers. However their dinner, which the chefs prepared based on the day's theme and each student's known preferences, had yet to be delivered. With nothing to do and already becoming a target for 'female politics', Kaede's discomfort was steadily growing into annoyance again.

"<Ignore those idiots too.>" Pascal sent over the telepathic channel while he sat with eyes closed and arms folded, as though in deep contemplation.

"<Aren't those girls your admirers?>"

They actually reminded Kaede of overdressed French peacocks from Versailles, always gossiping about others from behind their lace fans.

"<They are vultures who console themselves with the failure of others. If they have a problem with you sitting here, they can take it up with me.>"

On one hand, Kaede felt assured by his words. On the other, she wasn't about to forget that this was all his fault, in multiple ways.

She was also beginning to question if Pascal had ''any'' friends at all, or even acquaintances. Perhaps his selfish, egotistical behavior simply drove everyone else away?

"<What about the ones who did approach you?>" she asked, curious if her hypothesis was right.

"<nowiki><I</nowiki> told most of them that I was not interested. As for the rest,>" his voice turned almost ominous, "<They did not end up working out.>"

"<Pascal the lady-killer, court him one week and he'll give you his everlasting gift... ''of death''>."

"<That is really not funny.>"

Pascal was sounding wistful again, and Kaede wondered just how many others suffered a fate similar to Ariadne.

''No wonder why everyone is keeping their distance.'' She thought. ''Actually, it's surprising there are still girls who remain interested.''

Kaede doubted she would ever understand the 'bad boy appeal'... or in this case, arrogant prick appeal.

"<By the way... you did not actually pray to the Holy Father, did you?>"

Pascal's interrogation hit her spot on just as two servants brought in their meals. Again, he gave no awareness to their presence, and Kaede hurriedly returned a nod of gratitude.

"<No...?>"

Kaede had pretended to pray to show respect. However, reciting words that she didn't believe in seemed... wrong.

"<How could you not pray to the Holy Father?>"

Having spent a dozen years in Central Russia, Kaede did attend several Eastern Orthodox services out of interest. However Kaede's Russian father, despite his many superstitions, was an atheist. Meanwhile Kaede's Japanese mother was an agnostic-deist. Kaede's own study of foreign cultures and history led her to explore many faiths, but she never did settle on one of them.

It wasn't because she did not believe in a higher power. But rather...

''How do you settle on a single religion when they all have tenets worthy of devotion and praise?'' Kaede had thought.

Over the years she had discussed theology with many people. However, if there was one type of person that instantly annoyed her, it was those who ''insisted'' that their religion -- even the 'religion' of atheism -- was the 'one true faith'.

"<Hey, I already follow the Flying Spaghetti God, so please respect my faith.>" Kaede retorted on impulse. "<Besides, you told me the Samarans don't worship the Holy Father anyway!>"

"<And the Samarans are seen as heathens! Do you wish to be singled out by the Church Inquisition!?>"

Kaede immediately shut up, as she remembered the agonizing deaths people used to give nonbelievers as 'treatment' to 'save their soul'.

''Please don't burn me at the stake...''

"<Honestly, I do not care what deity you worship. Who knows if your world even lies within the same divine jurisdiction. But since you are here, you ''will'' pray to the Holy Father. With all the religious unrest across the continent these days, the Papal Inquisition has escaped its reins and grown into an independent threat. I will not have Father caught up in some heresy investigation. Is that clear?>"

His voice was as adamant as polished steel as it resounded deep into her mind. For the first time Kaede felt herself shiver under the cold pressure of his words.

"<Crystal.>"

She did not notice until later that for once, Pascal protectively raised the well-being of another above his own self.

"<Good. Now let us eat.>"

He then dug into his dinner, laden with several steaming slices of fresh pork roast as the main meal. This was surrounded by sides of boiled asparagus, potato salad, gourmet bread, and a thick, cheesy broth that smelled faintly of beer.

Perhaps not surprisingly, Kaede found herself looking at half-sized portions of the same dinner, minus the alcoholic soup.

She wasn't complaining. The meal was not exactly modern, but it still tasted like bliss.

Pascal spent most of dinner asking Kaede about her limited martial arts background, her archery practice in the morning, and the role they played in her home world. He was deeply intrigued when Kaede mentioned that archery had been reduced to a mere sport on Earth:

"<Then what replaced bows in the military?>"

"<Guns.>" Kaede explained. "<Steel tubes that propel a slug using explosive powder. Sulfur and saltpeter, if I remember right.>"

"<Blast powder? They would employ such a weapon for massed infantry?>" Pascal voiced as though it was utter lunacy.

"<What's wrong with that?> Kaede asked.

"<Blast powder is ''extremely volatile''.>" He stressed. "<The Great Khanate once tried to employ it during the Great Northern War around five centuries ago. Their enemies then realized that all they needed to do was to ''Fireball'' the blast-powder-equipped troops to turn the soldiers into living fireworks!>"

Kaede's eyes widened as she realized what this meant:

''Magic didn't just replace aspects of technology then. It may have completely altered the advancement of civilization itself!''

For the first time since her arrival, Kaede found her interest in the new world growing. This was a topic that she would love to research, even if she had to do it as a girl.

"<So you don't use gunpowder, blast powder, at all?>"

"<No. We use it mostly for mining, hence the name.>" Pascal clarified. "<But in strict military applications, its use is limited by its unreliability. We have ''some'' weapons that utilize it. But nothing as quantitatively employed as massed archery.>"

"<Then do mages also practice archery? Or is that just a ''commoner'' thing?>" Kaede asked.

She remembered that archers were considered a 'peasant' occupation during Earth's middle ages. In fact, many nobles of the time thought that using a bow in battle was 'beneath their dignity'.

"<It depends on the country. I grew up in Weichsel, where we nobles pride ourselves in our arcane heritage, even in battle. Projectile weapons are the domain of commoners and yeomen, who either cannot use or lacked expertise in proper battle magic.>" He declared with a voice even more haughty than usual. "<However here in Rhin-Lotharingie, most nobles are ''expected'' to learn the longbow, apart from those in the south who prefer slings instead. They hold more shooting competitions here than they do in dueling or jousting.>"

As he finished with a rather peevish look, Kaede immediately realized:

''He's terrible at archery.''

For the rest of dinner their conversations continued unabated. Kaede hated to admit it, but she actually had fun talking to Pascal about his world. It was apparent that he was well-versed in a broad range of topics, perhaps even more so than herself.

It wasn't until they were leaving that Kaede remembered to ask:

"<Do you want me to convert to the Holy Father's grace?>"

"<Of course!>" Pascal answered. "<Not that I have to try, with you being a scholar of history. The Holy Father's works may be mysterious at times, but with millenniums of timeline in retrospect, his influence becomes as clear as day and night. I am certain you will come around in due time and embrace the one true faith of this world...>"

''Why can't you interact like a normal person for one hour? Just one!'' Kaede thought with a frustrated sigh. Any interest she had on a theological discussion had instantly evaporated.

"<Although, does your world really pray to airborne pasta?>"

Pascal's single raised eyebrow betrayed a hint of bewilderment on a totally-serious face.

"<Only when the polar ice caps are melting due to a lack of pirate caretakers.>"

<nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>

Pascal leaned back against the plush chair in front of his table as he casually juggled multiple sorceries at once. Between his hands hovered a turquoise gem that he was cutting and affixing onto a platinum ring using the ''Fabricate'' spell. At the same time he was imbuing it with the ''Lock/Unlock'' and ''Sigil'' cantrips. The result would be a spell-activation focus that Kaede could use to open doors and sign for academy resources using his mana signature.

It was a task most apprentice artificers divided into multiple parts and required full concentration on each. Yet Pascal treated it like a side-job while mentally chatting with someone over a thousand kilopaces away -- his fiancée, Crown Princess Sylviane Etiennette de Gaetane of the Rhin-Lotharingie Empire -- through an ongoing ''Farspeak'' spell.

"<...And that is how she came to be. I cannot wait to show her to you over the holidays, Sylv. Not only is she a walking encyclopedia filled with interesting details of her fantastic otherworld -- it is a miracle they even managed to function, with neither the convenience of sorcery nor the establishment of noblesse oblige graced upon us by the Holy Father. But she also looks absolutely adorable: a dainty figure caped by silky, snowy-white hair, not to mention the rose-quartz eyes that I have never even heard of.>"

"<Sounds like you've conjured quite the fantasy there.>"

Enraptured by his own enthusiasm, Pascal missed the trace of sarcasm and, as a result, completely misinterpreted her humored tone.

All he remembered were past scenes where his fiancée would hug and drape herself over cute girls with ecstatic delight, rubbing her cheeks against their long hair in a display that violated all noble protocol.

"<Well I did use your favorite Vivi as a 'reference' of sorts.>" He added, hoping for her approval.

"<You know, Pascal, when I ''allowed'' you to have dalliances during your academy years, I do not remember giving you the permission to bind another girl with a contract of 'till death do us part'. Our betrothal may be political, but it is still a committed one.>"

Until then, Pascal hadn't even considered that Sylviane might disapprove of his choice in familiars. Stunned by the explosive landmine he had just stepped on, his mind quickly backtracked for help.

However Sylviane never even gave him the chance:

"<The next few weeks will be really busy for me. The 'Ducal Alliance' under that schemer Fitzgerald is on the brink of open revolt against King Alistair's rule. Father can spare neither the troops nor the time with the tensions rising near the Cataliyan border. It falls to me to show the Emperor's flag in the north and help King Alistair pacify his nobles. Therefore I doubt I'll return to Alis Avern before the holidays.>"

She hung up without a second's wait.

"Crap," Pascal uttered an uncharacteristic curse. He finally realized the severity of the trouble he had landed himself in.

He had been so caught up telling Sylviane his story that he hadn't even ''thought'' to ask about her problems.

Alistair Mackay-Martel was the King of Gleann Mòr, one of the four autonomous kingdoms under the banner of the Rhin-Lotharingie Empire. However the man was also a royal bastard who spent many years traveling abroad as an adventurer and mercenary. Needless to say, his ascension to the throne less than a decade ago was not universally welcomed by his nobles. His unusual style of ruling and his insistence that all nobles return the money they owe the crown's treasury has only further aggravated them.

Many of these noble houses have since banded together to plot behind his back, as they sought to pressure the King to sign a 'Charter of Liberties'. Pascal had read that charter. He thought it was horse manure and told the princess so during their chat a week ago. The nobles claimed they wanted 'freedom' and 'justice'. What they truly asked for was an expansion of their aristocratic privileges.

For Pascal, these chats he had with Sylviane were not just a way to maintain their relationship. They were an opportunity for him to act as her confidant, to discuss courtly intrigues and help shoulder her burdens. She would often use him as a sounding board for her own ideas, as well as seeking his suggestions and even his sympathy.

But today, she hung up without even giving him a hint, and then called for a temporary break to their weekly chats.

''She really is angry. Royally angry, literally...''

Pascal hoped this would not cause any issues. Neither Sylviane nor her father Geoffroi the Great had any tendency to start diplomatic squabbles over personal grudges. However if Sylviane found her royal honor insulted, she might break tradition.

''Oh dear Holy Father, have mercy...''

Putting aside the mostly finished ring, Pascal prayed, fast and hard, that he did not open any personal rifts with Sylviane. She had been his closest friend ever since those days spent idling beside the Cross Lake of the Nordkreuz estate. And after Ariadne pulled Cecylia away from him, Sylviane was also his ''last'' remaining friend.

Pascal wasn't sure if he could handle losing her as well.

He turned to look at Kaede, who sat in his bed with her stockinged legs tucked in. Her small hands propped open a massive leather-bound book. Meanwhile her fatigued, half-open eyes stared blankly at him, with faint perplexity bubbling over their familiar bond.

Her breakdown this morning was still fresh on his mind. Her wailing image was forever burnt into his memory. That didn't even include the crushing despair and sorrow that followed, as a tidal wave of emotional distress breached the last barrier and opened their empathic tunnel.

He spent much of the morning being annoyed at himself as a result. But after mostly enjoying himself in the afternoon, Pascal had recovered too quickly.

Sylviane's shortened call only restarted the hammering on the last nail.

...More like all the nails, at once, with one great big resounding mallet.

After making the biggest, most idiotic, ill-conceived, poorly planned, carelessly rushed, and altogether feebleminded mistake of his entire life, Pascal felt like a moron who just stupidly certified himself by taking a pilgrimage to the apex of moronia.

"So... when am I getting my bed?" Kaede chimed in, finally breaking the silence.

"I would have ordered lumber from the quartermaster this morning," he spouted back, disgruntled.

Annoyance was bubbling across the bond again.

''I need some fresh air,'' Pascal decided as he strode towards the door.

"Go to sleep," he ordered, before dimming the ceiling light to a faint glow with a wave of his hand. After swinging open the door, he looked back to Kaede and felt her glaring at him from the shadows.

At least he had managed to convince her to use his large bed instead of huddling on the cold floor. That was a good sign, right?

"Please," he sighed, before closing the door behind him.

Discontent over the empathic link returned to her earlier perplexity, which now came with a side of irritation.

"Why does magic not have a fix-everything spell?" the genius grumbled.

<noinclude>
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|-
| Back to [[Daybreak:Volume_1_Chapter_3|Chapter 3]]
| Return to [[Daybreak_on_Hyperion|Main Page]]
| Forward to [[Daybreak:Volume_1_Chapter_5|Chapter 5]]
|-
|}
</noinclude>

Daybreak:Volume 1 Chapter 3

2022-02-27T18:47:42Z

Aorii:

===Chapter 3 - Master and Familiar===

[''Author's Foreword: From this point on all narration of Kaede uses 'she' as the pronoun, with exception to flashbacks. This is done for grammatical reasons because it becomes incredibly confusing to swap back-and-forth based on whether the narration is coming from Kaede's perspective or not.'']

True to his word, Pascal kept his hands to himself that night. Kaede had taken his spare bedding and insisted on sleeping on the floor, though she knew that would never have stopped him if he tried anything.

Yet despite her precarious situation, a far greater concern kept her thoughts occupied: his words kept replaying in her mind, forcing her to accept the grim new reality.

On the first night of Kaede's new life, she silently cried herself to sleep... yet even that merciful unconsciousness lasted only three hours.

By the time the first rays of light cracked through the curtains, she was tired of lying about. Taking care not to wake Pascal up, she pulled on the jacket from last night. She tried on one of his spare pants as well, but found no good way of holding it up around her much thinner waist. She then grabbed the longbow on his wall and the quiver in the corner with its blunt arrows. Then, after she quietly slipped out of the room, she made her way towards the rooftop.

''I need some fresh air to get my thoughts in order,'' she decided.

The Academy's 'dormitory' turned out to be more of an opulently furnished keep. Intricate rugs of rich wool lined the stone hallways, while bright crystal chandeliers lit every intersection. Gold-framed portraits and ornate medieval weapons decorated the spiraling tower staircase. Even the heating and insulation of its stone construction proved superior to Earth equivalents, as Kaede opened the thick wooden door to the roof and was promptly chilled to the bone by the cold air of a late autumn morning.

The wind on top of the roof wasn't much, barely a breeze by most standards. However the biting cold kept her keenly aware that she wore nothing more than a flimsy skirt and satin stockings underneath the oversized wool-and-cashmere jacket.

Yet even that discomfort was momentarily forgotten as Kaede took her first sight of the new world.

The red sun was still pulling itself onto the eastern sky, but it looked small compared to the gigantic moon. No, the indigo 'moon' that floated beyond the horizon and took up a third of the sky was more likely a gas giant. A third celestial body, a tiny, silver orb, could barely be seen on the giant's periphery. Meanwhile the cotton clouds, even bathed by the orange light of daybreak, betrayed a tinge of blue.

''It really is a whole different world.''

Surveying the surroundings, Kaede realized that the dormitory was but one of many stone keeps in a massive castle complex. The fortress even had a curtain wall and was built upon a hill. The walls were steeply slanted, similar to Japanese castle bulwarks but with European-styled battlements. They held raised courtyards like a fortified agricultural terrace, which included a stone circle that looked like a smaller version of Stonehenge.

The entire complex stood amidst a vast, flat countryside dominated by deciduous forests and grassy knolls. Several villages of clustered homes were within sight, each surrounded by tracks of plowed land. To the north was a huge lake that stretched into the horizon. Soldiers in scale mail guarded the outer wall towers, while a stone-paved road leading out from the gatehouse stood as the only highway in sight.

Kaede raised the longbow she had taken with both hands and examined it. The bow was about two meters long and notably taller than her new body. The design definitely reminded her of the Welsh longbow she once saw in a museum, with a single long piece of wood pulled into an arc by a drawstring. It was significantly different from the Japanese ''yumi'' she had used in archery practice.

Japanese archery, known as ''Kyudo'', sought moral and spiritual enhancement alongside marksmanship improvement. With the motto of 'correct shooting is correct hitting', its practice emphasized form, purpose, and clarity of mind. For Kaede's often-bloated thoughts, it was a hobby that brought her inner peace and serenity.

Both of which she desperately needed.

Kaede took an arrow from the quiver and raised the unfamiliar bow into the air. Her right hand then notched the arrow and pulled. Her weak arms shook as she strained her meager strength to retract the bowstring. She could barely pull any tension onto the wooden limbs, yet her eyes never left a block of stone that she chose from the far-side crenellations as her target. The familiar motions helped to clear her thoughts, transfix her focus on the target, and transform her mind into the arrow...

Or at least... that was what she attempted.

Her fingers loosened. However her arrow's flight was pitiful. It didn't even make it halfway to the target.

''Again'', her thoughts rang out, struggling to suppress her rising disappointment alongside waves of other anxieties. She tried to clear her mind once more, to allow the familiar motions to draw her into a meditative trance, just as she had done so many times before.

But it was easier said than done.

''Will I ever see my friends and family again?''

The third shot skidded off the floor with resounding denial.

''What about college? After working so hard and finally getting accepted to the University of Tokyo.''

The fifth arrow veered off to the side like she wasn't even trying.

''How will I survive in this world, without even a line of work?''

The seventh proved to be her worst, as it plunged to the ground almost immediately after leaving her fingers.

Ever since she learned it years ago, Kaede had relied on meditation to help regulate her thoughts, her 'mental hygiene' as many called it. Yet now, it wasn't working. She couldn't enter the mindset, couldn't detach herself from her negative emotions. She tried to actively focus on her movements or using the 'box breathing' technique. However that only served to remind her that this body wasn't the same as before. None of the usual methods were working, as her maelstrom of concern and anxiety would not abate and would not let go.

Then, as an eighth arrow skidded off the ground, Kaede almost threw the bow down to the ground in frustration. Her small hands clenched into fists as she struggled to keep a grip on her emotional state. And that was when she heard the sound of soft footsteps approaching from behind.

"How did you know I was here?" Kaede asked in her wispy voice.

"You are my familiar, remember?" Pascal's voice was revitalized and clear. "I can see what you see just by focusing."

Her stomach tightened as she felt the illusion she called 'privacy' shatter into a million pieces.

"And just what else does our bond include?"

"Well, shared sensory perception for starters," he began. "I can tap your senses -- visual, audio, and empathic. Then there is the..."

"Wait," Kaede finally turned to face him. "You can ''feel'' my emotions!?"

"Not yet. That one is a passive link. It takes longer to connect."

Standing proudly in his immaculate crimson-on-black military uniform, Pascal wore his black Knight's Cross medal under the stiff folded collars that held his silver insignias. His perfectly groomed soft golden curls hung just long enough to drape over both ears, framing lean cheeks colored a healthy pink by the cold air. His clear aqua-blue gaze shone with admiring intrigue above a thoughtful smile, before they quickly changed into one of concerned examination.

"You look terrible," he noted her pale countenance while taking a step forward to touch her cheek with warm fingers.

"Gee, thanks. I wonder whose fault it is," she retorted.

He didn't show the slightest hint of guilt.

"No need to worry. I have a spell for this. It's half-cosmetic and half-healing."

With a few muttered words, Pascal slowly waved his right hand across Kaede's face. His turquoise ring glowed with brilliance, and she felt a soothing warmth spread across her.

"I mostly use this in the field," he explained in rather stiff words. "Officers must always look awake and confident, even if they only caught three hours of sleep. Perhaps I should check you in the mornings. We nobles do have an image to maintain."

"Yes, of course." Kaede was feeling unusually sarcastic this morning. "Can't let your mistress play-toy look ashen-faced with bloodshot eyes, can we?"

"While I recognize that many nobles have a taste for that, I have no such need. You are my familiar companion," Pascal warned with complete seriousness. "Please do not sully that bond."

''Then how do you explain my appearance now...?''

Sighing, Kaede decided to let the matter go, for now.

"As I was saying, a familiar also serves as an eldritch proxy for the master. The arcane conduit between us allows me to cast spells on you, as well as through you, as long as you are within a kilopace of me, give or take depending on the ether saturation of the region. Being supplied by my mana also grants you some of the basic resistance mages have against foreign mana -- so any alchemy or enchantment, spells that shape either the physical or the mind -- as long as they do not come from me."

"Terrific, so I'm a water hose now," her response was deadpan. Then more seriously: "Does that at least mean I can learn to cast spells using your ether... mana... whatever?"

Pascal smiled at her question:

"Ether is freely available spiritual power, scattered into the environment by all living beings. Mana is ether after being absorbed and transferred by magically conductive nerves, then refined by the soul. Spells are crafted from mana by using one's magical nerve conduits to form internalized spell arrays, which are drilled into muscle memory through thousands of repetitions and then called upon by mnemonic incantations. The exact words are merely a matter of common choice. Unfortunately, it does not look like you have the magic conduits to learn spellcraft. However, you should be able to power and activate magical equipment using my mana."

''Well, at least I get *something* for all this inconvenience...''

"The familiar bond also includes a telepathic channel that functions even better than the spell, which..."

Pascal suddenly stopped. His eyes refocused on Kaede with its piercing turquoise gaze. His voice suddenly began to resound from within her own mind:

"<Is this working yet?>"

Her bulging eyes gave an obvious response.

"<You can use this also. Just concentrate.>"

Kaede closed her eyes and imagined a microphone: "<You're an idiot.>"

"And so are you, if you do not see the value in such a reliable form of private communications."

"You're not going to read my mind through this, are you?" she asked, worried.

"No. Only the thoughts you will to others are sent through the channel," he spoke with utmost sincerity. "Of course, there is a mind-reading spell. However, since being caught performing thought voyeurism may lead to espionage charges and other serious consequences, it is considered below proper nobility to use such magic. The same goes to charms, compulsions, and other mind-altering enchantments. Usage of them may constitute crimes ranging from larceny and extortion to rape if one is found casting them without consent."

"You haven't actually said that you don't use them yet," her eyes narrowed.

After a split-second sneer, Pascal continued his serious approach:

"As I have said, it is ''below proper nobility''."

"Then, how do you enforce the loyalty of familiars?"

"While the summoning compels the familiar to go through the ceremony, familiar bonds do not rely on compulsion magic. Instead, it links two beings through the arcane conduit. Obedience is achieved through a contest of will. It is why familiars are usually a good measure of the master's strength of character and mind."

"Okay," Kaede relaxed, suppressing the urge to poke out those increasingly downcast eyes. "What else?"

"The last function of a normal familiar bond is auto-translation magic for both the master and familiar, so they may understand each other."

"So that's how I can understand you. But why am I speaking your language?"

"Because ''I'' inserted two additional functions into the bond." Pascal took the credit with majestic pride, his irritatingly aristocrat drawl returning. "The auto-translation magic I gave you functions both ways. They modify both your understanding and your speech by tapping into my linguistics knowledge. It is a good thing too, because otherwise you would only be able to talk to me."

Despite his attitude, for the first time Kaede felt ''glad'' about something Pascal did. The alternative was just too horrifying.

"And the other?"

"I am getting there... Since I am born of high nobility, we can never know if there may be treachery underfoot. So I thought ahead and specified the contract to give you a magic reservoir, in the form of a permanent set of spell-storing glyphs on your forearms."

Kaede set the longbow down in a rush. She quickly stripped the white satin glove off her right arm. It was just as he said. There were now eight runes etched in a row on the underside of her forearm. Each rune shed a faint, turquoise-blue glow, and together they gave off a subtle warmth, which spread evenly in her still-gloved left arm.

"I'm not a battery!" She stared back at him with incensed eyes. Never a fan of tattoos to begin with, she couldn't believe he already had her permanently marked.

"Of course not. I would never ask you to serve in the artillery," he replied with slight confusion.

"No, I meant... a battery is a device for storing electricity, lightning-power, from my world."

"Indeed," he nodded with interest. "Well, being a user of both gem and runic magic, reserve capacity is not one of my problems. Those glyphs are capable of storing pre-crafted spells. I transfered over two full arrays of defensive spells before you woke up yesterday, which you can activate just by pressing down on the runes. I also hope that, since your body is not a network of magic conduits like mine, you may be able to absorb foreign spells using those... we will have to experiment with that one."

By now, her shoulders were starting to tremble...

''Excuse me!? Experiment!? Haven't you toyed enough with my body?''

After suppressing all her irritation, frustration, and anger for so long, Kaede's taut emotional strings finally snapped. She stabbed two of her fingers into the runes and activated the entire set on her right arm. Eight glyphs pulsed with magical power, their brilliance and warmth intensifying with a prickling sensation until another pulse discharged their spells less than a second later.

''...I'd like to show you some 'treachery underfoot' right now!''

Although there was no visual cue, Kaede could feel her skin hardening. Her body felt feather light, while her bones grew as sturdy as steel. Best of all, her strength not only returned to that of her former self, but multiplied yet further.

Translucent magical barriers then encased her body like gleaming armor. In addition, five kite shields of shimmering turquoise energy conjured into existence, rotating protectively around her.

"Well, since you insist on trying it now, what do you think?" Pascal grinned with anticipation.

"Perfect."

Her smile concealed a gleaming dagger as she bridged the gap between them in one stride. She lowered her center of mass into a fighting stance and sent her right fist straight into his stomach. His wool-and-cashmere uniform proved a poor defense against the stone-like consistency of her knuckles. His feet left the ground for a brief moment as her low hook punched the air out from his lungs.

"First: no spells!"

Coughing blood into the air, Pascal reached out with both hands, fingers extended. Four pebble-sized runes appeared out of thin air in between the fingers of each glove. But before he could activate them, Kaede lashed out with a kick that sent them flying.

"Second: no tricks!"

With her initial surprise and momentum wearing off, Pascal soon began to block her attacks and even occasionally attempt to counter. But even though both his skills and his reaction speed exceeded hers, his unpreparedness and the injuries he already suffered left a gap too wide to fill. His fleshy limbs matched poorly against the granite-strength of her attacks, while his few counters were painfully blocked by the barriers and shields protecting her.

"Third: take your medicine like a man!"

The one-sided beatdown lasted just over a minute, and Kaede only halted after Pascal stopped struggling. By that point, he was sprawled out on the ground. Both of his cheeks were swollen black and blue. And his left hand was cradling broken ribs on his right side. Pain lit up every part of his body, except at critical places like the neck, eyes, and head.

Despite obviously knowing the basics and having an overwhelming advantage, Kaede had avoided hitting any of the most vulnerable areas.

Alternating between wheezing and hacking, bloody coughs, Pascal managed to gurgle out:

"Wha'... wahe 'at... fo?"

Only then did he notice that the girl who stood over him, arms hanging in dejection, was also crying.

"You!... You!... You pulled me out of a perfectly good life, forced me to abandon my family and friends, cut short all my effort and dreams, took away everything I know, dragged me into this fucking world, turned me into a girl out of your selfish, deluded fantasies, destroyed any hopes of me ever going back, treated my entire existence like property, and, and, AND YOU DON'T EVEN THINK YOU DESERVE A BEATING!!!?"

Having drained her of what little energy she had, Kaede's violent outburst had opened up the floodgates. All of her doubts, fears, worries, anger, frustrations, and anxieties which had escalated over the past twelve life-changing hours poured out like a deluge. She then fell to the ground as though her strings were cut, slamming her knees into the stone roof before toppling over to one side. Lying parallel to him and on her side, she curled up her legs and began to wail and sob uncontrollably.

It took many minutes before she quieted back down. Even more time passed before either of them found the strength to say anything.

"I fink 'ou brog 'wo 'oohe," he managed to gurgle out from his bloody mouth. "An' 'hree rihs"

"Well good! And I hope you learned a lesson, you asshat!" She yelled back.

Turning to his other side, Pascal finally spat out the remaining bloody mess in his mouth. Pointing his left arm toward the sky, he called out a single word in an even weirder language, which Kaede's auto-translation magic recognized as 'Sanctuary'.

Rune-engraved stones flew out of a belt pouch too small to hold them all and formed a large ring around them. A crystal-blue, hemispherical barrier of translucent magic soon slammed into position above them, while the very air inside glowed with a turquoise hue.

"What're you doing?" She sat up, alarmed.

"Area dehence and healing rune sed." Pascal mumbled through his swollen mouth with his eyes closed.

Only then did she realize that the pain in her knees was fading away.

Silence fell between the two of them once more.

Too tired to worry or even contemplate for once, Kaede simply sat there, dazed. Realization began to seep in that she had completely lost control of her emotions.

Kaede had always considered herself a levelheaded person, who used communication to solve problems rather than forceful action. After all, even professional crisis negotiators, who dealt with hostage-taking terrorists -- the least reasonable people possible -- still found that showing empathy and sincerity results in a ''five times'' higher rate of success as the application of brute force. Diplomacy was almost always the best option, while violence was the last resort of the incompetent.

Yet, what she had just done was the ''exact opposite'' of 'being diplomatic'.

It was even worse than that, as now that her adrenaline rush was over, her emotions were being replaced by uncertainty and fear. An unfeeling conviction passed through her head as she realized:

''I'm dead.''

She didn't know what the penalty was for assaulting a noble. If Earth history was any indication, they would surely lock her up for this?

Pascal was the son of a high noble and an important official of the state too. Even if he didn't, his father definitely owned at least one castle, and the dungeons that came with it, and the thumbscrews and branding irons and all those other instruments of torture inside that could only be described as 'medieval'.

And even if that wasn't the case, even if Pascal simply kicked her out over this, it would still be awful for her immediate prospects. Kaede had no money, no property, not even a trade that could be practiced in this completely foreign world. With the arrival of winter just around the corner...

''I'll freeze or starve to death as a homeless girl!''

Plus, even if Kaede could find shelter, what then? She was a girl now, and one of weak build at that. Even on ''modern Earth'' there were plenty of people who preyed on girls like her. If she wasn't careful, she'd find herself being trafficked and sold off to a brothel!

Kaede lost any sense of time as she sat there, dreading what would happen to her. However her stomach eventually broke the silence with a growl of anger.

"No meals for you today," Pascal answered, more irritated than angry, before glancing at Kaede and eyeing her cross-legged sitting posture. "And can't you sit more like a lady?"

As he was still heavily bruised, Kaede satisfied herself by shooting back a glare instead. Nevertheless her anger faded away quickly this time, replaced by an overflowing sense of relief. Sure, starving through the day would just increase her misery. But as much as Kaede hated the thought, she didn't want to be charged with a crime or abandoned to starve outside.

''I really can't afford to get in any more trouble than this,'' Kaede reprimanded herself.

Engulfed by their own problems, neither of them noticed the pristine white pegasus that had been flying around the castle perimeter for the past hour, nor the beautiful rider who sat upon it.

<nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>

By the time the two of them returned to the dorms, it was almost midday.

The air between them remained silent and awkward. Pascal seemed to be in a particularly foul mood. The healing left him fully functional. However his movements were sluggish, which meant his body was likely sore and aching all over. His glamor spells, however, fully concealed the lingering bruises on his face. Meanwhile the bloodstains on his uniform seemed to have magically evaporated.

On the outside, it looked like nothing had ever happened.

Part of Kaede felt relieved. Most of her thought it was a shame.

But what really bothered Kaede was why Pascal kept everything bottled, instead of lashing out at her. For a moment on the roof she thought he was going to just ignore her and leave. However he ended up waiting at the door, with neither a word nor a glance, until she grabbed the bow and arrows and caught up to him.

Now, as he looked through the drawers and pulled out a fresh uniform, she felt like she had to say... something. In hindsight, beating him to an inch of his life really was too extreme. Certainly, he was responsible for turning her life upside down, but it wasn't like he had planned it with malicious intent. The summoning just sort of happened that way, and the result was mostly a side effect of the old saying 'be careful what you wish for'.

It didn't mean she hated it any less, or blamed him any less for it. But accidents caused by selfishness weren't inherently immoral. Violence and murder were.

"I'm sorry."

Her voice was mostly nervous, partly regretful, and more than a hint begrudging. Nevertheless, Pascal froze on the spot.

"I shouldn't have hurt you that badly."

That was the most she was willing to concede. He still deserved ''some'' beating, after all. But at the same time, her pragmatic half knew that mauling him all she wanted wouldn't fix the problem. It didn't even make her feel any better. All it did was saddle her with more worries about her future.

After another half minute of silence, Pascal finished changing and expelled a deep sigh: "Just get ready to leave. I have not even had breakfast yet."

''Well, at least he's still willing to talk to me. That's a good sign, right?''

Kaede put away the longbow and quiver where she found them. Then, as she stared down at what she wore: a black jacket and nothing else except bridal-white lingerie undergarments...

"Can I get something more proper to wear? Please?"

Wordlessly, Pascal strode over to a large wardrobe. From the side, Kaede could only see a collection of long dresses. Then, with an ominous chuckle, he pulled out an outfit and handed it towards her:

"Here, this is perfect."

It was a modest, white-on-black dress clearly made to resemble a traditional maid uniform. Though this one had far more frills, laces, layers of petticoats, and a huge ribbon in the back.

"I can't wear this!" She objected almost on reflex.

"Why not?" His lips formed a smile for the first time since they were on the roof.

"I'm... I'm..."

It was difficult to claim that she was a young man when she didn't look anything like one.

"You are a girl now, and an adorably cute girl at that," Pascal insisted as humor returned to dance in his eyes. "Therefore you ought to dress like one according to societal standards. And this garment is perfectly respectable for female propriety."

"Then can't you give me something at least a little less... ''frilly''?" Kaede retorted as she stared at the dress in her hands with apprehension.

As she looked up and met his eyes, Pascal raised his eyebrows with an expectant gaze.

"Do you want me to forgive you for what happened earlier?"

''He's purposefully treating me like I'm some dress-up doll!''

For a moment Kaede wrestled with the urge to give him another broken rib. A jerk like Pascal might find this funny but to her it was utterly demeaning!

<nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>

For obvious reasons, Kaede was not used to wearing heels, not even low, chunky heels with ankle straps. The smooth satin stockings also did not offer the same grip as the socks she was used to. Trying to keep up with Pascal's full stride as he crossed the grounds towards the dining hall only made both worse.

She was also keenly aware that almost every person they came across was staring at her.

The dining hall was located on the first floor of a massive central keep. It was large enough to fit a small church and they certainly weren't frugal on furnishing. Lit by chandeliers and massive stained-glass windows, it was lined with long, intricately-carved dining tables. Over a hundred students and teachers filled the individual chairs, gathered mostly in small clusters. Meanwhile servants in maid and butler outfits traversed up and down the aisles, taking orders and delivering food to the upper-class students.

"Hey ''Runelord''," a jeering call came from the far side as a short boy with flaming-red hair stood up. "I heard your familiar gave you a thrashing on the roof this morning! How does it feel to take yet another first -- the first to receive a beatdown from a loyal familiar? Honestly, was your performance in bed that abysmal last night?"

About a third of the hall either chuckled or laughed as the boy sat back down.

Kaede felt her face growing crimson as she lowered her eyes to stare at Pascal's heels.

''This is humiliating!''

She was never a fan of the sexual jokes that went around in male circles. But it was far worse now that she was 'the girl' used in their crude humor.

"<Just ignore them. Mere blithering idiots unworthy of our time.>" Pascal's stiff voice resounded within her head.

''Like you're any better?'' She retorted in the safety of her mind.

Walking ahead, Pascal never turned back towards her once. Kaede had a sneaking suspicion that the emotional link he mentioned earlier was starting to work -- possibly a result of her recent outburst. Heat rushed up her cheeks as her realization enhanced her embarrassment, which in turn magnified both her annoyance and her discontentment.

She followed Pascal to a relatively isolated part of the hall and took a seat next to him. A nearby maid, petite with short brown hair and no older than he was, rushed over to take his order.

However Pascal didn't even look at the servant, or acknowledge her existence in any way, before he commanded: "Fresh bread and scrambled eggs, triple servings, and small assortments of cheese and sausages."

"Yes Sir." the maid gave a faint reply before hesitantly meeting Kaede's eyes, uncertain.

"Nothing for her," Pascal declared.

Kaede's stomach grumbled in protest, and the maid sent her a look of sympathy before rushing off.

It took a moment before Kaede realized that Pascal was speaking a different language than when they were alone. The linguistics felt similar to what that boy had yelled earlier. Though thanks to Pascal's improvements to the familiar bond, she had no problem understanding it.

''He did say he was from another country.'' She thought as she looked at him. Pascal was also the only one wearing a black-and-crimson military uniform, while the other nobles dressed in an assortment of varied, brightly-colored clothing. ''Is that why he sits alone in a room with so many?''

For the first time, Kaede almost felt a bit sympathetic. She certainly had a similar experience, when her parents moved from Russia to Japan while she was in middle school. Trying to fit in as a ''hafu'' wasn't exactly easy in Japan.

Pascal then relented as he met her curious eyes with a satisfied smirk:

"You can have dinner."

"Gee, thanks. How generous of you, ''Sir!''"

His attitude made any sense of prior sympathy evaporate. It left her with only biting sarcasm.

"I understand that you are having a tough time, given all the tremendous changes in your life. Therefore I will not hold this morning against you past this."

He actually sounded a bit sincere about it, except...

"That's not much of an apology."

"Who said anything about apologizing?" He glanced away. Then, with a distant gaze: "I do take full responsibility for bringing you into this world, and I promise I will take care of you. Just please, the next time you feel overwhelmed, speak to me with words instead of with your fists. I assure you that next time I will not be caught so unprepared by barbaric violence."

Kaede looked back down as a sense of relief washed over her. However in its wake came a sense of shame -- that she had to rely on someone else, that she had to be taken care of in this new world.

All she managed to respond with was a faint "thanks".

When she looked up again, she found Pascal scowling. Tracing his gaze, she noticed a noblewoman who drew the attention of everybody in the vicinity, carrying a silver tray of food and heading unerringly towards them.

The lady held a breathtaking beauty that radiated confidence and refinement. She was of average height, maybe a hint taller, and had clear, bright-cyan eyes which seemed to sparkle above her sweet and gentle smile. Her waist-length cascades of floral-pink hair was held back by a flowery bun behind her head. Her slender body was athletic yet wrapped by enticing curves. Even her movements were elegant as she strode forth with soft steps.

Her figure-hugging military uniform was black-bordered and burning red. Accentuated with artistic strokes of orange and yellow, her outfit almost seemed like it was alight with flames. Beneath her stiff, folded collar dangled what looked like a German Iron Cross. It was the same as the one that Pascal wore over his throat.

The hall seemed to hush as the lady walked up to a stop directly behind Pascal. She ignored him entirely, just as he turned his back to her. However the lady then locked gazes with Kaede as she gave a short but smiling nod:

"Good afternoon, Miss Familiar. My name is Ariadne Charlotte von Zimmer-Manteuffel, daughter to the Margrave of Saale-Holzland of Weichsel. I apologize for the impropriety, but the last time we met, you were still unconscious."

Kaede felt stunned by the presence of true nobility and grace before her eyes. However, she did not miss the fact that even though Ariadne came from the same country as Pascal, the two of them clearly weren't on speaking terms.

With an awkward, twisted bow from her sitting position, Kaede just barely managed to force out:

"I'm Kaede Nikita Konstantinovich Suvorsky. I'm honored to meet you, uh, milady."

If Ariadne took even the slightest offense to Kaede's bumbling sense of etiquette, she gave no sign of it.

"I apologize for being direct, but hearsay has already circulated the school. I would prefer to ask the person in question. Are you, perchance, from the Grand Republic of Samara?"

"No. Not at all. Uh... it would be accurate to say that I'm not of this world at all, and none of the countries I know exist here."

Even with her shocked expression, Ariadne's gentle smile did not falter. But her hesitant tone did betray the strand of disbelief that tugged at her sincerity.

"Wow. That... must be really hard on you. I can't even begin to imagine... If you need help with anything, please do not hesitate to ask me. My beloved and friends are all very generous people."

"Thank you," Kaede gave her most grateful smile.

"I must admit that I saw you two on the roof this morning during my ride. Please, allow me to be the first one to thank you for giving this self-centered prick a much-needed lesson. Knowing him, I thought you might appreciate something to eat today." Ariadne finished by offering Kaede the tray she carried.

It was loaded with slices of bread and cheeses, plus an assortment of fruits and sliced meat.

As if on cue, her stomach chimed in with another growl. Kaede then glanced at Pascal, her eyes almost challenging. However he continued to face forward. His eyes stared at the thin air with a clearly disgruntled look.

"Do what you want," he forced out in monotone.

Kaede grinned back at Ariadne and took her offered plate:

"Thank you so much!"

Kaede held back from saying anything else. After all, she was still on thin ice after what happened on the roof and shouldn't disturb the peace too much.

"Not at all. Well then, good luck, have a pleasant day, and I will see you around!"

Ariadne turned back around and strode off, while the hall seemed to burst back into chatter. As the lady crossed paths with the maid returning to deliver Pascal's meal, she also gave the petite girl a smiling nod as she went along.

Pascal however, didn't even acknowledge the maid as she served him his food. Feeling improper, Kaede told the girl "thank you, miss", and received a surprised, almost gaping nod in return.

As Kaede bit into a sumptuous slice of pork, she decided to prod Pascal's moodiness a bit to annoy him. She might have gone a little overboard back on the roof. But that didn't mean there wasn't other ways to get back at him.

"So, what's your problem with her? She's from your country... Weichsel... isn't she?"

Kaede could tell from the language she used to speak. And even though they were both outsiders in a foreign land, Pascal sat alone while Ariadne was surrounded by friends. With this fact in mind, Kaede harbored no doubts who would be at fault for any conflicts between them.

"Finish swallowing your food before you speak," Pascal sent her a glance. "And close your legs when you sit."

"Why does it matter how I sit? Afraid I might hurt your image?"

"If you want to come off as a cheap, one-mark whore desperate for men, be my guest."

Kaede shut her legs instantly. Her face glowed with part-anger and part-humiliation. She couldn't believe that she had just been called a 'cheap whore' even though she was, technically, a young man. If she didn't have another forked slice of pork in hand, she might have hit him on reflex.

''You are such a scumbag!'' She settled for cursing in her thoughts instead.

Perhaps noticing her glare, Pascal tried to shift the topic:

"And yes, Ariadne is from Weichsel, just like me. I am surprised you noticed."

"I'm multilingual in my world." Kaede noted. "Even with the translation magic I can tell the differences in speech."

Pascal nodded. There was even a hint of approval in his gaze.

"My mother tongue is Imperial, which is what we're speaking right now. However the language most used by people here is Lotharin, one of the four official languages of Rhin-Lotharingie."

"Interesting. But that's not what I really asked," Kaede added as she suppressed her urge to smirk. ''Don't change the subject, prick.''

Though she really was curious how any country could function with not one, not two, but ''four'' official languages. At least, unless they had a hyper-efficient bureaucracy like the city-state of Singapore.

Meanwhile Pascal scowled. He clearly didn't want to reopen the wound.

"With Ariadne... well, I would be lying to myself if I just shrugged her off as another idiot. She has far too much competence, awareness, and purpose for that."

"So, once again, what's ''your problem'' with her?" She poked further.

However Pascal only grew silent again.

Kaede had almost given up on an answer before he sighed deeply and began with a faraway gaze:

"I courted Ariadne once, back in Weichsel when we both attended the Königsfeld Academy. It lasted little more than a week. She couldn't stop complaining about every little detail about her performance that bothered her back then. I ran out of patience quickly and broke off the relationship. She has barely talked to me and only referred to me as a 'self-centered prick' ever since."

"Well... you are--"

"Eat your food," Pascal ordered.

Which she did, silently, for no more than a minute.

"You regret it, don't you?"

Kaede realized that at least part of her motives lay from a desire to hear him finally concede: that he was once an inconsiderate bastard to someone else as well, someone who clearly deserved respect from him. Maybe then, Pascal might realize that he was making the same mistakes yet again.

But no words left him at all. Pascal kept on eating as if she had never said anything.

Then, as he bit into his last piece of bread, she heard an uncharacteristically melancholic voice from him in her mind:

"<The courtship I do not care so much about. But... Ariadne has matured considerably during the last few years. She turned out to be a beautiful and caring girl, an excellent mage, and a fine example of nobility. She would have made a great friend, if not at least an excellent political ally. I know what I did impacted her significantly, but... I only wish she did not hate me so much.>"

Contemplative, Kaede thought back to some of the less-than-stellar people choices she made during her own years. Shortsighted, hasty, and hurtful decision-making often came as a rite of adolescence. The important part was that Pascal had awareness of it.

''Perhaps he's not completely hopeless after all,'' the girl thought.

It certainly could have been far worse. At least Pascal seemed to have ''some'' integrity in upholding his personal values. If nothing else, Kaede rather doubted that most nobles in Earth's middle ages -- no matter how much 'in the wrong' they were -- would let her off so easily after she broke several of their ribs.

''Maybe he might at least treat me better, not to mention help me get back, if he simply acknowledged how badly he screwed up my life.''

"You know..." Kaede advised, partly in sincerity and partly because she wanted one herself: "While it's not always enough, it's never too late to apologize."

He munched through his last slice of bread in record time.

"I did not summon a mother."

With his meal finished, Pascal carefully wiped his mouth with the napkin. He then pulled out his chair and stood up. "Come on, we are going to the library next. You can learn more about this world and help me with my research work there."

Sighing, Kaede looked longingly down at her half-finished plate of fine, upper-class food.

''Nope, still just a prick.''

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| Forward to [[Daybreak:Volume_1_Chapter_4|Chapter 4]]
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</noinclude>

Daybreak:Volume 1 Chapter 2

2022-02-27T18:45:56Z

Aorii:

===Chapter 2 - By the Runelord's Will===

"Excellent, Dame Ariadne! It's remarkable how consistent your summoning is." Professor Albert von Marienfeld's words mirrored his gleaming-onyx eyes as they examined the beautiful wings of Ariadne's flawless white pegasus.

It wasn't her first pegasus either. Her previous steed had accompanied her since childhood, only to be killed under her during the Battle of Parchim. Her bravery in combat had earned her a Knight's Cross. This not only qualified her to join the prestigious Knights Phantom -- the elite air cavalry corp of Weichsel -- at merely twenty years of age, but also exacerbated her rivalry with Pascal.

"Thank you, Professor Sir," Ariadne returned a courteous reply as she stood up and brushed back her silken pink cascade. Pleased with her own summoning, she finally let go of the breath she'd been unconsciously holding. With a step forward in the magic circle inscribed using crushed sapphire dust -- her birthstone -- mixed with holy water and her own blood, she placed a delicate kiss on the forehead of her new pegasus familiar to seal the bond.

"Remember, class, that a familiar is a mage's companion for life." The instructor commented as Ariadne's demonstration finished. "Therefore, your spell should always demonstrate and describe yourself as an individual, much like a wedding oath. When completing the ceremony you should treat your familiar with respect and care, the same as you would treat your future bride or groom at the Holy Father's altar."

Professor Albert, as nobles of illustrious houses were often addressed by their first names to avoid confusion between members, looked around to survey his students. Dozens of anxious faces stared back, ready to attempt their own hand at summoning. However, Ariadne was not his only assistant, as Pascal was the next to provide an example. This brought signs of worry to his countenance, as he had no idea what the young man was planning.

"Sir Pascal. You're next."

"Of course, Professor Sir," Pascal remarked with nonchalance as he strode to the clearing within the ''Cancellation Field'' that opened a gap in the castle's ''Lockdown'' anti-teleportation ward. "Please stand back. Unlike Dame Ariadne, this is my first time. I do not wish to cause an accident from my ritual."

Somehow, his drawling, aristocratic intonation managed to make even humble words sound arrogant.

"Show-off," a few people muttered from the crowd.

"Well, let's see what your future brings."

Professor Albert took care to suppress his eager curiosity. He still didn't understand why Pascal had switched stances on the topic of familiars, but he was also interested to see what his most gifted student was capable of. Nevertheless, a part of him remained worried at what would come next, even with the promise he extracted from Pascal to take the summoning ritual seriously this time.

After all, the previous occasion Pascal participated in a summoning ceremony back in Königsfeld, he had filled the castle with swarms of brightly glowing pink flamingos. Even worse were the rainbows found in every hallway that refused to dissipate, which he had to go around dispelling one at a time.

It was only afterwards when Albert found out that the young noble never had any intention of summoning a familiar. He had treated the whole ceremony as an opportunity to experiment and show off. Had Pascal not been the Marshal's son, not to mention a cadet with great promise, the professor would have expelled him on the spot.

Albert now stood over Pascal with the examining gaze of a retired general. He watched the young lord retrieve one rune-engraved stone after another from an extra-dimensional belt pouch. After carefully positioning sixteen of them, Pascal connected the rocks with a series of tiny malachite gems to form a perfect circle. Three larger runic stones followed, this time linked by lapis lazuli gems to draw the smallest equilateral triangle that would contain the ring.

"Amazing..." came a feminine murmur as others nodded in consent.

"I believe you and Professor Kirchner are the only two experts of ancient Runic Rituals on campus, and I'm certainly not a specialist on gem magic," Professor Albert commented. "Would you please explain your setup to everyone?"

"Of course." Pascal relished the opportunity. "As you know, Runic Magic was created by the Northmen to reduce the casting time of their battle magic. The runic glyphs on these granite stones replace the mnemonic incantations of the ritual and substitute for our personalized verses. Each symbol is carved deep and inscribed with blood appropriate for bonding magic. Each gemstone is infused with my mana to supply additional magical power. The outer triangle, laid with the gems of truth and wisdom, will enhance the seek and search for the appropriate familiar. Meanwhile the inner ring of malachite, also known as 'the mirror of the soul', will serve as the primary focus of the ritual itself."

"I see you've put plenty of thought into preparing this," the Professor commented. "Very well, you may begin."

"With the runes handling everything, the ritual itself is quite simple and leaves no chance for errors," Pascal began with assured confidence as he gently cut his right index finger with a dagger. With careful aim, he dripped a drop of fresh blood into the top rune of the inner ring. Like water flowing across routed channels, the stones and gems lit up one after another. They bathed the shadowy room with a combination of crimson, forest, and indigo light. Magic strong enough to be felt pulsed outwards as each glyph lit up, releasing a dense mist that soon enshrouded the entire dance hall.

Minutes passed as everyone stood within the concealing mist. They couldn't see. But they were also not willing to disrupt a magical ceremony in fear of the often deadly consequences.

"The ritual is complete," Pascal announced as he quietly called a wind spell to clear away the mist.

The focus stones and precious gems had been reduced to a ring of worthless gray dust. However what drew gasps from everyone was the short girl that now lay unconscious within it, naked except for Pascal's jacket covering her thin body.

"Sir Pascal, please explain yourself."

Professor Albert kept his cool, but he was willing to bet his life that Pascal had ''intentionally'' created this unnatural conclusion to a sacred rite of magecraft. It seemed even with a promise the young man could not control himself.

Pascal did not answer his professor. His eyes were transfixed upon the unconscious girl. His body barely contained the boiling excitement as he whispered in simultaneous astonishment and triumph:

"It worked perfectly! Oh heavenly Father has granted me an angel!"

The unconscious girl at his feet was petite and thin. She appeared to be around sixteen, though her small build and short stature gave off a fragile, almost doll-like appearance. Her figure lay concealed beneath his jacket which looked far too big to fit. However the small hands and cute face revealed the flawless white skin that shone like fine porcelain. An adorably tiny nose and thinly curled lashes further decorated her image, while her snowy-white hair ran straight all the way down to thigh-length.

"Did he... just summon a Samaran girl for a familiar?" A spectating student asked.

"With that white hair? Probably."

"But why a Samaran? They're nonbelieving heathens!"

Meanwhile, Pascal knelt down in a dramatic one-kneed pose before taking the unconscious girl's right hand and kissing its back, thereby completing the familiar bonding ceremony.

"Sir Pascal, you have some explaining to do!"

The retired general was not used to being ignored, not even by his upstart pupil.

"It is exactly what it looks like, Professor Sir," Pascal replied while picking up the unconscious girl in a cradling carry, his arms supporting her back and underneath her knees. "I promised that I would perform a proper summoning ceremony," he added with a smug grin. "I never said that I would summon a traditional familiar. I chose to summon an intelligent person as my companion. Now the ritual has been completed."

He left the words <nowiki>'</nowiki>''and there is nothing more you can do about it''<nowiki>'</nowiki> unsaid as he strode out the dance hall, leaving behind a roomful of bewildered eyes, gawking expressions, and one incensed advisor.

...

By the time Pascal reached his dorm room, the adrenaline from his excitement was beginning to wear off. The girl within his arms was as light as she looked. However his late working nights were finally catching up to him. Not to mention the summoning ceremony and its preparation had drained his magic dry and left him completely exhausted.

With a swift gesture, his ''Unlock'' cantrip was recognized by the door's magical enhancement. He carried the still-unconscious girl across the threshold into his room. It was officially a 'dormitory', one he shared with the cadets who attended the academy's military courses. However in an academy built for nobles, the spacious bedroom was larger and better-furnished than most tavern guest rooms.

After gently laying the girl across his bed, Pascal went through his drawers to find some more appropriate clothes. The preparations he had been making all week included picking out apparel to match his tastes through mail order. The exact fit wasn't even a concern, since he had learned of a garment adjusting spell for precisely this occasion.

Then, just as Pascal was getting into it, the door slammed open.

"Sir Pascal! You still owe--"

Professor Albert's words trailed off into oblivion as he froze mid-step. Pascal was bent over the summoned girl, now naked on his four-poster bed with the jacket that once covered her tossed aside on the floor. Meanwhile, the young man's hands were in the midst of pulling silky stockings up her thighs.

Pascal blinked at him, then raised a single eyebrow:

"Would you like to watch, Sir?"

The professor couldn't have teleported out of the room faster. He slammed the door again as he left, and avoided Pascal for several days after that.

<nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>

Kaede had never felt this tired after waking up from a nap. His entire body felt sore and extraordinarily weak. It took exertion just to push against the bedcovers, with barely a sliver of his usual strength.

''Wait a sec... when did I fall asleep?''

It had been a tiring week. Kaede was a member of his high school's spring festival planning committee, and this year the timing overlapped with an archery tournament that he would be attending. He had been staying late every day to make sure that his previous years of committee experience would be passed down to his successor. At the same time he had to train at the Kyūdō Archery Club as one of its senior members. Combined with the schoolwork that a 12th-grader still had to finish, it left Kaede with many late nights where he could squeeze in six hours of sleep at best.

It didn't help that his sister's family had fallen ill, prompting his Japanese mother to fly to Vladivostok last night to care for them. His father -- like most Russian men of his generation -- was useless at housework. Therefore Kaede had to wake up early this morning to prepare breakfast.

Kaede could remember laying on the couch as he waited for the clock to strike 6AM. He was struggling to stay awake until it was time to meet the others and leave for the archery tournament.

''Trash. I wasn't supposed to--!''

The fear that he had overslept lit up his mind in a flash. His eyes sprang open. His arm reached out by force of habit to grasp his smartphone, only to promptly freeze as another memory came.

''No, wait. I *did* board the bus. I fell asleep as soon as I took a seat.''

But his surrounding now certainly wasn't that of a long distance bus. Kaede looked around as he tried to work his brain into making sense.

''Where the heck am I?''

He didn't recognize the old-fashioned four-poster bed he lay in, or the redwood furniture that lined the walls, and certainly not the dimly-lit room itself.

He felt his pulse quickening as uncertainty washed over him. Being both too young to drink and uninterested in alcohol, or any kind of drugs for that matter, it was improbable that he had blacked out from some kind of wild club party and screwed up his memory.

Sitting up on the bed to get a better view, he suddenly realized that his back and shoulders were bare and chilly. By contrast, his chest was covered by a fabric smoother than anything he was used to.

''Wait... something's not right...''

He looked down, first noticing that his arms were one: far thinner than they should be, and two: adorned in silky white gloves... long gloves reaching up his triceps... while sleeping...

''What kind of a weird prank is...''

His eyes traced downwards and then saw 'his' chest. His mind promptly blanked out as every thought came to a crashing halt. His senses and mental capacities had to be rebooted one by one as a result.

Realization #1: He, or perhaps ''she'' was a better descriptor of this body, had small mounds of outward bulging flesh on the chest that could only be described as breasts. Petite but so very soft and sensitive, if his... ''her'' fingers' touch was correct.

Realization #2: ''She'' was wearing a pure white halter top of... charmeuse? Some kind of glossy satin-weave, with a crest of some kind laid onto her chest, bosom, in delicate white gold, and not a stitch covering her back.

Realization #3: Shifting the thighs found nothing in between except more smooth fabric, therefore identifying, once again, that this was a ''she''.

Realization #4: WHAT THE HELL!

...

''All right, deep breaths... calm down and think.''

Kaede had no clue how long had passed since he, she -- whatever one should refer to themselves in such outrageous circumstances -- completely blanked out.

Unfortunately, after several mental shocks and still no ray of enlightenment, Kaede concluded that this was ''probably'' not just a weird dream... which meant that the situation was truly nightmarish.

Some pervert with access to incomprehensible mad science had turned ''him'' into a ''her''. The perpetrator then left her in a fancy room with an extravagant bed dressed in dubious undergarments.

Kaede wasn't used to rape alarms going off in ''his'' head.

''Is the universe playing a cruel joke on me or something?'' Kaede couldn't help wonder. ''Is it because I complained too many times about all the unfair expectations placed on me just because I was born male?''

Sure, Kaede had always been called a 'sensitive boy'. He never really fit in with what society saw as 'masculine culture'. However this was definitely NOT what ''he'' had asked for!

Nevertheless, Kaede's fears did wonders in concentrating the mind. Her hyperactive thoughts soon realized exactly what should be done:

Objective #1: Find something weapon-like and ''get out'' of this room.

Objective #2: Figure out how to return to normal, probably by beating the pervert responsible for this unconscious and then forcing it out of him.

As Kaede pulled her legs out of the bed, she noticed that the charmeuse halter top descended down to form a single-piece garment that tightly hugged her torso. It was almost like a leotard, except with more buttons. Furthermore, it had a short skirt of muslin and lace attached, as well as two garter straps which held up thigh-high stocks, or more like solid white stockings.

''What is this, bridal night lingerie?''

A terrifying chill sent shivers down her spine which made her skin crawl. At least the undergarment was completely opaque which left all the female parts fully covered.

With her feet on the carpet, she tried to stand up, only to sway once before collapsing back into the bed. She still seemed to lack the proper motor control to handle her new body. She then repeated the simple action, this time pacing herself with focused concentration.

''So much effort just to stand and walk... this is beyond ridiculous.''

Taking each step with care, Kaede gradually made her way over to a chair where a black jacket draped over it. On the nearby wall she also noticed a Welsh-style longbow, which she mentally filed away for later. After covering herself with the too-large outerwear, she found her best option for self-defense in the form of a fireplace poker. It had been in a stand next to an unattended, still-burning hearth.

Kaede was self-taught in both eastern and western swordsmanship, so ''he'' could effectively use any stick of reasonable length. But ''she'', with her thin arms and reduced motor skills, found the 'heavy' poker about as agile as an oversized baseball bat. Her first warm-up swing almost sent her crashing into a long dressing table. Her right hand managed to grab the edge just in time, but not before the metal rod plunged straight into the giant mirror behind the drawers.

The loud, shattering noise was a dead giveaway.

Hearing faint but rushed footsteps beyond the door, Kaede rushed to take cover behind a corner wall near the doorway. With her pervert-beating stick raised and ready, she could feel every heartbeat as the door opened and soft steps made its way in. The door was slow to close. However in the meantime the silhouette cast by the bright hallway lamps marked the intruder's exact position.

Kaede went into action the moment the door closed. Stepping out from behind the corner, she swung the iron poker with a two-handed grip. She made sure its metal spike was facing forward. With her weak arms, she knew that maximizing damage on the initial hit was her only chance of winning.

Carrying a tray filled with sandwiches and a bowl of steaming hot soup, the intruder reflexively lurched the tray forward to use as a shield. Its contents hurled straight towards Kaede, especially the scorching-hot soup which passed right through the middle of her open jacket and onto her thin undergarment top.

Her painful yell muffled the young man's clenched grunt. The metal rod bounced off the silver tray with a resounding 'clang', but not before its iron spike slashed into his exposed left fist and broke his index and middle fingers.

Tossing the tray towards his left, he used its edge to catch the spike and disarmed her of the poker. Ignoring his broken digits, the man pressed her shaking body down onto the floor and pinned her arms back in one fluid motion. With a twist from his wrist and two lightning-fast words, a linked pair of iron shackles appeared out of thin air, binding her hands behind her.

"OwwOwwOwwOwwOwwww!" Kaede continued to thrash about on the floor as her chest burned under the scalding soup.

With a deep sigh, the young man waved his hand again and the searing liquid disappeared. The mess left on the floor soon followed with a few more gestures and words. All that remained was the lingering pain and recent burns on her sensitive flesh.

"Sheesh, I leave to get you some food and this is the thanks I get?"

''You're the one who turned me into a girl and you expect thanks!?''

Still breathing hard, Kaede rolled onto her back. She glared at her foe through tear-stained eyes even as her thoughts slowly returned. Fluent in three languages and versed in another two, she only recognized his words as similar to Old High German, which she had no business understanding. Yet somehow, she did.

The young man would tower over her even if she stood, with broad shoulders accentuated by a stiff crimson-on-black uniform. He turned to sit down on the four-poster bed while keeping her in his gaze. With a glance at his bloodied hand, he took out a small pebble and pressed it into his left palm. He then covered his left fist with his right, while a large, turquoise-set platinum ring began to glow from the exposed ring finger.

His eyes, as crystal clear as the aqua gemstone, held onto hers with a piercing gaze.

"Please do not attempt anything so stupid again. I am an experienced soldier and I really do not want to be forced to hurt you. Now... if I release your hands, will you be good and let us talk this out like rational people?"

''Rational people don't kidnap boys and turn them into girls!''

Still glaring with angry eyes, Kaede took a brief moment before nodding in consent. With her basic understanding of martial arts, she could tell from his movements that the man's prowess were several magnitudes above hers... even before her body change.

He turned the ring towards her again. With a simple "dismiss," her bonds vanished as swiftly as they came. Kaede quickly brought her hands forward. She rubbed her chest just above the breasts in an attempt to ease the lingering pain. Surprisingly, there was no longer a single spot or stain on the pure white fabric.

"Here, ''Invigorate''," he reached forward with the glowing ring, hovering just beyond her chest without touching. A soothing cool soon spread over Kaede's inflamed skin. The feeling remained even after he pulled his fingers back.

"Surface wounds are easy. Just sleep on it and you will not even notice it by morning."

"...Thanks," her reply was weaker than a whisper.

"On to introductions: my name is Pascal Kay Lennart von Moltewitz, son of Marshal Karl August von Moltewitz of Weichsel, heir to the Landgrave of Nordkreuz. What is yours?"

''A German Landgrave? Didn't the Weimar Republic abolish the nobility?''

Kaede didn't have a clue on what was going on, and only begrudgingly forced out a basic answer in her new wispy voice: "Kaede Nikita Konstantinovich Suvorsky."

"Are you a Samaran? Your family name sure sounds like it," he went on while the turquoise gem continued to glow.

"My surname is ''Russian''! I'm half-Russian and half-Japanese!" She countered while sitting back up into a formal Japanese kneel, before shifting uncomfortably as she felt her cold, satin-covered heels press against her bottom. "Where's Samaran referring to, anyway?"

For some reason, the words that rolled off her tongue seemed to be of the same language he used.

"They are a group of people from the Grand Republic of Samara in the continent's northeast. They have pale skin with silver-blue to light-blond hair. Their country is a Mercantile Oligarchic Republic and they believe in spiritual reincarnation." Pascal explained in an irritatingly aristocratic, drawling accent. Then, with a confused look that he wasn't used to: "I have never heard of Russian or Japanese before."

Even Kaede was stumped now.

"Uhhh, where are we now, then? What part of the world?"

"We are in the Alisia Academy of Magic, roughly a hundred kilopaces northeast of Alis Avern, Capital of the Empire of Rhin-Lotharingie. The Kingdom of Weichsel, my home country, lays to our east. The Grand Republic of Samara is further east and borders Weichsel. Meanwhile to our south is the Holy Imperium of the Inner Sea, the premier power in Western Hyperion, as well as one of the two superpowers in our world." He explained. "Surely you must have heard of at least one of them?"

''Well... crap.''

Kaede only knew 'Samara' as a Russian city and region, situated at the Samara Bend of the Volga River. The other names she didn't recognize, except the continent 'Hyperion' which matched Greek mythology, as well as 'Alisia' which... she couldn't remember off-hand. Nevertheless, it didn't take a linguist to realize all those foreign nation-state names, not to mention the keywords ''Academy of Magic'', meant only one thing:

"This isn't Earth." Her words left in a dazed whisper.

"Of course not. The ground is three levels below." His left eyebrow arced upwards in curiosity. "What kind of weird place did you come from?"

Her mind was still reeling. She barely even heard his remark.

"Why... what... this is just... how did this even happen?"

"I summoned you to be my familiar. And either you're some stupid, backwater peasant--"

Kaede stood back up in a flash of anger and almost fell over again. Her rose-quartz eyes narrowed back into a furious glare:

''HE did this?''

"--Or... I guess asking for someone with a 'whole different world outlook' bought me more than I bargained for."

Somehow, the man was looking more smug by the second and increasingly proud of himself.

"Why the heck did you summon ''me?''" Her arms flailed dramatically. "And why the hell did you turn me into a girl?"

"The spell picked you, not me... wait a second, you are a man?"

"Male and seventeen, before I woke up here!" Her otherwise wispy voice had risen to a soft yell.

With his brows furrowed, Pascal looked split between confusion and disbelief.

"No such procedure was added to the spell."

"Well, whatever you did, fix it!"

"I cannot."

"Just send me back however you brought me here then!"

"I cannot."

"What do you mean you can't!"

His ring finally stopped glowing, and he stretched out his left hand. His fingers were whole again without a single scratch. As his eyes examined the healed result, he answered with a tone of uncaring nonchalance:

"I meant what I said. Familiar contracts are not meant to be broken and are only severed upon death. Familiars also rarely live long after the master's demise. So even if I can sever it, you are likely to die in the process."

His penetrating gaze then locked onto her widening eyes.

"And if the summoning spell really did transform your physical body, that means it also materialized, or better said, ''naturalized'' you to our world. That means I cannot simply banish you back to wherever you came from. For all purposes, you are now a denizen of this world."

"...As a familiar?" Kaede could only shake her head slowly, her eyes quivering in denial of the words coming from her mouth.

"As ''my'' familiar, yes."

This time, it was irritation and anger that dragged Kaede back into reality: a growing desire to tear that smile off his handsome face.

"The only way you'll get me to call you 'master' is by animating my cold, dead body!"

"There is no need for such tasteless measures," he simply shrugged. "I am not one of those nobles who needs their ego constantly stroked."

''That is clearly. Not. The point!''

"I believe this is quite a fair deal," Pascal stated. "Be my companion, and I will make certain you are well taken care of and live a comfortable life."

"I had a perfectly good life back there!"

"--And you will have just as good of a life here. I promise."

"You can kiss my ass!"

"--And a cute ass it is. I would not really mind." Pascal chuckled as he eyed the skirt poking out from underneath the jacket that she appropriated.

Kaede quickly pulled the bottom hem of the oversized jacket down. Several shades of embarrassment worked into her pale face while it grew red with frustrated anger:

"What part of 'I'm a guy' are you not understanding?"

"The fact that you are an adorable young lady."

With an amused grin and a glance at the wall clock, Pascal decided to wrap this conversation up:

"We can continue discussing this tomorrow. Although... it appears I forgot to prepare you a new bed. Just sleep in mine for tonight. I will have that fixed as soon as I can."

He pulled back the bed cover before starting to undress, clearly intending to sleep in it himself.

''I am NOT sleeping next to a man who put me in bridal lingerie!'' Kaede's mind shouted. ''And I'm certainly not sleeping like this next to a guy I don't even know!''

"You can't seriously be expecting me to... and like... wearing... ''this!''"

"Do not worry. A proper nobleman like myself would never do anything without consent, especially not to a sleeping lady." His reassurance proved anything but reassuring as he finished unbuttoning his undershirt, revealing the chiseled muscles beneath.

"B-but you dressed me up while I was asleep!"

"Of course," he remarked as though it was only natural. "You arrived as naked as a newly born babe."

"That's not the point! Do... ''DON'T YOU HAVE ANY COMMON SENSE''!!"

He turned back around and his handsome, noble-bred features lit up with the perfect smile:

"Plenty, just my own!"

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| Forward to [[Daybreak:Volume_1_Chapter_3|Chapter 3]]
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</noinclude>

Daybreak:Volume 1 Chapter 1

2022-02-27T18:43:39Z

Aorii:

===Chapter 1 - The Curse of Prodigy===

"She ''is'' coming back today, right?" Perceval asked as he continued to lean against the column in the academy's entrance courtyard. His voice carried a hint of anxiety as he watched his best friend pace in circles around him.

"Of course! Since when has Ariadne ever joked about something like this?" Reynaud swayed as he continued to goose-step in a circle. His arms were extended in a tee, while his head shifted from side-to-side.

It was as though the short-statured young man was practicing for a contest in exotic dancing... or just plain silly walks.

"I'm not saying... Oh would you please stop?" Perceval breathed out. "You're making me nervous!"

The short young man spun about and grinned with a teasing voice:

"Sheesh, she's only been gone for a month and you're already like this. Talk about having it bad!"

"She was ''on campaign'', and it's been almost ''two months''," Perceval specified. "What if she'd been wounded? What if she lost an arm? What if her King wouldn't let her come back?"

"I think she'd tell you if any of those happened." Reynaud reassured. "Besides, you're courting a Weichsen Hussar..."

"Knight Phantom," Perceval corrected his friend.

"Which the rest of the continent call Hussars. They're air cavalry," Reynaud shrugged. "Tip of the spear in every major battle. You should at least try to get used to it."

"I know, I know," Perceval exhaled a deep sigh. "It's just... I don't want her to suffer what befell my parents. The battlefield is as unpredictable as it is dangerous. And she did say that the battle had been vicious, so much that her mount had been killed under her." He finished before looking up and seeing a familiar figure in the distance.

"Heyyyy!" A girl with flowing pink hair yelled. "Perceval! Reynaud!"

"There she--"

Reynaud barely even began before his friend ran past him.

"Aria!" Perceval ran right up to her before stopping just an arm's length away. Then, after a brief pause, he stepped forward and gave her an all-encompassing embrace that picked her off the ground.

"Thank the Holy Father. You're alright." His tone finally relaxed.

"I told you I was fine, didn't I?" Ariadne replied in a reassuring voice. "You worry too much. Our campaign against Västergötlander raiders was a complete victory."

"Awww, he's just trying to show you love," Reynaud caught up and leaned forward with a grin, before a slightly blushing Ariadne shooed him away with her hand.

"I'm sorry I was late," Ariadne added in apology as Perceval finally pulled away. The three of them then began to stroll at a leisurely pace along a corridor. "The Wayfarers were scheduled to bring that self-centered prick back along with me. He was late to the rendezvous so we had to wait for him. It delayed the Wayfarers' timetables across the entire trip."

Perceval frowned while Reynaud sighed.

"The Princeling thinks he's the center of the universe. What else is new?" The short-statured young man gave a mocking shrug with his palms raised. "Though... is it true what the rumors have been claiming? That the King of Weichsel ''personally'' promoted him to Captain?"

Reynaud didn't notice as Ariadne intertwined her delicate fingers with Perceval's. She reassured the other with a light squeeze before answering:

"Yes. One of my friends' fiancée works on the Marshal's staff. She said that Pascal was serving his father as an adjutant--"

Ariadne felt her beloved's fingers tighten. She squeezed back in support while trying to hide her pained wince.

"--When the situation changed during the Battle of Parchim. Pascal modified the orders he was sending to the Noble Reiters to bombard a weak spot he noticed in the enemy's line. It threw the entire Northmen army off-balance just before our charge struck their flank. His father, the Marshal, gave him due credit of course, but also publicly reprimanded him for overriding command orders. Yet when the King heard about it... he personally promoted and knighted that prick."

Both of the men groaned.

"Great, leave it to your King to undo the Marshal's work. That arrogant twit of a princeling needs to be taken down a notch and even his father knows it..." Reynaud's mood plummeted straight to grumpy, where not even his admiration for the renowned Field Marshal of Weichsel was enough to rescue it. Then, as the trio turned the corner into another courtyard: "speak of the devil, our ''Runelord's'' new celebrity status is already taking effect."

It didn't take familiarity to spot Pascal. Even with his eyes shut and arms crossed, he still sat in a regal poise that made the marble bench look like a throne. Framed by soft golden curls just long enough to cover his ears, his broad yet lean build gave his polished military uniform the best look a propaganda poster could seek.

But that wasn't what made him the center of attention. Sitting alone in the middle of the courtyard gardens, he was surrounded by noble girls who kept their distance. They all stood at least twenty paces away, whispering among themselves even as they kept him in their gaze. Meanwhile, most of the men who strolled by, and many of the ladies as well, looked towards him with scowling faces.

It was an understatement to say that Pascal Kay Lennart von Moltewitz, the only heir of Weichsel's Marshal and Landgrave of Nordkreuz, stood far above the crowd. But regardless of how assured he looked as he gathered the light of mana into a gemstone in his hands, no one could doubt the ill repercussions that too often followed any young prodigy:

Amongst a courtyard of chattering peers, he sat silent and alone.

<nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>

"Captain and Knight's Cross recipient at just twenty..."

"He graduated from the Königsfeld Military Academy in just three years!"

"Even the King of Weichsel said that he would make a great general one day."

"He's also the heir to the Landgraviate of Nordkreuz, the most prosperous trading hub in the north!"

"It's such a shame he's already betrothed to our Crown Princess."

"Didn't she leave the capital a week ago to personally congratulate him in Weichsel?"

The noble daughters that surrounded him whispered in hush voices, but Pascal's trained ears caught the words nonetheless. He did not enjoy such gossip, but no properly raised nobleman, bred for political intrigues of the court, could subconsciously dismiss what others spoke of him.

''Day after day I'm surrounded by insignificant fools, each with no greater role in the world than a mere name, barely altering the statistics of census records and enrollment sheets.''

Pascal couldn't help but wish that one of those rumors ''was'' actually true, that Crown Princess Sylviane really did pay him a visit. She was one of the few girls he knew worthy of her nobility, who not only had the beauty to match her prestige but also the farsighted intellect of an aspiring ruler. Unfortunately, proper empresses-in-training also lacked time, and it was all she could spare to congratulate him a week ago through a ''Farspeak'' communication spell.

Of course, not everyone spoke of his accomplishments with admiration. That included a number of young lords within this room. Contempt filled their voices as though ridiculing others somehow rescued their wounded pride.

"His father is just pulling another publicity stunt. Marshal Moltewitz is already famous enough. Why not claim it was his son's doing and gift the amateur some credit?"

"Must be nice being awarded just for having papa as the commander..."

Pascal wasn't agitated by those who could only mock his back from afar. No, he only cared enough to track those who foolishly marked themselves a foe. Their actual complaints were beneath him, unfit for extended consideration by even a single train of thought. It was the fact that he had to waste time near such lowlifes that really bothered him.

''Whining cowards and pining damsels, with the sheep-like idiocy of peasantry. At least in Weichsel, the nobles of the Königsfeld Academy had the valor to follow our aristocratic military heritage to war.''

The Kingdom of Weichsel prided itself on the competence of its military aristocracy. The curriculum for its noble's education followed that tradition. The Königsfeld Academy of Magic was renowned throughout the continent for its military schooling. And, as an early graduate of its tactical command track, Pascal had expected to be given an independent command in Weichsel's military.

Instead, he had been sent to the Empire of Rhin-Lotharingie as one of Professor Albert von Marienfeld's assistants -- a post-grad 'exchange student' to promote goodwill and share cultural and military expertise with their allies. The Alisia Academy of Magic where he lived now wasn't even specific to military education. Instead, it was a generalist institution full of undisciplined young nobles, many of whom wasted the exorbitant sums their parents paid to send them.

Pascal could understand the need for diplomacy. After all, he was the Empire's future Crown Prince Consort. But...

''Why send me to a school of all places? What's the point of forcing me to stay in the classroom!? I'm wasting my time here!''

Worse yet, as he glanced sideways towards his left, he saw ''her'' sitting on the other side of the podium. The girl named Ariadne had been his nemesis back in Königsfeld Academy. Yet, for some demented reason that he could not understand, they sent her along with him as the professor's other assistant!

''Why must I work with her of all people!? All she does is make me look awful!''

Pascal knew perfectly well that he had a long way to climb before emerging from the shadows of his father's renown. He needed to start his career early, to take advantage of every opportunity, not be saddled down with additional baggage. Furthermore, for an aspiring officer who had already felt the power of responsibility on the battlefield, a return to the classroom was like being told to go back to the sandbox.

"Settle down, everyone." The balding professor Albert von Marienfeld announced, exactly one minute late as usual to his lectures on 'Military Command, Control, and Communications'.

"I realize that the return of my assistants from the front lines brings exciting news. It's precisely why I sent them, so our class could discuss and analyze their first-hand experiences!"

His announcement gathered most of the class' attention in an instant.

Even Pascal glanced back with a hint of admiration for the adaptability shown by his advisor. It was only a year ago when the Professor insisted Pascal follow his father's wishes: to extend his education under Albert in Rhin-Lotharingie, on the grounds that it was somehow 'good for him'.

"But first things first, I'm to remind everyone that all third year's classes will be canceled this Friday for familiar-summoning ceremonies. All students who wish to participate are free to do so."

Eager chatter broke loose across the classroom again at this announcement.

The Professor turned to prepare the classroom's illusion projectors. He whistled a short tune as he patiently waited for the students to empty their minds of burning curiosities so they may receive fresh wisdom.

The only other person who wasn't excited was Pascal himself.

''...As if I need the presence of more dumb animals around me.''

Familiar summoning had been an elective program back in Königsfeld, where they were taught how to prepare a personalized summoning ritual. But while Pascal found the sorcery lessons interesting, he had no interest in attaining a ''pet'' as the final outcome.

Silently, he scrolled back through his memories, thinking of every mage's familiar he had come across during his years. Many of them made for trusted mounts on the battlefield. Some of them served as eyes and ears for their master. A few even trained as servants in simple households. But not a single one -- not even the phoenix familiars of the Oriflamme Paladins -- ever showed more intelligence and creativity than one could expect from a beast.

''But then,'' a thought came to him, ''why must I be limited to mere beasts?''

Pascal drew a scroll of parchment and copied down the mnemonic incantations of every Summon Familiar spell variant he knew from memory. Within a minute, he had them broken down into a tree graph of individual spellcraft components which defined every effect -- scan, calling, summon, transport, binding, connect, sharing...

He didn't need a servant. A traditional, obedient familiar was no better than a yes-man. Loyal, but nevertheless a tool of limited use.

Paying no heed to the conversations around him, he tapped the syllables that represented the 'animal calling' aspect of the spell on his parchment.

''What I need is a person near my level and age, a companion who will always be with me to share my thoughts...''

Images came of a twin who shared his outlook, and the mere prospect of mirrored words made his mind recoil. Pascal didn't want some voice of agreement and approval. His fondest memories of intellectual exploration were filled with heated debates.

''...Someone with a completely different outlook upon the world. A dissimilar foundation of knowledge and wisdom, yet diverse enough to rival my own.''

Moving into the future, he thought of his impending career on the battlefields of war and diplomacy, where only a balance of words and swords guaranteed survival.

''...Must be capable enough to serve as my second. An advisor and analyst, but also able to fend for herself with the powers I bestow through our bond.''

A brief flashback brought his thoughts back to his childhood, when he and Princess Sylviane could spend hours lounging on the shores of the Cross Lake near the Moltewitz estate. Their conversations naturally flowed from one worldly topic to another with no regard to time, when he had all day to admire the focus and intellect that lay behind her wisteria gaze, or the vast understanding that hid under that dark-purple hair.

''...And she needs to be cute too,'' he decided, with the perfect image coming to mind. ''Vivi is Sylv's favorite, after all.'' He thought of the girl who often accompanied the Crown Princess. ''Can't object to another girl as cute.''

The professor clapped twice, drawing the room's attention back to the fore where an illusory, three-dimensional overhead projection of the Parchim battlefield lay.

"Captain Sir Pascal Kay Lennart von Moltewitz, as you are our honored 'hero' of the campaign, it is only fair that we begin today's lecture with your... irregular contribution to the war."

Muffled snickering drifted forth from the back of the room, but Pascal ignored them as though he heard only buzzing flies.

"Yes Sir."

Rolling up his parchment as he stood, Pascal's determination revealed not the slightest sign of offense or hesitance. Albert's choice of words made it obvious that the professor agreed with his father. Pascal understood the reason behind the Marshal's reprimand -- rules were rules after all, and no army would be able to operate if junior officers could freely change the orders they received.

He just thought it was unfair that rules of the average should apply to ''him''.

It would be many hours of late night studies before Pascal could finish the work he began. But even at its end, even after triple-checking his modifications with satisfaction, Pascal would never notice his one critical error due to sheer inexperience:

Beasts were simple-minded. It was easy to find a physically and mentally healthy critter to call forth as a familiar.

Humans were another matter entirely, and the divination scanning component he wrote into the spell was nowhere powerful enough to search through the multiverse for a precise match to his exact specifications.

Magical energy naturally drifted towards the easiest path: twiddling the first subject that met most criteria instead of seeking a perfect match. Of course, shaping minds was a difficult and dangerous business. But molding forms through sorcery was easily achieved.

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| Return to [[Daybreak_on_Hyperion|Main Page]]
| Forward to [[Daybreak:Volume_1_Chapter_2|Chapter 2]]
|-
|}
</noinclude>

Daybreak:Volume 2 Chapter 17

2021-07-09T17:07:00Z

Aorii:

===Chapter 17 - Desperate Assault===

"We need to redeploy outside the city," Pascal insisted as he faced the assembled commanders of the Weichsen army in their morning gathering.

Eight brigade commanders, plus a dozen more staff officers or tactical officers, met in the paved square just inside the city's northern gate. As the majority of the nearby buildings now lay in ruins, army personnel deployed a 'mobile command center' for the meeting instead. This was a large, single-room structure which had been expanded from its shrunken, crate-sized form. It featured an enchanted map table which they used to display the geography around Nordkreuz.

The map table back at Pascal's home --with its links to Weichsel's 'Eye of the Dragon'-- would have been preferable for this meeting. However, while his cylindrical keep residence wasn't seriously damaged by the air assault, its foundations had been destabilized by the subsequent earthquake which had caused the structure to list dangerously. The building had been evacuated as a result, aside from two signal officers who stayed there to relay information from the map display.

In addition, the air attack that devastated the city had also claimed the lives of two brigadiers and seriously wounded General Wiktor von Falkenhausen -- who had been entrusted with the overall command of the forces assembled at Nordkreuz since the King and General Neithard's departure. Per Weichsel regulations for a defensive battle on home territory, command now fell to the next highest ranking officer, with priority given to the local garrison commander.

This happened to be Pascal's direct superior, Brigadier-General Bernard von Konopacki. He was a mediocre statured man who looked just past his adult prime, but with premature salt-and-pepper hair that added at least a decade to his visage. His slate-blue eyes now turned towards Pascal as the brigadier spoke in an even-mannered voice:

"You believe it would be better to sally out from the city for battle? Why?"

Pascal knew that although the Brigadier was of General Neithard's faction and therefore politically opposed to his views, Bernard von Konopacki was also an astute tactician and reliable infantry commander, if a bit old fashioned. Nevertheless, the thought of abandoning prepared fortifications to fight out in the open was too unorthodox for the general. He looked upon the young captain with a look of skepticism... but also a willingness to listen.

"For four reasons," Pascal raised his hand as he began to list. "First of all, the early morning bombardment from Skagen's drakes have left the city's fortifications in ruins. More than half the towers in the city's north and east have collapsed, along with many lengths of the city's walls. Countless wall sections now require scaling ladders even for our men to access, while others are so badly damaged they might collapse under the lightest spell bombardment."

"The rubble left behind by those walls would still impede entry," one of the other generals commented.

"Yes, but they also pose a hindrance upon our own forces' ability to conduct a coordinated defense," Pascal highlighted. "This brings me to point number two -- our forces still hold a significant numerical advantage, with roughly 46,000 against their 36,000. We need room to deploy and maneuver if we are to make full use of this quantitative edge. For this the ruined fortifications are more of an impedance than a boon."

In fact, most Weichsens found it surprising that the Northmen still insisted on fighting now that the skywhales had been defeated and Admiral Winter reportedly killed. Nevertheless, both the Skagen army and the Västergötland expedition force had set out from their camps at daybreak and now converged upon the city of Nordkreuz.

"This is especially the case when you consider that the Northmen are at their best in melee, which is my third point," Pascal continued as he raised another finger. "If we fight in Nordkreuz, and they break through the city's perimeter, we will be forced into chaotic, close quarters urban combat, where the Northmen hold a decisive edge. We need to make use of Weichsel's superiority in ranged and formation combat, and for that we require open terrain."

Brigadier Bernard nodded as he clearly recognized Pascal's points. Nevertheless he made one last objection:

"And what of the snow? The accumulation is almost half a pace high and hard snow continues to fall."

"The Northmen are expert skiers trained from childhood, while most of our men lack even snowshoes," another general pointed out. "A battle out in thick snow will not be to our advantage. They will cut our forces into pockets using their ''motti'' tactics, just like they did to the Imperium's expeditions decades ago!"

"--Not to mention the impact of the snowfall on visibility and range," added yet another. "Our arbalests will hardly get off a second volley before they close the distance."

"However the intensity of the weather ''is'' decreasing," Pascal insisted, "and it will continue to do so, since the originator of this storm, Admiral Winter, has been killed in the air battle. Ground accumulation may slow us down, yet it also offers us an opportunity to prepare the battlefield. After all, Nordkreuz lays on a peninsula that juts out into the middle of Cross Lake. The enemy has no choice but to approach from one direction, which gives us an opportunity to prepare."

"Trenches, slush pits, icicle stakes," one of the colonels, a brigade staff officer, joined in support of Pascal this time. "We can rough up the ground so they can neither run nor ski across it effectively. That will buy us the time needed for successive volleys."

"Skagen's mages do prepare runes for dealing with problematic ground."

"Yes, but any lanes they create through obstacle terrain will become bottlenecks, which our mages can exploit as effective kill zones."

There was actually a fifth reason that Pascal didn't want to mention, and that was he wanted to spare Nordkreuz any more destruction by keeping the battle outside of its walls. The city already lay in ruins after the aerial bombardment. Its militia was busy rescuing people trapped in collapsed cellars even as they spoke.

''It is my fault that the city is in such a state,'' the young lord couldn't help but think of the smoking ruins outside. ''I do not want the city's residents to suffer any more than they already have.''

However, as Pascal was the Landgrave of Nordkreuz, it would seem selfish if he claimed this as one of the reasons. There would no doubt be those who see it as him using national assets to protect his own fiefdom.

"Does anyone else have counterarguments?" Brigadier Bernard called out.

"Won't we be spreading our forces thin trying to cover the whole width of the peninsula?" A general questioned.

"We have the numbers. More than sufficient to create mobile reserves to bolster any part of the line that falls under determined attack," spoke another.

"Plus the Northmen know that piling up in one place will just make them fodder to our spell volleys."

"Not to mention that time is on our side," Lieutenant-Colonel Hans Ostergalen then added before Pascal could point out himself. "General Dietfried will arrive with the 1st cavalry brigade by early afternoon. As long as we can hold the anvil until that time, then our cavalry will become the hammer that crushes our enemies from behind."

"It's settled then," Brigadier Bernard declared as he used his sword to draw a line in the map table's sand. "We will deploy seven brigades across this line north of the city, at the crest of these two shallow ridges. Brigade commanders have authority to deploy as they see fit within their zone of responsibility. However I want two defense lines constructed -- an outer skirmish screen to slow down the enemy and a main line to hold fast. Then once those are completed, withdraw the support companies to the city's perimeter to construct a fallback position just in case."

"Yes Sir," officers nodded from across the room as they drew more indentations in the sand. Operational responsibilities were quickly divided up among the commanders before Bernard issued orders for the last two remaining formations:

"The veteran 5th infantry brigade and the 2nd cavalry brigade will be held back to act as reserves for the overall line. They will clear two lanes, each no less than four abreast, behind the main line for the rapid relocation of troops. We have only a few hours before the enemy's arrival so let's get started!"

<nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>

"What is the point of attacking Nordkreuz now!?"

"How are we supposed to take the city when Admiral Winter has been defeated!?"

"You and your brother must bear personal responsibility for the calamity that has befallen our skywhales!"

Jarl Eyvindur Sigmundsen of Kattegen narrowed his eyes as he gazed upon the dozen rowdy nobles gathered before him. Many of them were already threatening to leave with their retinue and levy. The only reason they have not done so was because nobody wanted to be the first to break ranks and thus be accused of cowardice.

"SIIILEEENCE!" The tall, burly jarl bellowed out in a roar. It seized not only the nobles' attention, but also turned the heads of several hundreds more, as men continued to ski past the impromptu assembly of lords.

"Are you all ''children!?''" Eyvindur snarled with disdain as he looked upon the nobles before his gaze. "One setback and you call it quits!? If that is the extent of your determination then I will not stop you from fleeing back to your homes! Better to let the cowards go now then have others catch their weak-minded disease!"

Several of the lords' faces grew red with anger as Eyvindur's retort struck where it hurt. In Hyperborean culture only the brave may be rewarded in the afterlife, cowardice was seen as an unforgivable sin.

"My brother dines with the Stormlord in the Golden Halls now, because he died bravely in battle!" Eyvindur declared. "Our fleet may have been defeated in the skies, but Admiral Winter has done his duty ''first'' in guaranteeing our army a path forward! The fortifications of Nordkreuz lie in ruins, and the army of Weichsel was devastated when we laid waste to their city and camps!

"With their forces reduced and their morale in tatters, we have a better chance now than at any moment in the past century!" He continued. "We can raze this heathen settlement and stop their excursions into our lands! And you want to ''retreat!?''"

The Jarl swung his muscular arm around and pointed at a half-dozen young women who carried swords and shields upon their backs. They stood in a ritual circle around a rune-coated obelisk mounted on a sled. A squad of drummers walked in a ring around them, their beating and chanting uninterrupted by the nobles' arguments.

"Even my seventeen-years-old ''granddaughter'' has more balls than the lot of you!" He cried out.

"Jarl Eyvindur--" one of the other lords attempted to speak up. His remorseful expression showed that he was clearly having second thoughts, and he was far from being the only one.

However, Eyvindur had zero patience for any perceived excuses as he bulldozed right over the man's fumbling words:

"Those who wish to flee may do so now! Go back and ''cower'' in your holds as the heathens creep ever closer to your home! Go wait for your deathbed in old age when the Stormlord reminds you of your disgrace this day!"

The commander of Skagen's confederate army pointed towards the north, as though inviting the lords to take up on his offer. Then, as the moment passed and nobody turned or moved, Eyvindur heard his favorite granddaughter's voice announce from behind him:

"Gramps... commander," the young lady quickly changed her tone. However she could not keep out the excitement that beamed from her pretty smile. "We've found it! The Wickers' headquarters! It's located just slightly behind the center of the Wickers' second line."

Eyvindur was a veteran of multiple conflicts between the Hyperboreans and the Trinitians. He understood that Weichsel's greatest strength lay in the command and leadership of its officer corp. They had a tradition of setting up headquarters near the front lines, which not only bolstered the soldiers' morale but also improved battlefield communication and comprehension.

Therefore the moment he heard that the Weichsel army had sallied out from the city, he gathered his best Völva --female mages who specialized in divination and scrying-- to find out where the Wickers were establishing their new headquarters. The deployable command centers those heathens used would be protected by both illusions and wards. But there was no such thing as a foolproof defense.

"How can you be certain?" Eyvindur asked, more for the benefit of others than his own doubts.

"We found six major communication trenches converging in one location, where the Wickers began to dig out almost as soon as their soldiers left the city." The young lady explained. "There are a dozen other dugouts of similar size where I suspect other command units to be sited. But this one that we found -- it was the first that the Wickers began working on, the first they laid illusory camouflage over, and we've observed more staff officers vanish beneath its ''Mirage'' cover than any other."

"--And one of them matched the description you gave us for the new Landgrave of Nordkreuz," added another.

"Then that is where we focus our strongest thrust." Eyvindur declared before turning towards a signal officer at his side. "Tell Jarl Ericsson to prepare his drakes for dive bombing. Once our vanguard has the Wickers' frontal defenses occupied, he will assault their command center with all of our remaining air strength. His orders are simple -- ''slaughter'' the Wickers' command unit and impose bloody terror upon these heathens!"

Västergötland's seventeen drakes, under the command of Jarl Ericsson, may not be as well trained as the air groups of Admiral Winter's fleet. But they were nevertheless a formidable bunch. Plus they had a fearsome Zmey -- the most powerful of all drake broods that the Dragonlords created.

"Yes Milord!"

With his order issued, Eyvindur turned upon the other nobles with a stern and determined look on his face.

"Well?" He snarled impatiently. "Will you fight? Or will you flee? ''Choose now!''"

"We fight," two of the jarls declared, followed by acknowledgements from the rest.

"Good," Eyvindur stated with a sneer. "Then let me fill you in on the rest of the battle plan."

Though in reality, Eyvindur did not feel any of the confidence that he displayed, not even as he began to detail all the pieces of his converging, multi-pronged assault plan. He knew this whole battle was a risky gamble. However it was also a gamble he had to make.

''I will not let your death be in vain, brother,'' The Jarl repeated the oath his swore upon hearing of his half-brother's demise. ''I will drown this city in blood to see you avenged!''

<nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>

Kaede looked through her binoculars at the distant battle being waged. The snow which continued to fall obscured her vision. But thanks to a combination of a ''Snow Sight'' spell and her familiar-enhanced vision she could see almost a kilopace out from her vantage point atop the makeshift bastion.

The structure was built from packed snow and elevated her off the ground by two paces. A combination of landscaping spells and good old shovel work had created the foundation, which Weichsel's mages then transmuted to create a solid ice exterior. A thin layer of dirt and snow was added to give traction for those who stood on top.

Weichsel's army had built over a dozen of these along the seven kilopace-long defense line, and Pascal had stationed Kaede on the extreme right flank.

Between the bastions was a snow-and-ice parapet half a man's height, which provided cover for Weichsel's soldiers as they formed up behind it. Protruding from the parapet were wooden and icicle stakes, while in front of the parapet was a wide but shallow ditch filled with mud and slush.

Waist-deep communication trenches criss-crossed across the front, including many which extended out from the main defense line to forward positions where lookouts and skirmishers were deployed behind another, narrower ditch.

It was impressive just how much fieldworks the Weichsel army created in three hours' time. It helped that every battalion had a squad of pioneers. Versed in the art of battlefield engineering, the pioneers had quickly laid out fortification plans and directed the soldiers of the combat and support companies to turn them into reality.

''It's like the Roman Legions' ability to construct marching camps,'' Kaede thought.

Now, as the Skagen army launched probing attacks along the line, these fieldworks played a pivotal role in slowing the enemy's advance. Kaede watched as a force of a thousand Northmen skied their way up to the first shallow ditch. However they couldn't cross this obstacle without their skis driving into the mud and getting stuck.

Some of them conjured icy ramps across the ditch. Others kicked off their skis to close the remaining hundred paces of distance on foot, which slowed them considerably as they had to wade through the knee-deep snow.

"BY RANKS!" She heard a voice cry out from the adjacent battalion. "VOLLEY!"

A wave of arbalest bolts flew out behind several area dispel spells. It was followed by a second, and then a third volley, as Weichsel's soldiers unloaded their weapons one row at a time. The missiles rained down upon the front lines of the Northmen infantry attack, stripping away wards before the steel bolts punched through armor and into flesh.

Dozens of men fell before the Skagen infantry could form a shield wall. The thick snow made moving in formation difficult. However the Northmen nevertheless pushed forward through the withering barrage.

''That's the courage it takes to fight in a battle...''

Kaede couldn't help but feel ashamed of last night, when she cried out in terror after being caught in a drake's fire breath for the first time. Pascal had given her far more wards than even the average mage, and the drake's breath weapon had left her mildly cooked at most.

''--Yet I had screamed like a little girl,'' the familiar berated herself.

The fact she ''was'' a petite girl now was no excuse.

The problem was that Kaede had never faced a scenario where everything felt overwhelming. Sure, she had taken part in the rooftop fight against Mantis Blade assassins back at the academy. But raising her weapon against a few men was... a big difference from marching into a deluge of spells and arrows on a battlefield.

Kaede watched as the Northmen shield wall advanced in company-sized blocks. Their mages had inscribed anti-projectile ''Repulsion Field'' wards onto their shields, which made lightweight missiles change vector at the last second and 'bounce off'. Weichsel's officers responded with a steady stream of ''Dispel'' spells, each time creating an opening for a new arbalest volley to penetrate and kill.

Noticing movement in the distance, Kaede swung her binocular further north. A group of horses had pulled five sleds up to a distance of five hundred paces away. As the crew detached the horses and led them away, Kaede noticed that two of the sleds had ballistae mounted on them, while the other three featured the throwing arms of catapults.

"<Pascal, enemy light artillery.>" She called for his attention through the familiar bond.

"<Rune-throwers,>" Pascal immediately recognized as he peered through her gaze.

Two ballistae finished loading first and soon released their javelin-sized bolts. One of them flew across the air and soared straight into the torso of a mage on her bastion.

"GAHHHhhhhhhhh!"

The rune-enchanted projectile punched through his wards before penetrating his armored chest. Its momentum then carried him off the structure's edge. The soldier screamed and flailed as he crashed into the snow below, impaled into the ground by the shaft that skewered his torso.

Two nearby medics rushed over to examine the fallen trooper. But by then the body had already stilled into an unmoving corpse.

''He had been standing right next to me!''

Kaede's mind virtually froze as she slowly turned back around to face the enemy. Her body trembled as she felt the shock of his death coursing through her. That ballista bolt could easily have claimed her life instead of his. All it would have taken was a fraction of a degree's difference in aim!

"<Kaede, order the lieutenant to take out that battery. Firemist combination spell.>"

Pascal's forceful voice rang through her mind, dragging her back into the present.

"L-l-lieutenant, command from HQ," the familiar stammered out before taking another breath to steady herself. She pointed a finger towards the snowy distance. "Eliminate that artillery battery. Firemist combo."

The lieutenant was a young nobleman who appeared to be in his late 'twenties'. His binoculars were already directed towards the enemy when he nodded: "understood."

He then turned towards his squad of dismounted Noble Reiters:

"Extended range spells. Gas them. I'll ignite."

The others nodded back before switching their aura magic stance to one more suitable for high-output, low-precision spellcasting.

"''Aura Bombard!''"

Kaede didn't even have to focus to feel the gentle pressure in the air as their magical auras expanded. Her sensitivity to magic was definitely growing as a result of being Pascal's familiar.

"''Extension, Firemist Condense Field!''" Ten of them called out, their extended gloves sending arcing rays of crafted ether towards their target.

"''Extension, Ignition!''" The Lieutenant then followed suit.

The first ten rays flew across five hundred paces of open terrain and scattered into the upwind air like leafy veins. They left no visible effect, except for a faint clash of mana against some shield bubble from a defending mage.

Kaede's keen hearing then picked up shouts that she didn't understand. A pitched cry soon trailed behind them -- which apparently meant 'run'.

They barely had enough time for more than a few steps...

As the final spell shot in, the very air over the artillery battery exploded like a petroleum reservoir. Flames and burning air poured out in every direction. The force of the blast pulverized the siege engines like twig models, hurling out pieces of men and machine as though toy blocks thrown by a tantrum-stricken child.

By transmuting impurities in the air into dense cloud of methane and other highly flammable gases, then followed with a simple fire spell, Weichsel's mages had learned to imitate the nature of a coal dust explosion. Its power was equivalent to that of a modern tactical thermobaric weapon -- the fuel-air bomb.

Even from several hundred paces away, Kaede still felt the heat wave of such a powerful blast.

<nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>

"Kraken on the left flank! It emerged from the lake!" Pascal heard a signal officer cry out within the command center.

"A ''kraken!?''" The young lord was stunned as he turned to exchange looks with an equally bewildered Brigadier Bernard.

He had never seen a kraken before. However the gigantic sea monster which looked like an oversized squid could be found on every flag of Skagen.

"The Lotharins let it through?" Bernard asked. "They control the estuary!"

"They won't know if it travelled through while submerged," Pascal replied.

"Reposition 2nd cavalry towards the left. Send four battalions to the flank!" The Brigadier immediately ordered. "That monster is the symbol of Skagen! It might very well be the prelude to a major attack!"

''Second cavalry is the better half of our reserves!'' Pascal thought before he objected. "Sir, this might be a diversion. A kraken can hardly--"

He hadn't even finished before Kaede's voice interrupted him.

"<Pascal, there's-->"

She was still speaking when an observer screamed from just outside the cabin door:

"DRAKES! INCOMING!"

<nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>

Kaede watched as the Northmen's first attack was thrown back with heavy casualties. Hundreds of men now lay dead or dying on the snowy fields. Though their efforts weren't completely in vain as they had managed to create several passages through the first ditch, some of them made using the bodies of their own fallen comrades.

She could see a second attack forming in the distance. It was difficult to make an estimate due to the poor visibility. However her guess was that the next wave was three to five times the strength of the previous attack.

The familiar then furrowed her brows as she heard a strange noise. It came from the east, past the extreme right flank where the Weichsen line met the shores of Cross Lake's eastern wing.

"Do you hear that?" Kaede spoke out loud as she moved to the eastern end of the bastion.

The sound was difficult to describe. But it reminded Kaede a bit of when she stepped on broken ice. She also had trouble seeing where it came from, as a thin, morning mist continued to cling onto the surface of the lake.

''This doesn't feel right,'' the familiar puzzled as she glanced further south. ''Why is only this part of the lake still foggy?''

"I don't hear anything from over there," the lieutenant answered back before pointing in the other direction. "The battle is that other way."

''I know that! But...''

The sound kept on coming. It was as if some giant was crunching the ice beneath their feet, grinding the frozen crystals together.

Kaede raised her binoculars and peered out into the water.

The weather wasn't actually cold enough to freeze the lake. Yet as she scrutinized the surface, she could see a sheet of ice forming, growing across the water as though it were a new road.

It was also wide enough to match a six-lane highway. And it would soon meet the shoreline, just behind Weichsel's defensive fortifications.

Water expanded as it froze, which meant the crystalline dendrites of ice inevitably pushed against each other as blocks of ice solidified and took shape. This 'crunch' of crystals caused by rapid freezing was what she was hearing!

Exclamation marks shot through Kaede's mind as she rushed to send this information up ''immediately'':

"<Pascal, there's a hostile force approaching from the east! They're freezing the water into a bridge!>"

"<Tell Major Karen-- GAHHH!>"

His reply never finished. A fusillade of explosions resounded from the west like distant, rolling thunder. Kaede immediately swung her binoculars in that direction but she couldn't see the source of the blasts in the obscuring snow.

Nevertheless, Pascal's final cry had given her more than enough clues on what had just happened -- the command center had clearly been struck by a powerful magical assault.

"<Pascal...? Pascal!?>"

Kaede felt as though someone had just stabbed a dagger into her chest. Her mind completely blanked out for a split second as she cast aside all other thoughts in a desperate bid to reach him.

"<PASCAL!>"

However their telepathic link remained quiet, completely silent. Not even white noise could be heard from the other side.

''Please-please-please be okay...''

Kaede shut her eyes for a quick prayer to whatever gods in this world who would listen. Yet even as her chest contracted, even as her beating heart accelerated...

There was no physical pain, no mental onslaught. She wasn't keeling over. And despite the overflowing fear and anxiety that crowded her thoughts, her mind remained clear and open.

She simply needed to use her head.

''I'm still alive, aren't I? Then Pascal has to be as well.''

She wasn't sure how alive though. Was he injured? Crippled? Unconscious and bleeding to death even at this very second?

However one thing was apparent. If she didn't do something and ''fast'', he really might end up dead before the day was finished, along with everyone else on the Weichsel side of this battle.

Kaede could still hear the crunch of ice crystals. She could see the frozen highway grow closer and closer to the shores. The surface of the ice soon transformed to a layer of snow. And through the mist she could spot the figures of Northmen...

First a few, then dozens, then hundreds. All making their way across the frozen bridge.

''They'll smash into our right flank and roll up the entire line like a carpet, just like Caesar did at Pharsalus!'' The young girl thought before she looked around. ''I must warn this Major Karen!''

The familiar leapt off the bastion and landed in the deep snow right next to a communication trench. She then climbed down and ran to where the battalion command was situated.

"Major! There's a hostile force incoming from the east! They're freezing the lake to make a path!"

Major Karen von Lichnowsky was a woman who looked to be in her late 'twenties'. Moderate of build and on the plain side of pretty, she was most noticeable from the back due to her long, wavy red hair. She stood adjacent to her signal officers with a swordstaff in hand, and her attention immediately fell upon Kaede as the familiar spoke. However the dark-green eyes above her freckled cheeks looked uncertain, as though unsure of how to respond to the civilian girl before her.

"Command from HQ!" Kaede then stressed with a complete lie, hoping that her grim expression and battle anxiety might bury any obvious signs. "Swivel all men and face right to refuse the line! Their flank attack will be upon us within a minute!"

"We just lost contact with..." One of the signal officers spoke.

"I'm the familiar of Captain Pascal von Moltewitz, tactical officer to Brigadier-General Bernard! Do I look ''dead'' to you!?" Kaede almost shouted as she channeled some of her uneasiness into impatience. "We ''must'' refuse the line or they'll smash straight through us!"

Major Karen held a look of clear disapproval at Kaede's tone. However she didn't waste another second before bellowing out orders:

"SWIVEL RIGHT! REFUSE THE LINE! REFORM RANKS CENTERED ON ME! MOVE!"

'Refusing the line' was a classical tactical maneuver where troops reformed at a perpendicular angle to the main battle line in order to repel flanking attacks. Well-drilled in battlefield maneuvers, Weichsel's soldiers in blackened half-plate armor ran through the communication trenches before climbing up to reassemble their formations.

In just a few minutes, a new line anchored at the bastion that Kaede once stood on began to take shape. Nearly two hundred men gathered to stand behind a shallow communication trench that ran from the bastion all the way to the rear -- a mere thirty paces from the lake's shores.

More men were making the way up from further west, but they wouldn't get here in time.

The crystallizing ice bridge diverged and met firm ground in three locations. The frozen water looked thick enough to withstand even explosive shells. The top layer then transformed into compacted snow, just before the enemy vanguard skied across.

"WARDS UP!" Major Karen cried out from beside Kaede. "''Legion Resistance!''"

Platoon and company leaders soon joined in with their own spells, while Kaede brushed across her arm to activate the rest of her self-enhancement spells. Her body took on a stone-like consistency while rotating spellshields began to orbit. Her mind cleared as ''Mental Clarity'' pushed out all unfocused thoughts.

The first skiers were still making their way across the snow-and-ice bridges as they crouched down. They took aim with their repeating crossbows and swung the back-mounted levers to release rune-inscribed bolts.

A cascade of missiles flew out and into the Weichsen formation. Their low kinetic energy meant they mostly bounced off the armor of anyone they hit, but that didn't matter as the bolts began to detonate in fire and thunder on impact.

Explosions tore across the field as though a howitzer strike just hit the defensive front. The ''Resistance'' spells offered some protection against the elemental bombardment. However the sheer intensity still left many troops bloodied and dazed.

"HOLD VOLLEY! BOWS ONLY!" Kaede heard a captain cry out.

Weichsel's infantry predominantly used the steel-limbed arbalest as their ranged weapon of choice. However there were a few archers within each platoon who now took aim.

Kaede followed their lead as she pulled out her morphic blade, which she had left in its bow form. She drew one of five rune-inscribed arrows that Pascal made for her and notched it against a Northmen.

Nevertheless she could feel her reluctance to take aim at the vitals of real people. Her first shot was released in haste, and the arrow missed its mark by almost a full pace.

''Concentrate!'' The Samaran girl berated herself as a second wave of skiers neared the shores.

''This is no time to hesitate. It's kill or be killed!''

Even at a glance Kaede could tell that these new attackers were elite infantry. They wore crimson armor made from the fire-repellent hides of volcanic drakes, while their hands carried weapons that looked like two enclosed steel pipes glued together. A hand-pump extended from the back of the bottom pipe, while two tubes connected the assembly to a backpack.

''Are those... flamethrowers?'' The familiar could hardly believe her eyes.

"SIPHONS!" A young lieutenant cried out with the shadow of terror in his voice.

"BY RANKS!" Major Karen was more steadfast as she swung her swordstaff forward. "VOLLEY!"

"''Catalyst Dispel!''"

"''Lightning Blast!''"

The first row of arbalesters took aim and released their bolts before crouching down, followed by the second and then third rank. Three waves of steel bolts shot out towards the new threat in quick succession. However massed volleys were far from optimal in countering troops in scattered formation.

A combination of ''Dispels'' and bolts brought down nearly twenty siphoneers. But many of the shots either missed or bounced off wards. Focused spellfire from the bastion's mages took down several more, however that still left almost half.

The remaining two dozen flamethrower infantry activated runes which made their skis accelerate into a dash. They soon reached the shore and made their way up the gentle slope.

Behind them followed at least a hundred huskarls, the professional retinue troops of the northern lords. Each of them was clad in wooly, chainmail-and-hide armor and holding a massive zweihander sword that looked capable of cleaving a horse in half.

A banner that flew among them caught Kaede's attention. it was the red dragon flag of the Kingdom of Vastergotland.

Kaede forced her gaze away from their deadly greatswords before nailing her sight to a siphoneer. With the aid of ''Mental Clarity'' sharpening her mind, she drew another rune-inscribed arrow and transfixed all attention onto her target.

She hardly even noticed as the Northmen began yelling their frenzied battle cries.

"SHOOT AT WILL!" Major Karen shouted. "KILL THE SIPHONS!"

Kaede felt as her awareness became one with the arrow before her fingers loosened. Her eyes traced the glowing missile in flight as it soared out alongside dispels and arrows from the Weichsen line.

The runic spell which tipped her shot triggered as soon as her target's ''Repulsion Field'' ward attempted to deflect the attack. The ''Scourge Catalyst Dispel'' then ripped through multiple magical defenses with increasing strength, clearing a path for the razor-sharp bodkin arrowhead as it plunged straight into the victim's upper thigh.

Her target lost his balance and crashed violently on the snowy bank. The siphoneer spun twice before landing headfirst into the snow. His right ski shattering to hurl back a jagged piece of ironwood.

Kaede drew a deep breath before drawing another arrow. Several more siphoneers had gone down in the interim, but there were still nearly twenty of them remaining.

Given the charge speed of ski troops, there simply wasn't time to reload the heavy arbalests. A battalion of Weichsel's infantry might fare well against a more conventional Northmen attack. But they were facing an onslaught of veteran and elite shock troops.

The siphoneers banked in a wide arc as they entered twenty-paces range. Their steel pipes pumped out deadly jets of liquid fire like strafing water guns...

Kaede released her second arrow at the same time.

The siphoneer targeting the Major's command squad hardly squirted before her arrow nailed him in the chest, just below the throat and near the center of the sniper's triangle. The crimson-clad warrior crashed into the snow, stumbling forward as he went before sliding to a stop less than five paces in front of Kaede, dead.

However, one kill was nowhere enough to change the course of the battle.

Soldiers all around screeched with agony as viscous flames sprayed over them. The liquid fire stuck to armor and skin alike, melting flesh even as more flowed between gaps in steel plating to burn what lay beneath. Troopers dropped to the ground and rolled through the snow to no avail, as melted water seemed to feed the very flames into ever greater strength.

''Water-intensified napalm...'' Kaede thought as she watched a scene that could only come from hell itself. ''Who the devil gave Nordic Berserkers Greek Fire!?''

It was even worse than that, as rimefire ate through mana like fuel. Wards such as ''Resistance'' which had protected them from the elemental bombardment earlier did less than nothing, as they combusted like paper to feed the flames.

One of the siphoneers had pumped an entire burst onto the bastion that Kaede once stood on. Now, she watched in horror as screaming men --including the young lieutenant whom she had spoken to moments ago-- leaped off the structure like human torches. They flailed about in the snow with painful cries. However nothing they did could quench the burning rimefire that consumed them alive.

Then, as Kaede thought things could not grow any worse, hell's herald arrived in the form of a new battlecry. The noise came from far behind her this time, along the main line where a fresh Skagen attack of thousands pressed forward into a charge.

At that moment, a voice Kaede had long awaited finally rang through her mind. Unfortunately, its tone was anything but pleasant reassurance:

"<Order Major Karen to hold ''at all costs!'' Do you hear me, Kaede? Fight to the last! If the flank crumbles this entire army could be rolled up and destroyed!>"

''That's impossible,'' Kaede thought even as she heard Pascal's stern voice.

Their line was already in tatters. Two companies, more than three hundred men in total, had been reduced to mere pockets of resistance. Two-thirds of the platoons were already routing after taking horrendous casualties from the rimefire bursts. The rest were wavering at best, utterly shaken by the screams of living corpses who flailed out in vain to quench the fires consuming them.

It was especially bad in the center, where only Kaede, the Major, and twenty or so others held their ground in the middle of a huge gap.

Only a dozen siphoneers remained standing. Some of them skied straight through their porous line, burning everything as they moved past the shallow trench. Yet this did little to quiet her apprehension, as the familiar now looked upon a mass charge by ''hundreds'' of Skagen ski infantry.

It felt like an unstoppable avalanche of death had rolled across the lake and onto their shores, led by bear-like men holding overgrown foe-chopping swords.

Kaede couldn't help but notice that her arms were trembling. Cold shivers travelled up her spine as she felt almost paralyzed by fear. Her body screamed at her to turn and flee but her eyes couldn't peel themselves away from the approaching wave of death.

It was just like last night, except her situation now was exponentially worse than merely meeting a fire-breathing monster. She faced a tide of Northmen bent on killing everyone here. And she couldn't imagine a single scenario where she could make it out of this alive.

''What other choice do we have? Run? We'll be butchered!''

No. Pascal wouldn't simply abandon her like this. He must be sending reinforcement even now, which meant that if they stood and fought, they might at least have a chance!

--Yet, to claim this logically was one thing. To overcome her natural inclinations was another matter entirely. Kaede felt sick in her stomach as her legs quivered like jelly. She needed to pass on Pascal's orders but her voice cracked the moment she tried to speak.

''I have to do this!''

The familiar was still struggling to reign in her fears when, in an instant, she felt as though her emotions had been disconnected. Without any more resistance, she turned to the redhead Major and voiced through hollowed tones completely devoid of humanity:

"Our orders are to fight to the last."

Major Karen blanched as she turned about. But she nevertheless nodded back, as though in grim acceptance that she... neither of them, would live to see past this day.

Recognition and respect passed between the two of them in an instant, before they turned away from each other.

The Major readied her swordstaff with both hands as her steady voice shouted desperately to rally the scattered remains of her battalion:

"YOU ARE SOLDIERS OF WEICHSEL! YOU WILL STAND YOUR GROUND AND FIGHT! HOLD FAST TO YOUR BROTHERS AND DEFEND YOUR HEARTHS FROM PLIGHT!"

Meanwhile, the girl from another world puzzled over a steel 'water gun' just a few paces out. It laid on the other side of a shallow trench where burning rimefire continued to float on pooled water, on the wrong side of her only protection against a wavefront of barbarian tide mere seconds away.

Kaede felt like an infantryman eyeing an abandoned heavy machine gun. It was the only medium that offered her a fighting chance. Twenty paces of fire in both directions would form a sweeping curtain of flames, plugging the hole in their line as surely as any fresh platoon.

''What's the worst that could happen? Die?''

Her decision came within the blink of an eye as she leaped over to pry the weapon off its dead owner.

She would have to get there before the lead skier. The bulky man clad in chainmail, hide, and rich furs charged across the snowy embankment and straight at her, while his hands raised his zweihander into the air like a looming executioner.

<noinclude>
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| Back to [[Daybreak:Volume_2_Chapter_16|Chapter 16]]
| Return to [[Daybreak_on_Hyperion|Main Page]]
| Forward to [[Daybreak:Volume_2_Chapter_18|Chapter 18]]
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</noinclude>

Daybreak:Volume 2 Chapter 16

2021-07-09T17:06:38Z

Aorii:

===Chapter 16 - Decisive Action===

Asgeirr Vintersvend held a telescopic spyglass to his eye as he observed the approaching Weichsen air cavalry. He stood not in the enclosed observation deck of the main bridge, but near the port-side entrance of ''Polarlys''<nowiki>'</nowiki> hangar deck. As a fleet commander, the bridge might offer better communications. However as an archmage, he needed direct access to the open skies.

Two full Weichsen companies --over three hundred Phantoms-- flew across the open air towards the line of four Skagen skywhales. The Wickers approached in a tight-knit, close order formation, which Asgeirr recognized as the 'combat box'. It was an arrangement that focused on mutual, interlocking fields of fire from the Weichsen riders, whose ability to coordinate spell and grenade volleys at range have always been a step above their rivals'.

Curiously enough, they were led by a girl with burning wings enshrouded in blue-white flames. Behind her followed a chevron of armigers in bright burning-blue.

Asgeirr had seen an Oriflamme in combat once before, back when Alistair Mackay-Martel was still a mercenary and yet to become the King of Gleann Mòr. The Admiral had heard that the Crown Princess of the Lotharins had arrived at Nordkreuz a week ago. Clearly, his assault on the city had triggered the Weichsel-Lotharin Alliance.

''It's surprising the Lotharins even have time to worry about others, invaded from the south as they are,'' the admiral thought.

Meanwhile, two groups of sixteen drakes, which had been flying slow circles around the entire skywhale battlegroup, banked and turned towards the incoming attack. They formed the skywhales' combat air patrol, and were the only drakes that remained behind after the bulk of the air groups had been sent to raid Nordkreuz.

Asgeirr lowered his spyglass and turned to shout into a nearby communication tube that was installed into the bulkhead:

"Thirty degrees to starboard. Clear for broadside action."

"Aye aye Sir!" His longtime friend and first mate replied before the same voice echoed across the ship. "Thirty degrees to starboard! Staggered line formation! Prepare broadside!"

Hours ago, Asgeirr had launched his air groups for an all-out strike on Nordkreuz. He had hoped to not merely destroy the city's fortifications with a full aerial bombardment, but also to eliminate as many of the troops gathered there as possible. With any luck, he hoped the attack might even kill King Leopold of Weichsel, who had been sighted by Skagen spies in the city just two days ago.

Weichsel's Crown Heir was currently little more than an infant. Competing against two royal uncles and a general whose ambition was renowned even in the north, the fearsome Black Dragon might just suddenly collapse into civil war.

...Which would be perfect for Skagen's interests.

Asgeirr had no way of knowing if he had struck gold. But the remaining objectives of the air strike seemed to have been achieved. His son Thorsten was returning from a victorious assault that left the city's walls in ruins and the camps outside a blazing inferno. He also managed to do so in time to meet the counterattack that Asgeirr knew would come, as the Phantoms clearly intended to hit the skywhales before the drakes could return.

Unfortunately for the Wickers, time was not in their favor. The decisive air battle that was about to begin would seal their fate for this entire campaign.

Sure, Thorsten's drakes could use a rest from the early morning attack. The hangar deck wasn't merely an extradimensionally-expanded chamber to land and rest in. Magic also regulated the rear compartment to offer the sulfur-rich environment of the drakes' home habitat. The volcanic gases back there were terrible for unprotected humans. However the drakes not only preferred it, but found it essential for recharging their breath weapons.

The Admiral was actually worried that events were progressing a bit too smoothly. His rough estimate put the attacking force at around half of Weichsel's air cavalry. Did the other units fail to withdraw from the Skagen Peninsula in time? Or were they still out there in the clouds?

''It doesn't matter,'' he quickly decided.

Asgeirr had placed a hundred experienced Västergötland adventurers and his brother Eyvindur's best company of Runebolt Archers on top of the skywhales. Combined with hundreds of the new 'Living Runes' that fortified their backs, the anti-air defenses protecting these behemoths were more than sufficient to take on another two to three hundred Phantoms.

To split his drake Outriders for defense at this point would not be caution, but cowardice instead.

"Order the combat air patrol to merge into one and engage the enemy right," Asgeirr bellowed into the communication tube again. "Do not wait to regroup with returning drakes. In fact, tell Thorsten to stay hidden in the clouds for as long as he can. I want him to charge in after the Wickers' formations have already been disrupted. Until then, master artillerists have discretion to launch broadsides at will against the enemy left wing!"

By attacking from the northeast, the Admiral hoped to use the flow of battle to tilt Weichsel's formation towards their right flank. This would not only present the skywhales' ballistae a semi-enfilade angle of shot, but also expose the Wickers' rear to Thorsten's drakes coming back from the southwest.

''All they need is a nudge of chaos to buy time.''

As an archmage worthy of the claim, Asgeirr not only had the expertise to craft the most complex spells, he also invented new, complex sorceries. Out of his half-dozen creations, two of them were made to support major battles and fleet action:

One was ''Storm of Twilight'', or simply 'that acid rain spell' to everyone else.

The other was a wide area effect he named ''Mantle of the Stormlord''. It covered the entire battlespace with charged clouds, causing any positive-current electric spell to trigger another lightning from above.

"What's your opinion Fannar? Acid or thunder first?" Asgeirr asked his first mate as he pulled several runestone tablets the size of outstretched hands from his belt pouch.

He always found it ironic that in their profession, having to kill an enemy barely warranted an afterthought. Meanwhile, it was the precise ''method'' of killing that required discussion and debate.

"Jarl Eyvindur did call you Admiral Vinegar," Fannar's nonchalant voice came through the metal tube. "Besides, maybe these 'civilized' southerners would appreciate their meat marinated before being crisp-fried in lightning."

"Vinaigrette then it is," the Admiral commented dryly as he activated the ''Levitation Flight'' rune on the tablet, causing it to zip into the skies. The rest of the runic inscription was set with a delayed activation of fifteen seconds, and after that the entire battlespace would change.

<nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>

"Sir! Familiar scouts spot drakes inbound from the southwest! Numbering around hundred! It's the group that struck Nordkreuz!"

"Send the reserve ''Dawn Sky'' toward the southwest. Locate and skirmish the returning drakes. Do not engage in close combat. We only need to buy time to finish off the patrol before hitting the main group in full force!"

Sylviane heard General Neithard's stern voice about fifteen paces behind her, bellowing orders to a trio of signal officers who rode behind him. It was further reassurance of her allies' presence, although the message itself was something else.

''Not even engaged yet and already committing the reserves. This is sure off to a great start.'' She thought with bitter sarcasm.

But then, at least General Neithard had the foresight to set aside those reserves, or they would be in trouble now as the Skagen drakes sought to pincer them between two groups.

Meanwhile, Sylviane focused her gaze on the skies ahead. It was her duty to lead the charge from the front. However to face only a mass of incoming foes without a single ally in view was no simple affair.

Four colossal skywhales floated across the open air, flying above the lower cloud cover and the blizzard below. They loomed in the skies like flying fortresses. And unlike the merchant vessel that Sylviane rode to Alis Avern on with King Alistair, the Skagen behemoths traded out its cargo nets to allow for much larger steel 'gondolas' to be strapped beneath the belly of each beast. These compartments bulged outwards to each side, and were separated into three decks.

The top deck had a row of wooden hatches, which lowered themselves to reveal ballistae that would soon be hurling out runic ammunition. The middle floor seemed squashed with many small, glass windows, hinting at its use for mostly crew quarters. The lower deck was the thickest of the three, and it was entirely armored except for the massive, rectangular gaps near the front -- the open-air entrance through which the drakes flew in and out to rest.

Three wide, steel bands wrapped around the skywhale's body to secure the gondola to the colossal beast. These bands featured ladders which were now covered with climbing men, as more personnel moved from the artillery deck up to the skywhales' backs. Crisscrossing rope nets filled the area between steel bands, offering both additional support for the gondola and better footing for those on top of each whale.

Had it not been for Pascal's plan of attack, Sylviane's first impression would have been that these imposing monsters were nigh undefeatable. Even as an Oriflamme Paladin --the pride of Rhin-Lotharingie-- she couldn't help feel humbled by these colossal beasts.

Closer to her, thirty-two massive drakes flew straight toward her, each with a wingspan as wide as a farmhouse barn. Black-red scales covered their bodies like hardened magma, reinforced by steel helmets and banded breastplates that made them seem hopeless to stop. Their shrieking roars shook the air and sent chills down to the bone, not to mention their razor-sharp claws which were as long as scythe blades, or the sight of jagged rows of teeth that could rip a man to shreds.

To meet such predators in melee was ''suicidal'' -- so said her voice of reason, her instinct of self-preservation.

Sylviane could feel her arms shaking. Had she carried a sword instead of a chained hammer, the effect might have been obvious.

''I have Hauteclaire with me. I can take these stupid beasts!''

She readied the phoenix-crest shield strapped to her forearm, while her right hand began to spin her weapon of choice: a chain six paces long anchored to her left wrist, ending with the knobby cylinder of a single-headed meteor hammer.

It would not do to let her idle arms reveal her anxiety and fright.

Fear was not a weakness. It was a sign of intelligence. It kept humans alive. But the same could not be said for cowardice.

For those born to royalty, leadership was an obligation rather than a choice. To inspire others, one must be willing to set an example. Soldiers matched the bravery they saw with their own courage. Those who followed lions into battle inevitably became lions themselves.

However what stood true for followers worked the same way for leaders. Soaring ahead at the tip of the spear, Sylviane's own mettle was fortified by the reassurance that hundreds followed in her wake.

Courage was not only the strength of an individual.

It was a collective force, drawn together from the hearts of many.

Perhaps that explained the sound of heavy drums and trumpets that accompanied Weichsel's cavalry into decisive battle. Without a single instrument, let alone an entire orchestra, the martial consonance that shook the air could only be the playback of magical recorders.

The music wasn't really her style. But even Sylviane had to admit that the hastening tempo of battle notes was nothing short of 'epic'.

Immersed in the atmosphere at the head of the army, Sylviane was not just a young lady on the fringe of maturity, not merely an inexperienced warrior facing her first true air battle.

She was a crown princess, who represented the honor and dignity of Rhin-Lotharingie.

She was an Oriflamme Paladin, who symbolized the strength of her people and their will to fight.

Before the eyes of her brave Weichsen allies, she could not falter in the slightest. She must be a leader they would be proud to follow, even to the depth of hell itself.

So while Sylviane the twenty-one-year-old girl continued to tremble and doubt, Sylviane Etiennette de Gaetane, the ''Cerulean Princess'' of Rhin-Lotharingie, found herself increasingly resolute and firm.

She could even feel the support of another from within. Her union with Hauteclaire made the phoenix's presence persistent. Their selves intertwined so closely she was no longer certain where Sylviane ended and Hauteclaire began.

However she could feel his unequivocal approval and support: his soothing touch that calmed her mind, his blazing heat that warmed her soul.

"Storm clouds manifesting!" She heard Sir Robert's voice call out.

The clouds multiplied from the existing cover, with new ones even forming out of thin air. These dark, ominous masses grew rapidly in size, as though hours passed right before their eyes.

"''Legion Resistance!''" One of her armigers cast the elemental damage resistance spell with the prefix for multi-target, group enhancement. More protective spells followed suit as the soldiers behind her raised wards for battle, while others took the opportunity to unleash a wave of ''Mana Seekers''.

"All units tighten up! Dietrich!" General Neithard called out.

"''Cyclone Blast Field!''"

Spells were universal. Any mage with sufficient expertise could cast them. Magic specializations --which required both affinity and practice-- did not affect spell selection, but rather the power and capability of a narrow category of spells. Just as Wayfarers focused on boosting teleportation capacity and range, Stormcallers learned to control weather on a massive scale.

Instead of a small twister, Colonel Dietrich von Falkenrath created a colossal vortex of hurricane winds that wrapped around the entire Weichsen column, sheltering the Knights Phantom in the eye of its storm. This blew aside the clouds and rain that sought to hamper their charge.

It wasn't a perfect solution. It severely limited the cavalry's greatest asset -- their mobility. Instead of spreading out around the melee-oriented drakes and destroying them with ranged spellfire, they now had no choice but to engage their foes in close combat.

Pascal, on the other hand, had called it 'hugging the enemy'. This way Skagen rainclouds and ballistae could not harm the Phantoms without risking friendly fire. Given the Northmen's culture, there was no way their troopers would tolerate that.

From the pride in his voice, Sylviane had the distinct impression this was his familiar's idea rather than his own.

"Prepare for spell volley!" The General ordered.

"''Firestorm!''"

Sylviane stretched out her left hand as an orb of flames gathered before her palm.

Her thirteen armigers --the addition of Reynaud had taken the number above the usual full complement-- did the same. Each of them held onto their spell charge in the palm of their hand, ready to shoot at will.

"Cross formation! ''Purify Flames!''"

Unlike the Weichsel's Phantoms who rode aerial mounts, Sylviane's armigers followed in her wake using little more than ''Levitation Flight'' spells. The magic gave mages the ability to fly on command. However controlling it in combat required great concentration -- something in short supply during the frenzy of battle.

The Oriflamme complimented this by giving every one of their armigers an enchanted cape woven with embedded phoenix feathers. This channeled not only the aura of blazing heat that spread from the phoenix, but also linked them within the slipstream created by the paladin's flight.

As long as Oriflamme armigers followed closely behind their paladin, the demands of their magical flight were greatly reduced while their aerial performance improved. The standard formation was a chevron with two staggered wings of six. But with Sylviane's order, her armigers shifted to a slanted cross formation with four staggered, rotating wings -- which spread the armigers out further and allowed them to better evade enemy attacks.

Purifying mana trailed out of Sylviane and Hauteclaire, down the channel of their burning aura to each individual armiger. Orbs of blazing orange turned white-blue as the phoenix's power cleansed them into sacred flames. These ''Firestorm'' spells now bore the phoenix's strength just as Sylviane's did.

Different sources of mana normally repelled one another. However phoenixes were natural Metamages -- a rare affinity that allowed them to share mana with others, which in turn let them alter the spells of others with their own power.

This also made them the only familiars capable of merging with their masters, resulting in the Oriflamme's famous 'Unison'.

"Volley! ''Chain Catalyst Dispel!''" Sylviane heard General Neithard cry out.

"Release!"

The antimagic dispels from Weichsel's front ranks shot out first, heading out to hammer the layered personal wards that Northmen always applied. After them came fourteen fist-sized orbs of blue-white flames, which soared into the oncoming drakes before proximity detonations turned them into blasts of fiery pellets.

Volcanic drakes had tough, fireproof hides that hardened in reaction to any damage. However the phoenixes' magical blue-white embers cared not as they penetrated through to cook the flesh within.

Nine vanguard drakes' excruciating screeches turned into death cries as two hundred more rays of mana arced in, bombarding them with what should have been an overkill of spells. Yet despite this devastating barrage, one of them managed to actually stay aloft.

Drakes weren't created by the dragonlords for nothing. They had redundant organs and were numb to all but the most intense pain. Each drake could absorb tremendous punishment before succumbing to death. However they also weren't very smart, which was why the Dragonlords had trained many human clans to ride them during the Dragon-Demon Wars.

"Kill the riders first!"

Sylviane called out as she tore into the enemy before the smoke could clear. Given that many drakes were familiars to their more fragile human masters, it was an easy way to kill two birds with one stone.

She first dodged a falling drake covered with bleeding wounds. Her eyes then sprang wide as a jet of liquid rimefire burst out from the smoke, coming straight at her like an infernal hand of death. The bladed tip of a charging lance emerged next, followed by the reptilian face of a hideously-scarred volcanic drake which let out a terrible, shrieking cone of flames.

Panic and terror seized her nerves for a precious moment as Sylviane froze in her flight. Her burning aura might repel the drake's breath, but nothing she had --not wards, not armor, not even Hauteclaire's protection-- could stop the Northmen's weapon from hell, their infamous 'rimefire siphon'.

Just a split second before the rimefire would have melted her flesh, Hauteclaire took control of her burning wings and spun them away from an agonizing death.

The jet of flame traced her afterimage, intent on roasting the Princess who led the formation. However her phoenix maneuvered them beautifully through the air, transforming the sharp, spinning bank into a wide corkscrew that evaded not only the rimefire but also the couched lance. The loose formation of her armigers also allowed them to dodge the burst of flames, as they spun behind her in the wake of her flight.

Sylviane could hear Hauteclaire cooing in her mind, calming her back down with soothing sounds attuned to the ongoing symphony of war. Her resolve soon strengthened, although she continued the corkscrew to duck beneath the drake.

Even coming into reach of those scythes-like claws was better than playing with rimefire.

Her body rotated to face up as she dove below. She dodged one swipe of the drake's claws while deflecting another with her small shield -- a powerful blow which almost sent her hurling off-course. Meanwhile the drake screeched in pain as her mere proximity torched its underside with Hauteclaire's blazing aura. It provided just the right distraction for two of her armigers to smash their maces into the drake's biting head.

Coming out behind the drake, Sylviane soared back up and spun around to hurl out her meteor hammer. Instead of smashing the mace-like cylinder into the back of the rider's head, she wrapped its chains around his neck instead. Twisting the chain around her waist, she used her momentum to yank his body off the blinded beast, snapping his spine in the process.

The Outrider was dead within the second. But his fingers kept a death grip on his siphon. It was still pumping fire when Sylviane hurled his body toward another pair of drakes.

''Burn in your own hellfire,'' her thought passed without a shred of mercy.

<nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>

''There's their second group.''

Asgeirr thought as he watched more Phantoms dive from the clouds. They intercepted Thorsten's returning drakes with a barrage of blinding, ''Solar'' spells. This was followed by a cacophony of massed detonations as the very air seemed to explode, caused by a volley of combination spells.

The Admiral blinked away his tears from the intense light. He could just make out the sight of Phantoms caracoling away while showering the blinded drakes with grenades, javelins, and yet more spells. Six drakes in the front fell as their wings shredded apart under fire. Several more followed as their riders succumbed to wounds.

Concentrating on the high sorcery that now gripped the battlespace, Asgeirr willed the clouds to begin forming in the Wickers' path even as recovering drakes turned to chase. Both sides might number around one-thirty riders each, but the huge disparity in size left little doubt who was the mighty predator and whom the evasive prey.

''Thorsten, my son, make me proud,'' the Admiral thought before swinging his spyglass to the other battlefront. As the Admiral of the fleet, his attention must focus on the battle at large and not merely his blood kin.

A chaotic melee had broken out between the first, and larger, Weichsel force and the skywhales' combat air patrol. The two formations had interpenetrated and the Wickers were now trying to hack their way through the smaller flight of drakes and clear the path to the skywhales. Amidst the fighting the Admiral caught sight of a rather unique weapon. It was an enlarged Manteuffel swordstaff -- which he had heard about from the Västergötlander veterans.

The double-bladed 'swordstaff' --if one could still call it that-- was in its heavy lance form when it stabbed into the neck of a volcanic drake. The magical weapon pushed deep before shrinking to its 'normal' size in the wielder's hands. The senior officer who carried it then cleaved the Outrider's helmet in an overhead fly-by. It was an exceptional attack from someone who clearly had decades of experience in combat.

''That must be their general of cavalry -- Neithard von Manteuffel.''

Asgeirr turned to the communication tube where he relayed his orders to the bridge command staff:

"Order Thorsten to break through the Phantoms before him and strike at the enemy's first wave. That is where their general fights -- kill him and we will win!"

<nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>

"We have signal!" Ariadne heard the signal officer announce as he looked up towards Colonel Hammerstein.

The thuggish-looking Colonel swept his bulging eyes across the skies. He surveyed the assembled and tense-looking Phantom Grenadiers from atop his hippogryph mount.

"Well what are you all waiting for!? You wanna live forever!?"

His growl quickly rose into a yell as he pointed his swordstaff down towards the heavy clouds.

"Triumph! Fame! Immortality! It's down there! Your courage, your passion, and your pride -- ignite them all in blazing glory and seize it! It is YOURS for the taking!"

The Colonel then spun his swordstaff back, pointing in challenge to each and every one of his cavaliers.

"Let no lord claim yer not good enough! To befoul that your blood, your upbringing, your children aren't good enough! Today, you will show them courage! You will show them honor! You will show them all the true meaning of ''nobility!'' NOW WITH ME! CHARGE!!!"

"CHARGE!" Ariadne joined in the echoing shouts as over three hundred riders all plunged their mounts into a steep dive towards the clouds below.

In just a few lines, Colonel Hammerstein had managed to evoke everything those yeomen hated and wanted at the same time. It was a masterpiece performance that elicited a smile of appreciation even from her.

"Gryphons in the lead!" The Colonel commanded.

"Second company, armored wedge!" Captain Hans Herberts shouted.

The yeomen captain was one of those who rode a gryphon mount, and so was his company's entire first platoon. The muscular gryphons could bear more weight and withstand stronger headwinds than the agile pegasi or even the balanced hippogryphs. As a result, they wore plated steel armor which covered their eagle heads and lion-like upper torsos.

In accordance with both aeronautics and assault tactics, the rest of the Phantoms formed up behind the gryphons in a giant V formation to reduce air drag and protect more vulnerable steeds.

Ariadne felt a hint disappointed considering that she was supposed to be the ''1st company'' commander. But then, she wasn't the only one giving up the lead position. Colonel Hammerstein did the same as he stayed with her company as he always did.

Besides, she had an important role that nobody else among them could play.

"''Cyclone Blast Field!''"

Ariadne channeled her mana and poured it out from her extended left palm.

She wasn't truly a Stormcaller, not yet. She had the affinity and had received some training back at the academy, but she wasn't ready for the certification exam and she knew it. Her techniques still needed work as she relied more on strength than finesse in shaping air currents. The result was that providing a tailwind for their trip back had left her even more tired than she anticipated.

Unlike Colonel Dietrich von Falkenrath, Ariadne couldn't even surround one whole company with wind barriers. The best she could manage was roughly the size of a platoon. This she maintained as a 'whirlwind drill', plowing a road through the static-charged thunderclouds ahead of Captain Herbert's lead platoon.

Their targets finally came into sight after the last cloud blew apart to reveal the ground far below. The armored bulks of four colossal skywhales lumbered through the skies, hurling sparse volleys of ballista bolts into the distant struggle for aerial superiority.

Ariadne could not discern much through the storm clouds. However the echoing explosions and cries told her all she needed to know. Weichsel's first wave had interpenetrated with the Skagen drakes, entangling them in a chaotic aerial melee to buy time for the main strike.

''Let's make their sacrifices count.''

"SECOND COMPANY: MAXIMIZE FORWARD DEFENSE! FIRST COMPANY: COVERING FIRE!" Colonel Hammerstein bellowed out in a magically amplified voice. "DRUMS!"

The prelude of orchestral battle songs soon began against the noise of howling winds. It was a Weichsel army tradition -- because the more decisive an attack, the more it needed musical accompaniment. Once a unit was committed in heavy assault, words beyond shouted orders grew meaningless. Far more important was the ''atmosphere'' that permeated their resolve.

Ariadne released her cyclone drill, hurling it towards the top of the closest skywhale. Voices cried out as some men were blown into the air. More joined as a barrage of multicolored rays hurled onto the defenders' wards.

Yet at the same time, at least a hundred archers atop the other skywhales notched arrows to release rune-infused volleys. They greeted their foes with a curtain of missile fire.

Discharging spells soon met friendly wards in a cascade of thunder -- which was even more literal than Ariadne had expected. Every spark of electricity called down a thunderbolt from above, as though each lightning rune had been blessed by the weather itself.

''It's that bastard admiral!''

Her ears already rang from the deafening clash of magic. Her eyes blurred from the endless flash of voltage spikes.

But at least the distance was short.

"First company! Switch targets!" Colonel Hammerstein's yell came muffled by the ringing. "Suppress flanking whales!"

The range soon closed to but a few hundred paces. The 1st company's layered wards had been thinned but not broken outright. Their casualties remained surprisingly light.

Yet even through her fuzzy sight, Ariadne soon spotted an anomaly forming on the nearest skywhale's back. Glowing dots connected themselves into a rectangular field of mana, ready to unleash a weapon of unknown power.

"''Mana Seeker!'' Grenades!"

''What are you doing?''

Ariadne's thought came instantly as she heard Captain Hans' cry. It was doubtful if his company --which had bore the brunt of the thunder-- could hear at all. Nevertheless many followed in his example, launching waves of disruptive seekers before drawing grenades.

Phantoms were not supposed to deploy grenades unless they had a crushing magical superiority against their foes. Did that idiot forget? Or had he simply grown accustomed to repeating the same tactic as they had been doing during their raids in the Skagen Peninsula?

"STOP!" she screamed as her eyes glued themselves to the throbbing grid of power on the skywhale's back.

"SCATTER!"

Colonel Hammerstein's shout overcame her other thoughts, prompting Ariadne to press Edelweiss into an emergency dive.

She plunged not a second too soon as the 'anomaly' erupted in a blinding flare, just before the wavefront of ''Mana Seekers'' could reach them.

Some had followed the warning. Others obeyed evasive calls from their own leaders. Yet as the mana field on the skywhale's back burst into dozens, no, ''hundreds'' of lightning bolts, the bulk of the 2nd company --including the entirety of its gryphon platoon-- had been caught within its destructive path.

Crisscrossing beams of electricity hammered through the unit's remaining wards and tore through the formation. They were joined by a massive column of lightning from the overhead clouds, transforming the very airspace into a crackling voltage field.

Next came the blasts as every exposed blast powder grenade detonated. Even a few extradimensional pouches tore apart as the titanic discharge of power overwhelmed their heavy wards.

Ariadne gazed back up to where the 2nd company had been. Her mouth fell agape as she saw nothing but a floating sea of sparks and flames. Men and beasts plummeted from the gigantic fireball in the dozens, each a corpse burning in pitch and tar.

Within the span of seconds, the Phantom Grenadiers had lost over a hundred riders and roughly a third of their strength. Those men were not just wounded or maimed, but ''annihilated'' wholesale.

The entire formation now lay shattered. Their momentum paralyzed by their shock and horror at the devastation. Yet amidst the burning rain of fallen comrades, a single rugged rider tore past Ariadne to continue the charge.

In one hand he carried the Black Dragon banner, seized from the bearer of the 1st company. With the other hand he readied his swordstaff blade, crouched beneath his arm just as one would use a lance.

Her ears heard nothing except a steady ringing, but her heart felt every echo of his rallying cry.

Colonel Sir Erwin von Hammerstein was ugly, boorish, crass, and despotic. His intolerable insolence had drawn Ariadne's unforgiving ire since the day they met. But nobody, ''nobody'', could deny that he was a knight to be revered, a leader to be followed.

...Even to the depth of hell itself.

Spurring on her own mount, Ariadne raised her Manteuffel swordstaff high into the air. She enlarged it to maximum size --a heavy lance almost thrice her height-- before lowering it under her arm into a jousting stance.

"HOLY FATHER WITH US! CHARGE!"

There was no way she would let herself fall short next to ''him''.

<nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>

For centuries, southern mages had mocked the Hyperborean's Runic Magic as obsolete compared to Aura Magic.

Runic Magic had its advantages, sure. It allowed for the storage of mana from pre-cast spells through the use of runestones. Many rock minerals' crystal lattices had a low mana diffusion rate, making it possible to maintain hoards of prepared spells. It also allowed anyone who knew the trigger conditions to activate prepared runestones in bulk -- an absolute quantitative advantage which the Hyperboreans exploited at every opportunity.

However, Runic Magic's inability to spontaneously cast and its need for a physical carrier drastically limited its use. For example, there was simply no northern equivalent of the ''Mana Seeker'' multipurpose counterspell. The inflexibility of their spellcasting left them vulnerable to Weichsel's superbly coordinated spell volleys -- a critical weakness which had cost them many battles.

But the manipulation of mana was as much a science as alchemy or metallurgy. Runic Magic evolved with time just like any other technology in demand.

Hyperborean mages on the Frontier had recently developed the newest form of Runic Magic: spell runes which were limited by neither their location nor contact activation. These new runes had a rudimentary awareness of their surroundings. They could move freely across any two-dimensional surface. They could even work in groups and follow specific instructions, such as "band together and discharge in a coordinated volley against hostile attack."

In essence, they were self-regulated, ''automated'' spells that no longer required a human operator.

The proud Hyperborean mages of the newest generation called them 'Living Runes'.

The deafening thunder from the Skywhale ''Polarlys''<nowiki>'</nowiki> back left a buzz in Asgeirr Vintersvend's ears. However he paid the discomfort no mind as his cool Admiral Winter facade finally cracked open a broad, vengeful smirk:

"Where is your Holy Father now?"

<nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>

Ariadne watched as Colonel Hammerstein's mount was killed under him by a volley of rune-inscribed bolts. The hippogryph was virtually blown apart by the explosive projectiles, and its final stumble catapulted the gruff Colonel through the air and onto the skywhale's back.

The man was clearly bleeding from multiple wounds. Yet despite this he charged a group of archers with his swordstaff in hand. He stabbed his weapon through one foe and shoved the body into several others, then spun his polearm around to cleave through a bow and into the face of another Northman.

However northern archers were not helpless in melee. They drew their axes to fight back in close combat. One of them managed to cut the Colonel's leg and forced Hammerstein to fall to one knee, but not before he used his strength and magic to spear the flagpole of the Black Dragon banner onto the skywhale's armored back.

Pushing her pegasus through arrows and spells, Ariadne charged straight at the commander of the squad that Hammerstein was fighting. Her weapon was infused with a ''Catalyst Dispel'' at its tip, and she speared the Manteuffel swordstaff in its lance form through the man's torso.

Then, as a nearby Northman in chainmail-reinforced-hide lunged at her, she shrunk her weapon to its 'normal' size, pulling the twin-bladed swordstaff out of the corpse before hacking towards her foe. However with the penetration spell on her weapon now discharged, she barely even cracked his spellshield.

Ariadne urged her pegasus Edelweiss to plow straight into him and trample him underfoot. His wards and armor ensured that his ribs stayed intact, but the hard impact still stunned him for a few precious seconds.

"''Catalyst Dispel!''"

She cast the antimagic to burn away his layered wards before ramming her weapon's blade down and into him. She then spun her polearm around to parry the axe of another Northman, this time coming from her other side.

A dispel struck the Northman from the rear, cast by Hammerstein even as he half-knelt on the ground. However the assistance cost him as an axe blow landed upon his back, and only the enchanted cuirass he wore saved his life.

Taking advantage of the opening, Ariadne stabbed with her swordstaff. The first attack grazed the man's shoulder armor, which forced her to use her weapon shaft to deflect a riposte. However a second strike pierced straight into the man's neck, killing him almost instantly.

Hurling out a ''Cyclone'' spell at close range, she knocked back the Northman who stood over the Colonel before he could deliver a coup de grâce. She then charged the foe before he could regain his footing. And with two heavy blows from atop her mount, she overpowered the archer-turned-axeman and cut him down.

Still astride her bloodied pegasus, Ariadne looked down at the Colonel who was now on the ground. He rolled over onto his back and spurted out a mouthful of blood. His right hand clutched his wound as he cast ''First Aid'' spell on himself.

"GO!" He urged her. "Our primary objective remains!"

Ariadne nodded before she heeled her pegasus into another charge. But this time a squad of archers had trained their aim upon her. A quick cast of ''Mana Seekers'' disrupted many of the runes inscribed on their arrows, but the lead projectile's ''Dispel'' crashed her wards before two bodkin heads managed to pierce her armor on the right arm and shoulder.

It took all she had to not drop her weapon mid-charge.

Gritting with pain, Ariadne opened her grenade pouch and unstrapped it. She then hurled out its entire contents towards the squad of archers while caracoling away. This was followed by an area dispel and an ''Ignition'' ray. A dozen barrels of tar and powder crashed into the Northmen just as they caught fire and exploded.

However the redirection of her mount only sent her into another threat. Eight bulky Västergötlanders --adventurers based the look of their mismatched gear-- charged her with polearms, axes, and swords. One of them actually hurled his zweihander sword at her, which glowed slightly as magic took charge of its flight and put it into a spin.

The pink-haired lady knight ducked down in the nick of time to avoid being decapitated by the large, spinning blade. Although she was certain that she lost some hair in the process.

Two of the men squeezed runestones in their hands even as they charged. Ice crystals grew over their chainmail-and-hide armor at a phenomenal pace, forming an additional layer of spiked armor that made them almost invulnerable to conventional weapons.

''Frostfell berserkers,'' Ariadne instantly recognized.

Her arm trembled in fear as it was men like these who almost killed her back during autumn, when her first pegasus --the one who had accompanied her since childhood-- had been cut down during the Battle of Parchim.

"''Spellshield Fortress!''"

Ariadne brought her main defensive ward back to full strength as she guided Edelweiss to leap away. But she had already moved too close to evade, and her opponent's massive glaive smashed into her pegasus head on.

Multiple runic spells activated in quick succession as tiny pebbles popped off the polearm's shaft. Her fresh spellshields shattered under an antimagic burst right before a glowing, heated blade cut through Edelweiss' shadowy barding to discharge a surge of painful electric shocks.

The pegasus collapsed under her almost instantly, hurling her forward through the air.

Ariadne realized she had just lost her ''second'' familiar as the empathic link promptly cut off.

Still shaking from the aftershocks, she broke her tumbling fall as her leg became ensnared by the ropes covering the skywhale's back. Her weapon however tumbled away, falling off the whale and into the empty skies below.

She still had a dagger as backup. Yet there was simply no time to draw it, even assuming her wounded arm still had the strength to parry an attack that nearly beheaded her mount in one swipe.

She would still try. But even as time slowed to a crawl before her impending death, Ariadne knew that this time, she had thrown her dice against fate and lost.

''I'm sorry Perceval...''

She saw him one last time with tears in her eyes. Her body braced for the killing blow as the berserker raised the glaive edge high above his head.

--And in that moment, an explosive detonation could be heard behind the man's back, just before a jet of molten steel drilled a hole through the his armored chest. The man was dead before he body fell to the skywhale's back, and his corpse soon rolled down the sloped side and fell overboard.

A shattered lance had been responsible for the kill, and holding the other end of the weapon was the petite Elise, Ariadne's second-in-command. Behind her charged in an entire platoon, overrunning not just the adventurers but also several other nearby squads.

Ariadne recognized it as the ''Blast Lancet'' spell, pioneered during the last war after Weichsel's lances repeatedly broke upon the Imperium's demigryph super-heavy cavalry and their triple layered armor. It transformed the lance tip into a hollow, reversed cone, before using a small, magical explosion to imitate what they called a 'shaped blast' effect.

Though, regardless of how it worked, the young lady couldn't help but feel elation as she had just been spared. The life-and-death bond she felt with the girl mounted before her was one that only veterans could truly understand.

"Please... take care of the rest..." The pink haired lady breathed out as she collapsed against the skywhale's back. "I'll message command... to send in the final strike."

<nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>

Unlike the 'fateful five minutes of Midway' that inspired Kaede with this entire battle plan, the decisive moment of Nordkreuz was not brought to reality by coincidence, but through the willful sacrifice of countless brave lives.

The last Phantom company that had been lurking above the cloud cover dove down at a steep angle. Their dispersal was perfect, with two squads each sent against the first three skywhales. Their four best squads --reconnaissance and 1st platoon-- concentrated on the last, which had successfully fought off the Phantom Grenadiers' charge.

A cascade of thunder reached out from the fourth whale. At least a third of the assault wave there went down in an instant. But with most defenders distracted and the Phantoms in scattered formations, enough of them nevertheless made it through.

The ''Falcon Force'' Knights Phantom company came in behind massive dispel volleys, hammering any remaining wards near each skywhale's blowhole. Then, just before they sped past, every knight hurled in their modified javelin.

Accuracy was poor, but quantity held a quality of its own. Out of two dozen or so javelins thrown against each blowhole, at least a few made it through each.

The javelins had been Pascal's design. They carried tiny compartments with reagent payloads in the shaft. Impact triggered two different runes inscribed into the weapon: an electric surge that blasted forward to paralyze the skywhale's nasal muscles, and a transmutation barrier that covered the air intake. A third, delayed-action alchemy spell would combine the abundant airborne nitrogen with its payload to create hydrogen cyanide -- prussic acid.

Nothing visible seemed to happen at first, other than stronger wailing from the whales. Then, as the twenty second mark finally passed, geysers of flame erupted from one skywhale after another as even-more-delayed ''Fireball'' runes activated to ignite the poisonous gas that had spread into their lungs.

The result was almost painful to watch.

The gargantuan beasts buckled, tossed, rolled, and performed every physical motion imaginable in their agonizing death throes. Holding formation and altitude was impossible as they flailed through the air, shedding men and equipment as they went.

The battle raged on as falling northern mages activated levitation runes to stay airborne and retaliate. But these were mostly infantry or shipboard operators. With their organization shattered, they posed only a minor threat to Phantoms who specialized in air combat.

Dozens of drakes in the distance abandoned their own battle and turned to their motherships' aid. Yet the Phantoms and armigers they fought had no intention of letting them go. Their attempt to disengage cost them dearly, and what had been a contested battle in Skagen's favor soon turned Weichsel's way.

By the time the first skywhale began to plummet, the battle was already turning into a slaughter. The Northmen that stayed airborne fought back in penny packets, and the organized Phantom squads that remained butchered them without mercy.

<nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>

Asgeirr Vintersvend struggled to hang onto the bulwark as his skywhale fell through the skies. It would have been easier if he could use both hands, or if his dead familiar wasn't plunging towards the ground listing at nearly fifty-degrees.

Physical prowess had always been his brother's domain, not his. Furthermore, he also wasn't as young as he used to be...

''Finally!''

His other hand extracted the ''Air Glide Boost'' tablet from a belt pouch, which he promptly activated by pressing it against the gondola deck. He had prepared the runestone as part of his contingencies for an emergency. However he had never expected to actually use it.

Certainly not today.

They had been ''winning'' too! The Wickers' boarding troops might have had momentum after their charge. However the opening volleys had left too few of them to actually seize the whales! The attritional melee that had broken out played to Skagen favor. They were on the verge of shattering Weichsel's air cavalry corp and securing air dominance for the remainder of the war!

Then, in the span of less than a minute, everything had been reversed.

The hammer blow had come too quick, too fast. By the time the Admiral realized what had happened, the damage had already been done:

Four heavily armed and armored skywhales --the pride of the Skagen navy-- defeated in mere moments.

The mighty Drake Outriders had been thrown into disarray, then pressed into a desperate defense -- predators pounced upon by packs of angry prey.

Over a thousand veteran marksmen, runescribes, engineers, and other experienced specialists found themselves crashing toward their death. Those who managed to stay airborne found little mercy as roaming squads of Phantoms hacked them apart.

It was a disaster. A calamity that he had walked straight into. A catastrophe that he had no possible way to overturn.

''The battle is lost.''

Faced with the grim reality, Asgeirr had no choice but to admit it. All that remained was to see how many survivors could still be saved from his fatal mistake.

"Milord, we must leave!" His flag lieutenant, a young Wayfarer tasked to be his personal aide, shouted. "Once the Wickers see us glide, they'll hit us with concentrated force!"

To effectively place a spell, even a simple ''Air Glide'', across a monster of such colossal size was no easy feat. Asgeirr doubted any of the other skywhale captains had prepared a rune of similar strength. This meant he had just painted a bullseye on his own sinking ship. Yet at the same time, it offered the only real hope of survival that his men had.

"I am ''NOT'' leaving my men behind to die!" The Admiral yelled back in fury.

He had known most of the ''Polarlys''<nowiki>'</nowiki> crew for decades. The thought of abandoning them in this critical moment was unthinkable. It would be cowardice beneath the dignity of any man alive, an act of treachery for which he would never be able to forgive himself.

"But Milord...!" The aide cried again, his earnest blue eyes almost begging.

"Sir, Skagen ''cannot'' afford to lose you in this war," The voice of his first mate came from the communication tube.

As the ''Air Glide'' took hold and returned the flight deck mostly upright, Admiral Winter released the bulwark handle and dug into his pouches for two more tablets. The ''Gustcloak'' spellword was another one of his personal creations, and he reached out with both hands to project wind barriers onto the hangar deck entrances on opposite sides.

His falling skywhale familiar became a bunker gliding through air. Its armored mass was now charged with delivering several hundred crew members safely to the ground.

"No! We're all going back!" the Admiral set down his proverbial foot. "Now both of you shut up and organize the men for defense!"

Asgeirr could already see a squad of Phantoms riding towards them from beyond the wind wall. He reached into more pockets to pull out handfuls of lightning stones, before hurling these into the gust barrier that bulged outwards from each entrance, where cycling winds trapped them in the hurricane gales.

With one hand outstretched towards the barrier, Asgeirr concentrated his magic to manipulate his spell. The gale barrier spat out a horde of runestones with ballistic accuracy, and the delayed-action electrical bursts called down a lightning volley to blast the Phantom squad.

However the thunderous barrage also caught people's attention. Spell rays began flying toward the entrance in the dozens, but the arcane volley never made it past the wind. The barrier detonated spells as though solid matter. Elemental and antimagic blasts rapidly weakened the hurricane gales, yet they were hastily replenished as the Admiral poured more mana into his specially crafted stones.

Asgeirr was soon breathing hard as he strained his magic reserves. No individual archmage could match mana endurance against dozens, hundreds of battlemages and win. He still carried plenty of runestones for combat use, but he had to hold these barriers firm with his own power -- at least long enough to persuade the Wickers to cease their 'worthless' bombardment.

It took half a minute before they stopped. Then, as the Admiral finally took a calming breath, he saw a single armiger in glowing white-blue peel off from the Oriflamme's formation. The Lotharin flew in with nothing but a ''Levitation Flight'' spell, charging in the wake of the barrage.

Asgeirr focused on the barrier again to have it hurl out a dozen more stones. However the armiger vanished in a bolt of his own lightning before the salvo struck. Then, just before striking the wind wall, the attacker rematerialized into physical form once more.

The Admiral's eyes swelled with astonishment as he watched the intruder fall into his hangar. The gale barrier had torn the armiger's uniform into bloody shreds. Without the man's enchanted steel half-plate, the cutting winds would have ripped him apart.

''The sheer audacity of this... this boy!''

The Admiral stared in near disbelief as the armiger crashed hard onto the gondola's metal floor and rolled to a stop merely five paces away. A dozen gashes had cut the attacker's face into a bloody mess beyond recognition. Nevertheless Asgeirr estimated that the short redhead who appeared to be a teen was in his early twenties at most.

Was it bravery? Overconfidence? Or outright stupidity? Asgeirr didn't know what compelled the boy into such a foolhardy stunt. But it hardly mattered anymore.

A handful of his huskarl bodyguards were rushing over from the entrances. The heathen boy would never be allowed to stand up again.

Yet as hateful, blood-covered eyes turned to glare at the Admiral, Asgeirr realized that the kid wasn't finished. The redhead tossed a kukri still held in his hands, hurling out the curved steel like a bladed boomerang.

However the kid was too badly hurt. His aim was terrible even at so close a range. The kukri merely tore the edge of the Admiral's billowing cloak.

No... it had also grazed his layered wards, and the weapon's discharged ''Catalyst Dispel'' overwhelmed them with cascading failure.

With a jerk of his hands, the Admiral summoned runic pebbles between his fingers to replenish the wards. But a sharp, slashing pain from his right forearm caused him to drop the stones.

"''Armor Screen!''" The bloodied boy spat out, curving the protective bubble around the Admiral and enclosing his space against the steel bulwark.

--Which happens to include the thrown blade.

''What--'' Asgeirr puzzled in confusion before he saw the re-emerging threat.

The kukri had bounced off the wall and came back, somehow tripling itself in the process. Then, with another rebound off the translucent bubble, two more copies duplicated into existence.

They cut across his shin, slashed his bony shoulder, even sent a hacking stab deep into his back. The whirlwind of steel escalated in mere seconds, and agonizing pain drowned out all coherent thought -- let alone any deduction that could devise a suitable counterspell.

...

Reynaud never found out if the Admiral lacked the right prepared spell to deal with the unusual threat, or if he simply didn't react fast enough. Within seconds, the swarm of flying steel created by the Bladestorm Kukri --a 'gift' from the Imperial Mantis Blades weeks ago-- had cut the old man apart.

Which left three armed and now outraged Northmen surrounding him.

''Too bad... I won't get to show Gerard my medal for this...''

Lying face-up on the floor, Reynaud tried to laugh at his situation yet he only coughed up blood. His eyes glanced sideways, not at the swords about to end his life, but the fading winds that once protected the entrance.

''My first battle... what a blunder...''

Regret seeped into his mind as he thought of his hasty action. Second thoughts have never fitted him, but for once, he wished he had made a different choice.

Reynaud tried to raise his arm again but it wouldn't budge. He tried to cast another spell yet his body wouldn't listen. Every part of him was aching numb as a precast ''Desensitize'' spell dulled his pain. But even with it, throwing out that kukri and the spell that went with it had cost every last strength he had.

Trying to reconcile himself to the inevitable, Reynaud closed his eyes. Yet even as his eyelids met, hot tears rolled down his cheeks from the corner of each eye.

''I don't want to die...''

However, as Reynaud braced himself and the seconds rolled by, there was no sharp, burning agony. No ending of consciousness.

Instead, Reynaud heard cries of agony above him, accompanied by the clanging of steel and swishing of chains.

He opened his eyes once more. And there she was, the Princess of Rhin-Lotharingie. Her meteor hammer spun in her hand, while her surviving armigers crushed the remaining foes with maces in their hands.

''Her Highness... came after me...''

As he coughed and another spatter of blood flew out from his lips, Reynaud watched the Princess wrap her meteor hammer's chains around her arm. She then rushed over to him, while her hands withdrew several runestones from her belt pouch along the way.

"Are you OUT OF YOUR MIND?" The glowing-haired Princess cried out in visible anger as she activated the healing runes. The stones took positions around him, and a hemisphere of turquoise healing magic --the same color as Pascal's-- flared into existence.

Without even the energy to lift his hand, Reynaud could only lay there as he stared, crying, smiling, all at the same time. He looked at the Oriflamme whom he had sworn, just before the battle, to follow, to serve, and to protect.

"It worked... didn't it?" His bravado re-emerged as he tried to put on a normal face.

"YOU IDIOT!" Princess Sylviane shouted. "There's a difference between taking risks and ''commiting suicide!''"

"I'm not dead yet." Reynaud joked with a faint, coughing laugh.

<noinclude>
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| Back to [[Daybreak:Volume_2_Chapter_15|Chapter 15]]
| Return to [[Daybreak_on_Hyperion|Main Page]]
| Forward to [[Daybreak:Volume_2_Chapter_17|Chapter 17]]
|-
|}
</noinclude>

Daybreak:Volume 2 Chapter 15

2021-07-09T17:06:19Z

Aorii:

===Chapter 15 - Massive Strike===

"There they are!" Ariadne von Manteuffel heard the cry of her commanding officer, Colonel Erwin von Hammerstein, who insisted on riding at the very head of the air cavalry formation.

They had run across a party of Weichsel deep reconnaissance scouts last night, who'd told them that a Northmen supply convoy of sleds had departed from the port city of Nordkapp several days ago and was on its way south to join the main Skagen army. The supply convoy was guarded by over a thousand men, more than three times the number of soldiers in their detachment. However these were second-rate support troops, while Colonel Hammerstein's two companies were specially trained and equipped Phantom Grenadiers.

Needless to say, the possibility of knocking out an entire convoy had proved too alluring for the maverick Colonel to pass up. They had set out early to hunt down their target. But even with their scouting familiars and sight enhancement spells, the hard snow had made it difficult to spot a large convoy... until now.

"We'll gut their belly and take the bacon!" Hammerstein shouted in his rough voice from atop his hippogryph mount. "Form up by platoons! Wedge formation!"

"<Wedge formation by platoons! Wards up!>"

Ariadne issued her orders over the telepathic channel she shared with the other commanders before hearing them echoed by platoon leaders. Two companies --three hundred cavalrymen in all-- fanned out into groups of forty to simultaneously hit multiple points along the long convoy train.

She watched as her comrades seemingly vanished into the snowy flurry. The weather made it difficult to see more than a hundred paces in any direction, while the Skagen column was drawn out over more than a kilopace. Colonel Hammerstein was spreading the attack dangerously thin. Should anything go wrong, the individual platoons would struggle to support one another.

Yet, it was also an excellent idea that used the weather to their favor.

''He wants to maximize shock,'' Ariadne considered her orders. ''To make the enemy, who outnumber us, believe they are under attack by a much larger force.''

The convoy's guards began to shout in Hyperborean as they spotted the Weichsel air cavalry flying in at low altitude. But the obscuring snow had delayed them for too long. Even with their skis, the Skagen infantry had no chance of forming lines in time.

A smattering of lone arrows and preloaded crossbow bolts shot out to meet the attackers. The majority of them struck the Phantoms' wards and harmlessly bounced off. Without the officers' ''Dispel'' arrows to lead an organized volley, commoner archers had no chance of repelling mage cavalry with their bows.

"''Mana Seeker!''" Ariadne heard Elise, her company's second-in-command and 1st platoon commander, cry out as both an order and a spell. Five glowing bolts of magic shot out from the petite girl's casting glove. They were soon joined by dozens of others which swarmed through the air towards the enemy.

Most of these magic missiles did nothing but fly harmlessly over the enemies' heads. However a few homed in on arrows or bolts that were tipped with runes. ''Mana Seeker'' was a simple, 'cast and forget' type of spell that relied on quantity. They were automatically drawn towards incoming sources of mana -- so long as they weren't other ''Mana Seekers''. These magic missiles disrupted en-route spells by interdicting them with unstable, foreign mana, often ruining an approaching spell before it could reach its target. Though their ability to 'find' targets was limited by proximity, which made it important for them to cross paths with hostile spells.

A ''Fireball'' exploded somewhere to her right as a runic arrow from the defenders managed to get through the seeker barrage. Glancing back, Ariadne saw Elise --who led from the right wing of the cavalry wedge-- billowing smoke from her armor and uniform. Her anti-elemental ''Resistance'' ward had repelled most of the damage, leaving the petite girl only slightly cooked with singed hair and a sunburnt face.

"<Two voll... fly-by!>" Hammerstein's voice was becoming garbled on the telepathy channel. "--arge on third!"

The spells being exchanged were already starting to have an effect on basic telepathic communications. Soon only ''Farspeak'' spells and their reduced-range variant --which required concentration to maintain and therefore needed dedicated signal officers-- would be able to function.

"Two volleys fly-by! Grenades at the ready!" Ariadne bellowed.

Knights Phantom were elite cavalry with expensive, specialized equipment. And while the Phantom Grenadiers weren't proper knights, they still had gear matching their noble brethren that the late Marshal spent a fortune to subsidize for this experimental formation. Each cavalryman wore a heavily-warded, extra-dimensional belt pouch dedicated to grenades -- shrunken barrels filled with either pitch and tar or blast powder.

Two air cavalry companies formed seven triangular wedges that flew in at an altitude of twenty paces. As they soared close to the defenders, Ariadne and nearly three hundred cavalrymen threw out their grenades towards the disorganized enemy. The grenades were followed by area ''Dispels'', ripping away shrinking spells to reveal full-sized kegs.

Then came the ''Ignition'' rays.

Almost three hundred crashing barrels of flaming pitch, burning tar, and exploding powder turned the Skagen convoy into a vision of hell. Men cried as they were set aflame or torn asunder. Sleds full of grain and feed either caught ablaze or burst into splinters.

Ariadne might not be able to see the other platoons or damage with her own eyes, but she could hear the explosions and panicked cries to recognize the mayhem unleashed.

"Bank right!" She shouted as she led her company's 1st platoon around in a wide loop for a second pass.

The triangular wedge formations made such maneuvers easy. Most mounts --including both pegasi and hippogryphs-- inherited the herd mentality of horses, which naturally made them follow a commander's steed whom they've learned to recognize as the 'alpha'.

It was also why Ariadne's familiar summon was always a pegasus stallion.

The survivors of the first barrage soon found themselves under a second wave of expanding-barrel grenades. More fire and explosions tore into the Skagen convoy as sleds shattered and men were set ablaze.

Then, as the Phantom Grenadiers swerved about for the second time...

"Holy Father with us! ''Phantom Charge!''"

The shadowy barding covering their beastly mounts tore away, forming a stampede of spectral horses that caught ablaze as they charged ahead of the cavalry wedge. These 'phantom steeds' rammed and trampled through the enemy troops, before detonating inside their formations in a blazing inferno.

By the time Ariadne and her comrades plunged into the Skagen convoy with cold steel, the Northmen's morale had already shattered. Soldiers threw away their weapons and began to either flee or surrender in droves. A few squads rallied around stalwart officers fought on, only to be cut down by Weichsel's riders with their lances and swordstaves.

...

Sitting atop her pegasus familiar, Ariadne held two right fingers against her temple to concentrate on the ''Farspeak'' connection she had with a signal officer back in Nordkreuz. Her eyes meanwhile continued to keep watch on her surroundings, where the Phantom Grenadiers were cleaning up the now muddy battlefield.

"Sir!" Ariadne shouted as she ended the ''Farspeak'' call. She beckoned her pegasus familiar Edelweiss to trot closer to the homely Colonel Hammerstein, who stood roughly forty paces away among several other officers.

"Sir, have you been instructing our signal officer to reject calls from Nordkreuz?" The pink-haired captain challenged her superior.

"Yes," the Colonel declared openly, without even the slightest hesitation over how openly he flouted regulations. "I don't need those stinkin' scribes to tell me that I'm outside of operational boundaries."

''Y-you...'' Ariadne's fist tightened as she struggled to figure out how to even insult him in her own head.

"Sir that's ''insubordination!''"

"Funny to hear a subordinate tell me that," the Colonel scoffed. "Keep your panties on, will you? What High Command wants above all are results, not rule-abiding--"

''My panties were never off, you crass oaf!'' Her thoughts screamed.

"SIR!" She cried over him. "Command messaged me that a Skagen skywhale fleet has been spotted inbound for Nordkreuz. General Neithard demand that we ''immediately'' return to rendezvous with the main force, west of the border town of Suokamo!"

For a brief second Colonel Hammerstein looked confused. Then, as Ariadne's words dawned on him, a trace of horror entered his countenance as his bulging eyes widened even further.

"Those bastards used their ''main force'' as a distraction!?" He snarled with crooked lips before turning towards the soldiers, who were still cleaning up the battlefield.

Ariadne immediately gestured for the platoon signaler to blow his bugle and call for the soldiers' attention.

"STOP WHATEVER YOU'RE DOING AND GATHER UP!" Colonel Hammerstein shouted. "WE RIDE SOUTH!"

"But Sir, we haven't finished disarming the captives!" Lieutenant Kayeten, vice-commander of the 2nd company, cried back.

"Forget them! Forget everything here! Drop a ''Fireball'' on any sleds that remain, because we ''must'' ride south! NOW!"

''He really is a brilliant tactician,'' Ariadne couldn't help ponder. She didn't even have to explain the details, let alone pass along the General's threats, to make the Colonel recognize how critical their situation was. ''If only he wasn't such a glory-mongerer.''

"We might end up late for the rendezvous," Hammerstein sighed as he looked at Ariadne with concern. "We're too far north."

''Those operational boundaries exist for a reason.'' Ariadne thought. However she refrained from saying anything along the line of 'I told you so.'

Ariadne had voiced her objections this morning before all the platoon and company leaders. However she had been overruled by the Colonel who was her superior. This meant that whatever would transpire, she was not responsible for it. Instead it was Colonel Hammerstein whom all the accountability would fall upon, even if that meant the removal of his head as her uncle had threatened.

''Yet... that would only serve to benefit our enemies,'' Ariadne scowled.

She might not like Hammerstein personally, but there was no doubt that the man was an excellent field commander.

"Sir, I can give the group a boost." The young lady volunteered.

"How?"

"I'm a Stormcaller." Ariadne declared with a hand upon her chest. "Not certified yet, so you wouldn't see it on my file. It might leave me tired for the main battle, but I can definitely put the wind at our backs for our flight."

The Colonel's deep eyes stared at her for a moment before he nodded. "I owe you one."

''Yes you do.''

As Hammerstein turned away to shout more orders, Ariadne frowned and pressed a hand against the armor over her abdomen. Her magic might have mitigated most of her period cramps, but she was still queasy and lacking in appetite. Worse yet, her bleeding days always left her slightly anemic and easily fatigued... certainly not the best time to have an overnight ride.

Not that her biological clock mattered to the enemy. Her duties as an officer of Weichsel remained the same.

<nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>

"What did you just say!?" Reynaud watched as Sir Robert's eyes ballooned to the size of saucers. The two of them stood at the foot of Pascal's fortified residence, illuminated by a nearby lamp beneath the cloudy, snow-filled skies.

"We've had a coup at the palace... in Alis Avern." Reynaud repeated in between rough breathes. "The Emperor is dead... and Duke Gabriel now commands the capital!"

It was past midnight when Reynaud arrived in Nordkreuz with Cecylia. She had since left to meet her superiors. However before she departed, she had asked a few soldiers to escort Reynaud to the Moltewitz estate, where the young redhead requested a meeting with Sir Robert first.

Reynaud had heard from Dame Elspeth that Robert de Dunois was the second most trusted among the Princess' armigers, ranked behind only Lady Mari, the Princess' maid and bodyguard. He wanted to consult the latter on how to best deliver the terrible news. After all, he had only met the Princess in-person once, and by all accounts the rulers of the Gaetane family had a fiery temper.

"Where is Dame Elspeth?" Sir Robert asked next.

"At the tavern." Reynaud answered as he straightened his back and slowly brought his breathing under control. "Poor girl almost collapsed... by the time we arrived."

"You look like you're about to collapse yourself," the pretty-boy armiger said with raised eyebrows.

"I had to make ten of the jumps myself," Reynaud exhaled out. "And when I saw how eerily empty the city was... I ran the rest of the way here."

"''Ten!?''" Robert was amazed. As a Wayfarer himself, he knew exactly how taxing it was to make consecutive jumps with multiple riders.

"Yeah," Reynaud slapped a slightly-forced smile onto his lips. "Pretty good... ain't it?" He added boastfully.

Robert snorted a little as he immediately recognized the tone. "Yes yes, the bards will be singing your praises when this is all over." He noted almost casually before a serious frown returned. "A shelter-in-place order has been issued for Nordkreuz. We anticipate a Skagen air raid to arrive within the next hour or two. In fact, the Princess is getting ready to depart..."

His countenance then turned grim: "we can't tell Her Highness now!"

"Why not?"

Robert glared at the redheaded Reynaud. "We're about to head out and into battle. Do you ''want'' Her Highness to get herself killed!? We ''cannot'' let her know of her beloved father's death until after!"

"You're still going to fight for the Weichsens now!?" Reynaud hissed.

"We'll need Weichsel's aid more than ever," Robert declared sternly. "This battle will go down in Hyperion history, and every knight of Weichsel will know that it was Her Highness who led the charge against a fleet of colossal skywhales! Nobody will allow King Leopold to forget his treachery if he abandons the Princess afterwards. It is the best way for Her Highness to gain leverage!"

For a moment Reynaud forgot to close his mouth. Then: "they have a ''fleet!?''"

The winds blowing in from Cross Lake strengthened at that moment. The winter storm was now blowing snow straight into Reynaud's face, and for a moment he almost lost his footing as the gales grew to an audible intensity.

"Four, to be precise," Robert answered, before he tilted his head as though he suddenly realized something. "Isn't your father a skywhale merchant?"

"Yeah," Reynaud leaned against the walls of the residential stone keep. "King Alistair has been using Father's skywhale like his personal airship."

"That's right..." Robert said thoughtfully. "How well do you know their weak spots?"

"I know a skywhale's anatomy inside and out," Reynaud asserted. "I even gave my baby skywhale familiar a bath last week!"

"And you're trained as an armiger?" Robert asked next.

"Yes Sir." Reynaud smirked. "Best fighter in my class!"

"We could use your help in battle then," Robert stated. "Think you're up for it after your teleports here?"

"''Are you kidding!?''" Reynaud responded, his eyes almost glittering with excitement. "Being an Oriflamme Armiger is my ''dream!'' My body can run on excitement alone!"

The redhead then paused with a frown. "But how are we going to explain my presence to Her Highness?"

Robert pressed a finger thoughtfully against his cheeks in a surprisingly feminine gesture. Then, with a scowl, he said:

"Tell her that the Emperor sent you after hearing unconfirmed rumors about skywhale sightings off the northern coast." The royal armiger then sighed. "I hope you're a good liar though, or she'll see right through you."

"As long as I have something to boast about." Reynaud grinned.

<nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>

Torsten Asgeirsen closed his eyes as he immersed his thoughts in the icy winds.

He rode atop his drake at the head of the column, flying through the clear night skies above the thick clouds and the raging blizzard below. Without the enchanted shirt he wore beneath his heavy drakeskin armor, the cold air buffeting his exposed face would have left ice crystals in his thin beard. Yet to an experienced Outrider, the feeling of cutting through wintry winds was the epitome of blissful serenity.

No man could become an Outrider without loving this paradise. To appreciate the flawless beauty of the open heavens, unveiled by bashful clouds and untouched by the desires of men -- such was the duty of every being who wished to master the skies.

The Wickers' air cavalry simply did not understand it. Despite all their three-dimensional combat training, they had no real ''feel'' for aerial maneuvers. To them, the skies were just multiple layers of flat plains at different altitudes.

Torsten almost felt sorry for those poor heathens... almost.

After all, those Wickers --and the Imps who once backed them-- were the aggressors. They were the ones who settled upon the Hyperboreans' promised land and began over a thousand years of enmity. All the wars that resulted were entirely ''their fault''.

They ''deserved'' to die.

...Or so he told himself.

Torsten did not like this mission, if he were to be honest. There was no glory in massacring a city through aerial bombardment. Yet the Weichsel army gathering in Nordkreuz left him no choice.

As the firstborn son of Admiral Asgeirr Vintersvend and the commander of ''Polarlys''<nowiki>'</nowiki> air group, it was his duty to lead the assault. Against this duty to his people, his nation, his family, his comrades, and his friends, his personal feelings and sense of ethics weighed next to nothing.

He focused on his ''Pathfinder'' guidance spell once more and realized that their distance to Nordkreuz beacon had fallen under a kilopace at last.

Their mission was simple: to lay waste to the city before the Weichsel air cavalry could return. Only by destroying the city's fortifications and crippling the Weichsel army gathered there will Skagen's main force have a chance of successfully storming the settlement.

The Skagen army didn't need to occupy the whole city. However they needed at least enough of a breach for his father to tap the ley-line junction which lay inside the walls.

''It's time.''

Torsten pulled four pebbles from his pocket and threw them into the air. The runes on them triggered as they left his hand, bursting into flares of red, blue, yellow, and black. They formed an emergency call for aid in Hyperborean maritime communications. Yet on the precipice of battle, the combination carried another special meaning:

'The fate of our people lies in your hands.'

"<Commence attack!>" Torsten sent to squadron leaders over the command telepathy channel as he pulled his drake into a leftward dive. "<Group Polarlys with me to northern gate and fortifications. Group Lyngbakr to eastern gate and camps. Group Hafgufa to southern gate and camps. and Group Livjatan the central city and docks. Brothers! Let's send these Wickers to the freezing mists of Hel!>"

He didn't really need to repeat their orders. His men were the best and already knew their jobs. Nevertheless he felt the moment needed a bit more 'oomph' to precede his last line. Unfortunately, his scholarly father hadn't passed down much in the ways of oratory skills.

"<Yes Sir!>"

The strike groups began splitting up even before their commanders responded. Volcanic drakes in cloudy-gray illusory camouflage banked away from the aerial armada by the dozens. The separate units flew in loose formations as they plunged straight into the clouds.

Skagen Outriders didn't practice the neat arrays their Weichsel counterparts fought in. But then, they didn't need to. They much preferred scrambling the battle into one giant mess and letting individual superiority carry the day.

Torsten activated two more runestones just as he dived out of the freezing clouds. His eyes began to radiate an icy blue as ''Snow Sight'' allowed his vision to see through the blizzard as though the snow was transluscent. His partner's retracted wings also shimmered faintly, embraced by a ''Stormblessed'' spell that shifted the winds to its favor.

After verifying his target in the distance, Torsten tugged the reins and swerved right before urging his drake into a yet steeper plunge.

Thirty-one more volcanic drakes followed in his wake. Each of them dived towards the ground at a slightly different angle. Each rider aimed for a separate tower or length of walls as gravity accelerated them through over a thousand paces of air, basking in the thrill of free fall just before the kill.

''Seven hundred... six hundred... five hundred!''

"DROP! DROP! DROP!" Torsten shouted over both the howling winds and the telepathy channel.

Releasing his reins for a moment, Torsten first touched two runes in the front of his saddle. They disengaged the 'safety' sticking spells that kept the payload containers closed. He then reached behind and grabbed two small metal loops held up by the back of his saddle. Yanking both forward with all his strength, he pulled out the heavy duty cords attached to each loop. These cords fed through several pulleys, around the drake's sides, and connected to the lids of two long, metal boxes bound to the mount's underside.

Tugged back by the cords, the container lids slid open, revealing hundreds of rune-inscribed stones.

As Torsten took back his reins and urged his drake out of its dive, gravity and the difference in velocity accelerated those rocks out of their compartment. They scattered into the air as they emerged, forming two rough 'blankets' of massed bomblets that fell toward the gatehouse below.

The runestones came in numerous varieties, from single-spell pebbles that exploded in lightning or shrapnel, to multi-spell combinations that could penetrate structures and set interiors ablaze. There were even runes attached to shrunken down barrels of noxious alchemical liquids.

But the most dangerous kind came from the Admiral himself. Packed all the way in the back to avoid being struck by counterspells, these runestones surrounded themselves with a ''Dispel Barrier'' once they entered free fall to protect against ''Mana Seekers'' and other antimagic spells. After they landed, the ''Animated'' rocks would roll until they struck earth or stone ground. From there, high-powered ''Tectonic'' spells would reach deep underground and send violent tremors throughout the city.

With over a hundred runestones per container, two containers per drake, and four groups totaling one-hundred-twenty-eight drakes, Torsten's strike force would dump more than twenty-six thousand magical munitions over the city of Nordkreuz.

Amidst the blizzard brought forth by Admiral Winter, the skies literally rained death.

<nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>

Pascal looked down to examine his arcane pocket watch. He could hear its faint ticking, managed by a combination of mechanical durability and magical precision. The device had a reputation for being faultlessly accurate, which meant that he had been standing outside, in the heavy snow, for nearly two hours already.

He wasn't really bothered by it. Every mage had at least one set of enchanted clothing that kept him comfortable and dry regardless of weather. Such conveniences were just another part of the Holy Father's blessing for those who carried the burdens of leadership.

Prayers from the blessed to the Holy Father have ended with ''Noblesse Oblige'' for as long as Hyperion history remembered. Certainly, there were always some who forsook their duties and flouted their privileges. However, it was a matter of necessity that mages always stood where they were most needed. Magic was simply too vital, be it for military conflicts or economic prosperity. Any culture whose mages failed to uphold their civic duty were quickly conquered by others whose elites still held onto the spirit of true nobility.

Nowhere else in Western Hyperion was this more true than in Weichsel. Thanks to the ''Writ of Universal Conscription'' and their meritocratic traditions, Weichsel boasted a higher ratio of Magic-Capable Officers to enlisted commoners than any other military in the west. And tonight, this was on full display as thousands of Weichsen soldiers manned the fortifications of Nordkreuz, organized in platoons to provide the city with much needed anti-air defense.

The remainder of the army --those who lacked either the equipment or training for skyward volleys-- were sent to encamp several kilopaces east of the city. There, they pitched tents to rest for the land battle tomorrow. Meanwhile their presence was hidden beneath ''Mirage Figment'' spells that imitated shallow, snow-covered hills.

To minimize their chances of being detected, they were forbidden from lighting any fires. Needless to say, this was not a great way for the troops to stay warm in the midst of a blizzard. Thankfully, the men of Weichsel could at least be confident that they were adequately provided with winter equipment. Every soldier who answered the call-to-arms had been given a thick, sheepskin winter coat, two extra wool pants, several pairs of wool socks, and other improvements such as extra stuffing for their bedrolls.

It was in moments like these when Pascal's appreciation for General Wiktor von Falkenhausen rose to new heights. Many in Weichsel's army --especially the hot headed officers of the cavalry corp-- mocked the dhampir chief-of-staff as the 'Accountant General'. Yet, without his logistical wizardry, how were their men supposed to win battles with their stomachs empty, their toes frostbitten, and their lips sealed by frozen snot?

Now such logistical work paid its dividends. Tens of thousands of men had to spend tonight in the open, with only a thin tent between them and a raging blizzard outside. They might be cold and miserable, but Pascal could at least be confident that few were outright freezing to death.

"Skagen drake riders have been spotted to the northeast by familiar scouts," Pascal heard a signal officer announce. "They're splitting up into four groups."

"The enemy is likely to hit us at different timings," spoke another signal officer, whose fingers were pressed against his temple as he maintained a ''Farspeak'' spell with the main command post at the eastern gatehouse. "General Wiktor authorizes company commanders to make the judgment call on first volley."

"Pass the word," Brigadier-General Bernard von Konopacki, Pascal's commanding officer, declared from his command post atop the city's northern gatehouse. "Signal all anti-air groups to raise wards. Charge ammunition with ''Legion Stormblessed'' spells. Arrows won't fly far in this weather without it."

Within Weichsel's military hierarchy, every company had a dedicated signal officer attached to its command squad to maintain ''Farspeak'' communications. Battalion command squads had double that, and brigade command had over two dozen. Command units also used other means, including flags, bugles, and illumination spells. However it was the signal officers who played the most pivotal role.

It was expensive to dedicate many of their mages to communications, but the value of reliable inter-unit coordination --unhampered by visibility, noise, and other environmental factors-- could not be overstated. When Pascal first told Kaede about this, the familiar responded with a wry, nostalgic smile: "''Every tank needs its own radio. We Russians learned that the hard way.''"

Kaede had to explain to Pascal what a 'radio' was after that, and the young lord was shocked to hear that her homeland's most 'reliable' form of communications was broadcasted in the open and could therefore be intercepted and decoded by the enemy. ''Farspeak'' spells had no such weakness -- it was yet another trait that proved the superiority of magic in Pascal's view.

Summoning his runes, Pascal activated one ward after another as he layered defenses on top of the brigade command staff. Several other officers also cast their own spells and added it to the mix, but 'entrenchment' was definitely a field where runic magic held superiority with its prepared spells.

Meanwhile, a platoon of infantrymen raised their arbalests skyward. The soldiers moved in unison as they pointed towards wherever their commander did with a thin beam of guiding light. Several troopers who manned the scorpion ballistas did the same. Even the two bomb mortars --barrel-sized tubes packed with blast powder and stuffed with a bag of steel pellets-- were tilted towards the northeast where they anticipated to see the enemy.

"DRAKES SIGHTED! INCOMING!"

The shout came from a spotter who stood at the edge of a gatehouse. Even with ''Snow Sight'' extending his view, it was hard to see two hundred paces in the raging blizzard. His third word indicated that the enemy flyers were already unleashing their payloads.

"''MANA SEEKER!''" Brigadier Bernand drew his sword and cried over the howling gales.

"''Mana Seeker!''" A dozen officers followed, including Pascal himself.

The same phrase could be heard from the next tower, the one after that, and even the top levels of several buildings inside the walls. Had it not been for the vision-obscuring blizzard, dozens of structures spraying hundreds if not thousands of glowing projectiles skyward would have made a stunning light show.

The Brigadier waited a moment for the wave of seekers to depart before shouting a second spell, to ensure that it wouldn't be disrupted by his allies' antimagic.

"''Solar Burst!''" He cried before shouting: "All units SHOOT AT WILL!"

Pascal and another captain followed the lead, and the skies above them were soon lit by three eruptions of red-orange light. Snow melted into vapor in the wake of the searing flare, which would have blinded anyone in view who failed to shield their eyes in time.

...Or in the case of the officers on the gatehouse: if they hadn't been sheltering under a ''Sunward Screen'', a spell traditionally used by dhampirs to avoid sunburn.

The trio of high-powered spells cleared several hundred paces of obscuring snow and revealed three drakes that were pulling out of their dive. The lieutenant who led the arbalest platoon immediately directed his guiding light towards one of the drakes. His weapon released a glowing tracer bolt infused with antimagic at its tip, which was soon followed by over three dozen armor-piercing bolts and several offensive spells.

A thundering roar came next as one of the bomb mortars opened fire. Its explosive, powder charge hurled out a blast of steel balls in a high-angled cone. The steel pellets tore through the wings of the drake it aimed at, as the beast's wards had already been stripped away by the dispelling bolt.

Amazingly, the drake didn't crash straight towards the ground, but tried to fly away in a limp. However before the other artillery could pivot its aim and open fire, two carpets of runestone bomblets fell upon the gatehouse.

The very first rock actually hit a customs building just inside the gate. It disintegrated a hole through the roof, fell through, and then exploded into fiery pellets that set the entire structure ablaze. Dozens of other runestones also overshot the gatehouse, falling upon the stone-hewn road just inside the city. However, a handful of runestones landed on top of the protrusion where the bomb mortar was placed, and one of them was a ''Lightning Blast'' that shot out in just the right direction.

The officer in charge of the mortars had left a hole in their ward coverage for the weapon's discharge. A bolt of evoked lightning blasted straight into this gap and made contact with the barrel of the mortar. The blast powder inside the barrel ignited prematurely, before two of the crew members --who had been readjusting the weapon-- could cower from the cone of discharge.

Two decapitated men fell besides the mortar as the blast tore off their heads at point-blank range.

More explosions came from the wards covering the command group as a carpet of bomblets fell directly onto them. Their detonations came in such rapid succession that it was impossible to tell them apart. The erupting thunder of dozens blended together, forming a cacophony of destruction that stifled all other sounds. Mana flashed and vaporized as dozens of spellshields and protective screens were torn asunder in the blink of an eye, tearing holes through the defensive wards that sheltered those underneath.

The arbalesters who stood near the crenelations were the next to fall victim as only a ''Legion Resistance'' ward protected them. Entire squads cried out as they were consumed by multiple fire and lightning spells. The intense bombardment was overpowering their defenses through sheer brute force, and they fell in screaming agony as the raw elemental discharge roasted them alive.

Yet this was merely the beginning...

One of the un-shrunken barrels crashed into a battered spellshield overhead, spilling its contents into a volatile mixture of airborne liquids. Two individually-stable alchemical compounds soon mixed together and reacted with the air. Combustion was nearly instantaneous, and it transformed a falling carpet of rimefire that burned its way through remaining wards as though consuming oil-soaked sheets.

In one moment, a half-dozen young signal officers --some of them not even twenty years of age-- stood near the head of the Brigadier's bodyguards where they relayed commands to the various air defense groups. A second later, they were but shrieking humanoid shapes of burning flesh, collapsing amidst a pool of flames in the very vision of hell.

''Holy Hyperion...!'' Pascal was barely able to stop himself from crying out.

Not even a seasoned officer could witness such calamity and remain unshaken, and Pascal was anything but a veteran as he backed away from the grotesque, burning flesh. Brigadier Bernard had been pulled out of the way at the last split-second. However even one of his saviors had been in the wrong spot and suffered a gruesome fate.

"<Pascal!?>" He heard Kaede's urgent voice through their private, familiar bond. He had left her back at his own residence, to maintain communications with the anti-air platoon stationed there.

Clearly, he had sent his horrified cry over telepathy instead. But as the young lord stood in a brief moment of intense shock, he found himself unable to respond.

Pascal's legs were trembling as his dazed eyes looked towards his beloved hometown. The raging blizzard made it impossible to see, but he could hear the thundering cacophony throughout the city. Cries of dying men intermingled with the sound of buildings being blasted apart. Bursts of intense light lit up the night sky as waves of explosions blanketed the streets and structures.

"<nowiki><</nowiki>I made a mistake...>" The young landgrave thought in horror as realization hit him. "<nowiki><</nowiki>I made a BIG mistake...>"

He had been so focused on planning for the destruction of Skagen's skywhales that he completely underestimated just what kind of devastation could be delivered by over ''one hundred drakes'' in a single air raid.

As one of those drakes flew by and strafed the gatehouse with its fiery breath weapon, only his combat training made him pull out and activate another spellshield rune in time.

The remaining mortar crew had been reloading their weapon when the flames crashed into them. The powder exploded just as two soldiers were adding it to the barrel. The blast tore the poor souls into pieces, which splashed bits of human remains over Pascal and those close by.

"<Pascal?>" He heard the confused voice from Kaede. "<Are you okay?>"

"<It's no wonder Asgeirr Vintersvend named his book ''Massive Strike''.>" Pascal thought as he stood in a daze.

...And then, as if things couldn't get any worse, the very earth began to move.

It didn't just shake and rattle. It convulsed violently. Had it not been for the blizzard, Pascal would have seen the very streets pitch and yaw as though the paved stones now rode stormy seas.

"<An Earthquake?>" Kaede remarked unhelpfully.

''Of course,'' Pascal realized. "<The Admiral is a ''geomancer!''>"

They had been too occupied by the fact that the attack was coming in from the air, too concerned about the danger of Admiral Winter reaching the Nordkreuz ley-line junction with his skywhales. They failed to consider all the other ways in which archmage-level geomancy could be used. Most of their preparations had been focused on reinforcing ''roofs'', not beams and pillars!

''How do you even defend against someone who can hit from every angle?''

Now, the urban districts buckled under earthquake tremors that were magnitude eight at least. Several buildings that Pascal could see inside the walls began to wobble and sway. One of them then collapsed and its crumbling pillars brought the others down in a chain.

Even the city's stone walls, which were nigh-invulnerable to conventional siege weapons due to its permanent, ley-line powered wards, began to crack and break as the earth heaved. This included the reinforced gatehouse which Pascal stood on top of, which tore apart at its center as though an unseen giant bent it like a twig.

"<nowiki><</nowiki>I should have dedicated more attention on how to better defend the city!>" Pascal berated himself.

What would the city known as the 'Jewel of the North' even look like once the blizzard cleared? Will there even be much of it remaining? Pascal feared the worst as he heard the sounds of more and more structures collapsing. He could even hear the stone tower to their east crumble as the men stationed on top cried out.

Then, just as he thought that at least Kaede seemed to have been spared from the worst of the bombardment, he heard the girl cry out in telepathy:

"<D-drakes! waAHHHHHH!>"

"<KAEDE!>"

With his thoughts focused on his familiar, Pascal channeled his senses to connect with Kaede. A view of the girl's gaze laid over his own vision, just in time for him to see the scorching breath of a volcanic drake.

The familiar's wards flared as the flames poured over her. The cover provided by her ''Spellshield Fortress'' blocked much of the flames, and ''Barrier Armor'' stopped more from making contact. Her ''Elemental Body of Earth'' provided even better defense against the elements than the far simpler and more commonly used ''Resistance'' spell.

Pascal felt relief as the most Kaede would suffer were some singed clothes and a mean sunburn. However her fear had cost her the best chance to retaliate as the drake flew past and vanished back into the snowstorm.

''She's too green... just like myself,'' Pascal couldn't help but reflect upon the mistakes each of them made.

The difference however was that his error affected tens of thousands of lives.

<noinclude>
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Daybreak:Volume 2 Chapter 14

2021-07-09T17:05:53Z

Aorii:

===Chapter 14 - The Storm Front===

Two days after the late Marshal's funeral, Kaede and Pascal were passing time in the library when she heard him sigh faintly. The young lord then began to pace back and forth in front of the windows, where his eyes remained drawn to the snowy flurry outside.

"Feeling restless?" His familiar asked as she looked up from the small booklet that she had been writing in.

Pascal glanced towards her with a scowl before responding in a voice somewhere between sullen and irritated:

"I feel like a week of my life has just wasted away."

It wasn't the first time Pascal had expressed his displeasure over the past week over a lack of purpose. While Weichsel's cavalry forces were taking turns launching raids into the Skagen Peninsula, the bulk of its infantry and officers remained in Nordkreuz, with little else to occupy their time other than training. This left Pascal with very few responsibilities, especially compared to his fiancée.

Princess Sylviane had been busy negotiating a new trade deal with King Leopold that sought to attract Weichsen investment to the mines of Rhin-Lotharingie. After all, while Weichsel has a significant metallurgy industry known for the quality of its steel, it also has a shortage of iron ore which it had traditionally imported from the Holy Imperium. However, since the War of Imperium Succession ten years ago when Weichsel annexed several of the Imperium's northern provinces, Weichsel's economic ties with the Imperials had come under periodic embargos.

Sylviane wanted to persuade King Leopold that Rhin-Lotharingie would be a far more reliable source. However the problem was that the Empire's mines and infrastructure were also significantly behind that of the Imperium. Therefore, to meet the same needs, Rhin-Lotharingie would need significant investment and expansion of its mining facilities -- capital which the Lotharins lacked and would require outside funding.

The problem was that after centuries of being exploited by the Imperials, the Lotharins were also wary of foreign economic interests. Therefore, Lotharin law specified that ''all land'' within the Empire of Rhin-Lotharingie must be held by Lotharin owners. This caused negotiations to stall for the longest time until Kaede made a suggestion to the Princess:

"Why not create new, joint venture businesses with shared ownership? If a business has a 51% Lotharin ownership, then it's technically a Lotharin business and can therefore own Lotharin lands. Meanwhile the margin is so slim that should a dispute happen, it wouldn't be hard for the Weichsen owners to draw support from the other side with a sound argument."

It was the exact same dilemma that Deng Xiaoping faced in 1978 when he decided to reform China and open it up to the world. Kaede recognized this and therefore proposed the exact same solution. The only problem --at least back on Earth-- was that they would be accused of 'forced technology transfers' four decades later by a declining superpower with selective amnesia, even though the ventures were freely agreed upon and it was how commercially-applicable technology spreads.

Last she heard from Sylviane, this was the breakthrough they needed. Negotiations had moved onto the next phase, and the Princess was so delighted she spent all of lunch today in a self-congratulatory spirit.

...That likely contributed to Pascal's mood, as it only further highlighted his own lack of recent accomplishments.

"What are the Northmen doing?" Pascal complained as he looked out the window again in-between his back and forth pacing. "Skagen's army left the port city of Nordkapp a week ago, yet they ''still'' have not made it to the border. It is like they are seeking battle yet deliberately drag their feet along the way. We know from past experience their army is capable of more than twice the speed they are marching at, especially on snow."

"Well, you did say that their army of 30,000 alone had no chance of victory," Kaede interjected. "Maybe they are waiting for more reinforcements to arrive by sea?"

"An expedition group of 6,000 from Västergötland has already arrived and is landing as we speak." Pascal noted. "I doubt there is more to come as that country had taken heavy casualties back during their autumn raiding campaign. Meanwhile Skagen's own forces would not have departed from Nordkapp if they had more troops to disembark. Yes, I maintain my opinion that their numbers are not enough to assault Nordkreuz. But if the Northmen recognize this fact, then they ought to respond to His Majesty and begin peace talks! Their current stance of neither fighting nor negotiating is just wasting our time!"

Kaede made a wry, sympathetic smile as she considered her master's frustration. Pascal wasn't much of a negotiator so he was of no use to Sylviane in the trade talks. What he wanted to see above all else was for Weichsel's army to begin its march into Rhin-Lotharingie, to honor the defensive alliance that he himself stood at the center of. However, until the northern threat was resolved --be it through battle or diplomacy-- Weichsel's forces were going nowhere. And as a result he was stuck here in Nordkreuz playing armchair general.

With a deep sigh, Pascal forced himself to turn away from the windows. His turquoise eyes fell upon Kaede and for a brief moment, curiosity overpowered irritation in his gaze.

"What are you doing anyway?"

"I'm writing a journal," Kaede smiled more naturally as she raised the enchanted self-inking quill in her hand. "I figure if I'm going to be caught up in the great events of this world, then the least I could do is record it as a first-hand source just like Xenophon." She cited the Greek historian who personally fought in wars as a mercenary commander. "Besides, it gives me a chance to practice writing in your language."

It felt particularly odd to write down letters that she had never personally learned and therefore had no muscle memory for, yet recognized and understood thanks to her familiar bond with Pascal.

"You really are a history scholar," Pascal's eyebrows rose slightly. "Most people in your position would be seeking to change the world, not record it."

"You speak as if I'm not already doing my part to help you and the Princess," Kaede feigned a slight pout.

"No, no. Not at all," Pascal sighed. "In fact, you are being more helpful than I am."

"Patience, young one," Kaede stroked her nonexistent beard sagely before she gave Pascal an encouraging grin. "You'll get your moment soon enough."

"The sooner the better," Pascal remarked impatiently. "But what I meant is -- are you fine with just staying to the side as you do now? Recording what you see and giving the occasional piece of advice, instead of actively trying to push the world in the direction you want?"

"I've never considered myself a mover and shaker of the world, certainly not where I come from," Kaede shrugged. "All I've ever wanted was to educate others on the importance of history and learning from the past, to take a more nuanced view of the present and look past the black-and-white narratives that dominate my society back on Earth."

"Considering your father was a professor and you were surrounded by students, that is only natural," Pascal pointed out. "But it is also no longer the case. You now walk among the corridors of power, being close to leaders of national importance. Surely you have greater ambitions than to simply 'teach history'?"

"'Ambition' is really not my thing," Kaede frowned as her lips twisted into a faint scowl.

If anything, Kaede had been mocked as being too unambitious back on Earth. ''Herbivore men'', as the Japanese liked to say -- a term Kaede found particularly distasteful as it dredged up memories of ''his'' ex-girlfriend and their unpleasant breakup.

"But at any rate," Kaede rushed to bury the distasteful thoughts that she hated to be reminded of. "I haven't even lived in this world for two full months yet. That is far too short a time to develop a mature view of how I envision its future. The last thing I want to be is one of those people who demand change without even taking the time to properly grasp the reasons behind the current status quo. After all," she declared proudly, "I'm a strong proponent that only those who live within a society have any right to make decisions for that society..."

At that moment, Kaede's keen, familiar-enhanced ears heard a commotion outside the door. It sounded as though every officer who frequented the building was now marching down the hall in their leather boots towards the map room.

"Something's happening," Kaede closed her journal booklet and stood up. "Impromptu conference in the map room."

"Finally," Pascal remarked as he immediately strode towards the door. His expression had changed to a grin so eager it bordered on wolfishness.

However his overenthusiasm made Kaede feel uneasy as she frowned slightly.

''I know you're eager for recognition, Pascal,'' the familiar thought. ''But you should never be in a rush to see battle, or you'll regret it.''

...

"What was Colonel Brykalski thinking!?" Kaede heard General Neithard von Manteuffel's deep growl resounded through the room like rumbling thunderclouds. "His orders were to impede and harass the Västergötlanders' upriver landing operations, not to decisively engage an entire brigade with only three battalions of cavalry and a single company of Phantoms!"

There was no sign of the general's stony poker face as he stared at the map table where a cavalry figure bearing a tattered flag of Weichsel represented the recently shattered force.

''So roughly 1,200 versus 6,000?'' The Samaran girl estimated.

Kaede had read that Weichsel's battalions --based on the Holy Imperium's cohort system-- consisted of three companies of 150 men each plus battalion command, with a full strength of 500. Though the reality was a little more complicated since the battalions were organized as self-sufficient units on the operational level, with an integrated support company to manage supplies. As the cavalry shed its support elements to conduct fast raids, this meant that only seven combat companies were present at the battle, with roughly 1,200 combat and command personnel.

Meanwhile General Neithard made the brigade analogy since a Weichsel brigade --based on the Imperium's legion-- was roughly 5,500 men, and the Västergötland landing force was 6,000 in strength. Though in reality the Northmen had a very different unit organizational structure.

"That's not exactly fair," Chief-of-Staff General Wiktor von Falkenhausen interjected. "Brykalski followed his orders to the letter. There is clearly something else at play here."

The dhampir general then looked towards Lieutenant-Colonel Hans Ostergalen, who clutched the full transcript of the ''Farspeak'' message received by a signal officer earlier.

"According to his second-in-command's report, Colonel Brykalski attacked the invasion fleet's vanguard, hoping to light enough ships on fire to spread confusion and disrupt their landing," Hans began to explain as his eyes darted back and forth across the sheet of paper. "However, the low cloud cover and snow --the very same that hid their own approach-- also concealed enemy air forces until it was too late to avoid engagement. Over a hundred drake-riders descended into their formation just as the ''North Wind'' Phantoms climbed out of their attack run, forcing them into a chaotic melee. Command of the ground cavalry then fractured after repeated strafing attacks by the drakes' breath weapons, which allowed Västergötland ground troops to close the distance and entangle our cavalry in close-quarters combat..."

"''A hundred drakes,''" the elderly Manteuffel remarked dubiously. "Västergötland couldn't scratch together two dozen drakes in its entirety, and our spies report but a handful with the Skagen army before they set out from Nordkapp. Where did ''a hundred drakes'' come from?"

Then, as though in response to the general's question, the map table in front of them conjured a new figure off the coast of Weichsel. The distance was roughly two-hundred kilopaces from the shore, which matched the detection range of Weichsel's artifact -- the 'Eye of the Dragon' which the map table drew its information from.

Kaede audibly gasped but she wasn't the only one. The Samaran girl instantly recognized the silhouette of a skywhale. However, as soon as the table's illusion magic drew the first whale, it shrunk the size down before drawing another, and another...

The room fell to a deathly silence as every individual present soon found themselves staring at a formation of four tiny skywhales. The miniature figures flew off the coast of Weichsel, with a numerical label of 1,000 displayed under it -- a rough estimate of their collective crew strength.

"That answers the question," General Neithard's lips twitched as he instantly recognized that the reports had been completely accurate, and not the attempts of a defeated officer trying to shirk responsibility as he had initially thought.

''Does he mean a hundred drakes were launched from these skywhales?'' Kaede thought as her eyes widened. ''They're being used as carriers then!''

It made sense, when she thought about it. If the skywhale they saw back in Alis Avern could be configured to transport cargo and passengers, then why couldn't other skywhales be adapted to carry drakes as some kind of 'mobile nest'?

"Skagen's volcanic drakes can outfight several of our Phantoms in a close encounter, especially once they penetrate our formation and disrupt our units' cohesion," General Wiktor commented grimly. "Meanwhile even a few dozen drakes' breath weapons rival the anti-air capacity of three cavalry battalions..."

Kaede remembered drakes as one of the more fascinating creatures from her reading. They were miniature dragons -- 'miniature' as in elephant-sized, instead of beings so massive they could use sport stadiums as landing pads and wrestle science-fiction starships. The dragonlords had ''created'' the drakes in their image to serve as grunt soldiers during the Dragon-Demon Wars. This made the drakes' mere existence a testament to the godly powers wielded by the dragons of Hyperion's past.

However when the dragonlords departed from Hyperion, they left most of the drakes behind. Lacking intelligence and without purpose, many drake breeds died out. But some, especially the broods tamed by humans, remained. The volcanic drakes from Skagen's Reykjanes Islands were easily one of the more dangerous breeds.

"It's no wonder they shattered in less than a half hour of combat," King Leopold spoke in a hushed tone.

Hans nodded before adding: "the report also states, and I quote 'we attempted repeatedly to break off, but regardless of which direction we turned, a strong gale always blew snow in our faces while lifting the wings of our foes'..."

The Lieutenant-Colonel then stared back with alarm as his fingers tapped the stiff sheet of paper:

"Your Majesty, this is the most important piece of information that the Colonel died to bring us. Between those winds, the skywhales that the 'Eye' just detected, the advancing blizzard covering the Västergötland fleet, and this unusual cold front that just swept down from the North Sea -- it can't be all a coincidence, Sire."

"You think it's ''him''?" Colonel Hannes von Falkenberg, the King's spymaster, inquired.

"Him?" King Leopold raised an eyebrow.

"Admiral Winter, Sire," both Hans and Hannes declared at the same time.

"If I remember correctly," General Wiktor voiced next, "this 'Admiral Winter' is surmised to be the one most likely responsible for the destruction of the Caliphate's New World Expedition fleet thirty years ago?"

"Yes, Sir." Hans and Hannes spoke in unison again. The beautiful and androgynous spymaster then gestured for the balding intelligence officer to go ahead, probably since Hans was the first to make the deduction and it was only fair that he claimed the credit.

"Four decades ago, Asgeirr Vintersvend --the bastard half-brother of Jarl Eyvindur Sigmundsen of Kattegen-- wrote a book titled ''Massive Strike''," Lieutenant-Colonel Hans explained. "In it, he espoused for the concentration of airborne striking power by pooling together aerial assets, including both drakes and skywhales, which may be swiftly deployed for overwhelming air offensives that can quickly decide a war."

''This sounds remarkably familiar...'' Kaede couldn't help reflect.

"Then twenty-five years ago," Hans continued, "just a few years after the destruction of the Caliphate's New World Expedition fleet, we heard that Asgeirr had become a Jarl on Skagen's New World Frontier. Around the same time, we began hearing of the name 'Admiral Winter' from mercenaries and traders who frequently associate with the Northmen."

"It took us a few more years before we realized that Asgeirr Vintersvend ''is'' Admiral Winter," the dhampir spymaster followed up. "And it has less to do with his name and more with his choice of spells. Asgeirr is a stormcaller, and one of the most powerful archmages Skagen has ever seen. His aptitude for weather control magic and his skywhale familiar are two reasons why, in his youth, he became the first individual to solo-circumnavigate the world."

Kaede had always thought the term 'stormcaller' was a particularly accurate job description. Although the affinity was uncommon, they were easily one of the most important mage occupations in Hyperion. Their function varied from calling down rains for crops, to conjuring winds for trade fleets, to manipulating weather conditions on the day of battle.

"But ''four skywhales''," Princess Sylviane spoke in awe. "Most countries are lucky to have just one or two of those beasts."

"Skagen is not just a northern kingdom, it is also a seafaring culture with a tradition of exploration. Those kinds of people are far more likely to summon a skywhale familiar," Hans pointed out. "I believe only the Grand Republic of Samara has more."

"Even so, how did he concentrate that many rare assets under a single command, given the Grand Jarldom's loose feudal structure?" Sylviane asked next. Her tone carried a slight tinge of envy as though she had personal experience trying to do the same.

"According to our sources," the King's spymaster commented, "Asgeirr has a particularly close relationship with his half-brother Jarl Eyvindur Sigmundsen, who in turn is one of Skagen's most prominent nobles and the current commander of their confederate forces."

"Furthermore, the Northmen may squabble continuously among themselves, but they ''always'' unite when facing an outside threat, and their social structure places great emphasis on personal prestige and fame," Lieutenant-Colonel Hans added. "I believe it's probable that the two brothers used the threat posed by the Caliphate's New World Expedition three decades ago to pool together this fleet, at least temporarily. Then, after their stunning victory, Asgeirr Vintersvend likely used his newfound fame and influence to cement the skywhale captains together as a permanent command under his leadership."

"But how would they hold it together in peacetime? When there is no need for such a massive concentration of force?" Sylviane puzzled aloud.

"They don't need to." General Wiktor explained. "Once a command hierarchy has been established and a sense of camaraderie forged, it is easy for the group to be recreated again, even if those involved go their separate ways during the interim years. This is the exact same logic we use for Weichsel's Fourfold Mobilization system."

"The petty Jarls of Skagen would surely resent someone with this much concentrated power though," King Leopold noted. "The weakness of the Northmen's sociopolitical structure has always been their obsession with one-upmanship."

"Which means when we defeat them, Skagen will not be able to form another battlegroup like this for who knows how long," Pascal scoffed as he spoke up for the first time.

There was never any doubt in his words: not ''if'', but ''when''.

The balding Lieutenant-Colonel nodded in agreement, at least on the topic of replacement:

"Skywhales are extremely rare to begin with, and are too intelligent and powerful to be tamed through normal means. Only baby skywhales may be summoned as familiars, and those take over a decade to grow to their adult size. This skywhale fleet is no doubt extremely powerful, but it is also not a force that Skagen is capable of replacing in anything less than a half-century."

"Which means that once we defeat it, the Northmen would have to sue for peace," General Neithard declared with stiff-jawed determination, his stony gaze already fixed upon the skywhale figures as though brainstorming a battle plan.

"I thought you told me before that Admiral Winter is a proponent of peace with Weichsel? Since in his opinion, warring on us is a waste of time and resources?" The King asked his spymaster.

"He does, Your Majesty. But his political influence is limited back here in Skagen's home isles, where he is resented for luring many of Skagen's finest to adventures in the Frontier," the dhampir replied.

"In fact, I'd say this makes him even more dangerous," Lieutenant-Colonel Hans followed up. "He will likely seek a decisive and crushing victory against us in order to secure a favorable peace. That way, he'll be able to go back and focus on his own interests on the other continent, undisturbed by Hyperion politics."

''Great, so we really are dealing with a magical Yamamoto,'' Kaede thought.

The analysis of the spymaster and the intelligence chief reminded her of the famous Japanese World War II Admiral. Isoroku Yamamoto was one of the most prominent advocates of naval aviation. He was unflinchingly opposed to war with America, as he had lived in America for years and knew first-hand of its industrial might. Yet, after he was politically overruled, he planned and led the devastating Attack on Pearl Harbor in the misguided hope of a swift victory against the United States.

''But Weichsel doesn't have the nigh-infinite production of the United States did back then.'' Kaede thought. ''Nor could Isoroku Yamamoto call down a Kamikaze -- the 'Divine Wind' to literally blow in the Skagen admiral's favor.''

"Considering how his skywhales skirted around the Skagen Peninsula where our spies might have detected it." Lieutenant-Colonel Hans went on. "And how they launched their drakes from far offshore to prevent us from detecting them through the 'Eye of the Dragon' until after our first defeat, I think it is safe to surmise that a quick, ''strategic'' victory is exactly what Admiral Winter seeks. Which means that his target is..."

"Nordkreuz," General Neithard finished for him with a single word enveloped in deathly cold.

''It's just like the Attack on Pearl Harbor,'' Kaede thought. ''Although they don't quite have the element of surprise anymore. Perhaps that other battle is a better fit...''

"Asgeirr wants to bombard Weichsel's army in its encampments," Pascal said as he nodded in agreement. "Then, once our soldiers' morale and organization lay in tatters, Skagen's ground forces will storm the city. With that, they can achieve victory even with an inferior force."

"It certainly explains why their army's speed of advance more than tripled over the past hour." General Wiktor highlighted. "At this pace, they may reach the walls of Nordkreuz as early as midday tomorrow. We'll have to immediately recall any cavalry detachments still raiding in the Skagen Peninsula. They've been ordered to limit their range of operations so they should be able to make it back in time for the main battle."

The King nodded in agreement before General Wiktor turned towards the signal officers to issue new instructions. However, the intelligence chief wasn't finished yet:

"Your Majesty, I'm afraid the stakes of the upcoming clash are much higher than a mere battle," Hans warned, his voice growing more ominous by the second. "Nordkreuz has one of the most powerful ley-line junctions in Northern Hyperion, and there are claims that Asgeirr is a geomancer in addition to being a stormcaller--"

"That rumor is unconfirmed," spymaster Hannes interjected.

"But it's not rare for a mage of his caliber to have more than one specialization," the intelligence colonel insisted. "We must consider the possibility it is true, especially when you think about the amount of magical power he must have channeled thirty years ago." Hans then flung his arms out to impress the seriousness of the situation upon the others. "The man once devastated an ''entire armada'' with hurricane-force winds billowing strong and royal water. There is no reason he cannot do the same against an entire army or even the whole region if he is allowed enough time to access the Nordkreuz junction!"

Kaede couldn't remember the chemistry terms, but strong and royal water --'Aqua Fortis' and 'Aqua Regis'-- were two of the most corrosive acids known to medieval alchemists. The latter was named after its ability to dissolve even noble metals like gold and platinum, which were highly resistant towards corrosion.

"Nordkreuz has been the staging ground of many conflicts between Trinitians and the Northmen for centuries, long before we annexed it from the Holy Imperium," Pascal recognized as even his face grew a shade pale. "If Asgeirr Vintersvend indeed wishes for Skagen to focus its resources on their New World Frontier, then he does not even ''need'' the city. He could simply raze Nordkreuz and its surrounding lands, to create a wasteland buffer region just like what the Dead Mountains have become."

Pascal clenched the projection table as his turquoise eyes darkened. He then turned to meet the King's gaze:

"Your Majesty, we must intercept Admiral Winter and his skywhales ''before'' they can reach the city. Otherwise all Asgeirr has to do is buy time with the Skagen army while he channels a grand sorcery."

"With the ''North Wind'' essentially destroyed, all the Phantom units aside from the ''Phantom Gale'' company are currently conducting raids deep inside Skagen territory." General Wiktor highlighted. "They'll have to ride overnight if they are to make it back ''before'' the main battle."

''We've been caught overextended and out of position,'' Kaede thought as she surveyed the room. The King was clearly worried, as were many of his officers. A few younger faces even revealed creeping traces of fear.

Yet General Neithard, the Manteuffel patriarch, was still as composed as a rock -- an unfeeling boulder that merely scoffed at the storm's attempt to dislodge him.

"This ''admiral'' has some guts, coming halfway across the world into our domain and trying to raze our city..."

Without even waiting for his king, General Neithard pivoted to the signal officers who used ''Farspeak'' spells to stay in contact with far-flung unit commanders:

"Message all of our forces in Skagen. Order every unit to cease any and all ongoing operations. They are to head south and regroup west of the town of Suokamo near the border." he pointed out on the projection map. "I will meet them there with the ''Phantom Gale''. Make haste but avoid engagements until we rally."

"Yes Sir!"

Without waiting for their acknowledgements, the General had already turned his gaze to another -- Colonel Dietrich von Falkenrath, commander of the ''Phantom Gale''.

"Assemble your men, Dietrich. We ride north after nightfall, and we will not stop until we are ready to have whalemeat for dinner."

Kaede heard that the youthful-looking, fifty-seven years old dhampir was one of General Neithard's most able protégés. Standing lean and tall, Dietrich von Falkenrath had sepia brown hair and a short-trimmed walrus mustache that might have been fashionable during World War I. His expressions were almost always neutral. But unlike his mentor, there was a constant, brooding intensity within his eyes, accentuated by two blood-red crosses that contrasted sharply with his emerald-green gaze.

''Talk about minority overrepresentation,'' Kaede reflected as she realized that there were not one or two, but ''three'' dhampirs within the room: chief-of-staff General Wiktor von Falkenhausen, Knight Phantom Colonel Dietrich von Falkenrath, and Black Eagles Colonel Hannes von Falkenberg.

"Yes Sir!" Colonel Dietrich and several officers saluted with snapping boots. They then gave the King a nod of courtesy before marching out.

Kaede barely spotted a faint tightening of King Leopold's lips. His Majesty was clearly not happy that General Neithard's orders were being carried out without waiting for his approval first, even though he stood in this very room.

"Your Majesty, General," Sylviane then spoke next. "If you do not mind, I wish to join in the assault against Admiral Winter's skywhales. Father told me that there will be a decisive battle near Nordkreuz, and I believe this is it."

The Princess' wisteria eyes shone with steely resolve as she declared: "It is the duty of an Oriflamme to lead the charge, and I shall do so as long as the battle begins over Weichsel's airspace."

Kaede watched as General Neithard, in a rare, uncharacteristic moment, looked uncertain. It was as though the elderly Manteuffel felt conflicted, between whether to accept the Princess' help as military necessity, or to politely reject her since he wasn't actually in favor of the Weichsel-Lotharin alliance.

However before Neithard could respond this time, the King made the decision for him. Leopold strode up to the Princess, took her hands into his own, and shook it with appreciation.

"The inspiring courage of the Oriflamme Paladins is ''legendary'' across Hyperion," the King declared. "The knights and soldiers of Weichsel will be proud to follow the Crown Princess of our dearest allies into battle. Isn't that right, Neithard?"

The elderly Manteuffel looked extra stone-faced as he replied in a monotone: "Yes, Your Majesty."

Meanwhile Sylviane nodded back at King Leopold, and for a brief moment it seemed as though the two royals had reached a complete understanding.

"Sir, what about the Phantom Grenadiers?" A young signal officer, who looked barely more than a teen, asked next. "Colonel Erwin von Hammerstein hasn't reported in since two days ago. He hasn't been receiving our ''Farspeak'' calls and we're not even sure where he is..."

General Neithard glared back at the signal officer with such intensity that the young man's hands almost trembled.

"Contact his second-in-command Ariadne von Manteuffel." The elderly Manteuffel declared in voice cold enough to freeze air. "Tell her to inform that old man that if he does not meet us at the rally point, then I will ''personally'' make him a head shorter the next time I see him!"

"Yes Sir!"

At the same time, a puzzled Pascal queried Kaede over their familiar bond:

"<What did you find so nostalgic during the meeting?>"

"<Huh...?>" Kaede was caught off-guard before she remembered that Pascal could sense her emotions. "<nowiki><</nowiki>It just... reminds me of something from my world. The Northmen fit the attackers quite well, apart from those crazy flying whales. But the defenders won that fight, so the concepts might be useful...>"

"<And when were you going to tell me?>" Pascal asked impatiently. "<We are on the clock here.>"

"<Right.>" Kaede nodded sheepishly, realizing now that she had been too swept away by the mood. "<Well, it happened near an island called ''Midway''...>"

...

Ten minutes later, as General Neithard was still discussing their plan of attack with the other officers, Pascal finished drafting out his own plan with Kaede and approached the King:

"Your Majesty, General, I think I have a better idea for an attack plan."

Despite being a mere captain, Pascal's words instantly seized the attention of every high-ranking officer in the room. The King did not hesitate for even a split-second before he gestured with an open palm: "let's hear it then."

General Neithard, on the other hand, looked far more dispassionate. He turned his attention towards Pascal as though merely observing a formality.

"Sire, we know, that the enemy knows, that our cavalry --and particularly our Phantoms-- are scattered within Skagen conducting deep raids. We also know that Admiral Winter deliberately circumvented around the Skagen Peninsula, to strike directly at Nordkreuz from the North Sea. Asgeirr Vintersvend has successfully delayed our ability to detect his skywhales until the last possible moment. He likely did so hoping it would take us time to regroup our air cavalry, which creates a window of opportunity that he can exploit."

"You're saying that Admiral Winter will likely launch an immediate air strike on Nordkreuz?" The King inquired. "If that is the case, should we not order the ''Phantom Gale'' to remain within the city?"

"Yes and no, Your Majesty." Pascal continued. "I believe Skagen's drakes will conduct a sortie tonight to bombard Nordkreuz, before the majority of our Phantoms can return from the peninsula to challenge their air superiority. However, while we know exactly where his skywhales are, thanks to the real-time updates provided to us by the 'Eye of the Dragon', Admiral Winter will not have the same information in regards to the whereabouts of our Knights Phantom in Skagen. And this, gives us a crushing advantage on information."

"My proposal is that once General Neithard regroups with our other Phantom companies, he should commit all of our Knights Phantom in a two-pronged assault against Admiral Winter's skywhales." Pascal insisted. "If we time it correctly, we'll get there before the drakes can return and rest after their sortie. Our primary goal should be to destroy those armored beasts which serve as a mobile base for the drakes, and hopefully kill their admiral alongside them. Without the skywhales to shelter their drakes, we can then use the Phantoms' superior maneuverability to harass their drakes when they must land to rest and recuperate..."

"Stop." General Wiktor interrupted him. "You wish for all of our Phantoms to be committed to attacking their skywhales, and not to deal with the drakes until later. What about the city in the interim then?"

"We hunker down and prepare for the bombardment." Pascal declared with a stiff gaze. "We send all civilians to basement shelters and reinforce them by magic. And we empty the army encampments and evacuate the men. Units trained in anti-air combat should be pulled in to reinforce the city's garrison. However, all other soldiers should take shelter further away from the city under the cover of illusions to spare them from the bombardment."

"You're using the city and the camps as fodder," the King stared back, amazed. "Pascal, Nordkreuz is ''your'' fiefdom."

"I know, Your Majesty," Pascal declared as he felt a chill envelop his body. "But this is also the surest way for Weichsel to ''win''. Nordkreuz will undoubtedly receive damage, but with strengthened anti-air, it will endure and it will survive. The same cannot be said if our forces fail to achieve victory."

"I agree completely," General Neithard remarked stiffly, though his stony gaze also looked upon Pascal with sincere respect for the first time. "We must recognize where the priorities lay. It is clear that the enemy's entire plan revolves around their skywhales, for without them, Admiral Winter will not have a secure shelter to channel his magic from. Therefore we ''must'' eliminate them as our primary objective, even at the cost of reducing the city's defenses."

King Leopold stared at Pascal for a moment longer before he pursed his lips and nodded:

"I see you are resolved, and I accept your proposal. The details I will let you and Wiktor work out. However--"

"However given the risks, Your Majesty must not remain here in Nordkreuz." Colonel Hannes interrupted the King, which caused the latter to raise his eyebrows as he glared back.

"You don't think ''a King'' should stay and set an example for the men?"

"I think the benefits of that would be marginal and the risks great," the dhampir spymaster insisted. "General Wiktor is more than capable of managing the defense of the city. Your Majesty's heir is still an infant. It is important for you, Sire, to act with prudence, and not with your ego."

''Only Hannes would dare say something like that to the King,'' Pascal thought.

Nevertheless, he did agree with the Colonel. King Leopold might hold the rank of Lieutenant-General and was an enthusiastic supporter of the army, but his forte had always been more in politics than in military affairs. For the King to remain in a city that was about to be hit by a massive air raid -- the benefits would be entirely symbolic, while even a fluke hit could lead to severe consequences for the whole nation.

"I concur, Your Majesty," Pascal decided to speak up. ''After all, did King Leopold not express a desire for me to be more candid with him?''

"And so do I," General Wiktor nodded as well.

The King looked between the three of them before he exhaled a deep sigh.

"Very well," he said unhappily. "I will depart back for the capital, but only after we have made all arrangements here," he insisted. "And as I was about to point out -- I think it would be an error in judgment to assume that simply because Admiral Winter will take the opportunity to bombard the city, the skywhales will be left undefended."

"In addition to any onboard soldiers and weaponry, they'll likely retain at least some of their drakes as a defensive air patrol," Lieutenant-Colonel Hans pointed out.

"And that is why we will launch two separate waves," Pascal said as he began to explain the details of his plan. Weichsel might not have any propeller-driven 'torpedo' or 'dive bombers' that Kaede spoke of, but the Knights Phantom were more adaptable and just as deadly.

"We send the first wave on a level attack against the skywhales. The ''Phantom Gale'' can form a wind tunnel and clear a path through any acidic rain clouds they throw at us..."

Pascal knew that Colonel Dietrich von Falkenrath, commander of the ''Phantom Gale'', was one of the best stormcallers in Weichsel. Even if his magical abilities were nowhere near those of an armada-destroying archmage, they should still be sufficient to create a gap through which they may launch their attack.

"Colonel Albrecht von Bittenfeld and his ''Black Lancers'' should then follow the ''Phantom Gale'' in the first attack." Pascal declared next. "The ''Black Lancers'' are at their best in frontal assaults, and their armored gryphons can fight against drakes in close-quarters combat better than any other mount. We can further augment their numbers by sending in the Phantom Grenadiers. This should draw the attention of the skywhales' onboard weaponry as well as any drakes they retained as a defensive air patrol."

"And that's when you spring the second wave," General Neithard commented, as though already seeing through Pascal's plan.

"Yes Sir," Pascal nodded. "The second wave, consisting of the other two Knights Phantom companies, will move into position, hidden in the upper cloud cover. They will dive down at a steep angle to reduce the amount of time the defenders have to react. Their objective will be to deliver precision strikes against those whales' biggest weak spots -- their blowholes."

The blowholes were a relic of the whales' non-magical ancestors. But since all biological creatures needed a vent for air intake, their evolution had left this sole weakness on the skywhales' hardened heads.

Kaede had likened it to a 'thermal exhaust port', which in this context made absolutely no sense.

"Those skywhales will likely carry considerable numbers of anti-air troops on their backs," Hans voiced his concerns. "Especially towards the front to guard such a vulnerability."

"That is why the second wave features two companies when only one could manage the attack," Pascal stated. "Although it would be nice to increase those numbers, it is imperative that the first wave be sufficiently convincing as the 'main attack'."

"In that case, it would be best if I lead the first wave," Sylviane declared. "An Oriflamme's presence will undoubtedly draw their attention. Those volcanic drakes might be tough against fire, but a phoenix's flames will scorch them all the same."

Pascal frowned. ''I just hope Sylv does not do anything too reckless.''

The thought of holding her back never even occurred to him. The mere idea of stopping an Oriflamme Paladin from committing to battle was utter nonsense. Pascal's only worry was that since he lacked a Knight Phantom's training, he would not be able to accompany Sylviane in their mission to attack the skywhales. Instead, he would have to remain behind to help defend the city.

"The general plan is sound." General Neithard declared after a moment of consideration. "I will ride alongside Her Highness in the first wave. However, given the factors of uncertainty, I will hold the ''Dawn Sky'' company from the second wave back as a reserve. Colonel Erwin von Hammerstein's Phantom Grenadiers will be assigned to the second wave instead. They can dive ahead of the other company and clear a path through hostile anti-air. Only once they have the defenders pinned down will the ''real'' second strike dive in."

''He plans to use them as fodder,'' Pascal immediately recognized.

The Phantom Grenadiers may have accrued some battle experience during their raids in Skagen, but they were still a mostly green unit. To throw them at the skywhales' formidable air defenses alone, they could almost certainly expect heavy casualties.

However, since the Phantom Grenadiers were also the least trained of Weichsel's air cavalry units, they were also more expendable than the other, proper knights.

What amazed Pascal was how the General chose this, despite knowing that his own niece was second-in-command of the grenadiers.

''Is he just being callous, or is he deliberately doing this to give her the most dangerous assignment?'' Pascal couldn't help wonder.

After all, units that undertook the most dangerous assignments also had the most valor to gain. It was as though Neithard expected Ariadne to either return with honors... or not at all.

"Even with all of this, the opportunity to deliver critical damage against the skywhales may only last a fleeting moment," General Neithard then added. "We must consider what is our best means of maximizing damage through those blowholes in a single strike."

For a moment everyone fell quiet as they considered their arsenal of military weapons. But try as he might, Pascal couldn't think of a single option that really stood out.

"Since it's their nostrils," noted the King's spymaster, Colonel Hannes. "What about an inhaled poison?"

''Trust a spy to think like an assassin,'' Pascal almost snorted. However the Colonel was also onto something, and the suggestion immediately elicited an idea from him.

"What about prussic acid?" The young landgrave recalled from the previous night when he and Sylviane discussed steelmaking, where the alchemical was used for surface hardening and caused the blackening of the armor that Weichsel preferred. "It is a highly toxic gas that inhibits respiration, is easy to create, and is also extremely flammable. Once we hit them, those whales will not merely suffocate. They will burn from the inside."

<noinclude>
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| Back to [[Daybreak:Volume_2_Chapter_13_Interlude|Interlude Chapter 13.5]]
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| Forward to [[Daybreak:Volume_2_Chapter_15|Chapter 15]]
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</noinclude>

Daybreak:Volume 2 Chapter 13 Interlude

2021-07-07T11:56:19Z

Aorii:

===Chapter 13.5 Interlude - Chaos Rising===

Colonel Lindsay de Martel watched silently from her post as Geoffroi Jean de Gaetane, the Emperor of Rhin-Lotharingie, silently circled the massive map projection table.

The war room of the Oriflamme Palace was empty, except for the Emperor and a squad of royal armigers from the Highland Guard. The elite knights were all well-practiced in the art of being seen but not heard. Only Geoffroi's heavy footsteps resounded across the spacious room as he paced around the table display.

The Emperor was clearly in a pensive mood today. And Lindsay couldn't blame him as news from the frontlines had been mixed over the past week.

On the Inner Sea front, the Cataliyan army withdrew behind the Ròse River after Marshal Cosette destroyed their support fleet. This brought a much needed if temporary reprieve to the Army of Garona. And thanks to Pascal's quick work in logistics, the first supply convoy was already well on its way to the front. By the time the Cataliyans advanced again, the Kingdom of Garona's capital of Narbonnaise should be provisioned and reinforced -- its fortifications ready for a protracted siege.

In the center, the sworn 'Trio' --Gervais, Laurent, and Edgard-- had stopped the Tauheed forces in the second line fortresses guarding the South Lotharingie Mountain passes. Weeks of nonstop fighting along narrow, treacherous mountain roads had left both sides exhausted. However, now that snow has arrived and the mountain passes were beginning to close, the chances of a Cataliyan breakthrough before next Spring was dropping to nil. That should give the 'Trio' plenty of time to reorganize and replenish losses.

It was the situation in the west that the Emperor remained worried over.

Edith's defeat in last week's battle had proven to be less severe than they first thought. Another fifth of the army had trickled back in since their loss, bringing their numbers up to nearly seventy percent of their original strength. The lady-knight whom the troops affectionately dubbed ''Estelle the Polar Cross'' might not have a great sense of strategy, but her ability to inspire was second to none. Most armies began to disintegrate after a major defeat, yet Edith managed to keep morale up to the point that many stragglers regrouped and rejoined rather than desert.

However, the loss of King-Consort Armel also proved more serious than expected. The death of her beloved husband hit Queen Katell of Avorica particularly hard. The pregnant queen had holed up in her room since then, declining to see anyone except her maid and refusing to do anything except eat and sleep.

With one royal dead and the other incapacitated by grief, the Kingdom of Avorica was paralyzed at a moment when leadership was needed most. It didn't help that several prominent nobles had also been killed in the previous battle, including three members of the privy council. Combined with losses from other skirmishes, this left the council lacking the authority to govern in the absence of their queen -- which meant Edith could not expect any further mustering of reinforcements from Avorica.

Then, perhaps worst of all, Geoffroi's spies in the Kingdom of Ceredigion reported that the combination of Edith's loss and Avorica's paralysis only further convinced King Elisedd to stay out of the conflict. This meant that two of the four subsidiary kingdoms under the Empire of Rhin-Lotharingie had already been rendered useless to the war effort. Meanwhile the northern Kingdom of Gleann Mòr still couldn't mobilize due to the onset of winter, and would stay that way until late next spring.

Determined to prevent a catastrophe, Emperor Geoffroi had stripped the capital and its surrounding territories of every soldier that could be spared. Even the palace guards had been reduced to a measly hundred. Everyone else had been sent off to the Avorican front, along with most of the remaining food in the local granaries.

Lindsay was the only high-ranking commander who remained behind. She was now responsible for protecting both the palace ''and'' the city with just a hundred men-at-arms and the city's militia. They were spread so thin that it would be laughably easy for assassins to sneak past, especially Imperial assassins: the renowned Mantis Blades, who recently added the Marshal of Weichsel to their long list of victims.

This was why she stood in this war room at the very moment. Lindsay had been following the Emperor every hour of every day since she had been left in charge, even sleeping against his bedroom door.

Actually, that only happened once.

Geoffroi had angrily told her that since she insisted upon being there, she could either sleep in one of the adjacent royal family bedrooms or he would drag her into his own.

His blue-violet gaze had been completely serious too.

Lindsay certainly did not forfeit her duty just because of a threat from her sovereign. Royal Armigers were not chosen for a lack of personal integrity. But even rumors of having an affair with the Emperor would surely destroy her reputation and career. Perhaps even worse, it would ruin her relationship with Crown Princess Sylviane -- her pupil in the martial arts whom she had come to see as almost a younger sister.

That left her with only one choice.

The nearest bedroom belonged to Geoffroi's deceased wife, who died ten years ago yet her personal effects were still perfectly maintained. With no intention to intrude upon such a sanctuary, Lindsay borrowed the next room instead, which belonged to the Princess.

Sylviane would just have to forgive her in these unusual times.

''I wonder how Her Highness is doing in Nordkreuz...''

Lindsay's attention soon snapped back to present as Joyeuse --the cerulean phoenix perched on Geoffroi's shoulder-- stretched out her wings and squawked a sharp warning.

"''Blaze Ignition.''"

Without hesitation, the Emperor called upon his phoenix before activating the arming pendant he wore over his heraldic surcoat. A cascade of brilliant-blue mana poured out of the pendant's sapphire centerpiece and engulfed his body. Within three seconds, the mana that wrapped around his body condensed into smooth, hardened surfaces, before evaporating into the air to reveal a perfectly-fitting suit of full-plate armor that covered his muscular bulk.

The phoenix Joyeuse was also no longer in sight. Instead, the white-blue embers that drifted off the Emperor gave clear evidence to their unison.

Meanwhile Lindsay, like every other armiger in the room, already wore her armor. She merely stretched out her right hand, activated her extra-dimensional storage glove, and felt the sturdy chains of a heavy meteor hammer erupt into her fingers.

"Wards!" She ordered as they weaved one defensive spell after another upon themselves.

Lindsay strode forth in her armored boots, but had yet to reach the entrance when the heavy mahogany doors crashed open. They revealed a frantic armiger in bloodstained plate mail clutching his wounded neck.

"We're under---"

That was all he managed to croak out before another man in white full-plate rushed up from behind and rammed a longsword through the chink beneath his cuirass.

''Silence Field,'' Lindsay instantly recognized the signs. There was no other way a man could dash forth in heavy plate without making a single sound, even though she stood no more than five meters away.

"''Negation Surge.''"

Before the assailant could even finish pulling out his sword, a studded sphere of metal smashed into his white helmet. The antimagic spell discharged and tore a hole through the crusader's defensive wards before the helmet was pulverized against the door. With his skull crushed, the swordsman collapsed to the floor alongside the Lotharin armiger he had just killed.

Lindsay retrieved the mace-like head of her meteor hammer with yank on its chain. For a moment she continued to stare at the corpse, alarmed yet puzzled. The intruder wasn't dressed like a Mantis Blade by any means. In fact, he wore white plate armor with gold stripes.

''...A Knight Templar.''

Her eyes sprang wide with dismay as apprehension struck. Templars did not infiltrate castles to assassinate. They were a battlefield force who crushed their enemies wholesale.

They were also the paramilitary branch of the Papal Inquisition, whose greatest current foe just happened to be the excommunicated Emperor standing behind her.

''How many of them are within the Palace already? And just how did they get inside?''

Lindsay's first question was answered within the minute as a chorus of clanking steel emerged from just down the hall.

There was no longer any purpose for the enemy to hide their numbers.

Their surprise had been total and complete.

The next templar through those doors blocked her flying meteor with a ''CLANG'' from his heater shield. But instead of charging straight at her, he fanned off to one side, followed by seven other shielded knights to form a 'V' just inside the door.

With their beachhead established, dozens more poured through. They spread out towards both flanks, threatening to envelope the defenders in the center of the room. Yet despite their absolute advantage in numbers, despite losing yet another head to Lindsay's meteor hammer, not a single one charged forth to attack.

''What are they waiting for?''

Pressured by their numbers, Lindsay fell three steps back to the defensive chevron her royal armigers had formed.

It was a desperate gesture of resistance. They were twelve against dozens, with what sounded like ''hundreds'' more just waiting outside. These were no lowly soldiers either. Every one of them wore plate mail of the highest quality, affordable to only a proper knight-brother of the Templar Order.

''How did they...''

Lindsay had yet to finish her thought before a familiar figure stepped through.

"Gabriel," Geoffroi's stiff voice rang out from behind her. "You traitorous bastard."

The lean and handsome prince stopped between the two V-wings of templars. His armor was pristine. His white clothes were impeccable. His plum-black hair and blue-violet eyes made him look every bit like the Emperor's younger brother. Except Gabriel was actually the older of the two, who had been passed over for Geoffroi due to his failure to summon a phoenix.

The traitorous duke wore a sad yet beautiful smile, as though nostalgic over the sight of an old friend. His cuirass displayed the same Gaetane heraldry as Geoffroi's own. However his hands did not hold a mace or some other crushing weapon --as would be expected of most noblemen from central Rhin-Lotharingie-- but a sleek arming sword of the Church. Countless tiny, floating crucifixes of glowing gold surrounded him in a sphere of brilliant light, marking his new status as a champion of the faith.

''So much for your 'reinforcements','' Lindsay thought bitterly.

With most of Rhin-Lotharingie's intelligence efforts directed south, Gabriel could have easily hid the templars within his army as 'mercenaries'. They were marching south to join the front lines, and took the riverside road that passed Lake Alise. Lindsay wasn't exactly sure how Gabriel brought hundreds of men across the lake unnoticed. But with the Capital's garrison so understaffed, even a single bribed sentry could open a doorway of opportunity.

This was especially true when the Pope had swayed countless devotees against His Majesty.

Once those templars were on the island, there was no stopping them. The royal prince who led them did not just grow up here. He had once accompanied the adventurous young Geoffroi in all sorts of mischief. The two of them knew every nook, cranny, and secret passageway coming in and out of the palace grounds.

"I know Mother had always favored me, but please do not be so unkind towards her heavenly soul." Gabriel replied, his wistful smile never faltering.

"No, you were adopted," Geoffroi declared straight. "Our parents simply never had the heart to kick you back out."

''Really?''

Lindsay blinked in surprise before taking Geoffroi's words into consideration. For a moment she had believed his statement for real.

"Save your bad jokes, Geoffroi. I am here to request your surrender and abdication."

"Which Emperor has ever surrendered to a pretender and failure?" Geoffroi retorted with scathing words as he deployed his heavy weapon from extradimensional storage and slammed its butt onto the stone floor.

The Emperor's custom goedendag was a steel-shafted polearm built like a halberd. It had a studded cylindrical mace beneath the long spike. Attached to the mace's side was a crescent blade, jutting out like a pair of bull's horns.

"Which Emperor has ever been excommunicated by his head of faith?" The brother rebutted, all traces of his smile vanishing behind a stern and sorrowful gaze. "You have already broken the law of kings. Had you not turned your back on the Holy Father who entrusted you with this realm, I would have no need to demand your crown."

Yet despite facing such accusations, the Emperor began to chuckle. It soon grew to a deep, derisive laugh that revealed his incredulity and contempt for the irony of the situation:

"So that gold-draped puppet, ''His Holiness'', decided that you were a better alternative? You, who failed the phoenix's test three times!? You, who fled from your duties as a prince of the realm decades ago, to bath in idolatry after retiring to an insignificant land!? You, whose hermaphroditic character contained neither the steadfast decisiveness of men nor the sensible judgment of women? Ha!"

Emperor Geoffroi barked another laugh as he gently pushed Lindsay aside and stepped in front of his guards. White-blue flames radiated from his muscular body and splashed against the glowing shields of the templars, forcing them to cautiously take a step back.

"You were never fit to rule, Gabriel, and I can tell you why." Geoffroi continued. "Because the phoenixes knew, just as I did, that you are a cynical, faithless sinner. A ''homosexual'', impregnated by the Devil's lust and devoid of the Holy Father's grace. Yet the Church would pick you for a champion? Just whom is it that the den of corruption represents now!?"

A few of the Knights Templar turned their armet helmets, glancing towards their leader in question and doubt. However most of them never even hesitated.

Neither did Duke Gabriel.

"Has your conscience deserted you to madness, Geoffroi?" The pretender softly asked through a mask of pity. "Does my long and loving marriage not speak for itself? Or are you so corrupted that you hear naught but the Devil's slander? Arrogant enough to believe yourself superior in judgment to all the lords who stand with me, even the representative of the Holy Father himself?"

"What ''lords''," Lindsay spat out in anger. "Those not hoodwinked by your lies are clearly all traitors like yourself!"

"A true patriot does not side blindly with tyrants, Milady," Gabriel's eyes softened as they shifted onto her. "I have no wish to antagonize House Mackay-Martel. I respect your devotion, but it is wasted on such an apostate. Please stand aside. I personally guarantee you and your knights an honorable surrender and safe return to your lands."

"The Guard dies! It does not surrender! Certainly not to vermin like you!" she declared as her right hand continued to twirl the mace-like head of her heavy meteor hammer.

"As you wish," Gabriel replied back with a slight bow before issuing his order:

"Send them all to Purgatory."

"To Hell with you first!" Geoffroi cried out as he raised his goedendag off the ground. "''Flamebreak!''"

A corona of white-blue fire burst forth from the Emperor's armored body, expanding outwards to engulf row after row of crusader knights. Inside the nimbus of a maximum-power eruption of Joyeuse's cleansing flames, the mana fueling the templars' wards combusted and dissolved in the fire. Although their pristine armor remained untarnished, the horrid screaming of dozens divulged the truth beneath. Their bodies had been immolated across every centipace of skin, and every one of them was overwhelmed by pain as they were roasted alive.

Meanwhile, not a single one of Geoffroi's own armigers showed any sign of injury.

Seizing the moment, the Emperor dashed forward and smashed his mighty polearm into the traitorous duke. But instead of crushing the thin-shouldered man like tomatoes under a hammer, Geoffroi's weapon struck one of the floating crucifixes and was brought to a sudden halt.

The tiny little cross hardly budged by a finger's width, just as a sphere of them had easily repelled the phoenix's flames.

''How...?''

Lindsay doubted her eyes even as she sprang into action. The Emperor's flames might have destroyed the templar vanguard, but an unending stream of armored knights now poured in through those open gates. Two other sections of wall also turned to dust under ''Disintegrate'' spells, further opening the room to assault.

It was now up to her and the other armigers to protect His Majesty's flanks, for as long as they could.

Oriflamme Paladins were unparalleled warriors on the battlefield. But just as all other beings, they had a critical shortcoming: the flames of their bonded phoenix were not inexhaustible. The ''Flamebreak'' spell which unleashed all of a phoenix's reserves was meant to be a Paladin's final trump card, as it often took a week for their familiar to recharge after such an exhaustive discharge. Geoffroi had clearly gambled on a quick decapitation of the coup's leader.

Unfortunately the traitor Gabriel was also aware of this, as he too had been raised as a Prince of the Empire. There was no doubt he came prepared, including the secret weapon that he had just displayed.

"The Sword of Fortitude, quite worthy of its name," Gabriel announced as though bragging while he tossed the arming sword into his left hand. "So long as both me and my men are determined to achieve justice, neither steel nor spell may touch my hallowed being."

It was an artifact of Conceptual Magic -- a relic of the dragonlords' highest sorcery.

"Then I just have to slaughter your men until they break!"

The Emperor shouted as he swung his weapon with magically-enhanced strength, smashing two fully-armored knights into a nearby wall before parrying Gabriel's sloppy thrust with his polearm shaft.

"Before the Defender of the Faith and the will of the Holy Father, these templars face no death, only salvation," Duke Gabriel stated as his right hand reached back to pull out a spiked mace from his belt.

"How many times can you keep swinging that thing, Geoffroi? Because it won't be enough."

<nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>

Cecylia von Falkenhausen peeked out from the shadows of a small bridge near the city's edge. Night had just fallen which meant the new, city-wide curfew has gone into effect. Her scarlet-red eyes glowed with a glimmer of magic as they scanned the surroundings. Yet even with ''Thermal Sight'' active on top of her vampiric night vision, she still couldn't spot a single individual in the immediate area.

She could see more from her familiar bond through the nine bodies of Ania, her matryoshka cat. There was a squad of patrolling guards on the next street and a few local residents who looked out from the windows of their residences. Nevertheless, she couldn't see a single person who might be the one she was waiting for.

"<Sir, are you sure this bridge is the right place?>" She asked over telepathy.

"<Yes.>" The reply came from Gerhard August von Gneisenau, Weichsel's ambassador to the Empire of Rhin-Lotharingie. His physical figure was nowhere to be seen, as he was still back inside the Oriflamme Palace's embassy wing.

Since Duke Gabriel's forces arrived in the city at midday, they had overtaken the garrison and placed the entire capital under martial law. Cecylia wasn't sure exactly what had happened inside the palace, but she had confirmation from the ambassador that the coup had succeeded and the Emperor had been killed.

To the best of their knowledge, the Emperor's Highland Guard fought and died rather than surrender. However at least one of them had survived the coup, and had contacted the ambassador earlier to arrange this meeting.

"<This Elspeth, do you know her?>"

"<No.>" Gerhard answered. "<But I know she's the younger sister of Lindsay de Martel, Colonel of the Highland Guard and arms instructor to the Princess. And I did run mana verification on the ''Farspeak'' spell when she contacted me. I think we can trust her to not be playing a trick for the usurper.>"

"<nowiki><</nowiki>I agree, Sir,>" Cecylia noted. "<But should we be sticking our hand into this messy business?>"

"<Aren't you friends with the Princess?>" Gerhard's response came with a hint of surprise. "<You should know that Elspeth asked for you ''specifically''.>"

"<Sylviane ''is'' my friend. But I am a Black Eagle of Weichsel. My duties are to our King and our country first,>" Cecylia declared. "<nowiki><</nowiki>If Rhin-Lotharingie does indeed have a new ruler, would it not be imprudent for us to begin on his bad side by plotting behind his back?>"

What the young girl didn't mention was that the dhampir of Falken clans --Falkenhausen, Falkenberg, and Falkenrath-- have a unique relationship with the Drachenlanzen dynasty that ruled Weichsel.

Like all other dhampirs, the three clans once wandered the continent on the receiving end of every form of racism, due to being descendants of the historic vampires who were corrupted by demons during the Dragon-Demon Wars. However in return for their services during the founding of Weichsel, the first king Ferdinand von Drachenlanzen accepted them into Weichsel as part of its aristocratic elite. In return, the Falken clans had sworn a blood oath -- to serve the successors of the Drachenlanzen dynasty above all other political interests.

...Though this last detail was a state secret, known only by the Kings of Weichsel and the dhampirs themselves.

"<Duke Gabriel does not meet the qualifications to become Emperor of Rhin-Lotharingie, even if he is of Gaetane blood.>" Gerhard's derisive voice pulled Cecylia back to the present conversation. "<The Emperor of Rhin-Lotharingie ''must'' be, above all, an Oriflamme Paladin. The founding Emperor, Charles the Bold, once said that it was more important that the ruler of the Lotharins be of noble character, approved by the phoenixes, than be of his blood.>"

"<That story is indeed well known, Sir.>" Cecylia nodded while she kept her eyes on the surroundings. "<But unfortunately neither Charles nor his successors ever wrote it into the Empire's laws. It has no legal binding.>"

"<nowiki><</nowiki>It may not be a tradition ''de jure'', but it is certainly one ''de facto''.>" Gerhard insisted. "<The Burning Throne is famous across Hyperion, and the ascension of Emperor Geoffroi over his older brother had already provided the precedence. Gabriel's seizure of the throne will undoubtedly mark the start of a civil war, especially since he relied upon Imperial crusaders for his coup, whom most Lotharins --particularly those in the south-- absolutely ''despise''. If Weichsel is to maintain and benefit from this alliance in the decades ahead, it would be best if we help support a more legitimate candidate than a failed prince.>"

''We?'' Cecylia thought with a smile. The ambassador had been careful to word it in terms of national interest. But she also knew that deep down, Gerhard was rather fond of Geoffroi and Princess Sylviane, whom he dined with regularly and could consider his personal friends.

"<So you'd like to place our bets on Princess Sylviane?>" she queried next. She already knew the answer, of course. But she still wanted to know how he'd reason it.

"<She ''is'' the groomed successor, not to mention betrothed to our new Landgrave of Nordkreuz.>" Gerhard noted. "<Furthermore, she also has a close friendship with King Alistair of Gleann Mòr, who wields one of the strongest military forces within the Empire. If she could attain both the military support of our King and King Alistair, then she has a good chance at retaking the throne, even if she does begin in a position of weakness.>"

"<That's a big IF.>" Cecylia frowned.

One of the most important lessons her father had ever given her, was that it was unwise to try to predict the whims of Kings. No, it was better, not to mention politically ''safer'', to carry out established policies and directives.

''But what about now, when recent events have left those policies adrift?'' Cecylia pondered to herself.

She had already sent a ''Farspeak'' message home to the King's spymaster, Colonel Hannes von Falkenberg of the Black Eagles. However, the Colonel seemed distracted when he received her report -- something big must be happening back in Weichsel as well. And until new instructions arrived, she was left on her own judgment.

"<You sound as though you don't want to see Weichsel support Princess Sylviane?>" Ambassador Gerhard asked in a skeptical tone.

It reminded Cecylia why the retired general had been chosen for this position. After all, he might technically be her superior here in Alis Avern, but ''she'' had read his file. Gerhard von Gneisenau was a career military officer known for his honesty, candidness, and dependability. In other words, he was perfect for developing trust between two established allies, but far from the best for more subtle political intrigue.

"<Not at all, Sir.>" Cecylia replied with a shrewd, inward smile. "<Of course I'd like to see the continued alliance between Weichsel and Rhin-Lotharingie. However, it would not do the Princess any favors for me to simply agree with you, Sir. It would be far better for me to play devil's advocate to help sharpen your analytical argument,>" Cecylia highlighted. "<After all, His Majesty will certainly be asking all the hard questions when he eventually entreats your advice. And...>"

Cecylia instantly snipped off her train of thought as her eyes noticed movement nearby. She couldn't make out any details in appearance, but the figure's outline was undeniably small and feminine. That matched what she had been told about this Elspeth individual. Furthermore, the petite, shadowy figure moved with a slight limp, which was a sign that the girl had been injured.

Without the need of magical assistance, Cecylia opened her lips to perfectly mimic the soft meow of a small kitten. It was the agreed upon signal for their meeting.

A meek, badly done meow came in response. The other side was clearly not used to cloak-and-dagger business.

Then, as a petite girl even shorter than herself limped out of the shadows and into the open, Cecylia hurried out of her hiding place to meet the other. The dhampir gently took hold of the latter and rushed back to her spot under the bridge. There, they could stay out of sight from any potential patrols.

"<Dame Elspeth de Martel?>" Cecylia was quick to cast a ''Telepathy'' spell. She received a brief and feeble nod in return. Her nose sniffed as she smelled the scent of dried blood. However it seemed the wounds had already been closed some time ago.

The young dhampir then tied her new link to the ''Farspeak'' connection she was still concentrating on to stay in contact with Ambassador Gerhard.

"<nowiki><</nowiki>I have her, Sir. She's wounded, at least twice, and has lost a lot of blood.>"

"<Dame Elspeth?>" Gerhard queried. "<You should have mentioned that you were injured. You're in no shape to-->"

"<nowiki><</nowiki>It doesn't matter.>" Elspeth mustered enough energy to cut him off with her young, girlish voice. "<nowiki><</nowiki>I've been entrusted to bring the news of what happened here to Princess Sylviane, ''in person'', and I will do it. Will you help me or not, ambassador?>"

"<nowiki><</nowiki>I've already agreed, haven't I?>" Gerhard replied straight. "<nowiki><</nowiki>I do not think it is wise for you to travel in person, but I'm certainly not going to go back on my word. Getting out of the city will be easy. The new soldiers who came with Duke Gabriel don't know Alis Avern well and it should be simple for Cecylia to sneak you out.>"

"<Piece of cake.>" Cecylia declared confidently. "<And once we leave the city's wards, I can teleport her off the island.>"

"<With a rider? That's impressive at your age.>" Gerhard remarked.

"<Well, I did grow up with Pascal.>" The young dhampir smiled.

"<Even so, you're no wayfarer, Cecylia.>" Gerhard pointed out their next dilemma. "<Duke Gabriel has already issued a reward for anyone who turns in loyalists of Emperor Geoffroi. You cannot rely on any Wayfarers in this area unless you know them well enough to trust them. And you ''do'' need a wayfarer for the number of teleportation jumps you'll need just to leave this region.>"

''He's right about that,'' Cecylia frowned for a moment, before the face of a young redhead came to mind.

"<Sir, I know a wayfarer just outside the city, and I am ''certain'' that he can be trusted.>"

"<Whom?>" Gerhard replied with surprise.

"<Sir Reynaud Moreau.>" Cecylia said. "<His father is a close associate of King Alistair. Furthermore, while I wouldn't call them exactly friends, Reynaud has already helped Pascal once during the assassination attempt. Last I heard, Reynaud had just joined an independent 'free company' that was mustering outside the city. They still haven't left for the front lines yet.>"

<nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>

Sneaking out of the city proved far too easy. The new soldiers whom Gabriel ordered to take over the city's garrison clearly lacked awareness of all the blind spots in the city's walls. And since the capital city of Alis Avern was built on rough, hilly terrain and relied more on Lake Alis for defense than its stoneworks, there were a great number of weak spots in its centuries-old fortifications.

Instead, Cecylia's biggest burden was the fact she had to help Elspeth limp along. The young armiger had received a deep stab in her right thigh. Even with magical healing, it would take days for the girl's leg to recover fully. And while the petite Elspeth was anything but heavy, neither physical strength nor stamina were among Cecylia's better attributes.

By the time they reached the encampment that Reynaud was staying at, Cecylia was exhausted to the point of collapse herself. It had taken hours for the two girls to walk just a few kilopaces, and by now it was already late at night. Cecylia's fatigue had caused her to slip and almost attract the attention of passing soldiers who were on watch. Thankfully, a distraction by Ania convinced the soldier that the noise he heard was just a foraging cat.

"Meow." Cecylia cried softly from the shadows as she saw the short and skinny man with red hair near the hay stockpile. Reynaud had promised he'd be waiting for them there when she called ahead by ''Farspeak''.

It took only a moment for the young man to spot them, even with limited torch lighting and the ''Camouflage'' illusion spell that made Cecylia and Elspeth's figures blend into their background.

''Clearly, his ex-assassin mother taught him more than just swordplay.'' The dhampir smiled to herself as her hypothesis proved true.

"Cecylia, Dame Elspeth," Reynaud spoke in a hushed voice as he came close. "Follow me, but stay out of sight if you can. Gabriel's men have already visited once and offered a reward to the men for anyone with information on loyalists. Best we keep your arrival a strict secret."

The two girls nodded in agreement, and proceeded to follow the young man through several empty alleys until they reached the door of a modest-looking cabin. However, Cecylia immediately noticed that the foundations of the cabin merely sat upon flattened ground, rather than dug in with wooden pillars like a properly built stationary structure. This meant the cabin was most likely an enchanted, redeployable type -- one that could shrink down to the size of one's palm and be carried in a knapsack on campaign.

''There's no way the son of a mere chevalier could afford his,'' Cecylia felt alarms go off in her head. With a flick of her wrist, she popped out her spring-loaded wrist blade and pressed its pointy end against the back of Reynaud's gambeson.

"Whose cabin is this?"

"Relax, would you?" Reynaud replied calmly. "This is Perceval's. We've been sharing it."

"I told you to keep this private." Cecylia hissed.

Despite her attitude, Cecylia didn't entirely object. After all, having a healer to look over Elspeth ''was'' useful, and Perceval was as trustworthy of a healer as she could attain within a hundred kilopaces. However Perceval did have political affiliations which added potential complications. And the iron rule of spycraft was that the less people who knew, the better.

"You also told me that Elspeth is injured." Reynaud retorted. "Look, you trust me, you trust my friends. It's simple as that."

He then turned slightly and gloated: "And you'll need more than just a tiny dagger to hurt me."

"Like this?" Cecylia said as she nudged her raised knee against the inside of his upper thigh. She had a loaded blade there as well, though it wasn't ejected yet.

"Holy Hyperion you're vicious for a cutie," Reynaud balked slightly this time, as he realized that one wrong move could have relieved him of his precious manhood.

Sure enough, as he opened the door and helped the two girls in, they were greeted by a wide grin from the young healer. Also present was Gerard Fournier, the beefy young engineer who was part of Perceval's inner circle of close friends.

...It wasn't completely unexpected. But Cecylia shot Reynaud another glare anyway.

Perceval, meanwhile, immediately rushed over to take Elspeth's weight off Cecylia's thin shoulders. He carried Elspeth over to... his giant, white blob of a familiar who was pretending to be a badly-built lounge chair.

There, he took off her armor and began to examine her closed wounds with the professionalism expected of a healer.

"Cecylia, it's good to see you again." Perceval spoke as soon as Reynaud closed the door behind them. "And Dame Elspeth. Please excuse me," he said just before tearing the undergarment that had stuck to her wound with dried blood. "I fear your ''First Aid'' has left some complications. There's heavy internal bleeding on your left."

"Yes," the petite Elspeth admitted through gritted teeth. "I think several of my ribs are broken."

Perceval gently pressed his fingers against her left side and the young girl instantly recoiled. He then pulled out one of his quartz tablets to run a scan on the girl before concluding: "three, to be exact. You're also magically drained, though that does make my job easier."

He then cast a surgical spell which made glowing extensions of aquamarine mana sprout from the tips of his fingers. As the healer pressed his fingers against her torso again, the ethereal extensions sunk into Elspeth's body. The young girl's eyes swelled to the size of saucers while a whimper emerged from her lips as though she was a puppy being stepped on.

Considering how mana of different sources usually repelled each other, the ease to which Perceval forcibly projected his own mana into her body showed just how low on magic she was.

''I'm surprised she managed this whole time.'' Cecylia reflected with a grimace. ''Even a pain suppression spell would have been running on bare threads''

"Reynaud has already told us what you told him," Perceval noted as he carefully kneaded her side to line up the broken ribs for mending. "She really is in no state to travel."

"It doesn't matter. I must!" The young girl kept up her bravado even as her face contorted with excruciating pain.

"But--"

"My journey is ''not'' up for debate!" Elspeth half-gasped and half-yelled. "If you do not help me then I shall do it by myself!"

''There's definitely another reason for her trip that she's not telling us about.'' Cecylia instinctively felt.

"No, we'll take you." Reynaud declared. "We'll guard you all the way to Nordkreuz," he then looked around and received a nod from both Perceval and Gerard. "All of us."

"Is that really necessary?" Cecylia raised an eyebrow. "More people will strain your teleports."

"I'll manage," Reynaud smirked. "Besides, not like any of us are going to be of any use to the country while we're sitting here. I doubt that usurper is going to let us go to the front anytime soon. His men already expressed their intentions to force us to join his army when they visited earlier. And I bet you he's more interested in using us to fight loyalist elements than sending us against the infidels."

"A traitor during a time of national crisis," Gerard spat. "To start a civil war while we're being invaded? He deserves nothing less than the most agonizing death possible."

Perceval frowned upon that but chose not to comment. Instead he remarked: "Shame to abandon our company though. It was just starting to shape up too."

"Abandon? No way I'm leaving it for those traitors to make use of!" Reynaud retorted. "The last thing we must do before departing is to ''disband'' the company. Better to think of the money spent as charity than giving it for free to the enemy!"

Perceval nodded in agreement, despite his obvious reluctance.

"I thought you had joined this 'free company'?" Cecylia asked. Though the name was clearly a bit of a misnomer. Real 'free companies' were mercenary groups willing to serve for the highest bidder. This group was clearly more motivated by Lotharin national pride.

"No. Me and Gerard recruited it from the local militias. Perceval bankrolled it." Reynaud explained. "It really is ''our company''."

"You were training a mercenary company from scratch?" The dhampir asked skeptically.

"Better than serving under one of the local nobles," Reynaud shrugged. "If the company is our own, then we get to keep what we win, and not have to give the majority of it up to some petty lord."

"Petty lord funding the unit right here," Perceval noted sarcastically, which --insofar as Cecylia knew the healer-- was actually pretty rare for him.

"You know what I mean," Reynaud quickly added. "You don't try to claim the lion's share of the credit whenever someone kills or captures someone important. Unlike half of our so-called aristocracy."

It was moments like these when Cecylia felt pride as a Weichsen. To promote its meritocratic heritage, her country had strict rules and regulations on awarding credit where it's due. Even the lowliest peasant can expect a promotion after scoring battle honors, while plunder and ransom were always pooled together and then redistributed based on battlefield contributions and accomplishments -- and only ''after'' widows and orphans received their dues for the comrades who lost their lives.

"In either case, we're Lotharins." Gerard pulled the topic back with pride in his voice. "Fightin' foreigners is in our blood. We figured a few weeks of drilling would be enough for militia men who already had basic weapons training."

"Why didn't you return to Perceval's home in the Duchy of Baguette?" Cecylia queried next as she turned towards the healer. "Surely your grandfather was mustering?"

It was more than just a question of curiosity. Baguette was one of the duchies of the northeastern Belges region, the same area that Gabriel drew his support from. Cecylia knew from her sources that the eccentric old duke had chosen to stay out of Gabriel's army. What she didn't know was why.

She was certain that economics at least partially played into it. Unlike most of the impoverished and politically-sidelined Belges territories, Baguette was well managed by its lord, who made use of its proximity to Nordkreuz and its strategic position guarding the Lotharin estuary to pull in taxes for local development. Because of this, the elderly Duke of Baguette never jealously eyed the Empire's treasury like the rest of his neighbors, nor felt disregarded by the Emperor's attention elsewhere.

However, Cecylia was also wary of the trap of seeing money as the primary motivator of men. People were far more nuanced than that. Her own family certainly valued honor and respect far more than their materialistic possessions. To finally settle in a nation where one felt appreciated -- it was why the Falken clans swore their blood oath.

"No." Perceval sighed. "Gramps claimed that since he held the borders with Skagen where the Northmen were mobilizing, it was important for his soldiers to stay at their posts. We had a huge argument over that too." He admitted sheepishly. "In hindsight though, I think Gramps may have had an inkling of what Gabriel was planning to do, and wanted no part of it. Growing up, he's always taught me that as Lotharins, our duty was to Rhin-Lotharingie first, and not to its petty, factionalistic disputes."

''Probably the wisest move too,'' Cecylia thought. If the Duke had joined Gabriel, he'd be counted among the usurpers now. Yet he also couldn't side with the Emperor without having his neighbors turned on him. So he used Skagen as a shrewd excuse.

<noinclude>
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| Back to [[Daybreak:Volume_2_Chapter_13|Chapter 13]]
| Return to [[Daybreak_on_Hyperion|Main Page]]
| Forward to [[Daybreak:Volume_2_Chapter_14|Chapter 14]]
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</noinclude>

Daybreak:Volume 2 Chapter 13

2021-07-07T11:51:07Z

Aorii:

===Chapter 13 - Heroic Legacy===

Kaede twisted and turned her body as though she was stretching before gym class. She tried running in a tight circle to see if her new outfit imposed any detriment. She even took out her morphic blade and transformed it into a bow to try her archery stance. Though without a strength-boosting spell, she didn't stand a chance at pulling back the spring-steel limbs.

"How is it? Does it fit well?" Pascal asked with a mirthless expression from where he leaned against the shop's wall.

"It's... a lot easier to move than I would have expected?" The familiar said before looking down to examine the armor that she wore.

Despite all of Kaede's interest in history, she had never been into medieval reenactment. She always had the notion that 'armor' was meant to be heavy, bulky, and an impairment on mobility. However the set she wore at the moment was anything but that.

The pitch-black gambeson that Pascal had ordered to her measurements didn't look all that different from a modern quilted jacket -- a girl's jacket at that, as it wrapped tightly around her waist and would have shown off her figure if she had more curves to speak of.

Kaede wore this padded armor over a black pseudo-uniform with white lines, which she had custom-made as the exact opposite to the white pseudo-uniform she wore back then. Its front buckles were half-hidden beneath a blackened steel chestplate that reached from her neck to just above her waist. The chest guard was held in place by leather straps that criss-crossed over her back and flaps around her waist. Meanwhile a simple kettle helmet adorned her head.

"Yes, well, this is really the minimum insofar as 'armor' goes," Pascal shrugged. "I did request the 'reactive' enhancement -- the armor will magically harden at the point of impact. However it seemed rather unnecessary to fit you with a half-plate, especially since you said you are unused to wearing too much weight. It is not like you are going to wade into melee. The worst I expect you to face is the occasional arrow."

Kaede had seen Pascal's own half-plate armor yesterday when he had a sparring session with a sergeant. In the week since their arrival at Nordkreuz, she had noticed that the majority of Weichsel's troops wore such a suit of armor when they were on duty. It consisted of a plate cuirass, spaulders, gauntlets, greaves, and tassets. The gaps in-between were protected by chainmail patches sewn onto a black gambeson. The result had a higher degree of mobility and comfort than full plate while retaining most of its protective value. Most soldiers also wore a sallet helmet with its iconic visor, though kettle helmets were also common among the city's militia.

"Waist looks bit loose though," the burly, middle-aged armorsmith noted as he came over and knelt down behind Kaede. He unbuckled and tightened the strap until the two leather flaps squeezed around her midsection. "I need to punch another hole here."

He then helped Kaede take off the chest guard, before taking it to the back of the shop where he exited through a heavy, wooden door.

''I wonder what 'industry' looks like on Hyperion?'' Kaede thought followed the armorer to the back. Her lips fell open as she looked through the open door, to the large backyard that the armorer seemed to share with several neighboring smiths.

A series of open sheds with covered walkways linking them filled much of this space. The largest shed in the middle had a stone roof, and was built around a massive, two-story stone furnace and smelter. The stone structure was roughly squarish in construction. The side facing her had a chute that was being used to dispense molten metal into a mold. Meanwhile both flanks had a series of alcoves, each lining up with a workspace that included a blacksmith anvil, a stone table, and a large trough filled with water.

"Is that... an arcane forge?" Kaede thought out loud.

She had seen it mentioned so many times in the books she read. It was said to be one of the centerpieces of Hyperion industry.

"Yes, Milady." The armorsmith answered as he returned from the forge with a tiny, metal peg that glowed red with heat. "This is one of the newer forges, built eight years ago through the late Landgrave's investment. Father bless his soul." He added as he fitted the metal piece to what appeared to be a heavy duty hole-puncher on a nearby table.

Kaede was still wondering what made it 'arcane' when she noticed that there were no fire pits. Instead, there was a large, flatly cut slab of reddish-brown stone in each alcove. The nearest slab that she could see had small, red flames rising from it, as though the very rock was burning at a low simmer. Meanwhile at an adjacent workspace, white-hot flames emerged from another slab of rock as a blacksmith quenched a freshly hammered arming sword in his water trough.

"If I remember correctly, arcane forges are basically a continuously running blast furnace?" Pascal asked plainly as he came to stand behind Kaede.

"Yes, Milord." The armorsmith explained in his gruff voice. "The interior of a forge must run at a temperature hot enough to smelt steel. It takes nearly half a day to activate or deactivate it, so it's far easier to simply leave it running. Iron slags and coal are fed into the furnace from the far side," he pointed to where several wagons sat beneath a set of stairs and a treadmill crane. "Meanwhile molten steel is poured out from the chute. The heat is also conducted and controlled through enchanted stone plates to be used by the smiths."

"I'm guessing it relies upon magic from the ley-lines to bolster the heat?" Kaede asked next.

"Both to keep the smelter burning and to provide a continuous flow of fresh air," the armorsmith said as he created a new hole through the waist strap and fed a grommet through it. "We feed in coal as needed to create the appropriate air mixture. But the quantity is nowhere enough to keep the smelter in the temperature it must maintain. The furnace's enchantments require one of us yeomen smiths to manipulate. But even a commoner smith could make use of it to forge steel tools, weapons, and armor."

''Talk about fuel efficiency,'' Kaede thought as she considered just how much coal a magical industry could save, which in turn reduced the resource demands across its entire supply chain.

''I guess the Hyperion civilization will be a lot less worried about its carbon footprint.''

The armorer soon returned with Kaede's chest guard and fitted it again. This time the waist flaps wrapped snugly around her midsection when he buckled the strap.

The familiar repeated all of her stretches again. The leather flaps proved just tight enough to give her waist support without limiting her range of motion.

"Looks good," Pascal declared with satisfaction as he paid the armorsmith -- a handful of gold and silver coins bearing the crest of Weichsel on one side and the royal coat-of-arms on the other. The depiction of an armored, lance-wielding knight riding atop a drake spoke volumes for the history of the Drachenlanzen dynasty. It reminded everyone that King Leopold's lineage could be traced all the way back to the Dragon-Demon Wars

''Just like on Earth,'' Kaede reflected as she thought of how monarchs would use every tool at their disposal to remind the people of their royal legitimacy.

''I'd love to see what all the countries will put on paper bills once they establish fiat currency. IF they establish fiat currency.''

There was no doubt that magic made counterfeiting far more of a threat.

...

After Kaede and Pascal left the armorer's shop, they came across a squad of soldiers, who marched in two columns as they patrolled the streets. Kaede couldn't help but feel self-conscious and took off her helmet. A distinct feeling that it didn't belong on her head had overwhelmed her, as she felt like a child playing war before the eyes of professional soldiers.

"Are you sure the army is okay with me following you into combat?" She asked Pascal. "I know mages bringing their familiars is pretty common, but..." She trailed off as even she wasn't sure exactly what she should be classified as.

All she knew was that Weichsel had a fully professional army, and that meant no 'camp followers'. Instead, every company and battalion had an integrated support unit, responsible for managing the soldiers' logistical needs.

"Considering even His Majesty liked you? I doubt anyone will have a problem with you coming along," Pascal declared in a proud tone, though his countenance wore a faint scowl which puzzled Kaede. "Nevertheless I did attain his permission just in case. As for your role, being 'eyes and ears' means I would like you to stay at a good vantage point near the front lines. It would give me better battlefield vision and save an adjutant for passing orders."

"So... pretend to be a walking pair of binoculars?" She remarked as the two of them walked in the direction of the setting sun, back towards the main street of Nordkreuz.

The irony was not lost on her as they had just picked up a pair of 'arcane binoculars' before coming to the armorer. Kaede only had a brief moment to try it out. Its magically-enchanted lenses had an impressive zoom of up to 25x, which was comparable to that of modern sporting binoculars.

"Learn to judge battlefield deployments yourself," Pascal added as a stern edge worked into his voice. "We have had plenty of tactical discussions during our research and you are certainly no novice."

''No, just an amateur,'' she thought.

If there was one thing Kaede never overestimated, it was just how well her skills really compared against true professionals.

"Since you are good with a bow, I have also made you a few rune-tipped arrows, just in case you need them." Her master said as they strode past several wagons and shops. "I can also enchant ''First Aid'' into your ring and load whatever spells you need into your runes. However, I want your attention focused on the field as much as possible, not busying over concerns better left to others."

"Why ''First Aid''?" She puzzled. ''Just because I'm a girl now doesn't mean I suddenly have medical training.''

"Because only basic spells can be put onto a spell activation item. And because you can perform basic healing better than most mages, simply due to your nature," Pascal explained.

"For being Samaran? I did read that my blood was a healing enhancer."

"It does more than just enhance," he emphasized. "Remember what I said about mana's ''repulsion'' property?"

"That all mana repel foreign sources of mana? Yes." Kaede answered his impromptu quiz before she puzzled. "So that means magic has trouble... healing other mages?"

"Correct." Pascal nodded. "Healing commoners is easy. Healing mages, however, requires a special focus to compensate for their magic resistance. Samaran blood is never rejected in a transfusion. Likewise, healing spells --and only spells that cure or calm, for whatever reason-- cast through Samaran blood gain a limited ability to bypass mana repulsion. The blood also loses potency as it is used more. So effectively, your entire body full of fresh blood is a healing focus of the highest quality."

Being called a top quality trade good wasn't exactly a very flattering comment. But then, Pascal merely stated the facts 'as is'.

''At least he doesn't see me as a bag of gold.''

"I do remember being 'medical supplies'. But I don't remember seeing Perceval carry vials of blood around."

"Samaran blood is not cheap. It is part of why I told you never to enter the city by yourself," Pascal stated with a completely serious expression. "But ask Perceval about his bloodquartz stasis rod the next time you see him..." He then trailed off with another scowl. "Actually, it may be easier to ask another healer. Who knows when we will see Perceval again?"

Kaede nodded. She hadn't heard from Reynaud or Perceval since the day they left Alisia Academy.

"Speaking of Perceval, Ariadne is in Nordkreuz now, isn't she?" The familiar asked.

"No, actually." Pascal replied with another scowl. "She joined one of the new Phantom Grenadier units which almost immediately left the city to raid in Skagen."

''We really have gone our separate ways, huh?'' Kaede reminisced about the friends she made at the academy before the war broke all of them up. "Why do you sound unhappy about it though? I thought the two of you had already made up?"

"It has nothing to do with Ariadne." Her master sighed. "If anything, I am envious of her for being deployed into combat as a company commander. She is out there in the field, gaining valuable leadership and combat experience. Meanwhile I am stuck here in the city, with little to do other than paperwork and the occasional supervisory tour."

"Did the King not already assign you to be a brigade tactical officer?" Kaede asked.

"Yes, the tactical officer of an ''infantry'' brigade," Pascal scowled. "There is not a great deal of tactics to infantry, apart from facing the right direction and using the right formation to absorb the enemy's attacks. I would much rather command a company of Noble Reiters, sent into Skagen to support the cavalry."

Kaede remembered that Pascal had originally been offered such a position, before he turned it down to help Sylviane in Alis Avern instead. The Noble Reiters were conscripted nobility who fought as 'mobile artillery', as their equestrian and spellcasting abilities meant they could rapidly maneuver around the battlefield to lay down a devastating barrage of spells. Their magic also made them excellent logistics and support units. The combination of these roles meant they were usually sent to where the action was, both tactically and strategically.

"But alas, my return was late, and this was the best that the King could offer me." Pascal sighed again.

''In other words, he lost his best chance at earning experience and promotions in this campaign.'' Kaede reflected on the opportunity cost Pascal paid to help his fiancée.

"At least this means you can stay up to date on the King's strategy discussions?" Kaede looked for a silver lining.

"Only because I am the lord of Nordkreuz, as well as the owner of the manor which they use as headquarters." Pascal countered. "The King is keeping me in the communication loop as a gesture of courtesy. However, since I am merely a ''captain'', I have no actual role in operational planning. Therefore unlike the other members of the command staff, I do not have ''any'' of the responsibilities in organizing and coordinating the ongoing maneuvers of our forces against Skagen!"

His irritable tone made Kaede wonder just how much of Pascal's impatience for valor was because he grew up under his father's shadow.

''He really wants a chance to prove himself.''

The two of them soon made it back to the hustle and bustle around Nordkreuz's main street. The cobblestone avenue was built wide enough for two wagons to pass side by side. However, the merchants and customers that overflowed from both sidewalks slowed all passing vehicles to a crawl. Even those on horses advanced at a slow trot, as the innumerable stalls and shouting tradesmen left many pedestrians more than a bit distracted.

The street wasn't as busy as the New Year's when Kaede arrived. Nevertheless it was clear that business was booming, partly caused by the concentration of soldiers in Nordkreuz. Now that the dusk sky was beginning to dim, those who had leave after a day's hard training were coming into the city in droves. They gathered beneath the illumination of the street 'lanterns' -- metal posts with enchanted, ley-line-attuned crystals affixed on top. Some were here to meet old comrades, some to grab a bite to eat, and some browsed wares that weren't available in their rural hometowns.

"Out'a way..."

Kaede heard the gruff voice just in time to evade. A large, overweight man who wore a cloth veil over his nose had just emerged from a door by the side street. His thick, hairy arms carried a massive, partially-covered wooden bucket that spread the most atrocious smell.

The familiar rushed her hand up to pinch her nose as she felt nausea churn her stomach. She turned to stare at the man and his oversized container, while he carried it to the ledge of the sidewalk before tilting the bucket towards what looked to be a stormwater drain.

The small, brown chunks that poured out with water were undeniably poop.

''What the hell! He almost crashed into me with that!'' Kaede thought, appalled.

The bucket that man carried was wider than her shoulders. Its contents were more than enough to drench her entire body. The Samaran girl shivered as she realized that had such an accident occured, she could take a million baths yet still feel filthy.

Yet to Kaede's incredulousness, the man only poured out a surface layer of water before he put the rest of the bucket into a waiting cart. There he covered it with a lid, before grabbing another, empty bucket from the wagon and striding back into the door from where he came.

"W-w-why...?" The young girl stammered as she looked at the cart in bewilderment. She never even noticed as Pascal, who had walked ahead during the interim, had returned and now stood just five paces behind her.

"Ah, a night soil merchant. Your world does not have those?" Pascal asked from a safe distance before he turned towards the building. "This must be a public bath."

Kaede thought it was wise first to retreat to his position before opening her mouth again.

"''Night soil?'' That's just manure!"

"Exactly," Pascal commented. "I believe they mix it with compost before selling it to farmers. It is rich in nitrogen which makes it excellent fertilizer."

Kaede blinked. Now that her shock at the near-accident was beginning to fade, she remembered that her grandmother, who farmed as a hobby in her retirement, did much the same thing. In fact it was quite common on Earth, especially before the industrial revolution when advanced chemistry allowed for synthetic fertilizers to be produced.

"Does Hyperion have non-poop fertilizers?"

"There used to be a ''Fertilize'' spell, but nobody uses that anymore due to its inefficiency," Pascal answered. "Covering large tracts of land with magic is simply too mana inefficient, a brute force solution. Instead, there are alchemists today who use ''Transmute'' spells to convert air and water into ammonium nitrate, which could be spread to fertilize the fields. It is still not cheap, and only wealthy cash crop farmers can consistently afford it."

''Of course, since it's mage labor,'' Kaede thought.

The trouble with magic was that only mages could provide it, which led to a perpetual 'labor shortage'. Whereas on Earth, an industry using pure chemistry could be operated by anyone, regardless of whether or not they were born with innate special powers.

''Even so, is there even an incentive to create non-magical technological processes?''

After all, the people of Hyperion ''did'' have a solution for getting what they wanted, even if the supply availability was far lower. However this suited the mages --the most educated members of Hyperion society-- just fine, as it maintained the high value of their labor and their wealth as the middle and upper class. Meanwhile commoners without magic had to perform occupations like shovel manure for a living.

"I'm guessing 'night soil' is a cheaper alternative then?"

"Significantly." Pascal confirmed Kaede's suspicions about the value of non-magical labor. "It may not work as well, but manure is easy to attain and compost can be made in large quantities."

The young lord then glanced at the building again before remembering:

"Did you not mention a 'need to go' before we left the armorer's? This is a public bathhouse, one of several that my father had constructed within the city to improve sanitation. You will find latrines inside. They should be in rooms adjacent to the entrance."

"I... think I'd rather wait," Kaede replied with reluctance. The pressure on her bladder was still mild and... ''I'm not sure I want to make use of 'public latrines'.''

"We still have several more items that need to be picked up. It will be at least another hour before we return to the manor." Pascal warned.

"Fine," Kaede sighed. Unwilling to risk an accident, she waited until the 'night soil' merchant emerged again with yet another bucket before she went inside.

The entrance hallway was short and led to a large, open-roofed atrium within the building. The atrium was surrounded by covered corridors with round columns holding up the roofs. There were lounge chairs scattered about, but none of them were occupied since it was winter outside. On the far side of the building she could spot steam coming out of the ceiling-high vents, as well as hear the sound of running water and the voices of people relaxing inside.

''It really is like a Roman bathhouse,'' Kaede thought.

The open architectural design was clearly one that originated from a warmer climate. It would not surprise Kaede one bit if the Weichsel imported the concept of these bathhouses from the Romans of this world -- the Holy Imperium of the Inner Sea.

''I should visit one of these days. It's been too long since I've had a proper bath and not just 'cleansing spells'.''

On her side of the atrium, a door on each flank was marked by a stick-figure sign. Needless to say, the one that had a triangle skirt was the one that she was looking for.

Kaede took a deep breath as she grasped the door handle and pulled it open. The room didn't smell nearly as foul as she would have expected, as it had plenty of ventilation near the roof. However, as soon as she walked inside and saw the arrangements, she froze.

There were two rows of bench seats that faced each other, with a round hole cut into the wooden bench every meter of distance. Three women currently sat next to each other and chatted along as they did their business. There wasn't any privacy to speak of as there were no stalls, not even a divider between each latrine seat.

"<nowiki><</nowiki>Is something wrong, Kaede?>" Pascal asked over their familiar bond as he must have sensed her surprise.

"<Th-there're no stalls!>" Kaede sent back as she continued to stand by the door. Her odd behavior had already attracted the womens' curious looks.

"<Why would there be stalls inside a public latrine?>" Pascal replied in a confused voice. "<nowiki><</nowiki>It is not a stable for horses.>"

"<nowiki><</nowiki>I don't know... maybe some privacy!?>" Kaede retorted in disbelief.

"<Are the latrine rooms not separated by gender?>"

"<They are, but that's not the point!>" Kaede was baffled by the fact she had to ''explain'' something so simple. "<What about privacy from other girls? Or other men in your case?>"

"<Why would that be necessary?>" Pascal's voice was still bewildered. "<Are public latrines not a social place in your world?>"

"<What!? NO!>" Kaede was aghast. "<Why would it be?>"

"<nowiki><</nowiki>It would be boring if all you had to do was stare at a wall while you did your business. Might as well catch up with the neighbors while you are at it.>" Pascal replied with a mental shrug. "<As far as I know, girls usually visit the latrines in groups too.>"

Kaede did remember noticing that trend even in the modern world. But Hyperion was clearly taking it to an extreme!

"<Also hurry up. I do not enjoy waiting near a manure wagon.>"

"<Ugh, fine...>"

Kaede forced herself to walk to the far side of the room where she found a spot near the corner. The wooden bench was surprisingly clean, probably aided by the fact this was a 'female only' bathroom which didn't have to worry about men and their randomly aimed pee. She lifted her skirt and unbuttoned the soft, clingy fabrics between her legs from behind.

''For once I'm thankful for wearing a skirt.'' She thought as she sat down on the latrine hole, while the fabric of her skirt completely covered her feminine bits. This would not have been an option if she was still wearing pants.

"What's her problem?" Kaede's keen ears heard one of the women whisper to her companions.

"Look at her clothes. Must be some rich merchant's daughter trying out for the militia. Thinks she's too good for us."

"She's a Samaran though. I don't know of any Samarans who are residents of this city?"

Clearly, the way she purposefully kept her distance was a social affront. Kaede sighed as she wasn't sure it was worth trying to correct their first impression of her at this point.

"<Out of curiosity,>" Kaede asked as she noticed that this 'public bathroom' was distinctively lacking in a vital resource. "<What do I use here to wipe? There's no paper.>"

"<Pulp paper is too expensive for public latrines. You should see a few buckets near the wall.>" Pascal noted.

Sure enough, Kaede noticed the wooden buckets. Each had several handles sticking out from them, as though they were cooking instruments being soaked.

"<Those buckets are filled with vinegar.>" Pascal added. "<The sticks have sponges affixed to the end. You use them to wipe your rear after you finish.>"

In other words, people ''shared sponges'' to wipe their butt after defecation.

Kaede would rather ask Pascal to cast his ''Cleanse'' spell on her butt than to use a stick that might have someone else's feces on them.

''I'm never going anywhere without toilet paper again!'' She silently swore to herself.

...

The other women were still chatting when Kaede finished peeing and left. She met back up with Pascal outside and the two of them continued their errand trip.

"What's next?" Kaede asked eagerly.

"Next we go to the clothiers and pick up a black mourning dress for you." Pascal replied rather stiffly.

Kaede fell quiet at once. ''No wonder why Pascal has been moody today.''

"Your father's?"

"Yes. His state funeral is tomorrow." Pascal's reply in a melancholic tone. "And of course, you will be attending besides me, Sylv, and the King. Therefore I expect you to look your best."

<nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>

Just as Pascal had warned, Kaede stood the next day as part of the congregation that waited outside Nordkreuz's cathedral. The group had over three dozen individuals, who stood evenly spaced in two rows at the top of the stone stairs. They included not just King Leopold, Princess Sylviane, and the generals who served directly under the late Marshal, but also his majordomo, his chaplain, and several members of his personal staff who avoided the ambush that took his life.

What quickly became obvious was that the Marshal did not seem to have any personal friends outside of his work, as every attendee was either a member of his household or a state official. Nor was there anyone from the estranged family from Pascal's mother's side.

The group watched as a long column of soldiers marched down Nordkreuz's main street. They were led by Colonel Albrecht von Bittenfeld and his elite ''Black Lancers'' Knights Phantom atop their armored gryphon mounts. A wagon carrying the embalmed body of the late Marshal came next, wrapped in the black dragon banner of Weichsel and adorned with white flowers. The wagon was followed by the rest of the ''Black Lancers'' as well as several squads of the King's Black Eagles who acted as the honor guard.

The entire city fell under a solemn atmosphere as soldiers from the army stood shoulder to shoulder across both sides of the main street. The sidewalks were packed as it seemed like the entire populace of Nordkreuz had gathered to pay their respects. Entire formations of officers also stood in the plaza in front of the cathedral. Kaede estimated that the number of people in attendance numbered over ten thousand.

The familiar glanced towards her master, who stood between the King and the Princess, roughly a dozen paces away from her. Pascal did his best to maintain a steadfast countenance, but his eyes were glistening with a sentimental longing as they stayed fixated on his late father's casket.

"<Your father really meant a great deal to many people.>" Kaede reflected over their familiar bond as she sought to comfort him.

"<He was a hero of Weichsel, the most accomplished marshal since Hermann von Mittermeyer.>" Pascal's voice responded stiffly.

''Not just a hero either,'' Kaede thought back to the arcane forge and the public bathhouses that the Marshal all had a hand in erecting. It was clear that despite being a newly-minted, first generation aristocrat with no hereditary wealth, the Marshal prioritized the development of his people and fief.

"<nowiki><</nowiki>I wish I could have met him.>"

"<He would have liked you too.>" Pascal stated with certainty.

Kaede watched as eight members of the Knights Phantom dismounted to pull the marshal's casket from the wagon. They lifted it upon their shoulders before carrying the mahogany funeral box up the short stairs and through the cathedral's double doors. The congregation followed the knights in, while behind them came several hundred military officers and other attendees.

The marshal's casket was placed before the altar while Kaede filed into the space before a second row bench. Her eyes remained glued to Pascal who stood stiffly in the first row besides Princess Sylviane and other dignitaries. They waited for the next twenty minutes as the available space in the modest cathedral --which had clearly been built when Nordkreuz was smaller and less important-- was filled to capacity.

Then, as the last of the milling footsteps behind them fell silent, the clergy of Nordkreuz stepped forth and began their religious service.

"Faithful men and women of Weichsel, we gather here today to pay homage..."

The Bishop of Nordkreuz blessed the Marshal's soul and spoke of how Karl August von Moltewitz carried out the Holy Father's will in defense of the Trinitian realm. He praised how the late landgrave lived a life of modesty, ever loyal to the King while displaying charity and generosity towards the city's residents...

It was a sermon largely spoken in Imperial, a hybrid language which had once been created by the Inner Sea Imperium to administer their northern provinces and vassal states. Today, even though Weichsel no longer saw the Holy Imperium as its suzerain, it kept Imperial as its official language which made it Pascal's mother tongue -- and Kaede could perfectly understand it thanks to their familiar bond.

Parts of the sermon, however, remained difficult for Kaede to digest, as the bishop quoted directly from the Holy Scriptures. The religious texts of the Trinitian Church were written strictly in ancient Draconic, the same language that Pascal memorized his mnemonic spellwords in. However, while Pascal knew many words in Draconic, he was hardly 'fluent'. The result was a smattering of comprehension in between a string of gibberish that made Kaede only able to guess at the true meaning.

In hindsight, it wasn't really surprising for the Church to use the language of the dragonlords. After all, the services were conducted beneath the Cross of Holy Hyperion -- a sculpture of the dragonlord in the midst of casting 'the spell that saved the world'.

''It's like seeing a Catholic Church that worshipped aliens,'' the familiar couldn't help reflect on how otherworldly the whole experience felt.

For tens of minutes the sermon continued. It also reminded Kaede why she never enjoyed church services: ''there's just too much moralistic preaching.''

She might have always been a spiritualist who took great interest in the moral virtues taught by religion. But that didn't mean that she enjoyed being preached to -- especially when those same sermons often felt detached from reality, from the moral dilemmas that real people in real stories had to face.

So instead of focusing her attention on the bishop's words, Kaede kept the edge of her gaze trained on Pascal's side and back. She could see the tension in his shoulders as he stood stiff as a board. His fingers reached up on several occasions as he pretended to scratch his head before touching the corner of his eye to wipe a tear from it.

Her master was clearly in mourning, just as he had been that night on top of the dormitory keep. However this time he could not display it openly. He had no choice but to suppress and stifle his grief before hundreds of attendees.

It took well over a half hour before the sermon finished. By the time the bishop stepped off the altar, he beckoned Pascal to come forth. The young landgrave strode up to the podium, where he would offer a final eulogy.

For a minute Pascal stood silent behind the altar with parchment in hand. He opened and closed his lips several times but no words came out. Tears brimmed in his glistening eyes as he looked upon the casket with a nostalgic longing that he clearly had trouble turning into words. Then, with a stiff voice that almost cracked under the weight of his emotions, he began to speak out in a magically amplified voice:

"Most of you knew my father as the Marshal of Weichsel. He was courageous in battle, inspiring in command, visionary in strategy, and considerate as a leader. But I knew that many of you also thought my father seemed devoid of a personal life. After all, he had lost his wife before becoming the Landgrave of Nordkreuz yet never remarried. He dined with his staff regularly yet never seemed to meet any friends outside of work. He had a son at home -- a brat spoiled by servants and a lack of parental supervision," Pascal spoke of himself which elicited a wave of chuckling from the crowd. "Yet he spent most of his days in the King's Black Dragon Castle and the capital Königsfeld's army base, rarely returning to his home to celebrate with his small family.

"Well, I am here today to tell you that you could not be more wrong..." Pascal stated before his voice cracked again.

He paused for another moment as his shoulders trembled faintly. He had to take a deep breath to regain his composure before continuing on.

"My father was many things to me -- an inspiring role model, a wise teacher, a set of expectations that I constantly strove for yet never seemed to quite match. But he was first and foremost a loving parent, whose messages for me would arrive like clockwork no matter how busy or how tired or how frustrated he became. There was never a week when he did not stay up to date with my activities, or comment on my studies. He might have been away from me by several hundred kilopaces, but his spirit has always remained with me.

"However, as I stand before you here today, I realize the true significance of my father's life." The young lord voiced. "He was not just a father to me, but a father to an entire generation of soldiers and officers whom he led in the King's name. And they, like me, have learned to appreciate his deeds."

Pascal took another break as he blinked repeatedly to clear his gaze. His turquoise eyes were glistening yet he struggled to pretend that wasn't the case. He closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath before reopening them. His brows furrowed as he continued his prepared speech as though everything was fine with him:

"My father may be gone now, but his legacy from a lifetime of dedicated service remains. Under his tutelage, countless young officers have stepped into the shoes of those who came before them, ready to protect our realm and serve the interests of our King. Under his patronage, many brilliant cadets arose from struggling families, who would have otherwise lacked the circumstances to send their children to proper schooling. Under his guidance, the army has refined its organization and doctrine to score dozens of victories, proving our mettle even as our kingdom is caught between the geopolitical ambitions of giants. Under his vision, Weichsel has almost doubled its size over the past two decades, with new allies to support us so we no longer must bend knees to appease the decadent Imperator on his distant throne."

"Thus I ask you to remember my father, not merely as the workaholic marshal who never seemed to go home, but as a diligent father to his men and a faithful servant of his King. Remember him for his accomplishments, his policies, and his legacy which remains. For..."

Pascal's voice cracked again but he did not relent this time. His fists clenched hard as he steeled his resolve to keep going.

"--For as long as his vision lives on with us, his spirit will endure and ''always'' remain with us -- to guide, to inspire, to watch over us and the future of our state."

''I didn't think Pascal could write something so touching,'' Kaede smiled earnestly as she watched him take another deep breath. His shoulders relaxed a little at last as he seemed finished, not just with the speech, but also with a part of his grief.

"<That was well done,>" she said over their private telepathy. "<nowiki><</nowiki>It was a beautiful speech.>"

"<Thank you.>" He replied simply. "<Though I am not finished yet.>"

It wasn't until later that Kaede found out that Pascal had asked the Princess for help in writing it. Or that he had also run the draft past King Leopold at Sylviane's recommendation, to ensure that the monarch would not see it as trying to impose foreign policy by using his father's legacy.

"As a final tribute," the young lord continued after a prolonged pause. "I would like to thank His Majesty the King for approving and funding the last proposal that my father drafted on behalf of Weichsel. I am glad to announce that the ''Mittermeyer and Moltewitz Boarding School'' will begin construction in Königsfeld next spring. Once completed, this institution will admit up to 200 bright and talented adolescents of ages 8 to 12 each year, and offer them up to 6 years of education with free boarding, food, and tuition. Admissions will be based strictly on examination, and graduates will be given a position in Weichsel's government, army, or a scholarship to continue their studies at the Königsfeld Academy of Magic."

Kaede immediately recognized the proposal as one that she and Gerard helped Pascal draft back at the Alisia Academy. They had agreed that while Weichsel could not afford ''universal'' public education, they could at least begin establishing free schooling for those with potential. The idea was to begin with one school and scale up as the program accumulated experience and results.

She could also hear the quiet murmuring of the crowd behind her. Many voices were in clear approval, though many others also cast their doubts. It was probably one of the reasons why Pascal decided to announce it under his father's name, rather than take personal credit for the idea. However, the other reason was purely one of sentimentality...

''It's quite a fitting tribute,'' she thought approvingly. ''To have his father remembered as not just a hero of battlefield valor, but also one for fostering the next generation.''

"It is my father's final wish that just like Marshal Mittemeyer and himself, the commoners and yeomen of Weichsel may receive the opportunity to prove and elevate themselves in the service of our country and our king!" Pascal declared, which prompted Kaede to smile again.

With his eulogy finished, the new landgrave's eyes scanned across the audience before falling back upon his father's casket and the black dragon banner that wrapped around it.

"Hail the Black Dragon!" Pascal shouted as he snapped his boots together, stood perfectly straight, and raised his hand to his head in a military salute.

The gesture was followed by dozens, hundreds, everyone gathered not just inside, but also outside the cathedral's gates.

"Hail!"

<noinclude>
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| Back to [[Daybreak:Volume_2_Chapter_12|Chapter 12]]
| Return to [[Daybreak_on_Hyperion|Main Page]]
| Forward to [[Daybreak:Volume_2_Chapter_13_Interlude|Interlude Chapter 13.5]]
|-
|}
</noinclude>

Daybreak:Volume 2 Chapter 11

2021-07-07T11:42:00Z

Aorii:

===Chapter 11 - Realigning Interests===

It was a strange feeling for Pascal, to lead the King and company through the halls of the Moltewitz residence.

It was an even stranger feeling, to know that he was now the master of this estate.

Sure, Pascal had spent much of his childhood alone in these halls. His father was the Marshal of Weichsel, and the late Landgrave spent most of the year at the capital and rarely home with the young Pascal. Nevertheless, every time he found himself addressed as the 'young master' by the servants, he was reminded that the true master of these halls, his father, would return.

It might have been next week, or at the end of the month, or perhaps over the coming holidays, but there was no doubt that it would eventually come to pass.

Until then, Pascal eagerly awaited the weekly chats he had with his father by ''Farspeak'' communication spell. It was the pivotal reason why his younger self dove headlong into the study of magic. He wanted to learn advanced spellcasting as quickly as possible, so that he could converse with his distant father directly rather than rely on an intermediary like the Majordomo.

''But now...'' Pascal thought in solemn silence as he walked up the central staircase to the second floor.

On top of the staircase was a life-sized painting of the Moltewitz family. Pascal's father, who had yet to become the 1st Landgrave of Nordkreuz, stood tall and stern in his crimson-on-black military uniform while carrying his marshal's baton. Beside him sat a beautiful, golden-haired woman that Pascal could not remember, yet knew in his heart as his kind and gentle mother.

Between the two was a three-year-old toddler, the child's tiny hand clutching his mother's thin fingers even as he stood on his own. However while young Pascal stayed on his mother's right side, it was the left hand that he grabbed -- an awkward arrangement which forced his mother to turn slightly towards him and away from the viewer.

Pascal couldn't help feel moisture in his eyes as he thought of the scene that never happened. By the time his father had the painting commissioned, his mother had already died, and the work had to be managed using her old portraits. The artist had done a remarkable job, even using a creative pose to hide his mother's deformity. She was a retired cavalry-woman who had lost her right arm in battle against the Northmen 'adventurers' who raided Weichsel's coasts. But even that didn't stop her from taking the field one last time in command of her hometown's militia, fighting off a seaborn raid and receiving wounds that claimed her life.

--And now, seventeen years later, Pascal's father had followed her to heaven, leaving the grown-up toddler all by his lonesome.

''Mother, Father, I'm home...'' Pascal whispered to himself as he bit down on his lower lip and forced himself to not tremble and not cry.

He was a soldier of Weichsel, just as his father was, just as his mother had been. He had a duty to his King, to the alliance, that he must see through. That was his first priority, not to sob like some abandoned child and disgrace the parents that raised him.

Pascal raised his arm and pretended to scratch his temple. His fingers brushed the corner of his eyes and wiped away the lone tear building there. He then forced himself to turn away from the painting, to lead his guests towards the map room that his father once used.

The doors were already open and the furniture inside showed signs of recent use. It was only natural, for the King had made this place his command post in Pascal's absence. Nevertheless, as the newly returned master of the estate, Pascal stopped just inside the door before welcoming his guests.

"Your Majesty."

"There's really no need for such formality, Pascal," King Leopold said kindly, his gaze softening with sympathy as though he read Pascal's mind. "Please, take a look at the map and update yourself on the situation at present. The Eagles had it enchanted to match the war room's map table back at Black Dragon Castle while I'm staying here."

"Yes Sire," Pascal nodded before he moved to the long table that dominated the room.

Just like Emperor Geoffroi's war room table in the Oriflamme Palace, Pascal's father's --no, it was ''his'' map table now-- was enchanted to combine sculpted sand and projected illusions to create a three dimensional map. Currently, the table displayed the entire length of Weichsel as it stretched across the North Sea's southern coast. The scale was zoomed out far enough to show all of Weichsel's immediate neighbors: the Holy Imperium's border provinces loomed in the south, the Lotharin Estuary connected Cross Lake to the sea in the west. The east was dominated by the void of the Dead Mountains, leaving a narrow but important coastal trading corridor to the Grand Republic of Samara.

In addition to landscape, borders, and settlements, the illusory map also displayed every sizable military force within two-hundred kilopaces of Weichsel's borders. Fourteen of the miniature infantry and cavalry figures carried the Black Dragon banner of Weichsel, either already assembled at Nordkreuz or marching westwards towards the city. Ten more held towering shields and purple standards -- the Holy Imperium's Legions which stood menacingly along the border. To the east was a single army of the Grand Republic, represented by an armored Samaran battlewagon instead of a soldier. Meanwhile troops of Rhin-Lotharingie's Belges region mobilized for war in the west, leaving the castles that guarded their borders with Weichsel seemingly abandoned as they'd been stripped down to skeleton garrisons too small to be represented.

However, the new threat which drew Pascal's attention came from the northwest: soldiers carrying the green kraken flag moved towards one another on skis. Their numbers pooled together in the only continental territories still controlled by the Northmen. Meanwhile, two cavalry figures bearing the black dragon flag of Weichsel were already deep in Skagen territory.

The Grand Jarldom of Skagen was assembling its army for war, and Weichsel had clearly responded with a preemptive strike.

''So this is what 'perfect intelligence' looks like,'' Pascal thought as he saw this view for the first time.

His map table had been synchronized to the King's war room back in Königsfeld's Black Dragon Castle. This meant the information it displayed came directly from the artifact known as the 'Eye of the Dragon'. The ancient relic of draconic origin --its history tracing back all the way to the Dragon-Demon Wars-- was one of Weichsel's greatest assets. Its magical senses reached out from every synchronized outpost beacon to detect armed forces within range. It even labelled the model soldiers with numbers, accurate down to half a thousand. And as a result of this intelligence, it was virtually impossible for any military force larger than a battalion to mount a sneak attack on Weichsel's forces near its home territories.

The young Landgrave was still reformulating his strategic analysis when King Leopold turned to him:

"As you can see Pascal, we've already locked horns with the barbarians outside your fief."

"Did we start hostilities first or did they?" Pascal asked.

"They did, by raiding two of our border villages," the King replied. "It wasn't an isolated incident either, as the southern jarldoms of Skagen began mobilization at the same time. The Eagles told me the Jarls are calling for reconquest. They believe that 'fate' has given them the opportunity to retake ancient lands they lost to the Imperium centuries ago."

Pascal knew that in addition to serving as agents of the King, the Black Eagles also functioned as Weichsel's royal guard and its military intelligence apparatus. They were trained to gather information and forge contacts wherever their duties may take them, creating networks of spies and informants that the army relied upon for both intel and counter-espionage. Furthermore, since the Eagles answered to the King alone, it created a system where the generals could be rendered blind and dumb with a single royal edict -- thus reducing any chance of successful military coups.

It was an effective system that Pascal hoped Rhin-Lotharingie could one day replicate.

"The timing of their mobilization also didn't fit a defensive response," the handsome General Wiktor spoke next, "If they were simply wary of our mobilization, they should have started gathering troops two weeks ago -- when Weichsel first began to mobilize in response to the Caliphate's invasion of Rhin-Lotharingie. Even in Weichsel, a frontier lord has the authority to mobilize local forces for a defensive response, let alone a decentralized feudal state like Skagen. Yet despite this, the movements by the Northmen only began the day ''after'' the Marshal's death. That's too long of a wait for 'defensive' measures."

The King nodded in agreement before turning towards his stone-faced general of cavalry. "Neithard believes that the loss of our renowned Marshal has emboldened them. And I daresay I agree. The Northmen know that our Lotharin allies are now preoccupied in the south and are demanding the reinforcements that we promised. Meanwhile, the Imperium will only act against us as they're still bitter over our annexation of Nordkreuz during their civil war. With the first snow arriving early this year to pave a road for the Northmen army, I do believe Skagen is trying to take advantage of our woes."

"But is that timing not ''too'' perfect?" Pascal's brows furrowed. "The very day after my father was assassinated..."

"That is also my main concern," General Neithard pitched in. "Skagen is no monarchy. It is ruled collectively by a group of petty Jarls. The Abyss will freeze over before they can make their decision in a single day. After everything that has happened in the past few weeks in rapid, seemingly ''planned'', succession, I fear we are merely seeing another step to an unfolding Imperial plot."

However, despite his words, the elderly Manteuffel's monotone remained unchanged while his emotionless mask stayed undisturbed. It made Pascal retort in silence:

''I doubt you have ever feared for anything in your life.''

Nevertheless, Pascal couldn't help but nod in response. He knew perfectly well who was at fault for his father's death, and the map's display reminded him with how the Legions of the Holy Imperium were deployed. Normally, the Imperium's 'defense-in-depth' doctrine would hold its field armies deep within its territories to retain mobility and strategic responsiveness, while the border was guarded by only small garrisons. Yet currently, the entire northern field army of the Holy Imperium was pressed up right against Weichsel's southern border and Rhin-Lotharingie's southeast. This was a clear show of force, meant to intimidate both sides to stay in a defensive posture instead of sending troops west to meet the Caliphate's invasion.

In the worst case scenario, if Skagen attacked from the north while the Imperium struck from the south, Weichsel would find itself sandwiched in a two-front war -- a catastrophic situation that no general would wish to face.

The young landgrave then turned to meet his King's clear brown gaze:

"May I presume that your Majesty has seen the details of my report regarding the assassination attempt on me?"

"Of course," King Leopold's countenance was grim. "Both Wiktor and Neithard have seen it too. Although I hope you understand why I can neither publicly confirm the assassin's identities nor accuse the Imperials. There's no doubt that the two assassination cases are connected, yet we can only say that the Marshal was killed by mercenaries of 'unknown origin'."

Pascal's fists tightened as he heard the response that was entirely too censored by political motivations.

It wasn't just. It wasn't even fair. But while nobility respected honor and despised cowardly acts such as assassination, ethics only served politics when it met the interests of state. This was something that Pascal learned from an early age. Yet the desire for justice that now simmered inside him could not be reasoned with.

''First my mother by the Northmen. Then my father by the Imperials. And now I find them working together...''

Pascal could almost hear his knuckles groan as his fist grounded into itself. It felt almost as though an primal rage was building inside him, a cry for vengeance spurred on by the memories of the deceased. He wanted the power to lash out against those who took his parents away from him -- to make them bleed, to make them ''suffer''.

--Yet at the same time, Pascal knew that escalation with the Imperium was the last thing Weichsel could afford right now.

In memory of his father, the now orphaned son took a deep breath to bury his darker emotions. The Imperium would pay dearly for their sins, but now was not the time.

"I understand, Your Majesty," Pascal replied in a stiff tone. "At the moment we cannot afford to escalate tensions with the Holy Imperium of the Inner Sea. Nor would we benefit from revealing Imperator Skantarios' acts of treachery, as this would level an accusation upon both Pope Vigilius and the Imperator that they are jointly plotting with heathens against fellow Trinitian states. Such accusations are likely to backfire -- not only in angering the Pope but further pushing the Church into the Imperator's influence. Meanwhile, the morale of our armies would plummet if we openly antagonize both the Caliphate ''and'' the Imperium, the two major powers in western Hyperion, at the same time."

King Leopold flashed a brief grin, a wry yet proud smirk, towards his foremost cavalry general:

"I told you he was good."

"As the rumors claim, Sire," General Neithard spoke as he upheld his mask of neutrality.

"Thank you, Your Majesty," Pascal brushed it aside with a reluctant smile.

In reality, he might not have deduced the political ramifications at all without Sylviane's aid in their many discussions. His political insight was nowhere as keen as his fiancée's, even without personal emotions affecting his judgment.

"The upside of this, however, is that the Imperium should also pose no threat to us in the short term," Pascal then added. "Therefore, we can focus on our efforts in eliminating the northern threat, before turning our armies westwards to aid our Lotharin allies."

The King's eyebrows shot up. "How are you sure of that?"

"Because all of recent events point towards one thing." Pascal began to explain, echoing the arguments that Sylviane once used to break down the situation to him. "The removal of my late father, who had been a champion of the Weichsel-Lotharin alliance for the past decade. The assassination attempt on me, who has been entrusted with solidifying the bonds between our people as the future ''Weichsen'' Crown Prince Consort of Rhin-Lotharingie. The excommunication of Emperor Geoffroi, which seeks to dispel our sense of duty in aiding our fellow Trinitians in their holy struggle. The incitement of the Northmen to open a new war front, which serves to distract us with a new threat..."

There was one more factor that Sylviane had hypothesized, and that was the possible backing of General Manteuffel as the next Marshal of Weichsel. Since the general was a proponent of the more traditional, 'Papal Appeasement' foreign policy, the Imperium would no doubt prefer him to be in charge of Weichsel's armies.

However, Sylviane had told Pascal early on to never speak of this before another Weichsen. This was not merely speculation, it could also be misunderstood by King Leopold as foreign meddling in his internal affairs -- something no sovereign nation or legitimate ruler would approve of.

"Every one of these actions contribute to one notable goal." Pascal continued as he raised a finger to emphasize. "And that is to dissuade us from fulfilling our obligations as allies and aiding the Lotharins in their holy cause."

"But why do you believe this implies the Imperium poses no threat to us?" The elderly Manteuffel challenged.

"Because the Imperator's aims are clear," Pascal declared. "He seeks to sever the Weichsel-Lotharin alliance, while using the Caliphate as a battering ram to weaken the Rhin-Lotharingie Empire. Then, once both the Caliphate and the Empire are on its knees from exhaustion, the Imperium will sweep in to claim the spoils. However, doing so would require Imperator Skantarios to keep his armies fresh and his war chest full until the window of opportunity arrives."

Slowly, the King nodded his head in response, all while his lips gradually stretched into a broad grin.

"I knew you were insightful, Pascal. But I didn't think you had progressed to the level of statecraft professionals," He spoke with a genuinely impressed tone.

''I can't really take credit though...''

For a mere moment, Pascal couldn't keep the sheepish look out of his expression. Unbeknownst to him, those mere seconds was all that King Leopold needed to confirm his suspicions, as he glanced towards the Princess who kept up the careful facade of a thoughtful listener this whole time.

"Imperator Skantarios seeks to reclaim the lands lost by the Imperium during the War of Imperial Succession, and perhaps even more than that." King Leopold added. "He made a promise to the great patrician houses of Arcadia that he would reverse the Inner Sea's decline and revitalize its economy. For this he needs new markets, new resources, and perhaps even ''new slaves''. It's clear now that he plans to begin with Rhin-Lotharingie."

"And he may not end there," the Princess spoke at last, finally putting away the pretense that she had been in deep thought. Pascal knew this, as the two of them had agreed on the road here that he would present the bulk of the argument. After all, he was a Weichsen and not a Lotharin. This might not matter much to the rational reasoning of politically astute minds, but human emotions always favored those whom we considered 'one of us' over outsiders.

"The scale of the Caliphate's invasion may have taken Rhin-Lotharingie by surprise, but the Empire still has deep reserves of strength to call upon," Sylviane declared with confidence. "However, while I have no doubt that Rhin-Lotharingie can fight the Caliphate to a standstill, it would likely result in the total exhaustion of both sides. At that point, the Holy Imperium would easily be able to march in and cripple the Empire."

Her voice then took on an increasingly bleak tone as she warned: "Rhin-Lotharingie would not be able to recover from such a devastating war for at least a half century. In the worse case scenario, the Empire may even fracture under the strain. The power shift this creates would make the Holy Imperium the undisputed hegemon of Western Hyperion once more. After that, there is ''nothing'' that can stop the Imperium from invading Weichsel, to retake the lands they lost during their civil war while turning the remainder of your kingdom into a vassal state."

''Just like before,'' Pascal thought bitterly.

After all, the Kingdom of Weichsel's predecessor state, the Kingdom of Amudaria, was an Imperial vassal state. The Imperium had created it by settling Weichsel's nomadic ancestors along the North Sea coast. For centuries the Amudarians shielded the Imperium from Northmen raids, only to be abandoned during its hour of greatest crisis when the Northmen's 'Great Heathen Army' rampaged through its lands.

It was then when King Leopold's ancestor, the founding king Ferdinand I von Drachenlanzen, created the ''Writ of Universal Conscription'', binding nobles and commoners alike in collective defense of the realm.

The victory against the Great Heathen Army at the Battle of Königsfeld did not just create a new kingdom. It created a new ''identity'' for Weichsens. And part of this identity was the pride of independence, along with memories of how the Imperium threw their ancestors aside like sacrificial pawns.

...And as a member of the Drachenlanzen dynasty, it was King Leopold's duty to see that this would never again happen.

"I understand, which is why I did not hesitate before invoking the ''Writ of Universal Conscription'' after hearing of the Caliphate's invasion," the King stated. "If Imperator Skantarios would put forth such effort to rend the Weichsel-Lotharin alliance, then it only goes to show that this is a legitimate threat to his hegemonic dream."

Had the King been convinced of this all along? Or had they indeed persuaded Leopold to reaffirm his dedication to the alliance? Pascal wasn't sure. But he had the feeling that so far, none of their arguments were exactly 'new' to the King.

''His Majesty truly is a King worthy of the Black Dragon's legacy.'' Pascal couldn't help smirk as he felt pride as a Weichsen.

"Nevertheless, the situation with Skagen has changed the overall strategic disposition," King Leopold declared. "Weichsel must deal with the northern threat first before it can look west to the Caliphate's threat." His expression then softened as he smiled towards Sylviane. "Of course, Emperor Geoffroi already understands this, otherwise he would not have sent you."

"Yes, Your Majesty," Sylviane nodded. "Father believes that Nordkreuz will no doubt see a decisive battle in the days to come, and that I should help our allies ensure a crushing victory."

"The Emperor always did have a knack for understanding others' needs," King Leopold grinned. "Pascal, what do you think?"

Pascal's focus had redirected itself to the map table and the displayed troop dispositions before he answered:

"I think the north has presented us with an opportunity, one that Your Majesty was right to seize."

In that moment, as all eyes were drawn to the young landgrave, nobody in the room noticed that General Neithard smiled. It was a slight, upward twitch of his lips that was barely noticeable. But it was nevertheless the first emotion that the general revealed.

"Weichsel began its mobilization a week earlier, and a significant portion of its cavalry had already been assembled at Nordkreuz," Pascal pointed out on the map. "Meanwhile Skagen has not only started late, but only half their forces were situated on the continent. By striking first and striking hard, we could smash many of their units before they could even be marshalled together into a single force. With Västergötland still reeling from a decisive defeat in the fall, Skagen alone will no longer hold the military strength for a successful invasion."

The fact that snow already covered the peninsula was but a minor nuisance to Weichsel's cavalry. Thanks to the ''Writ of Universal Conscription'', one in every four cavalrymen was either a yeomen or a noble. This abundance of spellcasting gave them an overwhelming advantage in arcane support, with utility spells ranging from ''Climatize'' which kept the soldiers warm and prevented armor from locking up, to ''Snowskimmer'' spells that allowed horseshoes to gallop atop snow as though firm ground. Periodic recasting of these effects for hours would prove a constant drain upon their mana supply, but Weichsel's army could afford this cost as long as they limited their combat spells.

"Very good, Pascal," Leopold nodded with an open grin. "Though I cannot take the credit for this one. Neithard was the one who first thought of it, and therefore it is only appropriate that I allowed him to command the campaign."

''No wonder his protégés have been elevated to the best command positions, like the Nordkreuz garrison,'' Pascal realized at once. He glanced at the elderly Manteuffel, but received only an eagle-eyed, stone-faced stare in return.

"Neithard has made effective use of our most mobile elements," the King continued. "With four companies of the Knights Phantom and nine battalions of cavalry, he struck deep into the Skagen Peninsula and inflicted significant casualties on the Northmen's still-mobilizing forces." Leopold then looked to one of the officers. "Hans, would you please repeat the report you gave us this morning?"

"Yes, Your Majesty." The lieutenant-colonel replied before retrieving a parchment scroll from his belt pouch and pulling it open.

Pascal immediately recognized the officer as Hans Ostergalen. He was a middle-aged commoner of moderate stature and, despite his large and balding forehead, had a well-groomed yet unassuming appearance. He was also General Neithard's intelligence officer, though he had clearly been promoted as he was a major during the autumn campaign against the Västergötlanders.

"Over the past week, we have intercepted six columns of Skagen forces above battalion size, thirty-three smaller detachments, and razed nineteen outposts and blockhouses. In addition, we have mounted a successful night raid on Skagen's main army encampment at Kappel. In total, we have inflicted between ten to thirteen thousand losses upon the Grand Jarldom of Skagen, including those who surrendered. This accounts for over half of the enemy's total mobilized forces in the Skagen Peninsula."

Pascal wasn't even surprised that the general managed to achieve such spectacular results with just five thousand men. As much as he might dislike Neithard von Manteuffel due to political differences, there was no doubt that the man was an excellent cavalry commander.

...He also couldn't help but feel a sense of bloody satisfaction, along with a regret that he wasn't able to personally contribute to the inflicted casualties.

The young landgrave's suggestion for the King to strike north was one made based on military opportunity. However there was also another motivation that was far more personal than he'd like to admit. This was a chance to crush the Imperium's machinations in the north. It may not be as gratifying as destroying an Imperial Legion, but it still helped to appease the desire for vengeance that still burned within him.

"Our own casualties thus far amount to roughly twenty percent." Hans continued. "This includes 364 dead and 57 other irrecoverable injuries. The exchange has been overwhelming in our favor. Though it is important to recognize that all of our losses are cavalry, instead of infantry that's easier to replenish."

Pascal frowned. This was the problem with an all-cavalry operation: there was no infantry available to act as the anvil and absorb the bulk of the losses.

After all, a country's resilience in war was one of raw numbers. Infantry were not only cheap and easy to train, but were primarily filled with commoners who often began having offspring in their late teens. Meanwhile, proper cavalrymen took years to master their riding skill, not to mention the higher ratio of mages -- whose long lifespans meant they mostly didn't raise children until their 40s and 50s.

The young landgrave also couldn't help but think of his one-armed mother.

''Irrecoverable injuries... what a euphemism for 'crippled for life'.''

Modern healing magic went a long way to ensure that most casualties were merely temporary injuries. However permanent injuries --usually the loss of extremities to mages-- were still a problem. ''Regeneration'' spells were a godsend for commoners as they could patch up even the worst of injuries. However, their high complexity made it difficult if not impossible to overcome the innate mana resistance of other spellcasters. As a result, any severed appendages for a mage that was not quickly recovered and reconnected by a healer risked permanent maiming.

It was just another reason why every Hyperion army tried to fill the ranks with commoners to serve as fodder for the more valuable yeomen and nobles.

"Unfortunately, we were unable to seize the port of Nordkapp in time, where Skagen forces from the Scania Isles have begun to land," Hans added. "The Eagles estimate that around 20,000 troops will disembark by the end of this week. They will join the 10,000 foes still present on the Peninsula and --assuming they have not changed their plans-- march on Nordkreuz." He finished with a salute towards the King.

"Thank you, Hans." Leopold nodded with a smile.

"Thirty thousand troops will not be enough to take Nordkreuz," Pascal thought aloud. "There will be over fifty thousand Weichsel soldiers here by the time they arrive."

"Yes, which is why I've reached out to Skagen to offer a cession of hostilities," the King replied. "Unfortunately, we have thus far received no response. Clearly the Northmen still believe that they can somehow win this war."

"They likely still hold cards that they have yet to play," General Wiktor cautioned.

"Indeed," General Neithard agreed. "Skagen is no longer merely a peninsular and island nation. Their campaigns in the New World have established colonies that we know far too little about. We do not know what kind of reinforcements they may be able to summon from their newly acquired lands. Thirty years ago, the Skagen navy proved its might by completely destroying the Caliphate's 'New World Expedition' fleet. Worse yet, we still do not exactly know how they did it."

The general's words sent a chill down Pascal's spine. To date, nobody truly knew how one of the largest armadas ever assembled had been destroyed without a trace. Not a single individual from the Caliphate's 'New World Expedition' ever returned to tell the tale. The only reason they knew it was Skagen's doing and not an 'act of god' was due to the frantic ''Farspeak'' messages sent back by the ships' officers -- when the fleet had encountered Skagen drake riders in the midst of a 'magical storm'.

"You're correct. That is a concern," the King nodded apprehensively before he chuckled to himself. "Though we may at least rest easy in the fact that ships cannot grow legs to walk on land, at least not in significant enough numbers to alter the force balance."

...

An hour later, after the meeting finished and everyone was taking a break before dinner, King Leopold called Pascal into a small sitting room for a more private conversation. Two members of the Black Eagles first scanned the room for any scrying devices, then warded it before stepping outside. As they closed the door behind them, the King sat down on a cushioned chair while gesturing for Pascal to do the same.

"Pascal, you know, in some aspects, you really are your father's son, and I'm glad for that." The King spoke with a warm smile almost as soon as he sat down.

"Your Majesty?" The young lord wasn't sure how to interpret that.

"Karl was never good at lying, which was part of why I trusted him," Leopold grinned with a slight smirk. "He rarely had ulterior motives and almost entirely devoted himself to the country. It also helped that his... ''your'' family was small, simple, and without a complex web of relations to tie you down with special interests." The King then sighed. "I wish I could say the same about Neithard, but the Manteuffels' propensity for intrigue and scheming is too deeply bred into him."

''What exactly is the King trying to tell me?'' Pascal thought before he tentatively asked: "Is Your Majesty... having second thoughts about placing him in command?"

"See, that straightforwardness is what I mean." Leopold chuckled before leaning back in his chair. "What is your opinion on Neithard, Pascal?"

"I think he's a brilliant general whom I hope I can surpass one day," Pascal stated without hesitation. "However, I'm also not happy that he put one of his men in charge of the Nordkreuz garrison. It feels like he's taking advantage of his position to reshuffle the army's factional balance."

"That is ''exactly'' what he is doing." Leopold scowled. "Learn from his military acumen, by all means. But do yourself a favor and do ''not'' take after his political ambitions." The King's stern words came with a tone of warning. "The claim that career military officers should remain apolitical is of course, complete bogus. But there is a line to be drawn between being politically astute versus being a nest of intrigue."

"Yes, Your Majesty." Pascal nodded as he committed those words to memory.

The King's clear brown eyes then locked onto the young man's gaze with royal intent.

"Pascal, you and Sylviane were betrothed since childhood, and for much of your life you were expected to become the Crown Prince Consort of Rhin-Lotharingie. So it does not surprise me that the two of you are joined at the hips in many political views."

''Does the King know then?'' Pascal thought about how he had essentially acted as Sylviane's 'vanguard' during the meeting, presenting her assessments and arguments to the King and his generals.

"From the perspective of the Weichsel-Lotharin alliance, there is nothing you said that I would disagree with in the slightest." Leopold then continued, which made Pascal feel a bit more at ease. "However, what I want to know is -- where would you stand if this alliance was no longer useful to Weichsel?"

"Your Majesty--" Pascal's tone was immediately one of retort, which made King Leopold cut him off with a raised hand:

"I'm not saying the alliance isn't beneficial to Weichsel today, or next year, or even a decade from now. But you should know the saying well, Pascal -- that there are no permanent enemies, and there are no permanent allies. There are only ''permanent interests.'' And you, Pascal, have a long life ahead of you."

''This is definitely a test,'' Pascal thought to himself. ''Do I tell the King what he wants to hear? Or...''

Pascal's late father had warned him repeatedly. It was one thing to conceal information, but the family had no talent for lying, certainly not against an experienced statesman as astute as the King.

It was why he was brought up to be a professional soldier, a career battlefield commander, and not a power-mongering schemer in internal politics. Pascal might never meet his father's wishes to remain humble, but he could at least be devoted and truthful.

"Your Majesty, I will not deny that such a situation will be ''extremely'' disappointing to me. And I will certainly do everything within my ability to make sure it never arrives at that point."

"But in the case where we do arrive..." King Leopold insisted.

For a moment, Pascal merely scowled but said nothing. Then, with a long sigh, he admitted to his King:

"It is difficult to foresee my actions in such a conflicted position, especially after I am married. However, even in the case where that becomes reality, I believe I will still strive to change the divergent course of the two nations. I will do my utmost to ensure that ''Weichsel's interests'' can still be found in cooperation with Rhin-Lotharingie, just as I would endeavor to ensure that the Empire will never act against Weichsel's future well-being -- alliance or not."

"And what if all such roads are cut," Leopold pushed. "What if all bridges have been burnt and the two nations are on the brink of war? Which side will you pick?"

Pascal opened his mouth to reply, only to freeze midway.

He had wanted to assure his liege that he was still a Weichsen. Yet part of him knew that there was no way he could guarantee this. To marry into the royal house of another nation meant that his identity would slowly, surely change. He might never be a true Lotharin, but he wouldn't be a Weichsen either in the end.

''And if a war starts between the two countries, then...'' Pascal thought. ''I would be an orphan without a homeland.''

The young lord's lips twisted. His conflicted, frowning gaze made it obvious that he found the question exceptionally difficult to answer, even before he protested:

"That is unfair, Your Majesty, to seek my promise right now."

"I suppose it is." The Monarch replied with a wry smile. "But I had to ask. Because... to be frank, part of me regrets letting Karl make you the pivot of the Weichsel-Lotharin alliance right now, because ''you'' have turned out to be far more valuable than I would have thought."

''I guess I should take that as a compliment.''

The young landgrave then steeled himself once more. He might not have a real answer. But he wanted to at least avow to the King whom he not only owed loyalty to, but respected, admired, even looked up to:

"All I can say is, Your Majesty, that no matter where and when, I will never stop being Weichsen. I will never willingly act to harm Weichsel. And I will never cease to promote the interests of the nation where I was born and grew up in."

If Leopold had been disappointed, he didn't show a hint of it. Instead, the King returned a slow, appreciative nod and a faint smile.

"I'm grateful you were willing to find an earnest answer for me. Had it been your father, I doubt he would have given me such a sincere and personal answer." Leopold replied, which only made Pascal tilt slightly in confusion.

The King then stood up and paced over to the window to look outside.

"You know Pascal, for years, I wanted your father to become a friend. Not just vassal and liege, general and ruler, but someone whom I could trust on a personal basis, and who trusted me..." Leopold then looked upon a portrait of the late Marshal which hung behind Pascal and sighed. "Karl never did open up to me. He was strictly professional to the end."

"My father always believed that some boundaries should not be crossed, Your Majesty." Pascal noted.

"Do you?" The King's eyebrows rose as he turned to face the young lord. "Of course, I know from your record that while you technically respected most authority, you never cared a great deal for the rules. Isn't that right, ''Runelord''?"

For the first time, Pascal felt abashed at his own nickname from his academy days. Sure, it was often used --perhaps even mostly used-- by his enemies to deride him. But he had simply never cared about what they thought of him.

"I believe in ''duty''," he declared. "But I also believe how we meet our duty is our own choice as individuals."

His monarch almost snorted.

"Kids..."

For a second Pascal found himself too taken aback to consider a retort. By the time he recovered the King had already moved on:

"But then, perhaps it's good that you see it that way. I do certainly hope that I can succeed with you where I failed with your father, Pascal. If nothing else, such bonds of trust last far longer than duty or loyalty."

It took only a second before Pascal's eyes grew wide.

"I would be honored, Your Majesty." The young lord stood and bowed deeply with all the courtesy he could muster. "And thank you."

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| Back to [[Daybreak:Volume_2_Chapter_10|Chapter 10]]
| Return to [[Daybreak_on_Hyperion|Main Page]]
| Forward to [[Daybreak:Volume_2_Chapter_11_Interlude|Interlude Chapter 11.5]]
|-
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</noinclude>

Daybreak:Volume 2 Chapter 10

2021-07-04T17:12:32Z

Aorii:

===Chapter 10 - Homecoming in Nordkreuz===

Kaede stared in awe at the dense patch of fog that engulfed the center of the stone circle. One armiger after another emerged from its shimmering, otherworldly haze, which concealed the distortions in space that bent the very fabric of reality itself.

Her own journey through had been surreal, to say the least. It was as though gravity had turned horizontal the moment she had stepped into the fog, forcing her to 'fall' through a twilight forest at breakneck speeds. There she had flown, her twists and turns guided by powers beyond her control as countless ethereal trees rushed past in blurs.

Then, before her queasy stomach could expel its contents, she had soared into another fog and decelerated into reality. In the span of less than a minute, her physical existence had leaped across the country, emerging just outside the gates of a small, fortified town.

Had it not been for Pascal pulling her aside, the dazed Samaran who had materialized from the haze would have stood there, dumbfounded, until the next person collided with her.

It was only after all twelve of Sylviane's armigers came through that the Princess followed. Then, moments after Sylviane strode out from the haze, the shimmering fog lost its otherworldly sparkle and began to fade. The light mist that had engulfed their surroundings also dispersed. It revealed their position on top of a small mound just outside a town's open gates.

Kaede felt a sense of validation as she saw two guards clad in mail armor and tabards with Lotharin livery. They gazed upon the new arrivals with dumbfounded faces as though they had trouble picking up their jaws off the ground.

''Clearly I'm not the only one who finds this totally abnormal,'' the familiar thought.

It was a reminder that even though the nobility of Hyperion used magic in their daily lives, the more esoteric sorceries continued to seem like 'miracles' in the eyes of common peasants.

However this also left Kaede with a worrying thought: ''did this mean that Hyperion was unlikely to ever shed its Medieval social hierarchy?''

After all, it was impossible to establish even the illusion of equality when the gap between those who have magic and those who didn't was impossible to cross.

"Sir Robert," Sylviane called out which snapped Kaede out of her thoughts. "Take us the remainder of the way please."

"Yes, Your Highness," the young armiger who stood next to Kaede replied. At the same time, the phoenix Hauteclaire left his perch on the Princess' shoulder and flew over to land on Sir Robert's.

"Everyone, link hands and form a circle." The wayfarer armiger then beckoned before reaching out to Kaede with an open hand. His expression beamed as befitting of a chivalric knight.

Sir Robert was a handsome young man with a boyishly cute face and a brilliant, infectious smile. He was a bit short for a Lotharin male. However his figure was lean and athletic. His eyes were a vivid green. And the chocolate-brown hair framing his smooth cheeks was just long enough to look elegant without being too feminine.

Kaede couldn't help but smile back as she took his white-gloved hand. His grasp of her fingers was both gentle and firm in equal measure. It was as though the young man ''practiced'' being a gentleman.

''The Princess sure chose a pretty boy for her retinue,'' the white-haired girl amused herself.

Looking around, Kaede realized that all of Sylviane armigers were young, fit, and at least a quartile above average in looks. It certainly felt like the Princess took advantage of her position to make sure she was surrounded by treats for her eyes.

The Samaran girl then winced as she felt Pascal roughly clutch her other hand. His expression was scowling but not at her. It quickly dawned upon Kaede that Pascal's absentminded gaze was in deep thought, likely over his impending meeting with Weichsel's King. He remained worried even as Sylviane moved to his other side and took his hand.

"Don't fret. You'll grow wrinkles," the Princess smiled as their eyes met. "Diplomacy is my arena, remember?"

"Never thought there would be a day when you would be reassuring me." Pascal replied before a smirk came to his lips. "Still, I am happy for your concern."

For a moment Sylviane looked taken aback as a furious blush spread across her cheeks.

"Why would I be concerned?" She turned away. "Worrying just doesn't suit you, that's all."

Pascal chuckled to himself before his expression turned serious once more.

"Father always told me that despite King Leopold's attitude, his political acumen should never be underestimated. No offense to your charms or powers of persuasion, Sylv, but I anticipate this trip will require a concerted effort from the both of us. And I intend to play my part to its full extent."

"I'm sure we'll persuade King Leopold to send reinforcements as early as possible." Sylviane nodded back.

Yet even as she did so, Kaede could see the shadow of doubt creeping in her wisteria gaze. The Princess was nowhere as confident as she wanted to appear, which was made more obvious as Sylviane silently mouthed three words as she turned away:

'We have to.'

In the meantime, Sylviane's armigers had finished forming the circle. Fifteen individuals had their hands linked in a tight ring as Sir Robert began to channel his magic with Hauteclaire's aid. Ebbs of blue and green mana poured out of them and formed a tree-like magical array beneath his feet. A thick 'trunk' spouted out to the middle of their circle between reaching out with tendril-like mana strands that wrapped around each and every individual forming the ring.

"<nowiki><I</nowiki> thought mages couldn't share mana since different sources repel each other,>" Kaede puzzled over telepathy as she saw the two different mana colors interweave. "<Are phoenixes special in this regard?>"

"<Phoenixes are natural metamages -- rare spellcasters whose mana have limited transfusive properties.>" Pascal stated.

Kaede refrained from more questions as she watched the air between them distort. Her body stiffened as it felt like ice was growing across her tingling skin. The space within the circle twisted as though it was being drawn into a whirlpool. The initial manifestations of a teleport spell were taking shape, and Kaede shut her eyes tight as she did not want to see its disorienting visual effects.

''Here we go again,'' she thought with distaste just before her body felt like it spontaneously evaporated.

<nowiki>------ * * * ------</nowiki>

"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Nordkreuz."

Kaede heard Pascal's ringing voice before she slowly opened her eyes. It had taken them five jumps before arriving at last. Over two-hundred kilopaces of travel by teleportation had left Kaede feeling as though her entire body was now a foreign entity. She felt like a literal airhead with her head floating like a balloon above the rest of a detached body.

These alien sensations were exactly why she hated teleportation as a medium of travel, even with all of its efficiency.

Meanwhile, Kaede felt a sweaty palm part from her right hand. Sir Robert was breathing hard as he staggered over to a short stone wall and almost collapsed against it.

"Sir Robert?" Sylviane strode over to him with concern.

The young armiger tried to stand back up, but the Princess placed a hand on his narrow shoulder and pressed him to sit back down.

"Take a few minutes to rest." She insisted. "You must be exhausted after making five consecutive teleportation jumps for such a large group."

The phoenix Hauteclair, who flew back to Sylviane's shoulder but stayed close enough to engulf Sir Robert in his soothing heat aura, chirped as though in agreement.

"Thank you, Your Highness," the wayfarer armiger nodded with an appreciative smile.

''It's no wonder the people close to the Princess are so fiercely loyal to her,'' Kaede reflected as her lips formed a smile. She couldn't help hope that, perhaps in time, Sylviane would also treat her that way, and not simply as a nuisance who latched onto her fiancé.

In the meantime, the familiar looked around as she took in the scenery. The hewn-stone, circular platform they arrived at had an inscribed-stone in the center, which was likely the city's main teleportation beacon. The platform was built on a small island just off the shores of a huge lake. The island was in turn connected to a small gatehouse in the city's walls by a short, wooden bridge.

''So this is Cross Lake, the most strategic location in the north,'' Kaede thought.

She had forgotten how many times she stared at a map, marvelling over just how important Pascal's home and fiefdom was in the geopolitics of the continent. The lake was only mildly shaped like a bent cross, but it was the junction point between three important rivers: North Lotharingie, South Lotharingie, and Albis. Because of this, whomever controlled Cross Lake could dominate transportation and trade across the continent's north. It was why the city of Nordkreuz had been built here, upon a peninsula that jutted out into the center of the lake.

It also helped that Nordkreuz was built upon a convergence point in the ley lines -- a geographical magical phenomenon that Kaede didn't understand but was critical to the siting of cities and fortifications in this world. They were the only replenishable source of magical power apart from living mages. As such, defensive wards and industrial equipment like arcane forges were often attuned to draw energy directly from the ley lines. This in turn made Nordkreuz not only important in trade and military strategy, but also in the development of industry.

''It's no wonder why Pascal's father wanted to use Nordkreuz to tie Weichsel and Rhin-Lotharingie together in an alliance,'' Kaede thought back to her prior conclusion. Without a peaceful settlement, Nordkreuz would become a thorn in the relationship between Weichsel and Rhin-Lotharingie that the Holy Imperium could exploit, just like how the United States took advantage of the Sino-Soviet Split to win the Cold War.

As Kaede turned away from the lake and looked upon the city's imposing stone walls, she noticed that Pascal was talking to a young Weichsen lieutenant who had crossed the bridge.

"He has been reassigned? Who is in command of this city's garrison now then?" Pascal asked.

"Brigadier-General Bernard von Konopacki, Your Grace," the redheaded junior officer replied, which instantly brought a scowl to Pascal's countenance. "Though with His Majesty and the other generals in the city, the Brigadier doesn't have much room to exercise leadership."

"Which other high-ranking commanders are in the city right now?" The landgrave inquired next.

"Chief-of-Staff General Wiktor von Falkenhausen and General of Cavalry Sir Neithard von Manteuffel are both here with the King. Three other brigadiers of the army are also encamped outside the city. In addition, four Knight Phantom commanders are cycling in and out of the city in their raids against the Skagen Peninsula. Lastly, Colonel Sir Erwin von Hammerstein is here to train the new Phantom Grenadiers."

"Phantom Grenadiers?" Pascal raised an eyebrow.

"They're a new formation that the King established with the late Marshal," the officer explained. "Air cavalry, organized in the same manner as the Knights Phantom, except most of them are yeomen who have yet to receive the Knight's Cross."

"Then the bulk of Weichsel's elite forces have already been gathered here?"

"Yes, Your Grace," the officer answered. "Colonel Albrecht von Bittenfeld of the ''Black Lancers'' is expected to arrive tonight."

''That's all five of the Weichsel's elite Knight Phantom units.'' Kaede realized. No country would ever divest itself of ''all'' its best troops just to aid an ally. The fact King Leopold concentrated his elite forces here meant he had military operations of his own planned.

"Thank you. Please inform the King of our arrival and arrange an escort to my residence. That is all." Pascal concluded before exchanging a military salute with the young officer, who strode back across the wooden bridge and returned to his post.

"<What's wrong?>" Kaede asked as her master's scowl persisted while he remained in deep thought.

For a second Pascal didn't answer. He took a runestone out of his pockets and activated it. Then:

"<Brigadier Bernard, one of General Manteuffel's protégés, was given command of the city's garrison.>" Pascal explained with a worried frown. "<Nordkreuz has always been in the control of my father's faction. It makes sense for the local lord to have a garrison commander whom he could work with. I do not understand why the King would pass this position to someone from the conservatives, unless General Manteuffel has already won the contest and is slated to become the next Marshal.>"

Kaede knew that this was one of the key differences between the two countries. Weichsel's feudal divisions were administrative only, with each lord serving effectively as a governor who carried out the King's will. Crown laws dictated everything from the range of acceptable tax percentiles to how many soldiers each lord must raise. Traders and artisans received royal seals to operate through the national guilds, while officers fell under the command of the General Staff and swore allegiance to the King.

Nobles didn't even have any right to command the soldiers they raised unless they also served as army officers. All of this solidified Weichsel as a unitary state with an absolute monarch.

However, before the Samaran girl could respond, it was Sylviane's voice that rang across her mind:

"<nowiki><</nowiki>Isn't Manteuffel against the Weichsel-Lotharin Alliance?>"

Kaede almost jumped. Hearing a voice she didn't expect ''inside'' her head was definitely not pleasant.

''Who else is in my head now...?''

"<That is correct.>" Pascal answered.

"<Then I hope we haven't arrived too late,>" the Princess added with concern. "<nowiki><</nowiki>If King Leopold had indeed chosen him as the next Marshal, then it means the King is also shifting his stance on foreign policy.>"

"<How can you be sure of that?>" Pascal raised an eyebrow.

"<Because...>"

For a moment Sylviane struggled to come up with a simple explanation. It was then when Kaede had a moment of inspiration and jumped in:

"<Because war is the continuation of politics by other means,>" she quoted Clausewitz, the famous Prussian military theorist back on Earth.

"<Exactly,>" the Princess gave her a surprised, but appreciative nod. "<A wise king will not chose a man who disagree with his foreign policy to lead his armies.>"

It was a reminder that the boundaries between political and military affairs were inseparable, at least for those who rose to a certain ranking.

"<Kaede have you dealt with the nobility back in your world?>" Sylviane asked next as her eyes were full of curiosity.

"<There aren't really any 'nobles' in my world, Your Highness, just plenty of politicians,>" the Samaran girl replied. "<But I am fairly well learned on geopolitics and international relations.>"

"<Though she mostly talks to books and prays to flying pasta,>" Pascal lightened the mood slightly with a casual joke. "<There are only the three of us in this, Kaede,>" he noted after her formal address.

"<nowiki><</nowiki>I didn't even notice you set this network up,>" Kaede remarked, unhappily. "<Aren't ''Telepathy'' spells suppose to give a 'ring' inside the head?>"

"<That is because I tied our familiar bond to the ''Telepathy'' connection I made with Sylv,>" Pascal explained. "<Joining individual links is the basis to forming telepathic networks. Sylviane also tends to run one with her armigers. You can tell when they exchange silent glances at times.>"

''No wonder why they rarely talk,'' Kaede thought. ''They're all chatting away on smartphones inside their heads.''

"<Still, the lieutenant called Manteuffel 'General of Cavalry', so it does not appear he has secured the Marshal's position yet.>" Pascal took the conversation back on topic. "<With father's chief-of-staff General Wiktor here to back us up, we may still have an opportunity.>"

"<nowiki><</nowiki>I sincerely hope so,>" Sylviane replied as she exchanged a nod with Sir Robert. The wayfarer armiger had stood back up as a sign that he was ready to walk again.

"''Blaze Ignition,''" the Princess whispered in a quiet yet commanding tone. Her phoenix Hauteclaire expanded his wings with a cry before transforming into a halo of blue-white flames, which then merged into Sylviane's body.

Flame-feathered wings sprouted from slits on her back armor while white-blue embers cored by traces of gold began to drift from her body. Sylviane's usual wisteria eyes grew alight in bright cerulean, meanwhile her dark-purple hair began to burn with an electric blue hue. Even the waist-hugging steel cuirass, skirting, and lightweight spaulders that covered her battledress emanated blue flames across their surface, as though they were freshly hammered by a sacred blacksmith.

The entire ensemble reminded Kaede of a fire burning on pure oxygen. It formed a stark contrast between radiating presence --which the normal Sylviane rather lacked-- and the cool gentleness of her composed countenance.

"The Black Dragon awaits us." The Princess declared to her armigers. "Form up and show them the pride of Rhin-Lotharingie!"

"Yes, Your Highness!"

As Sylviane strode ahead to lead, her twelve Oriflamme Armigers fanned out behind her to form the wings of a chevron. They all wore uniforms of white and aqua on bright-cerulean, which included an enchanted cape that now billowed flames of golden-white to match her burning embers.

It was clear that Sylviane intended to awe the residents of Nordkreuz. She would ensure that every citizen who saw her would spread the news that the ''Cerulean Princess'' had arrived to aid their Kingdom against the coming Northmen.

<nowiki>------ * * * ------</nowiki>

"Atten-tion!"

Ariadne Charlotte von Zimmer-Manteuffel snapped her heels together. She stood alongside six other junior officers in black-on-burning-red uniforms in the front row. They led a loose square of uniformed men and women totaling over fifty. This included an entire class of fresh graduating cadets from the Königsfeld Academy, as well as other young, newly promoted officers who had earned battle honors from the recent autumn campaign against Västergötlander raiders -- the same battles during which Ariadne earned her Knight's Cross.

The bulk of those assembled didn't know what to expect. All they knew was that this was some recruitment event for a new, experimental unit. Ariadne however was one of the few who knew exactly why she was here. She had already heard the details through her Manteuffel family connections, and there was no way she would miss this chance.

The old man --well, not actually as old as he looked-- who stepped up onto the podium was Colonel Sir Erwin von Hammerstein. Even with his wrinkled cheeks neatly shaved and wearing a spiffy uniform, the Colonel still looked like a bandit plucked out of the mountains. He had ferocious, bulging eyes that could scare a recruit by mere glance, a big mouth whose toothy grin wavered between contagious and frightening, and coarse, darkly tanned skin that belonged on a farmhand more than any aristocrat. The man was neither tall nor strongly built, but his homely face alone was more than enough to leave an impression.

He was also a legend in the Weichsel military, especially among the lower ranks. Had anyone asked for the bravest and most daring commander, every soldier would point their fingers at him.

But his reputation wasn't all compliments.

Erwin von Hammerstein was known for his fearlessness, not only towards the enemy, but also to his own superiors. It was why despite his thoroughly impressive battle record over a century of service, the man was still a mere Colonel. To him, leading a charge came as easy as disobeying an order. If it weren't for the chestful of medals he had collected, his equivalent number of demerits would have sent him to a court martial long ago.

"Talk about a bunch of scrawny-ass dew-dripping sprouts..."

The lines across his brow easily tripled while his big mouth turned into a deep, downward curve.

"I'm sure you all know me. I am Colonel Erwin von Hammerstein, Hammerstein for short. People call me anything from the 'daredevil' to the 'pillory celebrity'. And chances are everything you've heard about me is true, except I don't have any extra heads or digits..."

A few cadets loosened up from his joke and chuckled. Two of them even snorted, one of them was a young man whom Ariadne had shared classes with back at Königsfeld Academy.

Ariadne could almost see little glittering stars in the young man's eyes. The intensity of his hero worship reminded her of Reynaud, whom she hadn't seen ever since she left Rhin-Lotharingie on the same day Pascal departed for the Oriflamme Palace.

"I'm here today on a simple matter," Colonel Hammerstein continued in his gruff voice. "The late Marshal, Father bless his soul, had assembled two new units of Phantoms earlier this year. Problem is, they're no knights, not even cadets... Yes son?"

A fresh graduate that Ariadne only knew by name lowered his upright hand and spoke out:

"By the laws of Weichsel, only the King may create a formation of Knights Phantom."

"Yes I've got your permission and paperwork right here, ye damn lawyer," the Colonel waved the stack in his hand before putting them back down. "And Holy Father forbid that you should listen. I said they ain't no knights. They're trained in the Phantom's ways, but not to your standards. Reason is a simple one: the last war showed that we could always use more Phantoms, yet we don't have enough nobles to go around. So these fresh greens are all yeoman instead..."

Some of the cadets started murmuring in discontent, and Ariadne scowled faintly as she recognized the signs. Like any other branch of the Weichsel military, there were officers of yeoman origin --commoners blessed by magic-- in the Knights Phantom. However they had to earn the lowest rank of nobility, a Knight's Cross at least, to be accepted for training in these elite units. As a result, many nobles claimed that the Knights Phantom was the 'last true bastion of noble blood' in Weichsel's military. It was therefore unsurprising that many resisted expansion to the lower classes.

"But our shortage in officers is even worse, hence why I'm here to ask for your support. We need platoon leaders, company commanders! And I need a sidekick! Any who accept will be given a full rank of promotion, to at least a Junior Lieutenant!"

"Sir!" Another fresh graduate spoke up, rather smugly too: "everyone here is at least an officer cadet. We're guaranteed Junior Lieutenants or higher upon the campaign's completion, which is also the lowest ranking for any ''proper'' Knight Phantom. Why should we devalue ourselves to a lesser unit?"

"...Especially one that probably won't see any action," a young lady chipped in. "Why would a unit in training be dispatched to the front?"

"All you vainglorious, ladder-climbing bastards can get out of my face," Colonel Hammerstein growled. "I want you worthless punks no more than cowards and deserters."

''Who are you calling 'worthless'?'' Ariadne fumed with a scowl.

She cannot deny that her intentions were all about 'ladder-climbing'.

Many of the noble cadets paid just enough respect towards the authority of his rank of Colonel to wait out his last syllable before strutting away, insulted and angry. Knowing about the man's foul mouth was one thing; experiencing it was something else entirely. Only a handful of them stayed behind, alongside a number of yeomen who had been promoted from the ranks.

"And this is the so-called elitest of the elite, all fucking twelve of you," the Colonel scanned over them like a lion observing gazelles, then snorted as he came across Ariadne. "A blood-be-damned Manteuffel too. I'd thought you'd be first to clear out."

"My pride isn't so cheap to be insulted by meager and ungrounded provocation, Sir!"

Yet even Ariadne couldn't keep the anger out of her voice. The young lady took pride in her own steadfast persistence, but she did not possess the rhinoceros skin needed to deal with men like Hammerstein.

''I came here for a purpose, and I am not leaving here without it!''

Only a stubborn refusal to yield kept her from lashing back against the infamous Colonel.

"So why'd you stay? Why join up?"

"Any soldier could join a famous unit, Sir!" Ariadne stared back with unerring challenge. "It takes a true knight to ''forge'' one themselves. As green as these troopers may be, I highly doubt any unit assembled by the Marshal and drilled by yourself lacks potential!"

And then, it happened. The famous one-eighty, as Colonel Hammerstein's mouth went from downward half-circle frown to upward half-moon grin in an instant.

"Spoken like a true man!" He lauded, despite facing someone who was anything but male.

For a brief moment, Ariadne felt as though her facial muscles had been petrified. By the time her lips finally twitched in annoyance, the Colonel had already gone onto his next target:

"What about you, Hans Herbert? Think you're good 'nuff just because you earned the Knight's Cross in autumn for saving your commander from three berserkers? You were also knocked unconscious in the fight and survived by ''sheer luck!'' You should know that I demand better than that!"

The young man whom Ariadne recognized as they had been knighted at the same time looked taken aback. Hans was clearly surprised that the Colonel knew his name and background despite his humble, yeomen roots. It was apparent that whatever roughneck image Colonel Hammerstein might like to cultivate, the man also did his homework.

Nevertheless the lean and freckle-faced young man returned an eager salute: "Yes Sir! I know I still have a long road ahead of me, but I have the guts it takes to learn what I need! I look forward to your training so that I may perform better next time!"

Colonel Hammerstein settled for a toothy nod this time before moving on. He sneered and walked past three young men, before stabbing his finger into the chest of a female cadet after them:

"What about you, Elise? Think your scrawny little ass is enough to command air cavalry?"

Ariadne had never actually spoken to the petite girl back at the academy. The latter was a year her junior and easily the smallest of the Knight Phantom cadets. Short and fragile in appearance, Elise held a demure and thoughtful look that seemed the antithesis of a cavalry officer.

Yet despite the man's casual harassment, Elise's countenance never wavered as she saluted back. It was precisely the kind of attitude required for any woman --even one of noble birth-- who sought a career in the military.

"My butt is not required to command, Sir! I rank among the best riders in the academy! And my wish is to join and learn from one of the best unit commanders in Weichsel's history!"

"Flattery will get you nowhere. But accepted!"

Even though Colonel Hammerstein said that, his grin still stretched from ear to ear when Elise had offered her response.

"And you, Kayeten? Didn't you claim that you will become a Knight Phantom commander one day? You sure it's acceptable to settle for such an unprestigious unit?"

Kayeten was another cadet whom Ariadne knew: a braggart by nature whose defining features were his messy black hair and a prankster's gaze. He was the same boy who looked upon the Colonel with hero worship from earlier.

"Prestige be damned, Sir! There is no value to glory unless it is won by our own deeds!"

"Well said!" The Colonel boomed. "But remember that efficacy always comes before glory! Fail to achieve victory and all you have is foolhardiness!"

"Yes Sir!" Kayeten saluted in response.

Meanwhile, Colonel Hammerstein seemed satisfied for the moment and returned to the podium:

"I will speak to each and every one of you in due time. But for the moment, I want you to seek out your new commands and assess the men's character and readiness. Ariadne, you're promoted to Captain of the 1st Company and will act as my second. Elise, you will serve as Ariadne's lance lieutenant."

"Yes Sir!" Ariadne acknowledged along with Elise before her lips formed a faint smirk.

This was what she had come here for. Colonel Hammerstein might be an insolent man to serve under, but he was also a fair leader who valued competence above all. Ariadne was sure that between her top grades at the academy and the Knight's Cross she earned since, she would compare favorably against the others and receive her own command.

Her expectations were not disappointed.

"Hans, you will command the 2nd Company, with Kayeten as your lance lieutenant," the Colonel announced next. "Yes Lieutenant?"

"Why am I under him?" Kayeten said, clearly disgruntled at having to serve below a yeomen, who had risen from town militia instead of graduating from the academy. "He never even had formal officers' training."

"You will find that I value practical experience more than schooling. Hans has fought in over a dozen battles and has worked his way up from squad and platoon command. How much combat have you seen, sproutling?" Hammerstein challenged.

Those words shut Kayeten up at once, though not without much disgruntled fuming and stares shot at his new captain.

''Aren't we just off to a peachy start?'' Ariadne thought before she met Elise's gaze and the two nodded. ''At least I can agree with my second.''

"Hey look at that," the new Captain Hans spoke with an incredulous voice.

Tracing his gaze east, Ariadne quickly discovered what he had been staring at. It was impossible to miss the blue-white glow that enveloped the armored knights that marched up the bustling main street, especially as throngs of residents gathered along the road to watch. The perfect chevron formation was led by an armored princess whose bright-blue hair was billowing with lit embers. She was flanked on each side by six armigers who followed in her wake, while a young man and his white-haired familiar walked behind them.

Needless to say, everyone within sight soon had their gazes fixed on the newcomers. Even the seasoned Colonel Hammerstein couldn't take his eyes off the Lotharin visitors:

"Is that... Crown Princess of the Empire?"

He had stepped close to his new second-in-command, clearly in recognition of her previous role as a post-grad 'exchange student' in Alisia Academy.

"The one and only ''Cerulean Princess''," Ariadne answered.

''Uncle Neithardt, King Leopold, General Wiktor, Princess Sylviane, and even Pascal... why would all these key figures congregate here?'' The young lady thought. ''Unless...''

Ariadne smiled to herself as she realized what it meant. The spotlight of history had clearly lit its focus upon Nordkreuz. Something was coming, something important enough to leave its mark in the history books as a turning-point in the fate of nation-states.

And Ariadne knew she must prepare herself for the opportunities that lay waiting ahead.

<nowiki>------ * * * ------</nowiki>

Kaede stared in amazement at the cylindrical keep which served as the Moltewitz family residence. It made for a nice distraction after what she had just gone through.

The guards from the city's gates had escorted Sylviane's group all the way here before departing. They had to walk across the whole city, from the southwestern end to the northeast where the lord's residence was located. This proved no easy task as Nordkreuz was a trade city. Its avenues were bustling with merchants peddling their wares, and today the crowds were especially large as many came out to celebrate New Year.

The garrison had to send several squads ahead of Sylviane's armigers just to clear a path for the Princess as she formally made her way to the Landgrave's estate. And despite their best efforts, the city's guards could not stop many bystanders from shooting pyrotechnic spells into the air and turning the Princess' arrival into an impromptu parade.

Needless to say, the trip had not been a calming experience for Kaede. Sure, ''she'' wasn't the one most people stared at, as the presence of both the Princess and the Landgrave were more than enough to seize the bystanders' attention. Nevertheless, walking down the central boulevard of a city with thousands of eyes pointed in her direction was the opposite of comforting for her. By the time she reached the city's northern walls, Kaede desperately needed a quiet break from the stress overload.

''Still, we made it,'' Kaede thought as she breathed out another sigh of relief. She focused her eyes once more on the four-story stone keep and its idyllic surroundings.

The home that Pascal grew up in actually laid outside the city walls. It was built on top of a motte raised from a lakeside island, which could only be reached by bridge. The construction was quite militaristic for a Landgrave's dwelling, as windows were only present on the upper floors while the lower floors had arrow slits instead. However, it did offer peace and quiet from the busy urban quarters, as well as an excellent scenic view of the lake.

It was also Kaede's official place of residence as a member of the Landgrave's household, even if a stone keep felt as displaced from 'home' as it got.

After making it across the bridge, the group arrived in a small courtyard before the keep. There, they found a sizable welcoming party waiting for the Princess. It included one king, two generals, at least ten servants including six maids and a majordomo, and more than two dozen guards and officers of various affiliations.

Most of the lower ranking soldiers wore Weichsel's crimson-on-black officer uniforms or its black half-plate armor. However, six of them wore pitch-black uniforms with thin, midnight-blue markings, which identified them as members of the King's Black Eagles.

"Welcome to Nordkreuz, Your Highness, Your Grace."

The man who approached Pascal first was in the prime of his adult life. He had a figure of modest build and mediocre height, but his facial features were handsomely proportioned with a sense of lingering boyishness. His lightly-curled hair was coffee-black, trimmed in a long men's cut that just obscured the ears. Meanwhile his clear brown eyes and clean-shaven cheeks offered a natural, approachable smile.

What surprised Kaede the most was that he wore an exact copy of the regular crimson-on-black officer uniform of Weichsel, including the two-starred insignias of a lieutenant general. Apart from the midnight-blue cross that hung from his collar instead of the usual black Knight's Cross, there wasn't a single extra decoration to hint at his social standing.

Nevertheless, the man's status was made abundantly clear when Pascal approached him and bowed deeply with a knightly salute.

"Your Majesty."

The King however made no attempt to maintain proper protocols of rank. He walked straight up to Pascal and clapped the young man's shoulders as though consoling a relative.

"Pascal. I'm sorry about the loss of your father. He was a dear friend and shall be missed."

They were sincere condolences given with sorrowful eyes, and Pascal nodded back with genuine appreciation in his melancholic voice:

"Thank you, Your Majesty."

"Your Majesty," Sylviane spoke next. The Princess had cancelled her Oriflamme transformation and was back to her usual self. She gave a slight bow with her head which was accompanied by a light curtsy.

It was just enough to show respect and courtesy without seeming deferential. After all, she was not merely an ambassador but also the crown heir of her country.

"Your Highness," King Leopold beamed a charming smile as he took the Princess' gloved hand before bowing to kiss it softly. "It has been almost a decade since I've last seen you. Your father must be proud as you have grown into a remarkable young lady."

"It is good to see you in excellent health as well, Your Majesty," Sylviane smiled back. "My father the Emperor sends his warmest regards. He understands that Weichsel's expedition to aid our struggle against the Caliphate has been delayed. Nevertheless, he thought it would be best to send me to assist in your conflict against the Northmen, to clear the threat to our alliance's rear so that Weichsel's forces may march south as early as possible."

A knowing smile spread across King Leopold's lips as though he had already expected this.

"Your help is most appreciated, Your Highness." The King paid his gratitude first before asking: "But does the Empire not have a non-aggression pact with the Grand Jarldom of Skagen, brokered by King Alistair between his former employers and Emperor Geoffroi?"

"Yes." Sylviane replied firmly. "Our treaty dictates that we shall not violate each others' borders. However, it does not forfeit the Empire's right to come to the ''defense'' of our allies within their own realm. If the Jarls of Skagen invades Weichsel in cold aggression, then I am obligated by the honor of Rhin-Lotharingie to help."

''That may be the legal interpretation,'' Kaede thought. ''But in spirit, Rhin-Lotharingie would be tearing up a treaty that would leave their northern flank exposed while their south is embroiled in war.''

It was a bold gamble made to secure an ally, one which hinted at both the Emperor's desperation and his respect for Weichsel's military prowess.

Even King Leopold looked a bit surprised as his eyebrows slightly rose.

"I am truly, ''deeply grateful'' for the integrity of our allies." Leopold nodded sincerely as he spoke. "The Northmen are already assembling their forces for a winter invasion -- the snows began early this year which gives their forces the greatest advantage. I doubt it will be long now before we see a decisive battle. My armies could certainly use the strength and inspiration of an Oriflamme in the lead."

"That is what we are here for," the Princess exchanged smirks with the King, as both of them recognized each other's game.

...Which didn't mean they couldn't both benefit from it.

In many ways, this was the truest form of alliance-building. There was no altruism, no charity. Both sides joined because they wanted to make use of the other, and this created a shared, common interest where they could both benefit.

"Let's discuss this in more detail inside," the King added. "In the meantime, may I introduce Your Highness to my top commanders -- General of Cavalry Neithard von Manteuffel and Chief-of-Staff General Wiktor von Falkenhausen."

"Your Grace," Sylviane's expression was a careful smile as she stepped up with an outstretched hand.

"Your Highness."

The first to shake hands was General Manteuffel. He offered a brief nod of courtesy but his expression was otherwise emotionless. Even his words came in an almost monotone. It was as though meeting royalty had already become boring for him.

''Talk about the expressiveness of a rock,'' Kaede couldn't help think.

Neithard Mittermeyer von Manteuffel was the Duke of Polarstern, commander of Weichsel's cavalry, and leader of both the conservative faction and the powerful Manteuffel clan. At one-hundred-twenty-nine years old, he was a moderately-built senior who appeared to be in his fifties. His graying hair was thin and flat. His mustache lay neatly trimmed from the nose to lip corners, which combined with aged winkle lines and sharp blue eyes for a tall, elderly gentleman look.

The most surprising aspect however was that he wore the black-on-burning-red uniform of a Knight Phantom. It signified that --despite his age-- he was a man who never gave up his membership in the elite air cavalry and, to this day, still led from the front.

The other general however could not have acted more differently. He took the Princess' hand and, with a flourish of his own, knelt slightly with a deep bow to plant a gentle kiss.

"Your Highness," he spoke with a beaming, infectious smile. "I am charmed to see what a beautiful and intelligent young lady you've grown up to be."

Kaede could at once see the resemblance as the handsome and surprisingly young man stood back up. His glossy black hair and the scarlet crosses in his intense, deep-red eyes were the exact shade as Cecylia's. The dhampir girl certainly hadn’t been kidding when she said her father was a 'stud beefcake'.

Standing tall even among able-bodied military men, Wiktor von Falkenhausen had a broad chest and a firm waist. His musculature shone through the standard black-and-red uniform he wore. His stunning good looks were perfect enough for a modern action movie star, even with the heavy-stubble beard and mustache that covered his jaws. However, the most amazing part was that he appeared not a year older than twenty-five, despite his seniority in the group as he was actually a hundred fifty eight years of age.

It was as though the gods had crafted a specimen of male physical perfection, and he now stood before them just short of posing in a herculean stance.

Even for Kaede, the thought of what laid beneath that tight-chested uniform passed through her mind for a brief second. The attraction seemed undeniable for anyone who had even the slightest sense of aesthetics, let alone female hormones...

''No, just NO.''

Her recognition rebounded in horror at what she had just thought. Even assuming she had sorted out her gender issues, Wiktor was still older enough to be her grandfather, not to mention the parent to one of her friends.

Kaede proceeded to kill her mental imagery with fire.

In the meantime, Sylviane couldn't help but cover her mouth and giggle like a teased schoolgirl.

"General--"

"Uncle," Wiktor corrected her with a playful grin. Even his voice was smooth as velvet.

"Uncle Wiktor," Sylviane giggled again. "You certainly haven't changed one bit. Keep that up and your wife will pull you home by your ear again."

"I am simply welcoming a gorgeous young princess with all due courtesy," Wiktor announced with a completely shameless smile. "Especially after the rather stone-faced gesture by my colleague."

It made Kaede wonder if the general exaggerated on purpose, just to make sure the Princess who obsessed over etiquette didn't feel unwelcome. There was no doubt that he helped Sylviane loosen up from the stiffly professional persona she adopted to meet the King. Meanwhile General Manteuffel was completely unfazed by the rebuff as the latter kept up a perfect poker face.

King Leopold then chuckled:

"As much as I enjoy your antics, Wiktor, we're pushing the line of hospitality with how long we're making guests stand in the courtyard. Pascal? If you would -- it is your home after all."

"Of course," Pascal nodded with an amused smile. His familiarity with General Wiktor showed as he was never bothered in even the slightest by the courtship behavior of his father's chief-of-staff. "Everyone, please follow me to the war room. We will continue our discussion there."

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| Forward to [[Daybreak:Volume_2_Chapter_11|Chapter 11]]
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Daybreak:Volume 2 Chapter 9

2021-07-04T17:12:20Z

Aorii:

===Chapter 9 - Strategic Ambition===

Kaede loosened her fingers and felt the arrow release into flight. It soared across a hundred paces of wintry air and struck the practice dummy. The arrowhead pierced through the straw man's torso just beneath the neck. It landed squarely within the sniper's 'triangle of death', just like all nine previous shots.

Had the targets been made of flesh and blood, every one of those hits would have been fatal.

The Samaran girl closed her eyes and slowly exhaled as her senses returned from her intense focus. The world emerged back into existence around her as she heard Pascal's voice ring out with approval.

"Excellent!"

Archery had always been a meditative exercise for her, when she not only aimed and released the arrow but ''became'' its very essence. The act of 'correct shooting' was almost trance-like for her, during which she zoned out the rest of the world and thought of only the arrow plus its target. It was in those moments when Kaede could feel herself being perfectly at ease, especially once the arrow was released into flight.

It was an almost ''religious'' feeling, as though she could just touch the divine, or enlightenment as Zen Buddhists would call it.

"I daresay you could easily be a finalist in Lotharin archery tournaments with skills like that," Pascal declared from his seat behind Kaede.

It was early morning on the first day of the new year. They had just finished the supply arrangements last night over a hearty dinner. Now, Pascal and Kaede relaxed in the gardens behind Oriflamme Palace, which in typical Lotharin fashion included an archery range. Unfortunately the trees and bushes were all barren, otherwise the place would easily rank one of the most beautiful shooting ranges Kaede had ever been to.

Turning away from the target, the familiar girl faced her master with an amused smile:

"They'd probably disqualify me first for using a weird bow and relying on a spell to pull it."

True to her words, the silvery bow in Kaede's hands was anything but a normal Lotharin longbow. After several days of practice, Kaede had learned to transform the morphic blade Pascal gave her into a ''yumi-daikyu'' -- a greatbow of Japanese design.

Even back on Earth, the ''yumi'' was an unusual bow design in that it was extremely asymmetric, featuring an upper limb that was almost twice as long as its lower limb. However, while a traditional ''yumi'' had a body of laminated bamboo, wood, and leather, the bow in her hands now was made of enchanted 'spring-steel'.

Kaede was no metallurgist and did not grasp the characteristics of this magical metal. However she did realize that her bow's limbs were significantly stronger than anything made from wood, including the Lotharins' yew longbow. The result was a bow so stiff it would take a bodybuilder to pull. Kaede of course sidestepped this by relying on the ''Elemental Body of Earth'' spell Pascal stored in her arm runes, which could multiply her strength more than tenfold for a few short minutes.

"There are no rules for what constitutes an appropriate 'weapon' on the battlefield. The only factor that matters is whether you can achieve results." Pascal answered, revealing yet again his disdain for most 'rules'.

"Are there no 'Laws of War' in Hyperion?" Kaede raised an eyebrow as she thought of the Hague Conventions on Earth.

She then focused on the spring-steel weapon in her hand and envisioned its default, shortsword form. The silvery bow seemed to melt in her fingers as though it was made of mercury. It retracted and reshaped itself into a short blade, before Kaede put it away in her gloves' extra-dimensional storage.

"There are the ''Articles of War'', which were signed between the Holy Imperium and its protectorate states on the treatment of prisoners and civilians in warfare," Pascal admitted. "However it was mostly made to limit the damage in wars between Trinitian states, and even then there are exceptions. For example Weichsel is a signatory, but Rhin-Lotharingie is not. Ask most Lotharins and they will tell you that the Imperium deserves no mercy and no quarter."

Kaede grimaced. ''This is what happens when an entire people becomes scarred by conflict: it escalates into cultural hatred.''

"Regardless, I did not learn archery to kill people," she sent him a warning glance.

However Pascal looked puzzled, almost taken aback by this.

"For what other reason is there to learn a weapon of war? And do not give me that gibberish about protecting oneself," he added bluntly. "We both know that in combat, the only way to protect is to destroy the other side. Those who act solely in defense will eventually forfeit their lives."

Kaede pursed her lips, not because she disagreed with Pascal, but because she found her perspective difficult to explain.

It was a well known rule in martial arts that to subdue an opponent without serious harm was thrice as difficult as disabling an enemy by crippling them. Therefore only those with an absolutely overwhelming advantage could afford to stay solely on the defensive -- a scenario that almost never happens in real combat.

However, 'real combat' was also not why she learned archery. If it had been, she'd have learned something more practical in a civilized, modern society, like throwing knives. Kaede's father also intended to teach ''him'' how to hunt with firearms 'like a proper man' on one of their summer vacations in Russia... though that never did happen as Kaede had yet to reach full adulthood.

''It's ironic, that Papa used to complain that I'm not 'manly enough' by Russian standards,'' Kaede thought.

The Samaran girl then shook aside the feeling of homesickness that threatened to engulf her. She allowed herself only a faint sigh as she walked towards the oaken chair on the other side of the small, circular table beside Pascal.

"For me, archery is a calming, meditative exercise." Kaede elucidated as she retrained her thoughts. "It helps me focus, gives my inner being composure. Someone back in my world once called it maintaining 'mental hygiene', much like how a bath might cleanse your physical being."

For a moment Pascal arced his eyebrow in an incredulous frown. Then, to Kaede's great surprise, he began to nod slowly in contemplation.

"I think I can ''sort of'' understand." Pascal noted as he offered her a cup of water. "I have heard many duelists claim that the very act of practicing their weapon gave them a certain... calmness. Though personally I have never experienced such."

''He's certainly becoming more sensitive to others,'' Kaede smiled inwardly as she took the offered water and gulped it down. Back when they first met, he probably would have responded by giving her a look like she was insane.

"Do you have an activity that brings you inner calm?" She asked with curiosity as she sat down, before reaching up to massage her right shoulder.

Her arm was starting to feel a bit sore now that the spell was wearing off. Clearly, the magic that boosted her strength also strained her muscles to produce its results.

"Analyzing maps, maybe?" Pascal remarked. "It is the closest that I can think of. I used to spend hours losing myself in Father's old campaign maps: all the maneuvers that he had orchestrated, all the battles that he had commanded and fought. He used to tell me his war stories in such detail... it felt like I was actually there..."

His eyes glazed with moisture even as he spoke with a nostalgic smile. It was clear that his father's passing was still too recent and too heartfelt.

"You can talk about it more if it helps," she suggested. "I'm a good listener."

However, Pascal also recovered quickly as he immediately pushed away such saddening thoughts. He shook his head in response. Though a return nod nevertheless showed that her gesture had been appreciated.

"There is no need," he insisted. "Father is gone. I simply need time to accept it. My thoughts are better spent on charting my own future." He then made a wry smile. "Sylv's task for me was a welcoming gesture, but it is hardly what I imagine myself doing for life."

"And here I thought your true calling really was to organize schedules and arrange supply trains," Kaede joked as she tried to lighten the mood.

"Oh certainly not!" He barked back, albeit in good humor. "I do not mind gaining more experience in military logistics. It is an important part of the job. However I am no 'accountant general'. I will gladly command troops on the front lines any day over busying myself in all that paperwork."

"Not exciting enough?" Kaede gave him a knowing smile.

"Yes, I admit," Pascal briefly chuckled to himself. "But it is also more than just that. It is a matter of priority. Logistics is important work, but it is ''supporting'' work -- there to back up someone else's decisions."

''I didn't realize your 'protagonist syndrome' was this severe,'' Kaede thought amusedly.

"And you'd rather be the decision-maker?" She then asked.

"Would you not?" Pascal asked back as though the answer should be obvious.

"Not really," Kaede frowned. "It's one thing to make decisions for myself. It's another thing entirely to plot the course of whole armies, whole countries even. To do so with the awareness that even a single mistake from me could cost thousands of lives," she felt a tremble up her spine, "I don't think I'm up for that level of responsibility."

"Responsibility is what Sylviane and I had been raised for," Pascal replied with a smirk. "For us, it would be a disappointment to ''not'' be able to exercise it. Though I can see how it might be... rather daunting, for most people."

The way he looked at her in response was... more than a bit patronizing. Kaede could almost hear the phrase 'most commoners' being used in his thoughts.

Nevertheless, she suppressed her scowl and challenged him instead:

"Aren't you afraid that you might make an error in judgment that would cost countless others their lives?"

"That is why I take every precaution to ensure that the wrong choice would not be taken in the first place," Pascal declared. "Someone has to make the decision. To 'not choose' is simply not an option. At least when I do it, I could ensure that it will be made with the highest standards and only after thinking through every detail and every option."

He then looked away into the distant sky. "I am far more afraid that someone else might bungle the task, leaving me to watch helplessly at an oncoming disaster, yet be unable to do anything about it."

''It's probably why nothing attracts his disdain more than incompetence,'' Kaede reflected.

"Does that mean that if you recognized another individual as even more skilled and insightful than yourself, you would be fine letting them take charge?"

"Of course!" Pascal replied as though it was obvious. "I would much rather serve directly under them and learn firsthand from their expertise, so that I may refine my own skills and one day become just as good as they are! But to do so would require that I take on responsibilities one level below them. That is why it is important for me to climb the career ladder as soon as possible, so I can bring myself closer to those whom I truly wish to learn from."

''I've never thought about it that way,'' Kaede frowned inwardly.

Even though she had read about mentorship in the workplace, she had never considered 'responsibility' as a prerequisite to 'learning'. Perhaps this was because she had spent her entire life as a student and had yet to accumulate any professional work experience of her own.

''But don't we all take on increasing responsibilities as we grow in life?'' She thought. Whether it was growing up as a child, or being promoted in one's career, or starting a family. The trend was inevitable. The only difference was a matter of scale.

Nevertheless, Kaede had difficulty imagining herself ever taking charge of more than a handful of people at most. It was clear that those like Pascal and Sylviane lived in a whole different world: one where the fate of entire nations rose and fell as a result of their actions.

''How would I feel... to be caught up in such a world, such a life?''

Kaede wasn't sure. There was a part of her that felt excited. After all, was this not every historian's dream come true? She would witness firsthand, from such close proximity, as promising young leaders like Pascal and Sylviane matured into rulers who would change the world.

Yet at the same time, it felt scary to be so close, so involved.

Before Kaede could mull on the topic further, she saw Princess Sylviane approach them from a distance in her sky-blue-to-violet battledress. The familiar girl swallowed as she prepared herself. She was wearing her white pseudo-uniform again, as it was impossible to shoot wearing that dress provided by the Princess. She could only hope that Sylviane 'would understand' as Pascal claimed.

However, as the Princess strode across the gardens' walkway at a brisk and determined pace, it became clear that she was not interested in Kaede's appearance this morning.

"Pascal! Come inside! We have news from the front lines!" She called out as soon as she was close enough to be heard without yelling.

Pascal didn't need any more encouragement. He stood up at once and straightened his uniform as he made his way over to his fiancée.

"Good or bad?" He asked.

Based on Sylviane's concerned frown, Kaede already knew it wasn't good news.

"The report from Garona is not bad," the Princess began. "Marshal Cosette and Duke Gaston fought a major battle near the Ròse estuary. They attacked on land while the Cataliyans were crossing the river, while simultaneously assaulting downstream using fire ships to destroy the bulk of the Cataliyan support fleet. Both armies took crippling losses before Cosette withdrew. However, the Cataliyans were forced to halt their advance, as the loss of their support fleet meant they could not march further inland and still supply their army."

"Tactical draw but strategic victory," Pascal summarized. "Impressive considering how outmatched her army was."

Sylviane nodded as she spun around without stopping. She then marched back towards the palace besides her fiancé. Meanwhile Kaede had to scurry along behind them with her shorter steps to catch up.

Pascal's assessment had been simple to the point that even Kaede could easily understand. The Samaran girl had learned enough military history to grasp that any battlefield encounter must be measured in at least two layers. Those outside the field did not always appreciate the difference. However those within would embrace the topic as one of life and death.

After all, ''strategy'' was the overall plan of any participant, often defined by 'war goals' in military terms. Meanwhile ''tactics'' were the specific and discrete actions taken with these goals in mind. Therefore while the 'tactical' results of any engagement, such as who controlled the battlefield and who withdrew, might be more obvious, it was the 'strategic' results that were far more vital.

In the recent battle described by the Princess, Marshal Cosette might have failed to secure the field and drive the Cataliyans back. However it was important to remember that her objective wasn't to retake the river crossings, but to halt their advance towards the Garona capital of Narbonnaise and buy time for Rhin-Lotharingie to mobilize. In this regard, Cosette had been absolutely successful, and Kaede thought it was wise of the Lotharin Marshal to pull back instead of further risking her inferior army in pitched battle.

Nevertheless, this left the question of why Sylviane looked so troubled.

"It's the news from the western front that's downright disastrous," the Princess scowled as she strode through a door held open by Lady Mari and into the palace keep. "The Army of Avorica has just been crushed in a major battle against the Caliphate's western invasion force."

Pascal instantly grew alarmed. "Was the army destroyed?"

"No," the Princess added. "But half the army was lost. Worse yet, King-Consort Armel was killed in battle."

Kaede's eyes swelled as she realized just how much of a blow this must be to the Kingdom of Avorica. It must be especially devastating to the young and pregnant Queen Katell.

"Worse?" Pascal replied in an incredulous tone. "Armel is a brave and skilled duelist, but I never thought of him as much of a commander. I always believed Katell chose him for his handsome good looks and charming words, over any perceived qualities in leadership. His loss is a blow to morale but that is recoverable."

It seemed downright callous to Kaede that Pascal would speak of a fallen royal in such an unsympathetic tone. However the reason soon became obvious as he then added:

"I would consider the loss of half the army to be a much graver circumstance. That is over fifteen thousand good men! Many of them with irreplaceable experience!"

"Armel might not be the best commander," the Princess admitted, "but he was also Queen Katell's representative on the front lines and those two were always in close contact. Meanwhile Katell might be a schemer, but she has always been careful when it came to preserving her kingdom's resources. Without him to act on the Queen's behalf, command of the Army of Avorica would fall to Edith alone."

Sylviane's disparaging tone at the end made her opinions clear: anything commanded by 'Edith alone' was a disaster waiting to happen.

...

"What was Edith thinking?" Kaede heard Sylviane seethe in cold fury. "She sent the Avorican light cavalry in a head-on clash against the Cataliyan Ghulams! The Avorican light horse may be elite troops, but their speciality is in ''skirmish!'' There is no way they can hold their ground in a close melee against armored heavy cavalry!"

Pascal and Sylviane had joined Emperor Geoffroi in the war room, where a huge, enchanted sand table now showed an illusory projection of the battlefield. Colored figments of trees and grassy knolls had been layered on top of the sculpted sand to imitate the terrain. Rectangular unit blocks and arrows in Lotharin blue and Tauheed green highlighted the rough positions and movements of allied and enemy forces alike. Together, this created an animated display of the battle reconstructed from frontline reports.

Apart from the Emperor, the Princess, and the future Prince Consort, the only people present were Kaede, Sylviane's bodyguard Mari, and six of the Emperor's most trusted guardsmen. The exalted rank of those present made Kaede keep to her spot behind Pascal, as she felt distinctly uncomfortable standing anywhere else despite the abundance of space.

"What do you think, Pascal?" Geoffroi turned to his future son-in-law. It was apparent that he was taking this opportunity to test the young man's military acumen.

"Tactically, I do not believe Edith had any other choice," Pascal frowned as his gaze remained fixated on the animated map. "Edith had no heavy cavalry of her own, while she faced off against an enemy that not only outnumbered her, but was also predominantly mounted."

Pascal then pointed to the map table, centered upon a patch of forest where the Lotharin infantry had been deployed. Just like most Lotharin forces, the Army of Avorica included large contingents of longbow archers and rangers, which were identified by the bow-and-arrow symbols on the rectangular unit blocks. The rest was a mix of light and heavy infantry, identified by the thin and thick 'X' lines inside their unit blocks.

''Even the military symbols are so similar to that of Earth,'' Kaede thought of the modern military symbology that dated back to the Napoleonic Wars.

However, what astonished her even more were the names of the Lotharin commanders: a dot on the right wing was labelled 'Edith', while the light cavalry stationed on the left wing was marked 'Armel'. In the center lay the name 'Vivienne', the full given name of Vivi whom Kaede had thought about so many times over the past week.

''She really is a Paladin,'' Kaede thought as she imagined a small girl like herself, whom the Princess treated like a live dress-up doll, fighting among the soldiers on the front lines.

"Dame Edith-Estellise stationed the core of her army in the woods, which would undoubtedly help her fend off any Cataliyan cavalry charges against her center. Her left flank was on open terrain, but that's where she positioned herself and her armiger squad. The Caliphate's first charge in that direction broke upon her like water on rock."

Kaede could hardly believe her eyes as she watched the single blue dot marked 'Edith' shatter several blocks of heavy cavalry that represented the first charge. It seemed as though the Dame and her twelve armigers destroyed an assault by hundreds of heavily-armored horsemen by themselves.

''Just what kind of monster is this Edith?'' The familiar girl thought.

Nevertheless, no individual, regardless of how strong they were, could carry the battle by themselves. The Cataliyans simply shifted their focus away from Edith's left and focused on the opposite flank instead.

"Edith's right wing was defended by King Armel and the bulk of the Avorican light horse," Pascal continued. "They had a strong, defensive position, as the small stream and shallow ravine they were stationed behind meant that any cavalry charge would be brought to a halt. Cataliyan forces crossing the stream would also be exposed to the Avorican light horse's javelins. They would be able inflict significant casualties to even the odds for any post-crossing clash."

"But clearly things did not go as planned." The Emperor remarked dryly.

"No. Things never go 'as planned' in battle, not unless the enemy's leadership is moronic," Pascal stated. He then pointed to the dotted screen that showed up on their foe's side of the river: "The Cataliyans sent in their own skirmish cavalry to trade missiles with the Avoricans and tie them down. At the same time, their heavy Ghulam cavalry most likely took a detour and crossed further downstream. By the time King Armel noticed, the Ghulams were already on his side of the creek in force. At that point his options narrow down to just two: he can either engage and countercharge, or to fall back and leave the army's flank exposed."

Needless to say, King-Consort Armel chose the braver option and consigned himself to a soldier's death. The Army of Avorica would lose half its numbers during the retreat. But without his heroism the entire army could have been surrounded and destroyed.

''Yet, if Armel did not let the enemy slip across the river, none of that would have happened,'' Kaede thought.

Did that make the late King-Consort a hero, or a fool who simply paid with his own life? Kaede had no doubt that many historians examining such a battle would lay the blame on Armel. However, it soon became clear that Pascal disagreed:

"Given the competence shown by the Cataliyan commander, there was no way Edith could have won this battle. The Caliphate's superiority in both quality and quantity was too great. They could use their numbers to tie down Edith's troops while sending their disciplined heavy cavalry around her flanks."

"She shouldn't have deployed her army and fought in the first place!" Sylviane hissed.

Pascal nodded in agreement. "Tactics cannot compensate for such strategic differences in power. The Avorican coastal plains also lack geography that would allow her outnumbered forces to fight on equal footing. Dame Edith-Estellise should have made it a priority to avoid direct confrontation and rely on more indirect methods to slow down the enemy's advance. Her primary goal should be to buy time for more reinforcements to arrive and bolster her forces. Instead, she depleted her already inferior numbers by attempting to defeat a superior foe without securing appropriate countervailing advantage."

It was clear from Geoffroi's approving gaze that he agreed completely. However the young landgrave's remarks also made the Emperor sigh.

"The problem is that Edith does not know how to fight a war in any other way," Geoffroi scowled. "I cannot spare a general from one of the other fronts. And without Ceredigion's army, the Avorican front lacks a more flexible military commander."

It reminded Kaede that the greatest challenge for leaders was using the right people for the right tasks. Dame Edith-Estellise might be the Lotharin equivalent of Achilles: brave, inspiring, and clearly nigh-invincible in personal combat. However, she also lacked tactical subtlety in a front that could benefit more from a guerilla commander like Tito Broz or Che Guevara.

"I could go advise her," Pascal suggested without any hesitation.

Kaede's eyes swelled as she recognized just how brazen it was of him to volunteer himself for the task. Despite Pascal's self-proclaimed genius, he was still a young man barely out of academy training with no actual command experience to speak of. His only major battle had been one where he participated as an adjutant and glorified courier.

Emperor Geoffroi, however, was not the least bit offended. If anything, his lips formed a momentary smile as he barked an amused laugh.

"No. ''You'' need to go back to Nordkreuz. That's where you'd do the most good, not at the Avorican front."

Pascal frowned as he clearly did not understand. It was as though the Emperor was sending him packing. However before his stunned countenance could utter a word, the Emperor offered him a parchment scroll bearing the broken seal of Weichsel's ambassador.

"Read that and you'll understand," Geoffroi added.

The young landgrave immediately unfurled the scroll to read its contents. Meanwhile Kaede shifted a half-step behind Pascal so she could follow along:

''To my dearest ally, Emperor Geoffroi,''

''I regret to inform you that the departure of Weichsel's forces for Rhin-Lotharingie must be delayed. Our military intelligence has discovered that the Grand Jarldom of Skagen is mobilizing its forces to our north. Several villages along our borders have also been raided by the Northmen, and we believe these are but probing attacks launched prior to a major incursion. As King of Weichsel, I must prioritize the defense of my own people first. I beseech your understanding that any reinforcements Weichsel may send to your holy struggle against the infidels must wait until Weichsel's borders are secure once more.''

''Sincerely, Leopold Karl-Wilhelm von Drachenlanzen, King of Weichsel.''

Kaede could hear Pascal's frustrated exhale as he slowly closed the scroll in his hands.

"Your Majesty..." The young landgrave began in an apologetic tone. However the Emperor stopped him by raising a large and calloused hand.

"Please, Pascal, you're family, even if you two have yet to marry," Geoffroi remarked with a fatherly smile. "I also do not blame King Leopold for prioritizing his own people. I would have certainly done the same in his shoes."

Pascal pursed his lips as he nodded gratefully. However the Emperor's remark did not alleviate any of the anxious concern in his turquoise gaze.

"If there is anyone whom the fault must be laid on, it is that ''treacherous Imperator'' on Arcadia's throne," Geoffroi declared bitterly. "I have no doubt that this turn of events was orchestrated by him."

"But the Northmen of Skagen bear no love for the Holy Imperium," Pascal frowned.

Kaede did remember that Pascal's current fief of Nordkreuz had once been Imperial territory. It wasn't until ten years ago, during the War of Imperial Succession, when the Kingdom of Weichsel seized and annexed the strategic city and its surrounding lands. Before that, Weichsel had bordered neither the Grand Jarldom of Skagen nor the Empire of Rhin-Lotharingie. Instead, it was the Imperium that had occupied the shores of Cross Lake and routinely fought border skirmishes with raiders from the peninsula.

"The Grand Jarldom is a decentralized jumble of petty nobles, each hoping to raise their own glory above the others," Sylviane reasoned. "It wouldn't be hard for the Imperium to entice a few of the more adventurous Jarls with the idea of 'reclaiming ancient lands'. After that, the other Jarls would be dragged into war whether they like it or not."

Geoffroi nodded in agreement.

''But wouldn't it be more likely for the Caliphate to do the same?'' Kaede pondered. It would certainly help their invasion to keep Rhin-Lotharingie's ally distracted.

Kaede wasn't confident enough to openly raise her concerns, not in the presence of two career royals. However part of her also couldn't help but ponder if Rhin-Lotharingie's generational hatred towards the Holy Imperium might have created blinders for the Princess and the Emperor.

"This is why I want you to return to Nordkreuz, Pascal," Geoffroi stated. "King Leopold has already relocated his command to your household estate in preparation for the upcoming campaign. Now you can kill two birds with one stone: see to your inheritance while making your case to the King. Furthermore, I want Sylv and her armigers to accompany you."

"But Father--" the Princess immediately objected, only to be stopped as Geoffroi raised his hand once more.

"I want King Leopold to see what dependable allies we Lotharins can be," he declared to Pascal. "That even in the hour of our greatest need, we would spare resources to assist your homeland."

The Emperor then turned towards his daughter:

"Remember, Sylv, that you are royalty first and all other roles second, including that of an Oriflamme Paladin. Your contribution to any field of battle ''pales'' in comparison to the symbolism of your mere presence at a war front. For the Crown Princess of the Lotharins to fight and shed blood alongside the soldiers of Weichsel -- that is more powerful than any number of treaty signatures."

''Geoffroi's goal isn't simply to show Weichsel, but the whole continent, the whole world,'' Kaede realized at once.

After all, the strongest bonds were forged in adversity. This was just as true on a national level as it was between individuals. If Weichsel failed to uphold their obligations to the alliance after this, then everyone, even the Weichsens themselves, would see their King as a faithless oathbreaker.

"Yes, Father. I understand." Sylviane nodded in reply.

"There will be a decisive battle near Nordkreuz, I am sure of it," Geoffroi added. "Offer your services to King Leopold in the vanguard and he will not refuse. Ensure that every Weichsen can see the light of the Oriflamme leading the charge."

Kaede stood in awe as she wondered how many princesses in Earth history had ever been sent off to 'lead the charge'. It was a rare and dangerous proposition even for a male heir, and almost unthinkable for a father to send his only daughter into.

Yet, the Emperor of Rhin-Lotharingie did not show the slightest hesitation as he did exactly that.

The Princess' wisteria gaze filled with determination in return. "Yes Father. I will show them the strength and dignity of us Lotharins."

Geoffroi's intense blue-violet eyes softened as he laid a brawny hand atop her head. His smile was full of fatherly pride as he gave her dark-purple tresses a hearty ruffle.

"You may not have been my first choice for an heir, Sylv. But you have done well and made me proud." He declared. "Never doubt that you are every bit as gifted and as capable as your two elder brothers. I am sure that your mother would agree, and that they will always be watching over you from the Heavens above."

Sylviane's eyes grew watery as her emotions flooded into them. Her composure was on the cusp of breaking as she nodded back.

In that moment, Kaede recognized just how important Geoffroi's approval had been for the Princess. ''She had always felt overshadowed by her two late brothers,'' the familiar girl thought.

"Mari," the Emperor then turned towards the bodyguard and lady's maid. "I entrust you and Sir Robert to keep my daughter safe."

"I swore my life upon it, Your Majesty," Lady Mari replied as she returned a knightly salute, with her arm bent and her armored fist held before her chest.

Geoffroi nodded before turning to the leader of his own bodyguards:

"Lindsay, please arrange and prepare the stone ring for Sylv's departure. I'd rather she not use her own magic -- she has a long day ahead of her."

"Yes, Your Majesty," replied Colonel Lindsay, commander of the Highland Guard. Her dignified poise and bearing could easily pass for a Countess.

...

Kaede stared in awe at the stone ring situated on the hill's lakeside, just beyond the castle's curtain walls. It looked like a smaller version of stonehenge, except there was only one ring of raised stones and the structure was undamaged. However, unlike the stone rings back on Earth, the rock-hewn path leading into the circle showed that this one was still in use.

As Lindsay and two other armigers took up a triangular position at the stone ring's outer edge, all three of them began to channel their magic into the ancient structure. Within moments, a growing patch of fog began to obscure the center of the stone circle.

''I hope this isn't worse than teleportation.'' The familiar girl thought as she dreaded the travel to come.

"<Do not worry.>" Pascal noted over telepathy as he likely sensed Kaede's anxiety. "<It is a safe, albeit rare, form of travel. I have done it twice before.>"

"<Only twice?>" Kaede was amazed. Surely he had taken the trip between Alis Avern and Nordkreuz more than that?

"<The Stone Rings are a legacy of the Sidhe faerie lords.>" Pascal explained. "<One can travel across great distances, and with far more passengers, through their network compared to teleportation. However the mana costs to activate them is also much higher than casting ''Astral Teleport''. Even with three individuals, the strain on their magic is strenuous.>"

"<Can they add more mages then??>"

"<It is not easy to find qualifying mages.>" Pascal answered. "<According to Lotharin legends, the faerie lords never had a cohesive system for spellcasting like the dragonlords' internalized spell array. Of course unlike the dragonlords, humanity also never learned magic from the fae, and after many generations even the faekissed have lost much of their lore.>"

"<Then what did they use to open the path? You said the stone rings formed a transit ''network''. Doesn't that mean they have to select where to start and stop?>" Kaede questioned as the fog within the stone ring condensed. It slowly transformed into a shimmering haze with fractured, otherworldly light. Meanwhile the strange, cloudy mist began to flow out from it into the surrounding air.

"<One of the founding Oriflammes of Rhin-Lotharingie --I believe it was Gwendolyn the Faerie Sword-- created a spell that allows one's consciousness to interface with the faerie lords' artifacts,>" Pascal continued. "<In fact, Gwendolyn's mastery of Sidhe Pathways was instrumental to the Rhin-Lotharingie Coalition's victory over the Holy Imperium during their Independence War. However, it also proved to be a spell that only the Faekissed could use, so there must be some sort of magical marker in them that we have yet to identify.>"

"<Maybe the fae used a more 'innate' magic that couldn't simply be taught?>" Kaede pondered.

"<'Innate magic' does not explain the complexity of the Sidhe's many creations. You see that armor Sylv wears?>" Pascal noted the breastplate, spaulders, and other armor plates that now covered over the Princess' sky-blue-to-violet battledress. The armor shone with the luster of steel yet had a faint, translucent purple sheen.

"<That is fae dendrite crysteel: does not rust, does not shatter, lighter yet tougher than even the Caliphate's wootz steel, and conducts neither lightning nor heat. Best of all, it can self-repair by consuming nothing more than water and mana. The purple hue is because Sylv's natural mana color has dyed it over time. The faerie lords were allergic to the touch of ferrous metal, so they ''created'' an armoring material superior to any other that we still cannot duplicate today. Nothing but the most sophisticated arcane metallurgy could explain that.>"

Kaede stared at the Princess with an astonished gaze. She knew that as royalty, Sylviane's armor was undoubtedly enchanted and of the highest quality. But even she had never expected it to be a relic of ancient, otherworldly beings. It was certainly difficult to refute legends and myths when such 'proof' of their existence could be found scattered across the world.

"<You said that the fae were allergic to ferrous metal, then is the Princess...?>"

"<Most Faekissed can touch metal, considering their overwhelming human heritage. However unlike the rest of us, their wounds have trouble closing when torn by iron and steel.>"

Pascal's tone revealed that even he was worried about the possibility of Sylviane entering battle. It truly highlighted just how dangerous it was for Geoffroi to send Sylviane to war.

''Iron hemophilia,'' Kaede reflected. ''Not exactly a blessing on a battlefield of cold steel.''

Seeing as red blood cells --the oxygen carriers of the bloodstream-- all contained iron, Kaede had to wonder if the faekissed nobility really did have 'blue blood'.

''She still blushes red though.''

Kaede's thoughts were then interrupted as she heard Colonel Lindsay announce:

"Your Majesty, it's ready."

Then, before the familiar's eyes could pull away, Emperor Geoffroi closed the distance to his only remaining child and wrapped his thick arms around her in a great bear hug. There was no royal pretense as he embraced her as a father and even picked her slightly off the ground.

"Father! You're embarrassing me in front of..." Sylviane protested in a muffled voice before her face emerged from his chest with a glance towards Pascal.

"Not at all," Geoffroi declared in a deep voice. "If anything, Pascal would be envious of you."

"Very much so," Pascal acknowledged as he watched the duo with a wistful smile. He then joked: "Besides, you should always take advantage of free hugs."

Nevertheless, the Emperor soon lowered his daughter back onto her own two feet. However, for nearly a minute afterwards, he would continue to hold her in the safety of his embrace.

"Stay safe, Sylv," Kaede could hear Geoffroi whisper as though in prayer.

In that moment, there was no sign of the Emperor monikered 'the Great', only a concerned parent who was sending his only remaining child off to war.

''He really is worried about her.''

Yet until this moment, Geoffroi did not once reveal his personal concerns. His steadfast composure as an Emperor had entirely masked his concerns as a father.

The Emperor soon pulled away from the Princess and put his hands on her shoulders instead.

"May the Holy Father watch over you."

"Thank you, Father," Sylviane nodded deeply in return. "And I promise, I will make both you and our people proud."

With one last grin, Geoffroi shifted his hand to her head and ruffled her hair once more.

"I already am, Sylv. I already am." He confirmed. "But you are not just my daughter. You are the Crown Princess of Rhin-Lotharingie. Remember that."

<nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>

Geoffroi watched with a bittersweet smile as Sylviane waved one last time before walking into the otherworldly fog. He felt a slight wetness in his eyes as he saw his daughter depart. However despite this and the faint dizziness and vertigo that had plagued him all morning, his composure nevertheless held steady until she had left.

Then, with a deep sigh, the Emperor closed his eyes and reached up to press his right hand against his temple. A pained grimace spread across his countenance as he walked over to a large rock and sat down upon it.

"Your Majesty?" Geoffroi heard Dame Lindsay, who also served as his personal aide in addition to being the commander of his bodyguards, ask with concern.

"The migraines are getting worse," he replied simply.

"Shall I call for Healer Julien?" Lindsay asked.

"No. His yapping will just add to it," the Emperor responded before he sighed. "Besides, Julien had already made his diagnosis clear."

He did not say what it was out loud, for there were only four people in the world who knew this secret. Even his own daughter had been kept in the dark about it.

<noinclude>
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| Back to [[Daybreak:Volume_2_Chapter_8|Chapter 8]]
| Return to [[Daybreak_on_Hyperion|Main Page]]
| Forward to [[Daybreak:Volume_2_Chapter_10|Chapter 10]]
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</noinclude>

Daybreak:Volume 2 Chapter 7

2021-07-04T17:11:53Z

Aorii:

===Chapter 7 - Pecking Order===

"I can't breathe..."

Kaede gasped out as she leaned forward with her hands holding onto the table's edge. Rachel, the head maid, was tightening the laces on her back, and it was impressive how much strength the old woman's bony fingers had.

"Stop complaining. I haven't even finished the first tightening." Rachel retorted as she continued her methodical lace-pulling. The elderly maid then offered some advice: "Breath slowly. I thought you Samarans believed in 'meditating'?"

"I fail to see how 'meditation' has anything to do with strangling my lungs." Kaede gasped out as the leather corset around her waist tightened another notch. She could feel how it forcely shaped her waist into an hourglass-like arc. "Why do I have to wear this again?"

"Because Her Highness ordered it," Rachel reminded the familiar girl. Though her words ran with approval as she continued: "besides, every girl wears one. It helps you maintain better posture and provides support for your back through a day's work. Even the Princess' dress has a leather corset sewn in."

Kaede did notice that all of the palace maids had a leather cincher around their waist, which hugged their midsections from below the chest to above the hips. The Princess' dress had it was well. Though in her outfit, the leather simply blended in with the other patches that were meant to anchor armor straps.

''I don't remember seeing anything like this on Ariadne's uniform,'' Kaede thought. It was yet further proof that Rhin-Lotharingie was 'backwards' compared to the more progressive Weichsel.

The Samaran girl then immediately snapped off that train of thought. She closed her eyes and shook her head in self-disgust. ''I sound like an egocentric American.''

"Done." Rachel announced at last as she knotted the laces' extra length. "That's the first tightening. We'll let your body adjust for a few minutes before we finish with a second round."

Kaede groaned. She was already having trouble taking a full breath.

"Isn't this enough? If you pull this any tighter I'm going to pass out."

She really did not want to have first-hand user experience with the infamous 'fainting couch'.

"If you do, you'd enter palace history as the first girl to do so from something so mild." Rachel's reply came flat. She then patted the leather waist cincher attached to her own dress. "I've worn one of these every day for the past century."

"I'm pretty sure leather expands more than this one does." Kaede's wispy answer came with an exhale.

She reached down with her fingers and traced across a stiff, vertical bump on the corset's exterior. It was hidden beneath a column of pink, floral laces.

"Is this... steel boning?"

"Yes." The elderly woman admitted. "You're right that yours is more constricting than what we wear. Leather adjusts over prolonged use and isn't hard to bend. However we still need to do our chores or, in Her Highness' case, fight in it. You're expected to do neither."

"I can fight. I have a weapon you know."

Kaede pulled out her leather archery gloves and put them on, over the long armgloves of her undergarment. She willed the spring-steel 'morphic blade' from its extradimensional storage into her fingers and grasped the handle of its default, shortsword form. Knowing that she was little more than an amateur in its use, she gave it a quick twirl before putting it away.

However, the head maid continued to look unimpressed.

"You'll find that most Lotharin women carry a knife on them," she noted before reaching down to her boot and producing her own. "We've had too many generations of experience with Imperial Legionnaires."

Kaede winced. Clearly rape by soldiers in Hyperion was no less common than in Earth history.

"Many Lotharin woman also know how to use a hunting bow," Rachel added. "Though that's not of much use against soldiers in proper armor. A military-grade bow however is far more strenuous than what most women can manage."

Kaede nodded sadly as she glanced down at her thin arms. Before coming to this world, Kaede had built up enough arm strength to pull a ''yumi'' greatbow to shoot a dozen consecutive arrows. Now? Her muscles were so weak even carrying stacks of books proved difficult. Strength training seemed a waste of time when her current build was so poorly suited for it. Thus as a result, she had to rely on Pascal's magic whenever she wanted to practice.

"Do Lotharin women serve in the military then?" She asked next, shifting the topic to one involving her curiosity rather than her loss.

"Yes, though only on a voluntary basis." Rachel nodded. "There's even a dedicated knightly order: the Monastic Order of the Knight-Healers of Saint Joan, more commonly known as the Knights Hospitaller. The famous Lady Edith-Estellise, Saint de Lyonesse and the ''Polar Cross'' paladin, is their most notable member."

''And the commander of the Army of Avorica, if I remember correctly from yesterday's meeting.''

There was a clear sense of pride in the way Rachel said Edith's name. It really showed just how much of a role model the saint was to the women of Rhin-Lotharingie.

Nevertheless Kaede sighed inwardly as she thought: ''yet another action hero.''

It was one of Kaede's annoyances about society -- how people most often focused on those who fought on the front lines. Sure, Edith was the 'champion' of Rhin-Lotharingie and widely considered the best Oriflamme Paladin in direct combat. But surely Dame Cosette, who served Emperor Geoffroi as his chief military strategist, should be more famous? This was doubly true for women, as male bodies had a biological advantage in raw strength and stamina, which in turn meant women should establish more role models based on wisdom and intellect.

''Why are the brains always overshadowed by the brawn?'' She filed one of her old complaints.

"I think we've waited long enough." The head maid's voice shook Kaede from her reverie. "Let's finish tightening your laces."

It summoned only a louder, more resentful groan from the Samaran girl.

''Bear with it,'' Kaede had to remind herself.

It was important that she keep her word to the Princess and not create more reasons to be disliked at present. Not to mention she needed to at least work on 'fitting in'. Fashion has always been dictated by the culture of a society and not the individual. Those who refused to accept the 'norm' inevitably attracted prejudice, and the Samaran girl already received enough strange looks as it is.

Besides, Kaede figured that the current status quo wouldn't last since Pascal wasn't the type to just stay in a palace anyway, not when there was a war raging outside. Then, once she had a chance to prove herself before the Princess, perhaps things would change...

"Be glad then that Her Highness isn't the one pulling," Rachel remarked almost off-handedly. "Her standards for a 'proper waistline' are far stricter than mine."

Kaede swallowed. ''Just what kind of unrealistic body image was this princess taught?''

<nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>

Pascal forked a piece of ham before digging his utensil into the tartiflette. The potatoes, onion, and cheese gratin had been baked to a crispy exterior, however the inside was still mushy and he smeared it over his ham before scooping some extra with his fork. The combination was soon brought to his mouth to enjoy.

The sumptuous taste lifted his mood for a brief moment. The potatoes were fairly new to Lotharin cuisine and he had only enjoyed it twice before. It was said that the starchy tuber was a new crop found by the Northmen's expeditions in the 'New World'. It had been brought back to Rhin-Lotharingie by King Alistair himself, when he ended his adventures as a mercenary and began his reign as the King of the Glens.

However Pascal's sourness soon returned when Sylviane giggled in the seat beside him. Her cheeks were turned the other way to face the very same Alistair, whose own fork still sat on the table as his arms gestured to accompany his tale.

"So thanks to that fiasco with the druids, I found myself in a dispute with the Archbishop of Sruighlea." Alistair exclaimed with his usual goofy, boyish grin. "But I thought to myself -- hey, the archbishop likes beekeeping and brewing, right? In that case, can't we just settle this like men over a flagon of mead? Better than him sermoning me to death with hours of biblical preaching!"

''That's because you Highlanders are half-heathens who intermix the Holy Father's teachings with that of your superstitious idols.'' Pascal thought with distaste.

"Thus I invited the good bishop for a drink at my favorite tavern, and brought some of the finest mead I had to share." Alistair continued. "What I didn't expect was that within an hour after we sat down, the bishop was red as roses and swaying from side to side! He was flirting and slapping the rears of every tavern wench who walked by, though he was generous enough with his coin that the girls didn't seem to mind. You'd think a man whose stomach matched his shoulder width wouldn't be such a paperweight! Yet by the time I noticed and offered to take him back, he insisted that he was fine and stumbled outside!"

"I hope you went with him?" Sylviane spoke with amused concern. "He might hurt himself in that state."

"Of course, but I had to pay first, and it gave him a head start," Alistair recounted. "By the time I left the tavern I couldn't believe my eyes. A drove of pigs had wandered outside between the exit and our horses left outside the fence. The good, fat bishop couldn't even tell the difference as he saddled up on the largest hog instead!"

Sylviane almost snorted into her food, while Emperor Geoffroi didn't hold back and burst out laughing. Even Pascal couldn't help but give a chortle. The young landgrave might not like Alistair in many ways, but he had to admit that the King was quite a storyteller. There was a reason why many of Alistair's tales and adventures could now be found circulating the taverns of Rhin-Lotharingie.

"It took a moment for my shock to wear off before I shouted at him: 'Wait Archbishop! That's a pig!'" Alistair feigned yelling. "But the good bishop didn't seem to care as he grabbed the swine by the ears and kicked its rear. The squealing hog charged right through the rickety fence gate and up the meadowed hill to the west. It was dusk too and the image was almost picturesque: a prelate riding a pig off into the sunset!"

Sylviane was now bent over laughing nonstop. She then leaned close to Alistair and gave his back several hearty, congratulatory slaps.

"You should have the scene commissioned! 'The Pig and The Prelate!' It'll be a ''masterpiece!''"

Pascal felt his dislike for the King simmer as he watched her familiarity. He couldn't help but complain ''why doesn't she ever do that with me!''

"Sure sure, but that had to wait until after I found the good bishop. What a disaster it'd be if he rode into a creek and drowned?" Alistair made a horrified face. "I called in my armigers so we could fan out and search for him. It took us hours before we found the porker sound asleep twelve kilos away in a pigsty! And by porker I meant the one in robes, because we couldn't find his stallion of a pig!"

"''Twelve kilopaces!?''" Sylviane was amazed. "Good Lord the bishop can ride!"

"I know right? I was certainly amazed! Alas we took the Archbishop home and thought that was the end of that. It wasn't until the week after, when I paid the Archbishop another visit, that I found him with a new ride: the very same hog that he rode off into the sunset on! Apparently the story had gotten around and he was now posing for a sculptor who wanted a statue of it! Who knew the good bishop had such a sense of humor!"

"Humility too," Geoffroi said with a broad grin before it turned wry. "A rare trait among the ecclesiastical these days."

"Right?" Alistair remained in good humor as he gestured with an open hand. "Didn't take long after that experience for me and the good bishop to become friends. And that's the story of where this mead comes from. The Archbishop will be honored to hear that Your Majesty enjoyed it."

"All the more so when it's made by his hands," Geoffroi declared as he raised his silver goblet for a toast. "To Archbishop Lachlan, may his charity, humility, and diligence never fade!"

"To Archbishop Lachlan." Pascal cooly joined Sylviane, Alistair, and the Emperor in the toast.

Then the King added jokingly: "and may he keep his pants on when tempted by bathhouse wenches!"

Sylviane feigned a scandalized look before she countered:

"Pot calling kettle. As if you could!"

''Normally she would be offended by such boorish behavior.'' Pascal scowled.

"Well I'm unmarried!" Alistair retorted. "Neither to woman nor Holy Father!"

"Keep that attitude up and you never will!" Sylviane teased as she grabbed Alistair's right cheek and pulled on it, which elicited a cry of 'Ow' from the much-older King.

It also sent a spike of annoyance straight up to Pascal's temple.

''Sylv are you not getting a little TOO familiar with him?''

Pascal knew that Sylviane had a 'special relationship' with King Alistair. Somehow the two became friends almost as soon as they met prior to Alistair's coronation. However this was also the first time he had seen them together in an unofficial setting, and the casualness of their interaction had left him with more than a hint of discomfort.

It didn't help that this could have been a private, family dinner, had Sylviane not invited the King to join them. Pascal wished that Kaede had been invited instead. However by the time he found out to ask over their bond, his depressed-sounding familiar had already eaten and retired to her room to read.

He stared at the table's other end, where three phoenixes -- the magnificent Joyeuse, the brightly-feathered Hauteclaire, and the largest bird Almace -- occasionally chirped while they ate their feed. They were the respective familiars of Emperor Geoffroi, Princess Sylviane, and King Alistair. It reminded Pascal that he was the one who sat at this table whose familiar remained absent.

''I haven't seen her all day, or yesterday,'' Pascal complained to himself. ''It's just been meeting, after meeting, after meeting... and why hasn't this King returned to his own kingdom?''

Most of the meetings had been about pay and provisions for the armies. Unlike Pascal's homeland of Weichsel, the Empire of Rhin-Lotharingie didn't have a single 'Ministry of the Interior' to manage national stockpiles. Instead the responsibilities were divided up by the Ministry of Agriculture for granaries, the Ministry of Trade for treasury, the Ministry of Land and Resources for iron and lumber, and finally an overlap between the Ministry of War and Ministry of Industries when managing blacksmith production.

''Who set up this ridiculous system?''

Alas, Sylviane was almost done gathering the information they needed. Next was going over all the data and arranging for transportation to collect the various supplies and send them to the front. Tonight was meant to be a break from the working dinners of yesterday and the day before. However, Pascal didn't find this one bit relaxing, not when that jester king was here and taking all of his betrothed's attention with his jokes and stories!

"Hasn't Lachlan been the Archbishop for over two decades now?" Pascal decided the best course of action was to divert the conversation. He needed to steer Alistair off from all the personal tales, and onto a more serious topic that Pascal could converse in. "Is there any chance of him receiving a cardinal's hat?"

"I highly doubt it," Alistair's countenance turned serious at once. It was a credit to the King that he could switch his mode of thinking so quickly. "Lachlan isn't evangelical enough for the Pope's tastes. The spread of the Trinitian Church in the Highlands has been more or less halted for decades."

"Why is that?"

"The druids of the north and west have reformed and centralized their religion." The Emperor explained. "They had begun to establish a formal scripture almost a quarter century ago. And now they have a circle that meets twice per year to discuss religious issues much like the College of Cardinals. The standardization of their practices have also allowed them to consolidate and offer more spiritual support to their believers. The result is that Trinitian no longer has the advantage in guidance and answers in the eyes of potential followers."

"The same could be said for the believers of the Hyperborean Gods," King Alistair added. "They began their reforms even earlier than the druids. However their progress has been slower as they're spread much thinner -- from their homelands in the Grand Jarldom of Skagen and the Kingdom of Västergötland, to countless isles scattered all across the oceans and even realms in the New World." The King then turned to the Emperor: "I also heard the druidic faith is making a significant comeback in the Kingdom of Ceredigion?"

Geoffroi nodded in confirmation.

"The Church has been growing too corrupt, more interested in tithes and politics than the spiritual enlightenment of the common man. Gone are the days when priests were best known for their alms and orphanages. Is it any surprise that some of the faithful are turning away?"

The Emperor's voice was not just disappointed. Pascal knew that troubles of faith were increasingly plaguing the rulers of Rhin-Lotharingie. King Elisedd of Ceredigion's departure from the Trinitian Church was among the reasons for his growing detachment to the rest of the Empire. King Alistair also found his realm pulled between three different religions: Trinitian, Hyperborean, and Druidic. Meanwhile Pascal had even heard of an entrenched Trinitian heresy spreading in the southern Kingdom of Garona.

For a devoted Trinitian like himself who comes from Weichsel, the 'Northern March of the Trinitian Realm', it felt like the natural order was slowly being overturned in this Empire.

<nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>

Pascal had left the room almost the second after dinner finished. The meal had consumed over three hours of his time, between King Alistair's many stories and their discussions over religion and politics. It felt as though every time they were about to finish, the Princess would bring up another topic that she wanted to talk about. Normally this wouldn't be a problem, except Pascal had another item on his plans for tonight.

He had almost reached the stairs before Sylviane caught up with him.

"Pascal, wait! Where are you going in such a rush?"

The young nobleman turned around and met his fiancée's eyes with a frown. "I am going to see Kaede."

"It's already past curfew for the maids." Sylviane objected. "Besides you know the rules: men aren't allowed up in the female servants' hallway."

"Then I will call her down." Pascal insisted. "I have neither seen nor spoken to her, at least not face-to-face, for two days! I need to know if she has been doing alright in this new place."

Pascal's thoughts replayed Kaede's depressed reply from earlier, when he had asked her if she wanted to join them for dinner. Even now the emotions that emerged across their link remained gloomy and restless. He turned away to grab the handle of the door to the stairway. However before he could open it, Sylviane took hold of his arm and stopped him.

"It's almost eleven. Kaede is probably asleep by now."

"No. She is awake. I can tell."

Pascal didn't see the twitch in the Princess' lips as he reminded her of his familiar bond.

"Head Maid Rachel isn't supposed to let people in and out unless it's an absolute necessity." Sylviane pressed her case. "It would be against the rules."

"You are the crown heir. You can tell Rachel to make an exception this time."

"It is precisely because that I'm the crown heir that I cannot just go around making exceptions to the rules!" Sylviane countered in a firm voice. "What kind of example would I be setting? That the laws we make do not apply to ourselves?"

For a second Pascal did not reply. He might be annoyed but that didn't mean his brain had stopped working. There was sense in Sylviane's words and he knew it. However it also wasn't the real issue, and he released a deep exhale as he tired of this game.

"You are doing this on purpose, are you not?"

"What are you talking about?" Sylviane asked while Pascal slowly turned around to stare at her.

"You are doing this on purpose: trying to keep me from seeing her." Pascal pressed. "It has been over two days since we came and you have not asked her to even sit at a table with us!"

"We've been ''busy!''" The Princess insisted as her wisteria gaze hardened to meet his.

"And what about tonight? Could you not have invited her?" He challenged but left out the accusation in his thoughts: ''You did not even tell me until it was past the servants' dinner and too late for me to invite.''

"King Alistair is leaving tomorrow morning. It's only appropriate that we send him off with a proper dinner!"

"How is that a problem for Kaede to dine with us?" Pascal demanded. "It was a family plus guest dinner!"

"Of course it's inappropriate!" Sylviane retorted. "She's a servant--!"

"She is my ''familiar!''" Pascal cut her off angrily. "I do not see you or Emperor Geoffroi banishing Hauteclaire and Joyeuse to eat elsewhere when you have dinner!"

"Should I ask Captain Moreau's skywhale outside to dine with us also?" Sylviane replied sarcastically.

"You are being deliberately contrarian!" Pascal retorted in a voice just shy of shouting. Not that there was anyone else in the dim hallway to hear it, apart from Sylviane's bodyguard Mari who kept a discretionary distance.

"And you are my fiancé!" Sylviane gritted her teeth as she stared back. "You're here to support me! Not to create more headaches for me!"

"''Create headaches!?''" Pascal responded with an incredulous laugh. "I only asked to see Kaede, to meet my personal responsibilities for the first time in two days!"

He then raised his palms and shook them in the air between them, as though to stress how empty they were.

"I mean what am I even doing here?" The young landgrave fumed. "Listening to your meetings? Attending your meal discussions? I gave up my command for this! I abandoned my Landgraviate for ''this!'' And now you are even making me ignore my familiar!"

"You're supposed to help me--!" The Princess stated. However she had barely finished her sentence before Pascal's voice burst out:

"Then ''let me help!''" He shouted, before taking a deep breath and reducing his volume. "Give me a task that I can do for you! Anything! Do not just ''drag me around'' from meeting to meeting all day with neither role nor purpose, as though I am just a child that you must keep in your sight! I did not come here just to hold onto your hand! And I certainly did not come here for you to tear Kaede from me!"

"I'm not--" Sylviane tried to say before an angry glare from Pascal stopped her cold.

Her eyes swelled as though they were in shock. Her lips were left ajar as though she had forgotten what to even say. There was a glint in her eyes that saw him as something... foreign, even frightening. It was as though she had never seen him like this.

''She might be right too.'' A faint voice in the back of his mind spoke, almost begged for the rest of him to calm down. ''I have never been like this in front of her.''

Pascal pursed his lips as he turned away and exhaled another deep breath. He struggled to suppress his boiling temper as he reached out and pulled open the staircase door. If Sylviane wouldn't let him see Kaede then he could at least talk to his familiar over their telepathy. It was ''ridiculous'' that he didn't even know what Kaede had been up to these past two days and three nights.

But regardless of what he did next, he needed to leave the Princess' presence. In his current emotional state, the longer he stayed the more he was likely to do something he might regret.

"Pascal..." Sylviane was still at a loss for words when he walked through the door.

"I am going to my room." His reply came in a still-harsh tone. "Good night Sylviane!"

<nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>

"<...And he just stormed off after that. Can you believe it?>" Sylviane complained over a ''Farspeak'' spell as she conversed with Cecylia. The dhampir was probably her best, and only, female friend from childhood.

It was strange in many ways: the only real friends Sylviane had as a child were from a country that she had been kidnapped to during wartime. As a kid, she had never been any good at breaking down barriers. The fact that she was a princess had set up a great many of them in any social encounter.

"<All men have tempers, Sylv. Even your beloved Pascal.>" Cecylia's reply was mostly-consoling yet still partly-teasing. "<Besides, Pascal takes his responsibilities seriously. And this is a critical time for him to spend away from his fiefdom. Perhaps he simply wanted to see his familiar for some... familiarity, no implications intended.>"

Sylviane sighed as her heart softened with sympathy. Cecylia was right: Pascal hadn't even seen his father's body or arranged a funeral yet. Nor has he returned to Nordkreuz to officially take up the seat of his inheritance. There were a great many things that undoubtedly awaited his attention back at home. Yet he came to the royal palace upon her beckon without any conditions.

"<You're right,>" the Princess admitted. "<nowiki><I</nowiki> am demanding too much from him.>"

She could almost see Cecylia's satisfied smile as the other continued:

"<Pascal was never the hand-holding kind. He is a doer. He might not be an outright workaholic like his father, but he nevertheless needs something to ''do'', constantly. In fact, it's probably why he summoned a familiar like Kaede -- a walking encyclopedia like her could help him much in whatever he chooses to accomplish. My guess is even when he doesn't have a task to do, he would be bouncing ideas off her all day... that's probably been happening ever since he summoned her a month back.>"

Sylviane pursed her lips as she leaned back and fell into her huge, four-poster bed. This wasn't the first time she had heard Cecylia compare Kaede to an encyclopedia. Nevertheless it brought a surge of irritation as she imagined Pascal and Kaede chatting for hours on end... just like how she and Pascal used to talk on the shores of Cross Lake.

"<nowiki><It's</nowiki> not fair. Why doesn't he talk to me like that anymore...>"

She could almost feel Cecylia giggling to herself the ''Farspeak'' spell's other end.

"<That's because you always have something more specific to talk about nowadays.>" Cecylia noted. "<nowiki><It's</nowiki> always this rowdy lord or that troublesome task. You don't quite have the pleasure to just meander as you used to! But really, you should see this as a ''good'' thing.>"

Sylviane frowned as she stared at her bed's velvet ceiling, which was dyed in her favorite lavender color. "<nowiki><I</nowiki> don't see how.>"

"<You two are having ''adult'' conversations these days! Hehe.>" Cecylia then proceeded to giggle audibly over the telepathic channel. "<Meanwhile he's still a kid with Kaede, just playing around with ideas instead of toys. Besides, you can still jump into those discussions at any time. The only reason you haven't recently is because of your lack of time!>"

Sylviane sighed and closed her eyes. ''Cecylia's right.'' She thought. ''It's just time I'm lacking... time to chat with him like we used to.''

"<By the way,>" the dhampir girl then added. "<You haven't done anything to his familiar, have you?>"

"<No!>" The Princess retorted almost on instinct. "<Well. I had her squeezed into a dress. Apparently the girl had never worn a corset before. But that's all!>"

"<Hehe. That's 'normal' for you. I just wanted to make sure you haven't tortured the poor girl or something. You do have a sadistic streak...>"

Cecylia didn't even finish before Sylviane bolted to sit upright in her bed. Her voice immediately hissed back:

"<nowiki><I</nowiki> am ''not'' sadistic!>"

The other girl paused as though letting the silence sink in.

"<You ''enjoy'' making cute girls cry,>" Cecylia spoke as a matter of fact. "<nowiki><It's</nowiki> why I was concerned. Pascal won't overlook it if you bully her maliciously, you know?>"

Reluctantly, Sylviane nodded to herself. "<nowiki><I</nowiki> know... I've been holding back too...>"

''It's not like I've forced her into any lingerie... yet.''

The Princess thought to compare Kaede with Vivienne, or Vivi as Sylviane affectionately called her. She was always so obedient, wearing what she'd been given and doing as she'd been told. Kaede seemed to be more bashful compared to Vivi, but that also had a charm of its own as it only added to the girl's cuteness.

"<The only 'bullying' I've done was to put her in the servants' quarters to keep her away from Pascal.>" Sylviane admitted.

"<Yeeeahhh I'm not sure that was your best idea,>" Cecylia responded. "<nowiki><It'd</nowiki> be like if someone took Hauteclaire away from you and locked him up in some birdcage.>"

Sylviane scowled as she glanced to the phoenix on his perch. ''She's right. I'd certainly be annoyed if someone did that.''

She was reminded of her father's words -- that mages had a 'unique bond' with their familiars. This was doubly so for those who had special familiars, like the Oriflamme Paladins, the skywhale merchants, or in this case: a young landgrave who contracted a Samaran girl.

"<nowiki><It</nowiki> seemed such a great idea two days ago. But now...>" Sylviane sighed once more.

Cecylia returned a mental shrug. "<nowiki><It</nowiki> happens to all of us. Though I have a feeling your 'self-righteous' moments are just ''a little'' stronger than usual.>" She added sarcastically.

This wasn't the first time Sylviane told Cecylia about a choice that she regretted.

"<nowiki><It's</nowiki> not fair... for him to have such a familiar,>" Sylviane complained.

Though to be honest, she wasn't sure whom she was more envious of: Kaede for being so close with Pascal, or Pascal for having such a cute girl bonded to him.

"<Why? It seems like a plus to me, hehe,>" Cecylia replied in good humor. "<nowiki><I</nowiki> don't understand why you're not seeing the bright side: now you get to have your fiancé ''and'' a free cutie to come alongside that you get to play with. Two different kinds of eye candy in every gaze. What's there not to like?>"

It reminded Sylviane of that 'hungry' look Cecylia occasionally had when the dhampir girl met handsome men.

"<Remember, ''my'' fiancé.>" Sylviane stressed.

Cecylia laughed. "<You don't have to remind me!>"

"<And as for Kaede, what if she starts sleeping with him?>" Sylviane's eyes narrowed. "<And I mean: actually laying together, not just sharing a bed.>"

The Princess noted as she already knew they did that at his academy dormitory.

"<nowiki><I</nowiki> mean sure, she doesn't seem to be romantically interested in him ''now'',>" Sylviane then added. "<But they have over a hundred years of life together ahead!>"

"<Then at least you'll have a guarantee that there isn't some other woman whom he might be spending time with.>" Cecylia answered straight. "<nowiki><I</nowiki> mean think about it, Sylv. You'll be the Empress, and he'll be your Marshal. There'll be months, even years when he goes on campaign and you two will be apart. And like all men pressed into the stress of battle, he'll feel lonely from time the time, seek the comfort of feminine embrace...>"

"<B-but that's high treason!>" Sylviane cut her friend off in retort. "<To cheat on his sovereign! I could have his head for that!>"

"<Yes, you could.>" Cecylia admitted after a brief pause. "<But would you? Even if you were no longer best friends? Brilliant commanders don't come easy to begin with, especially those whom you could trust, politically, beyond any doubt. Pascal has a special bond with you that can never be erased. Do you think you can just find another to replace him?>"

"<You know that's not what I meant.>" Sylviane sighed as she fell back into bed again. ''She's even saying the same thing as Father...''

"<I'm not saying Pascal is guaranteed to be unfaithful, certainly not where it truly counts,>" Cecylia added. "<But he is a ''man''. From that perspective, wouldn't it be better to leave him in the care of a mistress whom you can command and trust, rather than risk the intrusion of some outsider that you can't even predict? You can ''control'' the relationship between Pascal and Kaede. You cannot control if some other woman tries to snake into his life and seduce him.>"

"<And that's exactly what I'm working on.>" Sylviane replied. "<nowiki><It's</nowiki> just...>"

"<You're trying to impose your dominance over her, over their relationship. I know.>" Cecylia filled in after the Princess trailed off. "<But you're going about it too hastily. You have to take it one step at a time. Discipline her, sure, but offer treats for good behavior as well. If Kaede has been obedient to your will, then you should let her see him more as a reward. The girl is trapped in a foreign world entirely different from the one she was raised on. She'll be happy just to hold onto her pillar of support.>"

Sylviane slowly nodded as she thought back to Cecylia's first assessment on the familiar girl. After taking a trip to the Alisia Academy at Sylviane's request, Cecylia concluded that Kaede wasn't the type who adapted to new environments well. The Samaran girl put on a brave face but she was actually quite scared to be in this world. It was why she embraced every pillar of support she could find, unwilling to let go of even a maidservant-turned-traitor whom she befriended.

"<Then... What do you suggest? That I give Pascal a significant task and let Kaede help him?>"

"<Yes, that's ''exactly'' what I would recommend,>" Cecylia stressed. "<As I mentioned, Pascal is a doer. He needs to be kept occupied, and he'll be happier once you assign him some function to take responsibility over. That'll also lighten your plate and hopefully give you more time to relax with him. It's a win-win!>"

"<nowiki><I</nowiki> can see that. And I know Pascal hates being micromanaged, so it's best I leave a task with him and not interfere. But I can't just let Kaede orbit him all day...>" Sylviane scowled.

"<Why not?>" Cecylia countered. "<Sylv, you do realize that keeping them apart is no long term solution? Pascal's sense of responsibility would never allow it. It's why he grew angry with you today. You have to use more subtle means of controlling Kaede if you want to make your future marriage with Pascal work.>"

"<nowiki><I</nowiki> understand that. But it's just...>" Sylviane remarked as she struggled to put her feelings into words.

She knew she was being irrational. She knew that trying to keep Kaede from Pascal wouldn't work, certainly not in the long term. Yet she didn't want these past two days to end, when it was just the Pascal and her once again...

"<You've already made it clear to the girl that you can keep them apart.>" Cecylia pointed out. "<Now you can show her that they can be together too. Just make sure she knows that it is ''at your discretion''. It reinforces the idea that she'll want to stay on your good side.>" The dhampir advised before she explained in a playful voice. "<Kaede has a plucky exterior, but she also has a rather submissive nature. I could tell almost immediately when I teased her that night. Her cultural background seems to give her a preference for following rules and authority. Plus she herself desires stability and predictability in life. Therefore if you offer her a compromise, even if it's on your terms, she will likely accept the ground rules you lay down as long as ''you'' uphold your end of the bargain.>"

Sylviane grinned a little as she nodded along to Cecylia's suggestions. None of this surprised her as she knew exactly how Cecylia operated. Beneath the adorable tease was a shrewd, calculating girl with a domineering personality and an excellent judge of character. Yet despite this, the dhampir had never tried to manipulate the Princess. It was one of the reasons they'd been best friends since childhood.

''If only you weren't a Weichsen, you’d be my closest confidante,'' Sylviane sighed with longing. She never once forgot that Cecylia was also the eyes and ears of King Leopold, which made it... difficult, to discuss certain topics.

This was part of the reason why she grew so close to King Alistair, despite the fact he was more than twice her age. The two of them shared many views when it came to the future of the Lotharin realm. It also helped that Alistair had a candid personality and an excellent sense of humor, which allowed her to hear the truth from him without feeling... inadequate.

''If only Pascal could soften around the edges in the same way,'' the Princess sighed.

Alas, the world wasn't perfect. Sylviane could only work with the hand that it dealt her.

"<Thanks for the advice and tips, both now and before,>" she smiled appreciatively.

"<What are friends for?>" Cecylia rhymed back, before the two of them started giggling again like normal girls their age.

<noinclude>
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| Back to [[Daybreak:Volume_2_Chapter_6|Chapter 6]]
| Return to [[Daybreak_on_Hyperion|Main Page]]
| Forward to [[Daybreak:Volume_2_Chapter_8|Chapter 8]]
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</noinclude>

Daybreak:Volume 2 Chapter 6

2021-07-04T17:11:32Z

Aorii:

===Chapter 6 - The Third Wheel===

Kaede loitered in the castle as the dusk sky dimmed outside. Sylviane had dragged Pascal off to the Emperor's privy council meeting. However unlike the war council earlier, the privy council was a much more limited affair. There also wasn't any tradition of bringing in junior lieutenants.

''Even Queens didn't usually attend privy council sessions,'' Kaede reflected from Earth history. ''It would be unusual if Pascal brought me.''

Nevertheless, it made her feel like an unwanted outsider again. Pascal and Sylviane were a pair in more ways than one. Apart from being the next royal couple of Rhin-Lotharingie, they were both talented if not brilliant in their own way. Both of them were also willful and determined to shape the future of their countries. It was as though the two of them were fated to leave their mark on history.

''Meanwhile... I'm just some average student from Japan.'' Kaede sighed.

Well, that wasn't exactly true. She could at least justify being 'above average'. She had been accepted by one of the best universities in the world, and she had spent her formative years debating history and international relations with her father, a university professor in history.

While Kaede's friends indulged themselves in romcom fiction or action manga, she was consuming world history and treatises on geopolitics. Her celebrities were world leaders like Angela Merkel and Vladimir Putin. Her heroes were great thinkers who applied history to shape the world: men like the Cold War strategist George Kennan, the cultural-political scientist Samuel Huntington, and of course, the 'grand master' of geopolitics Lee Kuan Yew.

It had always left her a bit of an outcast in pop-culture discussions. It was part of why while Kaede had plenty of acquaintances in school, there were few whom ''he'' could call a true friend.

The Samaran girl sighed again as she strode up to yet another painting and examined it. The beautifully-detailed artwork had a frame as wide as a dining room and ran from hip-high to almost reach the ceiling. Like all the others found in the Oriflamme Palace, its focus was another paladin of Rhin-Lotharingie -- this time a lean-shouldered, handsome, if somewhat effeminate young man. Clad in mail armor, the paladin sprouted flame-feathered phoenix wings and glowed in a halo of white-blue flames. He flew above the ground with his armigers, leading far ahead of a massive charge of mixed cavalry and heavy, wagon-like chariots.

''Are those... mongols with cannons?''

Kaede examined the 'enemy' painted in ominous grey. The flanks were predominantly light cavalry, with many pulling back recurve bows. However the center was mostly infantry carrying wooden planks with small iron tubes affixed to them. Interspersed among them were wheeled, wooden platforms that carried a black, metallic tube. One of them even belched forth flames as the primitive bombard unleashed its shot.

"Leslie Eachann Barclay of Tollaigh, Voivode of Dvina." Kaede muttered as she knelt down to inspect the label inscribed onto the frame's bottom.

According to the Lotharin history books she read, Leslie the Paladin was a mercenary captain from the clans of Gleann Mòr. He joined the Grand Republic of Samara's predecessor state in repelling an invasion from the east. At the time, almost nobody knew of him back in the Rhin-Lotharingie lands, even though he clearly did well in establishing himself as a 'Voivode' -- which on Earth was an Eastern European name for a ducal-level military commander.

His fame only spread to his homeland three centuries later, when it was Leslie's legacy which brought in a Samaran expeditionary force to aid the Lotharins during the Rhin-Lotharingie Independence War. Today, Leslie's name was known even among children. Their rhymes sang of ''Leslie's blessing'' which brought hope during difficult times.

It was hard to tell if anyone on Leslie's side in the painting was a Samaran since they mostly wore helmets. However as Kaede comed through the allied ranks, she did spot a young lady with flowing white hair. The girl stood on top of one of the leading heavy chariots. Her hands steadied the scorpion-like light artillery affixed to the wagon-bed while her companion loaded the weapon.

"You like the painting?"

Kaede turned as she stood up. Her eyes met the gaze of a smiling, elderly maid. The wrinkled old woman was thinly built and dressed in elegant black and white. Though the small, bejeweled hairpin that she wore in her french-bun showed that she was no common servant.

"Yes. I'm no connoisseur of paintings, but its history fascinates me." Kaede answered before realizing that she had better identify herself, lest they treat her as an intruder in the palace. "Sorry, I'm Kaede, the familiar of Landgrave Pascal von Moltewitz of Nordkreuz."

"Yes, I know." The matron replied warmly. "I'm Head Maid Rachel. Her Highness Princess Sylviane asked me to come find and bring you to dinner."

Kaede's stomach growled as if on cue. It brought a sheepish smile to the Samaran girl's lips. Apart from a few pastries that Sylviane had requested in the royal sitting room, Kaede hadn't eaten since breakfast back at the academy. The winter sun set early so they were only entering dinnertime. Nevertheless Kaede felt famished now that she was no longer distracted by historical artworks.

"I'm afraid the food isn't ''quite'' ready yet," Rachel smiled back. "Is there anything you would like to know about these paintings while we wait for a few more minutes? I happen to also serve as a curator in my secondary role."

Kaede's eyebrows rose. ''That... sort of makes sense, actually.''

She had noticed that Emperor Geoffroi clearly did not believe in hiring many servants. Kaede wasn't sure if this was because of frugality or the need to reduce palace expenditures. However it definitely felt like the royal court had less attendants than Alisia Academy, and certainly less than any palace from Earth as shown in historical dramas.

"I've read about Leslie the Paladin in books but... to see a scene of it depicted in such grand detail. It's... ''awe inspiring.''" Kaede tried to describe her feelings as she looked over the huge painting. "Was this an actual battle that Leslie commanded?"

"Commanded? No. This painting depicts the Second Battle of Desna River." Rachel explained as she pointed out the blue streak that could just be seen behind the friendly cavalry. "It's a visualization of the climatic moment, when Leslie the Paladin joined Lidiya the White Rose as they led the charge of the elite Polisian, and later Samaran, 2nd Guards Cavalry Brigade against the Great Khan's ''Divine Engine Division''."

The head maid then grinned proudly. "His Majesty always said that this battle forever changed world history."

Kaede frowned. It was strange to see a battle in Hyperion where large numbers of gunpowder weapons were employed. In all of Kaede's research for Pascal, she hadn't read a single one.

"I presume it has something to do with this ''Divine Engine Division'' and their gun... blast powder weapons?"

"Yes." Rachel confirmed Kaede's suspicions. "They were an experimental formation originally established by the eastern Dawn Imperium. The unit was later enlisted by the Great Khan after he all but vanquished that eastern superpower, having conquered it at least for a few decades. The Dawn Imperium has a tendency to bounce back as a superpower after every calamity, even if it takes them a century or two."

''They're definitely the China of this world,'' Kaede concluded.

"The division was recorded to be armed with a variety of weapons including mortars, grenades, hand-cannons, bombards, and uhh... I think these were called 'rockets'." She highlighted the trails of smoke that flew over the battlefield, even as streaks of mana rushed up from the friendly forces to intercept them."

Kaede could feel her curiosity growing more and more. "What happened exactly?"

"Leslie had volunteered to lead the vanguard attack before the main charge." The Head Maid answered. "Since blast powder is volatile and an Oriflamme burns the very air around them, the soldiers caught fire one after another and their 'divine engines' exploded. The Polisian cavalry then poured through the collapsing center and broke the Easterners' battle line. It was a complete disaster for the forces of the Great Khan and it turned the tide of the war."

"Is that why the Emperor said the battle forever changed history?" Kaede asked, though she could already guess at the answer.

"No." Rachel shook her head. "His Majesty said that this battle was the first and last time blast powder would play a decisive role on the battlefield. After this, no army would rely upon such a volatile technology. Therefore despite their potential, blast powder weapons would, at best, be used in a supporting role."

''Sounds like the Emperor is a student of history as well.''

Kaede knew that on Earth, early gunpowder weapons were often considered questionably useful due to their low accuracy and tendency to explode. Even as late as the Napoleonic Wars, gunpowder's susceptibility to the elements meant exposure to rain could cripple an army. In a world where every mage was capable of conjuring fire and water, gunpowder weapons were never given the opportunity to evolve. Its innovation had been stifled long before sealed cartridges could be developed, which took centuries of use in warfare even back on Earth.

"Does His Majesty read many books?" Kaede inquired.

"Oh yes, His Majesty is a voracious reader. Even back when the late Empress blessed these halls with her grace, his books would cost the palace more gold per year than her jewels and dresses." Rachel gave a nostalgic smile. "Would you like to see the library?"

"I'd sure like to know where it is. Though I probably shouldn't distract myself further before dinner."

"Certainly. Please follow me." Rachel announced before leading Kaede down the hallway.

"What kind of person was the late Empress?" Kaede added in curiosity of Princess Sylviane's mother. ''It's said that while fathers taught skill and determination, it was the mother who shaped a child's morale character.''

"She was a kind and gentle woman, if a bit too... innocent, for the intrigues of the court," Rachel reminiscenced. "She had dedicated her life to bringing up her three children, to be upright, industrious, and dedicated. It's such a great injustice what happened to her and the two princes."

Kaede had heard from Pascal that Sylviane had lost her mother and both elder brothers to Imperial Mantis Blade assassins. It was merely another example of the deep, blood-soaked hatred between the Empire of Rhin-Lotharingie and the Holy Imperium of the Inner Sea.

"It's been over a decade since her death and His Majesty has never even shown an inkling of interest in remarrying." Rachel noted sadly. "He has even kept her old room exactly the way it was. Some say it's because her fae magic melded the Emperor's soul to her own, and when she left she took a part of him with her. I think it's simply because His Majesty loves her that much."

"Fae magic?" Kaede's eyebrows rose as they turned to another hallway.

It was the second time she heard the phrase spoken today.

"Yes. The late Empress was a faekissed, the daughter of a minor earl from Ceredigion." Rachel began to explain, clearly realizing that Kaede had never heard of them before. "The faekissed are descendants of the faerie lords, whose rule over these lands is described in the ancient ''Book of Invasions''. During the height of their power, they had dominated all of Western Hyperion as far as the reaches of modern day Samara. However, for reasons unknown, they have since retreated through the portals back to their world. All that remains of them today are the stone rings, the faekissed, and the various artifacts that could be found throughout the land -- like the armor Her Highness wears."

"I would never have guessed," Kaede muttered in astonishment. "I mean... she looks so ''human!''"

But then, perhaps Kaede shouldn't be surprised. After all, she herself had a Samaran body, yet the only way to tell from external appearance was her snowy-white hair. Meanwhile Cecylia was a dhampir, a heritaged shown only in her gaze. Even the Princess' purple hair didn't mean much, as many mages had tresses dyed by the color of their mana, for instance Ariadne's floral-pink hair.

It was only then that Kaede realized that she was being rude. However Rachel at least took no offense as the old maid simply chuckled:

"It's been several thousand years since the faerie lords left our world. That's several dozen generations, even with the longevity given by the blessing of magic. Most faekissed have but a drop of fae blood in them today. Though even that blood is enough to make a big difference from most humans."

"Could you tell me about some of those differences?"

The head maid looked back and smiled. "You're a real scholar aren't you? The questions just don't stop coming."

"Ah, sorry..."

"No, I'm happy to answer. You're just not what I expected." Rachel answered as she turned back and kept on walking. "Just like her mother, Her Highness is an autumnborn. As the name implies, she was born in October, and Fall is her favorite time of the year -- she could spend hours just watching the leaves fall outside. She also has absolutely dreadful spring allergies, and tends to be moody and irritable during that season."

''So, walk on eggshells around her then.'' Kaede made a mental note.

After all, it wasn't like she was asking merely out of curiosity. Relationship building benefited from research and planning just like any other activity. Professionals like diplomats usually began their task by seeking an understanding of the other side's background and temperament. And while Kaede normally wouldn't go this far, she knew that as long as she stayed with Pascal, managing her relationship with the Princess will be one of her greatest challenges.

"The autumnborn favor acumen," Rachel continued in the meantime, "though they're not as logical as their cold and stoic winter brethren. They also have a tendency to get jealous, though they're never as passionate as their summer kin. They dislike airheads above all, probably due to their rivalry with spring. Though I'd say you're in no danger of that."

''And I thank every buddha for this small blessing.''

"And here we are, the royal library." Rachel announced as she pushed open a pair of wooden, double doors. "It's not quite as grand as the one at the Alisia Academy where you were living. But I'd say you'll find plenty to read here."

For a brief moment Kaede stared in awe as she eyed the rows upon rows of bookshelves. There was enough here to make even a modern public library proud. Furthermore, unlike the massive collection at the Alisia Academy of Magic, this library was meant for the royal family's personal use. Its size and abundance certainly showed just how many rulers of the Gaetane dynasty were of erudite character.

"You know, in all my years, you are the first individual who is more interested in His Majesty's library than his throne room." Rachel spoke with amusement as she watched the young girl's reaction.

"The throne?" Kaede turned towards the head maid with raised eyebrows. ''It's just a fancy chair, isn't it?''

Kaede had seen enough thrones on Earth to know that they were always magnificent and opulent and often downright excessive. From the Winter Palace to the Kyoto Imperial Palace to the Palace of Versailles, the thrones of Kings and Emperors were always purposefully set up to make anyone who stood before them feel awe and a sense of insignificance by comparison.

However, when one peeled away all the unnecessary pomp and pretentiousness, the throne was always just a room with a seat. Everything else was just an illusion of grandeur, as even the most grandiose throne in the world provided little meaningful value to the well-being of a nation-state. The garish colors of the Chrysanthemum Throne was certainly less than worthless during Japan's ''Sengoku Jidai'', as it became a focal point of conflict inside a fracturing nation, torn asunder by a dozen simultaneous civil wars.

The same could not be said for a well-kept royal library, which was the physical manifestation of the ruler's breadth of knowledge and their capacity for learning.

Nevertheless, Kaede merely shrugged and gave a sheepish smile. It seemed unkind to speak her thoughts to the head maid. After all, Rachel's whole career was to maintain the palace so that it could be presented to dignitaries in its most awe-inspiring state.

"I guess I just find this room far more practical, and telling of the Emperor's character." The young girl added.

Somehow, Rachel found this surprising as her eyebrows shifted upwards. "How much do you know about the throne of Rhin-Lotharingie?"

"Only that it's called the 'Burning Throne'," Kaede frowned with a perplexed tilt. ''But that's just hyperbole, isn't it?''

She remembered reading mentions of it on several occasions. But each time she simply continued on without a second thought. After all, just because the Japanese Emperor had the 'Chrysanthemum Throne' didn't mean he sat on an actual throne of flowers. It was all just symbolism and embellishment.

Her moment of silence was all the answer the head maid needed. Rachel smiled knowingly as she gently ushered Kaede from the library and closed its doors.

"Follow me," the head maid spoke before leading the familiar girl down a hallway.

They turned twice before reaching the main entrance hall. Yet after her single request, Rachel did not say another word and instead wore a playful little smile as though she had a surprise planned. The Samaran girl could only follow the elderly maid in silence before they reached a double-door that had an armiger guard on each side. It was the only place outside the Emperor's presence where Kaede had met stationary guardsmen in the palace, and she felt keenly aware of their wary gazes which both fell upon her.

However neither of the guards said anything as they each grasped a handle and pulled the heavy, wrought iron doors open. Clearly the head maid's presence was enough to satisfy them that Kaede was not trespassing.

"Do you still think it's not practical?" Rachel spoke with amusement.

Kaede had to blink her eyes in disbelief as she took in her first view of the throne room.

The chamber itself was not exceptionally large and certainly not opulent by the standards of Earth. It was built almost entirely of polished blue granite and little else. The royal seat took its customary spot on the far end, elevated above the rest of the floor by a stone pedestal three steps high. However, what instantly drew Kaede's attention and almost made her jaw hit ground was the chair itself:

It was a blocky, heavy, uncomfortable-looking stone seat that was ablaze with blue-white flames.

It did not escape Kaede's attention that the royal chair burned in the same color as Rhin-Lotharingie's phoenixes. The embers seemed to emanate from the stone itself, and they were so bright and hot that she could almost feel the heat emanating across the room from it.

''When Pascal said only an Oriflamme may inherit the throne, I didn't think he meant it physically,'' Kaede thought.

She did not even realize that in her awestruck state, she had whispered it audibly.

"There's a reason why the 'Burning Throne' is famous throughout Hyperion," Rachel spoke with pride. "It was enchanted by one of the companions of the founding emperor -- the Oriflamme Paladin and artificer, Gwendolen the Fairie Sword. No man or woman whose character has not been vouched by the sacred phoenixes may sit upon it. Anyone else who attempts to do so will be burned to ashes within the minute."

It was a sure symbol of what it took to wield the authority of the Emperor. Blood, charisma, power -- none of those were enough. Only those worthy enough to be chosen by the phoenixes could sit upon the throne of Rhin-Lotharingie.

Reflecting upon this, Kaede couldn't help but feel impressed by the legacy left by the nation's founders. Through a single item, they managed to create one of the most capable guarantors of their country's future.

''At least in theory,'' she thought. After all, the succession of Rhin-Lotharingie had yet to be tested by a true crisis -- what political scientists called the <nowiki>'</nowiki>''acid test of reality''<nowiki>'</nowiki>.

...

Kaede was far less impressed by the time she sat down at a crowded, long dining table. Apparently, the Princess had arranged for her to eat with the other servants. They also ate earlier than the usual dinner time, since many of the maids and footmen would have to serve dinner to the privy council.

''Not that I've caught a case of contagious snobbishness, but...''

Kaede looked through the doorway to the kitchens, where everything from roast pig to fattened goose had been prepared. The mouthwatering aroma wafted through the air and filled the servants' areas. It made the simple meat and cabbage stew she had look downright unappetizing by comparison.

"What's wrong? Is the food not good enough for our little mistress?" A young maid who sat next to Kaede spoke. Her unfriendly tone elicited even a few jeering smiles from others.

"No, it's not that..." Kaede struggled to come up with an excuse as she pulled her eyes away from the kitchen.

"Oh, you want your master's food. Don't worry about that. I'm sure he'll feed you some in bed later." Another maid remarked unkindly.

The male servants said nothing. When Kaede caught one of the young men's gazes, he hurriedly looked away with a sudden and intense interest towards the wall clock. It was clear the handsome young footman found her attractive, which only further aggravated the maids who now took stabs at her with cutting phrases.

"Ahem!"

It was only thanks to Head Maid Rachel, who sat at the long table's other end, that Kaede gained a moment of reprieve. The eldly woman sent her an apologetic look before speaking to the gathered servants, who numbered just under two dozen.

"If you have time to chatter, you have time to eat. Be quick about it. His Majesty and the privy council will need their meal in ten minutes."

"<Sorry about that.>" Rachel's voice then emerged in Kaede's mind. "<Her Highness is quite generous to the girls so they're very keen with her. I'm afraid they find your master's actions offensive to the Princess' honor.>"

Clearly, the Head Maid was a mage. ''Or more precisely a yeoman,'' Kaede guessed.

She reached over to her right forearm and pressed the first spell-storing rune. Her hand waved briefly at Rachel as the ''Telepathy'' spell activated.

"<nowiki><I</nowiki> completely understand,>" Kaede replied, much to Rachel's astonishment as the old woman's eyes went wide. "<But please remember that His Grace was the one who summoned me as a familiar. I had no choice in the matter. Plus Her Highness already gave him a piece of her mind.>"

"<nowiki><I'm</nowiki> glad to hear that.>" Rachel showed a satisfied smile. Clearly she agreed with the maids insofar as the Princess' honor was concerned. "<Unfortunately though, I don't think these maids understand how such magic works, nor do they care to listen. It may not be fair, but I'm afraid you'll have to bear your master's sins in this regard.>"

Kaede exhaled a quiet sigh. ''What else is new?''

"<When you finish, feel free to peruse the library.> Rachel then added. "<I'm sure His Majesty wouldn't mind, as he encourages us --at least, those of us who can read-- to use it as well. I'll collect you after His Majesty's dinner is finished and show you to your quarters.>"

...

"I realized you were bookish, but I didn't think you'd be this keen."

Kaede heard Rachel's amazement as she balanced the four heavy tomes in her thin arms. Her breathing was laden with exertion as she climbed up yet another rotation of the stone, circular stairway. She had already counted four stories from the second floor library. It was clear by now that Kaede's new quarters were just beneath the keep's roof.

''If I knew I'd have to climb this much I wouldn't have taken so many!'' She thought. She had forgotten to bring her extra-dimensional messenger bag from the academy. It didn't help now that she couldn't see her own footing on the steep staircase, which made her take even longer than usual to climb.

Unfortunately for her, Rachel also wasn't interested in helping like Pascal did back at the academy. Kaede couldn't blame the woman either. Stairs were treacherous and the head maid was already of elderly age.

''Finally!'' Kaede's mind cried out in joy as they reached the last landing. Rachel opened the heavy door for her as they walked into the hallway for the servants' bedrooms.

"This hallway is for the maids only. Men are not allowed up here, and that includes your master." The head maid explained the rules. "I will be turning the hall's lights off by eleven, though you may use a candle after that if needed. Breakfast is at six tomorrow morning. I suggest you get up early if you're interested in the leftovers from the privy council's dinner -- the boys have voracious appetites and will devour the remnants faster than carrion. You may plan tomorrow's day as you like otherwise."

Clearly, Princess Sylviane was intent on treating Kaede like any other servant. However, Rachel also didn't know what to do with her since she wasn't a palace maid. This unfortunately left Kaede in limbo, where she would have to live with the other servants, yet couldn't find acceptance among them through working together.

''This sucks.'' Kaede complained to herself, just before Rachel opened the door to her assigned bedroom.

"I thought it would be best to give you your own bedroom, instead of sharing with one of the other maids. Unfortunately this room hasn't been used in a long time, and we've had no time today to give it a cleaning."

The room was simple enough: two single beds, two small dressers, two chairs, and one desk by the window. However the stifling air supported Rachel's words that this room had laid empty for far too long. The furniture and windowsill even collected a layer of visible dust. The beds also lay buried under boxes and various assorted items as the place had been used as a storage room.

"Not a problem. I can clean it up. Thank you." Kaede said as she laid the books down on the desk's only empty corner.

She had forced a smile to her lips. However it was difficult to sound enthusiastic when she felt so disappointed inside.

''What did I expect? That the Princess would let me use one of her guest rooms?'' Kaede tried not to scowl, as Sylviane's message in these arrangements was not lost on her. ''She clearly wants me to know my place -- that I'm just a servant.''

"Her Highness also found you a more ''appropriate'' outfit." Rachel stressed the word as though she didn't agree at all. She gestured towards a frilly dress that had been laid out on the bed's only available surface. "One of the maids can help you with any adjustments you need to it tomorrow. Though I expect you'll find it a perfect fit. You do have the exact same height and build as Lady Vivienne whom this dress was originally made for."

''So 'Vivi' really is Vivienne,'' Kaede thought. It was ''almost'' enough to confirm her hypothesis: that the girl whom Sylviane treated as a dress-up doll was none other than Rhin-Lotharingie's youngest Paladin.

"Thank you. I appreciate it." The Samaran girl tried to sound like she meant it, but she doubted that Rachel was fooled.

"I believe that is all." The Head Maid concluded. "I've told the other maids not to bother you, so you shouldn't be disturbed as long as you're in here. You may need one of us to help in getting dressed tomorrow though. I live just down the hallway, first room from the entrance to the right. Knock if you have any further needs."

"Thank you." Kaede nodded. "And have a good night."

"Good night Miss Kaede." Rachel smiled warmly before she exited the door and closed it behind her.

Kaede's forced smile vanished instantly as she collapsed onto the bed where her new outfit had been placed. She sighed deeply as she exhaled all of the dejection she felt inside.

''Pascal... you idiot.'' She thought. ''Why'd you have to summon me into a girl's body?''

Everyone spoke of the Princess' kindness, except Kaede didn't feel an ounce of it thanks to Sylviane's apparent jealousy.

It took her a few minutes before she finally forced herself to stand. It took even longer for her to clear out her bed and move all the miscellaneous items to the spare. The room was still cluttered and messy but that couldn't be helped. She would have to air and dust the place tomorrow, but for tonight she would just have to manage.

Returning to sit upon her bed, Kaede lifted the one-piece dress that had been prepared for her. It was lavender with soft-pink accents, and had an extravagant amount of frills and laces which gave it a 'lolita' feel. Its tiered, ankle-length skirt alone contained over a half dozen layers with all its petticoats, including a crinoline. Meanwhile the frilled top was an off-shoulder design, held up by halter straps and translucent chiffon-lace that connected to a wide choker around the neck.

None of that though was intolerable. Instead, it was the built-in corset that filled Kaede with dread and made her groan.

''So the Princess can strangle me with it.'' The familiar girl mulled as she tugged at the laces.

With another sigh, Kaede decided there was nothing to do but sleep. She wasn't in the mood for much reading tonight. And she did want to wake up early tomorrow so there was still sumptuous food to be had.

<noinclude>
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| Back to [[Daybreak:Volume_2_Chapter_5|Chapter 5]]
| Return to [[Daybreak_on_Hyperion|Main Page]]
| Forward to [[Daybreak:Volume_2_Chapter_7|Chapter 7]]
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</noinclude>

Daybreak:Volume 2 Chapter 5

2021-07-04T17:11:16Z

Aorii:

===Chapter 5 - A Royal Eccentricity===

For weeks at the academy, Kaede had felt less like Pascal's servant and more like... something akin to a close friend. Pascal had never left her out of any conversation that she was present for, and he often solicited her thoughts on topics that she had knowledge of.

But today reminded Kaede once again that in the eyes of society and everyone else, she was still just a servant.

The war council was her first experience in being seen but not heard, as she spent the whole time standing still and silent. It was understandable though, as just like Cecylia --who stood silent behind the ambassador through the whole meeting-- Kaede was far too inconsequential to speak out in a gathering of Empire-ranking bigwigs. Even Sylviane and Pascal barely had any opportunity. The two of them only sat at the same table due to their position as heirs. Meanwhile the other attendees were either lifelong career officials or seasoned political leaders with an established power base.

However, Kaede did not extend the same understanding to her exclusion from Pascal's meeting with Sylviane and Emperor Geoffroi. She might have promised Pascal on the roof last night that she would always be family to him. Yet a real family member would not have been kept outside the doors like she was now...

A real family member would be sitting inside in their private meeting, not left waiting outside with a mere bodyguard.

''Maybe that's not entirely fair,'' the familiar girl thought.

Kaede glanced at the female armiger who stood on the other side of the closed doors. The young lady appeared somewhere in her early twenties, which for a mage meant anywhere between actually twenty to half a century old. She was a hint taller than average, with chestnut-brown hair that barely draped over her narrow shoulders. Her eyes were a cloudy gray, and while her face held the ideal 'almond' shape, her wide nose and freckled cheeks were just proportional enough to not be homely.

She also wore heavy half-plate armor, although Kaede had never heard it clink. She carried a steel heater shield on her back, while the weapon that hung from her crossed double-belt was a heavy mace. This imposing wardrobe made it clear that she was ready for action at any moment. Though thankfully her vigilant gaze stayed on the empty hallway rather than looking at Kaede with suspicion.

Sylviane had addressed her affectionately as 'Mari', so it was clear that she was very close to the Princess. Kaede knew that royal bodyguards also routinely served as confidants, and Mari was likely no exception.

"So... what's the Princess like?" Kaede finally worked up the courage to ask.

It felt rather uncomfortable just standing there with a fully-armored lady in silence.

"You'll find out in a moment." Mari replied simply.

''That is so extremely not helpful,'' Kaede's face fell.

Though before she could file any more silent complaints, Mari looked at her and added:

"Word of advice though: I would tread carefully if I were you. His Grace may be quite laid back when it comes to noble courtesy, but Her Highness is a stickler to etiquette. You didn't exactly start on the right foot by virtue of being his familiar."

''The Princess is the jealous type then.'' Kaede swallowed as she muttered "thank you". Mari's sympathetic warning was definitely precious insider knowledge of Sylviane's character.

Then, as if on cue, the doors to the private chamber opened.

"I'll let you two work out your problems," Emperor Geoffroi's deep yet affectionate voice came. "Don't forget the meeting this afternoon Sylv."

"I won't, Father."

The brawny Emperor then stepped out from the room. He paused briefly and examined Kaede with a stern gaze, which made the familiar girl feel like she had just been brain-scanned by a MRI machine.

The Emperor's mustache then curled upwards as he offered a fatherly smile.

"Kaede, is it?"

"Y-yes, Your Majesty," Kaede hurriedly replied with a curtsy. She almost stumbled in her anxiety.

Geoffroi chuckled, which did wonders to calm Kaede's nerves in her first time greeting an ''Emperor''.

"Don't worry. I'm used to Pascal's outlandish ideas in 'proper behavior'. There is no need to fear me, so long as you treat my daughter with the appropriate respect that she deserves and do not seek to undermine their relationship."

Kaede did not miss the conditionality of his statement which also made it a warning.

"Of course, Your Majesty." She nodded firmly.

"Sylv told me that you're from another world, but you're nevertheless a Samaran in ours." Geoffroi added with curiosity in his gaze. "Would you like to meet the ambassador from the Grand Republic of Samara? He is in charge of all Samaran relations in Rhin-Lotharingie. I believe he is still away on business, but we can certainly have arrangements made."

Kaede's eyes lit up. Considering the problems that Samarans faced outside the Grand Republic, the ambassador would certainly be a man who could offer advice and protection to her kind. The only issue was, of course, the fact that she wasn't ''actually'' from the Grand Republic.

"Y-yes! Thank you very much, Your Majesty!" She bowed this time.

The Emperor simply nodded with a mild smile before he strode off. He met his own bodyguards further down the hallway before turning and vanishing from sight.

"Mari, you can bring her in now." Kaede heard the Princess' voice from inside.

The knight-in-waiting nodded to Kaede, as though reminding the familiar girl of what she had just said. She then followed just behind Kaede into the room, and closed the door gently almost as soon as the smaller girl stepped past the threshold.

Kaede swallowed again as she walked into the middle of the room under the Princess' unimpressed gaze. Sylviane sat regally upon a plush armchair. Even Pascal looked a hint nervous as he sat on another armchair to her side. It certainly did not help Kaede's nerves to see even her master tense, as he was normally so unflappable if not downright insolent towards figures of authority.

The young girl carefully lowered herself in the most sincere curtsy she had given yet.

A silent moment of eye contact soon followed. Yet as uncomfortable as the air grew, Kaede did not shy away from Sylviane's steady gaze. In a situation where she had nothing to be guilty about, weakness would only mislead the other's judgment to worse ends. All she could do was wait patiently for her turn to speak: a courtesy appropriate for differences in social rank, as Pascal reminded her this morning.

''She isn't just some noble from the academy either.'' Kaede reminded herself as she tried not to fidget in her small heels. ''She's Pascal's dear fiancée, someone I MUST try to stay cordial with...''

After what seemed an eternity, Sylviane finally bestowed upon Kaede the grace of a gentle smile. Her hands, which were clad in long, periwinkle gloves, left the armchair's sides and folded on top of her lap. Her violet, mid-calf skirt had clearly been smoothed out after she sat, as it did not show even a single wrinkle over her legs.

Her actions were straight and simple, yet they exemplified the Princess' behavior. Sylviane's movements held neither natural grace nor crudeness. However they were all taken with a delicate touch, as though she concentrated upon her image with every step.

"Don't worry," the Princess spoke at last. "I won't bite even if you are his kept woman."

Kaede's attempt to smile back was wry at best:

"I'm not. I'm his familiar."

"Which... is far worse, if you'll pardon the expression," Sylviane replied in calm words. "I realize that it's no fault of your own, and I ''am'' grateful that you saved his life. I gathered from his report that you were quite central to the bait-and-trap scheme. But..."

The Princess closed her eyes and sighed, almost in exasperation, before reestablishing contact.

"Courtesans I can deal with. It is simply a matter of fact that few men of greatness and ambition are ever completely faithful to only one woman. Even my father, as family-oriented as Gaetane traditions go, had a second lover when he was younger. He's not proud of it, and while I don't understand what drives men to unfaithfulness, the simple fact is that powerful men often do: it's a cardinal sin of their kind." Sylviane answered with a glance towards Pascal, who oddly kept his silence even though his frowning gaze clearly wanted to retort.

Kaede returned a bare nod. It hardly took a historian to know just how common affairs were among the nobility and the modern political elite. Media-aware scandals represented merely a tiny tip of the iceberg. Female activists might debate biologists on the role of genetics, but as a scholar the evidence to Kaede was overwhelming.

Far more interesting was Sylviane's willingness to share this history with her, since royalty did not normally air their dirty laundry to outsiders.

"But such 'concubines' are also temporary, or at the very least, informal," Sylviane continued as her voice gradually hardened to almost a lecture. "I am willing to tolerate Pascal having one as long as he continues to hold ''me'' in the highest regard and is discrete about his affair -- which means keeping her tucked away, in some remote residence, unseen and unheard."

''In other words, keep the dirty tramp out of my sight,'' Kaede thought. It was somewhat bitter too, as she was the harlot of this conversation, even if the princess avoided saying so.

Sylviane then grew solemn:

"Unfortunately, you are none of those."

"I'm also not intimate with him, whereas a concubine would be." Kaede held her ground, though even her stiffened voice remained wispy.

She then blanched a little when Sylviane's eyebrows shifted up just a hair to betray her revelation...

''Seriously! Why do all nobles, even the sensible ones, always jump that conclusion!?''

Of all the changes brought by Kaede's gender switch, the social view that kept seeing her as some sexual object was easily the most irritating. It was as though her femininity came before her identity as a ''person'', and she would rather suffer her menstrual period again than deal with this every time.

Though ultimately, it hardly even mattered to Sylviane:

"Yes, but you ''are'' a girl officially attached to him. Furthermore, your bond is even more permanent than the sanctity of marriage, as not even the Pope can divorce you. As a mage's familiar, it is part of your ''function'' to be present and active," Sylviane stated. "This you have already proven through foiling the assassination plot against Pascal."

"In other words," Kaede moodily interjected, "you would have the same problem with a sister, if Pascal had one."

She heard a groan from Pascal. Only then did Kaede realize that she just completely tore up his request of "''speak only when you are asked.''".

"Apologies, Your Highness." She hurriedly added, finally breaking eye contact to glance down. "That was inappropriate of me."

The air grew silent once more. The atmosphere became almost oppressive.

Kaede also couldn't help wonder what the penalties for disrespecting royalty were. As a crown princess, Sylviane would inherit far more dungeons than Pascal ever could. They might even come with their own secret police department, with medieval sensibilities capable of making Stalin's gulags seem like a beach resort by comparison.

But as she snuck a glance back up, all of her imagined pressure evaporated at once.

Sylviane was still staring at her, but now with an odd, almost bittersweet smile before she broke out in a chuckle. The Princess then turned towards her betrothed:

"I can see why you like her." She followed with a sigh.

"I told you she was fun to talk with." Pascal grinned as he finally confirmed that his betrothed hadn't put a silencing spell on him.

"I think your idea of 'fun' is different from most people's." Sylviane's voice was somewhere between amusement and exasperation.

"On that note, please stop grouping me with other men." Pascal remained unabashed. "Last I checked, it was you who encouraged me to court other girls at the academy to 'broaden my experiences'. I have never initiated a relationship with another girl without your approval."

''He's clearly henpecked,'' Kaede thought. It was apparent now that Sylviane had asked him to hold his tongue, so that the Princess could assess Kaede for herself.

''Does that mean I passed?'' The familiar couldn't help wonder.

In the meantime Sylviane countered flatly:

"Except this one."

"Yes, well, I did not think a familiar would apply." Pascal at least had the courtesy to look sheepish. "In my defense, I just wanted a companion."

"Should have tried the other gender." The Princess tossed back as her eyes gave Kaede another up-and-down sweep. They weren't exactly grumpy or unhappy, more like... conflicted.

"I do not think the Church would approve," Pascal grumbled into the air.

Sylviane's gaze immediately froze. Then, as her eyes widened and her cheeks flushed, she spun around to cast an outraged glare at Pascal:

"You know what I meant! And they don't approve of this any more than the other!"

Kaede wondered if religious conservatism actually turned girls off from fantasizing forbidden romance like Japanese schoolgirls often did, or if Sylviane only rejected it because the prospect of her ''fiancée'' being gay was... extremely not cool.

''And here I was worried about being seen as a guy, by a girl, as paired with another guy, when I'm now a girl, but was a guy...'' her thoughts looped about.

''This is so surreal.''

"I honestly believed you would like her," Pascal mumbled out again, paying triple to the concept that anything a man could say in such a situation only made it worse. "I mean... you can tell by the looks alone."

Sylviane's gaze upon Kaede was conflicted again. There was even a look of familiarity in her eyes, as though Kaede reminded her of someone. Nevertheless, she turned away to her betrothed and asked pointedly:

"And how far down did that rank in your original motivations for summoning a cute girl as your familiar?"

Kaede blinked a few times. Wives simply did not refer to mistresses as 'cute'. Perhaps that meant she was now past the first hurdle of being seen as a direct threat?

"Does that mean you do like her?" Pascal asked with rising hopes.

"SHE is not the problem. YOU are!" Sylviane declared as she jabbed her index finger his way. "A familiar does not choose the summoner, but I have no doubt that you ''did'' specify the result, ''Runelord!''"

"I cannot deny that one," the lord himself admitted. "She even gave me the fisticuffs for pulling her out of her life in another world. Left me sore for days."

Sylviane spun towards Kaede with an incredulous look:

"Is that true?"

Kaede hesitantly nodded. "Sorry. It was the morning after he summoned me, and my emotions had gotten the better part of me."

"Oh you don't need to apologize." The Princess giggled with amusement. "I'd been tempted to give him a good slap ever since he told me. It's nice to know that you've already done the deed, even if it's not quite as satisfying."

The Princess then grinned at Pascal's rolling eyes before her gaze returned to Kaede and hardened into a stare:

"However in the future, I ''will'' have you arrested if you assault my future husband, is that understood?"

"Crystal." Kaede rushed to nod. It was clear that Sylviane wished to reserve the privilege of dealing with Pascal for herself.

Satisfied with her answer, the Princess' expression softened.

"Did you really come from another world?" She then asked in curiosity.

"Yes, Your Highness. A far more technological realm that's sent men to the moon, but with no magic at all," Kaede clarified. "I would say more socially advanced as well, but discussions with Cecylia proved that may just be bias from my perspective."

"How could one travel to celestial bodies without magic...?"

Kaede's eyebrows shot up instantly. ''Did that mean mages figured out space travel?''

Nevertheless the Princess puzzled for merely a brief second, before her eyes soon refocused upon Kaede. Sylviane would not be side-tracked easily, a sign of mental discipline as expected from someone whom Pascal deeply respects.

"Never mind. It's good that you've talked to Cecylia at length. She's an excellent judge of character and one whom I trust very much."

With a preoccupied frown, Kaede halted her other thoughts as she realized that Sylviane and Cecylia didn't just know one another; they were on excellent terms. Since they were both Pascal's childhood friends, it was likely they met way back then and kept in touch. Plus Cecylia was a trained intelligence analyst, thus the Princess had the best eyes and ears for monitoring Pascal back when he was at the Königsfeld Academy. Though this might be a little more awkward today, considering that Cecylia was a spy for another country, alliance notwithstanding.

A brief shiver went through Kaede as she remembered her near-paralysis when those scarlet-crossed dhampir eyes came up close and personal...

''Not sure if I want a reference like that.''

"I do admit, Kaede, that your intrusion into our relationship may be similar to that of a sister." Sylviane noted back to their prior conversation before Pascal spoke. "Except that men don't summon sisters, however much some of them may want to."

Kaede nodded back. After her recent years in Japan, she became very familiar with that concept. It was one that she found more amusing than anything else, since she actually grew up with an older sister.

"There is also a natural limit between siblings, however close they might become," the Princess continued. "That limitation does not exist when you do not share any blood relations with him."

''Incest is a near-universal taboo, after all,'' Kaede nodded as she understood. Sure, there were a few cultures in history which saw a siblings' union as 'sacred'. However, it was clear that the Trinitian Church teachings which spread through Western Hyperion did not harbor such views.

Then, Sylviane spoke with a stern face fitting of a tigress marking her own grounds:

"Could you promise me that you will not develop romantic relations with my husband-to-be then?"

"Of course!" Kaede rushed to answer. ''It's not like I've ever felt attraction towards a man before!''

Yet even as she said that, she felt something uneasy deep within: was this really something she could promise? When she could be spending untold years in this body?

However Kaede completely ignored it as she went on:

"In fact, Your Highness, there is something you should know about me. I don't know if Pascal told you, but..."

"She is a ''boy'', or was." Pascal interjected as he stole her thunder. "I ''really'' was not looking for anything of romantic or sensual interest, honestly!"

After freezing for a brief moment, Sylviane locked her gaze upon Kaede once more and leaned forward in her seat. Her waist-long, dark-purple hair fluttered about in voluminous tresses as she stared straight at the familiar with shock-enlarged eyes.

Kaede felt like an exotic animal being scrutinized over. Even the armiger Mari was now gawking at her from the door, all pretense of disinterest abandoned.

The rapidly growing curiosity, perhaps even fascination, in the Princess' eyes did not help. Within moments, Sylviane stood up and closed the distance between them. She reached out to Kaede's cheeks and shoulders, gently feeling them through silken gloves as though confirming the reality of what she saw. Her hands then trailed down, brushed past the familiar's small chest before settling on a firm hold at the narrow waist.

"I would ''never'' have guessed..." Sylviane spoke through an almost trance-like voice, before stepping to Kaede's side and gliding one hand gently through the snowy-white long hair. "It's like you were meant to be a girl. How does it feel?"

"Uh... smaller?"

Kaede honestly wasn't sure what kind response the Princess sought from her. After adapting to countless changes over the past few weeks, her entire experience was simply too overwhelming to describe by words alone.

"I guess I'm starting to get used to everything." Kaede shrugged as she glanced down in dejection. "Not that I have another choice: even Pascal has no idea how to fix this."

"I guess it must have been a shock, suddenly finding yourself like this."

Kaede nodded back as images of that fateful first night flashed through her mind:

"Waking up in some stranger's bed and finding myself stripped and dressed in 'bridal lingerie' was... not exactly pleasant."

"<Did you have to...>"

Pascal's mental voice cut off as his fiancée slowly rotated back towards him. His entire body stiffened as her petrifying glare laid him against the chopping block.

"<Well, it's true,>" Kaede commented, relieved to have the Princess' examining eyes off her again. "<Besides, payback is fair.>"

"Uh, I would like to point out that you have done that too," Pascal stated. "Well, the lingerie, at least. Your collection for Vivi is just ''obsessive''..."

"It's not even two dozen--" Sylviane let slip before she loudly retorted: "I do NOT have an obsession!"

Pascal didn't say a word after being interrupted. He simply stared at his future wife with a knowing look, arched eyebrows included. Somehow he had reversed the situation in an instant, and it was now Sylviane who sported a light blush while trying to recover her momentum:

"A-anyways, I'm a girl. I'm allowed to play with dolls."

Kaede shivered as she felt a chill sweep across her from Sylviane's words. Pascal's mention of 'Vivi' also left her curious if Sylviane kept some ornate, life-sized doll.

"You're a ''man'', aren't you?" The Princess's voice grew adamant. "What are you doing in my domain?"

"So it is acceptable for ladies to take sword-and-shield but we are not allowed to enjoy cuteness!?" Her betrothed immediately cried unfair. "What kind of gendered hypocrisy is this!"

"The practical kind, since by the grace of magic we can fight just as well as you do." Sylviane countered. "In case you forgot, the last five times you dueled me..."

"I have not forgotten a thing and you can stop rubbing salt in every chance you get," Pascal cut her off with a torrent of words, his drawling arrogance completely abandoned by this point. "Can we get back on topic please?"

''He must be really desperate if he'd rather talk about...''

"Sure, let us revisit how you summoned a girl, took advantage of her helplessness, stripped her bare naked, and had your way with her, when you're already engaged..."

Sylviane leaned forward over him, forcing herself deep into his personal space to continue her offensive without giving him a moment of respite. Even Pascal's steadfast determination to hold his ground soon began to buckle under the relentless verbal assault:

"I have a portable projector if you would like to show us your memories. I'm sure your eagerness of the moment will be perfectly noted by your ravishing hands as they anxiously stroked every length of that porcelain skin, carefully examining a girl's most intimate parts. Or when..."

Kaede felt her cheeks ignite as Sylviane's exaggerated descriptions began conjuring vivid, uncensored images in her mind. Before she knew it, her thin arms had wrapped themselves around herself in a tight, protective embrace while her glare fixed itself on Pascal.

She felt dirty from just the visualization. Worse yet, Pascal could have done exactly ''that'' and she wouldn't even know...

With his back arced away from his fiancée, Pascal was also blushing a fiery red. He soon threw up both hands in defeat:

"I surrender! Unconditionally! Just state your demands already! And please stop making me sound like such an irredeemably lecherous pervert!"

Sylviane finally returned to standing upright. Even her cheeks were flushed with embarrassment, although her shortness of breath was mostly due to the machine-gun fire of accusations.

"Well... you did say that you honestly thought I would like her, right?"

After taking a few steps back and pivoting towards her fiancée's familiar, Sylviane sent Kaede a warm smile: the delight of a victor as she admired her prize.

''I have a bad feeling about this...''

"I will allow you to accompany him wherever he goes. But in exchange, I want you to obey my authority in all matters at home." Sylviane dictated her terms and conditions. "That means if I want to borrow you this afternoon, or request that you keep your distance from him for a week, you will do so. I will also tell you where to sleep. I reserve the right to determine what you can or cannot wear. And I may demand changes in your etiquette or behavior."

Sylviane then rotated back to Pascal:

"And you will not object or interfere in any way. Is that acceptable?"

''She's a natural dictator,'' Kaede thought. Still, a part of her did have to admit: ''this is quite mature for her age.''

It was an old trick in the book, especially in cultures that once practiced polygamy. When a husband of authority grew interested in another female, a shrewd wife would often seek to establish dominance over the new girl, and therefore control any budding relationship. Although there was usually far more subtlety and less... tyranny.

Furthermore, none of the authorities Sylviane demanded was unusual when Kaede thought about old aristocratic sensibilities. A lady of the house easily held all of that, and more, over her maid servants. It was simply part of how noble households used to be run, even back on Earth a century or two ago.

''I just need to play along for now until I can get on her good side first, then maybe we can renegotiate.'' Kaede thought of the warning that Pascal gave before setting out.

Meanwhile, Pascal's first response was a deep frown.

"I do have obligations to take care of her after summoning her into our world."

"And I'm not unreasonable," Sylviane replied. Then, almost jokingly: "besides, if I were mean enough to desire harm upon her, I hardly require your permission to manage it."

''Of course. She has plenty of guards and agents at her beckon...''

Kaede sighed. Sylviane wasn't exactly subtle in reminding her of their difference in rank. It felt as though they were negotiating a transfer of her 'ownership'. This might be common to their 'medieval' sensibilities, but it certainly wasn't in the modern age that Kaede grew up in.

"Fine," Pascal begrudgingly agreed. "But I retain my right to intervene in the interests of her well-being." His voice then grew unyielding: "I ''will not'' relinquish my obligations to her, on any grounds."

"Wouldn't have it any other way," Sylviane replied with a genuinely sweet smile. "You being responsible in personal relationships is a rare and good thing."

Her royal gaze then bore down upon Kaede in expectation of a response. Though there was a hint of light within them that was already admiring a newly-acquired possession.

"Of course..." Kaede answered. Not that she had any other realistic choice but to play along for now. Then, as nonchalantly as she could: "should I address Your Highness any differently then?"

She honestly wasn't sure this time. Historical events were one thing, but details like the evolving etiquette of different time periods confused her, even if Hyperion followed similar trends to Earth.

Sylviane went back to staring at Pascal again, her eyebrows raised halfway between surprise and curiosity:

"What weird things are you making the poor girl call...?"

"NOTHING-!!!" His near-shout came on instinct before she even finished. "She just calls me Pascal!"

The Princess' grin was still humored as her sight returned to Kaede.

"'Your Highness' is still the formal way to address me. But among us and my other servants? 'Milady' will suffice adequately."

"Yes Milady," Kaede answered as she gave a slow curtsy, seeking as much elegance as she could manage. "I'm in your care."

"Don't worry, I'm a far more reasonable person than Sir ''Runelord'' here," Sylviane beamed with reassurance. "I'm certain we shall come to know each other real well. However, I will hold you to the promise you made me earlier."

That ill sense of unease in Kaede's chest only grew worse as she nodded back.

...

Kaede wasn't sure how the situation had evolved so quickly...

Before the hour was up, she was already sitting next to the Princess on a rich velvet couch, with the unusual pleasure of having her hair brushed by royal hands.

...Except that she was stiff as a board and too nervous to enjoy it.

Meanwhile, Pascal remained in a large and comfortable armchair right across from them. He watched his fiancée with a peaceful smile. Though his turquoise gaze seemed distant and preoccupied under the soft, golden curls.

"<Relax. This is normal for her.>" He had told Kaede some minutes ago. But that was far easier said than done given how out of place she felt.

Sylviane's hairbrush then vanished into an extra-dimensional pocket somewhere near her waist. With both hands on Kaede's thin shoulders, she adjusted the smaller girl's position before leaning over.

Kaede felt the pressure build on her back. The Princess' arms were soon draped over both shoulders, while soft cheeks nuzzled against the silky, straight hair behind her head.

"I take it the past month was quite stressful." Pascal finally broke the silence.

The weight atop Kaede's head increased as it was turned into a royal headrest. She rather doubted that the slim-waisted Princess was heavy, but her own body was smaller and hardly built for strength.

''Apparently I'm a large teddy bear,'' Kaede thought.

Still, being treated like an oversized ornament wasn't that bad of price if it meant earning the Princess' trust over time. The real question that troubled Kaede was: ''where does this go?''

"Edith took Vivi south with her, so I haven't even had any chances to relax like this in the past few weeks," Sylviane complained as she crossed her hands over Kaede's chest. Meanwhile she continued to rub her cheeks against Kaede's silky hair. "And you weren't around to help either."

For the first time, it dawned upon Kaede that 'Vivi' might actually be a person, another girl whom the Princess treated as a cuddle-toy like her. However if she remembered correctly from the meeting, 'Edith' was the name of one of the front line commanders...

''Wait, are they talking about Vivienne? The Paladin-Bard Pascal mentioned on the way here?''

Kaede could not fathom why one of Rhin-Lotharingie's most notable individuals would allow themselves to be treated like... well, a stuffed animal.

In the meantime, the familiar could almost feel Sylviane's pout press into the top of her head. Compared to the poised and careful princess, this was Sylviane's true, relaxed form.

"I kept calling though," Pascal kept his voice neutral as he defended himself. "You never accepted the ''Farspeak''..."

"Like I said, you weren't helping," Sylviane interjected before going back to brushing her cheeks against silky soft hair.

Pascal took his own turn for a long sigh, as though in acceptance that he couldn't win against royal unfairness.

"Alright. Fine. What did I miss helping with? Last we talked, you spoke of tensions down south, but were more preoccupied with the unrest up north."

"We knew that tensions were brewing in the south, thanks to all the lies that the Imperator spread about our treatment of Tauheed worshippers. Though we had no idea how ''overwhelming'' the Caliph's readied forces were." Sylviane spoke as she continued to use Kaede as a headrest. "Nevertheless, Father told me to help King Alistair resolve his domestic issues as quickly as possible, since the north has always provided Rhin-Lotharingie with its best soldiers during times of war. Unfortunately, the 'Ducal Alliance' under that agitator Fitzgerald was on the brink of open revolt. They demanded King Alistair sign their 'Charter of Liberties' to undermine his authority -- no taxation without the lords' approval, no revocation of aristocratic property, no punishment without consent by a court of peers..."

"It is a load of horse manure, just like I had told you then." Pascal scoffed. "Their claim of 'liberty' is laughable at best. It is nothing more than a brazen grab for more privileges! With a 'court of peers', all they have to do is to win a popularity contest and now they can walk free from even the worst criminal offenses! It makes a mockery of the law, as cases should be judged by those who have spent their lives studying legality. Verdict should ''never'' be passed by some random gaggle of lords whose only qualification is their birth, who could be bribed, emotionally manipulated, or simply given promises to sway their opinion!"

Pascal's fuming voice made it clear that he found the demands downright offensive. It wasn't even a surprise for Kaede. Pascal had always been someone who believed that responsibility and power should be given based on professional merit.

Meanwhile, Sylviane sighed with a wry, little smile, as though she expected this from him as well. She leaned away from Kaede and began to brush the familiar's snowy hair once more.

"I know you felt strongly about the 'Trial by Jury' part. And the taxation point is just..."

"Blatant exceptionalism?" Pascal's scowl grew. "No one likes paying taxes. Yet without taxes, how shall the state grow? Weichsel certainly did not develop its roads, canals, hospitals, its fortresses using only the King's personal funds. Rhin-Lotharingie is vast and sorely lacking in infrastructure to tap its abundant resources. Yet every time the Emperor tries to secure coin for projects, the collective dukes whine and pretend poverty, as though the wealth they took from their own lands had suddenly vanished!"

Kaede was still trying to grasp the whole picture of their conversation. But this 'charter' felt oddly familiar despite the fact she only just heard of it. However it was clear from the exchange and all their past conversations: Pascal was a firm supporter of crown authority over what he considered the 'petty and selfish nobility'.

"Pascal you're a monarchist then?" Kaede inquired.

"He's an absolutist." Sylviane chuckled in reply. "Though Pascal does have extremely high expectations for rulers. I wonder if I can even meet them when I become Empress?"

"You will do fine." Pascal said simply.

Kaede couldn't see Sylviane's expression, but there was something in the Princess' humored voice which sounded genuinely worried.

"Either way, you know I agree with you on the point about taxation," Sylviane frowned. "However, I don't think all their demands are unreasonable. What about the guaranteeing of private property, noble or otherwise? I believe Weichsel has such a law?"

"Of course! Otherwise there would be robber barons who try to seize merchant wares under false pretenses!" Pascal answered. "Even Kaede here understands the logic behind it."

He then paused and looked expectantly at Kaede, as though asking her to fill in the rest.

''Does he want me to show off before the Princess?''

"Uhhh... because the guaranteeing of private property is essential for boosting commerce, especially trade." Kaede answered. "For a merchant, any risk to their wares spells an increase in prices and thus lowers both supply and demand. However if such risk can be mitigated or eliminated, then the flow of goods will increase while making it cheaper for people to receive what they need. This can have a snowball effect, as cheaper materials and tools will improve local productivity and wealth, which in turn brings in more trade."

Pascal's smile showed that she scored full marks. Meanwhile Sylviane stroked her hair as though the Princess saw her as an even more deluxe toy.

"Adorable ''and'' smart. You ''are'' a treasure."

Kaede wasn't sure if this was a good outcome or not. She felt distinctly like she was being even more objectified.

"But this is why a property guarantee law is something that Rhin-Lotharingie could actually use," Sylviane added. "I'm less sure about the nobles' land rights, though we can discuss those details another time."

"You are more interested in this Charter than I expected. Just how exactly did you resolve the issue for King Alistair?"

Pascal's look wasn't just inquisitive. He also spoke the King's name with a smattering of disdain. He had tried to hide it, but Kaede could still tell.

''I wonder what happened between them?''

It felt like whenever they turned, there was someone else whom Pascal had a rocky relationship with. However if Princess Sylviane noticed, she said nothing about it as she went on to explain:

"Fitzgerald was already starting to gather his forces by the time I arrived. Alistair had hoped to try one last time to negotiate, though by that point he had already resigned to meet them in the open field. He had hoped to cut a path to the rebel commanders in battle and eliminate them before the fighting took too many lives."

"That King still thinks like a mercenary." Pascal shook his head with disapproval. "So did you negotiate with them?"

"No. I agreed with Alistair that Fitzgerald had grown too egotistical and wouldn't accept anything less than near-complete concessions. Alistair asked me to contact Duke Kenneth Randolph and persuade him to join the King's side. When I did, I found out that Kenneth had been invited to the other group also. Kenneth didn't really like Alistair and he did agree with some of the Charter's demands. Nevertheless, he refused to join the rebels as he had no wish to betray the crown -- even if Alistair was never legitimized as a bastard."

Kaede's eyebrows rose. She did remember reading that the Kingdom of Gleann Mòr had some kind of succession crisis less than a decade ago.

''But... an illegitimate King? No wonder why his nobles are trying to undermine him.''

"Of course Duke Kenneth does not wish to be remembered for treason. He is a descendent of Douglas the Black's second-in-command." Pascal raised the name of the Lotharin hero from the Independence War. "However Kenneth does have a formidable army and is an experienced veteran. I heard that even the elite 'Black Guard' looks up to him."

"Precisely."

Kaede could now hear the knife in Sylviane's humored tone as the Princess continued:

"Kenneth was too good for the Ducal Alliance to pass up, even if they were suspicious of him changing his mind. So I negotiated a compromise with him: I would take the Charter's seventeen points to my father and we'll give some of it due consideration on which ones would be good for the Empire. In exchange, he would join the Ducal Alliance under false allegiance, on the condition that he would be given command of the entire rebel army."

"And they agreed?" Pascal looked incredulous. "The moronic idiots!"

Even Kaede felt surprised, though for a completely different reason: ''Sylviane cannot be more than a year or two older than Pascal!''

Yet, the Princess clearly had a talent for devious schemes.

"Never underestimate the power of ambition and greed." Sylviane mused. "With that one stroke we defanged the rebel alliance. It wasn't hard for Kenneth to arrange an opportunity for me and Alistair to raid their camp and capture their leaders in one stroke, all without a single major battle. Alistair was quite merciful though, as he pardoned most of the minor lords. However Fitzgerald and the other top leaders had to be made an example of."

It was then when Kaede finally realized why the whole story sounded familiar. It reminded her of the circumstances behind the ''Magna Carta'' during the First Barons' War of England. Kaede had always found it ironic that Anglo-Saxon historiography paints the ''Magna Carta'' as some sort of great leap for democratic values. When in reality it was written by a cabal of treasonous barons who demanded exemptions and special treatment from their King.

''Just like the modern elite and their tax loopholes!'' She could almost hear her father's voice complain.

It was another one of those moments that gave Kaede a pang of homesickness.

"Is that the reason why you are so keen to talk about the Charter's details?" Pascal asked.

"Yes." Sylviane nodded. "I did promise Duke Kenneth to seriously consider its contents. It was a promise made in good faith and I intend to keep it."

''Devious to her foes, yet honest to her allies,'' Kaede reflected. ''She really does have great potential as a leader. If only I could find a way to earn her respect...''

The conversation was then interrupted as several taps came from the window.

Sylviane's bodyguard Mari, who had stood against the door with a look of complete disinterest for the past hour, swiftly crossed the floor without waiting for the Princess' word.

As she turned to the source, Kaede saw the entire window glass enshrouded by a light blue haze. The bird hovering just outside reminded her of a lean falcon, except with a magnificent, flowing tail decorated by tiny sapphire gems. It was covered in cerulean feathers that progressively grew lighter towards the wings and tail. Meanwhile its body emitted white-blue flames that sent ripples of heat through the surrounding air.

It was one of the twelve sacred phoenixes of Rhin-Lotharingie: the noblest of magical beasts.

But rather than staring in awe, Kaede tensed up further as the phoenix flew through the opened window and towards its master. The familial girl tried to shift away, except the Princess, who was still draped over her shoulders, pinned her firmly in place.

Kaede braced herself for the heat of scorching air so close to the flame source. Yet as the phoenix settled on Sylviane's shoulder, she felt only the envelopment of a soothing warmth. It was as though she lay just far enough away to enjoy a lit fireplace on this wintry day.

"Relax," Sylviane reassured. "Phoenixes are natural empaths. Hauteclaire's flames only burn those he detect hostility from."

"Was that a test then? Milady?" Kaede asked with relief, wondering how weird they must look to Pascal's amused eyes right now: bird standing regally on top of a Princess who lazied over his familiar girl.

"Not really. Although if I ''was'' wrong about you, you might start to sizzle a little right now. Be a shame though..."

There was a deadly nonchalance in her voice, and Kaede made a mental note that whatever else Princess Sylviane might be, she was not someone to be scorned. The phrase 'off with his head' came to her as naturally as placing an order for dinner.

Perhaps it was just another way for the Princess to warn 'you ''really'' do not want to become my enemy'.

Sylviane then patted down Kaede's hair twice before rubbing cheeks against them once more. "A little heat and they're even softer now," the Princess happily noted.

''Like a blanket fresh out of the dryer,'' Kaede thought as she looked towards Pascal for support, but he merely shrugged with amusement:

"<You do make a nice, soft pillow.>"

Only the phoenix Hauteclaire seemed to sympathize with his fellow familiar as he gave a low whistling chirp of solidarity.

<noinclude>
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| Back to [[Daybreak:Volume_2_Chapter_4|Chapter 4]]
| Return to [[Daybreak_on_Hyperion|Main Page]]
| Forward to [[Daybreak:Volume_2_Chapter_6|Chapter 6]]
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</noinclude>

Daybreak on Hyperion

2021-07-03T17:59:54Z

Aorii:

{{Status|Active}}

Daybreak on Hyperion is an original light novel story written by [[User:Aorii|Aorii]].

It is mainly hosted on the author's blog [http://samaran-daybreak.com/ Samaran Daybreak], with only full volumes are posted here to B-T. The story is also currently undergoing a rewrite from the original - [https://samaran-daybreak.com/index.php/2020/06/23/daybreak-redux-project-announcement/ see this post] for more details.

[[Image:Daybreak_on_Hyperion_v1_Cover.jpg|thumb|art by Nanang Emphet & Vitaly Alexius|right]]

Daybreak on Hyperion is also available in the following languages:
*[[Daybreak_on_Hyperion_~_Spanish|Español ~ (Spanish)]]

==Story Synopsis==

Born into noble prestige and gifted with extraordinary talent, Pascal was a promising officer cadet whose deeds caught even the King's gaze. At the mere age of twenty, he had everything a young, ambitious man could need.

Except his habitual arrogance had destroyed every opportunity of a close friendship outside his political marriage.

Seeking a companion who meets his protracted list of requirements, Pascal decided to craft the 'perfect spell' for the upcoming familiar ceremony. If those around him were not fit to accompany his genius, then he would summon a best friend through his own hands -- one that was mature, intelligent, knowledgeable, bright, and cute as well.

He received far more than he bargained for... and in turn, so did the shifting geopolitical power balance of his world.

== Updates ==
*April 15, 2017: added volume 3 epilogue; volume 3 finished.
*December 19, 2020: reset all volume 1 chapters with newly rewritten chapters of the redux project, added volume 1 epilogue and extra chapter 2
*December 19, 2020: reset volume 2 chapters 1-8 with new chapters of the redux project
*April 10, 2021: added volume 2 chapters 9-20, plus interludes and epilogue.
[[Daybreak_on_Hyperion:Updates|Updates Archive]]

== Series Information ==
*'''Genre:''' Fantasy, Adventure, Genderbender, Action, Politics, Military, Romance (Slow)
*'''Author:''' Aorii
*'''Illustrator:''' TBA
*'''Volumes:''' 3+
*'''Series Status:''' Ongoing

===Format Standards===
'''Every chapter (after editing) must conform to the general format guidelines.'''
*[[Format_guideline|General Format/Style Guideline]]

===[http://www.baka-tsuki.org/forums/viewtopic.php?f=24&t=6202 Feedback]===
'''If you enjoyed this OLN, why don't you tell us in the [http://www.baka-tsuki.org/forums/viewtopic.php?f=24&t=6202 Feedback Thread]'''

===[http://samaran-daybreak.com/index.php/daybreak-on-hyperion-re/ Source]===

==Daybreak on Hyperion by [[User:Aorii|Aorii]]==

===Volume 1 - Daybreak on Hyperion ([[Daybreak:Volume_1_Full|Full Text]])===

::*[[Daybreak:Volume_1_Chapter_1|Chapter 1 - The Curse of Prodigy]]
::*[[Daybreak:Volume_1_Chapter_2|Chapter 2 - By the Runelord's Will]]
::*[[Daybreak:Volume_1_Chapter_3|Chapter 3 - Master and Familiar]]
::*[[Daybreak:Volume_1_Chapter_4|Chapter 4 - Regressions of Time]]
::*[[Daybreak:Volume_1_Chapter_5|Chapter 5 - Status of Life]]
::*[[Daybreak:Volume_1_Chapter_6|Chapter 6 - A Peaceful Day]]
::*[[Daybreak:Volume_1_Chapter_7|Chapter 7 - The Perfect Contrast]]
::*[[Daybreak:Volume_1_Chapter_8|Chapter 8 - Inquisitive Hope]]
::*[[Daybreak:Volume_1_Chapter_9|Chapter 9 - Bonds of Faith]]
::*[[Daybreak:Volume_1_Chapter_10|Chapter 10 - Critical Appeal]]
::*[[Daybreak:Volume_1_Chapter_11|Chapter 11 - For Country, Not You]]
::*[[Daybreak:Volume_1_Chapter_12|Chapter 12 - Better Late Than Never]]
::*[[Daybreak:Volume_1_Chapter_13|Chapter 13 - A World of Difference]]
::*[[Daybreak:Volume_1_Chapter_14|Chapter 14 - Outbreak of War]]
::*[[Daybreak:Volume_1_Epilogue|Epilogue]]

::*[[Daybreak:Volume_1_Extra_1|Extra Chapter 1 - Switched Perspectives]]
::*[[Daybreak:Volume_1_Extra_2|Extra Chapter 2 - Magic and Hierarchy]]
::*[https://samarandaybreak.wordpress.com/2020/11/14/daybreak-dev-diary-progress-redux-changes-and-kaedes-tweaks/ Author's Notes]

===Volume 2 - Winter Typhoon ([[Daybreak:Volume_2_Full|Full Text]])===

::*[[Daybreak:Volume_2_Chapter_1|Chapter 1 - By the Crossroad Shores]]
::*[[Daybreak:Volume_2_Chapter_2|Chapter 2 - Gendered Recollections]]
::*[[Daybreak:Volume_2_Chapter_3|Chapter 3 - The Oriflamme Princess]]
::*[[Daybreak:Volume_2_Chapter_4|Chapter 4 - Council of War]]
::*[[Daybreak:Volume_2_Chapter_5|Chapter 5 - A Royal Eccentricity]]
::*[[Daybreak:Volume_2_Chapter_6|Chapter 6 - The Third Wheel]]
::*[[Daybreak:Volume_2_Chapter_7|Chapter 7 - Pecking Order]]
::*[[Daybreak:Volume_2_Chapter_8|Chapter 8 - Logistics Wizardry]]
::*[[Daybreak:Volume_2_Chapter_9|Chapter 9 - A New Journey]]
::*[[Daybreak:Volume_2_Chapter_10|Chapter 10 - Homecoming in Nordkreuz ]]
::*[[Daybreak:Volume_2_Chapter_11|Chapter 11 - Realigning Interests]]
::*[[Daybreak:Volume_2_Chapter_11_Interlude|Chapter 11.5 Interlude - The Coming Storm]]
::*[[Daybreak:Volume_2_Chapter_12|Chapter 12 - Late Night Confidence]]
::*[[Daybreak:Volume_2_Chapter_12|Chapter 13 - Heroic Legacy]]
::*[[Daybreak:Volume_2_Chapter_13_Interlude|Chapter 13.5 Interlude - Chaos Rising]]
::*[[Daybreak:Volume_2_Chapter_14|Chapter 14 - The Storm Front]]
::*[[Daybreak:Volume_2_Chapter_15|Chapter 15 - Massive Strike]]
::*[[Daybreak:Volume_2_Chapter_16|Chapter 16 - Decisive Action]]
::*[[Daybreak:Volume_2_Chapter_17|Chapter 17 - Desperate Assault]]
::*[[Daybreak:Volume_2_Chapter_18|Chapter 18 - Baptism in Fire]]
::*[[Daybreak:Volume_2_Chapter_19|Chapter 19 - Hail the Black Dragon]]
::*[[Daybreak:Volume_2_Chapter_20|Chapter 20 - What A General Needs]]
::*[[Daybreak:Volume_2_Epilogue|Epilogue]]

==Project Staff==

*Project Administrator: [[User:Aorii|Aorii]]
*Project Supervisor:

===Author===

*[[User:Aorii|Aorii]]

===Editors===
*[[User:Kadi|Kadi]]
*[[User:Ahmsab|Ahmsab]]
*Ajhkhum
*Skychan
*[http://www.baka-tsuki.org/forums/memberlist.php?mode=viewprofile&u=16859 Himeko Inaba]

==Project Status==
Project Status: '''Ongoing'''
[[Category:Genre - Fantasy]]
[[Category:Genre - Action]]
[[Category:Original novel]]