Chapter 326.5 - The Miffed Moose and the Scrambled Secret
The first thing Virillius did upon arriving in Valencia was to return to his chambers and bury his face in his bed. He was tired, exhausted, weary beyond the point of willful continued existence. The only thing he wanted to do was sleep until his daughter’s next visit. But he knew better than to put his weakness on display. Only Ferdinand, Allegra, and Cleveland were allowed to know it, and two of the three could be confided in no longer.
In hindsight, his trust in the former king was both misplaced and one-sided. Ferdinand’s methods wouldn’t have been nearly as roundabout had he reciprocated his nephew’s confidence and faith. Instead, he operated behind a veil of silence. Rather than informing Virillius that Ragnar had never betrayed him, Ferdinand had allowed the grudge to brew. It was his fault that military tensions between the lands had been on the rise for the better part of a decade.
Just as how it was his fault that Violet had met her end; Ferdinand had refused to send an official request for aid, even when the lamian princess was on the verge of meeting her end. All out of the fear that Virillius would catch onto his lie.
It was a thought that nearly filled the moose’s frozen heart with fury, but he clenched his fist and fought it back. There was no point dwelling on the past. It would only be towards the future that he would set his eyes. To that end, the moose had even penned Allegra an apology and an explanation in hopes that she would return. But with his brother sniffing around, he knew that it would never reach her. Anything and anyone he sent would be intercepted along the way. As Constatius’ power demanded.
“I need to track him down.”
Rising from his bed, the cervitaur fixed his expression, combed his hair, and straightened out his clothes. He made sure that there was not a single flaw in his aesthetic before heading out the door and making his way to the usual study. He had spent a full month away from his late uncle’s notes. Enough time to refresh his mind for another deep dive.
He jumped right into the pornographic archives when he entered the room and started scouring the scrolls and tomes for details. He was in a good headspace and his work progressed at a satisfactory pace; he was even starting to feel like he was getting a sense for his uncle’s code, but alas, found himself denied after just thirty minutes of progress.
One of the maids knocked on his door and interrupted his thoughts. “Your Majesty, Lord Ephesus would like to request an audience at your earliest convenience.”
The moose nearly banged his face against the desk, but he reluctantly composed himself and spoke towards the door. “I will see him shortly.”
“Then I shall have him seen to a meeting room immediately. Is the third the most appropriate for the occasion?”
“Yes, thank you, Iuliana.” The king begrudgingly set down an ancient scroll and pushed himself to his feet.
As much as he wanted to order the man to return another day, the monarch could not simply turn down Lord Ephesus’ request. The marquis was one of the key players that had arranged for the upcoming war, and though they had certainly shared their ideas through text, they were overdue for a much longer chat in person. The main problem was that it was far more difficult to exchange information while they were both away from the capital. The stone tablets used for long-distance communication suffered from several restrictions that limited their effective use to orders and reports.
Only one of the two connected parties could send a message at a time, and their lengths were limited by the stone tablets’ size. Longer messages required scribes on both ends to work through the painful process of sending and receiving acknowledgement back and forth. Complicating the situation even further was the need for a middleman. With both of them away from the capital, it was impossible for them to share a direct line. They had no choice but to write to the military’s headquarters and wait for some poor soul to interpret and communicate the relevant details in code. A simple, two-page report could easily comprise a full day’s work.
Virillius thought back on Ephesus’ notes as he made his way to the meeting room. When he opened the door, he found the marquis already sitting inside, his eyes on a notebook and a finger tapping against the desk.
“Good morning, Your Majesty,” said the marquis. The criocentaur was adorned in a warrior’s garb. His spear had been taken when he entered the castle, but his spiral horns were filed to be as sharp and jagged as possible, and his tiny black and brown body was covered in jagged armour. Had his helmet not sat on the table, there wouldn’t have been even a hint of his fur exposed. “Thank you for taking the time to see me.”
Virillius nodded. “Your swift and decisive actions are always appreciated, Lord Ephesus.”
The king’s words were warm, but his expression featured the usual cold stare. One could easily argue that a more dynamic mask would have served him better, and while he did not disagree with the principle, his face happened to disagree with the execution. He could only make so many convincing expressions, and to fail one spectacularly would only reveal his true thoughts.
Sticking to a single expression was the safest bet, and with his chilly reputation already preceding him, there was no reason to avoid leaning in.
The strategy’s main weakness was that it led to an unwelcoming impression, but he counteracted it by ensuring that the reception as a whole was warm. The meeting room was one of the castle’s most extravagant. Meeting Room Three, as it was officially sanctioned, was only ever reserved for important guests. It had a ten-meter ceiling and contained a vast central area capable of supporting well over a dozen men. Everything within the space was gold-trimmed, from the carpet to the curtains to the cloth that covered the furniture. And while there was more than enough in the budget for pure gold to be afforded, the decorations were softer so as to not stink of new money. There were only faint traces of the metal interspersed into each item, and none of the decorations sported jewels or other bits of needless spending. Nay, the extravagance stemmed instead from the type of cloth used and the luxurious colour of its dye. The deep, reflective blue could only be derived from the heart of a Langgbjern mistwalker, a monster whose typical level range was seen between two and three thousand. Only a few had ever been slain in recent history, and even fewer had seen their organs perfectly preserved.
The carpet was made from the fur of the same monster and served as a symbol of Cadrian strength. Even in the castle, there were only three such items, with one existing in the throne room, one placed in front of the king's bed, and the last beneath their feet. To be invited to walk over it was akin to being presented with the nation’s pride.
Naturally, Ephesus knew that as well. He may have lorded over a distant frontier, but he was still a man with over a thousand years of aristocratic experience. He had personally witnessed the mistwalker’s processing, as well as the gradual shift in its symbolic meaning.
“I have already reviewed the details we previously discussed,” said Virillius, “and after sorting through Pollux’s report on Vel’khan and its extant condition, I have decided that seven duels will have to suffice. Any more, and we run the risk of branding ourselves unjust.”
“Forgive my ignorance, Your Majesty, but how does seven appear any more reasonable than any other number?” asked Ephesus.
“The Vel’khanese are unlikely to fill all the slots with seven, but that would not have been the case prior to their most recent civil war. They have no one to blame but themselves for executing the few powerful warriors whose names they could have called.”
Though the argument was certainly convincing, it was one applied entirely in post. Virillius had known little about Queen Priscilla’s champions until he read Pollux’s report in the wake of his daughter’s intervention. In reality, the number was seven because that was what they had agreed on, but like his frozen demeanour, the coincidence was simply too convenient not to exploit.
“What an astounding move,” muttered Ephesus. “To think that you not only determined the extent of our enemies’ forces but also discovered an opportunity to pin their problems on circumstances of their own making. I see that your talent for warfare remains in full force, Your Majesty.”
The king solemnly nodded his head. “We shall soon be launching an investigation into the two individuals listed in your report. I assure you that countermeasures will be completed in advance.”
“I happen to have discovered a few additional details myself and I believe that this news may be precisely what you have sought. By compositing the data, we have managed to determine the precise wavelength of the masked warrior’s mana. It is similar enough to your own for there to be reason to suspect that it was your brother. The warrior had a woman's voice and a frame unlike that of any cervitaur, but with a powerful bard as a close ally, both his appearance and his voice could have easily been faked.”
Again, the king nodded. He knew that the report was wrong, but there was no way for him to reveal his knowledge without raising the marquis’ suspicions.
“Excellent. I would appreciate it if you were to continue looking into the matter.”
“By your will,” The goat bowed his head. “I have a few other things to report before I continue with this investigation. Our spies have confirmed that the Vel’khanese have begun active recruitment and training. They are already northbound, even knowing that there is yet a year before the conflict will ultimately begin. Shall we hinder their progression?”
The dark-horned moose paused briefly to consider the proposal. “Do as you see fit.” He doubted that there was any stopping the man. The look in his eye was far too wild to be restrained.
“I will not disappoint you,” said the goat, with a dark grin.
It took another hour for the meeting to draw to a close. With it being rare for Lord Ephesus to visit the capital in person, he took the opportunity to address all of his business with the king. They discussed his taxes and plans, as well as the overall state of his finances and army. Virillius didn’t blame him. The man struck him as the type that was passionate about his work, so he at least did his best to listen to him until he finally left.
For a second, Virillius thought that the marquis’ departure would mean his freedom, that he would finally see the opportunity to return to the work that involved his brother, but he nearly fell over and died when he found his butler apologetically standing outside of the room with a stack of documents in hand.
“Virillius,” said Cleveland, after scanning their surroundings for eavesdroppers. “I’m sorry, I know you were planning to return to your own business, but there are a number of issues that require your immediate attention.”
“Of course there is.” The man collapsed into a pile of mush. “What is it now?”
The thoraen servant handed his master the first of many parchments. “The first matter pertains to your daughter. The guards have detained a madman claiming to be one of Kael’aahrus’ apostles.”
“Hmmm…” Virillius quickly read through the report, with the butler handing him another paper each time his eyes reached the bottom of the page.
“His testimony revealed that he was looking for a female moose with blue eyes, light blue ears, and a shorter stature. Of course, there are a few that might match that description, but he claimed that he was instructed to eliminate his target with no regard for her status.”
“I see.” Virillius lightly tapped a finger against his chin. “Have him executed immediately. Do not allow any of this information to make its way to the hunt god’s templ—” Virillius stopped mid-sentence and drew the shieldlance that hung from his lower back.
His caution lasted for exactly a tenth of a second. He returned the weapon to its place as his mind finished processing the ancient holy place to which he had been whisked away. Looking at its owner, he immediately bowed his head and took a knee.
“Do not remove him, Virillius Augustus,” said Vella. “The board will be more interesting with the lion’s pieces still intact.” The mechanical spider paused for a moment to smile. “It is only because she has gone through trials and tribulations that your daughter has grown as she has. Deprive her of them now, and she will fail to surpass you.”
“I understand, Goddess. Shall we release the man back into the wild?”
“No. Leave him imprisoned within your dungeons without granting him the finality of death. The lion will only grow desperate as his plans fall apart. And it is then that we will find the chance to strike him down.”
Saying only that, Vella returned the man to his previous place and continued her own preparations. She was the goddess of war. She loved large-scale conflicts capable of turning on a dime. She loved watching the machinations of mice and men as they decided the fates of hundreds of thousands. She loved providing all the necessary hints and bonuses to ensure that the outcome was always unpredictable. But above all else, she loved taking a place on the battlefield herself.
There was no trumping the sensation of slicing through enemy lines, of trampling over hundreds of thousands of lives as she crossed the battlefield and forced duels upon the enemy commanders. And above all else, the sensation of squeezing out a narrow win, of triumphing over an unbeatable foe by way of a clever strategy.
But in becoming a god, she had left it all behind. There was no longer anyone to match her.
It was only against another god that she could relish in the thrill of combat, and squabbles among their own kind were almost always settled without all of one’s power. There were too many alliances and too little fodder. No one would fight her to the death.
Unless, of course, she happened to weave the perfect trap.
And it just so happened that the god of the hunt was just the right target to fall for her ploys.
She would foil all of his plans.
She would defeat him at every turn.
She would back him into a corner with a duel as his only out.
And at the end of it all, she would personally take his head.
Chapter 326.5 - The Miffed Moose and the Scrambled Secret
The first thing Virillius did upon arriving in Valencia was to return to his chambers and bury his face in his bed. He was tired, exhausted, weary beyond the point of willful continued existence. The only thing he wanted to do was sleep until his daughter’s next visit. But he knew better than to put his weakness on display. Only Ferdinand, Allegra, and Cleveland were allowed to know it, and two of the three could be confided in no longer.
In hindsight, his trust in the former king was both misplaced and one-sided. Ferdinand’s methods wouldn’t have been nearly as roundabout had he reciprocated his nephew’s confidence and faith. Instead, he operated behind a veil of silence. Rather than informing Virillius that Ragnar had never betrayed him, Ferdinand had allowed the grudge to brew. It was his fault that military tensions between the lands had been on the rise for the better part of a decade.
Just as how it was his fault that Violet had met her end; Ferdinand had refused to send an official request for aid, even when the lamian princess was on the verge of meeting her end. All out of the fear that Virillius would catch onto his lie.
It was a thought that nearly filled the moose’s frozen heart with fury, but he clenched his fist and fought it back. There was no point dwelling on the past. It would only be towards the future that he would set his eyes. To that end, the moose had even penned Allegra an apology and an explanation in hopes that she would return. But with his brother sniffing around, he knew that it would never reach her. Anything and anyone he sent would be intercepted along the way. As Constatius’ power demanded.
“I need to track him down.”
Rising from his bed, the cervitaur fixed his expression, combed his hair, and straightened out his clothes. He made sure that there was not a single flaw in his aesthetic before heading out the door and making his way to the usual study. He had spent a full month away from his late uncle’s notes. Enough time to refresh his mind for another deep dive.
He jumped right into the pornographic archives when he entered the room and started scouring the scrolls and tomes for details. He was in a good headspace and his work progressed at a satisfactory pace; he was even starting to feel like he was getting a sense for his uncle’s code, but alas, found himself denied after just thirty minutes of progress.
One of the maids knocked on his door and interrupted his thoughts. “Your Majesty, Lord Ephesus would like to request an audience at your earliest convenience.”
The moose nearly banged his face against the desk, but he reluctantly composed himself and spoke towards the door. “I will see him shortly.”
“Then I shall have him seen to a meeting room immediately. Is the third the most appropriate for the occasion?”
“Yes, thank you, Iuliana.” The king begrudgingly set down an ancient scroll and pushed himself to his feet.
As much as he wanted to order the man to return another day, the monarch could not simply turn down Lord Ephesus’ request. The marquis was one of the key players that had arranged for the upcoming war, and though they had certainly shared their ideas through text, they were overdue for a much longer chat in person. The main problem was that it was far more difficult to exchange information while they were both away from the capital. The stone tablets used for long-distance communication suffered from several restrictions that limited their effective use to orders and reports.
Only one of the two connected parties could send a message at a time, and their lengths were limited by the stone tablets’ size. Longer messages required scribes on both ends to work through the painful process of sending and receiving acknowledgement back and forth. Complicating the situation even further was the need for a middleman. With both of them away from the capital, it was impossible for them to share a direct line. They had no choice but to write to the military’s headquarters and wait for some poor soul to interpret and communicate the relevant details in code. A simple, two-page report could easily comprise a full day’s work.
Virillius thought back on Ephesus’ notes as he made his way to the meeting room. When he opened the door, he found the marquis already sitting inside, his eyes on a notebook and a finger tapping against the desk.
“Good morning, Your Majesty,” said the marquis. The criocentaur was adorned in a warrior’s garb. His spear had been taken when he entered the castle, but his spiral horns were filed to be as sharp and jagged as possible, and his tiny black and brown body was covered in jagged armour. Had his helmet not sat on the table, there wouldn’t have been even a hint of his fur exposed. “Thank you for taking the time to see me.”
Virillius nodded. “Your swift and decisive actions are always appreciated, Lord Ephesus.”
The king’s words were warm, but his expression featured the usual cold stare. One could easily argue that a more dynamic mask would have served him better, and while he did not disagree with the principle, his face happened to disagree with the execution. He could only make so many convincing expressions, and to fail one spectacularly would only reveal his true thoughts.
Sticking to a single expression was the safest bet, and with his chilly reputation already preceding him, there was no reason to avoid leaning in.
The strategy’s main weakness was that it led to an unwelcoming impression, but he counteracted it by ensuring that the reception as a whole was warm. The meeting room was one of the castle’s most extravagant. Meeting Room Three, as it was officially sanctioned, was only ever reserved for important guests. It had a ten-meter ceiling and contained a vast central area capable of supporting well over a dozen men. Everything within the space was gold-trimmed, from the carpet to the curtains to the cloth that covered the furniture. And while there was more than enough in the budget for pure gold to be afforded, the decorations were softer so as to not stink of new money. There were only faint traces of the metal interspersed into each item, and none of the decorations sported jewels or other bits of needless spending. Nay, the extravagance stemmed instead from the type of cloth used and the luxurious colour of its dye. The deep, reflective blue could only be derived from the heart of a Langgbjern mistwalker, a monster whose typical level range was seen between two and three thousand. Only a few had ever been slain in recent history, and even fewer had seen their organs perfectly preserved.
The carpet was made from the fur of the same monster and served as a symbol of Cadrian strength. Even in the castle, there were only three such items, with one existing in the throne room, one placed in front of the king's bed, and the last beneath their feet. To be invited to walk over it was akin to being presented with the nation’s pride.
Naturally, Ephesus knew that as well. He may have lorded over a distant frontier, but he was still a man with over a thousand years of aristocratic experience. He had personally witnessed the mistwalker’s processing, as well as the gradual shift in its symbolic meaning.
“I have already reviewed the details we previously discussed,” said Virillius, “and after sorting through Pollux’s report on Vel’khan and its extant condition, I have decided that seven duels will have to suffice. Any more, and we run the risk of branding ourselves unjust.”
“Forgive my ignorance, Your Majesty, but how does seven appear any more reasonable than any other number?” asked Ephesus.
“The Vel’khanese are unlikely to fill all the slots with seven, but that would not have been the case prior to their most recent civil war. They have no one to blame but themselves for executing the few powerful warriors whose names they could have called.”
Though the argument was certainly convincing, it was one applied entirely in post. Virillius had known little about Queen Priscilla’s champions until he read Pollux’s report in the wake of his daughter’s intervention. In reality, the number was seven because that was what they had agreed on, but like his frozen demeanour, the coincidence was simply too convenient not to exploit.
“What an astounding move,” muttered Ephesus. “To think that you not only determined the extent of our enemies’ forces but also discovered an opportunity to pin their problems on circumstances of their own making. I see that your talent for warfare remains in full force, Your Majesty.”
The king solemnly nodded his head. “We shall soon be launching an investigation into the two individuals listed in your report. I assure you that countermeasures will be completed in advance.”
“I happen to have discovered a few additional details myself and I believe that this news may be precisely what you have sought. By compositing the data, we have managed to determine the precise wavelength of the masked warrior’s mana. It is similar enough to your own for there to be reason to suspect that it was your brother. The warrior had a woman's voice and a frame unlike that of any cervitaur, but with a powerful bard as a close ally, both his appearance and his voice could have easily been faked.”
Again, the king nodded. He knew that the report was wrong, but there was no way for him to reveal his knowledge without raising the marquis’ suspicions.
“Excellent. I would appreciate it if you were to continue looking into the matter.”
“By your will,” The goat bowed his head. “I have a few other things to report before I continue with this investigation. Our spies have confirmed that the Vel’khanese have begun active recruitment and training. They are already northbound, even knowing that there is yet a year before the conflict will ultimately begin. Shall we hinder their progression?”
The dark-horned moose paused briefly to consider the proposal. “Do as you see fit.” He doubted that there was any stopping the man. The look in his eye was far too wild to be restrained.
“I will not disappoint you,” said the goat, with a dark grin.
It took another hour for the meeting to draw to a close. With it being rare for Lord Ephesus to visit the capital in person, he took the opportunity to address all of his business with the king. They discussed his taxes and plans, as well as the overall state of his finances and army. Virillius didn’t blame him. The man struck him as the type that was passionate about his work, so he at least did his best to listen to him until he finally left.
For a second, Virillius thought that the marquis’ departure would mean his freedom, that he would finally see the opportunity to return to the work that involved his brother, but he nearly fell over and died when he found his butler apologetically standing outside of the room with a stack of documents in hand.
“Virillius,” said Cleveland, after scanning their surroundings for eavesdroppers. “I’m sorry, I know you were planning to return to your own business, but there are a number of issues that require your immediate attention.”
“Of course there is.” The man collapsed into a pile of mush. “What is it now?”
The thoraen servant handed his master the first of many parchments. “The first matter pertains to your daughter. The guards have detained a madman claiming to be one of Kael’aahrus’ apostles.”
“Hmmm…” Virillius quickly read through the report, with the butler handing him another paper each time his eyes reached the bottom of the page.
“His testimony revealed that he was looking for a female moose with blue eyes, light blue ears, and a shorter stature. Of course, there are a few that might match that description, but he claimed that he was instructed to eliminate his target with no regard for her status.”
“I see.” Virillius lightly tapped a finger against his chin. “Have him executed immediately. Do not allow any of this information to make its way to the hunt god’s templ—” Virillius stopped mid-sentence and drew the shieldlance that hung from his lower back.
His caution lasted for exactly a tenth of a second. He returned the weapon to its place as his mind finished processing the ancient holy place to which he had been whisked away. Looking at its owner, he immediately bowed his head and took a knee.
“Do not remove him, Virillius Augustus,” said Vella. “The board will be more interesting with the lion’s pieces still intact.” The mechanical spider paused for a moment to smile. “It is only because she has gone through trials and tribulations that your daughter has grown as she has. Deprive her of them now, and she will fail to surpass you.”
“I understand, Goddess. Shall we release the man back into the wild?”
“No. Leave him imprisoned within your dungeons without granting him the finality of death. The lion will only grow desperate as his plans fall apart. And it is then that we will find the chance to strike him down.”
Saying only that, Vella returned the man to his previous place and continued her own preparations. She was the goddess of war. She loved large-scale conflicts capable of turning on a dime. She loved watching the machinations of mice and men as they decided the fates of hundreds of thousands. She loved providing all the necessary hints and bonuses to ensure that the outcome was always unpredictable. But above all else, she loved taking a place on the battlefield herself.
There was no trumping the sensation of slicing through enemy lines, of trampling over hundreds of thousands of lives as she crossed the battlefield and forced duels upon the enemy commanders. And above all else, the sensation of squeezing out a narrow win, of triumphing over an unbeatable foe by way of a clever strategy.
But in becoming a god, she had left it all behind. There was no longer anyone to match her.
It was only against another god that she could relish in the thrill of combat, and squabbles among their own kind were almost always settled without all of one’s power. There were too many alliances and too little fodder. No one would fight her to the death.
Unless, of course, she happened to weave the perfect trap.
And it just so happened that the god of the hunt was just the right target to fall for her ploys.
She would foil all of his plans.
She would defeat him at every turn.
She would back him into a corner with a duel as his only out.
And at the end of it all, she would personally take his head.
