Cole Strollo's death caused a minor stir in Wischeim's noble circles, then quickly subsided.
The Witch King's emblem left at the scene, along with several peripheral spies later rooted out of the auction house by the Voice of the Empress, all pointed the finger at those rats in the gutter.
A detailed investigation report was sent by swift horse to the capital, Trullinczentyr.
The report stated that Cole Strollo had been killed by a miniature Originium bomb hidden inside the Cup of the Hunt, and that traces of the Witch King's remnants had indeed been found at the auction.
The conclusion was clear: this was a retaliatory attack targeting the heir of the Strollo family.
As for the actual truth, nobody cared.
A foolish prodigal son was dead, and that was that.
His death, in fact, was a convenience for all parties involved.
...
Trullinczentyr, the Twin Towers.
White Empress Lizelotte was trimming the dead leaves from a pot of silver-edged agave.
Black Empress Herlinmarte, meanwhile, paced restlessly back and forth before the long windows.
Herlinmarte stopped, crossing her arms. "Lizelotte, don't you find this all a bit too coincidental?"
"Cole Strollo is barely cold in his grave, and his ambitious sister has already submitted an application to inherit the title."
"I smell a conspiracy."
Lizelotte set down her small silver shears, wiped her fingers with a silk handkerchief, and only then raised her eyes.
"Does it matter, Herlinmarte?"
"What do you mean?" Herlinmarte frowned.
"Wischeim is a den for those dregs, and Count Strollo himself was a useless, two-faced fence-sitter who died under suspicious circumstances."
"Now his even more useless son is dead, killed at the hands of the Witch King's remnants," Lizelotte said calmly.
"This is hardly a bad thing for us."
"An easily controlled puppet is certainly useful, but a fool like Cole Strollo would have only allowed the situation in Wischeim to continue to fester."
"But his sister, Gertrude Strollo." Lizelotte smiled faintly. "She is ambitious. She wants the title, and she wants to prove her worth to us."
"Why don't we grant her wish?"
"A countess who will proactively purge the Witch King's remnants and stabilize her own territory is far more aligned with our current interests than a puppet we must constantly watch and appease."
Herlinmarte fell silent.
It wasn't that she didn't understand the stakes, but her innate, rigid demand for order made her instinctively repulsed by this kind of conspiracy that skirted the edges of the rules.
"Then... approve her application."
"But have her watched. Her, and that troublemaker Lacey in Salem. I can't shake the feeling that the same hand is behind both of these events."
"Of course," Lizelotte said, smiling like a cunning fox.
...
Gertrude's coronation was a very simple affair.
Dressed in a sharply tailored black formal gown, she faced the anxious populace of her domain and announced her first decree:
Gertrude has come, and with her, a clear sky for Wischeim.
She would cooperate with the Twin Empresses to completely purge the Witch King's remnants from the territory and restore peace and order to Wischeim.
The speech was written by Lacey.
The address was delivered with resounding force, but the people below reacted with indifference, even a degree of numbness.
To them, it was just a change of noble lords, a new set of words.
The sun would rise as usual, the dust in the mines would not lessen, and their empty purses would not gain a single copper coin.
In the crowd, an old, one-legged miner with graying hair and beard leaned on his crutch and spat on the ground next to a young man.
"Uncle Hans, what was that for?" the young man asked, confused.
"Pah! Just empty words."
The old miner Hans's cloudy eyes were full of scorn as he patted his empty trouser leg.
"See this? This is what happens when you believe the bullshit of the former count!"
"That old bastard said the same thing back in the day, promised us miners the best protections. And what was the result?"
"The mine collapsed, and this leg of mine was worth just three silver coins!"
"They talk prettier than they sing! If you can believe a single word from those noble lords, then I'll write my name, Hans, backward!"
The young man clenched his fists at these words.
His father, a taciturn miner, had died last year from black lung disease, coughing up enough blood to stain half his pillow red before the end.
He didn't care about any Witch King, any Empresses, or any countess. He only knew that life was getting harder with each passing day.
"But what if... what if it's real this time?" he said in a low voice, less a rebuttal than a prayer.
"If it's real, my little brother... maybe he won't have to walk our father's path."
Hans glanced at him, sighed, and said no more.
For those of them struggling at the bottom, hope was the greatest of all luxuries.
...
A week later, an unremarkable merchant caravan's land-vehicle entered Wischeim's south gate at dusk.
A man dressed in simple linen clothes opened a door and stepped out.
Lacey had arrived.
Gertrude had prepared a luxurious villa for Lacey in the High Court district, the kind with a garden and a fountain.
But Lacey politely declined her offer.
He, along with Serafina and Taylor who arrived shortly after, rented an abandoned warehouse in the chaotic, noisy Sunset District.
The warehouse was filled with junk. Taylor kicked open a rotten wooden crate, and the rising dust made him sneeze several times in a row.
"Boss, are we really going to live in this hellhole?" Taylor complained in his gruff voice, rubbing his nose.
"That countess is too stingy. Couldn't she have found us a proper place?"
"We chose not to stay there," Serafina said as she expertly found a broom and a rag and began to clean.
Lacey paid no mind to his surroundings. He took a map of Wischeim from his luggage, spread it out on a relatively clean wooden table, and began to study it intently.
"Our roots are among the workers. Our headquarters, naturally, should be in the place closest to them," Lacey said without looking up.
Taylor nodded with partial understanding. He stopped complaining and rolled up his sleeves to join the cleaning.
...
Over the next month, Wischeim underwent a silent revolution.
Under Gertrude's authority, a joint action team composed of the countess's guard and the Workers' Party Picket Team began carrying out precision strikes against the Witch King's remnants.
The Picket Team was responsible for providing intelligence and peripheral security, while Gertrude's guards handled the frontal assaults.
The members of the Witch King's remnants, who were used to throwing their weight around, were dragged from their beds and put in shackles before they even knew what was happening.
Lacey would personally interrogate the lower-ranking members who were captured.
"What is your name? Why did you join them?" Lacey's questions always started there.
At first, they were all tight-lipped, arming themselves with slogans and fanatical loyalty.
But with Serafina's help, Lacey always found a way to crack their shells.
He would chat with them about their families, about their fathers who died unjust deaths in the mines, about their children who perished young because there was no money for medicine, bit by bit dismantling their inner defenses.
In the end, these men would break down in tears, telling him everything they knew.
Lacey didn't hand these turned individuals over to Gertrude. Instead, he absorbed them into the peripheral organizations of the Workers' Party, allowing them to atone for their pasts and redeem themselves through their actions.
In just one short month, public safety in Wischeim improved at a visible rate.
The hooligans on the streets disappeared, the gangs entrenched in the Sunset District were uprooted, and even petty theft became much less common.
The populace watched and wondered.
They didn't know what had happened, only that it felt as if the sky was, perhaps, truly about to clear.
The time was ripe.
Lacey decided to deliver his first public address in Wischeim in the town hall square.
When the news spread, all of Wischeim was abuzz.
People flocked from all directions, curious to see what sort of person this so-called "workers' leader" was—the man who, according to legend, had the new countess wrapped around his finger.
The old miner Hans was also helped to the square by his young neighbor.
He still wore a look of disbelief, muttering, "Here comes another braggart. I'd like to see what kind of flowers he can talk into blooming."
The square was packed. Lacey, dressed in a clean set of work clothes, walked onto the hastily built stage.
He cleared his throat and began his speech in his resonant voice:
"I know you don't trust me!"
"You don't trust anyone who stands up here making grand speeches, because you've been deceived too many times!"
A hush fell over the crowd. His words had struck a chord with everyone.
"Your lords change one after another, but your taxes only ever increase! You hear one slogan after another, but your lives only get harder day by day!"
"So today, I'm not here to talk about vague ideals or shout unreachable slogans."
"I came to Wischeim to talk about just three things!"
"Fairness! Fairness! And goddamn fairness!"
Lacey held up one finger.
"First, starting tomorrow, Wischeim will establish its first school for commoners! All children between the ages of six and twelve, regardless of gender or birth, will have the right to attend school and learn to read and write for free!"
"We will let our children win their own futures with knowledge!"
In the crowd, a mother holding her child covered her mouth, tears instantly welling in her eyes.
Her husband had died in the mines, and her greatest wish was for her son not to follow in his father's footsteps.
Lacey held up a second finger.
"Second, the old warehouse in the east of the city will be converted into Wischeim's first clinic for commoners within three days! Those who are sick will no longer have to lie at home waiting to die, nor will they have to beg those exorbitant black-market doctors!"
"The clinic will provide you with the best treatment it can, and medicine will be sold at cost! We will ensure that every person who has shed sweat and blood for this city can live with dignity!"
A stir went through the crowd as people began to murmur to one another.
Lacey held up a third finger, his voice suddenly rising in volume.
"Third, starting next Monday, all factories and mines in Wischeim must comply with the new Labor Act!"
"The workday shall not exceed eight hours! Any overtime must be paid at double the rate! A safe working environment and necessary protective equipment must be provided for all workers! As for any boss who dares to withhold wages or treat lives as worthless…"
Lacey paused, his gaze sweeping over a few wealthy merchants in the crowd whose faces had turned ugly.
"The Workers' Party will be your nightmare!"
After a brief, dead silence, the entire square erupted in a tsunami of cheers.
"Lacey! Lacey! Lacey!"
"Long live Lacey! Long live the Workers' Party!"
"Long live the Workers' Party!"
The young miner's face was flushed with excitement. He waved his fist, roaring with all his might.
Beside him, the old miner Hans's hand trembled as it gripped his crutch.
He looked at the not-so-tall figure on the stage, his lips moved, but the scornful words would no longer come out.
________________________________________
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