Trullinczentyr, the heart of Leithanien.
The Twin Towers soared into the clouds, overlooking the city.
Within the throne room at the top of the towers, Herlinmarte Hildegard, the Black Empress known as the 'Relentless Authority,' slammed a secret report from the Voice of the Empress down on the table.
"Cutting the ground from under our feet without shedding a drop of blood! Lizelotte, I'd say he's about to forge a crown for himself!"
The mountain of reports on the table each detailed the incredible changes in Wischeim and how Viscount Stalenf, lord of Fink County, had been utterly defeated in a war without smoke or fire.
"He didn't mobilize a single soldier, yet he nearly paralyzed the domain of a hereditary noble, ultimately forcing him to sign that kind of treaty!"
"Lizelotte, this force is already beyond our control! It's spreading in a way we cannot comprehend! If we don't dispatch the army to crush it now, it will be too late once this plague has spread throughout all of Leithanien!"
Hearing these words, Lizelotte Iwegnade remained calmly seated, her slender fingers gently brushing across the pages of another report.
"Herlinmarte, anger will only cloud your judgment."
"Do you want us to send an army to crusade against a hero who is helping the people improve their lives, purging the Witch King's remnants, and has the public support of several nobles?"
"The moment we do that, we announce to the entire nation that the imperial power of Leithanien will not allow anyone to live a good life."
"This will only push the silent majority to stand completely against us. More importantly, it will give *those people* a perfect excuse to unite and accuse us of being new tyrants."
"They were able to overthrow the Witch King, so naturally, they can overthrow us. Can you understand that, Herlinmarte?"
Lizelotte raised her head, her clear eyes looking directly at Herlinmarte.
"Don't you see it yet? Lacey's targets, from the very beginning, have been the old nobles like Viscount Stalenf—extensions of the Electors' power."
"The harder he strikes, the more the Electors' foundations are shaken. He isn't digging up our land; he's helping us till the soil."
"Tilling the soil? He's planting explosives!" Herlinmarte retorted.
"And so what?" Lizelotte smiled faintly. "As long as the fuse is in our hands, that's all that matters."
"The foundation of Leithanien isn't Lacey, nor is it us. It's *them*."
"As long as they don't fall, Leithanien is as solid as a rock, and this ceiling above our heads can never be broken through."
"Lacey's achievements look astonishing right now, but on the grand chessboard of Leithanien, he occupies nothing more than an insignificant corner."
"He needs time to grow, and we can happen to give him that time, along with a suitable identity."
Herlinmarte frowned. "What do you mean?"
"Instead of trying every which way to extinguish this fire, why not add some fuel to it? Let it burn brighter, and burn towards where we want it to go." Lizelotte stood up and walked to the massive floor-to-ceiling window, gazing down at the capital's bustling scenery.
"In my name, in the name of Lizelotte Iwegnade, the 'Eternal Grace,' issue an Empress's Edict."
"Commend Lacey for his achievements in purging the Witch King's remnants and pacifying the populace in Wischeim."
"Since the Countess of the Strollo family has already recognized him, we might as well give him another push."
"Ennoble him as a Viscount. Select a small town from the area around Wischeim and formally grant it to him as his fief."
Herlinmarte shot to her feet in shock. "Are you mad? You're going to make him a noble?"
"Yes." Lizelotte turned around and said with a smile, but there was no mirth in her eyes.
"The moment he grasps this handle, his hand will be in ours."
"He will transform from an outsider rebel into a member of the system. He will gain legitimacy, but he will also have to abide by the rules of the nobility."
"He will become the Empress's dagger."
"As for whether this dagger will one day turn against us…"
Lizelotte paused.
"That will depend on how skilled we are."
Herlinmarte stared at her sister for a long time. Finally, she slumped back into her throne, her clenched fists slowly uncurling.
She was still full of doubt, but she could not refute Lizelotte's logic.
This chess game was already beyond her abilities.
"Then we'll do as you say. But the Voice of the Empress's surveillance on him must be raised to the highest level."
Lizelotte smiled in agreement. "But of course."
…
Meanwhile, construction in Wischeim was in full swing.
Next to the central city square, the foundation was being laid for a new Workers' Party headquarters.
Dust filled the air, and the sounds of chanting and hammering rose and fell in waves.
Arturia sat on a newly erected wooden scaffold, cradling the cello that never left her side.
She had no intention of playing; she just quietly watched everything before her, her dark eyes reflecting the busy figures coming and going.
Serafina walked past her briskly, holding a roll of blueprints. Seeing Arturia's leisurely state, she paused, her brows knitting unconsciously.
"Miss Arturia, this is a construction site. It's dangerous."
"Besides, the spot you're sitting on is exactly where a crossbeam is scheduled to be installed this afternoon." Serafina tried her best to keep her tone polite, but anyone could hear the impatience within it.
Hearing her, Arturia slowly turned her head, her gaze falling upon Serafina.
She didn't get up. Instead, she hugged her cello a little tighter.
"Your heart is restless, and exhausted," Arturia said.
"You're using this busyness to fight your inner turmoil. You're afraid of losing control, right?"
Serafina felt her temples begin to throb.
What she hated most was that Arturia could also see through people's hearts, yet she herself was unable to use her Originium Arts to perceive the other's true emotions.
"I am simply fulfilling my duties, ensuring everything proceeds according to plan."
"The Workers' Party is not an art salon. This is no place for you. What we need is efficiency and discipline."
"Efficiency and discipline…"
Arturia repeated the words softly, then smiled. "Discipline is the dam, and emotion is the flood. You've built a high dam, but can you hear the sound of the flood roaring behind the wall, Miss Serafina?"
"I don't have time to discuss philosophy with you!" Serafina felt her patience wearing thin. "In any case, please find another spot. Don't interfere with the construction progress."
Arturia stared at her for a few seconds, then suddenly said, "You are indeed jealous of me."
Serafina froze. "What?"
"You're jealous that I can do as I please while you cannot. You're jealous that I can easily touch a different side of Lacey, while you cannot."
Serafina's cheeks instantly flushed crimson, half from anger, half from the embarrassment of being seen through.
She opened her mouth, but found that any attempt to argue would be feeble and pointless.
She really had... for a fleeting moment... had such a thought.
Seeing Serafina's rare loss of composure, Arturia didn't press the attack. Instead, she hopped down from the scaffold.
"However, your truth is far more interesting than his." Cradling her cello, she brushed past Serafina, leaving behind a cryptic, unfinished sentence.
Serafina stood rooted to the spot, her fingers clutching the blueprints tightly.
She watched Arturia's departing figure, a mix of complex emotions churning inside her.
She hated this mad, eccentric girl, but she had to admit that her words always struck where it hurt the most.
She took a deep breath, suppressed her surging emotions, and was about to turn back to her work when she saw Arturia in a nearby corner, awkwardly trying to accept a piece of bread from a tall worker, nearly dropping her cello in the process.
Serafina sighed. In the end, she walked over anyway.
She took a sandwich wrapped in wax paper from her own pocket—it was stuffed with thick smoked meat and vegetables—and unceremoniously pushed it into Arturia's arms.
"Eat this. If an artist starves to death, no one's going to pay out a pension."
With that, she turned and walked away briskly without looking back.
Arturia looked down at the sandwich, still warm from body heat, then at Serafina's hastily retreating back.
She took a small bite of the sandwich. It tasted pretty good.
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