Chapter 122: Payback
Lucian looked at the map in front of him, expression unchanged.
"That's right." He seemed entirely unbothered by Serabure's outburst. "All you need to do is hold the line."
"Why!" Serabure's voice rose further. Both hands were braced on the table, his whole body like a fully drawn bow. "More people means more strength. Even if you're strong, against an opponent like the beastman king, having more people to back you up would always—"
"Because my cavalry is built for mobility." Lucian cut him off. "Bringing along your team would only slow us down. And Crystal Tears' fighters are better placed on the front line."
He met Serabure's gaze without a flicker.
"The scale of this beastman offensive is different from previous years. The pressure on the front line will be heavier than it's ever been. If Crystal Tears comes with me into the enemy rear and the front collapses in the meantime, the royal capital will be left directly exposed to the beastman advance."
Lucian's reasoning was airtight. Serabure, wanting to push back, couldn't find a single crack in it.
"So keeping you on the front line is simply the most sensible choice."
Serabure couldn't find the right words. In his eyes, frustration and a flash of wounded pride flickered back and forth.
The mood in the room was edging toward something difficult to contain.
The Prime Minister shot Draudillon a glance. Draudillon let out a quiet, resigned sigh.
She had no particular talent for military planning, but she had come to this meeting precisely for moments like this one.
"Mr. Serabure."
A soft, gentle voice cut through the silence.
Draudillon's voice carried a small, timid tremor, as though something had frightened her.
Serabure's head snapped around.
The queen's eyes were faintly rimmed with red. Her lashes fluttered. Her fingers clutched the hem of her dress. She sat in that wide chair and looked, because of it, impossibly small.
"Your... your voice is too loud..."
Her voice grew smaller and smaller until it was barely a breath.
Serabure's expression froze, as though a time-stop spell had been cast directly on his face.
The cowlick visibly wilted, drooping forward onto his forehead. His shoulders sagged. Every trace of his earlier fire vanished without a remnant.
"Your — Your Majesty..." His voice came out in stumbling fragments. "I wasn't — I wasn't shouting... I was only—"
Draudillon lowered her head. Her black braid slid from her shoulder and fell across the side of her face.
"I know..."
She looked utterly put-upon.
"But... but Mr. Serabure's voice... it really was a little loud..."
Serabure deflated completely.
He shrank back into his chair, both hands folded on the table, posture immaculate — the posture of a schoolchild called to stand at attention. The cowlick lay flat against his forehead, having lost all will to fight alongside its owner.
Malcolm let out a quiet sigh. The massive arm finally reached over and gave the captain's shoulder a pat — the particular gentleness of a very large man doing his best to be soft.
Eda Alicia turned her head away, apparently unable to look at her own captain.
Glaxton buried his entire face in the spellbook, shoulders shaking lightly. It was evident that not laughing aloud was costing him everything he had.
Lucian watched what was clearly an annual tradition play out and felt a quiet, private satisfaction unfurl in his chest.
He could, of course, have handled it without provoking Serabure at all. With a clear enough explanation, Serabure's character meant he would have come around eventually anyway.
But he hadn't forgotten that face from yesterday. The chin angled up, the insufferable swagger of someone who had just been told he was the backup.
He hadn't been quite as magnanimous about it as he'd let on to Sebas, either.
But a direct comeback was the lowest form of payback there was.
If there was going to be payback, Lucian was going to use the method that stung the most.
The conference room was quiet for a moment.
Prime Minister Bergmann cleared his throat, breaking the silence.
"So then," his gaze moved from Serabure to Lucian, "Lord Aindra's proposal is that Crystal Tears holds the front line, while Lord Aindra independently leads the cavalry to carry out the decapitation mission."
"Precisely." Lucian gave a nod.
The Prime Minister turned to Serabure.
"Mr. Serabure, any further objections?"
Serabure's lips moved.
He glanced at the queen in the seat of honor. That pitiful expression pushed whatever he'd been about to say back down.
"...No." His voice was flat.
"Then," the Prime Minister's gaze swept both sides of the long table, "we proceed with Lord Aindra's plan."
He paused once more, confirmed no further objections, then looked toward the queen.
"Meeting adjourned." The queen said this with every effort at authority she could muster.
Crystal Tears rose and began gathering their things. Malcolm picked up the long sword leaning against the captain's chair and handed it to Serabure.
Serabure took the sword and walked toward the door without looking back.
The cowlick swayed slightly as he moved, carrying a faint air of sulking defiance.
Alicia followed behind her captain, giving a small nod to Lucian as she passed. Glaxton clutched his spellbook to his chest and made a swift exit.
Draudillon had largely dropped the aggrieved expression.
"Lord Lucian." Her voice returned to its everyday register, though it still carried a trace of softness. "You truly don't need Crystal Tears' support?"
"No." Lucian stood. "I appreciate Your Majesty's concern all the same."
Draudillon looked at him, as though about to say something, but only gave a quiet nod.
"Then... Lord Lucian, please be careful."
"I will."
Lucian inclined his head slightly, turned, and walked toward the door.
Sebas followed behind him.
Only the queen and the Prime Minister remained in the conference room.
Draudillon sat in the wide chair with her legs crossed, one hand resting loosely on the armrest. The winning-your-protection bearing was gone entirely, replaced by the unhurried, languid ease of someone who simply occupied whatever space she happened to sit in.
Paired with the little-girl appearance, it produced a contrast that defied easy description.
She looked at the door that had just closed, silent for a moment.
"Bergmann."
"Here." The Prime Minister's bearing was respectful.
Draudillon's gaze stayed on the door, as though she could still see Lucian's retreating silhouette through the closed panels.
"Do you truly believe," her voice was soft enough to be talking to herself, "that Lord Lucian can accomplish this mission on the Aindra domain's strength alone?"
The Prime Minister did not answer immediately.
He lowered his gaze. A thoughtful expression settled over that wrinkled face.
Several breaths passed before he spoke.
"Lord Lucian is strong. But to kill the beastman king with his strength alone... that will be very difficult."
"Then why did you—"
"However." The Prime Minister cut across her.
His tone lifted slightly. The lines of his brow eased.
"In this old servant's years of knowing Lord Aindra, whenever he has made a decision like this, he has always had his reasons."
Hearing this, a faint trace of quiet expectation surfaced in those large eyes.
40+advance chapters at patreon.com/Eatinpieces