Arreau was a humble mining town, so it had no great manor overlooking it, but there was of course a building, the mining company’s headquarters. A simple two-story building, with a large office space on the top floor. A room arrayed with countless cupboards, all full of various reports, letters, and other texts.
The room’s only occupant, a gaunt, almost skeletal man who had little hair left despite only being at the age of 35, was pacing. As was usual for him these days. In fact, taking into account what he was dealing with, it was surprising he had any hair left at all—at least that was what he thought.
Marcel Du Noelle was not having a good day.
He paced in his office, walking in an ever-enclosing circle, darkly looking out of the window every time he passed it. The barricade by the mine's entrance had grown larger since yesterday, and the [Miners] hadn’t seemed to suffer at all from his withholding of supplies. And the [Supervisor] skills were still failing.
And with this timing too! I’m so close to it… Why did those pests have to barge in and cause all this sabotage?
He stopped as the door opened and his [Secretary] stepped inside, a neat woman with a proper [Manager's] countenance. Isabelle was a reliable sort, but Marcel didn’t jump at her entry. He had his dignity to maintain.
The [Lord] calmly sat down at his table, leaned back, and started getting his papers in order. He had been looking over the mineshaft’s maps, trying to estimate how close they were to his target. He opened a drawer in his table, then stored each map in its appropriate place, careful to keep to his personal [Personal Library Classification]. By storing his files according to it, he could always find everything at a moment’s notice.
Isabelle stood patiently at attention the whole time, not making one errant motion. Marcel kept an eye on her from the edge of his vision, then finally finished putting the last paper in. Good, she always does know the proper order of things. Still, the tests were necessary. Power not used did not exist.
Marcel straightened up, then gestured at the bespectacled woman. “Report.”
Isabelle bowed. “My [Lord], the morale of the [Miners] doesn’t appear to be breaking, and they seem to have smuggled food supplies inside, somehow. I haven’t found their supplier yet. No changes with any skills”
The [Lord] grimaced. “It’s that damned skill at work I bet. A [Strike].” He spat. “Have you found more information on the user? Whose it is?”
The [Secretary] straightened from her bow and nodded. “I have finally managed to get the names of the two strangers. A Monsieur Pierre and a Monsieur Marat. The [Strike] was activated soon after they arrived in town, and the [Supervisors] were kicked out of the mine immediately afterward. The two men were seen entering the mines. No word that they ever came out.”
Marcel drummed his fingers against the table, irritated. Finally, he had a name to attach to the pests, but who were they? Who were they working for? He could have gotten the information faster, and easier, but that would have required using some of the few pawns he had in play. And he needed to save as many as he could for the final push. Did he have to hurry? If he assumed the worst-case scenario… Could someone else have found the records? But who would bother to look into that?
His skill made looking through histories and other old records a lot easier, and nobody else had touched those files in years… Or maybe he had acted suspiciously, and people were now looking in? Or it could just be bad luck. A test, as the heavens were fond of sending him.
Marcel felt his pulse quickening, and he turned his seat around so the [Secretary] wouldn’t see his intensifying face. He stared out of the window for a long minute, brooding. He had been sent to this backwater shithole, no chances of advancement, doomed to wither away in irrelevancy. But then, a glimmer of hope, a portent from the [Saints] that fate may have greater things in store for him after all.
But if someone were to ruin me… now would be the most opportune time. Is this a trap? Coincidence? Who are those two? Why did they come here?
He ground his teeth. His damn thoughts were going around in circles now. No—it didn’t matter who they were. They were opposing him at this critical time, so he would take proper measures.
He turned back around on his chair, face back to normal. Isabelle hadn’t shifted an inch, still standing at proper attention. Marcel nodded to himself. Everything in this world has its proper place. This is a trial—once I overcome it, I’ll reach mine. Interlopers… cannot be tolerated.
He held his hand out, and Isabelle deposited the papers she was holding there in one smooth motion, then stepped back. Two pages, one for each of the strangers, with information carefully categorized. A brief sketch of their appearances, then a list of all information available, including potential classes and skills. Sadly, the list mostly consisted of everything they didn’t know. Very little substance.
Which one of them activated the [Strike]? [Miners] are rabble, cut off the head, and the rest will fall in line. His eyes bore into the pages, trying to decipher any secrets the drawings held. Two men, who both looked very different from each other. A wild beast, and a clever manipulator. He could tell. It was a dangerous combination.
The reports were appropriate, so Marcel gestured with his hand, and the [Secretary] left without another word, closing the door behind her. He stood up, walked to his larger filing cabinet, then started carefully filing the two papers away, enjoying the feeling of [Personal Library Classification] slotting into place.
I have the resources to deal with this. An assassination... Normally, two at once would be difficult, especially if they have higher levels, but these two… He thought of the barricades arranged in front of the mines and smiled. They have already signed their death warrants. By their own actions no less. He liked the irony.
He could spare one pawn. Those two had kicked things out of order by arriving, but slowly, he would reverse the harm they had done. One step at a time, the world would return to normal. With each paper he slotted inside his filing cupboards, he felt his life slowly falling back into his control, until his pulse had finally calmed.
He sat back down at his table, careful not to hurry. That would be a mistake. His timeline wasn’t urgent yet, and if one more bit of information filed into its proper place could improve his chances by even a percent, he would do it. No waste, no hurry, no mistakes. He crossed his arms on his table, interlocking fingers. Yes, first I’ll have to inquire more after the two, then I’ll—
He heard a shout, opened his eyes, looked forward, and then the door exploded.
“Freeze! This is an inspection! You are under suspicion of acting against the interests of house Du Noelle!”
No, the door hadn’t actually exploded, but it being kicked in and then rushed by four people gave off the same impression. A blond woman led the charge, dressed in a simple black dress, and she was holding up—
Marcel felt his eyes widen. A command seal of the main family! He saw how the gem glowed, indicating the holder’s bloodline. How? I made sure that no one—
Three other women followed the first one in. One dark-haired, obviously a [Maid] by her clothing, who stayed by the door. For some reason, Marcel felt his instincts screaming at him to edge away from her, and that wasn’t counting the others
The two others walked further inside, falling on either side, glaring at him. The stare from the rightmost one felt particularly ominous. Is she holding needles? Marcel’s spine shivered.
Frozen still from the shock, it took a second before he could raise his voice. “[Guards]! What is this? Intruders!”
The lead woman waved her command seal in front of her, making a bored expression. “That’s all you have to say, second cousin dearest? Your troops are granted from our family, and you do not stand in favor right now.”
Marcel finally recognized her—Marie, the third daughter of the main family. But when he had last seen her, she hadn’t been like this… Wait, hadn’t there been word of—
The [Lady] stomped forward and slammed her fist against the table. Marcel jumped back on instinct. “You’d better have a good explanation for what’s going on here,” she said, eyes focused.
Marcel felt his anger bristle. This upstart girl, waving that— He tried to stand up, but the woman at his right flicked needles around in her hands, and he instinctively backed down. He glared up at the [Lady]. “This is my posting, and things are well under control here. I was told I could handle things.”
“Well,” the [Lady] said, circling around the table, “You really don’t seem to have things under control here from what I see. Not calling in the [Mages], ending up with a [Strike] after weeks of the standoff, it almost reeks of sabotage. Ladies, do your thing,” she finished, gesturing at the others in the room.
The [Maid] stayed by the door, expression dark, and the [Lady] didn’t move either, looming in front of him, but the other two moved. The one with the needle started eyeing the cabinets and walls, while the gloomy one started pacing about, investigating the floorboards.
Marcel fixed a dark glare at Marie, then started standing up again. “If there is sabotage here—I assure you it is not my own, I—”
Something banged in the room, and Marcel fell back down on his chair. He looked to the side, and his eyes widened in horror. The needle user had ripped out one of his filing cabinet shelves, thrown it on the floor, and started rifling through it. Papers were floating in the air and started to spread out on the floor, ruining his carefully crafted system.
“I’m sorry, did we break your concentration?”, the [Lady] asked, waving at him for attention. Her eyes were focused, like a viper eyeing a mouse. “You were saying something? How this was not your fault?”
Marcel turned to her, frozen from shock. He could feel his [Personal Library Classification] eroding bit by bit. “I—”
Something was thrown into the wall behind him, and again he flinched. He looked behind him and saw that the gloomy woman had pried off a floorboard, then thrown it to the side. Now she was digging at the space under the floor, prodding the space between floors with a knife.
“Go on—” the [Lady] continued. “Take your time. Wouldn’t want to get your excuses wrong, would you? We can do a thorough search.”
Marcel fumed. he stood up, shouting. “It’s the fault of those two interlopers, who incited this damn [Strike]! My actions have been nothing but—”
He suddenly froze as a cold wave went through his body, like a hundred pieces of ice shifting through his veins. He shuddered, falling back down, and looked at the [Lady]. She was [Appraising] him?
“Hmm, sorry, just making sure…” Marie said, frowning in thought. “A level 21 [Lord of Management], at your age? My condolences.”
He shivered from more than just the cold, but from genuine fear this time. So close, if I had not been…
“Well, the [Strike] may not have been activated by you, but you do seem to have quite a bit of culpability.” The [Lady] said, eyes focusing back on him, away from whatever data she had been parsing. “Why did you not call in the [Mages] when the [Miners] demanded it?”
Because that would ruin everything, he thought, but his mouth stayed silent. It was hard for him to think, as the two women wrecked his workplace, grabbing files from wherever they pleased, peering at them, then putting them away. Still, he forced his mind to action. If he just got control of this situation…
“The [Miners] are contracted to deal with certain amounts of monsters,” he finally said. “If we call in the [Mages] or whatever they come up with whenever they beg us to, we would be losing money by the wagonload. These things have to be judged each time, and additional support was not judged necessary.”
The [Lady] fixed him a skeptical gaze, then looked around the room. “Even with reports of monsters?” She asked.
“Hah, ‘reports of monsters’—” Marcel sneered, “—there are always reports of monsters. Someone gets careless and the excuses come about like mushrooms in rain. I’ve seen no proof of monsters from the—”
“Miss—” the [Maid] interrupted. Marcel glared at her, his anger flaring. A mere [Maid] had dared interrupt him? A brat at that? “—I would remind you that monsters explode into puddles of blood when killed,” the girl finished, then turned that glare at Marcel. “Can’t exactly bring the corpses out as proof, can they?”
Marcel eyed the [Maid] for a moment more, making a promise to himself, then turned back to the [Lady]. “Awfully convenient for the [Miners] isn’t it? Polish up some bits of magicoal, then present them as monster cores like I don't know better. Easy vacation for the lazy lot.”
Marie quirked her eyebrows. “You don’t seem to think much of your workers.”
The [Lord] laughed, a semblance of a plan finally forming in his mind. He would get control of this back, step by step. He sneered at the [Lady], taking the first step, and stood up—no interruptions this time. He walked to the window, gesturing at the barricades outside. “I’d like to see you deal with their lot and maintain a high opinion. See if you can knock sense into those two inciters. They won’t be satisfied with just [Mages] after this, you’ll see. It'll be pay raises next time. And there will be a next time.”
The [Lady] frowned, looking around the room. “I’ll be the final judge of that. Why didn’t you relent when a [Strike] was called?”
“Is it the place of a [Lord] to relent against demands?” He asked, making his best effort at the tone. He tried to recall his father, giving him those tiresome lessons, with that tone of talking to an imbecile. “A [Lord] who loses their respect is no [Lord] at all, you should know that. Fold once, and you become the [Lord] who folds. You will never stand again.”
The [Lady] looked at him for a long time, silent and measuring. Eventually, she spoke, voice cold. “Yet—even the likes of you manage to stand back up eventually.”
Marcel felt his fury bristle, but Marie just turned away, looking over the room. “You two, did you get everything you need?”
The two nodded, the needle user grabbing a few more papers into her hands, then standing up. Marie gathered her party around her once more, then took a last look at the [Lord], locking eyes. “We’ll meet again Marcel, soon enough. I intend to have this matter settled within the week.”
“Hah! Good luck with that, little [Lady], see if you can negotiate with that lot better than I,” Marcel said, then turned around, to look at the window. He said no more and waited as the footsteps filtered out of his room, and gradually receded. Once he saw the girls from the window, heading toward the mine, he finally turned around.
Isabelle was standing at the open door, waiting for attention. As he knew she was. Marcel stared at her for a good minute, but the [Secretary] did not shift about or move her eyes one bit.
The [Lord’s] eyes followed every curve of her body, from the lithe legs, their form only hinted at by the long skirt, the bosom, then eventually arriving at her face. He didn’t see one bit of motion anywhere. Satisfied, he nodded to himself. He felt calmer.
A [Secretary] had their place. It wasn’t dealing with situations like this, but rather, dealing with the aftermath. His other servants and workers though… They had forgotten.
“Gather everyone in the courtyard. Immediately. I will speak to the staff.” He said, then turned around. He didn’t have to wait for an affirmative or observe the process. He knew Isabelle would do the job. Knew better than many might suspect.
The staff could wait outdoors, and he would come to talk to them—eventually. It was no hurry. They could stew there for a bit. How many hours? He closed his eyes, and he saw the nervous and guilty faces as Isabelle walked through the building. He could [See Through Their Eyes].
Of course, none of them had managed to stop the [Lady], they were just servants. They could be overwhelmed rather easily. He would have to train them better.
Marcel smiled, then opened his eyes. He had been saved. By a skill he had never had to actually use before, but that he had still invested points in. Just in case. [Deceive Appraisal]. A bit more control over his life.
A rare and difficult skill to get, and one that could be sidestepped, but it had proven worth it. That move he had made years ago had waited patiently, and today; it had allowed him to retain some semblance of control.
Is this how it is to be? As I near the end, a challenger from the main family arrives, trying to claim my fate as her own? More errant pieces thrown onto my board?
He stretched out his hand, and faint lines of red ran across it, glowing with magic. Oh, so weak. He squashed the attempts to wrest control from him and dismissed the glow. He would clean up the board. He had gleaned much from the conversation before. The level 28 [Lord of Suppression] smiled.
He walked back to his cupboard, looking for a specific piece of paper in the wreckage. [Sense Disorder] had given him a hint, and eventually, after sifting through the papers enough, he found it. Among the files on family correspondence—A letter. One inquiring after a certain Marie Adrianne Du Noelle, who had run away from home, escaping an engagement.
The [Lady] was not in her rightful place. Disorder. And now he knew. She doesn’t have the family’s backing. And the family does not know where she is. Not at all.
Was that it, then? Did she know? Had she somehow sniffed his attempt out, then come here looking, grasping for a chance to raise her relevancy? To struggle against her engagement, leave her place? If so… he had to accelerate timetables. Use some pawns. Necessary sacrifices.
Dealing with the interlopers may end up more difficult, as would the final step, but he would manage. He had to remove the most dangerous factors first. Somebody with the right knowledge, getting the wrong hint… It could all crash down if word got out. A [Lady] from the main family—she would be able to figure it out. Eventually.
She had to disappear before that could happen.
Nobody knew that the third daughter Du Noelle was in Arreau, playing at being a [Lord]. If she were to just… vanish—who would find out? He could handle the people in this town, and it wouldn’t matter for long, anyways. And she was traveling with three other women, no [Fighters] among them—he could tell. There was a natural order to things.
And he had succeeded at his first step, the most important. He had gotten the girls to head out, to go inside the mines. That blond upstart had seemed the virtuous sort, wanting to prove herself. A fool who thought she had the right. Getting her moving in that direction had been simple. He chuckled softly to himself.
Then Marcel activated his [Contracted Servant].
“___________, the time has come.”
Thousands of feet away from him, a man stopped in his place inside the mines, remembering promises and pacts made before. He stood still for a moment, listening to instructions, nodded, then forgot what had just happened.
Marcel cut the link, then sat down, on the floor this time. After he completed his orders, the man would have no memory of them, and he wouldn’t be usable again. But it would be enough. One pawn used, one threat gone. Easy.
He eyed the papers strewn about the room—his heart heavy. In an instant, everything had been thrown into disarray. No warning. No chance to prepare. Everything out of his control. Like the skies raining down heavenly punishment upon his arrogance. He gently placed the detached plank into its slot.
But. Things would return to their places, in time. He was the third son of a branch family. If he wanted a chance at greatness, fighting against fate was the least he had to do.
Marcel looked at the papers around him and began sorting.
zechamp
I like having scenes like these from outsider POV.
How are you liking these longer chapters and new schedule?
This arc is finished on Patreon! (14 chapters ahead for 5 dollars!): https://www.patreon.com/zechamp
Next time, a strike at the mine. And my favorite dude gets introduced.
Arreau was a humble mining town, so it had no great manor overlooking it, but there was of course a building, the mining company’s headquarters. A simple two-story building, with a large office space on the top floor. A room arrayed with countless cupboards, all full of various reports, letters, and other texts.
The room’s only occupant, a gaunt, almost skeletal man who had little hair left despite only being at the age of 35, was pacing. As was usual for him these days. In fact, taking into account what he was dealing with, it was surprising he had any hair left at all—at least that was what he thought.
Marcel Du Noelle was not having a good day.
He paced in his office, walking in an ever-enclosing circle, darkly looking out of the window every time he passed it. The barricade by the mine's entrance had grown larger since yesterday, and the [Miners] hadn’t seemed to suffer at all from his withholding of supplies. And the [Supervisor] skills were still failing.
And with this timing too! I’m so close to it… Why did those pests have to barge in and cause all this sabotage?
He stopped as the door opened and his [Secretary] stepped inside, a neat woman with a proper [Manager's] countenance. Isabelle was a reliable sort, but Marcel didn’t jump at her entry. He had his dignity to maintain.
The [Lord] calmly sat down at his table, leaned back, and started getting his papers in order. He had been looking over the mineshaft’s maps, trying to estimate how close they were to his target. He opened a drawer in his table, then stored each map in its appropriate place, careful to keep to his personal [Personal Library Classification]. By storing his files according to it, he could always find everything at a moment’s notice.
Isabelle stood patiently at attention the whole time, not making one errant motion. Marcel kept an eye on her from the edge of his vision, then finally finished putting the last paper in. Good, she always does know the proper order of things. Still, the tests were necessary. Power not used did not exist.
Marcel straightened up, then gestured at the bespectacled woman. “Report.”
Isabelle bowed. “My [Lord], the morale of the [Miners] doesn’t appear to be breaking, and they seem to have smuggled food supplies inside, somehow. I haven’t found their supplier yet. No changes with any skills”
The [Lord] grimaced. “It’s that damned skill at work I bet. A [Strike].” He spat. “Have you found more information on the user? Whose it is?”
The [Secretary] straightened from her bow and nodded. “I have finally managed to get the names of the two strangers. A Monsieur Pierre and a Monsieur Marat. The [Strike] was activated soon after they arrived in town, and the [Supervisors] were kicked out of the mine immediately afterward. The two men were seen entering the mines. No word that they ever came out.”
Marcel drummed his fingers against the table, irritated. Finally, he had a name to attach to the pests, but who were they? Who were they working for? He could have gotten the information faster, and easier, but that would have required using some of the few pawns he had in play. And he needed to save as many as he could for the final push. Did he have to hurry? If he assumed the worst-case scenario… Could someone else have found the records? But who would bother to look into that?
His skill made looking through histories and other old records a lot easier, and nobody else had touched those files in years… Or maybe he had acted suspiciously, and people were now looking in? Or it could just be bad luck. A test, as the heavens were fond of sending him.
Marcel felt his pulse quickening, and he turned his seat around so the [Secretary] wouldn’t see his intensifying face. He stared out of the window for a long minute, brooding. He had been sent to this backwater shithole, no chances of advancement, doomed to wither away in irrelevancy. But then, a glimmer of hope, a portent from the [Saints] that fate may have greater things in store for him after all.
But if someone were to ruin me… now would be the most opportune time. Is this a trap? Coincidence? Who are those two? Why did they come here?
He ground his teeth. His damn thoughts were going around in circles now. No—it didn’t matter who they were. They were opposing him at this critical time, so he would take proper measures.
He turned back around on his chair, face back to normal. Isabelle hadn’t shifted an inch, still standing at proper attention. Marcel nodded to himself. Everything in this world has its proper place. This is a trial—once I overcome it, I’ll reach mine. Interlopers… cannot be tolerated.
He held his hand out, and Isabelle deposited the papers she was holding there in one smooth motion, then stepped back. Two pages, one for each of the strangers, with information carefully categorized. A brief sketch of their appearances, then a list of all information available, including potential classes and skills. Sadly, the list mostly consisted of everything they didn’t know. Very little substance.
Which one of them activated the [Strike]? [Miners] are rabble, cut off the head, and the rest will fall in line. His eyes bore into the pages, trying to decipher any secrets the drawings held. Two men, who both looked very different from each other. A wild beast, and a clever manipulator. He could tell. It was a dangerous combination.
The reports were appropriate, so Marcel gestured with his hand, and the [Secretary] left without another word, closing the door behind her. He stood up, walked to his larger filing cabinet, then started carefully filing the two papers away, enjoying the feeling of [Personal Library Classification] slotting into place.
I have the resources to deal with this. An assassination... Normally, two at once would be difficult, especially if they have higher levels, but these two… He thought of the barricades arranged in front of the mines and smiled. They have already signed their death warrants. By their own actions no less. He liked the irony.
He could spare one pawn. Those two had kicked things out of order by arriving, but slowly, he would reverse the harm they had done. One step at a time, the world would return to normal. With each paper he slotted inside his filing cupboards, he felt his life slowly falling back into his control, until his pulse had finally calmed.
He sat back down at his table, careful not to hurry. That would be a mistake. His timeline wasn’t urgent yet, and if one more bit of information filed into its proper place could improve his chances by even a percent, he would do it. No waste, no hurry, no mistakes. He crossed his arms on his table, interlocking fingers. Yes, first I’ll have to inquire more after the two, then I’ll—
He heard a shout, opened his eyes, looked forward, and then the door exploded.
“Freeze! This is an inspection! You are under suspicion of acting against the interests of house Du Noelle!”
No, the door hadn’t actually exploded, but it being kicked in and then rushed by four people gave off the same impression. A blond woman led the charge, dressed in a simple black dress, and she was holding up—
Marcel felt his eyes widen. A command seal of the main family! He saw how the gem glowed, indicating the holder’s bloodline. How? I made sure that no one—
Three other women followed the first one in. One dark-haired, obviously a [Maid] by her clothing, who stayed by the door. For some reason, Marcel felt his instincts screaming at him to edge away from her, and that wasn’t counting the others
The two others walked further inside, falling on either side, glaring at him. The stare from the rightmost one felt particularly ominous. Is she holding needles? Marcel’s spine shivered.
Frozen still from the shock, it took a second before he could raise his voice. “[Guards]! What is this? Intruders!”
The lead woman waved her command seal in front of her, making a bored expression. “That’s all you have to say, second cousin dearest? Your troops are granted from our family, and you do not stand in favor right now.”
Marcel finally recognized her—Marie, the third daughter of the main family. But when he had last seen her, she hadn’t been like this… Wait, hadn’t there been word of—
The [Lady] stomped forward and slammed her fist against the table. Marcel jumped back on instinct. “You’d better have a good explanation for what’s going on here,” she said, eyes focused.
Marcel felt his anger bristle. This upstart girl, waving that— He tried to stand up, but the woman at his right flicked needles around in her hands, and he instinctively backed down. He glared up at the [Lady]. “This is my posting, and things are well under control here. I was told I could handle things.”
“Well,” the [Lady] said, circling around the table, “You really don’t seem to have things under control here from what I see. Not calling in the [Mages], ending up with a [Strike] after weeks of the standoff, it almost reeks of sabotage. Ladies, do your thing,” she finished, gesturing at the others in the room.
The [Maid] stayed by the door, expression dark, and the [Lady] didn’t move either, looming in front of him, but the other two moved. The one with the needle started eyeing the cabinets and walls, while the gloomy one started pacing about, investigating the floorboards.
Marcel fixed a dark glare at Marie, then started standing up again. “If there is sabotage here—I assure you it is not my own, I—”
Something banged in the room, and Marcel fell back down on his chair. He looked to the side, and his eyes widened in horror. The needle user had ripped out one of his filing cabinet shelves, thrown it on the floor, and started rifling through it. Papers were floating in the air and started to spread out on the floor, ruining his carefully crafted system.
“I’m sorry, did we break your concentration?”, the [Lady] asked, waving at him for attention. Her eyes were focused, like a viper eyeing a mouse. “You were saying something? How this was not your fault?”
Marcel turned to her, frozen from shock. He could feel his [Personal Library Classification] eroding bit by bit. “I—”
Something was thrown into the wall behind him, and again he flinched. He looked behind him and saw that the gloomy woman had pried off a floorboard, then thrown it to the side. Now she was digging at the space under the floor, prodding the space between floors with a knife.
“Go on—” the [Lady] continued. “Take your time. Wouldn’t want to get your excuses wrong, would you? We can do a thorough search.”
Marcel fumed. he stood up, shouting. “It’s the fault of those two interlopers, who incited this damn [Strike]! My actions have been nothing but—”
He suddenly froze as a cold wave went through his body, like a hundred pieces of ice shifting through his veins. He shuddered, falling back down, and looked at the [Lady]. She was [Appraising] him?
“Hmm, sorry, just making sure…” Marie said, frowning in thought. “A level 21 [Lord of Management], at your age? My condolences.”
He shivered from more than just the cold, but from genuine fear this time. So close, if I had not been…
“Well, the [Strike] may not have been activated by you, but you do seem to have quite a bit of culpability.” The [Lady] said, eyes focusing back on him, away from whatever data she had been parsing. “Why did you not call in the [Mages] when the [Miners] demanded it?”
Because that would ruin everything, he thought, but his mouth stayed silent. It was hard for him to think, as the two women wrecked his workplace, grabbing files from wherever they pleased, peering at them, then putting them away. Still, he forced his mind to action. If he just got control of this situation…
“The [Miners] are contracted to deal with certain amounts of monsters,” he finally said. “If we call in the [Mages] or whatever they come up with whenever they beg us to, we would be losing money by the wagonload. These things have to be judged each time, and additional support was not judged necessary.”
The [Lady] fixed him a skeptical gaze, then looked around the room. “Even with reports of monsters?” She asked.
“Hah, ‘reports of monsters’—” Marcel sneered, “—there are always reports of monsters. Someone gets careless and the excuses come about like mushrooms in rain. I’ve seen no proof of monsters from the—”
“Miss—” the [Maid] interrupted. Marcel glared at her, his anger flaring. A mere [Maid] had dared interrupt him? A brat at that? “—I would remind you that monsters explode into puddles of blood when killed,” the girl finished, then turned that glare at Marcel. “Can’t exactly bring the corpses out as proof, can they?”
Marcel eyed the [Maid] for a moment more, making a promise to himself, then turned back to the [Lady]. “Awfully convenient for the [Miners] isn’t it? Polish up some bits of magicoal, then present them as monster cores like I don't know better. Easy vacation for the lazy lot.”
Marie quirked her eyebrows. “You don’t seem to think much of your workers.”
The [Lord] laughed, a semblance of a plan finally forming in his mind. He would get control of this back, step by step. He sneered at the [Lady], taking the first step, and stood up—no interruptions this time. He walked to the window, gesturing at the barricades outside. “I’d like to see you deal with their lot and maintain a high opinion. See if you can knock sense into those two inciters. They won’t be satisfied with just [Mages] after this, you’ll see. It'll be pay raises next time. And there will be a next time.”
The [Lady] frowned, looking around the room. “I’ll be the final judge of that. Why didn’t you relent when a [Strike] was called?”
“Is it the place of a [Lord] to relent against demands?” He asked, making his best effort at the tone. He tried to recall his father, giving him those tiresome lessons, with that tone of talking to an imbecile. “A [Lord] who loses their respect is no [Lord] at all, you should know that. Fold once, and you become the [Lord] who folds. You will never stand again.”
The [Lady] looked at him for a long time, silent and measuring. Eventually, she spoke, voice cold. “Yet—even the likes of you manage to stand back up eventually.”
Marcel felt his fury bristle, but Marie just turned away, looking over the room. “You two, did you get everything you need?”
The two nodded, the needle user grabbing a few more papers into her hands, then standing up. Marie gathered her party around her once more, then took a last look at the [Lord], locking eyes. “We’ll meet again Marcel, soon enough. I intend to have this matter settled within the week.”
“Hah! Good luck with that, little [Lady], see if you can negotiate with that lot better than I,” Marcel said, then turned around, to look at the window. He said no more and waited as the footsteps filtered out of his room, and gradually receded. Once he saw the girls from the window, heading toward the mine, he finally turned around.
Isabelle was standing at the open door, waiting for attention. As he knew she was. Marcel stared at her for a good minute, but the [Secretary] did not shift about or move her eyes one bit.
The [Lord’s] eyes followed every curve of her body, from the lithe legs, their form only hinted at by the long skirt, the bosom, then eventually arriving at her face. He didn’t see one bit of motion anywhere. Satisfied, he nodded to himself. He felt calmer.
A [Secretary] had their place. It wasn’t dealing with situations like this, but rather, dealing with the aftermath. His other servants and workers though… They had forgotten.
“Gather everyone in the courtyard. Immediately. I will speak to the staff.” He said, then turned around. He didn’t have to wait for an affirmative or observe the process. He knew Isabelle would do the job. Knew better than many might suspect.
The staff could wait outdoors, and he would come to talk to them—eventually. It was no hurry. They could stew there for a bit. How many hours? He closed his eyes, and he saw the nervous and guilty faces as Isabelle walked through the building. He could [See Through Their Eyes].
Of course, none of them had managed to stop the [Lady], they were just servants. They could be overwhelmed rather easily. He would have to train them better.
Marcel smiled, then opened his eyes. He had been saved. By a skill he had never had to actually use before, but that he had still invested points in. Just in case. [Deceive Appraisal]. A bit more control over his life.
A rare and difficult skill to get, and one that could be sidestepped, but it had proven worth it. That move he had made years ago had waited patiently, and today; it had allowed him to retain some semblance of control.
Is this how it is to be? As I near the end, a challenger from the main family arrives, trying to claim my fate as her own? More errant pieces thrown onto my board?
He stretched out his hand, and faint lines of red ran across it, glowing with magic. Oh, so weak. He squashed the attempts to wrest control from him and dismissed the glow. He would clean up the board. He had gleaned much from the conversation before. The level 28 [Lord of Suppression] smiled.
He walked back to his cupboard, looking for a specific piece of paper in the wreckage. [Sense Disorder] had given him a hint, and eventually, after sifting through the papers enough, he found it. Among the files on family correspondence—A letter. One inquiring after a certain Marie Adrianne Du Noelle, who had run away from home, escaping an engagement.
The [Lady] was not in her rightful place. Disorder. And now he knew. She doesn’t have the family’s backing. And the family does not know where she is. Not at all.
Was that it, then? Did she know? Had she somehow sniffed his attempt out, then come here looking, grasping for a chance to raise her relevancy? To struggle against her engagement, leave her place? If so… he had to accelerate timetables. Use some pawns. Necessary sacrifices.
Dealing with the interlopers may end up more difficult, as would the final step, but he would manage. He had to remove the most dangerous factors first. Somebody with the right knowledge, getting the wrong hint… It could all crash down if word got out. A [Lady] from the main family—she would be able to figure it out. Eventually.
She had to disappear before that could happen.
Nobody knew that the third daughter Du Noelle was in Arreau, playing at being a [Lord]. If she were to just… vanish—who would find out? He could handle the people in this town, and it wouldn’t matter for long, anyways. And she was traveling with three other women, no [Fighters] among them—he could tell. There was a natural order to things.
And he had succeeded at his first step, the most important. He had gotten the girls to head out, to go inside the mines. That blond upstart had seemed the virtuous sort, wanting to prove herself. A fool who thought she had the right. Getting her moving in that direction had been simple. He chuckled softly to himself.
Then Marcel activated his [Contracted Servant].
“___________, the time has come.”
Thousands of feet away from him, a man stopped in his place inside the mines, remembering promises and pacts made before. He stood still for a moment, listening to instructions, nodded, then forgot what had just happened.
Marcel cut the link, then sat down, on the floor this time. After he completed his orders, the man would have no memory of them, and he wouldn’t be usable again. But it would be enough. One pawn used, one threat gone. Easy.
He eyed the papers strewn about the room—his heart heavy. In an instant, everything had been thrown into disarray. No warning. No chance to prepare. Everything out of his control. Like the skies raining down heavenly punishment upon his arrogance. He gently placed the detached plank into its slot.
But. Things would return to their places, in time. He was the third son of a branch family. If he wanted a chance at greatness, fighting against fate was the least he had to do.
Marcel looked at the papers around him and began sorting.
zechamp
I like having scenes like these from outsider POV.
How are you liking these longer chapters and new schedule?
This arc is finished on Patreon! (14 chapters ahead for 5 dollars!): https://www.patreon.com/zechamp
Next time, a strike at the mine. And my favorite dude gets introduced.
