"Before we proceed, my ladies, I would like to ask for your thoughts on the Everqueen..." Talleyrand began with a rhetorical question, then turned the tables. "That is to say, my ladies, do you think it's necessary to organize a rescue force?"
"Sylvia, what do you think?" Morgiana couldn't help but frown at the mention of Alarielle. The Lady of the Lake first thought of the two boys who had been circling around the little queen—the annoying eldest son, Frederick, and the well-behaved, likable Devon, who always called her "Aunt Morgiana." Then she thought of Ryan.
The Lady of the Lake suddenly felt a mix of pain, numbness, and itchiness in her lower abdomen. She turned to Sylvia, signaling that the Queen should make the decision.
"They won't be grateful to us," Sylvia said calmly. "The high elves are not dwarves."
Just as I expected. This makes things much easier, Talleyrand thought to himself.
But he still added, "But what do you mean by that..."
"This is not my opinion; this is the opinion of our Bretonnian court," Sylvia corrected him slightly.
"Then this matter becomes much simpler," Talleyrand immediately nodded. With this statement, he dared to lay out his plan fully. "What we need to do is... nothing."
"Nothing?" Sylvia seemed to ponder, while Morgiana sneered.
"Yes," Talleyrand nodded. The cripple didn't look at Morgiana but directly explained to Sylvia, "My lady, I understand the Asur. As we discussed earlier, no matter whether we rescue her or not, the outcome of being disliked by the high elves is already set in stone. After all, the existence of the Three Guardians of the Badlands will make us somewhat culpable by association."
Both Sylvia and Morgiana nodded at this.
"Therefore, our best course of action is to remain silent. We do nothing. We neither prepare to send troops nor take any measures to inquire or apologize," Talleyrand tapped his cane on the ground. "The only thing we will do is deliver the news of the little queen's capture, in its entirety and accurately, to the Phoenix Court, to Ulthuan. That is enough."
"But the high elves..." Sylvia seemed to understand. "Also, are you teaching me how to handle this?"
"Perhaps the Asur still think so, but the reality is that Ulthuan is no longer the suzerain of the entire world," Talleyrand smiled and nodded. "If they want help, they can come and ask for it. Otherwise, no one is nobler than anyone else. Aren't nations equal? Do Tyrion and the elven princes still live in the dream of the elven empire's tribute system?"
"This is a good idea. This matter has nothing to do with us; it happened in dwarf territory," Morgiana almost immediately agreed. "Let the elves and dwarves argue among themselves."
"And given the current situation, it's almost impossible for the high elves and dwarves to reach a consensus. Their arguments will be earth-shattering, and they'll forget about us," Sylvia also nodded in satisfaction. "Unless they can actually rescue the little queen..."
"Another reason is that it takes about three months for a messenger to travel from L'Anguille to Ulthuan and back," Talleyrand added. "A lot can change in that time. We just need to wait and see. By then, His Majesty will have returned from Albion, and we can discuss further based on the situation."
"As for the spirit of chivalry, we won't be coldly doing nothing. The Everqueen Alarielle is an old friend, a good friend, and a witness to the friendship between Bretonnia and Ulthuan. We can inform the knightly nobles and commoners of this matter. The chivalrous and enthusiastic people of Bretonnia can spontaneously organize a chivalric army to rescue the Everqueen in the Badlands. What does this embody? Doesn't this embody the glorious spirit of Bretonnian chivalry?" Talleyrand clapped his hands. "Of course, all of this is organized by the people and has nothing to do with the court."
This cripple is truly useful. Ryan left him to me, and it was the right decision.
The Queen thought to herself.
But a certain thought arose in Sylvia's mind, making her extremely cautious.
This cripple... is too clever. He has calculated everything, even the reactions of the Ulthuan court. He probably even anticipated how Morgiana and I would react...
Interesting.
Truly interesting.
Sylvia chose to accept the challenge. The Queen pretended to casually remark, "The weather is nice today, Talleyrand. Look, the sky is clear, with only one cloud above the castle. It looks quite strange, doesn't it?"
"???" Morgiana was utterly confused. It was August, and the sky was clear. There were no clouds.
But Talleyrand immediately smiled and replied, "Yes, the sun shines on the earth, and it doesn't need this cloud. But clouds have their uses too."
"Clouds block the sun's light. How can that be a good thing?" Sylvia smiled. "When having afternoon tea, too many clouds make the atmosphere gloomy."
"Without clouds to block it, the sun's light would be too intense and burn pedestrians and plants," Talleyrand said respectfully. "Clouds may block the sunlight, but they also bring rain. His Majesty once said, 'Clouds are in the sky, water is in the bottle. Everything changes with the seasons. Some clouds turn into water, some water turns into clouds. Everything is determined by the sun and the climate.' Look, Your Majesty, isn't there only one sun above that cloud?"
Sylvia couldn't help but chuckle. The Queen thought to herself, no wonder Ryan likes to bring Talleyrand along for conversations.
He is truly interesting.
"Then it's decided," Sylvia glanced at Talleyrand once more and finally made the decision. "Send messengers to inform the high elf ambassador in Marienburg, Teclis Den-Kabon, and also to Karak Eight Peaks. Ask King Belegar how Everpeak is reacting."
"Yes!"
A few days later, the news of the Everqueen's disappearance quickly shocked the upper echelons of the Old World.
Among them, Baron Frederick of Nuln almost jumped out of his seat upon hearing the news.
What? The entire high elf envoy delegation was wiped out? The Everqueen Alarielle is missing?
This... this can't be!
Frederick's first reaction was to go to his mother, the Elector Countess of Nuln, Emmanuelle von Liebwitz.
At this time, Emmanuelle was lounging in her palace, indulging in some self-care. Ryan's little maid disliked hot weather, so during the months of July and August, Emmanuelle spent most of her time in her Elector's palace, handling internal affairs, reading reports, enjoying afternoon tea, hosting banquets, listening to operas, and attending academic lectures. Her life was quite comfortable. She only appeared when the Nuln City Council was deadlocked or when a major trial required her presence.
This year, Nuln was relatively calm compared to the Empire's dire situation. Wissenland also faced issues with beastmen, greenskins, and reduced crop yields, but Frederick had grown into an excellent commander. The Baron had recently been leading provincial troops, supplemented by a small number of Nuln elites, to continuously clear out the threats of beastmen and greenskins. As for the reduced crop yields, they did cause some trouble for Nuln, an industrial city. However, due to Emmanuelle's special relationship with the Sun King Ryan, Nuln could easily import large quantities of grain from Bretonnia without relying on the trade routes of Marienburg's unscrupulous merchants. Thus, the rise in grain prices was still somewhat manageable.
As for the fever epidemic, Nuln could also obtain wood elf medicine from the Oliphant Trading Company.
"Mother, we must quickly organize an army to rescue Her Majesty Alarielle!" Frederick pushed open the door and saw his mother lying lazily on a massive bed made of agate imported from Araby, her long golden hair spread out behind her. She was resting on a complete set of Asur blankets and silk pillows imported from Ulthuan, with maids serving pastries and afternoon tea. The Elector Countess was casually holding a famous book published by Nuln University, Lady Stewart and Half a Year of Widowhood, reading with great interest.
"Mother, how can you still be lounging around here?" Frederick looked heartbroken. The Baron rushed to his mother's side, stomping his feet. "Her Majesty Alarielle has been captured!"
"Oh, is that so?" Emmanuelle looked up at Frederick, then continued reading her illustrated novel. "That's truly unfortunate."
"Yes, the situation is terrible, Mother. I propose we immediately organize an army to rescue Alarielle," Frederick said excitedly. "Right now, in the entire Old World, only our Empire has the capability to quickly organize an army. Father's knightly army is still on the Albion expedition."
"Is that necessary?" Emmanuelle's gaze didn't leave the book. The Elector Countess casually remarked, "That's a matter between the high elves and the dwarves. What does it have to do with us?"
"This concerns the safety of the Old World!" Frederick continued to be agitated, jumping up and down. "If we can't rescue the little queen, the War of the Beard could very well repeat itself! The alliance of order will be shattered, Mother. Don't you want to see the entire Old World plunged into war?"
"Plunged into war? I think it's more that you can't bear to part with Alarielle," Emmanuelle sighed. All of her son's little thoughts were laid bare before his mother. Frederick lowered his head in embarrassment, but he still stubbornly insisted, "I'm also thinking of Father, Godfather, and you, Mother. And... Alarielle told me we would meet again."
"Do you know how much manpower and resources it would take to organize a large army to march into the Badlands?" Emmanuelle's tone was both reproachful and doting. The Elector Countess looked at her beloved son and reached out to tousle Frederick's hair. "Look at your father's Karak Eight Peaks expedition. How many troops did he organize? How much logistical preparation did it take? How much manpower and resources were spent? And even then, it was a near-death experience with a stroke of luck when the wood elves arrived in time to help. Right now, we don't even know where the little queen has been taken."
"But..." Frederick was about to retort when Emmanuelle cut him off. "According to the intelligence, there's no doubt the undead took Alarielle south of Iron Rock. How far is that? Thousands of kilometers away! And think about it, the undead wiped out a high elf envoy delegation of hundreds and a dwarf army of over a thousand in a single day. How strong must they be? Even Nuln's army would need at least twenty thousand troops to have any chance. So the question is, how much logistics and military pay would a twenty-thousand-strong expeditionary force require over thousands of kilometers?"
"I..."
"How are you going to convince the City Council to organize an expeditionary force? Your father's Karak Eight Peaks campaign had a clear and substantial return on investment. Even when assisting the Empire in resisting Morghur's invasion, the Empire covered all the logistics and military pay. What about you?"
"This..."
"Alright, even if you knew where Alarielle was, and you organized an army and secured the logistics, my son, how do you plan to win? Nuln only has three Saint-level powerhouses: Chief Justice Theodor Bruckner, Amethyst College Dean Elspeth von Draken, and the newly risen Saint-level beast wizard, Bernhardt Abelswald. Who can you persuade? What about yourself? Do you think you're as skilled in command as your father, capable of achieving an epic victory like the Battle of Three Kings? Or do you think you can take on two veteran Saint-level powerhouses like Neferata and Krell at the same time? Or are you confident that, like your father, you have friends everywhere, with dwarves, elves, and even Tomb Kings constantly rescuing your army from peril?"
Frederick was utterly defeated. The Baron looked crestfallen. "Is there really no way, Mother?"
"I won't help you convince the City Council, nor will I open Nuln's treasury or my personal treasury for you," Emmanuelle shook her head.
"Then... then I'll go to Godfather!" Frederick said in frustration.
"Go ahead, but don't come back. Also, not a single soldier from the Nuln Ironclads or the Blackstone Guard is to be moved. You can take your personal guards," Emmanuelle signaled for her son to leave. "As for funds, aside from your salary and the allowance I give you, no other funds are to be used."
"Damn it!" Frederick was completely out of options. "Damn it all!"
At the same time, the exact same scenario played out in the County of Guimaraes.
Sylvia's approach was almost identical to Emmanuelle's. The gentle and virtuous Queen directly told Devon that sending troops for a rescue mission was out of the question, at least until his father returned from Albion.
And Devon was even weaker than Frederick. He hadn't been on the battlefield or commanded troops like his brother, and he didn't even have a source of income.
Unable to persuade his mother, Devon's eyes lit up with an idea.
He turned to his uncle for help.
Late August, Forest of Châlons, Red Fish Village, Angron's Manor.
"No," Angron's head shook like a rattle. "I'm not going."
"Uncle! I'm begging you!" Devon tugged at the hem of Angron's oversized shirt. The young Baron's face was flushed with excitement. "Only you, only you can help!"
"I'm not going," Angron continued to shake his head. The Primarch of the World Eaters showed no signs of annoyance, but he was resolute. "It's no use. I won't go."
"But Uncle, listen to me," Angron had personally cooked a cheese beef casserole and roasted half a goose to welcome his nephew. The uncle ignored his nephew's pushing and pulling, plating the food and placing it on the clean, tidy dining table, all while listening to Devon's incessant chatter. "We must rescue Alarielle. If we can't save the little queen, the War of the Beard could very well repeat itself! The alliance of order will be shattered..."
"I don't want to hear about that. You should talk to your parents about these things. I'm just a simple farmer," Angron shook his head again. The Primarch looked at his nephew and smiled. "It's hot outside, and you must be tired from the journey. Have something to eat, rest this afternoon, and then head back."
"Uncle!" Devon shouted in frustration. "Are you even listening to me?"
"I am," Angron nodded, but then shook his head again. "I told you, those things have nothing to do with me. I won't go. Find someone else."
"But only you..."
"Find someone else."
"Angron!" Devon, in a fit of anger, grabbed the iron plate and bowl from the table and hurled the entire bowl of casserole and plate of roasted goose at Angron's face. "I'm begging you! Your nephew is begging you!"
Angron's eyes narrowed. The Primarch moved like lightning, extending his arm to catch the bowl mid-air. With a flick of his wrist and a swift movement, he gathered all the flying noodles back into the bowl.
His other hand caught the iron plate from below, spinning it in his hand like a kaleidoscope. The shredded goose meat was neatly rearranged.
"Thud~" The ceramic bowl and iron plate were placed back on the table. Angron looked at the stunned Devon and shook his head again. "Stop wasting your time here. I'm not going to rescue any Everqueen. What happens outside has nothing to do with me. I'll say it one last time: if you don't want to have lunch here, you'd better head back now."
"...You'll regret this, Uncle," Devon gritted his teeth. "You will."
"No, I won't," Angron continued to shake his head.
The goose leg fell onto the iron plate.
The Primarch watched as his nephew mounted his horse and rode away. As Devon's figure disappeared into the distance, Angron's eyes filled with memories.
Will I regret it?
No.
I, Angron, will never regret anything!
...
When the high elf ambassador in Marienburg, Teclis Den-Kabon, received the news that the envoy delegation had been wiped out and the little queen was missing, he collapsed to the ground in shock.
His career was over.
But now was not the time for despair. Teclis immediately sent the fastest ship to deliver the news to Ulthuan! At the same time, he prayed to Asuryan, begging the Phoenix King to protect the little queen and ensure her safe return.
The envoy delegation was wiped out! The Everqueen Alarielle, the future of the Asur, was missing. After confirmation from the Old World, it appeared she had been captured by the last vampire count, Mannfred von Carstein, and his undead army!
The urgent news reached Ulthuan, shocking the entire high elf race.
Imperial Year 2520, early October, Kingdom of Eataine, capital Lothern, Phoenix Court, High Elf War Council.
The War Leader Tyrion rushed from Avelorn without rest, summoning all the heroes of the high elves.
Before Phoenix King Finubar could even speak, Tyrion stepped in front of him. The War Leader's eyes were bloodshot, his handsome face twisted with rage. His hand gripping the Sunfang trembled, the blade clashing violently against its sheath, making a constant clanging noise.
"My lords, Alarielle... has been captured by the undead!!!"
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