Author's Note:
Long story short — I got a little mixed up. In the last few chapters, I kept calling the principality of Fanoss a Duchy, when in fact it's supposed to be a Principality. Likewise, the Duchesses are actually Princesses. This chapter is no exception. So just know: whenever I say "duchy," I really mean the Principality of Fanoss.
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Leon walked leisurely down a long corridor illuminated by the soft, golden glow of mana crystals. The marble walls, adorned with the crests and banners of Fanoss, reflected his figure as he passed. People moving through the hall glanced at him sideways, whispering to each other in hushed tones.
"Is that him?" someone murmured.
"Yeah, it must be," another replied. "He's got black hair. They said the envoy sent by the Grand Princess was young—and had black hair."
Hearing those words, Leon smiled inwardly. So, Luxion and Cleare did their job perfectly. The misinformation had spread just as planned.
"Good work," he murmured quietly.
In response, two AI units—currently cloaked and hovering invisibly nearby—answered almost simultaneously.
"It wasn't difficult," Cleare said proudly. "If the rumor involves the Princess herself, people take it as absolute truth. Fortunately, Her Highness won't arrive until late evening. I'm certain you'll be long gone by then. For now, you're one of the most important people on this island."
"Hmm, really?" Leon replied thoughtfully. "Not even Vandel is here?"
"No," Cleare responded. "He's accompanying the Princess."
"Perfect," Leon said with a faint smile.
He entered a vast hall filled with a crowd of people. The air buzzed with conversation, footsteps, and soft murmurs. The high ceiling was decorated with stained glass, while the center of the room was dominated by long tables covered with maps, documents, and half-empty glasses of wine.
Men in military uniforms discussed the latest developments. From fragments of their talk, it was clear that almost everyone was speaking about the coming war with the Kingdom of Holfort.
Leon glanced around the room.
Arthur's probably somewhere in here, he thought.
But with so many people, so much noise, and such a large hall, the chances of running into him were minimal. He's likely gathering evidence right now. After all, everyone present here—from unit commanders to leaders of entire battalions—was someone whose every word could be interpreted as a military threat.
At that moment, the doors opened again, and several men entered—each wearing a uniform with gold insignia. The reaction of the crowd made it obvious who they were: the generals. Their appearance silenced the room instantly.
Among them, Leon noticed a man with peculiar mustaches. That was Garrett, the commander of the Fanoss fleet.
Upon seeing Leon, Garrett narrowed his eyes slightly. A young man with black hair and a confident bearing—exactly as the rumors had described. Without wasting a second, he strode straight toward him.
"Good day," he said, extending a hand. "My name is Garrett. I've heard quite a lot about you recently. They say you possess vital information regarding the Kingdom of Holfort—its forces, their positions, and their internal situation. If that's true, I'd like to invite you to a private strategy session. May I also ask your name?"
Leon allowed himself the faintest smirk. He took the offered hand and replied calmly:
"My name's Jack… but my men call me Captain Jack Sparrow. A pleasure to meet you, Commander Garrett."
Garrett raised an eyebrow slightly at the unusual moniker but kept his expression neutral.
"A pleasure, Captain," he said, looking Leon straight in the eye.
"And yes," Leon continued, lowering his voice a little, "I do have valuable information. Among other things, I possess details about a potential ally within the Kingdom itself. A rather powerful one, in fact."
Garrett couldn't hide a grin. His eyes sparkled with curiosity.
"In that case, please follow me, Captain Jack. I have a feeling this will be a most productive discussion."
Leon nodded and followed him unhurriedly, projecting complete confidence—though inside, he was already calculating dozens of possible scenarios.
Before long, they reached a set of massive doors bearing the crest of the Principality of Fanoss. Garrett knocked twice, and a moment later the door opened silently.
"After you," he said, gesturing invitingly.
Leon stepped inside.
The room beyond was spacious and oval-shaped, lit by magical lamps and several hanging crystals. In the center stood a large oval table of dark wood, covered with scrolls, maps, and miniature troop figurines. Along the walls hung charts of naval routes, fleet formations, and insignias of different branches of the military.
Several men were already seated at the table—clearly senior officers and commanders. They wore identical military coats, each bearing the emblem of a different corps: navy, air forces, engineering, and intelligence. Before Garrett and Leon entered, they had evidently been engaged in a heated discussion—but upon seeing the newcomers, all conversation ceased.
"Gentlemen," Garrett announced confidently, breaking the silence. "Allow me to introduce the man we've all been waiting for. He brings us… very good news."
He took his seat and turned toward Leon, his gaze full of anticipation.
Leon drew a light breath, gave a polite cough to gather attention, and with a slight smirk began to speak.
"Ahem… Gentlemen."
He paused for a moment, giving everyone time to focus.
"Lately, there has been growing instability within the Kingdom of Holfort. I assume you've all heard of it by now."
The commanders exchanged glances and nodded approvingly.
Leon continued, his voice now firmer and louder:
"What's most important to know is this—the Holfort army's numbers have dropped by roughly… one quarter."
A low murmur rippled through the room. Some raised their eyebrows in surprise; others leaned back in their chairs in disbelief.
"A quarter, you say?" asked one of the commanders—a grizzled man with thick mustaches. "And what caused such drastic losses?"
"Excellent question, sir," Leon replied smoothly, a polite smile on his lips.
He took a few slow steps along the table, like a lecturer addressing his students, and spoke with deliberate, almost theatrical emphasis:
"Not long ago—about a year, to be precise—there existed in Holfort a rather… unusual organization. It was known as The Ladies' Grove."
"The Ladies' Grove?" someone repeated with a puzzled frown.
"Yes, exactly," Leon confirmed. "A group composed entirely of women of… let's say, not the most noble conduct. Pardon my language, gentlemen, but—prostitutes."
He said the word quietly, almost apologetically, yet with a trace of irony in his tone.
"They were noblewomen who craved luxury and had learned how to squeeze every drop of wealth from the state."
Several officers exchanged glances, and one of them snorted faintly at the blunt term.
Leon went on, as if telling a moral fable:
"These women urged their husbands and sons to go to the front—not for honor or duty, but for profit. You see, the state paid generous compensations for every noble who died in battle. Each death brought them gold—and with it came new dresses, jewelry, and lavish parties."
He paused, letting his words sink in.
"But," he continued, raising a finger, "all things come to an end. One day, nearly every member of that organization was arrested. Many were executed. The rest… imprisoned."
He straightened his posture slightly, as if quoting from an official record, and declared with confident solemnity:
"And it all happened thanks to one man."
Lifting his chin just a bit, Leon spoke as though recounting a grand legend:
"A young man who, through his deeds, became known in Holfort as a playboy, a philanthropist, a millionaire, a handsome man, and a ladies' man."
He paused, scanning the faces around the table, and with absolute seriousness added:
"That man's name… is Leon Bartfort."
A few officers exchanged confused looks. Garrett raised an eyebrow, uncertain whether Leon was joking—or telling the truth.
Leon, meanwhile, fought hard not to grin.
Lying with a straight face is an art, he thought.
Still, his confident tone and flawless delivery left not a single trace of doubt among those gathered. They continued to listen intently—as though the man before them truly was delivering truth, and not performing a masterful act of deception.