"What did you say? Someone blasted open my gate and even wounded my people?"
Hel, having just returned her consciousness to her true body, stared at Lily in disbelief. She'd only gone out to hunt a bit—and her home had been breached?
"After breaking the gate they came straight to Heim Castle. The knights under Arwin planned to take them, but Sebas said their identities are somewhat sensitive."
"Sensitive? How sensitive—did the duke himself come?"
"Not the duke personally, but it's nearly the same."
Lily's expression turned grave. "The man who came is the duke's right hand, the steward Uriel—a peak 4th-tier—and he carries the duke's orders."
"I see. So their movement is open and declared. Since they're already inside Heim City, it's not appropriate for me to act against them here. Fine—let's go see what orders the duke sent."
Hel sighed inwardly. She'd just pulled the undead out of Heim territory, and now these people showed up. If they'd arrived a little earlier she could have intercepted them outside the city. If she'd left one of Sebas's team to guard the gate, maybe this wouldn't have happened. But they'd swaggered in, and Hel couldn't rashly strike them now.
Soon they reached the castle receiving room. The door opened to reveal a slightly stooped old man seated on the sofa; Sebas stood opposite him, eyes heavy. The old man's silver hair was neat, he was a little hunched, his face long with prominent cheekbones and narrow, squinty eyes—hardly someone to trifle with.
Hel remembered that the last person who'd sat where Uriel now sat was a reckless merchant guild chief; that man was long gone now. Facing Uriel, Hel knew she had to be cautious. He wasn't only an honorary count with noble status—he carried weight with the Mandrake Duke. Killing him inside the city would be a serious mess.
Uriel scanned the room as the door opened, then greeted Hel with an unpleasant smile. "Long time no see, Fourth Young Master. Glad to see you in good health." He flicked a glance at Lily with thin disdain—subtle, but noticeable. He clapped, and a guard handed him a document.
"Since the Fourth Young Master has come, I'll not waste words. I bring the duke's orders." He cleared his throat, unfolded the document and began to read:
"The beastmen crisis in Mandrake lands has worsened. From today, Mandrake territory will contract its defensive lines. All lords must, within three days, lead their people to Mandrake City. This is an emergency wartime order. No one shall disobey under any circumstances. Those who do…" He glanced deliberately at Hel and finished slowly, "shall be executed on the spot."
Hel, unperturbed, took the seat Sebas had set aside for her. "Emergency wartime order? What's that—I've never heard of such a thing." She smiled faintly, not bothered by the "execute on the spot" clause.
Uriel's eyebrow twitched. A man with such calculating composure wouldn't be riled by a remark, but his tone grew colder. He looked at Hel and demanded, coolly, "Who gave you the right?"
"What?"
"Who gave you the right to question the duke's command?" His gaze swept the room with heavy menace. "During wartime, all troop movements in Mandrake lands obey the duke's orders. Anyone who disobeys may be tried for treason and executed. So—who gave you the gall to question it?"
The room chilled. Uriel's mental pressure—typical of a seasoned mage—rolled out and pressed down on everyone. Yet after a moment, none of the people present flinched. Uriel began to doubt himself: was he too old to cow them with psychic force, or did they have means to block mental pressure? He couldn't assume that every person present was weaker than him.
Hel sighed inwardly. Looks like the Mandrake family might be mounting another power play—what kind of label should she give this meddling noble this time? Before she could ponder further, the reception door was knocked and a fastidiously dressed man with a cultured, rakish look entered—Witt.
Hel had already sent Anna to fetch him. As the only legitimate 4th-tier on their side, Witt needed to be present. Sometimes power must be displayed openly for others to take you seriously.
Witt immediately felt Uriel's unapologetic mental pressure and his face darkened. How dare this old man? Does he not fear death? But seeing the rest of Hel's people unmoved, Witt realized Hel intended to hide her strength. Fine—he would be the shield before she rose higher.
Witt unleashed a far stronger psychic pressure and shoved it at Uriel without hesitation. A prodigy who'd reached the pinnacle of mage power at a young age, Witt could wield mental force far beyond what the aging Uriel could now muster; Witt was already half a step into Grand Mage territory.
In an instant, Uriel's psychic dominance was easily dissolved.
"Then let me ask you—how dare you act wild in front of my lord?" Witt said.