The frigid air in the temple seemed to freeze.
Gunnhildr's comparison to a "tyrant" was like a boulder thrown into stagnant water, sending violent ripples through the assembly.
"Watch your tongue!" A noble on the viewing platform shot to his feet, his face ashen. "Do not compare that obstinate, solitary king with the God of Time whom we revere!"
Gunnhildr tilted her head back, her gaze sweeping over the arrogant figures on the high platform, and pressed, "Permit me to ask again: will you allow us to have a personal audience with the 'Master of Time' and hear His true will?"
At that moment, another elderly man with a stern face spoke slowly from his high position, looking down on them. "An audience with a god? Naturally. But a god only answers the prayers of the strong, not the whining of the weak."
Gunnhildr seized on his words. "You are correct. We are indeed weak at this moment." She admitted it frankly, continuing in a grave tone, "And for that very reason, we cannot afford a single misstep. If we take the wrong path, we will be damned for eternity. We need true guidance from a god, not... a 'will' that has been misinterpreted by mortals."
Another voice immediately shot back from the other side of the viewing platform, sharp with suspicion. "You repeatedly question the authenticity of the divine oracle, speaking always of 'we.' I suspect... this is to consolidate your own personal authority, is it not? I hear your father is the true leader, and he is gravely ill. Miss Gunnhildr, is your position truly secure?"
Gunnhildr straightened her spine. "It is precisely because my father is ill that I must step forward and take responsibility—for him, and for all who trust him and me! We left the high tower and crossed the snow plains in pursuit of a life of equality, freedom, and prosperity. To sign a contract that would enslave our people for a moment's peace today would be a betrayal of everyone's trust—the most absolute dereliction of duty!"
"I admire your courage and strength," another voice interjected. "However, after crossing the vast snow plains, you must surely be exhausted. Is your current composure a facade? Or perhaps... you possess some unknown treasure that can ward off the wind and snow?" The voice paused, dangling the bait. "If that is the case, offer up that treasure to prove your sincerity, and we can reconsider the terms of your settlement."
"Indeed," she admitted directly, revealing a partial truth to add weight to her words. "We too have the protection of a god."
"Oh?" the voice pressed eagerly, trying to find a flaw in her story. "And where is this god now? Can He not manifest miracles within the domain of the God of Time? Or is this merely a lie you've concocted to deceive the people?"
Gunnhildr faced the source of the voice. "We believe in the 'Lord of the Wind,' the 'God of Freedom.' His ways are not for mortals like us to fathom. I cannot compel Him to appear. Just as... you cannot ask the 'Master of Time' to appear before us and perform a miracle, can you?"
"Again and again!" A more radical noble leaped to his feet. With a sharp sching, he drew the longsword at his waist halfway from its scabbard, its cold light piercing. "What are you implying?!"
At his movement, the Lawrence Clan knights surrounding them below moved as one. Swords were unsheathed, spears struck the ground, and amidst the scraping and clanging of metal, a murderous intent filled the air, coiling around the four figures in the center of the hall.
Parsifal and the two other accompanying knights tensed instantly. Their hands gripped their sword hilts as they instinctively formed a defensive posture. Back-to-back, they created a triangle to shield Gunnhildr, their breathing growing heavy as their eyes locked onto every potential enemy around them.
The atmosphere was stretched to its absolute limit; the slightest spark could set the entire hall ablaze.
Gunnhildr, however, suddenly raised a hand in a gesture to "hold." The fierce expression on her face vanished, replaced by an almost glacial calm.
She had obtained the information she needed to confirm. The Lawrence Clan relied on carefully packaged words and the threat of force; it was highly probable they had never actually witnessed a miracle from the God of Time.
"It seems my persistence has caused some misunderstanding." She began to speak, her voice not loud but clear enough to cut through the rasp of drawn blades. "I declare here that we have not come to provoke conflict, but to seek equality and cooperation, for the freedom and future of my people." Her tone shifted as she made a concession. "I am willing to believe that the 'divine oracle' you have conveyed is true."
The nobles on the high platform relaxed slightly, but their vigilance remained.
"However," Gunnhildr continued, "a decision of such magnitude is not one I can make alone. Please grant us three days. My people need time to deliberate. There will be many among them who will find it difficult to accept the contents of the 'oracle' immediately."
"Deliberate?" The noble who had drawn his sword sneered. "Fine. Send one person back and tell those who can make the decisions to come here and deliberate!"
The noble clearly intended to hold her hostage. Gunnhildr immediately rejected the proposal:
"Every one of them makes their own decisions! This place is too small; I fear it could not hold so many people."
Without waiting for the noble to reply, she presented her own plan. "I have a proposal. Since we will be sharing this land in the future, before making a final decision, I wish to witness the prosperity and strength of the Lawrence Clan with my own eyes. For instance, how you cultivate your fields, how you hunt, and what masterful techniques you employed to build this magnificent temple." Her reasoning sounded perfectly plausible. "This will help me better persuade my cautious kinsfolk. I imagine that with your lordships' magnanimity and confidence, you would not refuse such a small request, would you?"
The nobles exchanged glances, seeming to weigh the pros and cons.
Agreeing would allow them to display their power as a deterrent; refusing would make them seem insecure.
Just as they were trying to reach a consensus, a cool and authoritative female voice came from the edge of the viewing platform:
"Of course you may."
The clamor ceased. All the nobles present, including the one who had drawn his sword, composed themselves and turned toward the source of the voice. Gunnhildr's gaze immediately shot in that direction as well.
It was a noblewoman between the ages of thirty and forty. Her dark attire was out of place among the ostentatious nobles around her, and her ice-blue hair was exceptionally striking in the dim light. The few knights flanking her had exceptionally sharp gazes, their presence far surpassing that of their peers.
She was leaning back in her chair, her posture elegant. A faint smile touched her lips as her eyes fell upon Gunnhildr.
"Abel," she called a name. A noble sitting not far from her stood up, bowed, and awaited her command. "You will take a few of our brothers and go with them. Protect our guests." She deliberately emphasized the word "protect." "Ensure our guests see everything, clearly and thoroughly."
"Yes, Matriarch Vennilarae." The noble named Abel respectfully accepted the order.
Matriarch... Vennilarae. Gunnhildr repeated thetitle in her mind. It seemed this woman, sitting at the edge, was the true person in power.
___
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