Steel, Explosives, and Spellcasters

[Van Republic]

[Champagne]

[Empire Consulate]

The soothing sonata flowed from the string instruments and harpsichord in the southeast corner of the hall. Waiters silently moved about with heavy silver trays and crystal goblets. Diplomatic activities and espionage were proceeding side by side.

Since there were various receptions during the Alliance gatherings, naturally, there were also various intelligence activities—be it representatives from the Various Republics or foreign envoys from afar, all were well aware of this.

Each of them was part of the intelligence games, but none would openly acknowledge it.

Each of them desired to manipulate the intelligence activities, yet all sought to restrain them in one way or another.

For the dignitaries gathered at the Empire Consulate in Saint Andre Hall, these seemingly contradictory dualities coexisted within them in unified opposition.

However, the currents of intrigue between the Alliance representatives and foreign envoys had places even they could not reach.

At the fringes of the bustling banquet hall, two young men, completely indifferent to the reception, were seizing the opportunity to indulge in the Empire Consulate's unlimited fine wine supply.

"The Vaughan People are simply no good at war, politics, or commerce," one of them said cheerfully, downing his wine glass and wiping his mouth. "But when it comes to winemaking, I won't utter a single word against them."

The young man spoke without restraint, his impudent remarks drawing little attention. He was short, with almond-shaped eyes, a prominent forehead, and neatly groomed twin mustaches on his upper lip. A mischievous grin played on his lips, yet his gaze carried the innocence of a child. Despite his ornate and exquisitely tailored attire, something about him seemed oddly out of place—though it was hard to pinpoint exactly what.

Oh, and there was also the elaborate and ostentatious hat he wore with unabashed confidence, even indoors.

"Mr. Marvey, you still haven't answered me!" The other young man, who had just drained another glass of wine and immediately picked up a new one, hiccuped and curiously asked, "Why exactly did you insult the Emperor?"

…

[Three months ago]

[Eternal City]

[Bebich Brothers Theater]

"Romulo and Lemus" had reached the second act, fifth scene.

"Romulo and Lemus" was the hottest new play in the capital. The Bebich Brothers Theater was packed for almost every performance. Both high-ranking officials and distinguished ladies considered it fashionable to see the play in person.

The play's success had catapulted playwright Marvey—previously known only in small circles—to widespread acclaim.

In the earlier fourth scene of Act Two, Romulo had just killed his twin brother Lemus. After a brief adjustment of the stage, the second curtain rose once more. The subsequent fifth scene was entirely Romulo's monologue.

The actor playing Romulo slowly stepped to center stage, holding the dagger he had pulled from his brother's corpse. He gazed at his blood-stained hands, lifted his head, his expression one of deep sorrow:

"Listen! The night owl cries, tolling its mournful bell, bidding the world a bleak goodnight. My twin brother lies still there, life and blood ebbing from his body. It was I who killed him. It was my own hands that plunged this dagger into his chest."

"Shall all the waters of the sea wash this blood clean from my hands? No—the blood on my hands would instead stain the infinite ocean crimson."

Having spoken, Romulo bowed his head again.

At this point, the audience would ordinarily offer some reaction. For a small theater like the Bebich Brothers, where the stage and audience were but an arm's length apart, actor-audience interaction was an integral part of the performance.

Yet today, the hall was silent.

Romulo stood a moment longer on stage. Suddenly, he took a deep breath, threw the dagger to the ground with force, tore open his garments, and shouted with fervent passion:

"But should I feel ashamed of this? Should I feel guilt? Should I feel remorse?"

"No! Never! I shall feel no shame, no guilt, no remorse."

"When one suffers minor harm, one seeks revenge; when one suffers grave wounds, revenge may be beyond reach. In taking Lemus's crown, I had no choice but to kill him. If you act, act decisively!"

"Even given the chance, I would never again grant Lemus mercy!"

The actor portraying Romulo delivered what might have been the most impassioned performance of his career, pouring everything into his role.

Yet when the resounding monologue concluded, the hall did not erupt in applause but instead grew even quieter.

Those familiar with the play quickly noticed: the actor was not reciting the original lines.

Romulo's original lines expressed sorrow, anguish, and despair over being forced to kill his brother, painting a tragic figure consumed by regret.

What had just been delivered was an entirely different, ruthless declaration: "If you act, act decisively!"

Sitting in the theater's front row, Richard Bebich, the owner of the theater, was drenched in cold sweat. His knees trembled involuntarily, and his neck and spine were stiff to the point of numbness. He wanted to turn back and glance behind him but dared not move.

In general, in the culturally rich Eternal City, gossiping about royal scandals wasn't considered a grave offense. Ever since records began, the city's residents had delighted in speculating about the Emperor, Empress, and their lovers' private affairs. Generations of Emperors had turned a blind eye, knowing full well—they couldn't silence the citizens' tongues. To crack down would only invite even more vulgar mockery.