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IGIWS: Ch.232 The Fiafyrian Standoff.
🕑 Added 2024-05-19 02:00:02 +0000 UTCSir Darius stood firmly, his sharp gaze sweeping across the ranks of the Royal Guards assembled before him. Their polished armor gleamed under the sunlight, reflecting hints of gold and silver. He noted the disciplined stance, the stern expressions, and the unwavering resolve etched on their faces. Each guard stood like a sentinel, exuding an air of authority and readiness that made the tension in the air palpable. The sounds of leather and metal shifted slightly as they aimed their weapons at the imposing paladin in front of them.
With a voice as thunderous as a storm, Darius exclaimed, "I command you to open the gates and grant us passage!" His piercing gaze locked onto the Guards, who remained unyielding, their resolve as immovable as the walls before them. They stood firm, steadfast in their duty, denying him entry into the palace beyond.
"This blade was forged for one purpose: to purge the world of sinners... So tell me, are you among the wicked?" The Paladin's voice was a low growl as he tightened his grip on the gleaming sword, its edge glinting ominously in the sunlight.
Johan felt a chill run down his spine. He had heard the tales of the Paladins’ otherworldly strength and feared what would happen if he were to step in and challenge that power. The air around him seemed to thicken with tension as he weighed his options, knowing that a wrong move could lead to dire consequences.
"So! This is how the Alliance acts when they go through a little adversity... Quite shameful if you ask me," said the commanding voice of General Douglas, who backed up the Royal Guards with twenty of his Royal Knights. The General was a large man with a muscular build and an air of confidence. His dark blue eyes were narrowed in a stern gaze, and his jaw was set in a determined line. He looked like a bulldog ready to pounce.
Prince Terenthiel gazed past the imposing guards, his eyes settling on General Douglas and his entourage of regal knights, their armor gleaming ominously in the sunlight.
"General Douglas," he began, his tone laced with sarcasm, "I must say, this wasn’t the welcome I anticipated. Surely, you know better than to draw your blades in the presence of guests."
The general’s lips curled into a wry smile as he met Terenthiel's glare. "And why should I disarm myself when your hound is so keen to show its teeth?" he retorted, his eyes narrowing.
"Watch your tongue, General," Sir Darius interjected, stepping forward, fury simmering just beneath the surface. "Or I’ll be the one to take it out."
"Oh really? And how would a boy like you manage that?" General Douglas retorted with a sneer. "I've taken down countless zealots just like you."
"With an army that includes women? How fearsome can the Fiafyrian Knights be if you need them to fight alongside your men? I'm surprised they aren't the ones guarding the gates," Sir Darius retorted, casting a quick glance at Lady Rachel, who stood nearby with a fierce scowl, clearly unimpressed.
General Douglas took offense to his remark, his face flushing red, but he kept his calm. "If you think my female knights are any less formidable, then you've got another thing coming. I've been with them when we faced the worst of the worst... We've fought Demons and their Demon Lord... You don't even come close to those horrors," General Douglas said in a low growl, his knuckles turning white as he clenched his fists.
"Now, now... Let's not jump to conclusions, General," Terenthiel said, a sly smile curling at the corners of his lips. "It appears there's been a miscommunication. We come as emissaries for the peace treaty between our nations. Yet, it seems that in this palace, no one is eager to uphold their end of the bargain."
The General's brow furrowed, his demeanor unyielding. "I'm no diplomat, Prince Terenthiel. I'm a soldier, and I value clarity over ambiguity. I won't tolerate threats against my men. If this is genuinely a misunderstanding, then all you need is an official seal from the Fiafyrian Parliament or the Royal Family to let you through. Without that, I must insist—you aren’t going anywhere."
Johan couldn’t help but admire General Douglas; few could withstand his steely gaze or unyielding resolve. The man had a way of standing his ground that demanded respect, regardless of the situation at hand.
"General," Terenthiel began, a hint of frustration creeping into his voice. "My people and I have been ignored for nearly a week, left in the dark about the Royal Family's intentions. It’s beginning to feel deliberate."
The General’s expression remained impassive, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes. "I haven't received any notification regarding your arrival in our city. It appears a Major Noble has promised more than he could deliver," he replied, casting a glance towards Lord Johan and Duke Alaric, who stood observing from the other side of the gate as witnesses of the unfolding situation.
"Indeed… I may have placed my trust in the wrong hands," Terenthiel replied, his voice hardening. "But we're finished with pleasantries. They've led us nowhere... Brother," he added, glancing at Sir Darius.
Nodding in agreement, Sir Darius joined the Prince as they both stepped forward to deal with the guards blocking their path. The Royal Knights tensed, prepared for combat, and raised their weapons.
Suddenly, a figure burst out into the courtyard, breathless and frantic. "STOP!" Duval shouted, his voice echoing off the stone walls as he dashed out from the west wing of the palace.
Gone was his usual composed demeanor; he appeared disheveled, sweat gleaming on his forehead and panic etched in his features. "Your Highness!? I thought I instructed you to wait!" Duval gasped, desperately trying to regain his composure.
"We're done waiting, Duval... If the Royal Family wants war, then we'll bring it to their doorstep," Terenthiel declared, his voice low and lethal.
"N-No! They only desire peace!" Duval stammered, his eyes darting anxiously. "But they are not in the capital, and I'm doing everything I can to bring them back here—immediately!"
"You think us fools? You treat us like some misguided zealots who are a danger to your plans!" roared Sir Darius, his indignation cutting through the tension like a blade.
"NO!... We have procedures that I assumed would have been processed sooner. But due to some unforeseen events, we have been unable to do so," Duval exclaimed, desperation tinging his voice as he faced the Paladin.
"Unforeseen events, you say?..." Terenthiel's brow furrowed, skepticism coloring his tone.
Duval's lips parted, ready to delve deeper into his explanation, but his voice caught in his throat as his gaze locked onto Duke Alaric, who stood nearby with an insufferable grin spreading across his face. The sight of Alaric’s smug expression triggered an immediate and extreme reaction in the Prime Minister, draining the color from his face until he appeared ghostly pale. Alaric, sensing the power he held in this moment, basked in the unfolding drama, his eyes glinting with glee as he noticed five other members of the House of Lords stepping out of the grand palace, their attention fixated on the unfolding scene and their faces lit with amusement or furrowed with curiosity.
A wave of panic surged through Duval, his heart racing as the walls seemed to close in around him. Thoughts rushed through his mind like turbulent waters; he could not risk revealing to Terenthiel or the rest of the Divine Three the secret that was weighing heavily on him. The implications of Quinus choosing a Dark Elf as his fiancée loomed like a dark shadow over his thoughts. If that information slipped into the wrong hands, it could spell disaster—war might become an unavoidable reality. Desperate to think clearly, he wrestled with the rising tide of dread as he fought to maintain a semblance of calm in the face of potential chaos.
"Y-Yes! We... we have a situation brewing in the north," Duval stammered, a nervous edge creeping into his voice. He was doing his best to mask the truth, but the tension hung heavy in the air. “But I assure you, we’re doing everything we can to address it.”
Terenthiel arched an eyebrow, studying Duval closely, while Alaric struggled to suppress a laugh. The urge to mock was there, but the presence of the Divine Three kept him in check.
"Is that so?" Terenthiel asked, his tone laced with skepticism.
"Indeed," Duval replied, forcing a veneer of confidence. "I sincerely apologize for the delay in our response. The Fiafyr Kingdom values its alliance and would never act in a way that could threaten it."
Terenthiel’s piercing gaze bore into him, suspicion written all over his face. Deep down, he knew Duval was hiding something, but for now, he had no other choice but to accept the words that hung in the air like a fragile truce.
"Fine... But we refuse to leave here until we get an audience with someone in the Royal Family... If that poses a problem for you, well then, I suppose the Divine Three will demonstrate precisely why we earned our titles," Terenthiel declared, a smug grin lighting up his face.
General Douglas had a scowl on his face and wanted nothing more than to wipe that arrogant smile off his face.
Duval’s mind raced as he searched for a way to diffuse the standoff unfolding before him, but his thoughts were abruptly interrupted by the smooth voice of Duke Alaric. “Well, if it’s an audience you desire, look no further. I happen to be part of the Royal Family.” The Duke’s grin stretched wide across his face, a shark’s smile that sent a shiver down Duval’s spine, knotting his stomach with unease at the implications of his words.
As the tension thickened in the air, Duval couldn't shake the feeling that Alaric was on the verge of derailing his carefully crafted plans. His eyes flicked toward Terenthiel, who glowered at the Duke and his elegant wife, his expression a mixture of disdain and boiling anger. Ever since their first encounter, Alaric had taken every opportunity to mock Terenthiel’s deeply held beliefs, attacking the very core of his faith with calculated precision. Unlike others who might have faltered under the pressure of Terenthiel's intimidating presence, Alaric appeared completely unfazed, relishing the challenge.
The Duke was a serpent in a finely tailored suit, clever and charismatic but undeniably venomous. Duval felt a sense of foreboding; in the tangled web of their interactions, Alaric's cleverness often spelled disaster for the Prime Minister, making the situation all the more precarious.
"Duke Alaric Revelia," Duval managed to utter, his smile strained as if it were a fragile mask threatening to crack.
"Prime Minister. How delightful to find you in such high spirits this fine morning," Alaric replied, a mocking tone lacing his every word.
Duval silently pleaded to the Goddess, wishing for the Duke to simply tire of the conversation and let the weight of the matter drift away into nothingness. The General, on the other hand, had had enough of this farce.
"What is your answer, Terenthiel?" General Douglas interjected, his voice steady but laced with tension. "We stand at a crossroads: we can either settle this with reason, or we can turn to force."
"Your threats hold no weight here, General," Sir Darius chimed in, his expression as smug as a cat that had just caught a mouse, a confident grin spreading across his face.
With a swift flick of his wrist, Douglas summoned his Mana, channeling its raw energy into the gleaming blade of his magical sword. A palpable tension filled the air, crackling around him like static electricity as he swung the weapon diagonally toward the paladin, who stood resolutely fifteen feet away, undeterred by the imminent threat. The moment stretched out, a breath held in the silence before the storm of conflict erupted.
As the sword arced through the air, its blade came alive, releasing a surge of magic reminiscent of a Wind Mage's legendary Razorphoon. The sound was sharp and fierce, a harmonious blend of elegance and brutality.
Swing! Fooosh!
The gust of wind unleashed was nothing short of extraordinary. It was so forceful that it cleaved through the sturdy metal gate like parchment, sending shards flying and creating a thunderous sonic boom that reverberated through the surroundings. The explosive sound momentarily stole the very breath of onlookers, leaving them in stunned silence. Only the General and the Divine Three maintained their composure, their eyes locked onto the spectacle with a mix of awe and anticipation.
Sir Darius felt a warm trickle of blood sliding down his left cheek, the metallic scent sharp in the air. He raised his hand slowly, almost as if in disbelief, only to find his fingertips stained crimson when he pulled them away.
"That was merely a warning," the General sneered, his voice dripping with disdain. "Remember, you stand alone here without an army to back you. You should consider yourself fortunate that I chose to show mercy today."
A faint smile crept across Sir Darius's lips. To the astonishment of those watching, the cut on his cheek began to knit itself together before their eyes, closing as if it had never existed.
The paladin scoffed, arrogance radiating from him like a shield. "I doubt those tales of demon slaying you shared are anything but fiction. You may pride yourself with your mana vein and a few flashy tricks, but they pale in comparison to the might of the gods."
General Douglas scowled, "I just wanted to see if the rumors were true... But I've seen someone far more impressive than you when it comes to healing..."
Duval finally regained his hearing after the chaos unleashed by the General's reckless assault. Anger coursed through him as he turned to confront the man responsible.
"GENERAL!" the Prime Minister's voice thundered, reverberating through the room. "ARE YOU SERIOUSLY TRYING TO START A—"
But he halted mid-sentence, his eyes widening as he registered the identity of which General standing was standing beside him.
'Douglas!?... W-What’s he doing here? I thought he was a few days away from the—Oh, no... She's here!'
A smirk crossed Alaric's face, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "What's wrong, Duval? You look like you've just seen a ghost."
The atmosphere around Duval felt electric, a palpable tension that danced like lightning in the air, sending adrenaline coursing through his veins. His heart pounded wildly against his chest as a tumult of emotions surged within him, each one more overwhelming than the last.
He found himself at a loss for words, a heavy silence enveloping him. The Prince had returned, a figure of authority and grace, and with him came the unsettling thought that the Dark Elf was likely lurking within the palace’s shadowy corridors. This reality made Duval’s situation all the more precarious; the knowledge of the Dark Elf’s engagement to the Crown Prince weighed heavily on him, complicating any thoughts of secrecy he might have harbored. The stakes had never felt higher, and the walls of the palace seemed to close in around him, amplifying his sense of urgency.
“G-General... With a member of the Royal Family in attendance, I must insist that you grant Prince Terenthiel, Prince Zane, and Princess Hilda access to the West Wing under the Emissary Act, Article Three, Section Eight, Clause Two. You are to comply with their every directive,” Duval declared, his voice laced with urgency.
Sweat dripped down his brow—not simply from the dash to the palace gate, but from the weight of the moment.
Terenthiel, a playful smirk dancing on his lips, interjected, “And I’d like to add Father Gil to that list if you please.”
General Douglas shot a fierce glare at the Divine Three, who responded with knowing smiles—the kind that could unsettle even the most steadfast.
“What necessity does a priest serve on this visit?” the General retorted, his frustration palpable.
"I would rather discuss that with the Royal Family," Terenthiel said.
"You will discuss it with me first because I'm in charge of the security of the Royal Family," General Douglas said with an iron fist.
"I don't believe that's necessary, General," Duval interjected, his voice steady as he met the General's fierce glare. The Prime Minister, sensing the tension, chose to step back, granting the General free rein. Terenthiel sighed at how spineless Duval was and decided to answer the General.
"Very well... Father Gil stands here to unite the Crown Prince and the Princess in holy matrimony so the Divine Three can bless our nations with peace," Terenthiel explained, his tone measured yet firm.
General Douglas's gaze shifted to the Divine Three, their faces devoid of expression. The weight of the moment settled heavily on him; he knew he would have to seek the Queen's guidance.
"This peace treaty cannot be ratified without the King's presence. If His Majesty is away, that means the priest must remain here," the General declared, his voice leaving no room for argument.
"I will not—"
"You will," the General shot back, their eyes locked in a fierce standoff that seemed to crackle with unresolved tension. The air was thick with unspoken challenges as both men stood their ground, each unwilling to yield.
Terenthiel let out a heavy sigh, his gaze drifting back to his brothers, "Fine... We’ll give in to this demand... For now."
The paladin merely scoffed when his Prince backed down from these heathens, disdain evident in his expression, while the General turned his attention to the Prime Minister, a calculating look in his eyes. "Very well. You may stay within the West Wing—only the West Wing. Four of your security detail may accompany you. Do you accept these conditions?"
In the shadows of their tense exchange, Hilda watched, her brow furrowed in confusion. Why did it feel like everyone was harboring secrets? The atmosphere crackled with unspoken truths, leaving her with an unsettling sense that something was amiss.
"Of course, we do... The Divine Three will not violate any law or custom," Terenthiel said.
"I truly hope you're sincere in your words, Prince Terenthiel. Otherwise, the Goddess has a way of exacting her wrath," Sir Darius warned, his voice low and intense.
Terenthiel merely laughed, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Oh, we are confident that the Divine Ones will be happy to accept you to the flock. They are benevolent and loving. Not petty and cruel like the Goddess you worship," he retorted, a sly smile spreading across his face.
His words ignited a fire in the hearts of the Royal Knights, their faces darkening with anger, while the Divine Three stood unmoved, their expressions as unreadable as stone.
General Douglas let out a heavy sigh; his brow furrowed with frustration. He stepped closer to Duval, leaning in to whisper sharply, "You best not make this any worse, Marquess... Or I won’t hesitate to report you to the King..."
Duval’s throat tightened at the implied threat, but before he could respond, the General straightened up, turning to face the three leaders with a strained smile. "Let them through, and follow my lead. A guide will escort you to the foyer," he commanded his tone firm yet strained.
The knights parted to create a path for the Divine Three and their entourage, who walked forward with an air of authority.
Terenthiel couldn’t help but smirk at the scene, waving his hands with an air of confidence. His White Knights quickly fell into formation, and he turned to Father Gil and Sir Kaelin. "I trust you both to hold the fort while we’re gone," he declared, his voice dripping with assurance.
Sir Kaelin straightened his posture, saluting with conviction. "As you command, my prince," he replied earnestly, while Father Gil nodded in agreement, ready to uphold their duties in the absence of their leaders.
Terenthiel gestured for Princess Hilda and Prince Zane to follow him, and, with a mix of curiosity and trepidation, they complied. Meanwhile, the Prime Minister and General escorted the Divine Three toward the grand foyer of the West Wing, where Alaric and Leandra observed the Alliance leaders' entrance into the opulent Palace.
A sly smile crept across Alaric's face as he watched the unfolding scene. "So, what are your thoughts on Princess Hilda, Leandra?" he asked, his tone teasing.
Leandra arched an eyebrow, her voice smooth yet sharp. "She’s inexperienced and quite naive in many respects… But I see potential. I could certainly find ways to make her useful," she replied, a hint of ambition glimmering in her eyes.
Alaric chuckled, admiring her cunning. "Oh, you are delightfully devious… That's precisely what makes you so intriguing. If everything falls into place as I envision, perhaps we won’t even need her after all," he mused, an air of mystery surrounding his words.
"Ah, I’ll weave my magic soon enough… She might just have her uses in ways we haven't yet imagined," the Duchess remarked, her tone laced with intrigue.
"Indeed... But if she becomes more of a burden than an asset... we could always remove her from the equation," Alaric responded, his tone cool and calculating.
Leandra nodded thoughtfully, a conspiratorial grin creeping across her face as they strode purposefully toward the palace gates.
As they walked, Alaric's gaze drifted to the Young Lord Johan, who stood off to the side. His expression was a mix of anxiety and uncertainty as he regarded the Alliance.
"Lord Johan! What a delightful surprise! I was beginning to think your father had stashed you away in Eden Hills for good," Alaric said, a smirk creeping onto his lips.
"Huh!? Duke Revelia? I-I'm sorry... I didn't notice you were there," Johan said.
The Duke chuckled softly, an amused glint in his eye. “No need to apologize, young lord. But I can’t help but wonder, what has you looking so uneasy?” Beside him, Lady Leandra studied Johan with a curious expression, her graceful hands clasped delicately in her lap. The atmosphere crackled with unspoken tension, drawing Johan into their gaze.
'Fuck! What's he planning?... Stay calm... I'm not the same Manaless boy I was the last time we met. He doesn't know that I'm a mage now. He's just trying to get a rise out of me,' Johan thought, and he took a deep breath.
“Nothing much, my lord,” Johan replied, a hint of tension in his voice. “It’s just rather unsettling that the Alliance appeared out of nowhere. I can’t help but worry they’ll stir up trouble for the royal family and the Kingdom. It really makes me wonder why Marquess Duval was appointed as prime minister in the first place.” His words hung heavy in the air, leaving the Duke with a look of astonishment and drawing a similar reaction from Leandra.
Alaric observed the Young Lord with a keen eye, a smirk creeping onto his lips. "He’s far sharper than he appears," he mused, noting the boy’s potential. "If only he had a mana vein... then he'd truly be formidable. But perhaps that’s a blessing in disguise. Without raw power, he’s forced to rely on his wits, a trait rare in those born with privilege. It’s a pity, though, that his uncle is scheming for his demise, all in pursuit of the title of Baron. This boy, if given the chance, could shine brightly in the world."
He leaned closer, his voice lowering as he continued, "Remember, my young lord, it’s all about connections. Without them, you’re just a whisper in the wind. But I’m sure you’ll come to understand that truth someday."
Johan stood silently, lost in thought, his expression unreadable.
'Well... It's time to leave this boy be... For now... He may have survived one of my plans to kill him in the forest... But I will come up with another. I always do... Luckily for him, I need to deal with my nephew and his pet elf first,' Alaric thought, and Leandra grabbed her husband's hand.
"We'll be on our way then. Have a splendid day, Young Lord Dule," the Duke said with a courteous nod, and Leandra followed suit, her thoughts already elsewhere.
As the Duke and Duchess strolled past the guards, their footsteps echoed softly in the stillness of the courtyard, an oasis of tranquility amid the bustling palace. It was halfway across the courtyard when Leandra broke the silence.
"That Young Lord... he seems... different," she remarked, a hint of curiosity in her voice.
The Duke raised an intrigued eyebrow. "Different? How so?"
Leandra paused, searching for the right words. "He just exudes more confidence now, and honestly, he's more handsome than I remember. It's strange... it's like there's a newfound light about him."
The Duke chuckled softly, a sly smile creeping across his face. "Ah, my dear, my spies have been busy. Word is that the young Lord's marriage to that damaged woman has brought out a side of him we’ve never seen. It appears that he’s stepping into manhood at last, and perhaps that comes with its own charm."
Leandra thought about it and shook her head, "I don't think it's only that... Maybe I'm overthinking things... But he has an aura about him that I can't put my finger on."
Alaric let out a heavy sigh, his brows furrowing as he pondered his wife’s growing unease. Deep down, he thought she was being a bit paranoid, though he’d never voice that to her.
“Really, love, there’s nothing to fret about,” he reassured her, trying to keep his tone soothing. “He’s just a commoner dressed in fine clothes. His father’s simply trying to shield him from the scrutiny of the other nobles, terrified as he is that his lineage might fade away soon... And honestly, he’s not wrong to worry.”
Leandra cast him a sidelong glance, her expression thoughtful. “Hmmm... If you say so, my dear,” she replied, though a flicker of uncertainty lingered in her eyes. As they approached the grand entrance of the West Wing, the air around them buzzed with unspoken tension.
"Now... Let's watch Duval flounder about and make a fool of himself," Alaric said.
As the grand doors swung open, the Duke and Duchess stepped into the West Wing, their presence commanding the elegant space. Sunlight streamed through the tall windows, casting intricate shadows on the polished floors, while the soft hum of activity in the background faded into a respectful silence. The rich tapestries adorning the walls whispered tales of nobility, and the air was suffused with the subtle scent of fresh blooms from nearby vases, creating an atmosphere of refined sophistication.
***
Johan raced back to his carriage, his heart pounding in rhythm with his hurried footsteps. Tayna and his guards awaited him, their expressions tense with worry.
As he swung the door open, the sight of his wife's anxious face immediately set off alarms in his mind.
"What happened? Is everything okay?" she asked, her voice laced with concern, eyes searching his for answers.
Still rattled from his encounter with Duke Revelia—something he now regretted, believing it safer to stay inside the carriage—Johan took a deep breath to steady himself.
"The Alliance is gathering in the West Wing," he said urgently, his mind racing. "I have to attend the meeting, but we must alert Lady Rya. I’m relying on you, my love." The weight of the situation hung heavily between them, and he could see the determination sparking in her eyes.
"O-of course, Johan," Tayna replied, and Johan nodded his head and planted a quick kiss on her lips before getting out of the carriage and making his way to the Palace Gate.
'Damn! Things seem to be getting more complicated by the day... But I'm not going to let Quinus down... And I'll protect Lady Rya with my life. And if those damn Alliance leaders try anything, then I'll have no choice but to act,' Johan thought while he took a deep breath and motioned for the Royal Guards to let him pass when he showed them his family's ring.
Tayna glanced anxiously as her husband dashed into the west wing of the Palace, a cloud of worry settling over her. She pushed aside her concerns; her priority was finding Rya and warning her about the Divine Three that were inside the Palace. As her carriage rolled into the palace grounds, headed for the southern entrance, her heart raced with urgency. The servants swung the door open, and without a moment's hesitation, Tayna stepped into the grand expanse of the palace, determination etched on her face.
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Comments
PaulMichaels
I can't wait too! 🥰 There's going to be twists and turns.
Micheal Kennedy
Same, Rya has the opportunity to turn one of the “Divine Three’s” pieces against them and make a new friend in the process.
Athetos
Thanks for the chapter. Can't wait to see how the Hilda/Rya interaction goes.
