Chapter 72: The Plans
"How do we sniff them out?" I murmured as we neared our destination.
"Who do you think I am? Just use my name," Weiss replied. In hindsight, it was the simplest and most effective approach.
We soon entered the Lord’s castle, where the city’s key figures had already gathered, the leaders of the Knight Orders, the Captains of the Guard, the Lord himself, and the two Reinvelt heirs.
Everyone froze upon our entry. Keith and Rachel, the two companions who had escorted us all the way here, quietly slipped away, their task complete.
"You are... the Witch Queen?" Lord Soren was the first to find his voice.
Behind us, Keith and Rachel nearly tripped over their own feet. They stared at us, their wide-eyed expressions screaming sheer, unadulterated disbelief.
"I don’t believe it, honestly," another voice chimed in. It was Sir Dumas, the Captain of the Reinvelt Knights and Nea’s direct supervisor. I recognized him immediately.
"Neither do I," Nea added, crossing her arms. "They could easily be impostors—"
"Enough!" Adam barked, shutting down their protests. "Who do you think you are addressing? Do not question my guests."
"Lord Adam, with all due respect," Dumas countered, "it is simply too difficult to believe."
Weiss let out a soft, exasperated sigh.
***
Outside the city walls, the Coalition Expeditionary Force (CEF) had established their siege. Wyverns circled the skies, and a steady stream of foot soldiers poured in—paladins, knights, and bishops, forming a force that rivaled, if not surpassed, any standard imperial unit.
The command tent hummed with the quiet tension of impending war. Deep within, General Wilthorn, leader of the regiment, conversed with his superiors in the capital through a pair of communication crystals.
"My lords, we are ready to enter and attack at any moment."
*"Just a little longer,"* a voice crackled from one of the crystals. *"Drag it out a little more..."*
A glass of wine shimmered in the reflection of the orb. The second crystal, linking a three-way connection, flickered as its user nodded.
*"My Prince,"* a smooth voice chimed from the second device. *"All preparations are complete. We only await your approval."*
*"Tomorrow,"* the Crown Prince replied from the first crystal, his voice low. *"By tomorrow, everything changes."*
The Prime Minister—the mastermind behind the CEF who had bridged the Empire and the Church—and the Crown Prince himself were plotting together.
*"It will be a magnificent sight,"* the Prince chuckled, taking a slow sip.
A sudden commotion cut him off as a scout burst into the tent.
"General Wilthorn!"
Wilthorn snapped to his feet, instinctively shifting to shield the communication crystals from view. "What is the meaning of this?!"
"Word has come from the city, sir. Arlene and Adam Reinvelt have returned. They are inside the castle."
"What?! They returned? What of the corruption?"
The messenger shook his head. "She bears no wounds, sir. The infection is completely gone."
Wilthorn slammed his fist onto the table. "A trick! A northern deception! I didn’t think they would stoop so low as to blaspheme the gods. Dismissed!"
As the soldier scurried out, the General turned back to the crystals. A sharp *clink* echoed from the transmission—the Prince had dropped his glass. A heavy thud followed as the royal bypassed the glassware entirely, grabbing the bottle and drinking straight from it.
*"My Prince,"* the Prime Minister remarked smoothly, *"I believe this brings us nothing but good news."*
*"Indeed,"* the Prince agreed, wiping his mouth. *"Sever all communications, Wilthorn."*
Wilthorn bowed. The Prince’s manic laughter filled the tent. *"A glorious day awaits us tomorrow!"*
*"The dawn of a new era,"* the Prime Minister agreed.
Wilthorn swallowed hard as the crystals went dark. Exhaling a tense breath, he stepped out of the tent into the biting wind to address his officers.
"Sever all contact with our agents inside the city," Wilthorn ordered.
"Sir?" his lieutenant asked in confusion.
"With everyone. The Church has decreed it; they are all deemed acceptable collateral."
"And the report regarding the Reinvelt heirs?"
"Fabricated. Compromised. Purge it from the logs. We never received word of their return. Besides, it is impossible for the Reinvelt daughter to be cleansed. No such cure exists."
"No such cure exists..." the lieutenant echoed, trying to convince himself.
Then, the wind shifted.
It brought with it a sudden, bone-chilling cold.
A primal dread seemed to seep from the very soil, wrapping around their ankles and climbing up their spines like icy claws. Every soldier in the camp froze, their eyes drawn instinctively toward the city—toward the distant castle.
"W-what is that...?" someone whispered.
It was a physical weight, an ancient, terrifying presence radiating from the keep.
***
Back in the castle, Captain Dumas stood with his jaw slack.
The gulf between them was a physical chasm. Even when facing dragons, Dumas had never felt so utterly, hopelessly outmatched. His entire life had been defined by a simple code: there would always be foes stronger than him, and it was his duty to bridge that gap with grit and strategy. He had faced every challenge with that unshakeable confidence.
But now? For the first time in his life, he knew there was no fight to be had.
The Witch Queen simply stood there. For a fleeting second, she had allowed a mere fraction of her power to slip. Just a fraction.
Nea Alba stumbled backward, while the two beastkin flanking her collapsed to their knees under the sheer pressure. The only person who remained entirely unbothered was the man standing beside the Queen—the one known as Phantom.
Dumas recognized the notorious thief instantly.
A wry, breathless chuckle escaped the captain’s lips. Could he win? No. Not in a thousand lifetimes. Not against her, and certainly not against the man who hadn’t even blinked.
***
A stunned silence hung over the hall as everyone stared at Weiss. She had clearly unleashed her mana to silence the room, and there was no grander proof of her identity than the overwhelming weight of her presence.
"Should we not notify the capital that Lady Arlene has returned?" Adam asked, turning to me as he caught onto my angle.
There was no point in overexplaining things to the skeptics. They had felt her power; now it was time to move. We had work to do.
"We’ve been trying to use the communication crystals," Dumas spoke up, his voice tight. "But no one is answering our signals."
"So the capital has abandoned us," I mused. "If a war is what they want, we might as well make the first move."
Every eye in the room turned to me, Weiss included. A brilliant, dangerous laugh bubbled up from my Witch Queen.
"They’ll have no choice but to answer when their own forces start crying for help, will they?"
