Chapter 145: Beneath the Lake

Chapter 145: Beneath the Lake

Beneath the Lake

Tiberia

Beneath a serene lake next to the capital lay a vast, enclosed subterranean world. It resembled a cavernous grand dome, similar to the construction of the dwarven citadels in the old Progentia continent. The air within was cooled and circulated, thanks to a hidden array of grand gemstones, each etched with runic inscriptions.

Magically created warm sunlight illuminated the cavern, its light reflecting off the dome's ceiling—a marvel of technology from an era long gone. The sunlight filtered through the mist, casting an ethereal glow over the grassy plains below.

The dome's ceiling was partially obscured by mist due to its enormous scale, which maintained a serene, dreamlike atmosphere. A winding river meandered through the plains, nourishing the rustic landscape while reflecting the warm light from above.

Without these artifacts, the subterranean environment would have been oppressively hot. Instead, the air was fresh and filled with the scents of grass and earth. The clouds even generated drizzle and rain in almost natural ways.

The landscape teemed with lush forests and expansive grassy plains, stretching as far as the eye could see. Horses galloped freely across the landscape where birds, bees, goats, and insects lived.

It was daytime, and the sunless sky above shone warmly.

Not far from an ornately crafted wooden house, a daybed sat in an open field beneath an ancient tree with deep brown bark and roots as thick as a goat.

On the daybed, a wrinkled elderly man with silvery hair lay peacefully, enjoying the scenery. Beside the daybed, a young woman of lithe build, with equally startling white hair, sat in a chair, reading from a tome.

"Σαγάριος," he called softly.

"What is it, Father? Do you need a drink?" Sagarius, the daughter, asked without shifting her sight from the tome at hand.

The old man smiled, pleased to hear his daughter's voice. "Did I ever tell you that you have your mother's face?"

"I have noticed it in the mirror since a young age. Indeed, I have her nose, lips, and chin, but the eyes are yours, Father," Sagarius answered, as she often had.

The old man looked happy. "You also have my compassion and patience."

Sagarius, who looked no older than twenty, let out a stiff smile but said nothing, knowing that responding would lead to an endless sorrowful discussion about her mother who had left him to return to her kin before she was too old to travel.

"Daughter, allow me to ask," the old man said softly, concern evident on his face. "If you're not thinking about inheriting all this, then why are you still here?"

"I can't leave you alone. Someone needed to take care of you, and I'm the oldest."

"You don't need to waste your precious time for me," he urged softly.

"I enjoy being with you, Father."

Her answer made the old man smile, as was evident in the wrinkles on his face. Then he pressed the issue again, "How about just two hundred years? A transitional government?"

"Oh Father," she lamented, while turning a page. "We've discussed this many times, and my answer hasn't changed," she replied without hesitation or any emotion. She had become accustomed to her father's words to take them seriously.

However, today Sagarius felt compelled to add, "How could I rule when you didn't even announce my birth to the world? Please remember that you chose my brother over me."

Instead of being stunned or emotional, her father responded with a smile. "Is this how you exact revenge upon your father?"

"No, Father, the grief was gone. It's just something on my mind that I unfortunately recalled just moments ago."

The old man sighed. "I always thought that crowning the youngest was the better choice."

Sagarius remained silent, merely concentrating on the page. A gentle breeze whispered through them. Overhead the ancient tree had its small branches swaying slightly with the wind's caress, leaves rustling softly like the murmurs of the past.

They said no other words for a long period. The father simply enjoyed his day while the daughter read a tome that she knew she would never encounter again.

This subterranean world would be over, as there was no future emperor to succeed it.

While there were plans to dismantle and distribute the vast riches of this place, they eventually scrapped them as the effort was too demanding. Moreover, deep inside, they felt that such gifts would be dangerous to humans.

"What do you want to do after this?" the father asked. "I see that you have your ears modified."

"Just like yours, Father," Sagarius reassured him. Had she chosen another answer, he would have pried for the reason. Despite his failing mind, he was still often keen enough to see through her schemes, and she didn't want to make him concerned.

"What's your plan after I breathe my last?"

"As you wished. I'll seal this place, cross by boat to Arminia, gather my folks, and then head into Kehldin through Caladania."

"The road would be dangerous," he commented with some bitterness.

"I've ventured there many times already with my people," she reassured him.

The old man took a deep breath and said, "In case I forget, please give the letter to Mother."

"I will, Father."

"Is she healthy?"

"She's ailing but she's still younger than you," Sagarius gave the best answer, one that put her father most at peace.

He nodded, looking gladdened. Then added with a regal tone, "Entomb me between your stepmother and stepsiblings." His eyes moistened, likely recalling his human wives and the many children he had outlived.

Besides his union with an elven consort, Sagarius' mother, the reigning Emperor had six other wives. Sagarius personally knew all of them. She was there when he brought them, usually after touring his vast domain every two centuries. Yet to Sagarius, their presence, while leaving a lasting mark, was too short.

She imagined the same happened to her father, even perhaps guilt since they withered so quickly compared to them.

After her mother left for Kehldin, for the remainder of his life, her father stopped taking close companions. The conversation led her to ask, "I'm curious why you don't marry a human anymore?"

The father shook his head dismissively.

Ignoring his father's reaction, Sagarius continued, "You could appoint your youngest as heir apparent. As half-elves, they could live—"

"I can't," he said with a tone of finality.

"Why?" she asked, gazing at her elderly father. Unlike many discussions they had, this one was new, and she was eager for an answer.

"The trouble with them, your half-elven brother and sister, is that they grow like elves but only have a part of our longevity."

"Ah," Sagarius exclaimed. "I forgot that brothers and sisters were like that," she said, recalling memories of her half-siblings from four hundred years ago.

"We always assume that they acted like that because they were still young, and then they suddenly got sick and died of old age," he said, his voice lowering, a shadow of sorrow passing over his face.

"None ever surpassed three hundred," she muttered with a hint of regret, closing her tome.

"Young age for elves... To humans, they looked barely twelve or sixteen years old. They were so brave and full of life, then suddenly taken from us." He sighed and coughed dryly.

Sagarius put her tome away, stood with her feet on the grass, and helped her father drink from a wooden cup. He took only a few sips. She also dabbed a mixture of spring water, chrysanthemum oil, and honey on her father's dry lips.

"I can't be lenient in punishing captured perpetrators," Lansius worded that carefully.

"I know. All I ask is that you give them the same offer you gave the Nicopolans in Korimor."

"And that is?"

"To give them options: to die or to face enslavement in Lowlandia, where they'll be allowed to return after a dozen years, or so."

Lansius inhaled deeply and pondered. After a few moments, he glanced at Servius. "No leniency to those who took lives that night. However, I can extend the offer to those who participated but did not take lives. But the terms would be twenty years."

Servius exhaled heavily but nodded in the end. "It's acceptable. This way, the rest of the Nicopolans will see it as just."

Lansius sat relaxed. "Then I'm looking forward to seeing you lead the Free Company and establish your manor."

Servius' eyes widened. "My Lord, what manor?"

"You're going to lead thousands of people," Lansius confided. "The scouts told me that the area next to this mountain path is in total ruin. While this might be just an empty title, I'll knight you before I depart."

"My Lord, I'm not worthy; I'm even without a sword hand," Servius said emotionally.

"You lost your hand and almost your life in my service. At least accept the honor for your family," Lansius insisted.

Servius looked unsure for a moment before puffing out his chest in his seat. With his eyes moist, he said, "If My Lord and My Lady agree to confer such trust in me, then I'll have no regret."

***

Midlandia

A well-dressed man with a sharp look hurriedly moved across the garden, sweat glistening on his forehead. Though it was noon, the sky was overcast, and a chilly wind whispered through the air. He spotted the person he sought—Sir Reginald, who was mentoring a group of young men in a large, unused warehouse beside the garden—and slowed his pace.

The place was a hive of scholarly activity, filled with piles of books, cylindrical glass tubes on a corner table, and a chalkboard covered in geometric drawings. Parchment filled with intricate calculations lay scattered across desks, and a bronze statue depicting a human skull, bones, and organs stood prominently in another corner.

The well-dressed man, a noble's associate, made his presence known to Sir Reginald with a subtle nod, then stood patiently to wait.

The mentor did not acknowledge the newcomer and continued as usual. His countenance was soft and cheerful, complemented by his clean-shaven appearance. This manor was his residence, which had become one of many new hubs for the educated class in Midlandia.

Lately, it had become the place for the crème de la crème of the burgeoning commoners' schools that had taken root in the region. Many talents came to share, discuss, and learn. Often, Sir Reginald would sit and just listen to visiting peers who brought new ideas or discoveries.

Not only was he a successful baronet by trade, but Sir Reginald was also a renowned scholar and had published books and manuals on masonry techniques, the history of kingship, and, most recently, a daring treatise on the peasantry.

He had a large following and was well-connected to both the guilds and the nobility. He was so well-liked, well-spoken, and filled with charming ideas, that many began to back him for the seat of power. Thus, he became a dark horse in this succession crisis.

Even without a single drop of shared blood with the ruling House, he was seen as a better candidate. After all, the succession crisis in Midlandia was so severe and unique that anyone could claim the region as long as they could unite the lords and depose House Bengrieve from power.

After posing a question for the students to ponder, Sir Reginald went outside and walked calmly toward the gazebo in the garden.

The associate followed closely behind. "Sir, the wolf has been trapped in Elandia."

"I guess we can't wait any longer?" Reginald ventured lightly as they walked.

"No, we can't wait any longer. Many were urging us to strike a month ago when he left Cascasonne undefended."

Unlike his well-dressed associate, Reginald wore only a brown, inconspicuous woolen tunic over his white linen shirt. He stopped to ponder and asked, "Are we sure that Lord Bengrieve has brought the majority of his men?"

"We are sure. They even just sent reinforcements to Elandia."

"Then we have little else to worry about. Our patience has been rewarded," he replied confidently and continued to walk, taking it as his victory.

"Then you'll agree?" the younger man asked expectantly beneath a gazebo in the middle of the garden.

Reginald turned to him, saying confidently, "Secure Lubina Castle and the surrounding area first. We need to do it before the height of winter, and then in spring, we'll besiege Cascasonne."

The associate's face grew excited. "I shall relay this good news to our peers."

"Tell them that I want a bloodless victory in Lubina, or they will have to select another," Reginald threatened firmly.

"We promised. We also need that to convince the rest of the nobles to join our cause."

"Good. I don't want to stain my name. And what about the Healers Guild?"

"They are clamoring for this."

Reginald sighed deeply. "A bunch of lunatics. We should be careful with them and their idea of worship."

"They have the power of the masses, and we need them to overwhelm the wolf and his cubs."

The older man took a small cloth and wiped the sweat from his brow. "How many cubs are we concerned about?"

"Mostly manor owners concentrated in Cascasonne, Toruna, Ornietia, Brunna, and Korelia."

"Korelia?" Reginald squinted. "Who's there?"

"Just one of the wolf's henchmen—a measly poor knight from the Mercantile Kingdom."

"But so far south. I doubt he'll do anything," the mentor said dismissively.

"Sir, Korelia possesses a strong military and could be a threat," he corrected him.

"Then we should entice him with a share of the wolf's lair. I believe everyone would agree to offer that much to pit a wolf against his cub."

The associate looked doubtful and revealed, "One of us has sent a letter with a similar message, but we have yet to receive a response."

"Well, if he doesn't agree to align with us, then we need to act lest he becomes a threat," Reginald said as if it were simply a matter of equation. "Wiser men have advised rulers to be swift and cruel when needed."

Yet, the associate remained doubtful, so the mentor tapped him on the shoulder and confided, "Sooner or later, everyone must choose a side."

"Then what do you want us to do?"

"Send your agents to find this cub's friends or family here and secure them. Then send another letter to Korelia, stating that his colleagues will unfortunately end up in the torture chamber if he doesn't align with us. And make sure he knows that if he's not siding with us, then after we're done with Lord Bengrieve, we'll come to Korelia and see how he fares on his own without his benefactor's support."

The well-dressed man looked at the mentor nervously but said, "We'll do as you instructed."

Sir Reginald's face softened, and he explained his stance: "There's no satisfaction in doing this. Like my decision to accept this candidacy, it's just realpolitik."

***