“Throw it.”
Page nodded and threw two dices. Joseph looked at the fallen eyes and nodded.
“Oooh, seven! Delicate number! Hmmm… In this case…”
After meditating for a while, Joseph called the minister.
“Minister. The imperial rescript.”
From the shadows a small man showed up and bowed.
Joseph lightheartedly informed the minister who moved the horse in the miniature garden.
“Summon the fleet. Blow off Albion’s enemies. You have three days to prepare.”
“As you wish.” Not showing any emotions, the minister bowed and left.
Mrs. Molliere started trembling while watching the display in utter shock.
It wasn’t a miniature garden play anymore.
Just now, the instruction to a real war was given.
“What’s wrong, Mrs. Molliere? Are you cold? Page, put more wood in the fireplace. The madam shivers.” Joseph ordered page in a steady voice.
“Your Majesty… Ooh, Your Majesty…”
“What is wrong madam? The leader of the Gallia's Parterre knight corps cannot embarrass herself with such cowardice.”
On the day when the Advent Festival started… thirty leagues away from the snowy city of Saxe-Gotha, figures, wrapped up in dark clothes, walked.
“I’m getting used to… mountain walks.”
Muttered a tall man. A dauntless face peeped from the opening of a deep hood.
It was Wardes. Fouquet's face popped up next to him.
They were sent here as Sheffield’s guards.
However, Fouquet had another reason to be here.
“Mathilda of Saxe-Gotha - I think I heard this place’s name from somewhere before.”
Wardes said to Fouquet, who answered back while stepping briskly.
“So nostalgic. I never thought I would be walking through this mountain path again.” She gave out a white exhalation.
“Is it still a territory of Saxe-Gotha?”
“The ‘City’ also includes this mountain range.”
“This land belonged to you as your home?”
“The city's council has been in charge. Sort of like viceregal.”
“Still, it’s considerable.”
“I am guiding another to the land from where I was driven out long ago. How ironic.”
“Your father, I know that he somehow shunned Albion’s royal family… But why was this land and the tittle taken from you and your father?”
“That’s royal family lies.”
“Lies?”
“Indeed. My father dutifully served Albion’s royal family… But once the royal family told ‘Give it’ and he didn’t.”
“Haah, and what was that?”
Fouquet laughed teasingly and looked into the man's face.
“I’ll tell you only when you’ll tell me your mother’s story.”
Then Wardes turned his face away. Fouquet snuffled in dissatisfaction.
“Hey, Jean-Jacques Wardes, whom do you love more – me or your mother?”
But then Sheffield, who was walking behind, called them.
“How close is the nearest river?”
Fouquet stopped, squat down, elbowing away the snow… and touched the soil. Fouquet, who was a triangular Earth element mage, understood the soil well. Besides, because she grew up in here, she understood the earth here even better.
“Far. But it is not the only water source… one third of the city wells take the water from the mountains.”
“That should be enough.”
Fouquet elbowed her way through bush… and reached a cracked rock. Though the snow covered it, the water was visible from the crack. Luckily the center was not frozen.
Sheffield took out a ring from her pocket. Wardes and Fouquet recognized the ring at first sight.
“That… isn’t it Cromwell’s ring?”
Fouquet muttered. Sheffield shook her head.
“No, it is different from Cromwell’s ring.”
A secretary calling the emperor by name? Wardes and Fouquet exchanged the looks.
“What are you going to do with the ring?”
Sheffield smiled. Because it was the first time they saw her smile, Wardes and Fouquet were perplexed.
“Water is considered a living thing and the Ring of Andvari has the power to control it… as it’s an element that looks like the water spirit. Or should I say it’s almost identical.”
“Hmm.”
“The water spirit’s tears are expensive material used in making various potions. The power of water rules the composition of the body… with a potion, one can manipulate both – body and mind.”
“That’s a nice lecture. Now then, tell what on earth you are going to do with it?”
“The power of water to condensate… In other words, I can manipulate the town with this…”
Sheffield’s body began to glow.
Wardes remembered this light. The left hand of Louise's boy-familiar glowed in such light as well. Immediately after that… his left arm was chopped off.
On Sheffield’s forehead, half covered with hair, an ancient rune glowed.
Wardes screwed up his eyes.
“What are you doing?”
Sheffield did not answer anymore. She seemed to have been concentrating. She thrust out the hand with the ring towards the water. Gradually, the ring began to shine… and melt.
It looked as if… it was melted by the heat of Sheffield’s body.
Melted drops of the Ring of Andvari began to trickle down… and then a strong stream of water broke through the crack and flowed towards the city of Saxe-Gotha.
Chapter Nine: Rout
It was the tenth day of the Advent Festival, and everything looked like usual.
Thanks to the continuous snow, the town turned into a world of silver.
A group of two Tristain soldiers was patrolling in town, and currently one soldier called to the other,
“Hey, aren’t they from Rossa’s patrolling unit?”
“Indeed. But what are they doing here?”
One of the patrolling colleagues group was standing in front of the inn and doing something in an surreptitious manner.
“Hey!” one called out. However, there was no answer. They just kept on working silently.
“Isn’t that a bag of gunpowder?”
One muttered in a hasty voice. And indeed a few sacks of gunpowder were placed there.
Rossa’s patrolling unit soldiers were carrying bags to the inn.
“Hey! It’s a hotel not a warehouse. Navarre’s unit soldiers are staying in there. It’s too dangerous to bring such easily explosive things inside.”
He approached and tapped soldier's shoulder. But the face that turned around shocked him. It was an expressionless and soulless face. Sensing something evil in that face, the guard raised his spear.
“Hey! Put the bag down! Put...”
At that moment, another soldier pulled out a pistol from his belt and shot the guard down.
Another guard tried to run away, screaming. But a dagger, thrown by the first soldier, sank into his back. The guard fell down with a thump.
Then they silently returned back to placing bags into the hotel.
Then a match cord was inserted and ignited with a flint.
After a few seconds, with a huge, exploding sound, the inn and all resident soldiers were blown away.
Located in the city's prime block, on the second floor of the inn coalition, the Allied Force's leaders were discussing the future strategy of the invasion.
“The truce will end tomorrow. Carrying the replenishment goods must be finished by tonight.”
Chief of the General Staff Wimpffen reported while looking at the parchment on the table.
“It will be on time. But I thought that during the truce Albion would try a surprise attack…”
“You think the other side does not have the same problems? They needed to buy time because enemy preparations were not complete. That’s why they settled for the truce so easily…”