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“You shouldn’t be too disappointed, Lamont.”

Crimson reflected off Duke Rhinecliff’s spectacles as he looked up towards the throne.

“I hope you understand though, that with this rejection, it’ll be up to you to handle Evelyn’s pet leviathan.”

And with that, space rent and twisted, clockwise sigils translocating them to a place of sky and sea.



“Magic Shield, Barricade.”

Before he could even get his bearings, Laurent had cast his spell, his feet landing upon the arcane barrier he had transfixed around him. The paralysis that the Ghost King’s mages had placed upon them all had made it easy to gauge the necessary distances to create platforms for the others, but as he squinted away the light-blindness and looked around, it appeared that Melisande and Duchess Agustria were already gone, leaving only the Court Mage and Duchess Bastille, as well as their respective entourages, suspended over the waters off Hathforth’s coast.

He had half-expected to have been transported over a ravine or a volcano, really, but perhaps Lamont preferred to draw things out. A greater shame, too, that he had lost the ghost-blade in trying to make a point, and didn’t even get to witness whether it truly lived up to its name as a Leviathan-Bane.

This is why you’re ill-suited for heroic gestures, Laurent.

But a ruler couldn’t be in the shadows forever, no? And regardless, though he had lost, he had also gained.

“Advisor Blackthorne, would this suffice in proving my loyalty to the current order? Though I suppose, as any fast-climbing official would, loyalty matters less compared to self-interest.” The Duke smiled, a flash of youthful mischief over his features, like sharing a secret between two friends. “We should have tea some time, while I’m in Hathforth for Willowsteel’s punishment.”

More arcane shields lined up, a spiraling staircase to bring both himself and Duchess Bastille as they met above the cresting waves of the ocean. In the distance, it no doubt made for a most curious scene for Hathforth’s coast guard to come across.

“Your new friends, I do believe, will be apt for ridding our Province of Lamont’s hands, but more work, undoubtedly, will have to be done. So, Duchess Bastille, while the Queen is out on vacation, what are your thoughts on some…poaching?”

It was about time they started looking into exactly what monsters dwelt within the Glasic Fields, that had only sprung into existence two years prior.



To be the head butler of a ducal household, one needed to, at a bare minimum, know how to fulfill every one of their master’s orders to an extent beyond that master’s expectations.

As such, it had been a long time since Auguste Koscielny truly felt like he was a head butler.

Tall and always well-groomed, he had been promoted into the position after the previous head-butler was forcibly retired by Duke Rhinecliff, and though he possessed some sense of the man the Duke was while working as a regular servant of the household, it was still a terrible thing to experience once the responsibilities truly fell upon him. About the only thing that distinguished Auguste from the other servants was the fact that he handled the payroll and did some minor rescheduling when there was a particular function or one of the household staff took leave. The feasts were, by Duke Rhinecliff’s own request, meant to be simple and elegant. The celebrations were muted affairs, for livelier occasions could be enjoyed within Odonfield itself.

Really, was he a head butler, or was he just an accountant? All the prestige of being the head butler of House Rhinecliff, and yet if he were to suddenly lose his job, what would he even be able to say? That he organized the kinds of events and social functions that even a Baron could afford?

Maybe that was an exaggeration, but the point remained, that Auguste Koscielny never had a chance to really prove that he was as capable a head butler as the legendary Jasper Whistlelock, who had seen House Rhinecliff through the last throes of the Duchal Wars, the Reign of King Ludwig, and the Wizard-Queen’s Coup!

He did want that chance, truly.



Though he sure as fuck didn’t want to prove his capability by being kidnapped!
I should lock in and get muh work in soon huh...
Aaand a quick one out.

And now, alone in the arena, Otis spoke of his own Ethos at last.

“Show me wonders of this world.”

The Door emerged behind him, and from it, he called up a plush chair that the Strigidae promptly sank into, before delving deep into the permissions that had been given to him. One hour wasn’t too much time, but he doubted that Ciara herself would survive one hour inside the Iris Record to begin with. They all had to make do, when it came down to it.

Pulling at his Adapa, Otis drew up panels upon panels of projected images. The highest floor was off-limits, and he hadn’t even known that the basement wasn’t accessible either, but the rest? Information flowed through his mind, amber eyes flicking from panel to panel as he ‘captured’ as many doors as he could. As a side mission, he flicked open his tome to another page, scribbling a quick message to be sent to the Hildegunde, Chunji, and Iraleth: “Davil is not anywhere that I can see, but I have no access to the basement or the top floor.”

More essence flowed through, as if extensions of his nervous system. Otis continued to analyze the situation, watching the flow of student as he reorganized his viewing panels to construct a three-dimensional overview of the Iris Record in its entirety. The doors to the arena itself closed, then locked, a sealed fortress to keep out any annoyances, before more doors and bulkheads began to collapse upon the hallways and corridors of the first floor in a sequential manner. Students and guards were caught between the subdivisions, of course, but they ought to thank him for keeping Ciara away from them, really.

Grasping control of all arcane cameras upon the first floor, Otis altered the functionality with a flick of the wrist, and in the next moment? Light bloomed within the Iris Record. Not a blinding brilliance that would cast stark shadows, but a soft, diffused light to thin out the darkness until it was hardly perceptible.

And as the medium from which Ciara’s Ethos manifested from waned, as Iraleth neared in her vengeful pursuit, yet another voice joined the others in her head.

“Don’t bother with the entrance. Third door to your left is still open. Go inside, then break past the wall directly in front of you. Run 20 meters straight ahead within three seconds; you’ll barely make it past the bulkhead before it closes if you manage that. Stairs will be westward. Third floor has no cameras.”
Bruh, what the fuck??? Damn Sifr, that fucking sucks. Are you ok?
Otis is first gonna do a quick scan of the entire Record using the security surveillance. Any sign of Davil?
Meanwhile, Rhinecliff is like: "wow, does everyone and their mother have access to cross-continental levels of teleportation these days?"
Nyx about to throw hands with a literal child (it’s ok because she’s also child-sized right now)z
As the people say:

Eyo, here’s to another.
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