The bells of the Temple of Amelphas chimed in the distance as Wynn, cloaked in black, adjusted her face covering and moved through the crowds.
She knew where she needed to go, but feared the outcome she hoped for would be much harder to secure given her position—or lack thereof.
Stopping in front of what seemed to be a high-end establishment on the western side of the capital, she inhaled deeply and stepped inside.
Immediately, Wynn picked up the sound of pompous laughter and the distinct boastful chatter of men and women seeking to outdo each other in whatever meaningless matter stood out to them that week.
'Ugh...' She recoiled at the smell of smoke, nestling her nose even deeper into her deep-green scarf. 'Let's just find her and go.'
Countess Ingrid Vermillion.
An immigrant from the Republic of Dorma, who supposedly got her start selling basic pharmaceuticals before successfully curing an epidemic some decades ago.
She was granted a noble title as a reward and, through her skillful manoeuvring, had been a powerhouse in Lindis for as long as Wynn has been alive.
'With Brunford the way it is right now,' Wynn thought, spotting a blip of silky, black hair. 'Lady Ingrid is likely looking for somewhere new to pledge her allegiance. She's always had a rocky relationship with the Alonbrights, which leaves royal affiliations...'
The white-haired teen calmly approached, settling into a chair opposite the woman before anyone could stop her.
'If I can win her over, the balance can start to tilt ever so slightly!'
Blue eyes, roaring with resolution, stared down crimson ones that highlighted a beautiful countenance, currently accentuated by a brilliant smile.
"My, things have always been strange, but recently they've taken on a new dimension," Ingrid said lightly, raising her hand to dismiss her guards. "To what do I owe the pleasure of being approached by the Winter Flower of Lindis?"
Wynn scowled at the nickname but ignored it, moving to remove her hood.
"No need," the woman interrupted. "I know who you are. No need for the rest of high society to as well. Besides, I get the feeling this meeting won't last long..."
Her words trailed off as her gaze drifted to the clock resting on the side of the table.
"Side with Cale in the succession war," Wynn said directly.
Lady Vermillion raised a hand to her mouth, faint laughter masked behind a slight shake of her head.
"That's not how negotiations work, princess," she replied, leaning into her interlocked hands. "You quite live up to your reputation... coming here for your younger brother instead of yourself."
Wynn's eyes twitched slightly.
"...I'm not suited for the role, but he is."
"Why? Because you feel nothing at the potential suffering of the people?"
Ingrid's question hung heavy in the air.
She sighed at the easily readable girl.
"If everyone who sat in a seat of power cared, we would be living in a dream world. Emotions or empathy don't matter. Power and efficacy do."
Wynn's gaze lifted again.
"Isn't the problem with the world exactly that?" she asked seriously. "The people who should care the most, don't."
If the Countess was affected by the moral debate, she didn't show it. She set her eyes on the young heiress, her smile faltering for a moment before returning.
'How unsettling...' Wynn thought, trying her hardest to hold a poker face. 'She smiles, but her eyes are completely devoid of warmth...or life for that matter.'
"I have another engagement coming up," Ingrid started dismissively. "I regretfully can't entertain you any longer. But as a final piece of advice... what you—or your brother—need most isn't power. It's a force capable of making the calls you cannot. Attain that, and power will follow."
"We're not done talking ye—"
"Miss Flower Princess," the Countess cut in dryly. "For your own sake, you should leave—quickly. Unless you want your brother left all by himself in this harsh, cruel world."
The words struck Wynn like a blow.
She stood abruptly—then, midway through an internal vow to remember this moment, ducked behind a large table, eyes wide.
"I hope I'm not late, Lady Ingrid."
The Matriarch of House Vermillion's smile brightened noticeably, her expression taking on a more performative elegance.
The entire social club stirred, murmurs rippling through the room—not with excitement, but with fear and apprehension.
"Princess Lara, you're right on time," Ingrid said, lifting Lara's hand and pressing a light kiss to the back of it. "As expected of the future monarch of this nation."
Lara smiled, though her eyes narrowed slightly.
"Flattery, huh?" she muttered, sitting down in the chair she quietly noted was already pulled out. "That's an effective strategy too... though I hate when it's directed at me."
'She's as blunt as they say...' Ingrid thought, her gaze briefly darting to the table Wynn had hidden behind.
"Is there something interesting over there?" Lara asked, her gentle tone and melodious voice betrayed by the intent lingering in her eyes.
"...No princess," Ingrid replied carefully. "I just got distracted by the quality of the cutlery at that table is all. I hear it's permanently reserved just for the Alonbright sisters."
The princess hummed softly and signalled for a blue-haired attendant to check the surrounding tables.
When nothing unusual was found, she shook her head and let out a light laugh.
"Just in case," Lara said. "Have them remove all metal from the area"
"Yes, princess."
"Now, onto our business," she continued. "Like we discussed, support my claim, and I will provide assistance in your efforts to defeat Lucas Baltruss."
Ingrid Vermillion laughed.
---
A good distance away, in an empty alley beside a closed pub, Wynn breathed heavily.
'She was warning me... If I got caught, Lara would've killed me before I even made it home...'
As she straightened, she wondered how long they would have to persist like this.
Once again, the bells rang in the distance, loudly drawing her attention.
"...That's my last resort," Wynn muttered tiredly. "But where should I even go now?"
Unlike Countess Vermillion, the other noble followers of Humphrey Brunford possessed much more robust loyalty. Even if she begged until the moon collapsed, they would never switch allegiances—least of all to Cale Lu Lindel.
"Give me time. I'll find the support we need... Just trust me."
"What a mess..."
Suddenly, the sound of footsteps came beating against the pavement beyond the corner on the other end of the alley.
A boy stumbled in, nearly tripping over his own feet as he ran.
Behind him, four large men turned the corner in close pursuit.
"Grab him!" one of them barked. "Don't let him get away!"
The boy desperately tried to extend his stride, only to be met with a knife swipe to his calf. He collapsed with a cry, skidding hard across the ground.
He was hauled up by the neck and slammed against the wall as the leader of the thugs smirked, breathing strenuously.
"You thought you could run, huh?" he sneered, twirling a knife lazily between his fingers. "You don't need all those coins. Be a good neighbour and share."
The boy clutched at his neck, legs flailing. "P-please… my mom needs medicine…"
"What?" Another man frowned. "We're sick too. And we haven't eaten since last week. Between the four of us and your mom, who needs it more?"
It was clearly a lie.
Just off appearance alone, they looked like they ate more than Wynn and Cale combined.
The princess sighed, approaching steadily as she slipped something from her sleeve.
"Hey."
The light voice cut cleanly through the alley.
All the men turned.
The man holding the boy scoffed. "And what's this? Some hero—"
A table knife found itself cleanly buried in his forehead.
"—!"
The others jerked back, but the bronze utensil was already moving again. It vibrated, peeling out with a faint struggle, then tore past them in a rigid arc, slashing their heels and forcing them down as they collapsed to the ground in panic.
Wynn's expression didn't change.
"You... are the types of people Cale doesn't need in his kingdom."
With a flick of her wrist, all their throats were cut before the knife returned to her hand in a sharp motion.
'Cale can't find out about this.'
"Umm... thank you!" the child exclaimed, bowing deeply in gratitude.
"...Are you hurt?" Wynn asked, crouching to his eye level.
"No... no I'm not, thanks to you!"
"That's good," she said plainly. "You should hurry home. Especially before it gets dark."
The boy's face fell.
"Ah... about that..."
Wynn's head tilted, confusion wrinkling her face, but she understood that her afternoon was about to get more hectic.
---
- The Slums of Anselt -
- House of Wonders: Corpa -
The brightness and liveliness of the rest of the capital didn't just vanish like some invisible border had been crossed—no, instead, it distorted into something stranger... uglier.
No one was safe, but they lived constantly turning a blind eye.
Corpses littered the streets so frequently that children included them in their games. Laughter often followed the poking and prodding—the desecration, really—of what had once been a life.
Husbands and wives killed each other only to take new partners the next day in the name of "love," repeating the cycle without end.
The slightest argument between strangers quickly escalated into irreparable consequences.
And even the slightest signal that you were doing well was better off hidden unless you could defend yourself. If not...
Yet, despite the smiles and casual proceedings of life, the reality was blatant to everyone—the sickness of having lived like this for so long had bleached their very souls.
Nowhere was that more obvious than the House of Wonders—Corpa.
It stood as one of the most infamous establishments in the underworld, a place where information, contraband, favours, and lives were traded with equal ease. A grotesque blend of luxury and decay, it was less a building and more a system—one of the pillars holding up Anselt's criminal economy.
Officially, it was a brothel and had started out as such until its current owner rose through the murky depths of the underworld and elevated Corpa alongside himself.
One of the three kingpins in Anselt.
Don Fargus.
People called him the Upside-down Owl, in reference to Alonbright.
A nickname that had once led many to believe Duke Elio would tear him apart for the mere implication of being compared to him… yet the man had simply laughed it off and forgotten it the next second.
Somehow, that had further deepened the criminal's legend.
Today, the Don leaned back in his chair, fingers drumming lightly against the armrest as he gathered his forces in preparation for war.
"…So," he began calmly, scanning the room. "Why am I four men short?"
One of his subordinates laughed, turning away from the women lavishing attention on him.
"Those guys?" he asked, glancing idly at his ring. "I was with them earlier. Said they were going hunting for easy money."
Fargus clicked his tongue.
"It'll be fine," another man added disarmingly, dressed in finely tailored red pants and a black waistcoat. "They should be back soon."
"Things must be getting too comfortable for you all to start doing things like—"
Boom
Wood crunched underfoot as the intruder casually strolled through the broken entrance to the establishment with all the patience in the world.
Fargus scowled, but gestured for his men to hold still. He wanted to see the fool who still had the guts to try him.
Wynn silently surveyed the lower floor, then the raised upper level of the brothel. Her nose curled at the blend of heavy scents, but even more so at the debauched behaviour openly on display.
"When these guys don't return, they'll kill me and my mom! Please, you have to do something!"
That was what the boy had said, and looking at these faces, Wynn was obliged to agree with his sentiments.
But—
Solid gold statues.
Piles of money dumped mindlessly to the side.
Scores of weapons handy to every man.
And...
'Those five...'
Wynn's eyes drifted across the clear elites among them.
A sleazy blond sandwiched between women. A heavily pierced ravenette with green highlights. A short white-cloaked platinum blond. A reddish-violet-haired, sharply dressed man standing beside the high chair. And finally, the man who was clearly in charge.
For a moment, the silence held as the princess recoiled at the thoughts forming in her mind against her better judgment.
'But do we have a choice...?'
She exhaled slowly, swallowing her disgust.
"You... built all this through your 'business dealings'?" she asked coldly.
Fargus and the man beside him exchanged a brief glance.
"Yeah," the Don replied. "What about it?"
"I have an offer for you," Wynn said. "Secretly insert yourselves into the royal succession and support the third prince, Cale Lu Lindel."
The air itself went still this time around.
"...Excuse me?"
The cloaked princess ascended the steps, halting when she saw the blond adjust his sitting position in response.
"You heard me," she continued. "Let's come to an agreement between you and his royal highness, through me—his representative."
Fargus's expression contorted from pure disbelief into a wide, opportunistic grin.
"I see... alright, let's hear it."