Low-Fantasy Occultist

Chapter 400

The doors to the ballroom swung open dramatically to admit them right after they were announced, allowing the entire congregation to get a good look at the new arrivals.

Countless chandeliers floated near the ceiling, casting a warm, golden glow over the crowd. Nick saw familiar faces, from scions of merchant houses trading gossip, to seasoned mages with noble roots from the Tower looking bored in their finery, and the glittering elite of Alluria’s high society.

To an outsider, this might have seemed like nothing more than the most lavish event, where the key decision-makers of the region gathered to shape the future.

To Nick, it was obvious that a deep undercurrent of worry had tainted the atmosphere. Not a single person in the ballroom was free of it, though some saw it just as a temporary annoyance, while others were counting down the days until it would end.

Still, that didn’t mean there was nothing to gain from being here. "Go, mingle," he whispered to Devon. "Stick to the edges for now, and let them come to you. They are weaker, and we are stronger; it is only right.”

Once, he would have despised wasting precious research time on such an event, but he’d grown out of that recently, especially after seeing firsthand just how important it was to have friends in the right places.

And I suspect everyone else was reminded of that, too. News of the trial and its results should have had time to spread through the right circles by now. The invitation alone is enough of a hint, but I expect we’ll be approached directly soon.

He watched them leave, noting that Sonya’s [Mire of Avarice] cloak was holding steady against the occasional divination pulses.

In truth, it might have been overkill. The people attending this sort of event were accustomed to ignoring those they considered inferior, and although Devon’s presence on her arm granted her a degree of courtesy—especially given House Crowley’s rise—they wouldn’t spare her more than a glance, maybe a compliment on her dress if they were feeling particularly kind.

Nick grabbed a glass of exotic fruit juice from a floating tray and started his own circuit. He didn't have to wait long, only being stopped by a couple of older mages for a quick chat before he sensed her approach.

“Crowley,” Drusilla’s sharp voice reached him. “I see you have made it.”

He turned, smiling briefly at another young mage who stood just a few steps behind her, and Penelope, who left a conversation with an older matron to join them. "Drusilla," Nick greeted with a polite nod. "Your father throws quite the party.”

"He tries," she said dryly. "Though the juices are a vintage too young for my taste. Come on. The adults are waiting.”

She turned and slipped behind the curtain. Nick followed, finding himself in a secluded parlor that felt miles away from the noise of the ballroom.

The room, heavily protected by runic wards that Nick would struggle to breach, was centered around a long oak table. Sitting around it were the key members of the Noble Faction, or at least, the more reasonable part of it.

I’m sure there are plenty of aristocrats who simply stew in their resentment about the situation without taking any action to change it. These individuals, even though they haven't been very successful so far, are at least trying to do something about it.

Count Boer sat at the head of the table, wearing an iridescent frock coat that changed colors in the firelight. Next to him was Viscount Osmond, as stern as ever, with graying hair and hawk-like, sharp, predatory eyes, and a couple of older men he hadn’t met yet.

Scattered around the table were members of the younger generation, among whom he greeted Eona, who looked fierce in her formal clothes, and Bellamy, who wiggled his fingers at Nick as he entered.

"Ah," Count Boer boomed, lacking the joviality he showed in public. "The anomaly arrives. Sit, Lord Nicholas. And your brother is…"

"Mingling," Nick supplied, taking the empty seat next to Bellamy. "He finds these backroom dealings tedious, and it is more useful for him to be seen while I disappear.”

"A luxury of the warrior caste," Viscount Osmond grunted. "To hit things until they stop being problems. We, however, must navigate the board.”

“Navigate is a good term," Count Boer muttered, pouring himself a glass of amber liquid. “To survive, we need to steer through choppy waters indeed. The city is changing, young Crowley. The Priests are squeezing the merchants. The Duke is hoarding his influence, hoping to gain more followers from the chaos. And that’s not all…"

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He trailed off, meeting his eyes meaningfully. That, Nick had come to learn, was code for talking about the King. No noble worth their salt would ever be heard in even a private setting disparaging their overlord, but it was clear that his influence was being felt at this time. Or rather, the deliberate lack thereof.

Nick nearly expected this to turn into a session of complaints, ending with a few hesitant offers to collaborate, but he was caught off guard when another man slipped into the room.

He wasn't wearing noble finery or mage robes, which already made him seem unusual. Worsening the impression, he had on a dusty, travel-stained officer's uniform from the Royal Army and appeared truly exhausted.

That kind of person would usually never be able to set foot in the manor, let alone a private room, but it was obvious the Count was familiar with him.

"Lieutenant Jal," Boer introduced. "Fresh from the Northern Front, and with very interesting information.”

Ah, so this is the carrot. He’ll provide me with information and offers of support for dad’s campaign, and only after he’s made himself essential will he ask what he wanted from the beginning. Very clever, I can’t say I could have done better, given his situation.

The Lieutenant swallowed hard, glancing around the table of influential nobles and mages.

"The war against the Dwarves is going well, my lords," Jal started, his voice raspy. "On paper. We’ve taken three mountain holds in the past month. Baron Crowley’s unit led the assault on the Grey Peak and successfully established a base next to the first of the Deep Cities.”

“He’s doing well then," Nick said, feeling a burst of pride. Not that he had expected his father to fail, but the letter Devon showed him had been somewhat concerning.

“He is doing too well," the Lieutenant corrected grimly. "That is the problem.”

After a quick nod from Count Boer—and wasn’t that interesting, how he naturally felt deferential toward the man, despite being technically independent—he took out a map from his pocket and unrolled it on the table, which showed the northern mountain range marked with red and blue pins.

"The generals in the capital... the ones who direct the campaign from afar, are shifting resources," Jel explained, tapping a cluster of blue pins near the rear lines. "Supplies meant for the front are being diverted to secure the rear against hypothetical demon nests."

"Hypothetical?" Eona asked sharply. "My brother writes that the nests are very real. That they are the only thing slowing the advance.”

"They are real," Jel agreed quickly. "But they are small and manageable given the resources that have been shifted north. Yet the Capital Generals claim they require all the new exorcists to be under their control because of their prevalence, and with that excuse, they are starving the front line of enchanted gear and specialized personnel.”

"Why?" she asked. "If we're winning, why stop us?”

"Because Lord Crowley is winning," Viscount Osmond said, his voice cold. "Not them.”

Nick wasn’t surprised that old men with too much power and influence would suffer the rise of a new star, but it annoyed him that everyone knew this and accepted it as just the way things are.

They wouldn’t have brought me here just to inform me of the situation. There’s gotta be something more.

"The Royal Army is divided," Count Boer explained, tapping a rhythm on the table. "There are the frontier lords, those like Baron Crowley, who are gaining glory and land. And there are the Court Generals, who sit in the palace and whisper in the King's ear. They fear that if the frontier lords win too quickly, they will become heroes and threaten their position. It would be a different situation if the dwarves posed a real threat, of course. The King wouldn’t allow such jockeying in that case.”

“So they will prolong the war, uncaring of the damage it will cause to the common soldiers,” Nick concluded, feeling faintly disgusted. He was not above manipulating, lying, and cheating when necessary, but he always took matters into his own hands. This felt far too detached, as if moving pieces on a chessboard.

Again. I suppose it’s the nature of those who are too old and powerful.

"It is a delicate balance," the Lieutenant agreed. "The directive from above is for victory... just not total victory. Not yet. Not until the credit can be properly redistributed.”

Count Boer thanked and dismissed the Lieutenant, who slipped back into the shadows, leaving the nobles alone with the map. "This is the state of the realm," he said heavily. "The temples squeeze us from below. The Crown squeezes us from above. And we, the Nobility and the Towers, are caught in the vice.”

Here we go. Come on, what do you want?

He looked directly at Nick. "Your father is a hero, Nicholas, but even heroes can fall when their supply lines are cut. We can help. House Boer and House Osmond control many trade routes, and we can reroute supplies past the usual checkpoints.”

"In exchange for what?" Nick asked. "Charity is for priests, and they aren’t very popular around these parts, last I checked.”

He subtly gestured for Eona to settle down. She was filled with indignation at help being dangled in exchange for something when it should have been freely given, but Nick wasn’t so sanguine. It was just the way things were done with these people.

Boer smiled thinly. "The Priests of Ulter are encroaching on us. They are challenging our judicial rights on the docks. They are claiming land for their Holy Sites, and we need to start pushing back. But we cannot do it alone.”

“We are not seeking open conflict,” Viscount Osmond added. “We understand that the Tower has its own politics to handle. But Archmages have influence, and if one were to support our claims, we would appreciate it.”

Boer stood up and walked over to Nick, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Ask him. Ask him if the Tower is content to watch the city turn into a temple. Because if the Nobles fall, the Mages are next. We are natural allies against the Theocracy. Tell him House Boer offers its hand, before the Priests cut it off.”

"I will convey the message," Nick said slowly. "But Tholm is cautious.”

He didn’t mention that he could sense this wasn’t all the Count wanted. He’s testing the waters, trying to gauge what influence I hold and whether I’m a true ally, before revealing his true requests. I should have expected it, especially after the Shadows interfered on my behalf. It makes it seem like I’m connected with them.

"He shall have all the guarantees he needs," Boer promised. "Now go. Enjoy the party. You are young yet, and we have already taken up enough of your time.”

Nick left the parlor with his friends, and although he could tell they wanted to talk about what had just happened, he signaled for them to wait until they were back in the Tower.

He found Devon and Sonya near the dessert table. She looked tired, and the cloak was fraying slightly at the edges after being apart from him for so long, but she was smiling at something Devon said.

That, more than anything, convinced him that forging ties with the local nobility was essential. His father would surely benefit from the support, but another conflict was approaching in Alluria, and they needed all the help they could get.