The World of Otome Games is Tough For Mobs - Volume 13 - Chapter Pr

Prologue

IT WAS DAYBREAK when Angie, Livia, and Noelle began to climb the stairs to the palace’s roof. Angie took the lead, holding up a lantern to light their way through the shadows still lingering in the stairwell. Livia followed close behind, her breath coming out as visible wisps of white in the dim light. Noelle brought up the rear. She huffed into her palms as she went, trying to warm herself.

Angie glanced over her shoulder and studied the other two. She flashed them a smile, as if trying to mask the exhaustion on her face. “You could’ve slept in a little longer. Cleare said there was no need for a welcome party.” The circles beneath the other girls’ eyes hinted at a lack of sleep, and Angie sensed that they hadn’t recovered from their fatigue.

At her comment, Livia and Noelle looked simultaneously contrite and displeased.

“We could say the same to you, Angie,” said Livia. “You should get some rest while you can. You’re far busier working than we are right now, and you’ve hardly slept at all, have you?”

Angie smiled tightly. “This is the moment when I have to give it my all,” she said. “Unlike you two, I’m no use in battle, so I want to at least do what I can to help prepare.” 

That was the only thing she could do, after all—ensure that everything was ready for the battle to come. Once the fighting began, she wouldn’t be able to contribute the same way that Livia and Noelle could. She needed to dedicate everything she had to the cause while there was time for her to be useful.

Noelle averted her gaze. “Right now, it’s the other way around for us. There’s nothing we can do to help at all. At best, we can offer assistance.”

She and Livia had been looking after the palace officials, who were hard at work. A number of those officials had tried to stop the two, but the girls couldn’t bear to sit still and do nothing while Angie ran herself ragged.

“We’d all be at a disadvantage if you collapsed during the battle,” Angie reminded them with a wan smile.

Noelle shrugged. “The same could be said for you, Angelica. In fact, wouldn’t we be in an even bigger bind if you collapsed? Lelia confided in me, you know. She said it depressed her how much better you are at administration, even though you two are the same age.”

Lelia, Noelle’s twin sister, currently served as the Sacred Tree’s Priestess in the Alzer Republic. That position of authority made her a representative of her entire country. And even she, someone of such stature, thought that Angie had mobilized Holfort masterfully. The two were the same age, which made Lelia all the more impressed at how well Angie had taken to leadership.

“Really? She thinks I’m doing well?” Angie asked, a touch of skepticism in her voice. “From my point of view, all this responsibility has been a constant reminder that I’m still not capable enough to handle such tasks. I’ve managed to miraculously keep things together only because Lady Mylene’s been at my side, helping me through it all.”

Mylene was a seasoned mentor, since she’d previously ruled over the palace herself. Angie found her support reassuring, but it also reminded her that she still couldn’t balance everything by herself—alone, she’d be in over her head. That made it hard to accept compliments.

A brief shadow of sadness flickered across Angie’s face.

“Angie, we couldn’t go into this battle if not for everything you’ve done for us,” Livia reminded her. “Have more faith in yourself, please.” Her gaze turned to the door just ahead. “Look. We’re already here.”

Angie reached for the handle and swung the door open. The dawn’s light poured in through the gap, washing over them. All three girls instinctively reached their hands up to shield their narrowed eyes. As their vision acclimated to the light, they made out the vista spreading in front of them. 

Angie leaned toward her lantern and blew out the flickering light inside. Her breath became a mist that dissolved in the chilly wind wrapping around them.

“Ha ha!” Noelle laughed, throwing her arms wide. “This really is incredible! I’ve never seen so many warships gather in my entire life!”

Countless ships dotted the skies around the capital, casting distant shadows on the rooftop garden where the girls stood. There was no consistency to the ships’ designs; they were mismatched, having come from all over. The important thing was that they all had the same goal. Though their appearances differed, they were single-minded.

Even Holfort’s aristocrats, who’d spent an inordinate amount of time infighting up until now, had finally banded together—for what could be called the first time in history—to face their common enemy.

Livia grabbed Angie’s hand and squeezed. “See? Like I said, have more faith in yourself. If not for your efforts, there wouldn’t be so many ships.”

Overcome by Livia’s warmth, both figuratively and literally, Angie’s eyes misted over. “Yes, I guess you’re right. At least, I hope so,” she hedged.

Angie did her best to blink back the tears. It was hard not to cry. Realizing how much her efforts were helping Leon overwhelmed her with happiness, but that wasn’t the only reason she was tearful. She found herself wondering how many of these warships would make it back after all was said and done—how many lives would be lost in the pursuit of victory. The only reason she didn’t succumb to her tears was pure determination to keep them at bay. 

So, Lady Mylene, this is what it means to shoulder enormous responsibility. Back when Mylene was instructing Angie on being a queen, she’d once emphasized the enormity of the duty that came with a leadership position, but only now did Angie truly appreciate her meaning.

Noelle thrust a finger toward the sun. “The Licorne has arrived!”

Having undergone alterations on an island Leon had once owned, the Licorne had returned to the capital. The three girls had come to the roof to witness its return. They would board that ship for the battle.

Out of the corner of her eye, Noelle noticed Angie and Livia holding hands. She looked away and stood a little straighter. “I’m sure it’ll be all right,” she told them. “Leon and everyone else will give this everything they’ve got. I know we’ll get through this.”

Noelle didn’t know, not really. But she nevertheless hoped—prayed—that they really would get through it. The other girls sensed the desperate optimism in her voice.

Angie bobbed her head. “We’ll do everything we can to make sure Leon has the support he needs to win this. To guarantee that happens, I’ll even make use of them, if I must.” Her expression soured midway through the sentence.

Livia patted her back. “We have no other choice this time,” she said, her expression darkening. She had her own reservations about the people in question.

Noelle’s face clouded. “A lot of loose strings will need to be tied up at the end of all this, after we win.”

It wasn’t that she—or, really, any of them—wanted to discuss what would happen after the fighting ended, but it was all too obvious that they would have numerous problems to overcome when that time arrived.

***

It was still early morning when Greg rushed to the palace, his cheek sporting an ugly bruise and swelling where he’d been punched. His clothes were a disheveled mess, torn in places. In spite of it all, his face was bright. As he entered the room where their group was gathering, he flashed Brad a thumbs-up.

“I went back home and managed to talk my old man into it!” said Greg. “The Sebergs will gather all the military resources they’ve got to pitch in.”

Brad gave his friend a thumbs-up back. He sported his own injuries; his head was wrapped in a long bandage. “Glad to hear things went well on your end too. I got my family to promise they’d dedicate all the men they could to the cause.” He pulled a contract out of his pocket as proof. Written on the page was exactly what he’d described: a vow to contribute all the forces the Fields could spare to the war effort.

Greg strode toward him, and the two bumped fists. “Y’know, I always thought you were useless beyond your magic skills, but you’re a gutsy bastard if I ever saw one.” Though Greg’s words were blunt and rude, it was his way of complimenting Brad.

“Yeah? Well, you’re as much a meathead as ever,” Brad shot back with a grin. “You should learn to actually use your brain more.”

Greg’s jaw dropped, but he soon burst into laughter. “Dummy. You shouldn’t be praisin’ me like that—you should be throwin’ insults. But I’ll say sorry for callin’ you a useless weakling and claimin’ only your magic was valuable. You’re a dependable guy.” His expression was entirely sincere.

Brad, for his part, was dumbfounded. Not because Greg apologized, but because he hadn’t taken “meathead” as the put-down it was. “I was insulting you when I called you a meathead.”

“How so?” asked Greg. “If I’m a meathead, my brain’s full of muscles, right? Doesn’t get any better than that, now, does it?”

Brad theatrically slapped his hands over his mouth, his eyes wide with shock. “I didn’t realize how far gone you were.”

Greg cocked his head in confusion as he scanned the room. “Anyway, are we the only ones who’ve gotten back?”

Brad’s expression suddenly turned more inscrutable. “No, Chris returned before both of us. His family lives in the capital, after all, so it’s much easier for him to get in touch with them. The bigger issue is…”

“Whether he actually convinced his father, the Sword Saint,” Greg finished for him.

Every single member of the idiot brigade had split off to visit their family, hoping to convince them to contribute what they could to help Leon. This was complicated by the fact that each of the idiots had been either disinherited, or completely disowned, by their families over their own past actions. It’d be natural if their parents weren’t terribly receptive to their pleas for assistance. Persuading them had proved quite a difficult task for Greg and Brad both.

“It was less convincing his dad and more agreeing to duel him,” Brad said. “That was what his father demanded, at least.”

“Seriously?!”

Chris’s father was Holfort’s strongest swordsman. Chris was talented himself, having earned the title of Swordmaster, but his father sat at the top with the title Sword Saint. He’d put in countless hours of training in addition to being a veteran on the battlefield.

As for how the duel itself turned out, well…

“Why don’t I take it from here and tell the story myself?” said Chris, who’d just cracked the door open and stepped in. He wore a hospital gown and could only stand with the help of crutches. 

Chris was in decidedly worse condition than either Greg or Brad. His right arm and left leg were in casts, which meant either broken or cracked bones. A prominent crack also ran through one lens of his glasses.

Brad took one look at Chris and sighed.

“What’s with all those injuries?!” Greg cried, eager for answers.

“This is how the duel with my father turned out,” Chris explained. “No need to worry about me being injured, though. I plan to have Marie heal me before we go into battle.” His face lit up at the prospect he’d mentioned, and Greg couldn’t help being a little jealous that Chris’s injuries would earn him extra attention.

Should I have her heal my injuries too? Greg wondered briefly, then shook the thought off. His wounds were all minor, not worth taking up Marie’s time when she was already busy enough.

“Looks like you didn’t have any luck convincing your old man, then,” Greg surmised.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Chris shot back. “I won, I’ll have you know.”

“Did you really?!” Greg’s face lit up, and Chris puffed his chest out.

Brad, who knew the finer details of the match, pulled a face. “I can hardly believe you’ve got the audacity to say that after coming at your father from behind with your wooden sword. I know he preaches never letting your guard down, and treating everything like a battlefield, but I still don’t know how you pulled out a win after that.”

Greg’s excitement faded. “That’s cheating.”

“Trust me, I tried convincing Father with words, but he doesn’t exactly understand politics. He’s just an instructor. He was being naive as we discussed our terms for the duel, saying he just planned to keep serving as an instructor, not get involved in the war.” Playing dirty wasn’t a decision Chris had made lightly. It was a reluctant choice for the sake of his family’s preservation. As much as he’d wanted to duel fairly, the situation required him to win, no matter what.

Even Greg was exasperated at the lack of foresight Chris’s father had shown. “Gotta admit, that’s pretty stupid.”

“Besides, like Brad already said, Father always says people should be ready for anything at any time. He was immature to lose his cool the way he did after I attacked him from behind. It was his fault for turning away from me.”

“Look, I get what you’re saying,” said Greg, before stopping himself from going further. “At any rate, he agreed to join us?”

“Yes, along with his disciples,” Chris confirmed.

“Good to hear! Your old man and his team are tough as nails.”

Although Chris’s father was an instructor, he was also a knight, which meant he knew how to pilot an Armor. All the people he taught had also been knighted, which meant they were undergoing pilot training alongside swordsmanship lessons. It was heartening to hear that they’d all join the battle.

Two members of the idiot brigade were still unaccounted for.

“That just leaves Julius and Jilk,” said Greg.

“Julius is here at the palace, helping civil officials with their paperwork,” Chris said. “I hear Angelica’s working him to the bone.”

“That makes me feel kinda bad for him, but I guess he hasn’t got much choice.” Greg shook his head. “What about Jilk?”

It was Brad’s turn to answer this time. His face looked pinched. “Jilk’s with Minister Bernard.”

Greg’s eyes went wide as saucers. “You’re kidding me.”

***

Several desks were lined up in a large room. Civil officials seated at them shuffled through endless stacks of paperwork, their hands stained with ink. Dark circles had formed beneath their eyes. Whenever one collapsed from exhaustion, they were promptly dragged off to rest until they recovered enough to go back to work.

The place looked like a battlefield.

The officials were putting themselves at death’s door wrapping up as much paperwork as they could in their effort to help the soldiers and knights who’d go to battle soon.

Minister Bernard clapped his hands. “Hang in there just a bit longer,” he told them. “Remember, if we don’t get all this taken care of, our countrymen and allies won’t be able to fight to the best of their abilities. This is our battlefield right now. Do everything in your power to see it through to the end.”

The officials gave half-hearted grunts of acknowledgment, too exhausted to offer anything else.

Marching into the midst of this battlefield, Bernard’s daughter Clarice announced, “I have drinks and snacks.” 

Her gentle, cheerful voice coaxed the men to lift their heads and drag themselves out of their seats. They eagerly accepted the refreshments and sandwiches she had carried in, then returned to their desks.

Deirdre stood next to Clarice, watching everything play out. “It really is a battlefield in here,” she said. She realized Bernard hadn’t been exaggerating at all on that point. With cool composure, she continued to survey the scene.

Jilk—who’d once been engaged to Clarice—labored alongside the rest of the men. Bernard had deemed him capable enough to contribute. Jilk was working as quickly and diligently as everyone else, though whether that was through his innate talent or skills he’d cultivated over the years, Deirdre couldn’t say. 

One thing she did notice was how much more relaxed he appeared than the others. It was certainly reassuring, but it made everyone around him look at him with obvious disdain.

Bernard carried another hefty stack of papers to Jilk’s desk. His lips smiled, but not his eyes. Anger toward the man who’d so callously abandoned his daughter seeped into his expression. “Here, Jilk. Some more paperwork for you, since you’re seemingly having such an easy time getting through your current workload.”

Jilk smiled amicably at the mountain of papers. “Of course, I’ll take care of them. You won’t be disappointed, Minister.” He probably meant those words sincerely. He was moving through the current stack at a quick, smooth pace. His skill and speed were impressive, but that was exactly what rankled the people around him.

“Tsk. That lowlife jerk, turning his back on Lady Clarice.”

“He’s got some nerve acting so relaxed around us.”

“Pisses me off even more that he’s so good at the job.”

They all glared daggers at Jilk, but he smiled blithely and kept going through the documents in front of him.

“Your skills are all you have going for you,” Bernard told him. “You would’ve been the perfect fiancé for my little girl if only you had a personality to match, but I suppose that’s the way of the world. Nothing’s ever perfect.”

It was meant as a barb toward the man who’d so easily cast Clarice aside, but Jilk’s smile didn’t falter even in the face of Bernard’s hostility. He understood that he deserved all the scorn he was getting.

“I suppose my imperfections are exactly what I should be thankful for, since I was able to meet Miss Marie because of them,” Jilk replied.

A vein bulged on Bernard’s forehead.

After Jilk’s mention of Marie, Clarice’s own smile was as frigid as the winter wind. “I only wish I’d realized your true nature earlier. Then I never would’ve made the mistakes I did,” she said.

Jilk let out a strangled laugh. “Ha ha. That’s awfully harsh.” He didn’t even try to meet her gaze.

Deirdre decided that resenting him would be pointless, and she carried over a drink and sandwich for him. “I must admit, I’m surprised you can work in an environment like this. Are you that oblivious to how much everyone resents you? It’s not too late to go help a different department out, you know.”

Jilk sipped the drink and lifted his gaze to meet hers. “I’m working for Leon’s benefit right now. Bernard and his subordinates aren’t foolish enough to slow me down, knowing that.”

“So you’re not oblivious to their hostility. I’m impressed you can act so nonchalant in the face of it,” said Deirdre.

“Thanks. I must warn you not to fall for me, though. I only have eyes for Marie.”

The emotion left Deirdre’s expression. “Rest assured, no one is about to fall for you,” she shot back coldly before strutting away.

***

While the idiot brigade’s other members tackled their obligations, Julius found himself busy at work inside the palace.

He rushed into an office where Lucas—the man Leon always referred to as “Master”—was going through a stack of documents.

“I have a report about supplies at the port. If we keep using them up the way we are, we’ll finish all our stockpiles. The capital won’t be able to support all the troops we have.”

It was hardly surprising that they were going through substantial provisions to provide for the gathered warships. There was the matter of fuel, which the ships required to run; there were also crew members who needed food. If the higher-ups wanted their troops to remain at their best, they needed to supply those troops well. The palace was responsible for gathering and distributing provisions, and Lucas and Julius were overseeing the effort.

“I'm having the city closest to the capital, as well as their stronghold, forward all their reserves to us. As soon as those arrive, start resupplying the ships,” Lucas instructed.

“Yes, sir.” Though he’d received his orders, Julius stood frozen in place, staring at Lucas.

Lucas must’ve felt the younger man’s gaze. He lifted his chin. “Is there something else?”

“Um, actually, I have a question, if you don’t mind.”

It had been a startling revelation that this man, whom Julius had only ever known as a professor of etiquette, was actually his great-uncle. After Julius learned the truth, something had tickled at the back of his mind.

“I don’t mind, as long as you keep it brief,” replied Lucas. His gaze was back on the papers in front of him, his hand darting smoothly across the page. Not only did he get through paperwork impressively quickly, he did so with poise and grace.

That was exactly why Julius had to voice his doubts. “Why did you yield the crown to my father? You’re so capable, you would’ve made a much better king.”

Lucas smiled wanly. “Has Mr. Leon had that much influence on you? That’s an awfully impertinent question.”

“I know,” said Julius, “but I’m no longer of a rank where I constantly have to sugarcoat my words.” He didn’t think his father was worthy of the throne, which was why he could so easily shrug off the fact that he wasn’t a prince anymore. Lucas could read what he liked into that.

“I’ll acknowledge that I played my part well as the king everyone wanted,” said Lucas. “However, I believe that such a king would’ve destroyed this kingdom.”

“You think you would’ve destroyed it? Not my father?” Julius asked in disbelief. The question his words implied was clear: Hadn’t his father been responsible for driving Holfort to the edge?

“Roland was worthier of the throne than you even realize. More so than me. One could say that it’s only thanks to him that things didn’t turn out worse.” After a pause, Lucas added, “That said, he’s never been able to shake that horrible habit of his.” A shadow of regret hung over his words. He didn’t have to explain which habit he meant. Everyone knew what a womanizer Roland was.

“So my father is more incredible than I’ve given him credit for,” said Julius.

“Correct. He’s a respectable man, though I’d warn you not to follow his example when it comes to women. I mean that, Julius. Don’t make the same mistakes.”

Julius nodded readily and turned to leave, prepared to commit himself to his next task. He gently slipped his hand into his pocket, withdrawing the mask he’d tucked in there.

I guess all this means I underestimated Father’s capabilities, he thought. Either way, I’ll be using this mask he passed on to me. The latter thought was a misconception; Roland had never entrusted the mask to him. Julius was borrowing his father’s personal possession without permission. In fact, had Roland been there to see it, he would’ve snapped and demanded Julius return it immediately.

I’ll carry on your will along with this mask. I may be an idiot incapable of inheriting your throne, but I won’t lose sight of your ideals, Julius vowed mentally, determined.