The Madam gave the duo the tour inspite of the mounting agitation from Shyme.

“That gentleman is lord Publy,” the Madam explained with a grandmotherly smile. “He owns a successful metal trade worth several generations. My investment grew massively in his recent expansion, but I would love it if he keeps the pollution down. Luckily every crisis comes an opportunity, and my renovation project greatly benefits from him dropping those properties's value to almost nothing.”

Shyme snorted.

“Let me guess,” Shyme said. “You bought those lands at dirt cheap, converted it into a manufacturing plant, and relocated the population to work there.”

The Madam sighed.

“Short-sighted like a true Enma,” she scolded. “While I bought the land downstream at dirt-cheap prices, I also spent a vast fortune renovating the village into a beautiful community. You do not understand how many people volunteer to work once you will teach them how to set up a water-treatment dam upstream. Next is building some decent housing, planting the seed for several industries to take hold. As a bonus, the town also makes excellent cheese. It is quite a valuable export once my egghead boosted productivity. Right now, the area is producing an excellent profit margin. I even charge the old Publy for a handy profit to clean up the river around his business. Even centuries-old trades need to fear the eco-tax.”

The Madam gave the fox-girl a wink. Shyme gazed over the horizon. The Grand Empire’s tax-agency would hop on those cash-flow opportunities like a pack of wolves. Thankfully, her clan was influential enough to make them back-off, but the sour-taste of losing still stung her mouth.

“And that is Palmera,” the Madam said, gesturing toward a winged woman. “Do you remember her, Lancaster?”

“Yes,” Lancaster said. “She once worked for young master Grustav as a lowly vassal before being exiled.”

“Yes, I remember that muscle brain treated her like a footstool because she has no head for the management or the ability to fight,” the Madam said. “However, she is an incredible artist. I took her as a maid and sent her to one of my many community-funded Universities. She graduated a year ago with Palmera Fashion and Architecture, taking off with no problem.”

“And that is Sir Ervid,” the Madam pointed to another heavily built man. “The poor soul wanted to be a royal-knight. But being a second-son of low-rank houses, his dream wasn’t meant to be. He couldn’t take the double-standard and the harassment from his classmate and quit.”

Shyme huffed. It was the usual story. The lower-class attempted to move up the totem-pole only to get crush by reality. They could only lament their weakness and serve the strong. It was the law of the Phantasia that the strong eat the weak.

“What did you do?” Rem said. “Let me guess. You scanned through the list of fail candidates to find the hidden gem.”

“Hidden gem?” Shyme laughed. “Are you day-dreaming? What is the point of looking for the best of the trash?”

“You are right, dear,” the Madam answered like Shyme did not exist. “Sir Ervid might be hopeless at combat, but he has an excellent eye for detail. An apprenticeship later, and he works as one of the consultant officers in Senile Island. They even knighted him for preventing an insurgence. His reputation smoothes several dozens of my projects nicely.”

Shyme shut up. The universe was openly whipping her at this point.

After several more introductions to several very long, very husky, and very successful connections of the Madam, the group came to a halt after a loud exclamation from the partying nobles.

“What? How is she here?”

“Wait! Is that him? The 33 Stars?”

“Not again,” the woman next to the group murmured. “Why do I have to be in charge of security?”

The Madam turned toward the woman and blew into her ears. Suddenly, the young brunette woman with glasses and green dress leaped up out of surprise and faced their plump companion.

“Maquioness Marmel,” the woman nervously laughed. “It is very pleasing to see you here.”

“It is also great to see you here, Chamomile,” the Madam turned toward the group. “Green Lantern, Cytortia, may I introduce you to my greatest supplier of mistreated personal, the Vice-Captain of the royal-knight, Chamomile Elragorn.”

Chamomile refused to look at Madam. Instead, she craned her neck toward the ceiling and started whistling. As a girl with a history of screwing up, Cytortia instinctively knew the fellow master of evading responsibility when she saw one. The young woman in front of her was trying vainly to get her issue dropped. Sadly, given the current company, it won’t do anything even if her whistling were a hundred-fold more genuine.

“Again, Madam?” Chamomile complained. “You know I don’t have a choice but to fail those candidates!”

“Everyone has a choice, Elragorn,” the Madam said. “Unlike you, I care more about their dream than the pressure from those brats in the capital. Please tell me you are not accepting bribes again? This year drop-outs hardly speak for your ability to learn.”

“I can’t do this job,” Chamomile whispered. “You don’t know the pressure I receive from the nobles! If I refuse to budge, my career will go up in flame.”

“You should know the nature of your job the moment you agree to it,” the Madam angrily reprimanded. “You have the duty to this nation and your office. When did your career become professional butt-kissing, Chamomile? Is this what you live for?”

Chamomile gritted her teeth and lost her temper.

“Sorry, but I have to think about my deadline before some existential meaning. I can’t just abandon my social life and future to contemplate philosophical nonsense. Sorry, Madam, but if you have problems with that list, you can talk to the nobles.”

The Madam sighed with disappointment.

“Very well,” the Madam said. “And look, who do we have here? Is it the Orwell-boy and the bronze-medal?”

“How did you know it her?”

The Madam pointed at Cytortia. The goddess was freezing over a familiar presence. It wouldn’t be strange if the Madam worked out what was happening. The news of her setback in the Tengen Continent was the political inferno of the season. As someone who had a good approximation of that person’s personality, it wouldn’t be surprising for the Madam to reach the inevitable conclusion. With three Heavenly Daughters distracted in design in Starland, it was the perfect time to capitalize on the final Heavenly Daughter, and launch an attack from outside of the battlefield.

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The crowd suddenly parted as one of Cytortia’s worst trauma arrived.

“Hope you are doing well, wimp,” said Chuang Tianshang in a phoenix-patterned red-dress and golden decoration. “I need your help.”

Cytortia nearly tumbled back, but a hand caught her. It was the hand that reminded her she was no longer alone.

“My, my, that isn’t a very nice way to greet fellow student, Ms. Tianshang,” Rem replied. His tone shifted from jovial to deep-freeze. “Or do you prefer the loser of Palma Creek?”

A gasp went through the crowd. Every noble—men and woman, young and old—scrambled out of the blast zone. They couldn’t believe what was happening.

Did someone dare mock Chuang Tianshang?

Only deadmen criticize the 33 Stars. But even the suicidal did not taunt them to their face? Not only this man did such as that, but he also showed no fear while doing it.

What type of food did this man eat to have such fearless courage?

Shyme blinked. Lancaster reached into his waistcoat in case the situation turned dicey. The Madam looked at the boy, eyes sparkling with curiosity. Meanwhile, Cytortia was on the verge of crying in a mixture of fear and gratitude.

“You dare call me a loser?” Chuang glared at the mysterious masked man. “What gives you a right to do that?”

“I don’t know,” Rem replied with cold malice as his repressed alternate personality reared its head. “Maybe the fact that you are here.”

Chuang blinked. She couldn’t figure out the masked-boy in front of her. From the surface, she only knew two things: he was unafraid of her title or power, and he was lending a hand to Cytortia. Was he someone who got hired by Artio? Maybe someone Cytortia recruited? No. That was not possible, Cytortia couldn’t get a hummingbird into her faction, much less a human.

A much younger Chuang would already try to blast off his face with a bolt of fire, but she matured a lot since that nightmare.

“I will ask you again. Who are you to criticize me?”

“No one important,” Rem said. “I am just someone who is very much disgusted by you.”

Behind Chuang, a young man in a black priest uniform and white scarfed smiled as he watched the show curiously. His eyes—shaped so narrowly you couldn’t see its white—widened marginally.

Silence.

The entire room waited to explode. Chamomile was in turmoil, debating whether to pin Rem to the ground and forcing him to apologize. But Chuang beat her to it.

“You don’t have a right to be disgusted,” Chuang said. “It is like an ant yelling at an angel. You aren’t on the level to feel disgusted.”

“As a terrain, Palma Creek is a low ground with a running water source. Tai Hua was invading Frisnia, and your objective was to force her to retreat. That idiot also contributed most of her force into that attack with nothing behind. Knowing that, what did you do?”

Everyone froze stiff. Even Chamomile, who was about to rush in, stopped. The conversation was too compelling to interrupt.

Shyme suddenly paid attention. She was about to hear another version of Palma Creek from the man who made the plan to eliminate the 33 Stars. The Enma-girl couldn’t help but be curious about Rem’s version of that conflict.

Chuang stood silent. She couldn’t dismiss this mysterious man without looking weak in front of Venistalis’ nobles. Especially not when the said man looked like he was siding with Cytortia. Chuang found the subject laughable. Who would want to work with a weakling like Cytortia? But her opinion didn’t change the fact that she needed to crush this annoyance.

“I put my force on the other end of the creek and stake my life to take out Tai Hua,” Chuang stated. “Indeed, I failed to kill her, but I injured the 1st of the 33 Stars and left her force in tatter. I can’t see while that makes me a loser.”

“It makes you a loser because you commit your troop into an uncertain battlefield,” Rem debated. “Three options exist in every conflict. The first and the best is to end the battle before it begins. The second is to divide your enemy and conquer them one-by-one. The absolute worst is an open engagement. Guess what did you end up doing? Oh right, started a gamble to kill Tai Hua before dropping a barrage on her army. Let be real, you have no way to ensure the mission succeed, and putting yourself amid the enemy instead of leading your soldiers is downright irresponsible.”

Chuang listened, and it pissed her off.

"Then what would you do in my position?” Chuang challenged. “Do you have any idea how powerful she is? I risked my life to take down the threat to us all! Frisnia is still standing because of me! Who are you to criticize my leadership!? You should be grovel-”

“I attack Starland,” Rem cut her. “I would attack her territory in Starland while she marched into Frisnia.”

Silence

Chamomile and the rest of the nobles looked at Rem like they suddenly discovered the human was an alien from Pluto. Mystique, horror, and curiosity filled the ballroom. Even Cytortia—who knew Rem’s tactical mastery—blinked. He never shared that plan before.

“Your mistake is seeing war as a chess game,” Rem said. “You attempted to exchange queens while leaving the smaller pieces to chance.” Rem glared at the Heavenly Daughter of fire. “But warfare is not chess. International conflict is not a battle of attrition, but resource management. Your mistake lies in your tunnel-vision of sticking a sword through Tai Hua Tianshang’s worthless heart, and that makes you miss the big picture—your enemies’ fragile foundation.”

Silence

Rem continued before the stunned opposition and the captured audience.

“Tai Hua Tianshang had advanced across the Tengen Continent using raw momentum and sky-high morale. But those constant sprees of conquering and advancing left the territory behind her woefully armed. Let me tell you a tip so difficult you sisters can’t work it out: the soldiers you kill during your war won’t come back to life to defend those territories.”

Rem couldn’t help but buried the blade deeper.

“Why don’t you conquer the border-stronghold supplying Tai Hua’s marches? Cut her supply, then set the mother-fucking Palma Creek on fire. Sure, that might not kill her, but it will slow her down. And instead of massing all the allies in one place, you spread the mercenary forces to conquer all her territory in Starland. You could also task the Frisian to fortify their capital and its surrounding into a death ground for Tai Hua. Finally, when she is at her weakest, with no land to fall back to and no supply to feed herself, you surround her on that death ground with all the forces you can muster and sent her back home with only 10% of her men.”

Rem looked down on the Heavenly Daughter he had on the palm of his hand.

“O Heavenly Loser, tell me, how are you planning to take responsibility for your tactical oversight? What is your explanation for those mourning families and orphaned children?"

Chuang got no counter-argument.

This entire conversation was a mistake. It was a hard pill to swallow, but that man was her superior in tactic and war stratagem. If she took more of his criticism, her reputation would crumble to piece. She had only one option left. It was the option Chuang a few months ago would die before committing.

However, the Chuang today was not the one from a few months ago.

“I apologize,” Chuang nodded. “I admit I have much to learn.”

The entire crowd was confounded.

“What the hell!?” Shyme yelled. “Lancaster! Did Chuang Tianshang of all people apologize! I am not mishearing this, right?"

“Yes, Miss,” Lancaster watched. His eyes widened at the spectacle. “You have not misheard.”

Chamomile stumbled back and fainted into the arms of the equally fascinated Madam.

“Impossible!”

“Is she an imposter?!”

“Who the hell is that man to outclass a 33 Stars?! Which esteem academy did he graduate from!?”

But Cytortia took it the hardest, collapsing into the knee. Her mind went blank as a decade of trauma collided with the impossible sentence beyond her comprehension.

Chuang's usual answers to a contrarian was a godlike fireball, not an apology.

How did she change so much? It made no sense.

But contrary to modern expectation, Rem didn’t behave like a gentleman.

“Oh please,” Rem brushed aside the world-shocking apology as if it weighted like tissue paper. “Your action proves otherwise. You are not reflecting at all.”

“I already apologized.”

“Yes, I am not deaf, but anyone can say sorry,” Rem retorted. “Hence, I prefer to let actions speak. Your allies take a massive casualty, Frisnia is in chaos, and Lord Migras is in a coma. Instead of trying to remedy your blunder at Palma Creek, you are here in a pretty dress to extort the help from a girl much weaker than you. Is that the behavior that shows regret and gratefulness? Or is it the behavior of psychopathic narcissists who don’t mind sacrificing every soul in this room to achieve her aim? You do not change from your day of blasting a young girl who couldn’t fight for herself one bit. O-uncaring angel, the only change you make is learning how to hide your cruelty under an illusion of growth.”

Deep inside, Chuang knew he finished her. How did this happen? How did the simple mission to persuade a spineless alchemist into her faction backfired this badly? Why did this man side with Cytortia? What did she offer him?

“Excuse me,” said the blonde-hair girl. “I think that is enough mean words from you,”

Rem turned to meet Princess Velnia of Starland.