Delegating was important. It was also profoundly annoying.
Jean knew her standards weren't exactly achievable to most others, even to the surprisingly capable agents that Damien was recruiting and training for the most unconventional missions.
That didn't mean she appreciated waiting around, drumming her fingers uselessly while others had all the fun.
"My lady, why don't you have another cup of tea? The kitchens informed me they received a wonderful brew from the latest elven ship. I'm sure that will settle your nerves." Demetria asked, lips pursed even as she refrained from fussing over her.
Jean was momentarily tempted to refuse, if only to share some of her misery, but repressed the instinct. She was slowly coming to learn that she wasn't exactly a wonderful person under all the angst at being trapped in Mellassoria, but at least she had enough control not to take it out on one of the few people she knew loved her. "I'll have a cup, then. Thank you, Demetria." She sighed.
The reserved smile she got back was worth containing herself.
As her servant-turned-secretary left the room, Jean was left alone to contemplate her position. Since she had instructed the two agents to go first and handle the communication orb, she couldn't exactly complain about having to wait around, but something nagged at her.
Yes, it was true that going scorched earth on all confirmed traitors without first isolating them would likely lead to significant intel being destroyed and passed on to the kingdom, but she had different ways of preventing such a thing. Her abilities weren't just related to esoteric magics and flashy war spells. She could cast city-wide wards to enact her will in ways no one else could manage.
And yet, here she was, waiting for two people infinitely less capable than her to do their part.
It's that hag's fault. Why did she have to convince me this was a good chance to show my restraint? Yes, I might have gone a bit overboard with the initial experimentations, and yes, the city had enough of a scare with the battle between the Ascended, but that doesn't mean I should bind my hands during such a critical operation.
The more Jean thought about it, the more annoyed she got at having agreed to stay out of it.
She stood up abruptly, chair scraping against the floor with a sharp sound. Her mind was racing, too fast, too unsettled to remain seated any longer. She began pacing, pushing her hair back from her eyes. The ornate room, filled with shelves of books and old maps pinned to the walls, felt stifling—an echo of the constrictions placed on her.
Waiting wasn't something she was good at anymore. Once a caged bird was let out, they rarely wanted to go back in.
Trying to prevent herself from doing something foolish, her mind latched onto what she needed to do once the signal came in that communications were down. First was the city-wide ward she had set up earlier, a carefully layered spell designed to block unauthorized teleportations. It wasn't foolproof—no spell truly was—but it would buy her time if any Champion-tier mage from the capital suddenly decided to interfere. Even they would struggle to break through the barrier without her noticing.
Secondly, she fortified key locations around the city. The Academy, orphanages, barracks, markets, the port, and, of course, the castle—every important building in Mellassoria was under heightened protection. Wards were laced with deadly countermeasures, and patrols increased without making the populace aware. Though most didn't realize it, the city was a trap.
And then there was the list.
A mental note burned into her mind of places she needed to strike. The homes of specific merchants and noble estates that had been funding secret operations against the Revolution, the adventurer guild, where a few more daring spies were hiding. There were traitors lurking everywhere, even behind respectable facades. They thought they could work against her in the shadows, but the city would finally be rid of the vermin that infested it after tonight. It would be a reckoning.
As she paced, her instincts gnawed at her. Something was missing. Jean frowned, growing more agitated the longer she failed to pinpoint the problem.
Old Lia had managed the operation carefully thus far, keeping everything on the down low. The hobgoblin was precise, methodical, a master of manipulation, and though Jean had been given command over this final stage—due to her overwhelming magical power—she couldn't shake the feeling that she was still in the dark about something. Lia wasn't the sort to betray her, not given the consequences of such an action. But her worry wasn't about possible betrayals. It was about not knowing something crucial.
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It didn’t help that Jean knew she didn't have the entire plan, which irritated her more.
She stopped pacing and stood by the window, hands clenched into fists. Her reflection in the glass stared back at her, pale face and eyes narrowed with frustration. There was no reason Lia would hide something vital from her at this point, was there? Jean had the firepower to annihilate any resistance they faced—she was the key to this operation. So why did she feel like a pawn in a game she should be controlling?
The more she thought about it, the more her anger simmered.
Too irritated to stand around uselessly any longer, Jean reached for the window latch and pushed it open. The cool night air swept into the room, a welcome reprieve from the stifling atmosphere inside. She didn't need to wait for the signal. She could feel the magic in the city like threads woven through her fingers. If something was off, she would know.
With a slight flex of her will, her body lifted from the ground, [Flight] wrapping around her like an old, familiar cloak. Without a word, she soared out into the night sky, leaving the room behind.
Just as she disappeared into the darkness, Demetria entered, carrying the promised tea. The older woman sighed when she saw the empty room and set the tray down gently.
"Always restless," she muttered, shaking her head as she cast [Stasis], glad to have learned at least that, glancing out the window where Jean had flown off. "One day, that impatience will be her undoing."
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Jean flew through the night sky, cloaked in magic so subtle even the sharpest diviners would miss her passing. Her presence was a ripple in the fabric of reality, masked by a weave of spells—each more intricate than the last—designed to shield her from both sight and wards. The city spread out beneath her like a sleeping beast, its streets quiet but simmering with unspoken tension. Even though the citizens weren’t informed of the operation, they likely realized something was going on because there was almost no one out and about.
She came to a halt above the sprawling manse where her agents were currently working. Below, the stone walls of the estate glistened faintly in the moonlight. Most windows were dark, but the quiet was deceptive. A twitch of her fingers summoned an invisible circle around her hand, and she released it into the air, letting it expand outward. The spell she'd designed—an esoteric twist on standard divination—wouldn't trigger any magical defenses, nor would it alert those inside. She made it specifically to circumvent a scryer’s limitations for moments like this.
Her senses unfurled, expanding into the estate. She felt the walls, floors, and wards layered like a spider's web across specific points of the property. It took a moment before the agents' movements registered—a slight displacement of air, the faint scrape of clothing against the stone. They were surprisingly good, and only her familiarity with their signatures allowed her to eventually find them.
There. The crawlspace just beneath the roof.
Jean's lips twitched in satisfaction as she followed them, creeping toward the room with the heaviest wards. Smart. Damien had chosen them for a reason. They avoided going directly to the study, likely because of the two dozen signatures sitting around a table next to it.
Her eyes narrowed as she focused on those, and the knot of unease that had been building in her chest unraveled. She finally knew what had been nagging her.
These weren't ordinary nobles—nothing like the rabble she had been forced to deal with so far. Their auras were too familiar, and now that she paid more attention, too potent. Expert and even Master mages, a whole dozen of them, seated casually among fellow nobles in the middle of Treon, scheming against the Revolution.
Jean didn't struggle with the realization. She was too angry for that. These were the same people she had taken under her banner, Tower mages she'd trusted after they pledged cooperation with the Revolution.
That's what had been gnawing at her. Once again, she had trusted too quickly. While most of the Tower's mages had fallen in line with the Revolution after Treon had been taken, they had never sworn any of the binding oaths that the Tower Master had to. No loyalty was required of them beyond what they freely offered. She had thought the knowledge she was offering to be enough. It was her mistake—her oversight—that had let this cadre remain free to operate.
And now they sat in the dark, plotting her downfall.
Lia and Damien hadn't seen it coming because it wasn't their responsibility. Jean had been the one to command the Tower's mages, to fold them into her ranks as she had done with so many that they encountered in their march to the city. She should have known better. They were more dangerous than the petty lords and council members she'd been focused on eliminating. The worst part was that she had practically handed them the freedom to act.
She ascended higher into the sky, distancing herself from the gathering below. Her breath came steady, her heartbeat calm despite the turbulent emotions. She was angry, but not rattled. The air thinned as she rose above the clouds, and she reached into her magical reserves, drawing on the latent power she'd been holding back. It was time to prepare.
The spellwork began with a flick of her wrist, mana circles layering on top of each other. Each spell was tightly controlled, masking the destructive force she was summoning. This wouldn't be a fight like any other. These mages may know many of her spells and methods, but didn't know everything.
A mantle of thousands of miniaturized wards settled on her shoulders, capable of resisting everything a mage below Ascended could dream of. The starlight slowly faded from above her as she collected it, caressing it with her hands as she molded it into a focus beyond what any other mortal could hope to create.
Hundreds of thousands of iterations of ordinary defensive enchantments, some aimed only at protecting her while others twisted enough to act as moving artillery, were cast in the span of a few minutes.
As she went through the motions, her mind raced through the plan. The moment the two agents disabled the communication orb, the mages would know. The wards around the estate would flare, alarms triggering, and they would have mere seconds to respond. She would have to act fast, striking hard enough to neutralize them before they could try anything.
I'll also have to contain myself enough to avoid excessive collateral damage and to leave a few intact enough to be questioned. I never thought not killing someone would be an annoyance.
She glanced down at the manse, the sight below far more tempting than before.
Her mistake was significant, even though she'd have words with everyone involved in the planning stages that thought to keep her in the dark, but she had one chance to make things right.
Jean closed her eyes, letting the spells settle around her, the web of magic growing tighter, more deadly.
She was ready.