The next hour that followed was probably the tensest hour Dia had ever experienced in her entire life. In fact, her debut ball was probably not as nerve-wracking, which probably said something about how scary it was to wait for someone with a bunch of equally scared grapes. It didn’t help that the four statues standing around the living room seemed to be alive at this moment.

In the silence, Dia found herself reflecting over and over about what it meant to be threatened by a noble, and then wondered if she had done anything similar in her whole life. She was quite certain she hadn’t, but she couldn’t quite say the same for her father, or the previous Duke Lustre.

If even an organisation with a few mana-folders were feeling worried, what of the commoners, the vanillas? With only six skills that were largely lifestyle-centric at their disposal, could they even pose a threat to any military force?

That was, to be honest, a rather stupid question.

Sighing, she watched as Risti and Schwarz played a few rounds of Moon Phase, but the former was also clearly affected by how the current situation. Schwarz, to his credit, was still mopping the gameboard with his opponent, but even the bartender was giving off the impression that he was nervous.

The door to Farah’s room creaked open right before he could win his third successive game, revealing a haggard Farah without a disguise. Three pieces of paper the length of her forearm was clutched tightly in her hand, and her green hair was fairly unkempt, as if she had run her fingers through them over and over during the course of her deliberations.

Risti was the first to move. “Thank you for your hard work.”

“No need for thanks,” the countess replied. “This is as per our contract.”

“So?” Schwarz asked. “What conclusion did you arrive at?”

“If your intelligence holds true, we actually have a sixty percent chance of making it out of this confrontation unscathed,” said the countess.

Dia noted her rather subtle phrasing, which said absolutely nothing about winning, and frowned slightly. More importantly, the phrasing she used was incredibly similar to that of Claud’s instructions, which also talked about ‘making it out safely’. It could be a coincidence, but Dia didn’t quite believe that herself, and she glanced at the bartender and Risti, who were clearly thinking the same thing.

“What?” Countess Farah asked. “Do I have something on my forehead? I know I look like a mess, but there’s no need to glare at me like this.”

“We aren’t glaring,” said Risti. “Rather…how do I put it?”

“Let me handle it,” said the bartender. “Countess, you should take a look at this piece of paper. Claud left a bunch of arrangements behind. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier, but I didn’t want to influence your decision-making.”

“He left arrangements behind? But we’re talking about a complex situation here,” the countess replied. “Never mind, let me take a look at it.”

“Here.”

Her expression changed as she scanned through the instructions inside. “Is this a coincidence?”

“If you’re referring to the exact term Claud used — ‘making it out safely’ — I don’t think so,” said Schwarz. “Claud wasn’t someone obsessed with winning; he prioritises survival.”

“I’m somewhat disturbed by the fact that we’re using the same terms, but I suppose I should take a good look at the orange envelope before we decide on what to do next,” said Farah. “Besides, we can mail the red envelope later.”

“My thoughts exactly.”

Opening the orange envelope, Farah pulled out a letter. It was a nice and long piece of paper, which cut a stark contrast with the small, palm-sized note that had been slid inside the brown envelope. Curious, Dia tried to peek, but the countess wasn’t having any of it.

Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

“Sit, the three of you,” said Farah. “Let me look at this in peace.”

“Wait!” Schwarz called out. “Just read it here and now. If you go back into your room, our hearts won’t be able to take it.”

“Weaklings.” The countess rolled her eyes, before placing the letter and her papers side-by-side. Her eyes flitted from the letter to her notes over and over, with each pass making her expression darker. For some reason, Dia had a feeling that Farah was displeased or even angry, but Claud wasn’t the kind of person who would insult anyone in something as important as security.

After ten minutes of silent reading, in which time Dia tried to make her breathing as unobtrusive as possible, Countess Farah rubbed her temples and let out a sigh.

“So?” Schwarz asked, curious.

“I think his plan is rather feasible, but you guys should also take a look at what he wrote and compare it to my own thoughts first,” said the countess. Sliding it over to Schwarz and Risti, she rubbed her shoulders and curled up like a cat. Within moments, her breathing had deepened, and a calming air spread out from her napping form.

“We should keep our voice down,” said Risti. “Come over, Dia, and read this with us.”

Shifting over to the duo’s position, Dia looked through the countess’ notes first. Farah’s analysis could be boiled down to the listing out the prevailing conditions around Licencia, which numbered three, and then possible conclusions that could be drawn from them. The first was the presence of Tot, the second was the presence of the Spear of Fate, and the third was the sudden build-up of troops.

Under these three headings, Farah had drawn an arrow that led to the same bit: Count Nightfall was worried for his security. Little needed to be said about the Thief of Time, a being from the Third Godsfall. As for Zulan Patra, the Spear of Fate, he had a track record of demolishing a county.

The sudden build-up of troops was rather good evidence of his current insecurity, and although Farah noted that this could also be due to the upcoming duchy-level war, it was by no means an outcome exclusive to either cause.

A reasonable deduction would be that Count Nightfall was fearful of his security. According to Farah’s following analysis, if they simply holed up and showed no signs of retaliation or hostility, the count would eventually withdraw his troops. The countess believed that by display a ‘live and let live’ attitude, Count Nightfall would eventually withdraw whatever sieging forces around Moon Mansion.

All that, however, was predicated on Moon Mansion’s defences remaining impregnable.

Most of her analyses were echoed by that of Claud’s, although the latter didn’t talk about the recent build-up of Licencia’s military. Rather, he had focused on how Count Nightfall was gathering lifestones to becomes a tri-folder, something that Farah had only mentioned in passing.

“But what’s with that envelope?” Schwarz asked. “If we’re simply holing up, what good would enraging the count do?”

“Maybe it isn’t blackmail material,” said Risti. “But the only way we can find out is to open it.”

“Well, who’s willing to?” Schwarz asked.

“You.”

“You.”

Even Farah, who had been sleeping, opened her eyes for the briefest of moments and pointed at the bartender, before returning to her nap.

Schwarz’s eyes turned into little Moons. “You-you-you…you lot set me up!”

“Well, it’s your brew,” said Risti. “Surely you’d dare to drink it, right? Unless, of course, you’ve used unmentionable ingredients while making it.”

“Rubbish! It’s pure alcohol! I can’t say the same for the mixed brews and cocktails, but my water’s ultra-pure! It can even be set on fire!”

“So what’s the issue, then?” Dia asked.

The bartender shuffled his feet, before rocking back and forth for a few seconds. However, under the curious eyes of Dia and Risti, he eventually turned away and mumbled, “If I drink anymore, I might suffer from some health issues.”

Dia blinked. “Health issues?”

“Drinking too much does harm the body,” Risti mumbled. “It’s something you see amongst the older one-folders, who think their body is infallible due to having a mana circuit.”

“Exactly,” said Schwarz. “If a bartender can’t drink when he really needs to, what right does he have to call himself a bartender? Might as well close shop or something. I need to ensure that I can last for at least sixty years, or else my patrons won’t have a watering hole anymore.”

“Oh.”

“Never mind. Forget it. I give up,” said Schwarz. “You two can’t even hold normal drinks. Give me that.”

Reaching out for the red envelope, the bartender examined it. However, it was a different kind of envelope, and the bartender had to tear it open instead. Dia's eyes vision blurred for a moment as a small strip of paper fluttered out, along with a letter that looked rather important. The bartender glanced at the strip of paper, his expression turning weird a moment later.

“Well, it seems that there’s a reprieve for me…although I couldn’t say the same for the two of you.”

He tossed the slip of paper at them.

“Enjoy a glass of pure water from the bartender of Dragons Drinking Deserts,” Risti read out loud.

Her face blanched, and Dia found herself shivering.

“Wait,” said Dia, “there’s still more!”

Risti glanced at the small line of words at the end. “After this, give the bartender there a lifestone, and get him to buy Claud Primus a barrel of apple juice.”

“I don’t have lifestones,” Dia replied automatically.

“Nor do I.”

“I sold them off already.”

The three glanced at each other, and Dia said, “Let’s focus on who’s going to drink the pure water first. On the count of three. One, two…three!”

Three fingers pointed at the sleeping countess, who was a moment too late to respond.