The moment Mandragora departed, the banquet hall erupted into hushed, fervent chatter. The guests flushed with quiet excitement, practically beside themselves with the rare fortune of seeing their legendary leader in the flesh tonight.
A few of the noblewomen seemed so overcome they babbled incoherently. Jeanne couldn't tell if they were genuinely swept up in the emotion or simply putting on a dramatic show to draw attention to themselves.
Everyone's focus shifted to the grand entrance, waiting with bated breath for the promised arrival. Even Bagpipe leaned forward, her eyes wide as she tried to peer past the crowd. Jeanne, on the other hand, couldn't bring herself to care much about another big-tailed dragon.
She already lived with two of them under her roof. She had zero intention of adopting a third, so playing the passive bystander suited her just fine.
"By the way," Jeanne murmured, turning her head slightly toward the two soldiers beside her, "have you two heard anything about the local troops receiving intelligence on this place?"
Talulah had mentioned earlier that the military patrols in nearby sectors had mysteriously vanished. What were those soldiers up to? Where had they slipped off to in such secrecy?
"Naw, haven't heard a single peep, I haven't!" Bagpipe shook her head without hesitation, scanning the room as she spoke in her thick Scottish brogue. "Our relationship with those local lads is downright dreadful, so it is! They treat us like we've got the plague, I tell ye. We canna even get past the door to see their colonel anymore!"
When it came to the local garrison, Bagpipe clearly harbored a mountain of frustration. She had been holding it in for weeks, and having finally found someone willing to listen, she unloaded her grievances about the utter incompetence of the local leadership in one breathless, hushed torrent.
"Did you try warning them about Dublinn's forces or what they're building toward?" Jeanne asked quietly.
Their hushed dialogue was easily swallowed by the roaring chatter in the hall, making the crowded party a surprisingly safe cover for confidential talk.
"We brought up that ghost unit, aye," Bagpipe whispered back, her accent heavy and rolling. "Since tracking them down was our main directive from the higher-ups, ye see! But those local soldiers didn't give a toss, so they didn't! They doan't seem to care about much of anything! The garrison is definitely cooking up something in the background, but probing into that isn't our job."
It was a frustrating reality. Despite their noble intentions, Horn and Bagpipe had their hands tied. Their official Victorian military titles were a double-edged sword—every step they took within the city was met with subtle resistance and roadblocks from the local command. It was a miracle their unit hadn't been ordered out of the province entirely.
"Though what ye said makes a whole lot o' sense," Bagpipe continued, her eyes darkening. "That entire barracks smells right foul, it does. Especially that adjutant—acting like a total instigator and causing trouble for us at every turn! Cap'n and I are both suspecting he's an insider planted deep in the command chain, we are! The things he does and the access he holds match up way too well!"
While they lacked hard proof, once suspicion takes root, everyday details begin to look like pieces of a dark puzzle. Subtle irregularities were piling up into a mountain of circumstantial evidence.
Unfortunately, two visiting officers couldn't simply arrest a fellow Victorian soldier on mere suspicion—especially when he didn't report to their chain of command. Pushing too hard would trigger an open feud with the local garrison, and in the end, it was Horn's unit that would face disciplinary charges.
"Thankfully, Cap'n isn't gullible enough to trust those garrison folks," Bagpipe added softly, her Scottish twang coming through loud and clear. "After prodding them a bit, we're fairly certain those troops are the ones ye warned us about, aye! We tried sending reports back to Londinium, but our last few messages went completely unanswered. It's a proper mess, it is..."
As Bagpipe spoke, Mandragora re-entered the hall, escorting the white-robed leader into the room. This time, the mysterious woman had shed her white mantle for an elegant evening dress.
Yet the flame at the tip of her tail continued to burn bright, a clear sign that her control over her Arts remained unrefined and volatile.
"Is that really a Draco?" Bagpipe muttered under her breath, her eyes wide as she compared the woman to Talulah. "She looks entirely different from Talulah, she does! Ye couldn't even tell they're from the same race!"
"Different bloodlines within the same lineage, most likely," Jeanne remarked coolly, glancing at the woman before looking back out at the crowd. "We don't need to overthink the Draco bloodline."
The hall erupted into a frenzy the second the figure stepped into the light. Several nobles looked as though they were ready to fall to their knees and kiss her boots, their expressions twisted with fanatical devotion.
"Let me pull you two back into the shadows," Jeanne said, taking Bagpipe by the wrist. "If we don't look completely unhinged right now, someone is going to notice we don't fit in."
She led them back into a quiet, secluded corner, where they could observe the chaotic spectacle from a safe distance.
Luckily, the host had cleared out all the catering staff earlier to maintain secrecy, leaving an empty alcove originally meant for the servants.
"Are all these people Tarans?" Bagpipe asked, properly baffled by the sight. "Why on earth would they go mad over a single Draco like that? It makes no sense to me!"
Jeanne felt a similar sense of disbelief. The way these nobles stared at the Draco was even more unhinged than a Sankta seeing a divine manifestation. Such unprompted, overwhelming devotion felt entirely unnatural—as if they were overacting simply to prove they were true believers.
In truth, few in the room actually cared about ancient royal bloodlines. They were opportunists gathered for personal gain, hiding their greed behind a mask of zealous loyalty because they dared not show their true colors.
Amidst the theatrical madness, only the Dublinn officers and Jeanne's small group retained their sanity. They watched the spectacle unfold below, cold indifference gleaming in their eyes.
High above the main floor, on a private balcony overlooking the ballroom, Harmonie watched the crowd while quietly delivering a report through her communicator.
As her words revealed, this grand banquet had not been authorized by their high command. It was entirely the brainchild of Mandragora, who had acted on her own reckless initiative.
Yet the leader on the other end of the line seemed indifferent to the violation. So long as Mandragora didn't cross any major lines, her fierce, unyielding loyalty made her occasional foolishness tolerable.
"How soon can your main push begin?" the voice on the communicator asked, her tone grave. "It needs to happen quickly. Though I haven't uncovered all the details yet, several Steam Knights and a few neutral lords were moved out of Londinium under special orders a short while ago. This could introduce unexpected variables."
Harmonie's eyes widened slightly in genuine shock. The Steam Knights—the legendary steel vanguard of the realm—had left Londinium for the first time since the Lion King fell nearly twenty years ago? Why now?
"That is heavy news indeed," Harmonie murmured, her cheerful facade slipping slightly. "Do you know where they are heading?"
If those steel juggernauts intervened, no amount of subtle scheming or political maneuvering would save their plans from being crushed into dust.
If the Steam Knights discovered the truth behind Dublinn's operations and made a public declaration, Dublinn's support among the populace would collapse overnight. Neutral Victorians would turn hostile, and even many Taran sympathizers would abandon the cause.
Such was the weight of the Steam Knights in this land. In terms of public faith, not even the grand dukes held more sway than the solemn oath of a Steam Knight. Aside from the royal line itself, they were the true living icons of Victoria.
"I cannot say for certain," the voice replied. "His Grace Duke Wellington has been occupied with high affairs, but he shared their planned movement route with me. While it passes near County Hillock, their destination lies elsewhere. We shouldn't need to worry."
"'Shouldn't'..." Harmonie repeated the word slowly, a hint of concern lacing her voice. "That doesn't sound like your usual certainty, Leader. Leaving things to chance carries immense risk."
"What choice do I have? I do not command those iron monsters!" the leader sighed over the line. "No plan survives contact with reality without a few ripples. That is why we must act swiftly. I am currently en route to County Hillock as well. Let us hope everything proceeds without a hitch."
"May everything go according to plan," Harmonie murmured before cutting the connection.
As the line went dead, the mysterious, playful smile that usually rested on her lips vanished entirely.
"Steam Knights..." Harmonie whispered to the empty room, her eyes darkening. "What a troublesome thorn. I certainly hope they don't wander into our backyard."