Talulah shared the details of what she had experienced inside the warehouse with Jeanne—a memory that was far from pleasant, leaving her thoroughly infuriated.
When she had pursued the purple-haired Draco into the building, she found that her target had completely vanished into thin air. In her place, a single, highly suspicious communicator rested atop a wooden crate in the center of the room.
"Talulah Artorius... am I correct?"
An aged yet distinctly arrogant voice emerged from the speaker. Hearing it made Talulah feel as though she were being scrutinized by an unseen observer—evaluated like a piece of merchandise sitting on a shelf by someone immensely repulsive.
The sensation left a cold knot in her stomach. It wasn't that she feared the figure behind the device; rather, she harbored a deep revulsion for his voice, a soul-deep disgust almost identical to what she felt toward Kashchey.
Instead of replying immediately, Talulah began sweeping the surrounding area, attempting to locate where the purple-haired Draco had fled. A few seconds shouldn't have been enough for her target to slip far away.
"Unwilling to answer? Such an unlikable personality. You're practically a mirror image of Edward... no wonder..."
The mention of that name instantly caught Talulah's attention. Though she possessed few personal memories of him, the name Edward Artorius carried immense weight. Hearing it uttered in such a condescending tone shattered whatever composure she was trying to maintain.
"You had better take those words back," Talulah warned, her voice dropping into a dangerously cold register. "I don't believe anyone in Victoria holds the right to sit up there and lecture me about my father."
Her flare of anger caused even the unseen speaker on the other end to pause briefly. However, such a reaction was evidently within his expectations, and the silence lasted only a moment.
"A quick temper. But if my words offended you, I am willing to offer an apology. My intention is not to provoke a conflict. I simply wish to propose a partnership—one that holds considerable benefits for both of us."
Despite recognizing her fury, the man had no intention of abandoning his pitch. Whatever the odds, he was determined to make the offer.
Talulah refrained from launching into a tirade. She genuinely wanted to hear what these people coveted from her, and what price they were willing to pay to secure it.
She had long prepared herself for conversations like this. She knew full well that once her feet touched Victorian soil, avoiding these entanglements would be impossible. She would have to confront the greedy gazes fixed upon her and find a way to eliminate them.
That was one of the reasons she had come to Victoria in the first place—she had grown thoroughly sick of dealing with the endless stream of spies and persuasive agents sent to Chernobog by these factions.
"I understand that you have zero interest in claiming the Victorian throne," the voice continued smoothly. "However, your bloodline makes it impossible for you to ignore these matters entirely. So let us make a deal: transfer your rights of inheritance, along with the final relic of the Artorius line, into my hands. In exchange, name whatever you desire. Within the borders of Victoria, my influence is more than sufficient to grant it."
Talulah found the proposal somewhat unexpected. It seemed this old man differed from the envoys previously sent to recruit her. He cared little for her as an individual; what he sought was the political legitimacy she carried as a recognized heir to the Victorian crown.
In normal times, such legitimacy meant little, as whoever held actual power rarely bothered with abstract claims. But amidst total chaos, presenting a legitimate claim could grant immense leverage during political maneuvering.
"And you believe I'd be willing to crown you instead?" Talulah replied, her eyes narrowing as she glared at the device. "If you had any real conviction, you wouldn't have waited until now to step forward; you would have sent your own envoys the moment the others reached out."
She could envision the scheming figure behind the voice—an elderly political player convinced that every piece on the board was under his control. He was almost certainly the shadow benefactor behind Dublinn, which meant he was a Taran noble.
"It seems you've already found your ideal Draco sovereign," Talulah added, stepping back to survey the dark corners of the room. "Is it that woman who manipulates corpse thralls?"
Realizing she had little talent for tracking hidden targets in unfamiliar territory, Talulah chose to keep the conversation going. Still, she couldn't help wondering if her reliance on Jeanne had made her sloppy in situations like this.
"You may address her as Her Highness Eblana," the old man corrected, hearing Talulah refer to his figurehead so casually.
"Is that so?" Talulah scoffed, completely indifferent. Whatever the woman was called meant nothing to her; so long as they shared no meaningful bond, her identity was irrelevant.
"So then, what is your answer?" the old man asked, seeking a definitive response.
"I have one question," Talulah's tone turned stern, her eyes locking onto the speaker with an absolute, unyielding intensity that caught the man off guard. "Her answer will decide my stance toward your entire faction."
"When the plot against my father was set into motion years ago... were you and the people around you involved?"
A heavy silence descended through the speaker. The answer was self-evident. Anyone holding a position of high authority in Victoria back then could hardly claim to be innocent of that conspiracy.
"That was many years ago, and the circumstances were exceedingly complex..." the old man attempted to spin a diplomatic explanation, but his words rang hollow.
"I see. That's all I needed to hear," Talulah interrupted smoothly, brushing off her dust-stained skirt as she stood over the device.
"Then my answer should be obvious—"
In the next instant, violent red flames erupted across the warehouse interior. Wrapped in the sweltering heat, Talulah stared down at the communicator, her voice leaving no room for negotiation.
"I don't shake hands with the people who plotted my father's death. You can consider me unforgiving if you like, but if you want to make demands of someone like me, you had better prepare to pay the price!"
Just as the flames incinerated the device, a final distorted phrase squeezed through the receiver.
"I believe we will find common ground eventually... In a nation like Victoria, the choices available to you are far fewer than you think. We will..."
CRACK-MELT.
The device melted into ash.
"And that's how it went," Talulah admitted, leaning slightly against Jeanne with a weary sigh, a bitter smile touching her lips. "It feels like my enemies might end up being the entirety of Victoria."
"Your enemies are just a handful of ambitious nobles, not the whole nation," Jeanne said gently, patting Talulah's head with absolute confidence—a statement that might sound delusional coming from anyone else.
Threatening the Grand Dukes of Victoria through sheer force? Who could possibly harbor such audacity?
Yet coming from Jeanne, the words carried genuine weight. Talulah believed her friend truly possessed the power to back up such claims, nodding softly in agreement.
"Still, avoiding open war is for the best," Talulah murmured, wiping a drop of cold sweat from her brow. "We didn't come here to start an invasion. Two Ursans waging war inside Victoria... that's not a narrative anyone wants to broadcast."
She let out a breath, knowing she had promised back home not to cause a massive incident that would make other nations view Reunion as a threat.
Jeanne simply offered a mysterious, amused smile, leaving Talulah feeling strangely unnerved about what might come next.