A few days later, a piece of news originating from a peripheral district in County Hillock slipped into Londinium. What started as mere teahouse gossip quickly grew into a roaring storm.
The descendant of the ancient Draco Kings—a true heir of the Artorius bloodline—was heading straight for Londinium. People across the city were intensely curious. Why would a member of this royal lineage, long rumored to be completely extinct, choose this exact moment to return?
With the King hanged nearly two decades ago and the Aslan leaving no clear heir, this Draco seemed like the undisputed choice for the throne. She had every legitimate right to claim the crown!
Victorians, who had been without a ruler for almost twenty years, engaged in heated, passionate debate. Beneath an otherwise suffocating sky, the name Talulah Artorius brought a vivid splash of color to the city, giving everyday citizens something to whisper about with renewed spark.
Under these very skies, two figures set out on the long road to Londinium.
They had prepared thoroughly for the journey—not only to reassure the local Tarans, but also to confirm whether the last Steam Knight would depart before deciding their route.
"You're the one pulling the strings behind this rumor mill, aren't you?" Jeanne asked, skimming through the intelligence report from Rhodes Island regarding the mood inside Londinium. She turned to gaze at the unreadable Draco beside her, catching a subtle, satisfied twitch in her brow.
"So that's why you were messaging everyone recently," Jeanne added. "You spread the word before we even set foot on the road! Now practically all of Londinium is talking about you."
Jeanne raised an eyebrow. "Waren't you even a little worried someone might try to make you disappear along the way?"
The two were finishing off a heavy meal in a small diner run by a guy known simply as the Cook. A mountain of fries and fried scale-beast sat on the table between them, disappearing rapidly whenever either of them took a breather.
"Why should I worry when I have this little helper with me?" Talulah smiled, reaching out to pat a small head beside Jeanne. "She ate the fries I bought, so she has to protect me. Right?"
Sitting right beside Jeanne was a small dragon named Fafnir, happily devouring her feast. Upon receiving Jeanne's message, the young creature had rushed over to join them, and now she was practically purring with contentment over the hot meal.
Fafnir was the core reason Jeanne and Talulah were so confident about getting out of Londinium if things turned south. With a massive dragon by their side, even if an entire army surrounded them, they knew they could tear a path straight out.
"Honestly, if I were one of those Grand Dukes and I saw this dragon show up in Victoria, I wouldn't sleep a wink at night," Jeanne chuckled, gently petting Fafnir's head. The dragon leaned into her palm, overjoyed to be reunited with Jeanne after so long.
Talulah looked at the young dragon and sighed softly. Sometimes, ignorance really was bliss.
As a result, the noble Duke families turned all their attention toward County Hillock and the approaching Draco. Since a covert strike was out of the question, sitting down for a polite chat in Londinium seemed like the only sensible option. Why throw away lives when words could suffice?
Neither Jeanne nor Talulah had anticipated their plan working quite this smoothly. Expecting ambushes and assassins around every bend, they had spent the first few nights barely sleeping—only to find the entire trip eerily peaceful.
"This is almost too quiet," Talulah remarked from the back seat of their vehicle, hugging a sleeping Fafnir while watching the scenery blur past the window. "It's unsettling."
"Maybe someone spotted Fafnir on her way over?" Jeanne suggested with a smile.
Both women looked down at the soundly sleeping dragon with warm smiles. Who would have thought the little creature's arrival would ward off so many potential headaches?
As their car glided steadily toward Londinium, the scheming nobles behind closed doors were arguing until they were blue in the face.
Not everyone believed Talulah was coming to reclaim the crown, but given the massive public swell inside the capital, her ascension to the throne felt like a matter of time—whether she wanted it or not.
Yet the Grand Dukes were completely hamstrung. They couldn't march their private armies straight into Londinium, nor could they easily dispatch strike teams into the city. Worse, even if they could enter, they couldn't plug the mouths of every Victorian citizen spreading the news on the streets.
So, like a pack of starving wolves eyeing a hedgehog, they watched the tiny vehicle rumble along the open road. They desperately wanted to devour the prize, but they were terrified of getting pricked to death in the process—knowing full well that if they took heavy losses, the rival wolves beside them would happily turn them into dinner.
Meanwhile, in a grand estate that once belonged to a Victorian noble, Theresis stood staring out a window, his expression darker than a thundercloud. He had just received word of a woman who gave him an absolute headache.
A blonde woman—the very person who had shattered every single one of his tactical advantages back in Kazdel. Theresis could never forget her face; she was an absolute nightmare.
"First Kazdel... and now, right before we launch our move, she shows up in Londinium," Theresis muttered, closing his eyes in deep exhaustion. Was their operation leaked? Was that harbinger of ruin here because someone betrayed them?
Had a soldier under his command maintained secret loyalty to Theresa? Was one of the mercenary bands untrustworthy? Or had one of the court leaders he contacted decided to sell him out to Theresa after all?
"Your Highness," a masked Confessarius stepped forward, speaking with deep reverence. "I suspect this may genuinely be a coincidence. The woman beside her is indeed a Draco—a true bearer of the Artorius bloodline. Their presence here could very well be for personal matters. Whether she even knows we are here... remains uncertain."
The Confessarius swallowed hard, a flicker of residual dread in his own chest. Jeanne was not someone anyone wished to cross.
"Should we inform the Grand Dukes and the Gaullist remnants in the city that our plans are postponed?" the Confessarius asked cautiously.
"Impossible," Theresis shot down the suggestion immediately, shaking his head. "Delaying an enterprise of this scale invites countless variables. If we drag this out, exposure becomes absolute certainty."
"Then... if we end up crossing paths with them..." the Confessarius asked nervously, feeling somewhat embarrassed to admit his fear of a teenage girl.
"We handle it," Theresis said coldly, his eyes sharpening with a sudden surge of battle intent. "Why should we fear a teenage girl? Her greatest weapon was always those sky-dwelling beasts—and inside the crowded streets of Londinium, she won't dare unleash indiscriminate destruction."
In his heart, Theresis refused to accept defeat. He firmly believed his strategic intellect was far superior to that of a child. Without her massive dragon laying waste to the battlefield, her threat level inside the city walls dropped by several orders of magnitude.
With that thought, the Regent's eyes narrowed, a sharp, cold resolve locking back into place.