Miss Wang Weina, even your cousin won't do!

"So, your mission has come, Mandela. I need you to secretly eliminate this destabilizing factor."

Mandela frowned: "Secret purge? Aren't you putting me in a difficult position?"

"If you want our banquet to fall through, if the plan goes wrong, and if the deep pool is discovered ahead of time, then just eliminate it openly and honestly. Then you can go to the leader and apologize yourself. Or we can visit your grave next year."

Ahmoni said bluntly. Mandela's expression changed, she pursed her lips, but still nodded:

"I understand, I'll think of a way."

She glared angrily at the reeds again, then turned and walked away quickly.

Ahmoni looked at the reeds and noticed something was off about their expression, so she asked:

"what happened?"

Reed glanced at her, shook her head, and sighed:

"I don't think this is a good idea. Something very bad could happen."

Deeppool was already weak, and compared to Victoria, he was like an ant trying to shake a tree, a mantis trying to stop a chariot. Yet Deeppool was so arrogant towards Victoria...

What exactly are they relying on? Is it because they've secured a Duke of Champagne as an ally? Is it because their sister's magic is powerful? Is it because they have many Tara people supporting them?

How many dukes did Victoria have? What was one duke? The Duke of Normandy was tricked into rebellion by Deeppool, raising an army in the North, but ultimately made no difference. The sister's magic was strong, but the brother's was even more terrifying; Victoria had countless powerful sorcerers. Many Tara people supported them, but the Tara remained a minority; the majority were still Victorians.

But Reed couldn't stop it all. She was nothing more than a substitute, and her sister treated her terribly in front of outsiders. Mandela and Ahmoni completely ignored her opinions. She had no influence over Deeppool and was constantly under threat to her life.

She could only deal with the mission passively, avoiding anything she could and suppressing anything she could, trying her best to prevent Shenchi from committing any more killings or breaking any forbidden rules.

But this is ultimately limited.

"Something terrible is going to happen?" Ahmoni smiled. "Then let it happen. Isn't that what we're after?"

"The worse things get, the better. I followed the leader and Deeppool because I wanted to see the rebirth after the collapse of the Victorian order."

Reed turned its head away, no longer looking at the self-satisfied Ahmoni, but instead turning its gaze southward, towards Londinium.

"Ahmoni, can you tell me the time and place of the party?"

"No, Lady Raphsini. You want to save those two messengers, right? So it won't work."

Ahmoni replied:

"Don't worry, the fire in the deep pool will burn away Victoria's decay and bring victory."

Chapter Six: The War Begins (5000 words)

"Miss Saoirse, hello."

Colonel Kant extended his hand, introducing himself to the timid Tara woman before him.

“I am the special envoy from Londinhem regarding the Little Hills incident, personally appointed by His Highness the Prince of Wales. Miss Willow says you know a lot, is that true? If you do me any favor, could you please describe the situation to me?”

Saoirse opened her mouth, glancing fearfully at the menacing Hillshire garrison behind Kant. Kant noticed her look, turned around, and dismissed the guards surrounding him.

"What are you doing getting so close to an unarmed Tara woman with weapons? Get away!"

The adjutant, Hill, tried to explain with a forced smile, "No, Your Excellency, you know we—"

But he was interrupted halfway through his sentence by Kanté:

"As a senior colonel in the Victorian Empire, I hereby order you to leave this room. You are not permitted to enter without my permission! This is a military order!"

Hill's face stiffened, he gritted his teeth, and nodded helplessly, "Understood. You all, come out here together."

Only after he and his guards had left the room did Kant turn to look at Saoirse and Miss Willow, who was sitting beside her, her hands on Saoirse's, comforting her.

“Don’t be afraid, Miss Saoirse. I am a soldier of Victoria. You can tell me anything you know without hesitation. I promise I will reveal the truth to the public, I swear on my soldier’s name.”

Jenny chimed in, "Yes, yes, Colonel Kant is from Londinium, that Londinium! It has so many clock towers, castles everywhere, and the ancient treasures of King Drak are buried beneath Aslan's palace. Londinium is a place of knights, nobles, roses, and fine wine. You can trust him!"

Kant glanced at Miss Willow with surprise. He wanted to say that Londinium wasn't as retro as she described. As the city of a thousand cities on Terra, Londinium had long since reached the pinnacle of modernization. Those castles, more for show than practical use, had long been demolished and replaced with factories. As for King Drak's treasure... he really didn't know anything about it, but as far as he knew, the Aslan royal family had never mentioned anything about Drak's treasure before.

However, Miss Willow's words seemed to have a strangely positive effect. Saoirse relaxed a bit when she heard the boastful tone, and her eyes became more resolute as she looked at Jenny.

He pursed his lips, stood up, walked to the dining table, lifted the decorative vase on it, took out a small business card from under the vase, and handed it to Kant.

"My lord, that's all I can say. I trust you. Whether you intend to hand this over to some lord in Lentinium or to the garrison officer, please stop their madness."

"Madness?" Kant thought of the bloody deaths of more than twenty garrison soldiers he had seen yesterday while reviewing information about the riots in the military camp, and a look of seriousness appeared on his face. "You mean, those riots that killed more than twenty soldiers were indeed the work of the Tara people?"

Saoirse paused, her breath seemingly stopping for a moment. Jenny noticed her sudden tremor, patted her back with concern, and rested her head against Saoirse's face, softly comforting her, "Don't be afraid, don't be afraid, this has nothing to do with you."

Saoirse took a few minutes to recover. As if to bolster her own courage, she gripped Jenny's hand tightly and said resolutely:

"Yes, it's crazy. I know people are asking about us, but I really didn't know anything from beginning to end. I was just passing on some information, a few notes tucked in books, a few coded messages hidden in the miscellaneous section of the Little Hill Evening News. I thought this would make everyone safer because the garrison always bullies us... but I didn't expect them to be plotting something so terrible. Until I just heard the reason you came to Little Hill County."

"Yes. I don't want them to make any more mistakes. At first, I thought they just wanted to have a normal protest, but their behavior became more and more extreme. They kept mentioning 'Deep Pool' and 'Leader.' I don't know who they are, but... the lives of more than twenty soldiers... that's too much. There are good people among the soldiers... Jenny is a good person. She's my best friend, and I don't want her to get hurt, so I'm giving this to you."

As she spoke, she glanced cautiously at Willow beside her. Miss Jenny forced a smile and nodded at her:

“I’ve always thought that the Tara people and the Victorians are no different. No, there are no Tara people at all, we are all Victorians. You’re right, Saoirse.”

"And this is being deliberately instigated by someone."

Kant silently memorized the words "deep pool" and "leader." He then spoke to Saoirse...

"Do you want to come back to the garrison camp with me? The special envoy has his own living area, and the garrison will not threaten you. You met with us today, and if you continue to stay here, you may encounter danger."

Kant didn't explicitly state the source of the danger, but both Jenny and Saoirse were well aware of it. Saoirse hesitated, seemingly unable to believe that her compatriots would plot against her, and Jenny felt the same way.

Young people have too high a standard for rebels and separatists. If they dare to instigate separatism and rebellion right under the nose of the world's leading superpower, what wouldn't they dare to do? If they dare to incite a group of Tara people to launch a bombing attack on a military outpost, what wouldn't they do?

Since Saoirse herself couldn't make up her mind, Kant had no choice but to help her decide. He took out his phone and dialed a number for the delegation's entourage:

"Bring a few men with you. I have a witness here who needs protection. 33 Fulton Street, Tara. As soon as possible. And please inform Mr. Wenat for me."

Kant looked down at the thin yellow piece of paper in his hand, which contained only an address and a time.

"No. 109 Daba Street, 8 PM tonight."

....................

Victoria, Little Hillshire, 109 Dam Street, 8:00 pm

Sir Wenat and Colonel Kant, the two special envoys, met precisely in front of the three-story building. Compared to Colonel Kant, who was in good spirits after finding a crucial clue, Wenat's face was serious, as if he were burdened with worries.

As Kant went upstairs, he asked curiously:

"What's wrong? Why do you look like that? Aren't we almost done with our mission?"

“It’s not that simple, Kant, it’s not that simple. We’ve only grasped the surface.” Venat took a deep breath, his eyes filled with helplessness and worry as he looked at Kant. “I’ve already written the report for tomorrow’s Lentinium before I left. I’ll discuss it with you in detail when we get back tonight. It’s not convenient here.”

Kant raised an eyebrow in confusion, but since Wernart had said so, he didn't press the matter further. After all, this was the epicenter of the riots, and Kant was curious to see some unexpected people at the banquet.

"This building, which is the private property of Baron Bolton, was used to host a banquet about rebellion and subversion, and what is even more shocking is that so many people attended the banquet."

Wenat pushed open the door, and the uninvited guest, muttering to himself, stepped into the magnificent banquet hall. Luxurious chandeliers, melodious dance music, elegantly dressed nobles, and bustling waiters—if Wenat hadn't known the purpose of this banquet, he probably would have been eager to join in and relax his weary body and tense mind. But now, he not only lacked any leisure for such things, but looking at the nobles clinking glasses before him, his heart was filled with contempt and pity.

They despise those hereditary nobles who enjoy privileges but do not share the burdens of the nation, even stabbing the thriving empire in the back. They pity those whose faces they have already seen, destined to be recorded in tomorrow's report to Londinium, when the unicorns will come knocking on their doors to investigate.

A waiter noticed the two people standing at the door and approached them warmly, bowing and asking, "Greetings, guests. Tonight is a ball hosted by Baron Bolton. Do you have an invitation?"

“I am Venat, Earl, special envoy of Lontinim. He is Kant, Colonel, special envoy of Lontinim.”

Without invitations, how could they possibly have them? Could a family plotting a rebellion possibly deliver an invitation to the Imperial Envoy? Not everyone is qualified to stage a treacherous banquet. However, the current waiter, unaware of Baron Bolton's true purpose in holding the banquet, assumed it was just an ordinary gathering of wealthy people. Upon hearing that an earl and a colonel were coming, both bearing the title of special envoy of Lentinium, he was overjoyed and quickly ushered them into the hall, summoning two male servants to attend to them before hastily departing.

"Please wait a moment, I will go find the Baron now."

Werner nodded without saying a word, while Kant, who was not good at dealing with such aristocratic social interactions, remained silent. If no one had introduced him, he would have looked like Werner's bodyguard.

Soon, a slightly plump middle-aged man returned with a waiter. Baron Bolton, in his forties and somewhat balding, always wore a tall top hat regardless of the season. Upon seeing the two, he immediately bowed and said:

"My esteemed envoys, I apologize for not greeting you sooner. I thought you were too busy with official duties to attend such a small banquet, which is why I did not send you an invitation."

“Whether we participate or not is one thing, but you can’t not send it. If you don’t send it, how will you know I’m not participating? If you don’t send it and I refuse, how can I show that I’m hardworking, patriotic, and don’t enjoy having fun? This is a matter of attitude.” Wenat’s relentless questioning left Baron Bolton with no choice but to keep forcing a smile.

“Of course, we didn’t come here for fun. You’re hiding something from us, aren’t you, Baron?”

Wenat's long, thin eyebrows were deeply furrowed, and his narrowed eyes looked quite intimidating. Baron Bolton's smile faltered, and he quickly denied it:

"What could I possibly be hiding from Your Excellency? I honestly don't remember. Please tell me, and I'll tell you everything I know!"

Kant glared at him and snapped:

"Don't play dumb. We must have evidence to get us here. What is the purpose of this banquet? Tell me the truth!"

"To entertain relatives and friends and relax during these turbulent times," Baron Bolton immediately retorted, speaking quickly, clearly having prepared his answer beforehand.

Wenat's lips curled into a smile, and he countered with a question, echoing Wenat's words:

"A turbulent time? You think Victoria under Her Majesty the Queen was turbulent?"

Lord Bolton was stunned. He dared not accept such a accusation and immediately denied it, saying, "No, no, no, I meant the turbulent situation in Little Hillshire."

"The turbulent situation in Xiaoqiu County? You think that our arrival in Xiaoqiu County will not only fail to stabilize the situation, but will actually make it more turbulent?"

"No, no, no, with you two here in Xiaoqiu County, it will certainly be peaceful."

"Then why are you holding a banquet?"

Baron Bolton stammered, speechless. He stared blankly at Venat, seemingly regretting his decision to engage in a verbal contest with the envoy from Lentinium. The envoy, a scion of a prestigious family from Lentinium, had easily ensnared him. However, he dared not speak. If he admitted to collusion with the rebellion, not only would he lose his title, but given the Prince's past actions—the mass execution of nobles associated with him during the Duke of Normandy's rebellion—his own head would certainly be in danger.

However, this hesitant situation had already led Werner and Kant to basically conclude that Baron Bolton was involved in the matter. It didn't matter if they couldn't get any information out of him right away, and it didn't matter if they didn't say anything here. Once he was sent back to Lentinium and handed over to His Highness the Prince, they weren't worried that the professional interrogators in Lentinium wouldn't be able to make him beg for the truth.

"Give me the guest list for the party, and then come with us."

Kant said methodically, and Baron Bolton shook his head, trembling.

Where should we go? If we leave, will he even survive?

He glanced at the knife on the table, a surge of courage welling up within him. But Kant immediately noticed the purpose of his subtle movement, picked up the knife from the side, and slowly plunged it into the camel meat steak beside him, asking in an icy voice, "What do you want to do? Hurry up and do it!"

Perhaps wanting to prevent Baron Bolton from resorting to desperate measures, Sir Wernart spoke up:

"If you report it now, I can put in a good word for you during the report. If you can prove that you're not too deeply involved, it's not impossible for you to save your life."

Baron Bolton's courage vanished instantly. Even in the face of a life-or-death crisis, a nobleman as corrupt as him couldn't muster even a shred of courage to fight to the death. Now, with Sir Wenat's assurance, a sliver of hope rose in his heart, and he nodded as if grasping at a straw, turning around and striding quickly toward his office.

Wenat and Kanté exchanged a glance and nodded.

As Baron Bolton walked into his office, before the two could even breathe a sigh of relief, a piercing scream suddenly echoed through the room:

"No! No, I haven't betrayed you! Lord Mandela, please don't kill me—"

The sound stopped abruptly. Kant rushed into the room the moment the sound was heard, while Wernart immediately took out his phone, dialed the number of the mission's resident staff, and quickly stood at the exit, blocking the escape route of the rioting crowd while being ready to cover Kant's evacuation after he obtained the list.