Chapter 35 : Negotiation
Liliane’s enchanted carriage was less a vehicle and more a mobile miniature golden palace.
Ailiya followed Liliane aboard, sinking into the impossibly soft velvet cushions, nearly melting from comfort.
The carriage’s interior was lined with costly deep purple satin embroidered with silver winter wolf motifs. The velvet curtains, edged with tassels adorned with tiny mana crystals, shimmered under the magical lamps’ glow.
The space reeked of decadent wealth.
…Nice.
Ailiya’s overworked soul began to dissolve in this luxurious haven.
They sat facing each other, the carriage gliding smoothly under magical propulsion, barely a jolt felt.
Liliane closed her eyes upon boarding, hands elegantly folded on her lap, likely resting for the critical negotiation ahead.
Ailiya, restless, let her eyes dart around like a curious country mouse, greedily taking in every opulent detail.
Just as she nearly reached to touch the exorbitant curtains, Liliane’s cool voice broke the silence. “Ailiya, has the bulletin board incident affected your life?”
Startled, Ailiya glanced around, realizing the sound came from the silver-haired girl opposite, whose steady breathing had made her seem asleep.
“Uh… about the same as the start of term,” Ailiya answered honestly. “People stare either way.”
Her commoner status made her a rarity at St. Freya’s.
Liliane’s lashes fluttered slightly, eyes still closed. “No one’s troubled you?”
Ailiya’s lips curled smugly. “Who’d dare?”
After she and Aurora had publicly exposed Clarissa’s misdeeds to the entire school, most noble girls steered clear, fearing their own secrets might be “unboxed” by this reckless commoner.
The barefoot fear no shoes.
Their avoidance proved it.
“Good,” Liliane said faintly, falling silent again, her breathing so soft she seemed like a divine-crafted doll—beautiful, precise, and lifeless.
Looks like a doll, moves like a doll, now even breathes like a doll. Was she a robot in her past life? Ailiya mused.
Gazing at Liliane’s serene, angelic face in the soft light, Ailiya wanted to ask something.
Vice Principal Melissa had mentioned that Liliane used her family’s influence to quash Clarissa’s clan’s retaliation.
Why protect me?
The urge to ask surged but was quickly suppressed.
Melissa had sworn her to secrecy.
Asking now would betray the Vice Principal.
Swallowing the heavy question and a flicker of gratitude, Ailiya mimicked Liliane, folding her hands neatly and gazing out at the bustling capital scenery flashing by.
“…Thank you,” she whispered, so soft it dissolved into the air.
Across from her, Liliane remained still, as if she hadn’t heard.
Ailiya followed Liliane to an unassuming stone building in the capital’s commercial district—a secret Winter family hub for remote magical meetings.
The room was pitch-black, visibility zero.
“Why’s it so dark?” Ailiya muttered, trailing Liliane cautiously.
As the heavy stone door boomed shut behind them, the room transformed.
Glowing blue mana circuits snaked from the ceiling and walls like living vines, crackling faintly, converging on a massive, transparent crystal orb floating at the room’s center.
Tiny, star-like mana particles began to drift in the darkness.
A translucent chair of pure mana rose beside the orb.
Liliane sat, placing a slender hand on the orb and chanting an ancient, intricate spell.
The mana circuits blazed, and a blurry image flickered within the orb.
Seconds later, it sharpened, revealing the other side of the meeting.
A rugged, northern-style room appeared, with a roaring fireplace and a massive beast skull on the wall.
A burly man with a bushy beard, clad in heavy armor, sat dominantly, his hawk-like eyes glaring through the orb with unmasked pressure.
Ailiya’s heart shrank under his glance.
“Northern Archduke, Oswald von Edmund,” Liliane introduced calmly. “His ancestors were war heroes during the kingdom’s founding. He earned his title through battlefield merits.”
The orb transmitted the Archduke’s booming voice, like a war horn. “Good afternoon, Winter girl. Didn’t expect you today.”
“Good afternoon, Archduke Edmund,” Liliane replied evenly. “It’s an honor to speak with a pillar of the kingdom.”
Despite their formal noble courtesies, Ailiya sensed the sparks flying from their clashing gazes.
The Archduke’s eyes shifted to Ailiya, shrinking behind Liliane. “Oh? Another new maid, Lady Liliane?” he said with a teasing edge.
“This negotiation isn’t complex,” Liliane replied coolly. “It’s sufficient to train a new maid.”
With that, a smokeless war ignited.
“Regarding the new season’s mana crystal export tax, we propose a three percent increase,” the Archduke began.
“Rejected. Per the kingdom’s century-old agreement with the North, tax adjustments cannot exceed one-point-five percent. Ailiya, project Volume Three, Article Seven of the agreement.”
“Hmph, agreements are dead; people are alive! This year’s northern blizzards raised mining costs…”
“Cost risks shouldn’t fall solely on the capital. Didn’t the treasury allocate blizzard relief funds last month? Ailiya, pull up last month’s financial report.”
Their rapid-fire exchange covered tariffs, mine ownership, transport routes, and magical contract loopholes—terms so technical Ailiya barely understood.
Her sole role was to act as an emotionless tool, instantly retrieving the correct document from a mountain of papers and projecting it onto the orb via the control panel.
She felt like a mortal caught in a divine duel, scrambling breathlessly.
After an hour of fierce debate, the negotiation stalled over the core tax rate, neither side yielding.
“Winter girl, your sharp tongue never changes,” the Archduke grunted.
“Archduke Edmund, your stubbornness is equally renowned,” Liliane replied calmly.
“I won’t budge,” he declared with iron authority. “I’ll make you yield.”
“Likewise,” Liliane said, her lips curving coldly. “I’ll convince you.”
She waved, cutting the magical connection.
The orb’s image vanished, the mana circuits dimmed, and the room sank back into darkness.
Liliane rose, striding toward the door without a glance.
Ailiya, drained to her core, collapsed in a corner like a wrung-out rag, limbs splayed, too exhausted to move a finger.