The air in the tent was thick with tension.
Despite constant bickering, they had gathered around one table. But an agreement was still out of reach—and the worst part was the suspicion. Intrigue—Konrad was out of his element.
Three formidable women flanked him—but he could only trust one: Eyna.
Not that it was a high bar. She had the basic requirements.
Loyalty, two hands, and no history of trying to curse or murder him—unlike the competition.
In three days, she kept the caravans coming and even stitched a flag for him. It bore the kitsune symbol he had come up with on a whim, turning the seven-tailed fox his official insignia.
It was Konrad's influence that got things started—but her effort kept things together.
The tribesmen no longer starved, despite the merchant's distrust.
He only reached a fraction of them back in Haiten. And he asked them to feed the same bandits who attacked them earlier. Considering this, things turned out well.
But a single misstep would shatter what little trust they've built together.
And Eyna had her limits, too. For all her loyalty, she was still a human—not a demoness or an angel. The other two were a straight-up menace.
Their powers and secrets were still beyond his understanding.
Even if Lily claimed to take his side now, he couldn't bring himself to trust her. And while he doubted Father Alastair would run back to the Church—
"Why bring a priest into a Tribal Council?" Nimrod's arms folded, tone sharp.
"Why does this council need a brain-dead leader?" Konrad retorted.
The elders exchanged wary glances.
The tent smelled of old leather, damp earth, and mistrust. Shadows danced across the fabric, doubling every scowl and eyebrow twitch.
If it were only bodies that crowded the place—but it was full of ambitions.
Konrad almost saw the wheels turning in those heads, everyone having their own agenda.
"The spirits chose me," Nimrod announced, his voice booming with familiar, hollow zeal. He jabbed a finger at Konrad. "I have won our duel, and you are lucky I left you alive."
"You won?" He raised an eyebrow. "That's not how I remember it."
Nimrod turned to Gabrielle for support, making Konrad's blood boil.
"She can speak for my destiny. She promised—"
"I'll handle my fiancée," Konrad said, tone icy. "The spirits spoke to me, too."
"Impossible." His twin slammed the table. "Your blood has a curse, that is—"
"It had a curse, and not from the spirits, by the way," Konrad shot a glance at the girl in blue.
Gabrielle sighed, voice measured.
"It wasn't a spirits' curse. A transcendent being from far beyond this world—Lucifer—cast it."
Konrad tried not to wince at her vague answer. She left out the part where she was Lu's sister—and the one who'd demand this curse. The tribesmen didn't need to know that.
But he still simmered, waiting for her to be honest for once.
"All that curse did was seal my mana." He drew his adamantite sword. "No more constraints. Ask the priest how I got the ore for this blade, the famed Welf Haraldson forged for me."
"Or how his twin almost got flattened, nya," Lily chirped, tail swishing.
Nimrod bristled. "That duel wasn't a loss."
"Want to know how close you were to death?" She grinned. "You almost became a puddle."
The duel had ended as a draw—at least by the angels' tally.
Now, with his memories restored, Konrad knew he deserved victory. Too bad the elders needed more convincing. Lily's help was nice, though, but to trust her? Not a chance yet.
The tent rustled with whispers as Nimrod faltered.
The spirits insisted on Konrad putting him back on the right path, but whatever that meant?
If he failed, he could lose his recovered memories again. And he had only found out that he knew Lily from his previous life.
If he wanted any real control over his fate, he had to protect those precious fragments.
For now, he had to play every side: spirits, angels, and whatever other cosmic meddlers showed up.
"Higher powers mean nothing right now." Konrad's gaze swept the table. "Gods could back you, and your attack on Halaima would still be a disaster."
Nimrod's jaw clenched. He stared at the floor.
Konrad's eyes met Eyna's steady gaze.
"Your blessing serves you alone. Stop sacrificing others as shields—I won't allow it."
The elders muttered among themselves.
"I don't care who rules the tribes," he continued. "I will protect you all, and I will retake Halaima—not raze it. Stand with me if you won't stand against me."
"I'm not bending my knee to any Church-boy." Nimrod sneered.
Konrad held his stare.
"Nobody asked you to. Stay out of my way." He turned to the elders. "Your people starved. I struck deals with the merchants. Guard them, and they'll keep you fed—on my reputation."
"How long before your promises run dry?" asked an elder with a cloudy eye.
He understood their suspicion—trust was worth more than words.
"The king granted me the right to tax these traders. My own power birthed adamantite, enough to sustain you until I reclaim my birthright."
"Why trust anyone sent by the king?" one elder thundered, fist rattling the table.
Paranoia spread through the council, and sweat trickled down his back.
Facing down mercenaries was easier than a panel of grumpy elders. And he still didn't have more than a droplet of mana back then. If this turned into a duel, he might have preferred it.
"You trusted Lord Erwin, who served the king, too. Kasserlane itself isn't your enemy—and we can't fight the whole world at once, anyway. But the Inquisitor—he tried to cage me, too."
"A-and me as well," Father Alastair managed, voice trembling but determined.
The elders shot the priest wary glances.
"Look around. My allies—tribes, nobles, merchants—stand ready. I will bring you wealth and a home once I reclaim Halaima. What has Nimrod's blessing given you?"
"I united the tribes here," his twin fired back. "I fought our enemies."
"The Inquisition ruled by coin," Alastair said, more confident now. "They guarded roads for merchants. Otto never cared for the tribes. Your fight shifted everything."
Konrad nodded.
"I shattered their monopoly with my deals. The Church will strike back."
"So you admit you endangered the tribes yourself?" Nimrod pushed, voice rising.
"I've dealt the Church more damage in one day than you managed in months," he challenged his twin. "When their revenge comes, I'm not leaving."
"Master freed the Black River tribe, too," Eyna interjected, pride glowing in her purple eyes. "He cut down every mercenary—the Rabid Crows—risking his own life."
The only one here he could trust—though if she'd quit calling him 'master,' that'd be progress.
His words broke the silence.
"Lead if you wish, but don't fight me. And stop wasting lives. Learn to protect them instead—let me show you how. What I offer is a helping hand, not rivalry."
A few elders nodded, relief flickering across their faces. Nimrod stayed silent, jaw taut.
Gabrielle folded her hands, lips curving in that overly-serene way.
"Fine words, my dear husband-to-be," she said, her voice too sweet. "I trust you'll forgive my doubts, too—and remember who our real enemy is."
Konrad stifled a groan.
Figures—nothing like an archangel's warnings to sour his victory.