"We'll use the attack as justification to accuse the tribal leaders of violating the peace accord. This will allow us to delay their release indefinitely."
Oswald hesitated. "But won't I be held responsible for this as well?"
"Claim it's a consequence of the emperor's absence," Michael replied smoothly. "Promise to restore order by returning to the empire and stabilizing the government. Once you're securely on the throne, proceed as planned."
As Michael's words sank in, Oswald's expression darkened with awe and fear. He had known Michael to be a shrewd strategist, but this level of cunning was terrifying.
Though Oswald had little regard for human life, the idea of orchestrating such an elaborate ruse to justify massacring innocent subjects left him uneasy. To garner public outrage, a few serf deaths wouldn't suffice—it would take hundreds of lives. The fact that Michael, lauded as a hero, could devise such a plan unsettled him deeply.
Sipping his wine with a relaxed demeanor, Michael noticed Oswald's trembling gaze and smirked inwardly. He's clearly misunderstood my intentions.
The thought that Michael would harm his own people was absurd. The casualties would be entirely fabricated; there was no need to actually harm anyone. And even if the tribes suspected foul play, they wouldn't dare investigate.
Michael saw no need to correct Oswald's misunderstanding. It suited him to leave the prince intimidated. Planting a lasting image of fear and reverence could only benefit their arrangement.
With the treaty secured, Michael rose from his chair. In his hands, he held a document that effectively bound Oswald to him. Neither Oswald nor the Pamir Empire would dare act recklessly now.
After parting ways with Oswald, Michael pressed on without a moment to rest, his pace quickening with urgency. The corridors of the royal palace, adorned with elegant decor, were shrouded in darkness. The royal ancestors depicted in the opulent tapestries on the walls seemed to glare at him. Inwardly, Michael mused:
"Staring like that won't change anything. The sun rises and sets, as it always does."
He hastened toward the floor where he and his loyal retainers were staying. With the Crown Prince agreeing to dispatch troops in two days, Michael knew he had to meticulously finalize the plan with his father within that timeframe. Soon, he arrived at the designated floor.
This area, arranged under the special consideration of the royal attendants, was reserved exclusively for him and his retainers, ensuring tight security. The knights stationed there tensed as they saw Michael approaching, quickly raising their spears.
"Greetings to our lord!"
Acknowledging their salutes, Michael strode further inside. As he neared his destination, the atmosphere in the corridor grew even more ominous. From inside one of the rooms, faint whispers could be heard—eerily reminiscent of a fanatic's hymn. Resolute, Michael knocked on the chamber door. Wisps of smoke and an unsettling energy seeped through the cracks, making the air feel heavy. Yet, in life, there are things that cannot be avoided.
The room's occupant sprang out the moment the knock sounded.
"Who dares disturb—oh!!"
The figure who emerged was Leonardo, now a demonic being, who had declared that he neither needed sleep nor sustenance and had thrown himself entirely into his research with fervent zeal. Perhaps this was why he continuously created astonishing inventions that defied belief.
"My lord! At this late hour, what brings you here…?"
A startled Leonardo hurriedly ushered Michael into the room. The interior felt like an entirely different world—peculiar contraptions, a chaotic fusion of metal and crystals, dominated the space. The central workbench was piled high with a dazzling array of tools and materials. Leonardo, holding a brush in one hand, greeted his master with unrestrained enthusiasm. His long golden hair shimmered eerily under the light of enchanted candelabras.
"Have you come to encourage this humble servant of yours? Oh, I am overwhelmed with gratitude! Tears—well, not actual tears, but metaphorical ones—are welling up!"
Having abstained from drinking anything for months, actual tears were, of course, out of the question. Since becoming a demon under Michael's influence, Leonardo had been experiencing a second golden age. With his bodily functions essentially dormant, he described himself as akin to a plant undergoing photosynthesis. Though he could eat, drink, and sleep if he wished, he found it unnecessary. Instead, he devoted every moment to his research, believing it to be the best way to serve his lord.
Leonardo, his pale face betraying his barely contained excitement, chattered incessantly in his usual manic tone.
"Unlike other demons, who arrogantly indulge in worldly pleasures, I operate solely on efficiency! All for the sake of serving you, my lord!"
Michael raised a finger to silence Leonardo's tirade. He then gestured subtly and spoke in a calm but firm tone.
"There's no need to state the obvious, Leonardo. Of all my demons, you're undoubtedly the most capable."
Leonardo's face lit up instantly, and he was about to launch into another torrent of words when Michael quickly cut him off.
"I need your remarkable skills right now. Tell me, have you completed the communication device I requested, modeled after the earrings?"
Leonardo's expression clouded as he hesitated—a rare moment for him.
Michael offered some words of reassurance.
"You haven't finished it yet? That's fine. Considering how recently you observed the earrings, it's understandable."
Leonardo frantically shook his head.
"It's not that I haven't finished! It's just... I've only managed to make two pairs so far. One was sent to the former Count at the estate, and the other... was delivered to him."
Michael's brow furrowed slightly.
"Him? Who do you mean?"
Leonardo shuddered, his voice lowering as if to ward off ill fortune.
"That would be... your maternal grandfather, my lord."
"Ah..." Michael immediately understood. For some reason—whether due to natural compatibility or the seal of approval from Alfred—all demons seemed to harbor an innate fear of his maternal grandfather. Leonardo, having narrowly avoided falling under Alfred's direct control, felt this fear even more acutely.
"You did well. But why didn't you hand it over sooner? It would've made communicating with Grandfather much easier. No matter—give it to me now, and it'll suffice."
Leonardo hesitated again, his demeanor growing increasingly uneasy. Sensing his servant's reluctance, Michael raised his voice slightly.
"Speak plainly. Is there something you need?"