Chapter 196: The Persimmon War
Kian was still doing his bashful routine when Lady Nightingale smiled sweetly and said:
"So — would you be willing? To be my husband~?"
Kian's expression went flat immediately.
"Enough of that. A hundred million Agri-Scrips — that's not a trivial sum even for a major noble house. So what do you actually want from me?
And while we're at it — your household fields six hundred powered armour troopers. When you were trapped in the Grand Theatrum, why didn't anyone come for you?"
This was a question Kian needed answered before he committed to anything. Get entangled in noble family politics without understanding the terrain, and even a Baron could end up as collateral damage in someone else's war.
Lady Nightingale's expression shifted. The warmth faded into something more tired.
"The persimmon war. It's always the same story.
My father — Campella the Thirteenth — is over three hundred years old. He's been bedridden for more than a decade. The Rejuvenat physicians have told him that without extensive cybernetic replacement, his body is at its end.
My father finds the idea of being converted into a machine deeply repugnant. He has chosen to die as a man.
In the meantime — his wife. My stepmother. A young noblewoman. Who, during my father's long illness, successfully conceived and delivered my beloved little brother. The boy is ten years old."
Kian gave a slow thumbs-up.
"Your father is genuinely impressive. Three-hundred-year-old dried fruit and he still produced juice."
Lady Nightingale continued without acknowledging this.
"Since my stepmother produced her son, I have not been permitted to see my father. For ten years she has found reasons — always different reasons — to keep me from his chambers. I only know he's still alive because the vital monitor he gave me still shows a signal.
As for my brother — at ten years old, he already conducts himself as the head of the household. He has announced his intention to marry me off. Because once I'm married out of the family, I lose all claim to succession.
The old retainers have moved to my stepmother's side. I have been, in every meaningful sense, isolated within my own house for the past decade."
Her expression went quiet.
Kian reached over and patted her shoulder.
"A father sick in bed, a wicked stepmother, a troublesome little brother tearing the family apart.
A lonely daughter, locked away from dad, her inheritance slipping through her hands.
No coin to spend, no one who cares, exiled down to the Sump to be cut down there.
Frozen in the rain, cold to the bone, dancing at the discothèque all alone."
Lady Nightingale stared at him. Her chest rose and fell with visible indignation.
Kian stepped back and made a zipping gesture across his mouth.
Lady Nightingale exhaled.
"The situation is as I've described. I am currently a lamb waiting to be slaughtered — my fate depends entirely on my stepmother's calculus.
If she decides to clear the way for her son without hesitation, she'll have me killed.
If she's concerned about appearances, she'll have me married off to some minor noble on the Spire's outer edge, and that'll be the quiet end of it.
Either outcome waits on my father's death. Nothing is decided until then."
Kian thought about it practically. "In terms of self-preservation — could you not simply arrange your own match? Those three suitors outside, for instance. Marry one of them voluntarily, relinquish your succession claim yourself, and you're no longer a threat worth eliminating."
Lady Nightingale shook her head with a faint smile.
"I have no interest in becoming a minor noble's wife and spending the rest of my life as a breeding vessel."
Kian's eyes narrowed.
"You want to fight for it."
Lady Nightingale's eyes sharpened.
"Yes. I want to fight."
Kian was quiet for a long moment.
"You want to recruit me. Have me ready when your father dies, so I can serve as your muscle in the succession."
Lady Nightingale nodded.
Kian turned it over. Speculation again.
He'd speculated before — many times. But this was a wager placed on someone inside a Spire dynasty. The Campella family was one of the core noble houses of the upper Hive. Backing the wrong side in a succession contest at this level wasn't just financially ruinous.
It was the kind of mistake that ended a man's story permanently.
If he died in this kind of political gamble, Baron Kian Voss — a title he'd bled for — would cease to exist. His operation would be dismantled. Everything he'd built would be swept away.
Back to character select. Delete save file. Start over.
Kian scratched his head vigorously. A light snowfall of dandruff suggested genuine agitation.
Lady Nightingale didn't rush him. She simply waited.
Finally, Kian slapped his knee.
"Fine. Throne take it — let's speculate. Always loved this kind of story."
Lady Nightingale smiled.
"I knew I'd read you correctly. You're not a man who stays in his lane. You're a speculator down to your bones."
Kian pressed his fists together in a formal salute.
"My liege! Your instincts are uncanny!
Might I inquire as to the state of your forces? Infantry strength? Officers, advisors, war chest?"
"No soldiers. One capable subordinate. Ten billion in liquid assets."
Kian made a noise of contempt.
"Right, off you go then. You're a general with no army. You're not fighting anyone, you're going home and getting married."
Lady Nightingale found a chair, settled into it with elegant composure, and looked at him with a pleasant expression.
"I have three stratagems. Sufficient for the enterprise."
Kian dropped into the seat across from her with the energy of a man who didn't believe this but was willing to hear it.
"By all means."
"First — my father has not yet died, which means my stepmother cannot move openly against me. Everything remains in play.
I have time to build. I am the eldest daughter, the first-in-line. I can use that standing to begin buying the loyalty of household retainers — promise them advantages, shift the balance of the old guard back toward me.
Second — my brother is ten years old and largely ignorant of what's being done in his name. He is not yet beyond reach.
Third — my father is over three hundred years old and has been bedridden for years. A three-hundred-year-old man does not father children. That boy is not his.
My stepmother has been conducting an affair. The child is illegitimate.
If I can surface that fact — establish it publicly — her position and her son's claim collapse. Mine is restored. The outcome becomes decisive."
Kian listened to all three points, worked his jaw thoughtfully, and concluded that none of it was particularly inspired. Standard political maneuvering. Competent but not brilliant.
That said — the fact that she'd mapped out three coherent approaches under sustained pressure, while isolated and outresourced, meant she wasn't helpless. People who could do that tended to find ways to win.
He held up a cautionary hand.
"My liege — armies win succession contests, not stratagems. You have no soldiers. All the plans in the galaxy won't hold ground without someone to hold it."
Lady Nightingale pointed directly at him.
"The soldiers are standing right in front of me, Battalion Commander.
You're not just a battalion commander — you're a Sump gang leader with a private force already on payroll. And I watched you pull more than a dozen armoured vehicles out of the upper Hive.
I deleted that pict-capture before the PDF and the Magistratum could assemble a joint task force and knock on your door."
Kian rubbed the back of his head.
So that's how it is. She's had that card this whole time.
Note to self: wear a hood and change loadouts before field operations. Getting positively identified was the kind of problem that put allied officers in an impossible position — can't prosecute you, can't ignore it, can't explain it.
"Alright. But you'd better hope your father takes his time dying. I mobilised recently — I'm sitting at around four hundred private soldiers right now. I need development time."
"Four hundred is insufficient," Lady Nightingale said. "You need at minimum eight hundred, fully equipped with powered armour, before you can put me on the house throne."
The words had barely left her mouth when the notification arrived:
*Ding.* New Mission Detected.
Lady Nightingale seeks to claim the Campella house seat. Your assistance is required.
Phase One Objective: Recruit 800 soldiers and equip all with powered armour.
[End of Chapter 196]
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