By executing this grand, cynical strategy, the Grand Dukes would not only secure an absolute, uncontested path to imperial power, but they would also walk away with the eternal gratitude of the common people, all while racking up a flawless string of military achievements.
It was a brilliant, terrifying political maneuver. The aristocracy was essentially going to make an absolute killing on the backs of their own citizens.
"Are we still intending to travel to Londinium?" Patchouli asked, turning her head slightly toward Remilia.
"Of course we are," Remilia replied smoothly, swirling her teacup with absolute nonchalance. "We aren't associated with those petty political factions. Just because that Regent has taken control of the capital, does that mean the rest of the world isn't allowed to go and look around? Besides, we aren't marching in there to start a war; we are simply tourists on holiday. Would his shadow army even possess the courage to try and stop us?"
Possessing a terrifying amount of supernatural power and an even greater hoard of arrogant courage, the master of the mansion immediately decided to proceed with their original travel itinerary.
Once she had settled the matter, her crimson eyes drifted over to Clever, quietly pondering how they ought to handle this rogue local element. Flandre, standing right beside her, didn't hesitate to chime in, bouncing on the balls of her feet as she made a joyous suggestion. "Sister, let's bring her along with us to play!"
"Ah! Please, absolutely do not do that!" The very moment she heard they were forcefully dragging her toward the lion's den of Londinium, Clever's entire face twisted into a mask of pure resistance.
After all, unlike the eccentric monsters sitting in this luxury suite, her hidden faction back at the Rose Riverside held a completely different, fiercely opposed political stance compared to both the Sanguinarch of Vampires and the Regent Theresis. If she accidentally ran into either of those ancient tyrants while traveling with this bizarre entourage, it would lead to a monumental amount of fatal trouble.
"What on earth is there to be afraid of?" Flandre laughed provocatively, flexing her thin arms and little legs as she mimed a flurry of rapid punches into the empty air. "If that ancient uncle Duq'arael ever dares to bully you or look at you funny, I'll personally help you beat him into a complete pulp!"
"Uh... thanks, I guess!" Clever whimpered, feeling a profound urge to burst into tears, yet her throat was completely dry.
"Well, since you've taken such a liking to her, Flandre, let's just pack her up and bring her along!" Remilia declared with an elegant wave of her hand.
In the devil's eyes, this local girl was nothing more than a frail, ordinary child anyway. She didn't seem to possess a single ounce of real combat capability—she couldn't even begin to compare to the rowdy Little Devils running around the mansion library back home, let alone the aggressive group of trickster fairies infesting the Misty Lake. Bringing her along would be exactly like finding a temporary, playmate to keep Flandre entertained for the rest of the road trip. On top of that, they could easily extract a steady stream of local intelligence regarding the Sarkaz movements from her along the way. It was a flawless win-win scenario.
As for whether their captive guest was mentally, emotionally, or physically willing to join their holiday caravan? Did that minor detail matter in the grand scheme of things?
It did not.
After all, the Scarlet Devil Mansion always possessed the significantly bigger fists.
Don't be fooled by how remarkably easy-going and indulgent Remilia was whenever she was dealing with Flandre; that was exclusively because Flandre was her precious younger sister. For literally anyone existing outside the walls of their household, the only proven historical method to get Remilia to sit down, behave, and actually listen to advice was to follow the violent example of that infamous Shrin-No, Broke Maiden—Reimu Hakurei—and beat her into absolute, staggering submission first.
Otherwise, a person would find themselves entirely at the mercy of a tyrannical vampire lord who wouldn't listen to a single word of logic or protest.
Just like right now.
Clever was given absolutely zero room for resistance, negotiation, or explanation. Under the heavy, suffocating weight of every single powerful gaze resting in the lounge, she could only nod her head in numb agreement. She immediately reached out, grabbing onto Flandre's small sleeve like a lifeline, desperately begging the child to keep her safe from harm.
"Don't worry about a thing! Flandre is super-duper strong!" Flandre cheered, flashing a proud, boastful thumbs-up that did absolutely nothing to calm Clever's racing heart.
Later that evening, the household staff arranged for Clever to share a room with Hong Meiling. The moment the heavy bedroom door clicked shut, the tall martial artist turned around, thoroughly sizing up the trembling guest before offering a casual, relaxed piece of advice.
"I can tell your mind is racing trying to figure out a path to escape, but you should probably just give up on that idea right now. At the very least, as long as our Second Miss remains actively interested in playing with you, you won't be able to run a single yard away from this inn."
Clever's entire body instantly went rigid; she had indeed been aggressively formulating a midnight escape plan at that exact second. After all, when they were crammed into the main suite with five or six terrifying entities watching her every move, finding a window to slip away was a mathematical impossibility. But now that she was isolated with just a single person, she had foolishly assumed the difficulty of a breakout operation had significantly decreased.
"Uh... Miss Hong Meiling," Clever stammered, trying to sound casual as she looked at the tall woman. "Are you employed as the personal bodyguard for those noble young ladies?"
Out of everyone she had met so far, only Hong Meiling and Sakuya Izayoi wore structured modern suits. The elegant woman in white possessed the dual, flawless aura of a high-society head butler and a supreme maid. Meanwhile, this muscular woman in black had been quietly anchoring her boots closest to the front door the entire time, her sharp, highly capable gaze scanning the room like a hawk. It wasn't hard to deduce that she held the position of a security expert.
"A bodyguard?" Meiling blinked, rubbing her chin as she fell into deep thought. A few seconds later, she shook her head with a self-deprecating chuckle; clearly, the concepts of danger and protection didn't apply to her employers. "Do the Eldest Miss and Second Miss look like they realistically require a guard to protect their lives? As for my official title, I'm usually just the gatekeeper, the mansion gardener, or the person who runs around doing random odd jobs. Of course, whenever the Eldest Miss is bogged down with paperwork, I occasionally serve as a training partner to play with the Second Miss."
Meiling offered a warm, pitying smile as she looked at Clever's pale face.
"Though it's blatantly obvious the Second Miss has taken a massive interest in you over the last few hours, which means I can finally slack off and take a few nice, long naps on this trip."
Hearing Meiling's incredibly relaxed confession, Clever was left completely speechless. What on earth did she mean by the child's interest allowing her to relax? She was essentially being utilized as a free, non-consensual babysitter to absorb a monster's hyperactive energy.
But as she lay down on her cot and thought about it, she realized there wasn't anything fundamentally wrong with that description. That strange blonde child named Flandre, with her wide-eyed curiosity about every single pebble on the road—wasn't she just an ordinary, hyperactive kid at the end of the day?
The next morning arrived with a crisp breeze, and the entire traveling party boarded their luxurious carriage to resume the journey.
As the wheels rolled along the dirt paths, everyone chatted casually while watching the lush Victorian scenery drift past the windows. After hearing Flandre recount how she had stumbled upon the girl in the abandoned factory, the adults began asking for Clever's personal perspective on the culture of Victoria.
Clever let out a massive, hidden sigh of relief when she realized they weren't probing into her personal background, the secretive faction operating behind her, or the military troop movements of the Sarkaz—they were simply asking for a native's view on the empire. Since the topic didn't threaten her personal safety or leak classified plans, she wasn't stingy with the wealth of geographical and cultural knowledge she had acquired over the years. From Clever's descriptions, the group from the Scarlet Devil Mansion successfully mapped out a thoroughly detailed understanding of the capital's surrounding territories.
Another full day of smooth travel passed, and the carriage finally crested a long hill, coming to a halt just a few dozen kilometers outside the massive perimeter of Londinium.
Looking toward the capital from this distance, the travelers were met with a breathtaking, oppressive sight—a row of monumentally massive, iron-reinforced city walls that stretched across the horizon like artificial mountains. These colossal barriers completely severed the wealthy inner districts of Londinium from the rest of Terra, making the interior of the nomadic city look like an entirely independent, unassailable realm.
But the vast expanse of land sitting just beneath those looming shadow walls wasn't bare earth; instead, it was completely choked by a sprawling, chaotic sea of ramshackle Slums. The carriage had currently drifted to a halt right at the ragged edge of this impoverished residential zone.
"What a thoroughly clever, ruthless calculation," Patchouli sighed softly, leaning her forehead against the glass as she evaluated the architecture of the city walls.
"Huh?" Flandre blinked her large eyes, pressing her nose against the opposite window to look outside. "What do you mean, Patchy? Isn't this just a bunch of ordinary, poor people living in ordinary, messy little houses? What kind of calculation is hidden out there?"
Patchouli offered a gentle, affectionate smile, reaching over to softly rub Flandre's blonde hair. "Flandre, what is your immediate impression when you look at those Slums sitting outside the gates?"
Hearing Patchouli's soft, academic tone, Flandre tilted her head, her brow furrowing as she thought about the scenery for a long moment. "It doesn't look very nice. It feels like an artificial way to separate the wealthy people from the poor people, making it look like everyone trapped out in the mud desperately wants to squeeze inside the gates but can't. And the level of physical danger faced by the families living outside must be a whole lot higher than the people living safely behind the walls."
"You hit the nail right on the head, my dear. This layout is indeed entirely artificial," Patchouli explained, her finger tracing a line across the horizon. "The glittering prosperity resting inside the high walls and the crushing poverty rotting outside are laid bare at a single glance. This stark, visual contrast is designed to act as a psychological tool, forcing all ambitious, desperate people to work themselves to the bone just to try and squeeze their way into the city."
She paused, her gaze turning analytical as she looked at the tightly packed shacks.
"Furthermore, that chaotic ring of poverty doesn't just provide the inner citizens with economic pressure and motivation to labor; it also serves as the capital's absolute first layer of physical defense. Any invading army or rival faction that wishes to launch a direct assault against the gates of Londinium must first force their way through this immense, labyrinthine maze of residential civilian housing. Those densely packed, poorly constructed shacks form a massive, natural fence. They are designed to severely disrupt, choke, and slow down the advance speed of any passing military force."
Patchouli systematically unraveled the dark, defensive architecture of the capital for the listening child.
"And while the invading army is trapped and tangled in that sea of civilian homes, the defenders stationed safely atop the high city walls can utilize their massive height advantage to gain perfect battlefield vision. They can leisurely rain down devastating, highly accurate artillery strikes directly onto their targets below."
It was precisely because of this cruel tactical utility that the wealthy politicians ruling within the city gates had deliberately refused to ever organize, zone, or pave the Slums outside. They actively permitted the desperate refugees to build their shacks anywhere and everywhere, ensuring the chaotic sprawl would better serve its true, underlying duty as a meat-shield barrier.
Flandre's eyes widened slightly as she keenly picked up on a horrifying implication hidden within the librarian's academic breakdown.
"Then... if a real enemy actually shows up to attack the capital, what happens to all those innocent families living outside the walls?"
"What happens to them?" Patchouli murmured, a trace of cold reality in her voice as she looked at the sprawling slums. "Naturally, they instantly become mass-produced consumables and a non-consensual suicide squad. The wealthy politicians sitting safely inside the inner city only need to make a single, simple administrative decision to force the helpless people outside to march straight to their deaths."