Chapter 53: Aunt Oleg

Just as Lord Bronya’s flintlock pistol leveled, just as Seele’s scythe began its deadly arc, just as the roar of the crowd threatened to shatter the last vestiges of reason…

“All of you, put your weapons away!”

A sharp, commanding female voice sliced through the tension, originating from the tavern’s entrance.

Every head, including Bronya’s and Seele’s, instinctively snapped toward the sound.

A tall, powerfully built woman in a thick, worn leather coat had materialized in the doorframe, leaning against the wood as if she’d been there all along.

She looked to be in her fifties, her short hair a salt-and-pepper gray, the lines of her face carved deep by hardship.

At that moment, she was calmly scanning the two factions, who were mere seconds from tearing each other apart.

She held no weapon, only a half-dented tin flask, and her posture was almost casual.

Yet, standing there, she was a mountain, a bulwark that instantly absorbed half the crushing pressure that had been focused solely on Bronya.

‘It’s Oleg,’Chen thought from his corner.’Or rather, in this world… Aunt Oleg.’

She was one of the earliest organizers of Wildfire in the Underworld, an elder who had watched Seele grow from a boy into a firebrand.

“Seele, put the scythe down,” Aunt Oleg said, her voice devoid of any particular inflection, yet carrying an obvious weight of command.

“Pointing a weapon at the Commander of the Silvermane Guards—you think Wildfire doesn’t have enough trouble as it is?”

Seele’s lips parted, a flicker of raw defiance flashing across his face.

But faced with this elder, a woman who was both a mentor and a mother to him… his tense shoulders sagged almost imperceptibly.

While the tip of his scythe didn’t drop completely, it shifted a few crucial degrees, no longer aimed at Bronya’s vitals.

He gritted his teeth and whispered, “Auntie, she…”

“I heard,” Aunt Oleg cut him off smoothly.

Her gaze shifted, landing on Bronya and sizing up the young Commander.

“Lady Bronya, is it?

I didn’t expect you to grace our humble corner of the world in person.”

She paused, a beat of silence hanging in the air.

“Was that gunshot just now a new form of greeting from the Overworld?”

Her tone was perfectly level, making it impossible to discern if it was genuine inquiry or biting sarcasm.

The ambiguity was enough to make Bronya’s brow furrow once more.

Slowly, deliberately, Bronya lowered the muzzle of her flintlock until it pointed at the floorboards.

She didn’t holster it, however, maintaining a baseline of readiness.

“A necessary deterrent.

It was only to prevent the situation from escalating.”

A corner of Aunt Oleg’s mouth twitched, a motion that could have been a smile, or perhaps a grimace.

She pushed off the doorframe and stepped into the tavern proper, her heavy boots thudding steadily on the wooden floor.

The crowd parted before her like water, a path clearing without a single word being spoken.

She walked to Seele’s side, placing a hand on the young man’s still-tense arm and giving it a firm pat before turning her attention back to Bronya.

“Commander, we heard the apology,” she said slowly, unscrewing the cap of her flask.

The pungent aroma of cheap, strong liquor wafted through the air as she took a swig.

“That’s better than most of the big shots up there, who just play deaf and dumb.”

She capped the flask.

“But as you well know, an apology by itself is worthless.”

“You say Seele is inciting the people, and you want to take him away… fine.

But how do you plan to solve the very problems he’s ‘inciting’ them over?”

Her hand swept out, her rough fingers gesturing to the faces filling the tavern—some were angry, some were numb with despair, and a few held a desperate flicker of hope.

“These frostbites, the hunger that gnaws at our bellies, the injuries and sicknesses with no medicine to treat them, and the feeling that these days of misery will never, ever end!” Her voice rose, not in a shout, but with a force that connected in every chest.

“Taking away the one person in Wildfire who can still light a spark in these people… what does that accomplish?”

“Will that get us more supply quotas?

Will it get a few more antibiotics for the clinic?” she pressed, her questions like hammer blows.

“Or… are you planning to use the Silvermane Guards’ prison cells to provide heating for the rest of the Underworld?”

The questions were plain, even coarse, but they struck at the heart of the matter with brutal efficiency.

They lacked Seele’s poetic fury, but in their place was a pragmatism that cut straight through the chasm between the law and the grim reality on the ground.

Bronya remained silent.

She had no immediate answer.

Reforming entrenched institutions and reallocating resources wasn’t the work of a day, nor was it a decision she could make alone.

Any empty promise she made now would only brand her a hypocrite.

Aunt Oleg didn’t seem to expect an answer.

She turned to the agitated crowd, her voice rising to carry through the room.

“And all of you!

What are you crowding around for?

You really want to get into a shootout with the Commander of the Silvermane Guards right here, right now?”

“And then what?

Wait for the Overworld to send a whole legion of Guards down to wipe us out?

To shut down the last place we have to gather, drink, and curse our fate?”

Her words were like a bucket of cold water, dousing the most impulsive flames of anger.

Many in the crowd let their eyes flicker away, their heads lowering.

They weren’t afraid of risking their lives—they lived with that fear every day.

What they feared was a meaningless sacrifice, losing this last corner of the world where they could find a scrap of community and warmth.

“Was what Seele said today wrong?” Aunt Oleg’s gaze swept over them all, asking the question and immediately answering it herself.

“Not a bit!

Every word he spoke is the blood pumping from our own hearts!”

“But can we change anything just by shouting?

By grabbing whoever comes down here, by picking a fight?

Wildfire gathers not to seek death, but to find a way to live.”

“How do we find that way?

Sometimes, rushing in blindly just gets you killed.

But just enduring it… that’s a slow death, too.

We have to see clearly, to find the crack where a little light can get in, even if it’s just a sliver.”

Her sharp gaze finally returned to Bronya.

“Commander, your willingness to come down here today, to fire that shot, and to offer that apology… that’s a different kind of signal.”

“Wildfire won’t disband because you say so, and you can’t take Seele away.

But perhaps… we can listen.

Do you have any words for us other than ‘arrest’ and ‘ultimatum’?”

“Regarding the reality you mentioned in your apology, the one you failed to change… how, exactly, do you plan to change it?

Even just a little bit?”

The tavern fell into absolute silence.

Every eye in the room moved from Seele’s unwilling but restrained face to Aunt Oleg’s rock-solid profile.

Finally, they all converged on the silent figure of Lord Bronya.

The pressure had now shifted entirely onto the young Commander’s shoulders.

Chen, who had been enjoying the drama from the shadows, let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

‘Thank god for Aunt Oleg,’he thought, marveling at the scene.’If she hadn’t stepped in, I might have had to do something, and that would have blown my cover for sure.’

He watched her, a genuine sense of admiration bubbling up.

Her appearance and her words were a masterclass in political judo.

She hadn’t just defused the immediate conflict; she had masterfully reframed the entire situation.

It was no longer a simple choice of ‘do we fight the Guards right now?’ Instead, she’d turned it into a complex question of ‘is the Overworld willing to act, and if so, how?’

She had protected Seele and shielded Wildfire, all while putting Bronya squarely in check, forcing her to bridge the gap between her official stance and her potential actions.

‘Damn,’Chen mused.’She’s a true final-boss-level NPC.

Absolutely formidable.’

Meeting the collective gaze of the Underworld, Bronya slowly exhaled.

She knew, with chilling certainty, that the real test was only just beginning.

With a decisive motion, she holstered her flintlock.

The crisp click of the weapon sliding into its leather housing seemed to echo in the silence, and a wave of subtle relief washed over the room.

She looked at Aunt Oleg, then at Seele, who was still biting his lip in frustration.

When she spoke, her voice was as steady as ever, but now it was laced with a new, steely resolve.

“The specific measures will require detailed discussion.”

“But I can promise this: within three days…” Her gaze swept the room, meeting the eyes of the hopeful and the hopeless alike.

“…a batch of emergency medical supplies and winter gear will be delivered to the Underworld clinic and public distribution points through official channels.”

She added a crucial detail.

“The distribution will be jointly supervised by Wildfire and the Underworld’s original management organizations.”

“This can serve as the beginning of our… dialogue.”

She continued, her terms clear and non-negotiable.

“As for Seele… his safety will be your responsibility for now.

But I need him, and the core members of Wildfire, to ensure that all subsequent activities are conducted within the framework of the law.

There can be no direct escalation of conflict.”

Her eyes, clear and unwavering, locked onto Oleg’s.

“This is my bottom line.”

[Elysian’s Note:

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