Chapter 300: Meeting Count

"His Lordship, Earl Reodeo, will arrive shortly. We humbly request that Your Imperial Highness and the honored guests make yourselves comfortable."

The head butler of House Reodeo bowed with practiced, rigid formality, his spine bending at the exact angle dictated by court etiquette before he stepped backward through the gilded double doors. Footmen quietly followed, leaving behind trays of untouched floral tea and crisp cups before sealing the parlor shut.

Seraphina sat on the central high-backed settee. Her posture was sculpted marble, her spine straight as an imperial saber, her hands resting gracefully over her lap.

"Very well," Seraphina replied, her voice smooth, low, and laced with absolute imperial calm. "We shall await the Earl’s convenience."

The moment the doors clicked shut, the courtly tension dissolved into absurdity.

Eren sat on the plush velvet couch opposite the princess, looking entirely too relaxed for a man attending a high-stakes political summit. Squeezed between Emma and Norelia, he casually raised an index finger and poked Norelia’s squishy, still-sulking cheek.

Squish.

"So, my genius professor," Eren whispered with a wicked, fond grin, "have we finalized the paperwork for that identity change, or are you still shopping around for an alias?"

Norelia didn’t even lift her head, merely swatting at his finger like an annoyed cat. "Shut up, Eren."

Beside him, Emma crossed her arms over her chest. Her storm-grey eyes fixed on the empty archway with irritation.

"The nerve of this regional lord," Emma muttered, her voice dropping into a low, dissatisfied growl. "How dare a mere provincial Earl keep the Imperial Princess, the future matriarch of House Reedings, and the heir of the Volsver Dukedom in a waiting parlor?"

Aria, sitting to Seraphina’s left with an elegant porcelain cup balanced on her fingertips, let out a soft, dry chuckle.

"Cool your temper, Captain," Aria murmured, taking a slow, graceful sip. "The Earl knows precisely what he is doing. He is making us wait because he is fully aware that we are the ones who requested this audience. Edmond Reodeo did not survive thirty years by fawning over the emperor. He is not a court sycophant who bends his knee the second an imperial carriage rolls through his gates."

Norelia lifted her chin, adjusting her spectacles with a faint frown. "I understand his political independence, but protocol exists for a reason. Seraphina is a blood princess of the empire. Disregarding basic imperial decorum is practically an open challenge to her legitimacy."

"Which is precisely why we are here," Eren chimed in. "To remind the good Earl that ignoring the Imperial Princess is a terrible career move."

Seraphina gave a faint, approving nod, her violet eyes locking onto Eren’s.

"He is right," Seraphina said quietly, her tone steady and regal. "To the regional lords, my faction appears fragile. Prince Theo holds the military prestige of the capital guards, and even though my half-brother has never actively sought the throne, the nobility treats him as the inevitable successor. To Earl Reodeo, I am merely a secondary princess grasping at border alliances to survive. Today, we demonstrate that my faction is not playing defense. We establish that we are the only force capable of securing his border."

Emma’s shoulders relaxed slightly, nodding in grim understanding, though her wariness toward the absent host lingered in the taut set of her jaw.

Eren, meanwhile, didn’t bother.

Leaning back, he stretched his legs out and pulled out a small, worn leather-bound journal—the private character ledger he had made from his knowledge of the original game’s lore.

He casually flipped past the notes on The Substance, his thumb stopping on a page penned:

[Earl Edmond Reodeo]

Eren’s gaze traced the script, his eyes darkening under the quiet, gilded chandelier.

The more he dug into the lore of this world, the more he felt an overwhelming urge to find whichever sadistic game designer scripted the original narrative and feed them feet-first into an industrial woodchipper.

How Emperor Cassian ever managed to walk away in the original timeline as some revered, iron-fisted unifier was the grandest cosmic joke of the century. The canon script of the game had a sickening habit of ruthlessly butchering anyone who dared to push back against imperial subjugation.

Seraphina, executed by Alice after she shook hands with demons. Aria followed her friend after her engagement was discarded by Reinhardt. Emma was killed after she planned revenge for the fallen Volsver Dukedom. Carolynn, hunted down as a demonic calamity by her own daughter.

Eren flipped the corner of the page, scanning the notes on the master of the house.

The Earl’s only son and his son-in-law, perished during the brutal Western Expansion campaign orchestrated by Emperor Cassian.

Both men hadn’t fallen to glorious, honorable combat on the frontlines. They had been deliberately sacrificed when the Emperor issued a ruthless scorched-earth decree to claim the border silver veins without committing royal reinforcements.

Now, the Reodeo bloodline rested on the fragile shoulders of the Earl’s widowed daughter, Lady Eleanor Reodeo, and her young daughter. Eleanor lived practically as a ghost within walls, rarely seen in public.

Why does every single corner of this damn world read like a tragedy written by a depressed poet? Eren grumbled internally, snapping the leather journal shut with a muted thud.

He slipped the notebook back into his pocket, letting his head tilt back against the plush velvet cushion. But the notes in his head kept ticking.

The most crucial detail about Edmond Reodeo wasn’t just the grief of a bereaved father.

The Earl’s hatred for Cassian ran far deeper. The grudge went all the way back to the day Cassian got the power. The day Valcrest Dukedom vanished.

Suddenly, Eren’s sharp ears twitched, catching hushed, flustered footsteps hurrying down the carpeted corridor just outside the parlor.

"Young Lady, wait—please!" a maid’s desperate, panicked whisper filtered through the wood. "You cannot enter that room right now! Her Imperial Highness the Princess and honored high-ranking guests from the capital are waiting inside! Please, Lady Eleanor strictly forbade—"

A tiny, muffled scuffle followed, accompanied by the distinct patter of light, stubborn shoes ignoring the servant’s frantic pleas entirely.

"I just want to peek! Just one tiny, little look!"

"Young lady Rose—"

"Does she really look like the princess in the storybooks? Does she have a crown made of melted starlight? And silver hair that floats when she walks?" A little girl’s voice tumbled out in an eager, breathless flutter.

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{Successfully 300 Chapters????}