These Reincarnators Are Sus! Sleuthing in Another World

If Kylian had to describe Isolde ryu-Genis in one word, it would be "menacing." Across the empire, it was said that there were none who embodied the imperial lineage quite like she did. Her reputation as a warmonger had even reached Varant.

The Radoscht Empire spanned the entire continent, sans the ruined lands in the north. Isolde staked her claim to the throne on the fulfillment of destiny: that one day the empire should span the world, and only she could steer it toward that future.

Before she had even finished her descent, both Kylian and Camille kneeled in deference, while Ashton gave a light bow.

"Sir Kylian, is it?" Isolde said, looking down on him. Then down at Camille. "And Lady Gren. I had heard you liked to play with swords."

Camille's face lightly flushed at the insult, but she showed no signs of impudence. "It is true I have a fondness for the blade," she agreed, diplomatically. "I've been lucky and honored to raise it for the Azur—"

"Quiet," Isolde commanded with a murmur. Soft. Yet brooking no resistance—beneath it lurked a beastly snarl.

Camille's reaction was instinctual. Her throat seized with fear. Sweat prickled her skin. Even Kylian, who had not been commanded directly, felt it.

Kylian had heard of the dragon's roar—the gift of the imperial bloodline which proved their right to rule. But he had not been prepared for how physical it was, how it shattered the defenses of reason and evoked a primal sense of terror.

"I'm—sorry," Camille apologized, swallowing hard. Her breathing came unsteady even as she said it, and she dared not meet Isolde's gaze.

"Oh?" Isolde arched her eyebrow as if she were impressed. "I commanded silence, yet words managed to drip from your tongue." She laughed pleasantly as she took her seat, crossing one leg over the other. "Quaint. Truly."

Isolde lazily rested her face in her palm, smirking at the kneeling knights. Her gaze drifted to the bowing Ashton. She giggled. "I do always find your company more agreeable when you shut the fuck up."

Ashton's smile did not falter. But there was a bead of sweat running down his cheek.

She gave no indication that she'd permit them to rise. "Well then—what say you to this? You may remain precisely as you are… until Duke eum-Creid graces us with his presence."

"Prithee… forgive Dame Camille… And it shall reflect well in these talks."

Forcing the words out, Kylian painfully lifted his head and met Isolde's gaze. It felt as if someone were gripping his ribs and wrenching them apart—as if he were in the middle of battle, barely on his back foot.

There was a time for deference, and a time for defiance… however slight.

As a knight, Kylian showed his due respect to the imperial family, kneeling as Isolde entered the Great Hall. As a participant in this parley, however, he stood as Ailn's proxy. The ducal houses submitted to the emperor. Not to his kin.

The right—and the duty—to confer The Dragon's Promise rested with him now, and he intended to wield it as entrusted. Whatever the risks to his own person.

"Do you imagine I'd ever suffer," Isolde began with a lazy cadence, "if I should ask you to carve out your own throat, sir knight?"

Her smirk was light and careless, while the glint in her eyes dared him gainsay.

Kylian did not avert his gaze. "...Only sleepless nights… grieving the moment you squandered your chance to rule…"

The smirk on Isolde's lips curdled like spoiled milk. And just as the Azure Knights began to wonder if they'd be forced to watch the horrifying death of one of their own, a voice rang out from the Great Hall's entrance—stately and regal, like a lion's roar.

"Rise."

The command was just as powerful, yet not nearly as laced with malice. Those who'd been left in forcible deference now felt themselves compelled to stand. And though they were still shaken, the fear that had been twisting their guts lifted.

Crown Prince Severus descended the steps unhurriedly, Lady Moonlace at his side. The sheer force of his presence was utterly at odds with the besotted and doting manner in which he escorted her.

"Disgusting as always, Isolde," Severus said, casting a disdainful gaze down toward his sister. "Millie abhors the way you treat our subjects."

"...What is truly disgusting is the way you cuddle with that serpent," Isolde said dryly. She crossed her arms, and gave Millie a hollow stare as the two reached the roundtable.

"Please don't fight," Millie's eyes shimmered as she buried her face in Severus's arm. "All of us… are human."

"How profound," Severus said, smiling gently, lifting her chin and gently cupping her face. "Wipe those tears Millie. When I'm the emperor, none will forget that."

With Isolde thoroughly distracted by the public display of affection, Camille took her chance to escape, paling as she realized she had to awkwardly sidle past the enamored couple.

Hesitating at first, then realizing they weren't even aware of her presence, she gave a light bow, and shot an apologetic glance backward toward Kylian as she made her way to the rest of the knights.

Ashton, who'd evidently had enough of suffering for Ailn's sake, was in the midst of sending an angry dispatch via the echo stone bidding him attend—though it came off more as a threat, given his white-knuckled, full-palm press upon the dial.

It almost seemed as if he were attempting to crush the turtle.

"...If the prosperity of your duchy means nothing to you, so be it. But I wonder—do you find it amusing to make an enemy of the imperial family?" Ashton asked. He kept his typical composure, yet his unnerving smile seemed oddly diminished when directed at an echo stone which could never convey it. "Perhaps the story of ark-Chelon's great tortoise left no impression on you. Would you rather a parable of a gutted wolf?"

Sighing, Kylian took his seat at the roundtable. Things were already going terribly, and the last attending sibling hadn't even arrived.

The ark-Chelon estate did have strawberries in the kitchen. But Ailn, feeling a little bit awkward about having lunch so close to the meeting he was skipping, once again left the estate with Bea and found a nice park.

Despite her initial excitement, however, Bea did not look like she was enjoying them.

"It tastes… bad…?" Bea asked herself, perplexed. She gazed pleadingly at Bent Ham. "But strawberries taste good… and make me happy…"

Uh oh. Ailn had really underestimated how little sugar a small body could handle. He'd thought fruits should be fine—they're healthy enough, aren't they?—but Bea looked pretty sick. He probably should've waited a little longer after those donuts.

If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

"You'll want to sit up Bea," Ailn said, gently forcing her to a sitting position after she tried to lie down in a sugar coma. "You'll wanna throw up if you lie down. And that'll be really bad."

Looking a little mad about it, Bea gave Ailn a teary look that wasn't entirely unwarranted. "Aristurtle says you… didn't exercise moderayshun…"

"...Technically it was both of us," Ailn said. "Just focus on the smell of the flowers."

As Bea gave him a quiet nod, and stared dazedly at some tulips, Ailn set to thinking about the blank sheet of paper Bea had seen in her vision. What did that answer mean?

"My most useful question…" Ailn mused. He glanced at Bea. Some light had returned to her eyes. "Feeling better? Move around a bit. Bent Ham needs some exercise."

Bea gasped. "If he gets too fat… they'll turn him into bacon," she said, her voice reflecting the gravity of the situation.

She scampered off, still within sight, running around with Bent Ham like she was his personal trainer.

Ailn's echo stone suddenly gave off a single chime. The sound caught him off guard, because it was the first time Ailn had ever received a message. His stomach sank, as a brief moment of guilt knotted it up.

The urge to simply ignore the dispatch was strong.

"Alright, let's hear how things are going," Ailn sighed, pressing down on the dial.

'Where. Are. You?

I must grant you this, Ailn. I never expected this. As much as it pains me, you have caught me off guard.

If the prosperity of your duchy means nothing to you, so be it. But I wonder—do you find it amusing to make an enemy of the imperial family? Perhaps the story of ark-Chelon's great tortoise left no impression on you. Would you rather a parable of a gutted wolf?'

"Passive aggression really comes through over voicemail, huh?" Ailn remarked to himself.

It wasn't as bad as he expected… yet. Ashton sounded unhappy, but as far as Ailn was concerned that was a good thing. He'd been worried he'd hear the crown prince ordering his execution, or worse—that Kylian had finally decided to quit the Azure Knights.

He decided to keep things short and simple. Telling the truth when they'd never get the full context was a terrible option. But lying—or not responding at all—would be even worse.

"There are urgent concerns that call me away this day," Ailn said, pressing the button to send a dispatch. "It is not a matter I can divulge as it touches upon the security and prosperity of Varant. I can only entreat your patience. But take heart—you are in the most capable of hands. See that you extend to Sir Kylian the same regard as you would me."

Ailn let go of the button. That was pretty ducal, right?

He returned to his thoughts regarding Bea's vision—specifically, deciphering what the blank sheet meant.

In retrospect, he'd given his future self a pretty tough problem. If, say, he were trying to reveal the location of Sigurd's death, Ailn had been naive enough to think a map would work. Even if it was blurry, he could make do with knowing the rough area.

But it wouldn't just be filtered through Bea's fuzzy precognition—it would be described in her words. Ailn wasn't confident Bea could describe what she saw on a map. Actually, he wasn't confident he could do it either.

So what question was both useful, and answerable through these constraints? If he had to choose, the things he'd like to know were: where, when, who, and then how—in that specific order.

'Where and when' were most useful together, but 'where' alone would still go a long way in figuring out the rest. Knowing the 'who' in Sigurd's death would be a great start too—but if it was an accident they were trying to prevent, then 'how' was probably the most pertinent question.

Which one of these could possibly be answered by a blank sheet of paper?

Was it a philosophical thing? As in, there is no answer? If that were the case, then future Ailn might as well have shot him the middle finger.

Where will Sigurd die? When will he die? Who wants to kill him, and how?

"Blank… Sigurd dies at blank. Nope. Sigurd dies at blank o'clock. Still no," Ailn muttered nonsense to himself, hoping it would start to make sense. "Blank… killed… Sigurd…"

Ailn's eyes widened in realization.

There was unrest in the Great Hall. Not just at the central table, but within the whole auditorium. By now, the seats had nearly filled up with supporters of the prince and princess, as well as those citizens of Calum who were simply interested in the public proceedings.

The appearance of the crown prince had created a stalemate. All the mirth seemed to have left Isolde's demeanor as she tried, with mounting irritation, not to stare at her older brother as he fawned over his lover.

Meanwhile, they waited for Ailn's response.

"Has he not yet heard the message…?" Ashton muttered irritably.

The first prince, for once, took his eyes off of Lady Moonlace and cast Ashton a contemptuous look. "You could stand to learn from Duke eum-Creid, Ashton," Severus chided him. "This is why you remain merely a would-be duke."

"...I am not yet duke because my father still lives, Prince Severus," Ashton said, failing to stifle a twitch of his eye.

"Does he?" Severus frowned, looking as if he genuinely didn't know.

It took all of Kylian's self-control to maintain his stoicism. He couldn't even piece together Severus's misapprehension—had the prince thought Ashton was simply denied the title because he lacked boldness? Who would withhold it from him?

Besides waiting to see if Ailn could be compelled to come, they were also waiting for the third prince. Grimacing, Kylian remembered Varant's recent quarrels with said prince.

After Renea was shown to lack the divine blessing, he had tried to force the duchy's hand and have her removed from the family register. The entire debacle had led to Ailn's challenge for the headship, and his subsequent investiture as duke.

Kylian's discomfort stemmed from more than the third prince's overt hostility. The sheer arbitrariness of it had been striking.

There was essentially nothing to gain from coming to blows with Varant. Was it simply another manifestation of the imperial family's abrasive, entitled nature? That had been the prevailing belief, but forced to consider the third prince's motives more deeply, Kylian wasn't sure.

It was troubling, to say the least. These were the only three imperial siblings who had come to negotiate for The Dragon's Promise, and Kylian wasn't certain they could walk away without making a choice among them.

Prince Evgeni had only ever shown himself as Varant's enemy. Severus was an empty-headed fool. And Isolde was a power-hungry sadist. The pickings were slim.

Slow footfalls came down the steps of the Great Hall. If Kylian had not turned his head, he would have assumed it was merely one of the other siblings' supporters.

Unlike his older brother and sister, who saw fit to announce their presence theatrically and draw all eyes, Evgeni simply walked down to the table. Though he said not a word, the Great Hall had slowly quieted with each step.

Then he sat.

Perhaps his presence was lacking within his family, or they saw him as no threat. Neither Severus nor Isolde so much as acknowledged him.

"I regret my lateness," Evgeni said coolly. He had a sharp gaze, but he spoke politely. "I see both of you are in good health. Isolde. Severus."

He gave a light bow, showing respect to his two siblings. Isolde again ignored him, while Severus—still distracted by Millie whispering into his ear—gave him an offhand nod. In the abrupt quiet of the Great Hall, their extremely audible flirting became all the more ostentatious.

"But surely I can't be held too much at fault. After all, I am here. Unlike Duke eum-Creid who, by all accounts," Evgeni explained for everyone at the table, "has had quite the eventful day."

This incendiary remark was uttered casually, and every head at the table turned. He'd abruptly captured their attention—including Kylian's, who despite his ironclad fealty, had still been wondering where the hell Ailn was.

"...Oh?" Isolde asked, tilting her head, curling her lips. "Do go on."

"You see, he's kept the rigorous itinerary of entertaining one of his knight's children all afternoon," Evgeni said.

"He did… what now?" Isolde faltered.

Kylian blinked. His brain stuttered mid-thought. Whose child?

"Yes, well, they indulged in donuts this morning," Evgeni started. "Then he took the knight's child to the stables. Finally, they had strawberries for lunch—procured from this estate's kitchen of course."

A chime rang out from the turtle-shaped echo stone—sudden, yet resonant. All eyes snapped toward the artifact. The crystalline tone hung in the air. Ashton flicked a questioning glance at the third prince.

Evgeni merely gestured toward the artifact. "Well then. Best to let the man speak for himself."

Another chime played as Ashton pressed the dial, and soon enough Ailn's voice spilled forth from the turtle.

'There are urgent concerns that call me away this day. It is not a matter I can divulge as it touches upon the security and prosperity of Varant. I can only entreat your patience. But take heart—you are in the most capable of hands. See that you extend to Sir Kylian the same regard as you would me.'

Pretending as if he didn't notice the resentment simmering in the stunned silence, he gave Kylian a casual look which only served to heighten the knight's headache.

"Now, with that—let us envision Sir Kylian here as Duke eum-Creid himself. How do we all feel?"