Overlord, Vol. 14: The Witch of the Doomed Kingdom

Intermission

Bebard was one of many cities in the Karsanas City-State Alliance.

The residence of the mayor was once again brightly lit.

The woman herself, Re-Kista Cabelia, was poring over the documents at hand.

The Karsanas Alliance was composed of the following:

Karksahnas.

Pepo Alo.

East Gaitsch.

West Gaitsch.

Veneria.

Great Ristaran.

Oakneis.

New Oakneis.

Granvitz.

Lee.

Franklin.

And Bebard itself.

These twelve cities worked together, and the average city (or territory) was home to about four hundred thousand, with the largest city topping out at six hundred thousand residents.

Bebard aside, none of the cities was dominated by any one race—never more than 40 percent of the population. An array of multiracial cities—that was the essence of the Karsanas Alliance. But a few hundred years back, it had all been one massive country.

When that realm disintegrated, fourteen smaller states remained, each centered on a single city. Much blood was shed among them in countless conflicts. Many merged only to split, again and again. Then their representatives gathered for what was now known as the Great Debate. From that emerged an alliance of twelve smaller countries, bound to share one another’s fate.

Did that stop them from breathing down one another’s throats? Not really. For short-lived races it was ancient history, but for those that lived hundreds of years, it had only just transpired the other day.

So every five years they held a sports tournament—a chance to vent those pent-up feelings of discontent and channel their rivalries.

And it was Bebard’s turn to host the next one.

It was four years away, so arguably she still had plenty of time. Put another way, she only had four years left.

There were sixteen events in this tournament, but one stood head and shoulders above the others.

The Connelier—a proxy war. Really, it was a big old-fashioned brawl.

Each city picked ten of their best, and they fought to protect a magic item known as the Banner of Peace.

The resulting spectacle was extremely popular, and even people who cared nothing for the other events would turn out to see it. And that meant the host could not afford the slightest mistake when overseeing this legendary event.

That was not even an exaggeration. When the tournament was held in Oakneis, they had failed to take the appropriate precautions to ensure safety at the games; violence had broken out and resulted in several deaths. Forty years later,
Oakneis management
was still bandied as a synonym for incompetence.

Failures in handling any of the sports were a black mark, but messing up the Connelier sealed your fate.

But the leadership in each city knew Oakneis had actually done their jobs correctly. They’d merely failed to watch out for shades.

The very existence of shades had previously been in doubt; that event was the first formally recognized public sighting, but that simple oversight did lasting damage.

Kista finished reading the documents before her and frowned.

Fifty years had passed since Bebard last hosted. Almost no one involved in that administration was left.

She’d been advised to approach it like they were starting from scratch, but the pressure was getting to her.

She kept waking up in the middle of the night, fearing failure.

A grimace came unbidden.

Four years off, and she was already a mess. By the time it was actually upon her, she’d be at her wit’s end.

And she was not looking forward to
that
.

Reading records and writing out whatever thoughts her research inspired was the only way to keep her anxieties at bay.

Kista reached for the next document but was interrupted by a knock.

She got up and flung open the door. It was exactly who she’d hoped it was—her grandfather, the former mayor, Re-Bern Cabelia.

A great man who had kept the peace for a very long time—including presiding over the previous Bebard tournament.

“Grandpa.” Kista smiled. “You came all the way here? I could have gone to you.”

“Nah, I can use the exercise. My legs aren’t what they used to be, but staying cooped up in my chambers is just making ’em wither further. Were you working, Kista? I could come back another time.”

“Now is perfect, Grandpa. Please come in.”

Bern came in, a pot in his hands. A fragrant scent rose from it. Herbal tea?

Kista led him to a couch and took a seat across from him.

She pulled out two cups, and he poured tea into both. The scent of the pale-green liquid wafted through the room.

“Kista, the maids told me you’re burning the midnight oil.”

She didn’t want to worry him, but there was no use hiding it.

“Yeah…I keep thinking about how I’ve only got four years and…can’t sleep.”

Worrying about something that far off would normally provoke a laugh, but Bern was not amused. He’d been mayor long enough to know exactly how stressful it could be.

“You’ll wear yourself out like that, Kista. The herbs in this tea soothe a troubled mind. Drink up and get some rest. The secret to a long reign is not doing more work but learning how to assign that work to the right people. You and I can only do so much by our lonesome.”

“Thank you. But…I’ve got a big job on my plate.”

“Trouble in the cities around us? No signs of the Steed King taking action.”

The Steed King ruled the plains to the east and was the primary external foe the alliance had. Bebard wasn’t on the border, so if he attacked, she would simply dispatch reinforcements.

“…You’ve heard how the Empire became a vassal state, right? I’m trying to figure out just how worried we need to be.”

“The Nation of Darkness…”

Bern scratched his head.

A nation of a single city—yet an Empire had bent the knee. And rumor had it they’d acquired some formidable assassins.

All kinds of stories flowed like wine, and both of them wished they could tell which were true.

Kista’s thoughts were on one man.

Emperor Jircniv Rune Farlord El Nix.

He was still young, but his subjects already called him the Fresh Blood Emperor. She’d had an audience with him once, as an ambassador to the Empire, and spoken briefly with him at the banquet that followed.

He was a man of immense cunning and magnetism. Would someone like that serve as a vassal willingly? Or…was he up to something?

“Grandpa, can your connections help us gather intel on the Nation of Darkness?”

Bern had been mayor far longer than she had and knew that many more people. Naturally, when she’d taken over, he’d made introductions—but a request from him would definitely get many of them moving faster.

“Of course, Kista. Not even my people—we’ve got some skilled adventurers in the area who recently left the Empire behind. Fancy speaking to them?”

“Please. And thank you, Grandpa.”

Kista bowed her head. They might be relatives, but he’d been almost eighty when he retired, and she had not forgotten the days when their neighbors feared the might of Bebard’s Old Crow.

“I don’t need—no, I will demand payment, Kista. Promise me you’ll start turning in on time.”

“…I promise, Grandpa. And thanks again.”