124. Strait of Otto-Bolita

The second man, younger but no less wary, picked up the thread. “Like how Bolitan merchants have been fleeing Otto City with their families in the dead of night. Or how the Hilde Kingdom has been quietly withdrawing its naval patrols from the Free Cities these past months.” His voice was tight, the words laced with unease.

“And let’s not forget the trade routes,” the first man cut in, his tone bitter. “Goods that once flowed freely through the Otto-Bolita Strait now take weeks longer to arrive, forcing prices to soar. The people are growing restless, and hunger has a way of sharpening resentment.”

Ethan’s mind raced, piecing together the fragments of their warnings. The Free Cities only exist because Hilde’s protection keeps the empires at bay. That had been the unspoken agreement for a century—a delicate balance of power. Hilde, neutral in the continent’s ceaseless political games, had no desire to annex Otto and Bolita outright. Instead, it had positioned them as buffer states, a shield against the expansionist ambitions of the Conley Empire to the north.

“But if Hilde is pulling back its ships…”

He lowered his voice further, the weight of realization pressing down on him. “If they’re reducing their presence now, it means they’re cutting ties. Abandoning the treaty.”

The two men exchanged grim glances. “Exactly.”

Ethan shook his head, frustration knotting his brow. “But that doesn’t make sense. The Free Cities are a strategic advantage for Hilde. They could’ve swallowed them up a hundred years ago if they’d wanted to. Why withdraw now?”

The second man leaned in, his voice barely audible over the rising clamor of the tavern. “Because Hilde isn’t what it once was. The Hilon Plague gutted their economy. Their coffers are bleeding dry, and their king is desperate.”

The words struck Ethan like a spark to tinder.

The Hilon Plague had been one of the deadliest scourges to sweep across the Eastern Continent in living memory. Born from the vicious Hilon Pox Disease, it had ravaged cities and farmlands alike, leaving behind a trail of bloated corpses and smoldering pyres. Millions had perished—entire bloodlines erased, trade routes abandoned.

Yet, against all odds, the Hilde Kingdom had managed to claw its way back from the brink. With the aid of the Eastern Continental Medical Society Association, they had implemented ruthless quarantines, experimental treatments, and mass burnings of the infected.

Within three years, the outbreak had been contained, and Hilde’s cities once again bustled with life—at least on the surface. But beneath the veneer of recovery, the kingdom was still bleeding. Entire sectors—shipbuilding, agriculture, even their famed silver mines—remained crippled. The royal coffers, drained by the cost of survival, had forced King Julian into desperate measures.

"It’s true," Ethan thought, his fingers absently tracing the rim of his untouched drink. "King Julian arranged his own daughter's marriage to secure funds. A marriage alliance with Prince Nolan of Ancorna, just to refill the treasury." The political maneuver had worked, at least in the short term. Ancorna’s support had stabilized Hilde’s economy, allowing them to rebuild their armies and restore some semblance of order.

Ethan couldn’t shake the unease gnawing at him. "Hilde recovered from the crisis fairly well after that," he muttered under his breath, watching as the summit’s speaker spoked on the stage. "So why abandon the Free Cities now?"

Ravenna’s Morning – Jola Island

Ravenna awoke to the relentless blaze of the morning sun, its golden fingers slipping past the curtains of her chamber and painting stripes of heat across her skin.

The air was thick, oppressive—a reminder that even in the luxury of the Lord’s Castle, Jola Island’s sweltering climate spared no one. She stretched languidly, the thin fabric of her nightgown clinging to her damp skin, offering no relief from the stifling warmth. Before she could even call for them, her maids slipped into the room like shadows, their movements practiced and silent.

They knew better than to keep their lady waiting. After a long, indulgent bath in her newly renovated chambers, where marble tiles cooled her feet and scented oils perfumed the steam.

Ravenna dressed with deliberate precision. Her chosen garment was a black sheer one-piece, its fabric sinfully form-fitted, with daring slits running high up both thighs. The embroidery was exquisite: dozens of purple ravens in flight, their wings shimmering with every step she took. She was a vision of calculated elegance—a woman who understood the power of appearance. With a final glance in the mirror, she strode toward her office, the click of her heels echoing through the corridors.

Her private study smelled of parchment and the faint metallic tang of ink. Morning light streamed through leaded glass windows, casting geometric patterns across the massive oak desk where a neglected file lay waiting. The embossed title gleamed in the sunlight: "Proposed New Defensive Measures for Jola Island."

Ravenna's fingers traced the file's edge as she settled into her high-backed chair, the cool leather a relief against the island's persistent heat. "Given that I'm back in the succession race," she murmured to the empty room, "I need to fortify Jola's defenses before those greedy lords start carving up my territory like a festival roast after learning my advancements."

She flipped open the file, revealing pages of her own meticulous notes—strategies, supply lists, and half-formed ideas scratched out and rewritten. Her fingernail tapped against one particularly vexing entry: Saltpeter supplies for firearm production.

"If I want to manufacture modern weapons," she muttered, "I need reliable saltpeter sources. But securing that means..." Her voice trailed off as she scanned her own margin notes about trade routes and mining rights.

A deeper frustration surfaced as she turned, the order of expansion gawked at her. "I can't afford to be drawn into some petty border war because of this," she growled, slapping the page.

The southern islands loomed in her mind—fertile, strategically positioned, and most importantly, controlling access to the Otto-Bolita Strait.

Her fingers clenched. "I could raise an army and annex them within a season," she admitted to herself, it would allow her to easily get rid of the order of expansion.

"I'd need a justification that the Hilde Kingdom would accept. Something more substantial than personal ambition."

The thought crystallized into a decision. "Hughes!" Her voice cut through the study's quiet like a blade.

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