CHAPTER 134: PRINCESS’S VISIT

"So," Oliver asked, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms, "what’s the matter?"

Elisha took a slow sip of her tea, her expression shifting from amusement to something more thoughtful.

"I heard about your performance from Lady Amy," she began. "She debriefed me personally last night. She sounded... very impressed."

Oliver raised an eyebrow but didn’t interrupt.

"She said you handled most of the situations yourself," Elisha continued, her eyes searching his face. "You know, everyone was surprised. While the main force was struggling, stumbling over traps and panicking at illusions, your group was clearing every obstacle effortlessly. By the time we regrouped at the checkpoint, the difference was obvious."

She leaned forward slightly, lowering her voice.

"Everyone was jealous, Oliver. The knights, the other adventurers... they were all whispering, wondering why they weren’t grouped with you."

Oliver snorted softly. "Grass is always greener on the other side. They didn’t see us fighting for our lives on the stairs."

"Perhaps," Elisha conceded with a small smile. "But not everyone was happy with your success. The Hero and his friends... their faces looked like they had eaten a fly."

Oliver smirked. "I noticed."

"It isn’t surprising," Elisha mused, tapping her finger against the teacup. "Those boys are used to being in the limelight. They expect the world to revolve around them. To suddenly become background characters in their own story... it must have been a bitter pill to swallow."

She kept talking, recounting the whispers of the court and the sullen silence of Daniel’s party, but Oliver felt his patience thinning.

"Did you come here just to tell me that?" he interrupted, his voice cutting through her monologue.

Elisha froze mid-sentence.

"Ahm~" She cleared her throat awkwardly, sitting up straighter. The casual air evaporated, replaced by the poised demeanor of a royal. "Of course not."

Her expression hardened, the shadows under her eyes seemingly darkening.

"I am here to discuss how you did it."

Oliver tilted his head. "How?"

"Yes," she said. "There are already talks in the palace of reattempting the labyrinth expedition. The Emperor is not one to accept failure lightly."

Her tone became grim. "But the cost of the first attempt was too high. Many lives were lost."

"Huh?" Oliver shrugged, indifferent. "It’s a dungeon. It was bound to happen. Many people die every day in dungeons in hopes of hitting it big. That’s the job."

"That may be true for adventurers," Elisha countered sharply. "But those people... many of them did not belong to the guild. They belonged to noble houses."

She looked him dead in the eye.

"Their lives carry much more weight than some commoners. When a noble heir dies, alliances shatter. Politics destabilize. The fallout from this failed expedition is already shaking the court."

Oliver remained silent for a moment, processing that. Right. Politics. To me, a life is a life. To them, it’s an asset.

"So," he asked, "what do you want from me then?"

"We don’t want to go unprepared this time," Elisha said firmly. "So, I am here to discuss business. I am requesting your insights on how to tackle this labyrinth."

She gestured to the empty room, to the knights guarding the door.

"You saw something we didn’t. You understood the dungeon in a way the Royal Mages and the Heroes failed to. I want to know what we did wrong."

Oliver looked at her. He saw the desperation hidden behind her royal composure. She wasn’t asking for herself—she was asking so she wouldn’t have to lead another slaughter.

He uncrossed his arms and leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table.

"It’s not some high-level secret," he said plainly.

He pointed a finger at the door, toward the city where the massive army had assembled days ago.

"The idea of going in with such a large crowd and fanfare... was itself a foolish idea."

Elisha’s eyebrow shot up.

The strategy of overwhelming force—of bringing hundreds of knights, nobles, and retainers—had been the Emperor’s idea. It was the King’s grand plan.

For Oliver to call it "foolish" so casually was an indirect insult to the ruler of the nation. Ronald, standing behind her, stiffened, his hand twitching toward his sword hilt.

But Oliver didn’t notice—or didn’t care. He continued explaining, his voice steady and analytical.

"As you experienced it yourself... this dungeon was unlike any other."

He traced a circle on the wooden table.

"Most dungeons are monster nests. Caves filled with beasts, goblins, orcs. In those cases, numbers help. You form a shield wall, you rain arrows, you grind them down. If Velanthris was a natural dungeon, the King’s plan would have worked."

He looked up at her.

"But Velanthris isn’t a nest. It’s a tomb. It’s the legacy of an Archmage."

Elisha listened intently, her irritation fading into focus.

"It doesn’t rely on monsters to kill you," Oliver said. "It relies on traps. Puzzles. Magical illusions. Mental warfare."

He gestured to the space around them.

"When you bring an army into a place like that, you don’t bring strength. You bring targets. Large groups trigger more traps. Large groups panic faster. Large groups are louder, slower, and harder to coordinate when the floor drops out from under you or when an illusion turns your friend into an enemy."

Oliver leaned back, his gaze sharp.

"The advantage of a large crowd was only a burden. The dungeon used your own numbers against you."

Elisha went silent, absorbing his words. She thought back to the chaos on the first floor—the knights tripping over each other, the screams echoing in the confined spaces, the inability to hear orders over the panic of hundreds.

"So," she whispered, "we defeated ourselves."

"Pretty much," Oliver replied, leaning back in his chair. "If you want to clear Velanthris, you don’t need an army. You need a scalpel."

Elisha listened, her eyes narrowing in thought as she processed the metaphor.

"Rather than forming numbers, we should just go with small groups of skilled personnel," Oliver continued, his voice firm. "That decreases the danger of triggering mass traps and will also increase efficiency. Speed over strength. Precision over power."

Elisha nodded slowly. "It makes sense. The sheer size of our force was our undoing. We were tripping over our own feet." She sighed, standing up and smoothing her dress. "I will discuss this plan with the Emperor and the other faction leaders. It won’t be easy to convince them to reduce their numbers—nobles love their entourages—but the death toll speaks for itself."

She motioned for Ronald, who signaled the knights to prepare for departure. But before she turned to leave, she paused, looking back at Oliver with a complicated expression.

"By the way, one more thing," she said softly.

"Yeah?"

"Amy... the Saintess from the Hero’s party... she was asking to meet you."

Oliver stiffened slightly but kept his face neutral.

"She was asking to accompany me today," Elisha continued. "She seems... fixated on the adventurer who saved her on the stairs. But since you had earlier mentioned you wanted to keep your identity secret, I didn’t bring her along."

Oliver let out a silent breath of relief. "Thank you. I appreciate that."

Elisha stepped closer, lowering her voice so only he could hear. "But it would be better if you found some time to meet her. She’s staying at my palace, so feel free to visit anytime. She looked... desperate, Oliver. I think she suspects something."

With that lingering warning, she offered a polite smile and turned away.

"I’ll send word once the council decides on the new strategy."

The knights formed a protective ring around her, and with a flourish of cloaks and clanking steel, the royal entourage swept out of the inn.

As the door clicked shut behind the last guard, the silence in the common room broke.

Slowly, tentatively, the regular patrons began to filter back in from the streets or down from their rooms. The innkeeper, a balding man who usually barked orders at his staff, stared at Oliver with wide, trembling eyes—as if he were looking at a king in disguise.

"He... he was meeting with the Princess?" someone whispered.

"Did you see the Royal Guard? They were protecting him."

Oliver felt the weight of dozens of stares pressing against his back. The anonymity he cherished was evaporating by the second.

Great, he thought, standing up and grabbing his cloak. I definitely have to change places. This inn is burned.

He ignored the whispers and the innkeeper’s reverent bow, heading straight for the stairs.

****

He pushed the door to their suite open and slipped inside, locking it firmly behind him.

The room was dim, the curtains still drawn against the midday sun. The air was thick with the scent of sleep, perfume, and the faint, musky aftermath of the previous night’s activities.

Oliver scanned the room.

Seraphine was standing in the corner, perfectly upright, eyes closed. She looked like a statue placed there for decoration.

Oliver walked over and tapped her shoulder.

Her eyes snapped open instantly—silver irises glowing to life.

"Good morning, Master," she chimed, her voice level and clear.

"Morning, Sera," Oliver whispered. "Keep it down. The beasts are still sleeping."