Overlord: Grand Herald [OC-SI]

7. The Waning Sun of Noon and The Bond of Friends

Day After the Transfer

Demiurge 2

"The day has been rather tame, considering the significance of it."

The words were spoken by his compeer, who stood leaning against the balcony entrance, his attention captivated by the view of Velena's north wing's exterior where the serfs' grounds laid, and his back turned towards the solar's quaint splendour.

Demiurge found no offence in the disregard. The scenery of the garden perceived upon the dominance of his balcony was a soul capture.

It was a view of fountains and bridge-ways built over blue waters and a deluge of flowers along with palm trees spread even. Numerous homesteads built like manoirs stood further beyond it, like a residence sector designed for the affluent and prestigious.

The demonologist supposed it made sense, many of the serfs who took residence in this section of the palace were those of higher positions within the Liaqen's employ, and thus individuals without ménage...or still in the process of forming one.

It was rather impatient of Cocytus to base mass judgment on a location devoid of one.

Besides, the palace was never in the absence of order. This was more so during the daytime when duties needed handling and important individuals made visits within Velena.

Last he heard the city was abuzz with excitement and preparations for the night's festive. And he was sure the palace would also follow in kind come dusk's herald.

After all, their leave of the cursed vanir-lands was a course for celebration, more so since it seemed they had managed to flee from the Root-Realms altogether.

Though an orb-world was a rather bizarre place to end up, granted it was a greater mass of earth and water than their anchored lands back in Helheim.

...or so was his conclusion after making comparisons with the ancient records of the olden lands.

"I highly doubt that," He finally decided to reply, his voice easy and clear as he languished upon his feywood-framed couch with cushions covered in indigo wyvern suede. He held a round, short glass of an oval-like design in his least favoured limb, swirling an amber liquid within it.

"I'd think you'd be privy to the happenings lwithin the city, seeing how you rode through it from your estate." He continued, tone kept at a steady cadence, his breath even and heartbeat kept at a constant rate.

"I was rather occupied with Irisviel back then."

Cocytus finally turned away from the balcony's view, a slight pull of fatigue on his face. Gone was the joy he had harbored during their first meeting today; the affairs of the day had tempered it, especially the announcement of the Militaur's minuscule increase in funding despite the demand to bolster their numbers.

Demiurge was still unsure if the vehemence that had echoed in the Fenrilan's voice was born of the fact that such a decree would negatively impact the army's campaigns or simply because he did not want to dedicate more time than necessary to the army.

...because if it was the former, the privileges granted by the king should be enough to void the Militaur's budgetary issues.

Granted only if the army's upper echelons were willing to put in the effort. Though his friend's reaction certainly did not inspire much optimism in the administrative and innovative capabilities of the warmongers.

Save for one, of course.

Cocytus moved to the couch opposite his, the manner of his gait lax and unguarded. He had discarded the blazer and waistcoat of his lavender suit, leaving his white sleek shirt the only deterrent for the room's mild shiver.