The Ogre Strength Fairy and the Eldest 'Son'
Chapter 291 - History Is Written By The Victors, But Plays Can Be Funded By Their Villains

Chapter 291: Chapter 291 - History Is Written By The Victors, But Plays Can Be Funded By Their Villains

The evening sky above held a disquieting quality for the cultivators. Stars that should have blazed in the clear night air still twinkled, but muted - as if seen through the thinnest of gauze. Knowing that it was a level of difference they could notice while mortals could not would not serve as a point of pride.

It just meant they got to be tense due to the signs first.

Few mentioned it directly but it lived in the tightened shoulders and quickened steps of Guild members and free cultivators throughout the grounds. At least, the ones who had not already departed for their assigned defensive positions. Those who remained did so out of duty to see everyone else off, necessity to wait for rail travel, or perhaps for some...

To grasp the last moments of ’peace’ before the war.

Providing for that sentiment, in part - for even her one-dimensional whims were usually self-excused with multiple reasons - was Elua er Goltbred. The young heiress who had specifically requested a special performance for this evening. Her workers had arranged the large raised stage with lanterns that burned brightly against mirrors to help light the set and its performers.

Qatrand er Yecine stood at the girl’s side with her calloused hand lightly clamped over her wife’s smaller one. The swordswoman’s posture was relaxed. Yet in her mind, she was alert as ever. An outward calm that reflected years of disciplined training.

Her pigeon blue eyes kept returning to the brunette’s face, searching for the signs of distress that had accompanied previous encounters with this particular troupe. Even knowing that the reincarnator was the one that invited them this time couldn’t prevent her worry. The blonde wanted to shield her mint-drop from feeling so upset again.

"Are you certain about this?"

Qat’s low voice softly asked - and her El’s response was practically serene, with no playful lilt to it at all.

"Completely. They’ve prepared exactly what I asked for."

Before the Yecine could inquire further, the surrounding murmur of the crowd changed. Ondua and Yatrel approached with Corde hez Iralev walking alongside them. The Dame Goltbred narrowed her eyes as she caught sight of the particular people preparing behind it.

She also recalled all too clearly her daughter’s previous reaction to these players. Ondua had been particularly concerned about her release of spiritual intent that evening. So why then, would she purposely think of them for this?

’She didn’t just use the first theater group she could think of... right?’

"Elua, dear. Are these not-"

"They are, and I invited them for a reason."

Her eldest confirmed with a smile that, to her mother’s eye, seemed oddly... *settled*.

"Oh?"

"Their actors are quite professional. I thought their style of storytelling might be valuable for my purposes."

"Considering what approaches... what kind of story are you having them tell? Is it serious or is it something lighter to ease their mood?"

"Well, you’ll find out with everyone else. But I think everyone here will appreciate it in their own way, mom."

Ondua looked between his wife and daughter, feeling like they may be talking a little too openly with the guest there at his side. It almost felt to him like they were admitting to having no understanding or control of Elua. While she was an ’adult’, most families still kept a tighter hold on the actions of their members.

’Well, most of those aren’t dealing with someone like my little one.’

He was sure that his wife had held something back - she usually did, to get more attention - but the basic idea of his child having some sort of memory of a past life had left her lips... before he exhausted her. He was still mulling that over and comparing it to life with young Elua.

Which is why he had started to mentally revert to thinking of her as the sweet and sometimes clingy little daddy’s girl that she was... before young Qatrand appeared. However, even with that escape from reality, he understood one thing. His eldest had probably never once entrusted them with all the information.

’Just like her mother, she will hold things back. Stay quiet. Keep us from helping while she deals with it on her own. The only one who she might open up for...’

His son-in-law turned and tilted a curious head at the brunette man, wondering what the sudden attention was about. While doing so, Qat felt an inexplicable draw to stroke the top of her wife’s head - and the bitter intent from the man solidified further.

Seconds later, three clear notes from a horn instrument cut through the night air and quieted most of the crowd. The lanterns lighting the stage were covered but for one that lit the very front. The play was about to begin.

The troupe’s usual lead actor stepped onto the stage, garbed not in his usual gaudy finery but in simple dark robes that absorbed the lantern light. Today, he would be narrating. When he spoke, his voice carried an uncharacteristic gravity compared to his usual roles.

"As our skies darken with the ancient cycle, we present a tale of choices made when the coming invasion was already upon the lands..."

Behind him, the stage was re-illuminated to reveal a diorama of cultivators gathered around a map table. At its head stood a woman with severe features and flowing green robes - the familiar to many representation of the Acid Tongued Villainess. Unlike previous performances, however, her posture conveyed authority over the other rather than malice.

"This is the tale of Sachret Pass. A tale where a Voidling horde tasted victory, where heroes fell, and where one of the most reviled decisions of ancient wars was made."

A second narrator emerged from the shadows - a woman with a voice that attracted the ear. Instead of the neutrals of the first speaker, her costume was instead glittering with small reflective mirrors. Her role was to be dual-natured, moving into scenes as one of the main players as needed.

"I, who saw beyond the veil of all things, tried to warn them. I, Sere the Clairvoyant, saw the path that could have saved them all."

A final narrator joined the stage. Dressed in grays, the troupe master stepped forward between them. It was the only place he and his best male actor could realistically be.

The entire stage was assisted with a ritual to help increase the volume of their voices - but the control area was at that very spot, siphoning the three cultivator’s essence for the improvement. Unlike the first narrators, this man turned to address the audience directly... setting his role quickly to those used to the continent’s plays.

"What is true when surrounded by the fall of darkness?"

He was to be a voice of dissent and interrogatives that helped push the watchers to think critically over what each speaker would bring to the matter. It was not a role he had done very often, as street performances usually focused on flash over deep thought - but the script they were provided seemed interesting enough!

"What choices remain when all paths lead to loss? Listen close and consider well, for who knows what choices tomorrow may bring for any of those among us."

The performance proper began with a sweeping gesture from all three narrators toward the center stage. Through clever use of fabric over props and lights being released, the backdrop transformed to represent a mountain fortress.

Elua watched the entire affair without particular expression on her face up to this point... though Qatrand felt a subtle tension ringing through the fragment of spirit in her chest. Considering this was yet another story that seemed to directly involve her past life, the ’older’ teenager could not blame her.

’I just wish I could do more than wait and see.’

The brunette actually *almost* wished her beloved would do less. Continuing to pet her head was not helping her keep calm at all! In fact, the illusionist was sure it was the primary culprit to all her current tension.

In the painting, the audience could see miniature banners representing a famed but long defunct organization fluttering from its walls. Images of cultivators in period costumes were lined up as if part of the military force awaiting orders. Actual performers mixed in as ’extras’ to fill it all out with even more dynamic realism.

The main narrator clothed in black, responsible for description opinionated mostly on historical description, spoke with his head turned toward the players.

"The Eastern Defensive League was commanded on this occasion by one who would later be known only as the Acid Tongued Villainess. Records say they held Sachret Pass with four thousand cultivators.."

A prop was wheeled near the mountain background. An off-white glow gave off a sense of ’mystical power’ - though really it was just a large rock that the heiress lended to the performance. One which she may have carved a few sigils within for effect.

"Behind them lay thirty farming communities and a site sacred to the region. A place where essence was said to flow in abundance. A true holy sight for elementalists."

The actress playing the Villainess stood at the center of the fortress in the background. Sickly green robes rippled with hidden mechanisms that made them appear to flow constantly like it was made of a liquid. Her expression remained impassive as she surveyed the map table surrounded by advisors.

A certain brunette watched it with clinical mint eyes still filled with life.

’They’ve captured the posture well enough after my notes. The real council had twenty-three attendants, not eight, but I suppose theatrical constraints make that necessary. What matters is the weight of the decision that will be made, not every little detail.’

And if it happened to be that this was one of the few known stories in this age where she had the most important role within a ’fortress’?

Well, that was just icing on the cake she’d specially prepared... to have her beloved Qat feed her later!