The Storm Within and Without

Raindrops, fat as beans, hammered relentlessly on the Laval estate’s roof, creating a cacophony that swelled into a deafening roar.

Rainwater streamed down the sodden courtyard, washing away traces of the garish red paint that had recently defaced the main gate.

The entire manor swayed precariously amidst the frantic downpour, as if poised to be swallowed whole by the boundless, grey gloom.

“Oh, my dearest son! My poor Allen! Are you alright?!!!”

A choked cry, laced with tears, pierced through the torrential rain, even overriding a dull rumble of thunder.

Bernard de Laval, Viscount, was soaked to the bone, looking like a bedraggled chicken fished from a river.

His soft-crowned beret, a symbol of his status, clung askew to his forehead, while his expensive, dark blue velvet pourpoint plastered itself to his slightly corpulent frame, delineating a rather pathetic silhouette.

He had practically burst through the dining room door, having forgotten the recently reclaimed debt in his haste to rush back.

Upon seeing Allen safe and sound, calmly savoring a honey-slathered piece of bread at the dining table, Bernard’s face, pale from rain and anxiety, instantly erupted with the frantic joy of something lost and found, followed by tears of lingering fear.

“Allen!” He stumbled forward, pulling his still bewildered son into a tight embrace with such force that Allen nearly choked on his bread.

Icy rainwater mingled with scorching tears, instantly soaking Allen’s dry clothes.

“Father! I just finished bathing!” Allen swallowed his bread with difficulty, protesting in a muffled voice.

He had only just managed to thwart Marianne’s attempt to assist him with his bath, a struggle so arduous it would likely take a whole chapter to recount.

“Those damned hyenas! Beasts!” Bernard’s voice was hoarse and trembling, imbued with the ferocity of a nobleman pushed to the brink.

“If they dare lay a single finger on you, I’ll abandon everything! I’ll spend every last coin of my fortune to put a bounty on their heads, hanging each one of them to dry on the city gates!”

Allen felt a sharp ache from the embrace, and the cold dampness sent a shiver through him, yet a warmth simultaneously bloomed in his chest.

He painstakingly raised a hand, gently patting his father’s heaving back, and reassured him with a smile, “Father, there’s no need to be so dramatic. Do you truly think those wild dogs could harm your son? Look, didn’t I drive them away?”

Bernard lifted his head, his bloodshot eyes filled with self-reproach and lingering dread, “You shouldn’t have taken such a risk, Allen! If anything were to happen to you, what would be the point of me maintaining this household?”

Beside them, the old butler, Jean Leclerc, had also shed his usual composure; a few strands of his grey hair, damp with rain, clung to his forehead, and his face was etched with profound guilt:

“It’s all this old servant’s fault! I was incompetent, allowing the young master to fall into such peril!”

“No, no, no! Old Jean, how can you blame yourself!” Bernard abruptly released Allen, turning to the butler, vehemently waving his arms, sending droplets of rain flying.

“It’s my fault! All my fault! I suspected they wanted us dead, but I never imagined… I never imagined they would act so swiftly! So ruthlessly!”

“I tried my best to negotiate, but… but their scheme was laid out earlier than mine! And far more insidious!”

He paced anxiously beside the linen-covered dining table, his sodden boots leaving dark water stains on the floor, mirroring the chaotic despair of his mind.

“Father,” Allen’s tone was calm, but his gaze was sharp as a blade, “Who are they?”

The calmer Allen appeared, the wilder his true intentions became.

Marianne, silently standing by, had no doubt that the moment Bernard revealed a name, Allen would transform into an avenging reaper, knocking on their doors one by one.

Clutching several dry, soft towels, she quickly stepped forward, eager to rein in the young master before he spiraled out of control.

“Young master, allow me to wipe you down.”

She meticulously dried Allen’s hair and shoulders, which his father had dampened, her movements gentle and focused.

Of course, a lingering hint of resentment from her previously rejected “bath service” still flickered in her crimson eyes.

‘What kind of joke is this! Marianne, you’re only fourteen! How could you, you silly maid, even conceive of such an inappropriate scenario? What do you mean it’s a maid’s job? What do you mean other nobles do it?’

‘Look at me! I am Allen de Laval! A villain who has risen above base desires! Do not compare me to those scoundrelly, good-for-nothing bastards!’

Allen’s refusal of Marianne’s request to assist with his bath had been exceptionally firm.

‘It was just a small matter like bathing the young master; why did he react so intensely?’

‘And the young master himself said he was interested in public baths…’

Recalling Allen’s sympathetic gaze—’You’re still a child’—Marianne cast her eyes downwards to her own chest.

At fourteen, her development wasn’t bad, but compared to Livia… well… Livia was a bit older than her, so it was certainly different!

‘People grow up eventually!’

‘In any case, the years are long, and worth the wait.’

“Uh…” Allen’s question left Bernard momentarily speechless, “You’re still too young; don’t concern yourself with adult matters.”

“What nonsense are you spouting?” Allen retorted, looking at his father without ceremony.

“Are you implying that if the sky falls, you can bear the burden alone? That the collapse of the Laval household wouldn’t affect me?”

Allen’s pointed questions left Bernard utterly dumbfounded.

“But…”

Allen patted his father’s hand, then adopted a smile imbued with both helplessness and reassurance, a maturity beyond his years.

“Dear Father, look at you, completely drenched; you’ll fall ill if you continue like this. Go take a hot bath first, and change into some clean, warm clothes.” He gestured towards the dining table.

“We, as a family, will hold a family meeting right here to thoroughly discuss the crisis facing our household.”

“I…” Bernard still hesitated.

“Go, Father.” Allen’s face held a smile, yet his eyes betrayed no amusement.

“Our family’s crisis is far from trivial. The more you hold back, the faster our family will perish.”

“Or are you unwilling to even trust your own son?”

Allen’s unusual calm and sense of responsibility were like a basin of ice water, instantly dousing the frantic flames in Bernard’s heart.

What exactly was he worried about?

His son was no longer the ignorant, foolish boy he once was.

Ever since his son had drowned and woken up, he seemed to have undergone a complete transformation.

Not only was he more composed than Bernard, but he even bore a resemblance to… his own father, who had passed away early.

Both men possessed an unyielding, resolute character.

Bernard gazed blankly at his son, at the steady light in his eyes, an indescribable mix of poignant bitterness and profound relief welling up within him, blurring his vision with fresh tears.

His own son had become so dependable!

If only… if only from the beginning, he had shed those ridiculous aristocratic airs, communicated properly with his son, and faced problems honestly, would father and son have remained estranged for so many years?

Guilt, like fine needles, pricked his heart.

But more than that, there was the pride of seeing a fledgling eagle finally spread its wings.

‘Lord! Thank you! Your divine revelation saved my child, and it saved me too!’

“Alright, alright, alright!” Bernard choked out, nodding vigorously like an obedient child.

“I’ll go now! Right now!”

He haphazardly wiped his face with his sleeve, then turned and stumbled towards his room, his urgency suggesting a fear that if he delayed even a moment, this hard-won “family meeting” would vanish.

****

When Bernard returned to the dining room, having changed into dry, warm dark brown woolen everyday clothes and wiping his semi-dry hair with a towel, the sight before him made him pause at the doorway once more, his eyes instantly welling up again.

Under the warm candlelight of the dining room, Allen and the old butler, Jean Leclerc, sat side by side, their heads close together, quietly discussing a thick ledger spread open on the table.

Allen’s slender fingers traced the yellowed pages, patiently explaining something, while the old butler listened with intense focus, nodding occasionally, his clouded yet sharp eyes gleaming with understanding and affirmation.

Marianne, meanwhile, had pulled up a chair a little further away, resting her chin in her hands.

Her beautiful crimson eyes watched Allen unblinkingly, filled with curiosity and an almost worshipful glow, as she quietly listened to the numerical calculations that were somewhat profound for her.

This scene was warm, tranquil, imbued with the everyday warmth of a typical family and the comfort of mutual support.

Jean Leclerc, the butler who had served the family since the time of Bernard’s father, Jacques de Laval, was an orphan adopted by his father.

Though nominally a butler, he was in reality more like Bernard’s older brother by affection.

During the difficult years following the unexpected deaths of his parents, it was Old Jean, with his not-so-broad shoulders, who propped up the crumbling family and supported the young Bernard.

He had dedicated his entire life to the Laval family, even refusing the possibility of starting his own.

When Bernard had once tentatively brought it up, Old Jean had merely smiled gently and said:

“Your children are my children. If I had my own children, I might become selfish. Parents always hope to leave everything to their own offspring.”

Bernard had always believed that even if Old Jean had his own children, he would never betray the Laval family.

In his heart, Old Jean was already family—a father, a brother.

Yet, that invisible barrier between master and servant, that ridiculous aristocratic reserve, had always prevented him from truly vocalizing this sentiment.

Bernard loathed his own weakness; even his son had completely changed, willing to reconcile with him, so why couldn’t he make a change?

His gaze then shifted to Marianne.

This black-haired, crimson-eyed girl, resilient as a fawn yet with a slightly awkward charm, seemed to have developed a more… normal relationship with Allen after the crisis that night?

He had always genuinely liked her, appreciating her diligence and unyielding spirit.

But in the past, he had watched his son bully her, yet chose to turn a blind eye due to that damnable “aristocratic decorum” and his distorted doting.

What had made him so callous?

Was it the arrogance stemming from his noble status? Or the deep-seated apathy that considered the suffering of the lower classes to be natural and inevitable?

Perhaps, in his ascent to the “noble” position, he had, without realizing it, gradually twisted and alienated himself, becoming the very kind of person he once most detested—cold, snobbish, and an exploiter who regarded human lives as expendable.

Thankfully, he still had Allen.

His son’s rebirth was like a beam of light that not only illuminated Allen himself but also pierced through the accumulated gloom in Bernard’s heart, allowing him to reclaim a measure of his “human” warmth.

The debt he felt towards Marianne made him secretly resolve to cherish her as his own daughter.

He had always secretly wished for a lovely daughter.

However, his wife’s early demise had taken all his affection, and he had never remarried.

And now, watching the three of them discussing accounts in the candlelight, Bernard’s long-dormant yearning for a “home” was filled as never before.

He had acquired so many family members; this was already the dream he had pursued his entire life.

He felt immeasurable happiness, but the more tangible this happiness became, the more he feared—

Feared that this fragile warmth would be utterly torn apart by the merciless wind and rain outside, and the dark machinations within.

“Father, please have a seat here.” Allen’s voice broke Bernard’s reverie.

He looked up to see his son smiling and beckoning him.

“Old Jean and I are currently discussing how to be more frugal and cut down on unnecessary household expenses. Many of the expenditures, upon closer inspection, are truly wasteful. For instance, the ‘intelligence tax’ collectibles you’ve bought; their annual maintenance fees alone could feed us for a month.”

“Son, you’ve truly grown up.”

Bernard’s voice choked again, and he quickly walked over, pulled out a chair, and sat down, his gaze lingering on his son’s face, filled with undisguised relief and emotion.

Watching his old man on the verge of “crying again at any moment,” Allen felt a mix of amusement and exasperation.

How could this Viscount, so formidable in the outside world, become so emotional the moment he returned home?

Once Bernard was seated, the old butler closed the ledger, and Marianne straightened up.

The serious family meeting, led by Allen and concerning the survival of the family, officially began amidst the torrential rain outside.

“Father,” Allen said, his smile fading, his expression turning solemn, “First, we need to clarify one thing: Who are our enemies? Or rather, which groups are under suspicion? Who is it that used such malicious and despicable methods, attempting to plunge our Laval family into eternal damnation?” He cut straight to the chase.

Bernard took a deep breath, knowing that there was no longer any need for concealment.

He collected his thoughts and stated gravely, “It’s highly likely to be… the Hardliners.”

“The Hardliners?” A glint of sharp curiosity flashed in Allen’s eyes.

Bernard nodded, slowly beginning to recount the tip of the iceberg of the country’s sinking state, “Our nation, the Kingdom of Lorraine, appears calm on the surface, but in reality, it has long been embroiled in a vortex of division.”

He spoke of the late King Louis XI’s past: a monk, originally stripped of his inheritance, who had devoted himself to spiritual practice within the Church, only to unexpectedly ascend to the throne after the sudden death of his cruel elder brother.

During his first decade on the throne, he had enforced frugality, appointed capable officials, and for a time, ushered in a prosperous golden age.

However, in recent years, natural disasters and man-made calamities had struck relentlessly; droughts, floods, and plagues ravaged the land in succession, plunging the entire kingdom into dire straits.

Louis XI attributed all of this to “divine punishment,” and from then on, he secluded himself, dedicating himself to spiritual cultivation, completely relinquishing power, and adopting a policy of “governing by non-action.”

The reins of national power thus fell into the hands of his two children—Crown Prince Charles Durand and Princess Charlotte Durand.

“Crown Prince Charles,” Bernard’s voice carried a subtle hint of apprehension, “controls the kingdom’s military might. The sword nobles, those with ancient crests and vast fiefdoms, follow closely at his side like sharks scenting blood. They worship martial prowess and believe in iron-fisted rule.”

“As for Princess Charlotte,” Bernard’s tone softened slightly, “she commands administrative authority. The robe nobles, representing the interests of the burgeoning burgher class, and the civil servant bureaucracy, rally under her banner. They lean towards governing the nation through law and negotiation.”

Both were entangled by the interest groups behind them, engaging in a fierce power struggle over the future direction of the kingdom.

Especially now, with consecutive years of natural disasters leading to displaced peasants, frequent tax resistance, and the kingdom’s finances teetering on the brink of collapse, their differences had become irreconcilable.

“The Hardliners, represented by Crown Prince Charles,” Bernard’s voice deepened, “hold extremely radical views. They believe: ‘Humans are the root of all problems! Eliminate the rebellious peasants, and the problems will naturally be solved!’ They even openly declare: ‘It is only right and proper that nine heads of rebellious farmers should be impaled on every noble’s spear-tip!'”

Allen’s brows furrowed.

“And the Moderates, represented by Princess Charlotte,” Bernard continued, “advocate for de-escalating conflicts, appeasing displaced people through the redistribution of social wealth, and restoring production, attempting to resolve the issues at their root. They believe that harsh governance is fiercer than tigers, and suppression will only incite greater resistance.”

The old King Louis XI’s ambiguous stance on the succession issue further exacerbated this schism.

He neither explicitly supported the Crown Prince nor fully trusted the Princess, as if awaiting some “divine revelation” to determine the kingdom’s future.

This nation had long been swaying precariously amidst silent smoke and fire.

Listening to his father’s account, Allen’s brows furrowed even tighter.

‘The old king… what a player! Hiding away for his own peace, leaving a mess for his children to squabble over. Was he perhaps aiming to ‘cultivate the form of a crane’?’

Allen recalled the original *Starlight Serenade*.

The original story primarily took place at the Saint Norah Emblem Academy. As a romance game, the developers mostly avoided detailed political descriptions, only hinting at characters’ stances and fates through gameplay.

The Crown Prince’s route featured SLG (Simulation-Lite Game) strategy combat, where players, in addition to controlling the protagonist Livia, also commanded the kingdom’s army to suppress rebellions in various regions.

During this period, even imperial invasion events would erupt.

However, no matter how valiant the player’s operations, the ending of this route always saw the Crown Prince defeated and killed, the only difference being a slight variation in the story’s epilogue.

For example, in the imperial invasion event, if the empire won, the epilogue read: “The knight on horseback ultimately could not outrun the wheel of history.”

If the Kingdom of Lorraine won, the epilogue stated: “Ancient emblems shone brightly; we preserved ‘everything,’ and we won an eternal twilight.”

Allen had played the Crown Prince’s route, and the developers had excellently conveyed the regret of his unfulfilled ambitions and untimely demise.

This Machiavellian monarch, who regarded all beings as pawns, only realized in his final moments that he himself was also on the chessboard.

The power Charles Durand had pursued his entire life was merely an illusion.

He had spent his whole life circling the doorstep of happiness, never noticing that there had been a woman by his side who could have brought him joy.

But he would never have the chance to see her again.

Players might feel a pang of regret for the Crown Prince at this point.

However, after hearing his father’s supplementary background, Allen merely felt that the Crown Prince, this future tyrant, was even more deserving of death than he, a mere villain!

The Princess’s route involved simulation management gameplay, where players had to help Princess Charlotte manage the kingdom’s economy, provide disaster relief, restore production, and attempt to save the kingdom’s people from suffering.

This route was far more difficult than the Crown Prince’s route.

Under immense financial pressure, players could not waste even a single penny of the budget, otherwise, the kingdom’s fragile economy would collapse in an instant.

Even worse, during the management process, rebellions instigated by the sword nobles would constantly erupt (these were even random events), and the Empire would launch a full-scale invasion in the later stages of the game.

Charlotte’s only reliable military force was Livia and her Edict Knights under her command.

This was the most hardcore aspect of this route.

Edict Knights were the nation’s standing army; although loyal and powerful, maintaining such an elite force naturally required vast sums of money.

Establishing the army required money, replenishment required money, weapons and equipment required money, logistics required money, maintenance required money, and compensation for casualties required money…

Hard-earned money would all be poured into this bottomless pit, making players truly feel how challenging it was to sustain a crumbling nation.

Perhaps players would ask, ‘What if I minimize military expenditure in the early stages, and then increase it later when the economy improves? Wouldn’t that solve the problem?’

This idea was indeed brilliant.

The problem was that in this type of game, the early stages were the most stressful. If you lost even once in the early game, the sword nobles would successfully restore their power and retaliate against the Moderates.

Queen Charlotte and Livia would go to the guillotine hand in hand.

If players only developed the economy and neglected the military, the kingdom would perish in war; but if they overemphasized the military and failed to develop the economy, the kingdom would face a massive peasant uprising and likewise perish.

Given the hardcore difficulty of the Princess’s route, players nicknamed this route the ‘Chongzhen Simulator.’

Fortunately, the Princess’s route lacked the plot-kill mechanic of the Crown Prince’s route, meaning players’ efforts were rewarded.

As long as Livia’s stats were high enough (which had to be cultivated in the academy arc beforehand) and management was proper, the Princess’s route could achieve a ‘Century Lily Wedding’ Happy End.

Charlotte Durand would ultimately realize her simple wish of ‘every commoner having a bowl of chicken soup every day,’ and her title as ‘Wise Monarch’ would forever be recorded in history books.

The creators employed a subtle hand in crafting the paths of these two heirs.

Games were one thing; reality was far more complex.

Who knew which route Livia was currently on? The Hardliners and Moderates were, in all likelihood, destined for a bloody clash.

Allen had long known of the kingdom’s acute conflicts, yet he had never imagined the division in the upper echelons to be so severe, with factional strife fiercer than fire and water!

‘There cannot be two suns in the sky, nor two masters for the people.’

This old king’s dereliction of duty was simply putting the entire nation on a roasting spit!

‘This country was truly doomed!’