Chapter 207 - The Multi-faceted Story

Nathalie cupped her cheek as she propped on the slab, closing her eyes of what she had to think for a long time.

The story, right off the bat, deviated so badly. Not that she likely believed after she read the passage of the chapters several times, but then it came without giving her much time to prepare.

From what she knew, the Western Region should've been safe and out of the radar from the fierce enemies lurking from several foreign countries.

Most especially Ustreador— a country adjacent to the Western Territory of the Dysnomia Empire— also resided near the outermost boundary of the Drytop Hinterlands.

Out of all the four major territories, the West had the least amount of protection and needed great support and necessities needed to survive. 

With a couple of aggressions and outbreaks of wars occurring at the border, it was not shocking to hear that the place suffered so much. If not for the tribes dwell in the West, capable of defending themselves from the foreign attacks, then the Western Region would cease to exist.

In 'The Prince's Retribution,' the first popular book she ever wrote, Athan acquired immense advantage from his second life and shared almost everything that would've been a boon to the Empire. Like the stolen concoction formula from Mystique, and other martial arts came from him. 

Through him, bestowing them all to his confidant, Grand Duke Sylvester Salvatore, the Western Region thrived to what it was now. Even without the natural or destructive disasters that acted as a barrier from the South and North, the sheer power of the monsters warded them off. 

Soon enough, werewolves reigning from the Grand Duchy of Salvatore ranked one of the highest assets of the Empire.

Speculations showed Sylvester was on par, fighting head to head against Athan if he went all out.

Every enemy decided to initiate and latch into the crazed ambition of conquering would draw them even closer to knocking on death's door.

Overall, while the West wasn't as lush and bountiful of resources as the East and West, Athan bestowed different alternatives to flourish the lives of the citizens: from agriculture techniques to trading systems, everything went to a cohesive plan.

Even with it, he didn't hesitate to send as many rations and reinforcements as he had to the West, a means of open support of Sylvester.

The two of them grew as best of friends.

So Nathalie was never surprised when aggression from Sylvester resurfaced especially to her and every one against his faction. Any friend, at least, would've gotten their backs.

But then things shifted: with Jonathan around, who had better relations with them and not with her before; the truth of Marianne; and the things Mystique did to him, Nathalie wasn't sure where she was with Sylvester as of the moment.

Enemy or an ally, who knew...

Prior to her transmigration, only the North would've suffered the most in terms of every category therein. Now that she came, not on her watch.

But then, it got reversed— with the West now in crisis while the North flourished. 

Anyone would've deemed it suspicious.

Nathalie, after all the struggles she suffered, was susceptible to it as well alongside her vile reputation. 

This was also her main concern; she might've taken the blame for every crazy gossip and talk, which circulated within the sovereign as though connecting the dots and pushing her villain narrative.

That wasn't her route to take.

Not in the second chance.

She then covered her face, then brushed through her hairline, and then hair scratched roughly, enough for them to hear the itch of frustration she got.

Jonathan and Keith eyed her with deep concern; both of them understood her side. 

Meanwhile, Marcus stopped, rooted in his place as he only had gaze averted with a click of his tongue.

Right now, she was beyond flabbergasted to hear such a bold confession from Marcus, the arrogant yet fearless man that would've been a crucial ally in the future, now led astray towards becoming her enemy.

Marcus committed several grave offenses: providing manpower and intel for the foreign enemy; illegal trafficking of commodities; and the list went on for all she enumerated.

More than anything, she knew that there must've been something he was more than willing to sacrifice for a grave occurrence to happen on his part. 

Arid Dale Town was one of the least priorities under Athan's regime as it was able to hold on its own, with its status instead better than most cities and towns. Moreover, Marcus had more authority in the town and molded it to where it was now.

Yet what she saw earlier, it was unlikely he would've gotten that far for himself, taking all the hit and blame.

Something wasn't up, as what the manuscript entailed.

Regarding the deviation of another plot point, the changes started from the massive plague that haunted several places, causing great depression and famine amongst the lands. To her, it was impossible for the plague to occur, after taking important notes into account— much less likely to happen.

What she wanted to know was the root cause of the plague, which was never written on the draft she had.

So far, she learned that the manuscript was only a facet— one of the many lenses, per se— in the story, she was in, and there were other stories from different people which would connect eventually into a grand scheme of events.

'Marcus loves this place like his own, and he would do anything to protect it—he lost too much from his life and was able to rebuild and rekindle the old part of him in this town…' 

She then glanced at the twins, as their heads hung low, and glared at the tea they had. 

'He even put up ruthless act, shoving them away from him despite how it tore him to shreds. Little did they know...'

[Marcus, I don't want to jump to conclusions, despite your claims thereof…] She contested his gaze, and there he gaped with brown eyes dilating with a glimmer of hope. [Don't get me wrong. You need to take accountability for your actions—]

A suave chuckle came from his lips, a dry one. "That sounds fresh hearing that from you— Alright, I sense all your glares…. Go on, ask, free of charge." Then, he sighed. 

[Do you have any idea of the occurrence of the plague?]

However, Marcus furrowed his eyebrows, and more and more wrinkling lines showed his forehead from her question. A grim countenance was all he bore.

"... Those men earlier...."