My Mansion of Gorgeous Maids in Another World-Chapter 54: Command Us As You See Fit

Jett halted at the capital’s threshold as the thunderous crack of splitting stone reverberated through the air; acrid smoke and gritty dust rasped in his throat, and his eyes widened at the catastrophe he’d vowed to prevent. A yawning crevice, wider than the palace plaza and so deep its bottom was lost to darkness, split the city in two, swallowing living beings by the thousands.

He was certain it had dragged what felt like most of Skia’s population down into the Dragon Catacombs. The fall alone would have killed many; whatever waited below promised worse. And someone he had hoped to avoid for a long while was responsible.

I knew the Harbinger would revel in chaos like this... but she’s really here.

He heard her airy giggle ripple through the capital as she swept past, sowing doubt in draconic hearts and bending them to her will. With her help the dragons’ scheme rolled on unchecked, humanity’s resistance barely a speed bump. That single gesture was her invitation to the dance between the Harbinger and the Warden.

Behind Jett and his maids a branch snapped in the distance, and an injured elder staggered into view—his once‑pristine robe hung in tatters, scorched crescent‑shaped holes marking where Crimson Storm had struck. He glanced over his shoulder and spotted an old man in tattered dragon robes limping toward them. Bruises and a smear of dried blood marred the elder’s face, his jaw hanging oddly askew, cracked scales tracing his cheek, and a faint reek of singed flesh clinging to him, yet his curled horns still gleamed with undimmed pride.

Is he one of the elder dragons whose muzzles I smashed against the capital’s barrier?

The old man closed the distance with measured steps until he stood within earshot, then dropped to his knees and bowed until his forehead touched the ground.

"Thank you for sparing the younger generation, Lord Warden," the dragon rasped. "Hatred and rage have clouded the eyes of both young and old, yet we elders can still recognize your benevolence."

Time to dust off my court manners, even in the middle of a disaster.

"Rise," Jett said, voice steady after a heartbeat’s hesitation. "I’m still a fledgling myself, just trying not to repeat the mistakes of the Ruler of Earth and Rivers."

"The previous Warden... yes, I understand." The old dragon lifted his head, straightened, and met Jett’s gaze. "His methods were even crueler than ours, yet that very callousness kept many from accepting the Harbinger’s offers. Unfortunately, it also drove her to work more closely with those who would."

I hadn’t considered it that way.

"Thank you for the insight. We, ah, need to tackle the crisis before us. Will you lend me your strength?"

"I will, Lord Warden," he replied, nodding once. "Even if it earns Her Majesty’s ire, I wish to aid you."

Perhaps age had softened the elder’s heart—or he simply cared too deeply for the young—but Jett’s mercy had moved him.

Together they could rescue those who had fallen and accepted the Harbinger’s deal. If that failed, the Dragon Empress would execute them herself, yet with the Warden there was still a chance.

Their robes were scorched, scales streaked with ash, some clutching broken arms, clear trophies of Crimson Storm’s fury, yet they bowed as one. "Terraroa is not the only one who wishes to support you, Lord Warden," another elder declared as dozens of dragons in human form stepped forward and prostrated themselves. "Command us as you see fit."

More than fifty dragons knelt before him, muffled groans rising as they settled, their sudden reverence nearly overwhelming Jett’s composure.

After drawing a slow breath he answered with formal calm.

"The Harbinger has no doubt tempted each of you, yet you stand here because you love your children and your kin. Allow me to commend you—seriously, well done." He smiled. "Let’s turn this disaster into our first real step toward harmony..."

"Lord Warden... do you truly believe reconciliation is possible while dragonslayer magic exists?" Terraroa asked.

"Once I uncover that magic’s root, I believe we can reshape it into something that benefits both our peoples," Jett replied. "Dragonslayer magic is a bridge; many may walk it. The Harbinger will try to shatter it, but if we pacify the malcontents instead of alienating them, we advance together."

"We shall walk that path, trusting in your vision," Terraroa said. "Yet depending on Her Majesty’s will, we may be forced to retreat."

"The future can wait," Jett said with a nod. "Right now, lives need saving."

"Mia, please remain here with twenty‑five dragons. Enter my mansion, draw on its mana, and expand your dominion. Use every resource—herbs, potions, medicines—to keep casualties to a minimum."

She would also shield the mansion while he descended.

"As you command, Master Jett," Mia replied with a serene bow.

"Noctlisa, Eleonora—you’re with me," Jett continued. "Terraroa, I need you and the rest to guide us through the Dragon Catacombs and tell me everything you know of that place."

"Got it, Master—on it," Noctlisa barked, thumping her fist against her breastplate.

"I stand at the ready, Master," Eleonora said, her voice poised and warm as she bowed with graceful poise.

Terraroa inclined his head. "Understood. The Dragon Catacombs are far more intricate than a mere tomb for wicked souls. To explain it properly, I must first speak of a dragon’s soul. In most races, souls gradually fade away, but in a dragon’s case the soul returns to the marrow. If something blocks that homecoming, the dragon cannot rest or reincarnate."

Reincarnation is actually real? "I assume the Dragon Catacombs exist so evil souls can wander forever. Do they keep the bones down there as well?"

"Yes. The bones are guarded and further tempered so the most wicked dragons suffer for eternity," Terraroa replied.

The idea was wicked, befitting the wicked. Yet what if that design could be subverted? As the thought crossed Jett’s mind, a chill crawled down his spine. There was someone inside those catacombs who could do far more than merely twist the concept to her favor.

...

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