The Cogwheel Declares (3)

…What kind of farce is this?

"My rotten luck…."

Lee Han grumbled without pause. A hollow disbelief crept over him—how had he ended up playing the clown?—and with it the stubborn conviction that almost any other work would have been more productive than this.

"Um, e-excuse me, Sir…."

"……."

"S-Sir Ihan Turtle. Y-you need to get ready…."

"I know. Quit nagging."

"Y-yes, sir!"

"…Why is your face so unpleasant to look at?"

"!?"

"Kidding."

Lee Han looked at the attendant assigned to him. Two days ago the man had come to his house and fainted dead away. From what Lee Han had heard, once the attendant returned, soldiers testified that he had been rude, and he had taken several dozen lashes for it.

Lee Han could have asked whether they needed to go that far, but the punishment was only what the place required. The royal house was a world where one needless mistake could cost you your life, and where the law of collective guilt—dragging your blood kin down with you—stood firmly in place. Mere rudeness toward Lee Han, a man the royal house itself had invited, might well have been enough to kill him. Surviving a mere whipping was, from the wretch's point of view, nothing short of luck.

"I-I'm s-sorry about then…. I w-went a little mad for a moment…."

"Drop it."

"Th-then…!"

"Spilled water can't be scooped back up."

"!!?"

"I said it's fine. I don't hold grudges."

"H-ha, r-right, sir."

"I'll just remember your face. For a long, long time."

"!!"

"Ha ha."

Poke. Poke.

Every time he prodded the man, the color of that face changed, and it was oddly entertaining. Was this what people meant by the fun of teasing?

Assistant Instructor Number One had this same air about him.

More precisely, the assistant instructor in his Geumjjoki days. The man had been reworked since, but at the start he had been every bit as bad as this attendant—worse, if anything. That Geumjjoki had been none other than Assistant Instructor Number One. So when Lee Han looked at Geumjjoki Number Two, he simply accepted it.

Average noble character runs about like this, anyway.

The nobles he knew were the odd ones. Weren't the rest of that breed a detestable people? And so, faced once more with this irritating face, Lee Han found he wasn't particularly angry.

"S-Sir Lee Han, y-you really must enter now. Arriving after His Majesty would be a grave discourtesy."

"What a pain…."

"S-Sir Lee Han, p-please…!"

"Do I have to do it just because you asked?"

"I-if I cut off a finger…."

"Don't particularly need that."

"……."

"All right. Don't cry. I hate watching a grown man bawl."

"Th-thank you! Thank you!!"

By ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠now the attendant was openly tearful in his gratitude, and so Lee Han went into the royal banquet hall.

Well.

He stopped short.

…Hearing an introduction like that, his feet halted of their own accord.

Do these bastards have no conscience?

More than anything else, it soured him to hear the White Cats called brave and honorable, and he stopped where he stood. The attendant's face crumpled, and he bowed his head all over again.

It ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠went without saying that a grand introduction in the banquet hall was not given to everyone. It followed only a great noble, or someone of standing close to that.

Now and then, as a mark of favor, they would heap praise on a war hero or a renowned general worthy of respect. The present situation, look at it however he might—

"So that's him…."

"The knight who stopped the disaster?"

"He looks strong. But I doubt he's truly that impressive."

"Hmm."

—seemed like nothing but a trick meant to make a fool of him.

To that degree, most of the nobles were watching him with suspicion in their eyes. As if they were appraising him, or as if they meant to find a flaw no matter what it took. It was an atmosphere unpleasant beyond words. Was this really how one treated a hero who had prevented a catastrophe?

"It's the instructor!"

"What's he doing here? I was sure he'd never show up at something like this."

"Right? That's what I said."

On the other side, though, there were people glad to see him, so it didn't weigh on him much. Rather than spare a glance for those cursing him, Lee Han only lent his ear to faces and voices he knew.

Not just my kids. There are faces I recognize.

He could see people from Tristan, Galahad, Lionel, and from Offen and Mordred as well. Beyond them were faces from Loengrin and from Guinevere—the Academy Dean's side—and his eyes met every one of theirs. One meeting in particular.

"Sir Lee Han."

"It has been some time."

"…A nod would have done. Why come all the way over?"

"How could we treat you so, Sir Lee Han?"

"Quite so."

The Offen side and the Mordred side came to him first and offered their greetings. A sword instructor of House Offen, and Mordred's White Ghost. They were people of considerable renown, and because they had approached him first, the nobles who had been speaking ill of him flinched.

For great nobles, lofty and arrogant as the world itself, to go first to a mere knight and greet him was an act that violated their "common sense."

"The Sword Duke said you ought to visit, from time to time."

"Lady Louise keeps asking when she might see Sir Santa. Only today she was sulking at the head of the house. Ha ha."

And they looked close, besides. He thought he had caught the title Sword Duke. Were they mistaken?

"…Ahem."

A few of those who had been maligning him ducked their heads at once and quietly withdrew. They were still displeased with that knight, yes, but once they saw that great nobles respected him, they no longer had the courage to pick a quarrel. They bowed their heads instead, and kept them bowed.

But.

"Do not concern yourself with their treatment, Sir Lee Han. Offen will never forgive those who dared speak ill of Offen's benefactor."

"Mordred may hold little influence on the Central Continent, but we are not so feeble that we cannot punish the likes of them. We shall see to it properly."

Neither house looked inclined to leave alone anyone who had dared insult their benefactor.

"N-no, I'm really fine…."

The man himself was perfectly all right, and the two houses were the ones in an uproar. Lee Han felt awkward about it even so.

So great nobles really are something?

He had only ever watched them shatter like the neighborhood punching bag. Now, belatedly, he recognized that they were in fact rather formidable.

At that moment—

Boom! Boom! Boooom!

"…Still a noisy way to show up."

With the clamorous drums, a military band appeared and began to play. Woodwinds and brass, percussion and strings—a lavish feast of instruments, splendid, and full of sounds he had never heard in his life.

On the off chance, Lee Han asked.

"Are entrances usually this extravagant?"

"…They were not, originally."

"They became so after the late king passed."

"……."

Hearing that, Lee Han lost whatever he might have said. Whether he had words or not—

Booooom!!

Amid the praise-laden introduction, he revealed himself.

He had been nothing more than the Military God's youngest brother, yet by luck he had climbed the throne and become Pendragon's new king.

He was the very man who had forced the war to unify the South, sent countless subjects to their deaths, and reduced the royal house to beggary—and yet, somehow, he had unified the South and seized the title of conqueror-king.

Thus, despite those achievements, he was rising as the worst of calamitous kings, and the world called him by an insulting name: the Monarch of Greed and Incompetence.

"Edmund Pendragon…."

Edmund Julian de Pendragon. The name of the thirty-first king of Pendragon.

And yet.

A calamitous king?

Looking at the man, Lee Han only tilted his head.

"Raise your heads."

With the king's entrance, the nobles who had bowed lifted their heads at his word, and some of them were able to study the royal countenance in detail.

So this is the sort of man he is….

…Hmm.

……?

Among the young nobles—especially those making their debutante—there were quite a few seeing the king's face for the first time. What those people felt, upon seeing him, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠was nothing other than this.

Ordinary?

They knew it was rude, and still they could not help the thought.

…He was truly ordinary-looking.

The silver hair and silver eyes that symbolized the legitimacy of royal blood were impressive, of course, but beyond that there was nothing particular to see. A face so ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠common that you would forget it the moment you passed him in the street.

Of course, one must not judge a person by appearance. Ability is not a thing you can know from the outside alone.

Even granting that….

I don't feel a thing?

No one could sense any presence from him. Yes—he had none of the charisma of so-called royal majesty.

Did that even make sense?

He was the conqueror-king said to have unified Pendragon, unified the South. And yet from that conqueror-king there came no majesty at all, not even the presence an ordinary soldier carried. It felt distinctly strange.

And what enlarged that strangeness—

"Haa…."

"Her Highness the Crown Princess."

At some moment a beautiful woman had taken the seat directly beside the king, and merely looking at her only made the question grow.

Crown Princess Isis.

A beauty so radiant that looking was enough to dazzle. Yet those eyes, holding a charisma no less than that beauty, exerted a pressure no one would dare oppose. Fall under the spell of that loveliness and draw near, and your head would leave your shoulders in an instant.

A trickle of sweat….

A dry swallow.

She was a woman who tightened the air by sight alone, and the people could not help comparing the king and the crown princess.

Father and daughter, right?

Some even began to doubt whether Princess Isis was King Edmund's own daughter. The two were that different, from face to atmosphere, in everything.

Then.

"You there. What is your name?"

"?"

"Ah, not you. The one behind you."

"……?"

All at once, out of nowhere, the king singled someone out. The young noble, pointed at before every eye, faltered, then bowed his head at once and spoke.

"I-I am Robert of House Solbenin, Your Majesty!"

"Yes. Solbenin. Ah, now I remember. A merchant-noble house of considerable history, I believe?"

"That you remember is an honor, Your Majesty!!"

Robert Solbenin had no idea what this was about, but even so it seemed a piece of luck. For a noble, attention ran straight into reputation. He did not know for what purpose the king had called him, but the mere fact of being noticed could only be a good—

Clink.

"Have his tongue cut out."

"…Pardon?"

"You did not hear? Defective in the ears as well. Have those useless ears cut off along with it."

"……."

"Gone mute this time. Do you feel wronged? If you feel wronged, you should not have spoken such 'words' so carelessly. Heh heh."

"……."

"I told you to cut it, did I not? Why do you not obey?"

"……."

"Well, now."

"He doesn't listen."

The king's low murmur spread quietly through the hall. He turned his gaze over them as if seeking their agreement, yet not one person dared to speak.

……Because understanding the situation itself was far too difficult.