The Cogwheel Declares (4)

A cold silence drifted through the hall.

It was only natural. He had called out a single young noble by name, flung a dagger at him, and ordered the man to cut out his own tongue with it. The nobility had no choice but to keep still.

"Th-this is, I mean—that is..."

The one who had been named was still pouring cold sweat, his eyes darting with nowhere to land. Then, all at once—

"Y-Your Majesty!! If I have committed some crime, I beg you, teach this foolish man what it was! And show me the mercy of letting me repay it! I beg you...!!"

His judgment, at least, was not entirely poor. He folded his whole body down and pleaded, and the sweat, the tears, even the snot streaming out of him made the sight ugly.

Yet no one cursed him for it, or even frowned. Put in that same place, every one of them would have ignored the eyes upon them and groveled just as wretchedly.

Before that display, King Edmund spoke.

"The mercy to repay a crime, is it. Yes. That much is not wrong. A king, at times, must show mercy."

Robert's head snapped up. At last he saw a hope of living—

"But tell me this. You insulted the royal house in word and in deed, and still you crawl here begging mercy. What manner of gall is that?"

"...Pardon?"

"A shameless wretch. Robert of House Solbenin. Not in some back alley, but within my own domain, you disgraced me and thought no one would know. Truly, it beggars belief."

Click.

King Edmund raised a hand, and at once the attendants spread a document open. Written there, and read out for the hall to hear, was this.

"Of course, even the words I speak now are no more than a broad summary of ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the conversation you had. You spewed slander one could not bear to hear with open eyes, and thought you would walk away unscathed. Truly foolish."

"Y-Your Majesty, I—I..."

"Do not imagine you will claim you never said it. The palace has ears in every corner, and those ears bring me nothing but the truth."

Robert had no answer.

"Yes. Even to the end, there is no sign of repentance. You are scheming how to slip free of this moment. Heh. I ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠had been willing to let that one sly tongue of yours talk its way past me, but looking at you now, I suspect the house that raised a wretch like you is rotten as well. No further mercy is required. Chief Attendant."

"Command me, Your Majesty."

"From tomorrow, see to it that House Solbenin no longer appears in the noble register. Do you understand?"

"It shall be done as you have spoken."

The Chief Attendant gave a look, and in the next instant a swarm of royal attendants closed in and began dragging Robert Solbenin away, together with everyone tied to House Solbenin. They tried to resist. The palace's senior attendants, however, were men who could match a Senior Knight, and resistance was all but impossible.

They were subdued in a single stroke and hauled out of the banquet hall, and then—

A rush of air, and they were gone.

They vanished without a trace. The whole sequence had unfolded as smoothly as flowing water. It was neat enough to have been fitted together like a play, and yet the nobles watching could only bow their heads, faces gone pale.

Drip. Drop.

The day was not particularly cold, and the temperature regulators inside the banquet hall were running, and still a strange number of them were sweating—as if their bodies meant to confess the reason.

"I know it as well. That when the king is absent, there are those who speak insults against him. Such words, I understand. So long as one is human, one cannot be without complaint. Even so, a line must not be crossed. To go past insult and lay a hand on the very authority and honor of the royal house is a thing I cannot forgive. Do not call me heartless."

No one answered.

"Among you, no doubt, are those whose consciences prick them for no clear cause, and those now looking back on words they themselves have spoken. But do not worry. Fortunately, none have crossed the line as far as Robert of Solbenin. Their cases merit some leniency."

"You may set your hearts at ease."

At that last assurance the nobles bowed their heads once more, overcome by the king's mercy. For a man thought a fool-king and an incompetent, the sight of him—merciful, and yet never sparing a cruel hand—was Edmund showing the shape of a true sovereign.

...As I thought.

He was not the sort of man one brands a fool-king. Ihan gave a small nod. His eyes had not been wrong.

Ordinary to look at. The eyes, though—those are something.

From the first glance, Ihan had known King Edmund was not the incompetent the rumors made him. How, when even his face and his presence were utterly ordinary?

He's got a spine.

The eyes alone belonged to a man with backbone. Short on charisma, perhaps, but the type who leads a faction by sheer resolve. A man sure of himself, and one with the drive to push it through.

An entrance that gaudy isn't entirely a bad thing, either.

Knowing his own charisma fell short, he was filling out the space of his presence with splendor. Which meant he knew his shortcomings more firmly than anyone. Above the ordinary, at the very least. That was Ihan's measure of King Edmund.

......Except.

Which only makes it more of a shame.

Ihan shook his head inwardly. His judgment might yet prove wrong. But if what he had just seen was true—and if what he had heard from Isis with his own ears was true—

"S-Sir Ihan, y-you must prepare yourself. His Majesty will call for you now."

"No sense of timing. I was in the middle of a crucial thought."

"Pardon?"

"Never mind. What was I ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠expecting from Geumjjoki."

"......"

"Let's go."

"Yes..."

The attendant answered, and still his face crumpled, ready to cry from the sheer unfairness of it.

A debutante—that is, a banquet the king attended in person—was an occasion whose whole point was that young noble sons and daughters paid their respects to the king for the first time and thereby entered society. In plainer words, you got your face stamped by the man upstairs.

Well, it was already the last day, so the young nobles had mostly gotten that stamp of their own accord, and there was no need to stand in line like diners waiting on a restaurant. A small mercy. Which was why ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠only a true handful, the ones still left, stepped forward to show their faces.

"Levi Jeanne d'Arc greets the heir of the great Knight King."

"Judia Loengrin greets the one who inherits the Dragon's Blessing."

"Karin Allensia de Guinevere greets the sovereign of the South."

The funny part was that the ones who remained were nobles of considerable renown. Tristan, Loengrin, and Guinevere. With houses like these before him, the king's remarks grew long.

"Levi Jeanne d'Arc. Word of you has reached even my ears. Talent acknowledged by that Marquis Jenimia, they say? Such talent is often dismissed as empty rumor, yet I hear you have shown result after result, as if to prove the talent is no lie. Splendid."

"You praise me too highly."

"It is not too high. When there is occasion, I shall summon you. A fine sapling of a knight shall receive a reward to match."

"I-I am unworthy of such grace."

"Judia Loengrin... To think that man, Count Roces, had gotten a child without even my knowing."

"My body has been frail since birth, so I could not show myself in any official capacity. My father only concealed my existence."

"Hm. I never imagined Count Roces possessed a heart that knew how to cherish his own child."

"...I am unworthy."

"It has been a long time."

"I greet Your Majesty."

"Do not bow so low. Your grandfather was the master charged with my education. Nor are you and I strangers. You may treat me at ease."

"You honor me too greatly."

"Hah. I said you may be at ease."

In truth, there was no way to be at ease. He had just erased an entire noble house. How was anyone supposed to relax? Edmund himself knew the mood, and he remained unruffled all the same.

Once the air had settled to a degree, the king sent the young ladies back to their places.

"Your Majesty, it is nearly time."

"I know without being told, Chief Attendant."

Thud.

King Edmund rose, bracing himself on a staff engraved with a dragon's seal, and presently—

"—Everyone here already knows. That of late, one unwholesome matter after another has befallen the kingdom."

He began to speak words that drew silence of their own accord.

"There is a seditious power. A power we cannot tell whether it seeks the kingdom's overthrow, or something beyond even that. The royal house and the Noble Council are doing all they can to destroy them, yet in every direction the work keeps going awry."

A plain speech, and one that felt sincere. King Edmund let out a sigh.

"I know it myself. That this is nothing but an excuse. And so the only thing I can say is this. I will do my utmost. So that the trust we have lost may be regained!"

Boom! He drove the staff down hard, and for an instant the marble caved in. Proof, as expected of royalty, that he had real attainment in the Fighting Art. A few among the watchers even let their admiration show.

Attention on King Edmund surged, and in that moment he spread both arms.

"And yet, even amid this unease, there is a hero who saved the kingdom!!"

Tum. Tumm! As if putting on a performance, the military band struck up at just the right moment, lifting the feeling higher.

"Ihan Turtle, step forward!"

Together with the Chief Attendant's call—booming, yet each syllable distinct—a man advanced along the red carpet stitched with gold thread, and his stride did not falter.

Neither fast nor slow. There was no smile on his face, and yet it was not blank; some feeling showed there. In every respect, he looked like a man who had learned royal etiquette properly.

"...Was he that sort of man?"

"Why's our instructor acting like that?"

"Wha—?"

Those who knew him were thrown into cognitive dissonance. That wasn't a man who did this. Why was he doing it?

But those who did not know his true face felt their chests lift of their own accord at the utterly confident stride of a knight. Ah—he could be no one but the man the king had acknowledged as a hero!

Dressed in the formal uniform of the Silver Lion Knight Order, wrapped in a spirit that was nothing if not gallant, he did indeed carry a hero's bearing.

And so, as everyone held their breath and the knight came to stand directly before the king, the king spoke before the man could even kneel.

"Ihan Turtle! Of your valor and your feats of arms, I have heard for a long time! And only today does our meeting come to pass!"

A sharp sweep. Thud—! The knights and soldiers guarding the king's surroundings stamped their feet. For an instant the banquet hall shook, and the hearts of the people shook with it.

It was a splendid sight. The king had staged a scene this grand for a mere knight, and now he was praising that knight outright. Any knight—no, any man—would have felt his chest swell.

The people were curious.

"Ihan Turtle. Loyal knight of Pendragon, and a new hero! I would give you a treasured sword of the royal house."

A gasp went up.

A treasured sword of the royal house. To receive one was, for a noble, honor of the highest order. When one considered that among the generation after Sir Baltar no knight had received a royal treasured sword, it was past envy and into jealousy.

What would that knight say? In what manner would he lay his loyalty before the king? Or would tears stand in his eyes?

He said nothing.

Under every gaze, under all that pressure, in an atmosphere swelling with the demand that he bow his head to the king at once, the knight—

......He had threatened the king.