Chapter 84
Chapter 84
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>Translator: Lord First
>Chapter: 84
>Chapter Title: The King's Silence (2)
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*
For the fortnight Ivan was hospitalized, Elizaveta did not visit his room even once.
She simply remained cooped up in her office, as if trying to emulate her father, who never ventured outside the palace.
Instead, she sent Dmitry.
“My, look at the thickness of this peel, Miss Isabelle. You’ll never get married like this. Goodness gracious, you’ve practically diced the apple flesh.”
“How am I supposed to peel it any thinner than this!”
“Hm? Shall I show you?”
Dmitry took the paring knife and apple and began to rub it. Literally, it looked more like he was rubbing the apple than peeling it.
In no time, an apple, peeled so thinly you could see through to the other side (and in a single, continuous strip), was placed on the plate.
“Ta-da!”
“Insane…”
Isabelle dazedly lifted the apple peel. It was so thin that it threatened to crumble just from being held between her thumb and forefinger.
“Does the Counter-Intelligence Command make you take bridal lessons as part of your training? How did you do that?”
“Huhu, there’s a terrifying secret to it.”
“It’s one of the torture techniques.”
Ivan tossed out the words with a bored expression.
“It’s a basic flaying technique. I’d have thought you’d have no use for it these days, but your skills haven’t dulled, Dmitry.”
“Oh, it’s all about being prepared. I think we might have a use for it soon, you know?”
“…Soon?”
“Mm. This is top secret, but…”
Dmitry glanced at Isabelle and gave a slight nod.
“Miss Isabelle, may I borrow our captain for a bit today? This is official business, you see.”
“Oh, are you going to torture the old man?!”
“What. Even if I came at him in full gear, I’d be the one getting tortured by that ‘old man’…”
“Isabelle, go back.”
Ivan spoke sternly to Isabelle, who was pouting petulantly.
“Don’t you have things to prepare?”
“Old man, you’re really serious about this.”
“I am always serious.”
“The problem is that it’s about those weird pickled vegetables. Fine, fine, the civilian is leaving!”
Isabelle grumbled as she left the hospital room. Dmitry, who had closed his eyes for a moment to gauge the sound of her footsteps, set the apple aside, his expression suddenly hardened.
Pavel began to happily munch on the apple he had set down.
“Have you noticed the strange atmosphere in Fritzenkaya right now?”
“Atmosphere?”
“Well… um. The Counter-Intelligence Command is currently outside the city. For training.”
Dmitry shot a resentful look at Pavel. Pavel just shrugged and continued eating the apple.
“How many direct attacks has the city suffered this year alone? Two train bombings, one terrorist attack on students near the city, one demon incursion within the city, and that gentleman over there…”
“Ahem, you should call him Senior, junior. What class were you? Ah, Ivan, this kid wasn't in the Royal Guard, was he?”
“…One amazing raid conducted by my senior. And now, one invasion by the King of Droan himself. Wow. Fritzenkaya has never been hit this hard, even during the war years.”
Dmitry carefully pulled an envelope from his coat. It was an order bearing the royal seal—or more precisely, Elizaveta’s personal seal, pressed into the wax.
As Ivan tore open the envelope and began to read, Dmitry spoke at his side.
“The incidents at Yansk University, which Her Highness personally manages, were particularly decisive. The court nobles have begun to feel that the bond between Her Highness and the Counter-Intelligence Command has become somewhat… inconvenient. In fact, Her Highness has kicked the entire Command out of the city under the pretext of training. To make it look like a sort of reprimand.”
“Look like it?”
“Yes, to *make it look* like it. On top of that, not long ago, my senior got beaten up by Einar…”
As Ivan’s eyes fixed squarely on the space between Dmitry’s eyebrows, Dmitry hastily continued.
“…You were hospitalized after a fierce strategic battle, weren’t you? We, uhm… may have spread a rumor that ‘the Berserker King, enraged by the Counter-Intelligence Command's excessive use of its foreign intelligence network, expressed his protest physically’?”
The Counter-Intelligence Command was fundamentally specialized in domestic, not foreign, intelligence. The Ministry of Foreign Affairs was Aleksandr’s domain, and Krasilov was on the brink of civil war.
Thus, the Command was skilled in espionage targeting domestic nobles. And information, even if it doesn’t seem so, flows in ‘both directions.’
The ability to gather information also meant the ability to plant false information. Most of the Counter-Intelligence Command’s work consisted of such things.
Therefore, spreading rumors and manipulating public opinion could be called the true role of the Command. Torture, kidnapping, terrorism, and sabotage were really just bonuses.
“So, the idea that Her Highness is now effectively a kite with its string cut has started to spread, you see? The Ministry of Foreign Affairs isn't fully under her control yet, the military factions outside the Capital Command are still declaring ‘neutrality,’ the Counter-Intelligence Command has become ‘estranged,’ and Yansk University is blowing up left and right.”
“What about Enrique?”
“Ah, she’s handling something else at the moment. Adding all that up, it means that Her Highness’s leadership is being somewhat… questioned.”
“Is she planning to prune the branches?”
“Yes, and she needs a gardener.”
There was no need to read the order. Ivan was an experienced agent who had been through enough of these situations.
There was only one reason for a person in power to deliberately reveal a weakness. It was a kind of loyalty test.
The nobles of Fritzenkaya were not fools. When the princess, who had fully seized power after Aleksandr’s mysterious ‘disappearance,’ suddenly declared a constitutional monarchy, the nobles had all prostrated themselves.
It must have been a form of propaganda—a declaration of confidence that she could command the entire nation even after relinquishing explicit authority.
But not anymore. The princess’s power had suffered a fatal blow over the past few months, and the state was now, conveniently, a constitutional monarchy.
From the nobles’ perspective, it was a situation where they might think it possible to implement a ‘constitutional monarchy’ in the truest sense.
“Her Highness must be receiving many matchmakers.”
“You have no idea. All sorts of riffraff are clamoring to connect to the royal bloodline.”
“Thankfully.”
Ivan nodded.
With the royal authority weakened, the most attractive option for the nobles would be to forge a marriage alliance with the isolated princess.
It was hardly a new idea: to connect by blood through marriage, usurp the royal authority with their elevated noble power, and then control the kingdom.
And that was.
“They’re writing their own death list.”
“Yes, thankfully.”
Dmitry grinned and nodded. The nobles sending matchmakers to the princess now were, in other words, ambitious men who wished to usurp the throne.
This list of ‘prospective royal consorts’ was synonymous with a list of execution candidates standing before Elizaveta’s gun barrel.
Ivan slowly tidied his things and stood up. His condition was already back to its peak.
“Hand over the list. If Her Highness wants the branches pruned, then it shall be so.”
“No, Her Highness wishes to resolve the situation in a more old-fashioned manner.”
“…Old-fashioned?”
“She said she will handle it according to the old laws of the court. You haven’t finished reading the order, have you? Read the rest!”
Ivan glanced down at the half-read order. The first half was filled with greetings laden with complex political rhetoric.
Skimming past it, he found strange contents in the lines below.
-Therefore, Vanka, I have prepared a place for you. In searching for what I could do for you, I happened upon a clause stating that your pension could not be paid in full due to your humble origins.
Surprisingly, Krasilov’s military pensions were distributed differently based on social status.
Despite nearly twenty years of military service, Ivan had difficulty receiving his full pension. This was because he was the son of a tenant farmer.
-So, I intend to give you a suitable position. It is said that Viscount ‘Yermov’ of the northern colonial territories has tragically lost his third son. From this day forward, you are the third son of Yermov. Congratulations. I have compensated your father handsomely.
Hm. So I’m a noble now.
Why all of a sudden?
-You are now one of my suitors. While your family’s station is lacking for a consort of Krasilov, I am, surprisingly, a true monarch who does not cling to status and lineage. Under the solemn laws of the kingdom, it is only right that royalty be held to the same standard. Your proposal of marriage has been accepted in accordance with legal procedure.
It seems I’ve proposed to the princess, too.
Ivan nodded.
-No matter how ancient the law, it is a sacred national law containing the words of our ancestors. Therefore, I intend to make a declaration based on the court regulations. In accordance with the law promulgated by my ancestor five generations past, Andrei Fyodorovich Krasilov, the royal consort shall be decided by duel.
Ivan now fully understood the princess’s intentions.
She couldn’t just execute nobles indiscriminately, even with a death list in hand. That was impossible even in the days when royal authority pierced the heavens.
Dealing with them quietly, one by one, was also difficult. The nobles were not fools. If the princess’s suitors started to ‘disappear,’ they would discern her scheme and likely devise another plan.
And the ‘other plan’ that cornered high-ranking nobles might resort to was, ultimately, a coup.
In a situation where the loyalty of the provincial military and local nobles, aside from the Capital Command, was still uncertain, Krasilov, which had been on the verge of civil war, could turn into a powder keg at any moment.
The poison of ‘democratic revolution’ that Aleksandr had sown would still be rampant beyond the king’s domain.
Hence, a duel according to the law.
And in this barbaric, pre-modern society, a duel was usually a life-or-death battle.
“The date?”
“It starts in five days.”
“She’s moving quickly.”
“It would be troublesome if news spread outside Fritzenkaya. Things would get out of hand if the provincial nobles started trying to get a piece of the pie. We need to clean up inside Fritzenkaya first, then deal with the others one by one.”
“Is that why you moved the Counter-Intelligence Command outside the city?”
A trained agent never sets a single objective for a single action.
Elizaveta, the commander of such trained agents, had already established additional objectives from a macroscopic perspective.
First, to genuinely train the Counter-Intelligence Command to make up for their recent intelligence failures.
Second, to make the training itself appear as a form of reprimand, feigning a loss of the Command’s loyalty.
And one more thing: to naturally deploy the agents of the Command who had left the city, thereby strengthening the intelligence network against the provincial nobles.
It was an incredibly elaborate and clean way of handling things. Ivan nodded in satisfaction.
“She is becoming a fine monarch.”
From time immemorial, a truly great monarch was not one who received the loyalty of their subjects. A truly great monarch was one who created a situation where their subjects had no choice but to be loyal.
From that perspective, Elizaveta was absolutely perfect. Machiavelli would weep if he saw her. Ivan felt a swell of pride.
*
“Did Vanka offer any additional comments on my proposal?”
“No, Your Highness.”
“Hu… huhuhu…”
Elizaveta laughed faintly in the darkness.
A well-trained agent never accomplishes just one objective at a time.
All the objectives Ivan had anticipated were, of course, true.
But what if there was one more that he had not anticipated… and what if that was the most important one of all!
“Vanka. With this, you will have no choice but to become my consort. I congratulate you in advance… Hu… huhuhu… huhuhuhu!”
This entire operation was established on the assumption of victory in the ‘suitor’s duel.’
Which meant that if one won the duel… one had no choice but to marry the princess!
Dmitry bowed his head, not daring to look at Elizaveta’s sinister smile.
To think that such a master of stratagem and intrigue was their monarch. Ah, the future of the nation was so bright.
*
The race most proficient in foreign intelligence in this world was the elves. As had been recalled once before, elves were masters of Mind Sorcery.
By actively utilizing befriending (brainwashing) and pranking (memory alteration) to form friendly rapport, the elves had established a meticulous intelligence network throughout almost the entire Allied Kingdom.
Therefore, upon learning of the huge issue that ‘the princess is looking for a husband!’ and the astonishingly exotic culture that ‘my, humans find husbands through duels…,’ the elves immediately began to ponder how this could be used for the ‘benefit of the intelligent races.’
For reference, ‘intelligent races’ meant the elves. The word ‘intelligence’ was surely too difficult for humans. (This is how kind the elves are to the lesser races.)
And a certain influential noble daughter, who learned of this information again at the Fritzenkaya Elven Social Club, trembled with bewildered hands.
“Sir Petrovich was a noble all along…?”
What was the big deal about being a human noble? It was merely the difference between a purebred and a mutt. And Elfihera was a very open-minded and daring young elf, so she didn’t care about the lineage of a lesser race.
However, in this particular issue, it was a bit of a problem.
“Sir Petrovich has entered the suitor’s duel…?!!”
To beat that man, you’d probably have to bring someone like my father…?
But if someone wins… doesn’t that mean they get married!?
Elfihera crumpled the ‘List of Participants in the Krasilov Royal Suitor’s Duel’ and screamed.
*