Chapter 86
Chapter 86
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>Translator: Lord First
>Chapter: 86
>Chapter Title: The King's Silence (4)
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*
Elizaveta was in a good mood. In fact, for the past few days, she had been in unusually high spirits.
So much so that she would even hum to herself from time to time.
“The application deadline was today, wasn’t it?”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
“Huhu, uhuhu… Yes, let’s see just how many great nobles covet me. Bring it here.”
Elizaveta unfolded the list handed to her by the guard officer and read it for a long while.
*Hmm, the House of Duke Sheretev. Interesting.*
*Count Golovnin is even participating himself? Isn’t he nearly thirty years older than me? How lecherous.*
*Count Yermokov, too? I thought that man was firmly on our side. What a turncoat.*
And, uh…
*Uh.*
“What is this? The list seems to be misprinted.”
“Pardon?”
“There’s a strange name here.”
Elizaveta unfolded the list and pointed to a corner.
“Æthelflæd Koenwulf. Isn’t this one an elf?”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
“No, not ‘Yes, Your Highness.’ Don’t you find this strange?”
“I have confirmed that Sir Koenwulf submitted the application in person.”
“…What?”
The aide-de-camp continued with a placid expression.
“The application was submitted through official channels, with the endorsement of Lady Elfihera Grikenkos and Sir Veolgrin Grikenkos.”
“An elf…? For my wedding…? But how did they even know…?”
“Well, they are elves, are they not?”
That alone was a sufficient answer. Within the United Kingdom, the elves were likely aware of even the love affairs of provincial noble houses.
Those insidious knife-ears did little else but collect rumors like crows. They would snoop around, listening to gossip, recording it, and using it as they pleased.
Therefore, carrying out any kind of conspiracy without the elves knowing was an exceedingly difficult task.
Just as the Krasilov Counter-Intelligence Command were experts in domestic intelligence, or perhaps even more so, the elves of the Kalion Archipelago were experts in foreign intelligence.
“How foolish. They must not have known about the clause banning foreign participants. So shameless. Why must they interfere in our domestic affairs so brazenly?”
“Well… um. Your Highness, about that…”
“What is it?”
“There is… no clause banning foreigners.”
“What…?”
In the first place, no one had ever imagined a foreigner would learn of this information, let alone use it.
Strictly speaking, for the nobility of this era, the distinction between foreign and domestic was often blurry. As long as they were not from an enemy nation, intermarriage between the nobles of allied countries was exceedingly common.
Therefore, to outright ban foreigners would first require a debate on who qualifies as a foreigner.
If the rule stipulated that one must hold a fief within the country, then the Robe Nobles or life peers without land would be unable to participate.
If the rule required an oath of loyalty to the monarch, then the scope would broaden immensely, even if more than half of one’s lineage was of foreign nobility.
Amidst these complex pre-modern blood ties, a clause banning foreign participants was truly meaningless.
“Ugh… Gnn… Ugh… Th-then specify a ban on elves…!”
“That would ignite a diplomatic incident.”
Allowing foreigners from the United Kingdom but singling out elves for refusal? Those people, who believe they can discriminate against humans but cannot tolerate humans discriminating against them, would collectively throw a fit.
It was highly likely that trade for most magitech products—items that could not be produced domestically or substituted—would be cut off all at once.
Elizaveta sighed and muttered.
“Besides, isn’t this person… a woman?”
“According to Sir Veolgrin, there is a precedent.”
“A precedent.”
“Yes, a case where a female participant entered a duel by proxy…”
“In our country?”
“Yes. A decree from a trial by combat 136 years ago, he said.”
“Should I also not ask why they know my own country’s history and legal statutes, which I myself am unaware of, with such clarity?”
“They are elves, are they not, Your Highness?”
“Ah…”
Elizaveta covered her face and sobbed.
“Is there any chance… that Vanka can defeat Sir Koenwulf…?”
“Sir Koenwulf has a history of being deployed to the same theater of war as Sir Ivan Petrovich. Therefore, it is highly likely that Sir Koenwulf has already learned Sir Petrovich’s tactics.”
“So, the chances?”
“…In an open field, in an environment where they can freely utilize surprise attacks and retreats… I would say it’s over fifty percent…”
Elizaveta recalled Koenwulf’s moniker and clenched her teeth.
*The Elf’s Executioner. The Queen’s Champion. The Victor. The Ever-Victorious Knight.* The countless other titles were meaningless. It was because she was the one the Elven Privy Council sent when someone needed to be defeated in a ‘duel.’
In other words, a combatant who could be trusted in a duel that, even by the standards of those arrogant elves, ‘must not be lost.’
In a fight in the ring, where both sides fairly confirm their armaments before clashing, Koenwulf had never known defeat.
“Why, whyyyy… You knife-ears. Why are you doing this to me…!”
*It’s so damn hard to get married just once!*
*And my marriageable age is starting to become a concern!!*
Heedless of the eyes around her, Elizaveta threw the teacup in her hand to the floor and whimpered.
The guard officers, studiously ignoring the ‘sacred voice they dared not hear,’ looked up at the ceiling.
There were about two days left until the tournament.
All she could do now was wait, believing in Ivan’s victory.
Like any daughter of a noble house, praying for her admired knight to win the joust.
*
Ivan took a shallow breath, slowly observing the mana within his body.
The sensation of the mana flowing along the grain of his blood vessels and muscles grew clearer. It was a form of ‘meditation,’ something that couldn’t be used during combat.
The flow of mana was unobstructed. This meant that all his bodily organs were functioning normally… or to be precise, ‘functionally.’
Some foolish martial artists wasted their time with incomprehensible talk of achieving enlightenment or practicing Zen through meditation, but a trained agent would do no such thing.
For them, meditation was a functional check. It was a way to confirm that each part of the body was operating correctly—akin to maintaining one’s weapons.
This was because a properly trained agent, with the correct mindset, comes to view their own body as another weapon.
“Colonel.”
“Mm.”
As he was slowly preparing for the next training schedule, an attendant opened the door and spoke.
“You have a visitor.”
“…A visitor?”
“Yes, Lady Isabelle and Lady Esidis are here. They wish to see you, Colonel. What should I do?”
“How did civilians get past the command headquarters’ main gate?”
“Well… um. Lieutenant Colonel Olov brought them in himself.”
“Show them to the reception room. I’ll be there shortly.”
Ivan slowly rose from his seat and removed his blindfold. With a *click, click*, the white mana-lights turned on brightly.
He surveyed his surroundings and let out a deep sigh.
“How long do you intend to lie there?”
“Guuuh…”
“Ugh… ugh…”
“Your training condition is more pathetic than I expected. I’ll have to tell Dmitry to resubmit the training plan.”
It felt like he heard a voice from somewhere say, *This devil…*, but he ignored it.
The state of this era, steeped in peace and devoid of properly trained agents, was truly lamentable.
They had only gone through a single cycle of basic low-light CQB adaptation training, and not a single one of them could keep up.
At this rate, it would be better to gather children and teach them instead. Ivan clicked his tongue and left the room.
*
“Mister!!”
Ivan looked at the loudly shouting Isabelle and tilted his head. For someone he hadn’t seen in three days, wasn’t this an overly enthusiastic welcome?
“Why didn’t you come to our house!”
“Ah.”
Come to think of it, there was such a promise. Ivan could now understand Isabelle’s anger. It was unfortunate for him as well.
However, a soldier could not place his hobbies above his duties.
When he explained this, Isabelle’s expression turned strange.
“What duel?”
“A tournament hosted by Her Highness, the Princess.”
“No, not that. What? The grand prize is marriage?”
“Mm.”
Was it difficult for them to understand that Elizaveta was simply trying to suppress the opposing factions among the nobility and prove her royal authority?
Perhaps it was hard for young children to immediately grasp complex political matters.
Though they were foreign nobles, they were not individuals who could influence the major events taking place in two days. Therefore, Ivan decided to provide a supplementary explanation.
Besides, the primary targets of this operation were high-ranking domestic nobles, so there was no room for Esidis, a foreign royal, and Isabelle, a foreign noble, to exploit this matter.
“Forget all that! You said it’s a marriage!”
“Mm.”
“The grand prize!”
“Calling it a ‘prize’ is undignified.”
“What do you mean, dignity! Are you in your right mind? Mister, get a grip. You’re getting married! So the reason you’re training is because you’re gritting your teeth and trying your hardest to get married, is that it!”
*What a drastically abbreviated line of reasoning.*
It was a pity that the knighthood faculty’s curriculum didn’t include a course on logic.
As Ivan struggled to find a response, Pavel chimed in with a grin.
“My dear captain, as your senior, I’m telling you, marriage should be handled with care.”
“What nonsense is this?”
“No, no. Don’t even be careful. Isn’t life too short to not just enjoy it?”
“That’s right! You have to be careful! And get permission from both families’ parents!”
The last shout was from Esidis.
She was immensely proud of the fact that, among them, she was the only one who had received her parents’ permission.
Ivan silently nodded. He supposed that at their age, talk of marriage and tournaments might sound romantic.
Since the sensitive political situation and the ruthless process of purging political enemies were wrapped in such a romantic package, the common people would surely view it as a beautiful event.
Here again, Elizaveta’s delicate political skill shone through. Ivan felt a renewed sense of pride.
“And why are you even training? I can’t imagine you losing, no matter who shows up!”
“Nobles are strong, Isabelle.”
*Does she not even know something so simple?*
The fact that nobles were strong was ‘common sense.’
Ivan inwardly clicked his tongue. The people of this pre-modern fantasy world sometimes displayed such a lack of common sense.
It was something difficult to get used to.
Of course, nobles were strong. This was a world where mana and superhumans actually existed, after all.
The reason nobles could exist on Earth was not because they possessed a divine right to rule granted by God.
They began as warlords who could exercise actual military power. On a smaller scale, they were the ‘strongest person in the neighborhood.’
A feudal society is one where such warlords, who ‘protected’ the militarily weak common folk and gained dominant rights in return, developed into a more advanced social structure.
On Earth, the absence of mana allowed the collapse of feudalism to coincide with the development of social systems, but this world was different.
To possess military might meant to be a superhuman, and the rights of nobles, passed down through generations of mana-wielding superhumans, inevitably led to a concentration of power through a kind of selective breeding.
Therefore, nobles were strong. The higher the nobility, the stronger they were, to a degree unimaginable by commoners. The history of their bloodline signified a history of accumulated victories, and the legacy amassed through those victories further solidified their rights.
As he laid out this explanation, omitting the parts about Earth’s history, the expressions of those around him grew increasingly distorted.
“Are you really in a position to say that?”
“What?”
“You’re saying you have to be fully prepared to face these ‘high-ranking nobles’ who would forfeit if they knew you were participating, and to do that, you’re… you’re…”
Isabelle gestured wildly at the surrounding soldiers, who were wrapped in bandages.
It was a rather undignified act. Those soldiers were all brave agents dedicated to Krasilov and deserved respect.
Isabelle shouted, heedless.
“The reason you’re preparing so hard, by beating everyone here to a pulp, is because nobles are strong?”
“Mm.”
“And what you get for defeating those strong nobles is the position of this country’s princess’s husband?”
“In summary, yes.”
“Uwaaaaaah—!! Esi!! Tell my dad!”
“Okay! I’ll write a letter right now!”
Just as Esidis and Isabelle shot up, shouting, Dmitry appeared from beyond the door and gently pushed their shoulders.
“Now, now, young ladies, don’t you worry. Our Captain is in big trouble now.”
“Dmitry.”
“Yes, Senior. Phew, you won’t believe the incredible piece of information I’ve managed to acquire.”
Dmitry took a rolled-up piece of paper from his coat and handed it over.
As Ivan unrolled the paper, Isabelle and Esidis scurried over to his side to look at it with him.
It was a list. Presumably of the participating nobles.
And at the very end, there was a name with a frantic red line drawn under it.
-Æthelflæd Koenwulf. Kalion, Privy Council.
“Oh.”
*