Chapter 87
Chapter 87
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>Translator: Lord First
>Chapter: 87
>Chapter Title: The King's Silence (5)
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>*
The moment Ivan saw the name Æthelflæd Koenwulf, his mind was transported to the front lines in a coniferous forest on a cold winter's night.
Back in his inexperienced days, when he had just been assigned to the Royal Guard.
*
There was something he always felt when going on missions with foreigners.
*These guys, their names are too damn difficult.*
It was ridiculous. For Ivan, who had lived for over twenty years in a culture of Chinese characters, the naming conventions of Krasilov and other foreign countries shouldn't have felt all that different.
But humans are creatures of adaptation. After living in this fantasy-Russia world for over a decade, foreign names now seemed harder.
At least in Krasilov, nicknames were commonplace. Those who knew him usually called him Vanka. And even before that, the name Ivan itself wasn't difficult to begin with.
But when dealing with foreign soldiers, especially nobles, it felt like his tongue would freeze every time he had to say their names.
"Sir Koenwulf."
It was a deep forest. A coniferous wood under falling snow, the smell of blood thick in the air on a winter night.
Ivan stepped forward with a mixture of tension and a measure of fear. Though a decade had passed since he'd been dropped into this hellish world, the front lines, far from civilization, were still terrifying.
Still, he pressed on. He was a member of the Royal Guard. Fear could not be his motivation.
"You're here?"
"Yes. The results of the search..."
"No need to tell me. It means there are no more remnants in this forest. I know."
"...Pardon?"
"Elves have sharp ears, Ivan. If you listen closely sometimes, the sounds you hear transcend the material world. The forest told me. There are no more demons."
*What is this nonsense? Has she gone senile?*
Ivan silently bowed his head and grumbled. (To himself. Because elves have good hearing.)
"You seem full of complaints?"
"You misunderstand."
"Come now. I can hear it all. You're wondering why I sent you scouting for two hours in this cold if our safety was already certain, aren't you?"
"..."
Ivan forcefully clenched his numb hands, even under his thick gloves, and struggled to keep his mouth shut. He felt like he might let slip a string of curses.
He was a rational man, so he didn't criticize a monster who could slice a man's throat easier than breathing.
It was absolutely, decidedly not because of fear. It was because he was a member of the Royal Guard, and the Royal Guard never feels fear.
"I needed time to meditate."
"Meditate... you say?"
"Yes. The true enlightenment one faces at the pinnacle of martial arts. In the quiet night, in the forest. I needed a moment of immersion, facing the corpses of those I've cut down. A moment to realize that I, too, could end up like them someday, that my fleeting life is merely a reprieve until I stand before someone stronger than myself."
*Definitely infantile senility.*
He was freezing to death. All he could think about was returning to camp, warming himself by a fire, and roasting a nutrition bar to eat.
Quiet? It was winter. The winters on the northern front are harsh. Blizzards raged like storms in this area during winter. Just like now.
So, this wind that bit at the ears and the noise of snow lashing the coniferous trees could never be the conditions for a quiet and holy night.
Ivan tensed.
'If a demented, mad elf is a master of the sword, could I possibly stop her?'
He was a cool-headed man, so he instantly determined that it would be impossible. He clasped his hands together and answered politely.
"Unlike a lowly person such as myself, an elven warrior might find enlightenment in such a sudden awakening, but the weather is foul. It would be better to return to camp and soothe your battle fatigue."
"Yes, let's do that. A night walk is a good experience, too."
*That crazy elf.*
Ivan, as a civilized citizen of the 21st century who despised racism, did not hate elves. (Conversely, in this barbaric world, elves were a despised race.)
But he was only human, and it was hard to suppress the urge to curse whenever he witnessed the kind of madness elves often displayed.
Of course, he had to endure it. Unlike in his old world of logic and law, here, might was right. What a barbaric world, indeed.
*
Ivan broke from his reverie.
*Is there a cure for dementia in elven medicine?* A long-lived race might have one. They would have to suffer from senility for hundreds of years, after all. (No.)
Ivan thought with a worried look at the list.
One-Eyed Æthel.
Her jet-black hair, spreading softly like an animal's fur, and her golden eyes, like those of a bird of prey. The champion who had laughed as she said she'd thrown one of them to a Seven Dragon General.
In reality, when the legion she led was exposed to a surprise attack by a Seven Dragon General, she faced the General alone and returned alive, though she had lost an eye.
It was an astonishing feat. It was common sense that no one in this world could dare face one of them alone.
Æthel was a person who had actually accomplished such an illogical thing. Her legion had succeeded in escaping with minimal losses.
Her other nicknames, such as 'Ever-Victorious Knight,' 'The Queen's Champion,' 'The Inheritor of Victory,' and 'The Executioner,' were all secondary.
"Æthel is participating."
"That's what I'm saying, Sunbaenim. Wow, it's been a while since I've seen her. Is she still hale and hearty?"
"She must be, to be pulling a stunt like this. Who put her up to it?"
"Pardon?"
"There's no way Æthel submitted the application herself. Who signed this woman up?"
"Miss Grikenkos."
"Veolgrin..."
Ivan frowned.
Elfihera wouldn't suddenly decide to ruin this tournament, so this must ultimately be Veolgrin's doing.
Did Veolgrin have any reason to meddle in this country's internal affairs?
Was he searching for traces of Aleksandr? If so, he could understand it to some extent.
Because Elizaveta's political enemies almost certainly belonged to Aleksandr's faction.
"Has Her Highness given any other orders?"
"No, sir."
"I see."
The princess's last command was a single sentence: 'Win overwhelmingly.'
Then so it must be.
A good agent prepares various contingency plans in case of failure. Things like secondary objectives and least-worst outcomes.
But the agents of the Annihilation Squad are not like that.
It's not about what must be achieved to minimize losses in case of failure.
When faced with the threat of failure, they prepare only for one thing: how to succeed.
Everything else is secondary. For the Annihilation Squad, there is no failure except death. It's not a failure until you're dead, and the only way to ultimately thwart their mission is to kill them.
That was how they were trained.
Ivan closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and sank into thought.
Two days remained.
He would devise a way to defeat Koenwulf.
*
"Finished... finished... I've finished it..."
She had burned herself out completely.
Elfihera, with dark circles heavy under her eyes, collapsed to the floor.
Borrowing her father's wisdom, reverse-engineering ancient artifacts, checking every spell she had already learned, and building a new operational logic.
She had finally completed it.
"Can you, can you hear me? Can you hear me?"
- I can hear you clearly. How fascinating.
Before her stood a suit of full plate armor with elegant lines. Amidst the countless magitech components scattered messily around her, it alone stood tall, shining.
How many high-level spells had been embedded in that armor? How many mana stones had been ground down to power it?
"It can, it can only be operated for two days. Would you like to give it a test run?"
- There's no need for that.
The armor clanked as it nodded its head. It was a faceless form with its visor pulled down low, but for some reason, Elfihera felt that the armor was smiling.
- You truly are the daughter of Veolgrin, that old fox. Amazing. If this technology had been perfected just twenty years earlier, you could have saved so many people.
"You're, you're flattering me! This can only operate for a few days... It was only possible because it was designed from the start with only a short, decisive battle in mind."
- And humble, too. It seems you only resemble your father in looks and talent. You're blessed.
Among the elven magitech skills is one called 'Remote Communication'.
It is an advanced spell that can connect terminals over long distances, even from this land all the way to the distant Kallion.
And if one installed more mana terminals and manipulated their directionality, a new horizon would open.
By controlling the input and output syntax of the voice, one could filter specific stimuli for input and output.
In other words, to put it more simply.
It meant you could create a remotely operable golem. One that could be controlled in real-time.
Although you could only see a blurry afterimage, there was a delay of a few seconds in its movement, and precise control was impossible due to the golem's inherent clumsiness—and even that was only usable for about two days.
Regardless, she had single-handedly constructed a system that allowed someone in Kallion to operate in Krasilov.
- The movements... there's a bit of a delay.
"That, that couldn't be helped. I'm sorry..."
- No, this is more than enough. You could write a thesis on this and earn your degree without any problem. What are you worried about?
"Hehe, thank you..."
The great knight, renowned as a 'Fixer' in that arrogant Privy Council on skill alone, who had never once been defeated in hundreds of years.
How many glorious titles followed in the wake of her achievements? Her very life could be classified as a history book and a tactics manual.
Such a being was smiling warmly at a young elf like her.
Elfihera bowed her head, her expression melting.
The scholar's unique excitement at a great academic achievement and the fatigue of days of sleepless, arduous labor washed over her at once.
Because of that, she failed to hear the small whisper that reached her ears.
- I wonder how much that little boy has grown. I'm looking forward to it.
Æthelflæd Koenwulf, she smiled as she manipulated this unfamiliar metal body, raising a longsword.
This was late at night, the day before the tournament.
*
The festival began.
Spectacularly, as if to erase the chaos that had enveloped Frichenkaya for the past few days.
Elizaveta spared no expense from the national treasury, throwing banquets, inviting nobles, and feeding the citizens until they were full.
And finally.
The tournament was held.
*