Chapter 93
Chapter 93
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>Translator: Lord First
>Chapter: 93
>Chapter Title: The King's Silence (11)
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*
The tournament was not a festival for the common folk. To be precise, it was more fitting to see it as an advanced form of a noble social gathering.
This was all the more true given that all participants were nobles, that it was a stage for them to display their power, and that its ultimate purpose was a royal marriage—a transfusion of royal blood.
Therefore, during the five days of the tournament, every high noble in Fritzenkaya opened their private coffers to host banquets daily.
"Oh, my lord. Your duel yesterday was truly magnificent!"
"You are too kind, Your Excellency. How could my trivial martial skills compare to your son's? My congratulations are already in order."
"Haha, you flatter me! Even if my son has some minor talent, what does it amount to? Is it not all thanks to him honing his loyalty under His Highness's grace?"
"Indeed, it is. Haha!"
As the intoxicated high nobles and their scions showered each other with pleasantries, they simultaneously vied with subtle glances, calculating how the political factions would shift after the victor married the princess.
The host of this banquet, Duke Sheretif, was one of the most displeased.
"You say he still hasn't arrived?"
"Yes, Your Excellency."
The attendant bowed his head low. Duke Sheretif silently clenched his fist, suppressing his anger.
No matter if he was considered the lowest among the three dukes, he was still a duke. The most esteemed noble in this country, and now, the wealthiest.
Unlike the other dukes who commanded the military forces at the various borders, his domain, Yelyavinsk, was spread across the southeastern part of Krasilov. This meant it had not been directly exposed to the recent war and was a transportation hub that brokered oceanic trade from Tilles.
The immense wealth derived from this, his authority as a central noble, and his unparalleled position in Fritzenkaya's noble society.
Ignoring all of that, both of the combatants from today's duel had failed to attend his banquet. This was an insult.
"The elf is one thing, but is that commoner's condition truly so grave?"
"I heard the Princess herself requested he be nursed... But since it is Her Highness's personal order, obtaining information is difficult."
"Tsk, that paranoid woman."
No matter how strained the relationship between the Counter-Intelligence Command and the princess had become, she was still the one who possessed Fritzenkaya's top intelligence organization.
Extracting information from a place under her direct supervision was next to impossible. Finding this intensely disagreeable, Duke Sheretif clicked his tongue.
"He refused the priest and didn't even reply to the invitation..."
"What should we do about the preparations for today?"
"Leave them. And see that our 'guests' are compensated without lack."
"Yes, Your Excellency."
The attendant bowed deeply and withdrew. The duke tapped the table, lost in thought.
'If his injuries are more severe than expected...'
Then there was no problem. But if he was merely resting due to simple exhaustion, fatigue, or a minor injury.
He had to be dealt with today. Two days until the finals. If he recovered within that time, there would be no way to stop him from winning.
Could his own inadequate son, or that other inadequate noble he was up against, truly fight like that against Koenwulf?
No. They could not. No matter how generously he tried to think, the skill that had drawn out such a struggle from Koenwulf was the 'real deal'.
Therefore, that commoner had to die today.
What to do.
He couldn't just force his way into the hospital protected by the princess, and a rash assassination attempt would be no different from provoking a slumbering lion.
He had to remember. No matter how much the princess's authority had diminished due to recent blunders, and no matter how her loyalists had begun to turn away.
Elizaveta Kirillovna Krasilov, Liza of the Iron Blood. She was a beast who had confined her own father and purged her brother's faction in a single night.
The extreme situation where she had put herself up as a prize was an opportunity that would not come again. He must not provoke her carelessly. In the battles of nobles, was not justification more important than force and the ability to act?
"Your Excellency, Your Excellency!"
An attendant rushed hurriedly toward the pensive duke.
"What is it?"
"He's... he's here!"
"Who?"
"It is Lord Yeremov, sir! He has just arrived at the front of the mansion!"
"Alone? Did he come alone?"
"What? Yes! There were no other companions..."
"Ha!"
The duke set down the glass he was holding and laughed heartily.
So, the whelp who was being protected in the princess's embrace has come alone to a banquet of the Crown Prince's faction.
This is why one should never value commoners of mercenary stock, Your Highness.
The duke smiled wryly.
"How could a hunting dog resist the smell of meat? The hungrier they are, the more avaricious."
There are fools who consider the poor and the weak to be righteous. They are wrong. The hungrier one is, the more fiercely and despicably they covet their prey.
One should not have expected loyalty from the third son of a northern noble of mercenary origin, a wandering mercenary with no right of succession. After all, the success or failure of a plan is determined not by its intricacy, but by the reliability of those who execute it.
The princess should have bribed one of the young nobles from the Crown Prince's faction instead. Not some wandering knight who flaunted his skills.
"Show him in. I shall welcome him myself."
When his prized hunting dog, having gone to wag its tail at another house, returns with only its head, what expression would the princess make, he wondered.
Once she loses the last justification she holds and is forced to marry a noble, the right of royal blood will never again smile upon the Krasilovs.
*
When Æthelflæd Koenwulf's entry was first confirmed, Ivan did not panic. He was a trained agent.
A trained agent never panics during an emergency in the middle of an operation. After all, bewilderment is the first step toward misjudgment.
Therefore, Ivan altered the mission objective. This would have to be a rather bold and delicate feint operation.
"Welcome, welcome! I was greatly concerned when I received no reply. Are you well? Did you not collapse in the arena?"
"I am as I always am."
Ivan answered, gazing calmly at the duke who greeted him with arms spread wide.
After a quick glance over his body, the duke burst into a hearty laugh and patted him on the back.
"Truly a man of Krasilov. Now that I see you without your helm, you are quite handsome. I was rather disappointed you hadn't shown your face until now."
"I see."
"..."
Æthelflæd Koenwulf would undoubtedly advance to the finals. There was no avoiding a confrontation with her, no matter how the brackets were arranged.
Her defeat would be an even greater variable, as it would mean he had failed to identify a combatant skilled enough to beat her.
So, Ivan had already assumed a fight with Æthelflæd would happen. Not victory, but the duel itself.
"Come, let us go. Everyone will be quite surprised. The star of the day has arrived! Your struggle was truly nothing short of a great honor for our kingdom!"
"Yes."
If that was the case, at what point would it be most logical to face Æthelflæd?
The semi-finals. It was best to clash in the semi-finals, regardless of victory or defeat.
Fighting Æthelflæd in the finals would make it difficult to achieve the mission objective of cornering and defeating the anti-princess nobles all at once.
However, if the bracket was arranged for them to meet in the semi-finals...
'The anti-princess nobles will naturally gather in the other semi-final bracket.'
Whether he won or lost against Æthelflæd, the opposing side would surely contact him.
All the more so if the fight was spectacular and fierce. They would try to win over the now highly-valued Ivan, or they would try to assassinate him. In the eyes of the nobles, he was clearly a knight of the princess's faction.
It didn't matter even if Æthelflæd won. Æthelflæd Koenwulf could never marry the princess. The entire Noble Council would foam at the mouth, and the other nations of the United Kingdom would surely oppose it as well.
A blood alliance between Kallion and Krasilov would have that much of an impact. If the landlocked brown bear and the ruler of the seas were to unite, becoming the strongest power in the United Kingdom would be a simple matter.
'If I arrange the bracket so that Æthelflæd and I fight in the semi-finals, then on the other side, it will definitely be...'
Duke Sheretif's son and Count Yelchinopov. Those two would advance. As the two high nobles with the most influence among the surviving Crown Prince faction, they would need a marriage with the princess for the sake of new political power.
If Æthelflæd won, one of those two would demand to marry the princess.
If Æthelflæd lost, those two would attempt to eliminate Ivan, who had advanced to the finals.
Either way, it didn't matter. All that was needed was a moment for those two rival high nobles to join hands.
So, the duel with Æthelflæd was merely part of the process. The kind where victory or defeat was irrelevant.
All that mattered was that Ivan had the strength to move after the duel.
And right now, Ivan was moving, walking on his own two feet. That was enough.
"I will take your coat, Lord Yeremov."
"Mm."
Ivan took off his coat and handed it to the attendant, along with the longsword slung at his waist.
Duke Sheretif quickly scanned Ivan's light attire. The sword detection device in the drawing-room remained silent. The man was completely unarmed.
The duke quickly smiled and shook his head.
"You must understand, my lord. One cannot help the caution of old men."
"It does not matter."
The attendant respectfully opened the door leading to the banquet hall.
A magnificent salon, befitting a high noble, unfolded before him.
Furniture lavished with marble, red velvet curtains embroidered with gold thread, and a massive chandelier adorned with intricate snowflake sculptures of gold and pearls.
Among the wine and refreshments carried by the servants, Ivan recognized none. Wines from Tilles and various finger foods circulated busily.
"Now, it is a great honor to make this introduction. The star of today's tournament has arrived! Everyone, praise for the victor!"
"Waaaah!!"
The sound of applause echoed through the banquet hall. The orchestra had politely paused their performance the moment the duke began to speak.
Ivan slowly scanned the high nobles of Fritzenkaya, all clad in expensive dresses and suits.
The duke standing beside him gave him a warm smile and patted his shoulder.
"Was the potion this old man sent of any help?"
"Yes."
"Excellent. It was not an easy item to procure."
It probably was.
The potion was likely laced with some kind of undetectable drug. A delicate preparation, but there was one thing the duke did not know.
Ivan never drank a healing potion with his own hands. He would rather endure the injury.
"Ah, this is Count Yelchinopov. Have you heard the name? He will be your next opponent in the finals."
"You flatter me, Your Excellency. Is Sir Boris not a knight whom even I would find difficult to handle?"
"My son may have a minor talent, but how could he stand against you, my lord? My congratulations in advance. Haha!"
Count Yelchinopov smiled warmly and extended his hand. Ivan took it with a deadpan expression.
Beneath the firm muscles, he could feel a powerful pulse of mana.
"I was deeply impressed by your valor, my lord. There is one thing I am curious about... You are the son of Viscount Yeremov?"
"Yes."
"I heard the Viscount's son just turned twenty, but you look older than I thought, my lord."
Count Yelchinopov squeezed his hand as he asked.
"Who are you?"
"Count Yelchinopov, what is this rudeness?"
"Why bother with courtesies at this point, Your Excellency? The very reason we have waited this long was for this one commoner."
Yelchinopov smiled wryly and flicked his fingers.
About half of the seated nobles rose from their seats. The musicians set down their instruments, and the servants slowly retreated to the walls, drawing the curtains.
"Let us dispense with the pointless formalities. They are not for the likes of commoners, are they?"
"You are impatient."
"Is it not rather ridiculous for me to be sharing a toast and a laugh with Your Excellency in this place?"
At Yelchinopov's words, Duke Sheretif sighed as if it were pathetic and stepped back.
Purple lines of mana began to spread across the floor around where Ivan stood. Looking up, he saw mages on the second-floor terrace weaving their spells.
Around the chandelier, servants drew their weapons. Blades glinted blue beneath the chandelier's light.
Most of the nobles who had participated in the tournament were already armed. The man before him, Count Yelchinopov, also gripped a longsword handed to him by a servant.
"I will smash that man's face myself! My son suffered at his hands!"
A large, middle-aged man sitting in the distance shouted boisterously. What was his name again? Ah, Count Turgeyev. That was it.
He must have been one of the opponents he had defeated in the tournament. Good.
Ivan slowly shifted his gaze. As he scanned the faces of the nobles, their names and factions came to mind. He had memorized the personal details of his targets without exception.
Almost all of the nobles he had targeted were here.
Most of the high nobles from the Crown Prince's faction, who now clung to the Noble Council, were present.
"Scared? You've gone quiet. Huh?"
Normally, dealing with the nobles one by one would be impossible.
The nobles were not fools. The moment they sensed they were being slowly purged, a civil war would erupt.
So, in a situation where the high nobles were conveniently gathered together.
And in a situation where the justification of them attempting to assassinate a 'finalist of a royally-sponsored tournament' was secured.
"Shouldn't you be on your knees begging us right now? Can't you even figure that much out? What did the princess offer you? Did that harlot spread her legs for you? Huh?"
No one in this room thought Ivan could leave alive. They burst into laughter, daring to utter insults against the royal family so openly.
At Ivan's silence, the nobles' words grew harsher. The princess who cavorted with a commoner. The downfall of the thousand-year Krasilov. The princess's boy toy.
"I shall warm Her Highness the Princess's bedside in your stead, so you may close your eyes without a worry."
Count Yelchinopov smiled wryly and released Ivan's hand.
He slowly raised his sword hand, brandishing it as if to show off. He, too, was skilled enough to have reached the finals.
Assessing an opponent's condition was basic. Ivan's condition was clearly not normal. He was in a state of overload, to the point where not even a trace of mana could be felt.
On top of that, if he had ingested the poison from that old man, Duke Sheretif, then these preparations could even be considered excessive.
"Five targets. Second-floor terrace."
"What?"
Ivan slowly raised a hand and pressed firmly behind his earlobe.
-Targets confirmed.
"Eliminate light sources."
-Executing.
-BANG—!!
A gunshot rang out. A superhuman would have realized that it was the sound of dozens of guns fired at the exact same instant, overlapping.
Simultaneously with the gunshot, the curtains billowed violently. Every light illuminating the salon shattered at once.
A groan followed. Those with sharp ears would have known it came from the second-floor terrace.
Feeling the magic circle writhing beneath his feet dissolve, Ivan reached out his hand.
-Whoosh!!
An object flew toward him, detected on a diagonal path, and was caught in Ivan's hand.
At the same time, Count Yelchinopov's sword fell toward his head. Like a true superhuman, he had not been flustered by the gunshot and had swiftly attacked the man before him.
-Kaaang!!
Sparks flew. Ivan spun the axe in his grip, deflecting the sword, and walked forward.
The sounds of movement continued in the darkness.
"What is this! Guards! Guards!"
This mansion was under the ironclad protection of forces personally raised by the duke. Even if there was a surprise attack, even if an army charged them, it was impossible not to detect it beforehand.
Duke Sheretif stumbled in the darkness, looking around.
-Click-clack.
From between the bullet-shattered windows and torn curtains, came the frictional sound of heavy metal.
Ivan raised the axe toward the bewildered Duke Sheretif and the grim-faced, sword-wielding Count Yelchinopov.
"To whom do you pledge your loyalty?"
At the same time, from between the salon's broken windows,
upon the terrace railings,
from behind the seated nobles, and from among the armed servants,
agents of the Counter-Intelligence Command appeared, aiming their weapons.
*