Encounter
Encounter
It was a waste of time.
As the trial dragged on, that was the only sentiment Envelde felt.
It was a lost cause anyway. They were disposable pieces anyway. But there were certain gains he had to secure from it.
Now that even those had been utterly shattered by the appearance of someone he had never anticipated in the slightest, all of this was nothing but a waste of time.
'In fact, losses I hadn't even accounted for have started piling up.'
The wyvern pilot he'd thought dead had returned alive, and the incidents meant to pin the blame on Ragnis had been eerily resolved by someone connected to her, as if they had known in advance and beaten him to the punch.
Not to mention the moment Eldmia's name came up when he presented the claim that Baron Pabaera had been incited to prepare evil deeds—he'd wanted to tear his own hair out. The fact that the bastard had even brought a Guild official to submit solid evidence put Envelde in a situation where his own tail might get caught instead.
Because of that, the moment this trial ended, he'd be buried in cleanup work.
'If I don't deal with that insolent brat soon, I can't even begin to guess what other shit he'll stir up next.'
The point of contact with Pabaera had to be erased without a trace. One misstep, and even his ties to the Demonfolk would be exposed.
At the same time, it had reached the point where he had to do something about the figure of Eldmia Ega himself.
'I don't know how much he knows or how much is true... but there's a high possibility he knows far too much.'
When Eldmia had run his scheme, even name-dropping the Iron-Blood Princess, Envelde had been caught off guard despite himself. But in truth, even with only a sliver of thought, it was a story so absurd anyone could tell it was a lie.
Mixing truth with lies to deceive an opponent was one of the most basic tricks in the book. The fact he'd fallen for it against a kid young enough to be his son was baffling, but the story about Delt had been so shocking that it played a major part.
'What a waste. Such a damn waste.'
They said the brat was only fifteen.
Which meant he'd been fourteen when he cut Delt down. What fourteen-year-old boy could behead a knight who'd reached the Expert realm? If he hadn't been on the receiving end himself, Envelde would've dismissed it as a fairy tale from a knight novel aimed at children.
But it was reality. And he was hostile. In that case, no matter how much of a waste that talent was, he'd have no choice but to crush it at the root.
"...And with that, today's court proceedings are adjourned. Tomorrow's trial will..."
The moment the trial—nothing but a race to its obvious conclusion—was over, Envelde shot up from his seat and stormed out.
He had no time to spare for the royal family members who were being particularly warm toward Ragnis today, fussing over her, nor for Ragnis, who answered them with smiles. He had no intention of responding to the desperate gazes from Viscount Etavil, whose guillotine had drawn right up to his nose as the hopeless judgments came down one after another, contrary to what he'd been told.
Etavil was someone Envelde had planned to dispose of during this opportunity anyway. Now that even the wyvern operative who'd been in debt to him and used by him had returned alive, there was no reason to cling to any lingering attachment.
Simply exerting all his energy to push forward and overcome the adversity staring him in the face was pressing enough that Envelde's time was running short.
'Had I known this, I would've skipped the trial altogether.'
Even if he gave orders, as long as he was inside the courthouse, he wouldn't receive a proper report until a full day had passed. No matter how much he hounded his subordinates, half a day's time was squandered. He didn't doubt their abilities—he'd handpicked them, after all.
It was literally these hours being thrown away on the ground that were the only problem.
So with the mindset that he had to at least move his feet quickly to save every minute and every second, the first thing that met his eyes as soon as he left the courthouse was his close aide and coachman.
"Count...!"
But why was it?
Before he could even feel doubt or worry upon reading the man's panicked expression, Envelde's gaze had unconsciously shifted elsewhere.
And at the end of that gaze stood a black-haired youth—unusually tall, hair cropped short at the back and sides like a soldier—who, the moment he registered Envelde's stare, waved at him with a blank expression. Today, for some reason, he wasn't dressed in the rags of an adventurer but wore the formal uniform of the Levien family, yet there was nothing particularly different about him otherwise.
He was a bastard born with a natural gift for provoking people's fury even though Envelde had only been face-to-face with him twice. But Envelde realized that his attention was caught far more by something white in the brat's hand than by that reaction, and his eyes narrowed.
The moment Envelde's aura-enhanced gaze registered that the object was a white envelope, his mind lurched toward an ominous guess.
'No. That's absurd.'
It was more likely that the young punk had an innate aptitude for psychological warfare than that his guess was reality.
Wasn't the timing perfect? After flaunting his personal ties with the First Princess, lauded as the Empire's White Star, what he showed off was a white envelope. Even Envelde had to admit one thing—it had been a very long time since he'd experienced psychological warfare so brazen and confident, and a situation that left him with no choice but to waver despite it all.
And so Envelde, with a composed demeanor as if none of it affected him in the slightest, turned his head back to face his close aide and asked.
"What is it that has you so flustered?"
The subordinate stood there opening and closing his mouth as if he had no idea where to even begin, but rather than anger, Envelde felt curiosity. This man was not that type at all. He was someone Envelde deliberately kept by his side precisely because of his composure. If he was this panicked, then something must have undeniably gone wrong.
He had his guesses. Two days ago, after the encounter with Eldmia, he'd ordered his subordinates to conduct an impromptu inspection and report back, just in case. Something from that must have gone wrong.
"Don't panic. Many eyes are watching. Just explain the situation in order."
Since these were matters where nothing could be carelessly exposed, composure was necessary no matter how urgent. When Envelde waited with that patience, his aide finally regained his calm and opened his mouth.
"Baron Rubili and a Servant of the Dream assigned to him have lost contact."
"...Doesn't he occasionally disappear for unknown reasons? The regular reports were submitted without issue, so we have leeway to wait for the next one."
"Well... this time seems a little different. Right now, his residence is in complete chaos. From what I hear, even when he hid himself before, he always gave prior notice—but this time he vanished without a word."
Was it said that ignorance breeds courage? Baron Rubili was the only fool who cultivated wyverns in defiance of royal decree without the slightest hesitation, so he couldn't be disposed of just yet.
That was precisely why Envelde had even hired a Servant of the Dream to keep him under meticulous watch. And now both had suddenly disappeared?
A flood of thoughts rushed in, but Envelde shook his head and brushed aside the negative conjectures before answering.
"...We wait for the Servant of the Dream. If there's an anomaly, they'll report it. Is that all?"
"No. The... merchant group was also annihilated."
"...Merchant group? Annihilated?"
"...Yes."
In a state so dumbfounded and deflated that he couldn't even muster his anger, Envelde prayed that the report of his slave merchant group being smashed to pieces yet again was not reality.
But there was no way his aide would have reported this without properly confirming the merchant group located right near the capital. Envelde clenched his teeth and barely managed to ask.
"When... the hell...?"
Only days ago, there had even been talk flowing among the nobles about how they'd contentedly browsed the night market. At what point had this happened?
"The capital patrol unit discovered the devastated encampment during their regular patrol. According to the intel, it appears to have been two or three days ago, and most of them had their throats cut, or so..."
"That many people killed without a sound? The hunter Merza even uses aura!"
"He... was found dead without having put up any proper resistance..."
The fact that he'd been able to keep his complexion from changing even a shade was enough to make Envelde feel he'd exhausted all his patience. The world spun around him, and he felt like dry heaving.
But his subordinate's words weren't finished yet.
"And..."
"There's... more?"
"While you were at the courthouse, an official missive from the Empire arrived at the royal palace."
Crushing the urge to collapse under the overwhelming sense of deflation, Envelde let out a long sigh. At least after that run of senseless disasters, something that offered a bit of breathing room had come up.
At the same time, the thought that Eldmia had merely waved around that meaningless white envelope without knowing this fact made a bitter laugh slip through his lips even amidst the gravity and despondency.
In the end, a child was just a child. Ultimately, this was a battle of information...
"The Empire... stated that they will by no means take lightly the slander and vile schemes that have taken place against the Margrave of Levien this time, and that they will not spare any assistance in exposing those who sought to humiliate a friend of the Empire and a loyal servant of the Kingdom..."
"What?"
Envelde had no choice but to cast off the mask he'd barely maintained until now.
What the hell did I just hear?
"The Empire... sided with Ragnis?"
"Yes. What's more, the missive wasn't delivered to the royal palace through an Imperial messenger."
The subordinate's gaze moved in the direction Envelde had looked just moments ago.
Please. Please, let it not be, Envelde prayed as every muscle in his body went rigid and he turned his head to follow the man's gaze.
And there stood Eldmia.
Still waving that pristine white envelope in one hand, his face full of mockery.
"Eldmia...!"
With the hand not holding the letter, the bastard stuck his middle finger right at Envelde—a vulgar hand gesture on full display.