Chapter 150
Chapter 150
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 150
Chapter Title: Audience (2)
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"A survivor? That's surprising. But what happened to make her like that?"
"...I don't know either."
Ronan shook his head at Naviroje's question. Five imperial soldiers were carrying the major, each holding one of her head or limbs. She was unconscious as they loaded her into the transport wagon, and the sight was truly pitiful.
"Such a shame. A steadfast soldier like her."
"Did you know her?"
"Yes, I saw her a few times when she was in the Imperial Knights. What on earth did she see to end up like...?"
Naviroje trailed off. Come to think of it, Nemeia had originally been an elite in the Imperial Knights.
The major never regained consciousness. She had thrashed about in a panic until finally stopping after five doses of sedative. Naviroje, who had snatched and smoked another of Ronan's cigarettes, called out to the major from earlier.
"You there, Major."
"Yes, ma'am! Naviroje!"
"How long do you think it'll take for Major Nemeia to come around?"
"I-I'm not entirely sure. But judging from her state when found, it'll likely take some time. Even a were-lion would normally go down with just two doses..."
The major bowed his head uncertainly. Suddenly, Nemeia's actions flashed through Ronan's mind. She had clearly locked eyes with him and recoiled in fear.
This was a solid clue. There were only three people with scarlet eyes like his who could have inflicted those crude cuts, himself included.
Was it that bastard after all? But the cuts are too sloppy for him.
The more he thought, the more questions piled up. No suspect fit perfectly. The robed figure lacked the skill, and it didn't match the savior at all.
...Well, saving her is something, at least.
The details would come once the major woke up. Surprisingly unharmed, she should be able to give testimony after recovering. He gently stroked Sita's head.
"Good job, Sita."
"Pya~"
For now, Ronan decided to be satisfied with saving at least one person. Confirming the situation resolved, Naviroje spoke up.
"Let's head back for now. You did well."
"You too, Instructor."
"Today's incident will change a lot..."
Naviroje muttered softly. Ronan agreed. A newly formed unit under the Emperor's orders massacred so close to the capital wasn't something to brush off. And if the Sword Saint hailed as the strongest ever was involved, all the more so.
The sky had cleared completely by now. Apart from the tragic event, bright sunlight poured down on the two.
They mounted their horses and galloped back the way they came. They had just reached Phileon when a lavish carriage caught their eye in front of the main gate.
"What's that?"
Ronan quirked a brow. It was so ornate that students swarmed around, gawking. An elderly man in fine silks stood rigidly before it, as if waiting for someone.
No way through there. As Ronan turned his horse, the old man's eyes met his. The man raised a hand and called out.
"Ah, you there. Please wait a moment."
"Huh?"
The old man approached slowly. His goatee beard was striking. Scrutinizing Ronan's face, he spoke.
"Lord Ronan, I presume?"
"Uh... yeah."
"Excellent. You must come with me right now."
The old man spoke firmly. Ronan tilted his head. Unless he had dementia, he had no prior appointment with this geezer.
"Right now?"
"Yes."
"As you can see, I'm a mess."
"You still must come. We'll provide a change of clothes."
Ronan let out a hollow laugh. It was so absurd he wasn't even angry. Covered in blood and mud, no one would invite him like this. Losing patience, he glared.
"Who the hell are you to order me around? Did the Emperor summon me or something?"
"Precisely."
"...Huh?"
Ronan's brain froze for a second. What did this guy just say? The Emperor? The old man bowed deeper.
"If my manner seemed rude, I apologize. But please, come with me. His Imperial Majesty has urgently requested your presence."
He added they'd lend clothes. Ronan glanced at Naviroje, who just shrugged as if to say beats me.
"Looks like no sparring today."
"...Yeah."
"Don't keep them waiting. Come back safe."
Ronan dismounted and boarded the carriage. Naviroje took the reins and headed inside. Students watched until the carriage rounded the corner with Ronan aboard.
Ronan, who had boarded the carriage on a whim, headed straight to the palace. The guards didn't stop them, so thankfully it wasn't some murderer exploiting the Emperor's name.
The palace was a first for him. Even in his past life, he'd only seen it from afar, never entered. He hadn't imagined stepping foot in this life either.
The heart of the millennium empire, deemed the capital's grandest and most beautiful building. Ronan yearned to behold its majestic nobility, but he couldn't. Changing into the ridiculous outfit had drained all his time and energy.
"Damn it, is this right? Can't breathe."
"Apologies. You're bigger than expected..."
"And why's it so gaudy? I'm not a wild parrot."
"It's an older ceremonial robe... Your understanding would be appreciated."
Ronan grimaced, straightening the collar. The clothes the old man provided were among the worst he'd ever worn.
Not only did it constrict like a silk snake, but flashy decorations plastered it, visible from a hundred meters away. One more and Ronan would've ripped off the old man's beard to slap it on.
He'd once worn a potato sack with holes cut out, and honestly, that was more comfortable. The old man said,
"Ah, leave your sword with me."
"Fuck, can't even keep my sword?"
"It's an audience with His Majesty. I'll keep it safe."
Weapons had to be surrendered for imperial audiences. It made sense, so he couldn't argue much. As Ronan reluctantly handed over his sword, the carriage halted with a screech.
"We've arrived."
The coachman opened the door. Outside wasn't a grand castle or garden, but a tunnel-like space for carriages. Ronan, denied any palace sightseeing, spat a curse.
"Shit."
"This way."
The goatee brazenly led on. They entered a spacious reception room.
Lavish furnishings and amenities were perfectly placed for comfort. Opposite was another grand door, likely to the audience chamber. The old man said,
"Make yourself comfortable. His Majesty will summon you shortly."
"Get lost."
The old man vanished like the wind. Ronan swept back his bangs and took a deep breath. What a hectic day. He half-suspected he was dreaming, still deep in sleep.
He wasn't alone. Three others were already there, elegantly dressed unlike him, resting. His eyes locked on one, freezing him in place.
"...Huh?"
A suited were-lion sat on the sofa, reading. If his eyes weren't deceiving him, it was someone he knew. Calming himself, Ronan approached and tapped his shoulder.
"Baren."
"Hm?"
The lion turned. His eyes widened comically at Ronan. Closing the book, Baren rose slowly.
"...Ronan? Is that really you?"
"Long time no see."
"Ooh, how long has it been?"
Two years since their reunion. Baren spread his arms for a hug. No beastly musk, but refined cologne. Dabbing his eyes with a handkerchief, he spoke.
"You've grown so much... How have you been?"
"Eh, so-so. Where've you been, Professor?"
"Ah, in the southern Patar. Just wrapped up and returned yesterday."
"South? Wrapped up?"
Ronan tilted his head. This was his first time seeing Baren since completing his debut. He'd heard he'd left Phileon for some reason, but south out of nowhere? Baren continued.
"Winter hit the capital, couldn't grow herbs. You're a true hero to me."
Grasping Ronan's hands, Baren bowed repeatedly. He'd nearly lost all his precious herbs to the witch's winter, he explained.
Ronan nodded in understanding. Makes sense with his business. He asked,
"So what's this about?"
"Summoned by His Majesty. Others too. I was recognized for distributing potions free to those freezing."
The gathered were all who contributed during the capital's winter: a bearded middle-aged noble who allowed logging his forest for firewood; an elegant noblewoman who sold jewels to distribute food and clothes.
All summoned for rewards. The odd part? Called so abruptly when they could've come leisurely.
No complaints otherwise, minus the stupid outfit. Catching up would pass the time. Joy from reuniting with Baren neutralized his morning rage.
"Anyway, sit down. So in the south, did you meet any killer lady lions..."
As Ronan continued, BAM! The door burst open. Everyone turned.
A massive black shadow strode in. Blood-mixed water dripped with each forward-leaning step. The old man trailed hurriedly, shouting.
"S-Sword Saint! No! Please don proper attire!"
"Shut it."
The shadow growled low. The old man froze. So did everyone. Ronan's jaw dropped slowly.
"Jaifa."
"...You?"
Jaifa turned. Spotting Ronan, he halted. Jaifa's state after so long wasn't pretty.
His fur was soaked, pants drenched in blood—were they ever red?
He'd gone after the unit's killer that morning, apparently without success. His fury was palpable. Thwack! After staring at Ronan, Jaifa's tail whipped the floor.
"Ronan."
Suddenly, he advanced on Ronan. Overwhelmed, others backed away. Red eyes gleamed from above.
Too murderous for mere talk. Hands in pockets, Ronan stared back—no reason to grovel.
What's his deal? An old memory surfaced: Jaifa sensing Nebula Klazie instinctively. He couldn't see sparkling mana but felt it. And now, Ronan's heart pulsed with sparkling mana.
Am I screwed?
Chills ran up his spine. No sword was a disaster. Jaifa's index finger was nearly wrist-thick. As the gap closed—
"Hoho, Sword Saint. Do you need something from my student?"
Baren blocked Jaifa, smiling amiably. Jaifa scowled.
"Out of the way, kin."
"I can't."
"Why interfere? We're old acquaintances. Just want to talk."
"Retract your killing intent first. It's making me ill."
Baren grew serious. Jaifa growled low but held. Baren's tawny mane bristled sharply.
Jaifa was larger overall, but Baren held his own. Tension from the beasts filled the room. Veins bulged on Jaifa's black forearm.
"You..."
As he spoke—screeech—the opposite grand door opened. A richly dressed woman hurried in.
Silence fell. All eyes turned. She spoke.
"Everyone, please enter. His Majesty is ready."