Chapter 267
Chapter 267
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 14
Chapter Title: One Empire, Three Legends (26)
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The nobles who had arrived ahead of time. In the kindest terms, they were disposable pawns; in the harshest, they were no different from the thorns jutting out from each faction.
“Yeah, exactly. Cooperation between nobles is something negotiated between families, not man-to-man. Everyone in the world knows how brutally difficult it is to raise kids in a noble house. When you join hands with one family, you end up dragging in all the filth clinging to that hand—like those small fry who just showed up—as your allies too.”
Trash overflowing with excessive self-consciousness from the noble special forces, compounded by utter incompetence. They were extremely unpleasant, but allying with any family meant putting up with those losers cackling, “I’m a retainer of Prince So-and-So! If you mess with me, the prince will be furious!”
Naturally, idiots like these were highly likely to cause incidents, and those in high positions facing major events always wanted to eliminate such unstable elements.
“So, you sent them to cause trouble?”
“Exactly. Even idiots like those have their uses. ‘You’re my most trusted friend, my most reliable retainer, I can count on you, so I’m entrusting you with this task...’ By hyping up the morons like that, they gauge uncertain opponents like me. Since they don’t know my mindset for coming to the empire, they’re probing by tossing these idiots at me.”
The princes and princesses weren’t fools; they wouldn’t place real close allies in important positions.
Aldrich and Ottoman wore vaguely knowing, ambiguous expressions.
“That’s... no matter how you look at it, isn’t it self-sabotage? Even if they disavow responsibility claiming it’s the individuals’ actions, as their lords, it’s still a failure to manage their underlings. Isn’t it an act that tarnishes their own honor? It could just plant a negative impression in our minds.”
“That self-sabotage itself is the ploy. Hmm... it’s a bit complicated. Roughly speaking, it’s like this.”
The Professor cleared a bit of space on the table set for lunch, then explained the royals’ scheme in the simplest terms possible, complete with notes, doing his absolute best to summarize.
In short, there were three benefits they gained from this behavior.
1. Testing the unknown figure.
2. Pretext.
3. Purging unnecessary allies.
“I’ll explain each one, so put away those ‘we should run from here’ faces.”
“Kh-hum, ahem!”
The Professor snatched away the sedatives from the two wizards trying to escape to dreamland, then began explaining how to most efficiently and politically utilize stupid allied nobles.
“Noble politics are so doggedly complex that no matter how much you rack your brain, it’s nearly impossible to discern motives and act accordingly. It’s not just superficial suspicion like ‘Is that smiling face real?’
‘It can’t be that they’re smiling like that with crescent-moon eyes while gripping my hand—a signal promised to collaborators—to slip poison into my drink, seduce my daughter while I’m down to turn her into an ally, incite infighting in my family, and in the resulting chaos inside and out, snag ownership of the stylish shoes I just acquired today, right?’
That level of paranoia is what counts as ‘real noble social circle’ suspicion. Grasping motives from actions is nearly impossible. So nobles, instead of divining intent and moving, often infer it from outcomes.”
“Inferring intent from outcomes... doesn’t that mean you only know after the fact?”
“Yes. That’s why they often have underlings stir up minor disturbances to gauge reactions. Like, ‘Oops, spilled wine on the dress!’ Or sending utter buffoons who’d offend anyone as proxies instead of invitations.”
Creating multiple small incidents to observe reactions, then reverse-engineering the opponent’s motives from those results.
Not predicting outcomes from causes, but analyzing causes from accumulated small outcomes.
Today’s idiot noble dump superficially took the form of an invitation, but its true intent was likely a minor test of how I’d react and what temperament I possessed.
If I’d eagerly grabbed those idiots’ hands and joined some faction?
‘Ah, this guy was just waiting for anyone to extend a hand! So ignorant of politics he doesn’t even see it as an insult! Perfect as a pawn to use up and discard!’—adding to the info of [Honest and powerful saint] the line [Politically ignorant, power-hungry, disposable honest and powerful saint].
If I’d slapped away the idiots’ hands with a negative gesture?
‘Ah, at least he’s not on their level. Not desperate enough to join any faction. Maybe call him over under the pretext of an apology and have a chat?’
—They could think that.
“Plus, it creates pretext for smoothly accepting an outsider. The non-interference between religion and politics is an ancient norm. Bringing someone in directly might irk the Order of Courage, or draw fierce criticism from rival factions like, ‘You can’t expand the exalted emperor’s power, so you’re taking on another giant force to carve it up?’ So, you need to arrange a meeting for reasons other than the throne war.”
Idiot toss -> high chance of incident -> major discourtesy to religious higher-ups -> my fault for poor underling management. How about an apology over a meal?
Even the same invitation, laundered through this loop, becomes a clean one with no openings for rival factions to attack.
“Then, over meals, we hit it off and start interacting more often, something like that.”
“Mm... I get the last one. Since they sent those guys assuming rudeness, if you get pissed and send them back, the fools complain they don’t know how to invite properly and get kicked out of their faction?”
“Yes. That way, you strengthen your inner circle without upsetting their family.”
That’s why you analyze noble actions from multiple angles. They arrange things so they profit no matter how the situation turns. Reading all their true intents, judging what action to take in response.
This must be the ‘conversation’ among nobles who fancy themselves politically savvy.
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- Jokasss: Uh... call me when you’re done sorting out the noble talk. Ugh, gonna puke.
- Professor: You guys watching are like this—what do you think it’s like for me facing it live?
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So damn irritating.
My head was splitting just from fending off a few disposable pawns.
The opponents lived and breathed this; in other words, nobles.
The road ahead would be rough as hell, plain to see.
Yeah, even up to here was already a march of hardships. Just dealing with nobles was enough to think that.
But I had one more thing to consider here. Something massive enough to dismiss that terrifying noble politics as mere ‘politics.’
With a deep sigh that made the salad on the table tremble, the heavy name even too weighty to utter slipped from the Professor’s lips.
“Witch.”
“Ugh... right. The empire has that...”
“In normal circumstances... we wouldn’t have much to do right now. They just lightly probed, and we expressed our intent with a firm rejection, so we’d just wait for the real invitation...”
“But not now.”
“Yes. If that slaughter-mad witch is involved, it’s not a normal political situation. We have to consider the possibility their intentions veer into utterly irrational directions. To prepare, we need to take the lead, not them.”
Indeed. Even left alone, we had to think with a ‘100-year-aged witch’ nuclear bomb perched atop the empire capital’s social circles, coiled like a hibernating serpent.
“You said she was adopted into a noble family without issue, right?”
“That’s right.”
“Which one?”
“I didn’t hear that far... I was in too much panic back then; that young priest’s words didn’t register well.”
“Any guesses on her motives? Like recovering her power, or what she wants to do once recovered...”
Aldrich closed his eyes, rummaging through painful memories. That day, in the blood- and corpse-reeking stone chamber, the conversation with his mother. The mad, affectionate red pupils. The words worming through them.
“None.”
“...Pardon?”
“No reason at all. Just as blinking our eyes or our hearts beating is natural. For her, eradicating people is her essence. At least from what I know.”
“Murder itself as essence... and the scale kept growing; the tragedy Aldrich endured was 13 years after the previous mass slaughter, right?”
“That’s right.”
“Hmm...”
Think. Think. Think. 52 years had passed since that day. The witch herself said she ‘couldn’t endure’ and committed after 13 years. Even allowing a few years’ margin, that’s time for at least three more large-scale sacrifices.
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- Professor: Really nothing?
- Speed Wagon: Nothing. Sure, a few families were wiped out during noble wars... but they’re distant from the empire, hard to prove links. No villages or territories in the empire vanished suddenly.
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Yet nothing happened. Or if she did, it was so small-scale it left no record with other players.
‘Either aiming for one big blow. Or unavoidable circumstances preventing sacrifices.’
[Or both. That witch really liked her daughter’s body, said it inherited spirit power like hers. If she switches bodies after incidents, she’d have to discard that one too. Sacrifices quench bloodlust, sure, but holding such elaborate rituals instead of just killing means recovering her own power too, right? Bloodline of a witch and saint. That’s no ordinary treasure. She wouldn’t toss it lightly.]
...Makes sense. If the witch’s motive was simple mass slaughter, no need for an evil rite that draws temple attention. Means she wants something after power recovery. And as Hyde said, such a vessel isn’t easily found.
Adopted into nobility. A blood relative’s body that can handle evil power smoothly. Mass slaughter.
The puzzle of information began slotting into place piece by piece. No full picture yet, not even the outline, but at least one cluster of pieces revealing part.
It was then that a fleeting, easily overlooked scrap of info—one word he hadn’t realized was key—flashed in his mind.
“...Road construction. Aldrich, the witch definitely said that, right? Before marrying your father, when Mare Telldmeyer was Mare Abelladis. After the Abelladis family all died and the territory passed to her, she paved roads everywhere in Telldmeyer territory, built buildings, developed the land.”
“Yeah. Wait, no way...?”
“Yes. That day, it wasn’t just Telldmeyer people who vanished. When the Order of Courage arrived, the curse had already blanketed the whole territory. If she worked some scheme during construction, doesn’t that explain it?”
“Curse, catalysts... yes, possible. Catalysts are just bizarre objects until the curse manifests. Turning laborers into limbs to embed curse catalysts along every road piercing the territory and key points... yeah, that’d allow prepping a massive curse without warning, evading the Order’s eyes.”
“And to do the same this time...”
“Likewise, she’d need a high position. Perfect access to excavate and rebuild capital spots. High enough to mobilize people across the empire... oh, damn. But no way...”
Ottoman trailed off mid-sentence with a sigh, realizing something. Probably the same as what I’d grasped.
“If she hasn’t switched bodies, her current physical age is 63. Empresses are around that age, right?”
The empire’s most chaotic era, royals in total war for the throne.
Aldrich’s abruptly popped-up past. The witch entangled in it.
And the player arriving in the capital.
Viewing it all as one flow revealed one crystal-clear fact.
This throne war had a witch involved somewhere. And as a figure with immense power.
The highest probability now... an empress. Soon to be dowager empress.
“...That’s why you mentioned stones and catapults earlier?”
“Yes. Textbook says observe reactions, but with a witch involved, we need faster, more aggressive moves. Especially from my position. I have no political assets in the capital’s social scene, and those pebbles they tossed and ditched are lying right here. Gotta pick ’em up and use ’em.”
We hadn’t decided allies yet, but knowing one side had landmines that’d definitely blow if stepped on meant no room for standard political responses.
“So, I’ll head to the temple. Got some investigating to do.”
“...I’ll go with.”
“No, better alone. I’ll be late, so you two wait at the inn; when the rest return, brief them on this.”
If the opponent was truly the witch. The fallen saint of light, she’d naturally be on high alert to me, the saint of light, brazenly entering the capital.
‘As saint, lay low for a bit. But can’t truly hide...’
[You mean use me.]
In the shadow of fluttering white priestly robes. Black skin seeped through, grinning.
It begins. The full-scale capital excavation.
Two goals.
The empire’s promised support.
The witch’s extermination.
And... worst case. If the witch’s plan advanced beyond reversal.
The empire’s. Survival.
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