Chapter 270
Chapter 270
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: Vine
Chapter: 14
Chapter Title: One Empire, Three Legends (29)
-----------------------------------------------------------------
****
“Ohh. The Saint of Light, whose fame precedes him, and the lady from Teldrat who has set the hearts of so many young nobles aflutter. Thank you for gracing us with your presence and brightening this party. I am Belpati, honored to serve His Highness the First Prince.”
“Hahaha. Latura. For those who uphold the will of the gods, attending the events of the empire—which has played such a pivotal role as a pillar of human civilization for ages—is only natural. Peace and prosperity. No nation suits those two words better than the empire. I am Professor, tool of Roharam.”
“Hahaha! I even read the scriptures of light this morning just to converse with you, Saint. You’re quite different from what I imagined. This is delightful. Many here are eager to meet you. If it’s alright, might I make some introductions...?”
High society.
A place where the upper crust mingles.
Nobles speak our language, but it’s a different tongue entirely. A single gesture. A soft sigh, a glance—each carries subtle meaning.
Take that portly middle-aged noble, for instance. He’d just shown me an intensely negative attitude.
‘Fame precedes him’—unproven rumors, passed mouth to mouth, nothing but bluff.
‘Young nobles’—only the young and foolish give weight to such nonsense.
‘Read the scriptures this morning for our talk’—never cracked them before. No interest in the light.
That’s the gist. He approached first to probe my negativity, and by revealing ties to the First Prince’s faction, he’s signaling their displeasure at my reaction.
‘Probably because we rejected that idiot first. They want me to play a bit humble on the surface.’
[...Why go to such lengths? They ultimately want to pull us into the First Prince’s camp.]
‘The prince can’t bow first. If I go, “Oh dear, I was caught up in the moment~” and bow low, they’ll counter with, “No, we sent the wrong man. Our apologies~.” Just light pleasantries.’
---------
- Jokasss: Please.... just kill them all.... Ugh.... Fucking bastards.....
- Deer Drug Please: Why? It’s pretty understandable.
- Jokasss: That?
- Deer Drug Please: Yeah. Like when you run into a friend you hate at a reunion after ages. “Oh my! Yes! It’s been forever! Wow, why’d you lose so much weight? I almost didn’t recognize you! What’s the secret? No way you slimmed down that much with normal methods! Incredible~”
- Holy: Ahh, got it. That context.
- Speed Wagon: Definitely some similarities.
- Take a Look: Even less sense now.
- Deer Drug Please: No tact. It’s like saying, “You used to be such a fat slob no one could look at, but you finally got embarrassed about your body? That’s why you starved yourself down? Looks unnatural. Surgery, right?” Just roundabout. Viewing noble talk as an amped-up version makes it click.
- Jokasss: Terrifying. Dark girls’ talk.
- Speed Wagon: Not everyone, but in life.... you inevitably run into people like that. I saw nurses badmouthing me behind my back at the hospital.
- DOOMgay: In that sense, we live in a great era. If you’re pissed, instead of gossip, just calculate if you can draw faster than the bastard. So convenient.
- Take a Look: Bro’s here? Work done for today?
- DOOMgay: Heading out soon. Can’t stand this shit.
---------
The chat buzzed with debate over noble-speak. Hyde, reading my memory of it, wore a horrified look.
[Uh.... Is it really like that? Are nobles all effeminate or something?]
‘The explanation was off, but yeah, kinda. Not because they’re effeminate. In a setting where violence is extremely restricted, groups develop these tacit customs to gauge superiority without open conflict. Direct violence leads to ruin wars, duels, or domain skirmishes, so they bicker endlessly with words. That twisted intrigue evolves into this shadowy social banter. Got it?’
[...So nobles are all effeminate?]
‘Argh. Fine, if you say so. They call themselves refined, after all. Kinda fits.’
The tangent aside, the point stands.
Nobles, business as usual—no curses or brainwashing signs. In full social swing.
First Prince’s faction, handling Saint Professor in perfectly noble fashion.
No trace of witches anywhere.
Professor excused himself to the terrace for “a moment of prayer” amid the endless nobles. The party’s star, the First Prince, wouldn’t appear until midway, when things heated up. Until then, it’s just mingling—close enough.
Escaping the chaotic throng into the cool breeze, he spotted a familiar redhead swaying in the wind.
Red dress symbolizing her, earrings sparkling like tiny chandeliers, subtle makeup blooming her beauty.
“....Tough?”
“Please, I just wish some heresy would show up. So the hero could burn it all down.”
Her face screamed all-nighter with booze and hangover hell.
Naturally, unlike me with no social ties despite fame, Lucilla was already notorious here. She’d hit multiple dinners yesterday, faces familiar now.
Second meetings build on firsts—excuse to introduce her noble contacts. While I stuck to hefty, dignified First Prince allies, Lucilla ping-ponged between groups, grinning through facial spasms.
“Hero. Find anything?”
“Nah. Standard probing, standard demands, standard greetings. The sheer normalcy feels off.”
“Same. Standard gossip, standard flirting, standard chatter. Aside from pervs drawn to my ‘legendary suitor’ title, nothing special.”
Surface gripe of boredom. But her water-drop earpiece, message magic, whispered different.
[All gossip, but weirdly lots of questions about you, hero.]
[Me? Like why I’m here?]
[Not that suspicious. Normally, they’d ask which noble I fancy—high-choice ladies like me make them worry their guy’s my pick. But mostly: ‘How’d you meet the saint?’ ‘What training does he do? Hobbies in free time?’ ‘Is that red dress a couple set matching the Blood Saint moniker?’ Petty, but.... shady.]
[...Yup. Witch influence? Questions probing my path, unaccounted time, our link—when, where it started. Teldrat suitor rumors are old.]
[...So, is the First Prince’s mother, the Empress, the witch?]
[Just keep it possible. Pieces too few to force the picture. Note those ladies and youths’ names.]
[Yes.]
The party spread out, each on task. Me and Lucilla, etiquette pros, handled nobles direct. Aldrich and Ottoman, universal shields via ‘mage-like behavior,’ warded off all, scanning hall for curses or magic traces real-time. Notum and Idrasil—
[Grohk. There it is. Same spacing as lower city. Same amount.]
[Not normal plants, but to me, these seem older than servant district ones. Leaves drier than outskirts. Definitely intensifies toward capital center.]
Unfamiliar with noble galas—Idrasil’s elf disdain for humans, Notum’s troll clumsiness—they feigned it, got booted, then patrolled for curse plants and direct traces. Plant expert Idrasil and innate shaman Notum, perfect for it.
Ops smooth, advancing steadily.
As expected, nobles probed while trying to recruit me. Lucilla fended young bucks. Mages and troll-elf teams, no hitches.
....So why?
[Weird.]
[...Right?]
[Yeah. Your ‘off’ comment yesterday? Getting it now. Can’t explain, but.... whole place feels.... off. Like entering a flawless play the culprit scripted beyond imagination? Everyone actors, us the only real civilians crashing?]
.
.
.
.
[Uncanny.]
Hyde’s word nailed it.
Uncanny. Like a scattered puzzle pieced perfectly by them, or ten tossed darts bullseye dead-center.
Today’s plan? Ad-libbed on big goals only. Variables expected sans details.
Like a newbie noble eyeing First Prince entry cozying to saint with church backing.
Or a betrothed high-choice lady drawing jealous snipes, servant pranks—‘raised pretty to sell dear.’
Or guards blocking troll-elf duo on ‘species discrimination.’
Dozens of troubles per person imaginable. None happened. Plan flowed silky as scripted: ‘noble society’s like this, roll with it.’
‘Noble faces mere masks, sure—but this overkill. Beyond masks, like mirror phantoms.’
No true ‘noble grit’ anywhere. No vicious, desperate greed, vibrant presence. Just swayed by some hidden force, swept in giant waves.
Something huge drove them. Chess shows piece paths, king aims. But these pawns frozen—what’s the play?
Signaled Aldrich—nothing, no curses.
The eerie vibe had Lucilla eyeing balcony escape.
[Truth? Dozens of venomous wives insulting me? I’d face ’em. Dream monsters charging? With you and crew.... we’d manage. But this.... scary. Beyond my sanity. What’s happening in the capital? No curse, no magic—how are people like that—]
[Calm.]
[Scarier.... I got swept in their vibe without knowing! Thought I was sharp, but suddenly yapping empire-Teldrat ties, family trade.... Like I’m melting away.....]
[Shhh. Fine. Nothing happened yet. Got the church relic?]
[....Yes.]
Seeing her swallow tears, Professor wrapped her trembling shoulders, led her out. Lucilla’s capable, but just noble girl. Whatever caused this uncanny had seeped into her too.
“Hero.... leaving now looks bad to nobles.”
“Nah. Feels pointless. You join Ottoman, Aldrich with the two outside.”
She nodded, shaking. Ottoman and Aldrich rose at her grim face, eyes on us.
“And you?”
“....Something to check.”
Fingering pocket curse-plant, Professor sent crew out, reentered hall.
Then messaged a noble—unthought importance, hundredfold more real than holy-city ones.
“Eek, cold! What, sudden water....”
[Kepplak Nydim. Remember this voice?]
“Sh-Shadow?”
Arrogant young noble from our first inn visit. Kepplak Nydim.
“Wh-where are you? Mission just starting—”
[Act natural. Nod and listen, no reply.]
Nydim froze awkwardly. Professor licked dry lips, tense.
No intel this way—time to switch.
‘All uncanny? Expand sight to the normal frame.’
Holy city: nobles ideal to uncanny extreme.
Servant district: day one, discard near-probe. Textbook noble.
But rethink: unfit for throne flame war. My rejection, their pull? I’d flip to them. Peacetime play only.
Howunman: storm hill mutt raid news, yet annual rite as usual. Vs. plains tribes stark mutt-taint.
Holy city alone ‘normal’? Mountains away or not, nations war mutts desperately—border pale, storm hill spill to empire. Adjacent domain? Too serene.
Professor knew one force for such enigma.
[Kepplak Nydim. Right there, shout ‘Long live the Emperor!’ three times loud.]
“H-here— Hmph!”
[Yes. No reply. Now. For First Prince.]
Nydim eyed surrounding nobles anxiously, Professor gripped pocket curse-plant hard.
And.
“L-long live Emperor! Long live Emperor! Long live.... Emperor!”
Loyal fool Nydim cheers amid refined nobles.
Clunk.
Like switch flipped, puppet-calm shattered instantly. Not to reality—from uncanny ‘weird nobles’ to opposite uncanny.
Clap clap clap clap.
“Familiar face.... Kepplak house son, right?”
“Ah, ahaha.... I-it just, suddenly felt such reverence for His Majesty....”
“Understandable. Happens. Emperor’s the nation’s foundation, no?”
“Splendid, young master Nydim!”
“Uh.... Th-thank you....?”
Expected max shame from outburst. Instead, baffling goodwill even Nydim couldn’t grasp.
And pocket curse-plant wilted fast.
‘Beyond logic-reason.... Divine!’
Drying leaves screamed it. Mood flip instant—this, formless things countering witch ritual.
‘....Not chess—checkers with chess pieces. Pawns play for [Empire’s peace], black-white jumbled wild!’
Near-blind, pull back gaze—contours sharpened.
Witch prepped full. Counter.... the Empire itself.
Emperor’s name.
****
```