Chapter 64
Chapter 64
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 63
Chapter Title: Lies of the High and Mighty
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The news of the printing factory being raided forced Rex into an unwelcome predawn wake-up.
"Why the hell here?"
The factory was undoubtedly a key confidential facility.
However, its importance wasn't military—it was historical and cultural.
The books printed with the world's first metal movable type contained the duchy’s national ideology.
In that sense, those books held a position akin to the scriptures of a theocracy.
Of course, scriptures were sacred, and books of ideology were important.
But if one asked whether it was worth throwing elite agents into a raid like this... well.
'Militarily, it means absolutely nothing.'
Destroying the factory or damaging the originals wouldn't affect command structures or logistics in the slightest.
It wasn't producing ciphers either, so no intelligence value.
At best, generously assuming it was to halt the distribution of martial arts manuals listed at the back of the books...
'Is there any reason to commit elites like this?'
No matter how he crunched the numbers, the cost-benefit didn't add up.
Of course, distributing this book would raise the average hierarchy of the populace.
But books only elevated hierarchy from 0 to 1.
Plus, tests showed not everyone reached 1 just by reading it—only those whose bodies aligned with the philosophy.
Even factoring in this world's illiteracy rate...
'At most, it'd produce a handful of low-rank knights?'
Sure, mass-producing knights would have some impact on the war, but nothing game-changing.
Compared to that, committing this level of trained elites would hugely impact future intelligence operations.
In other words, this incident looked like a strategy to block martial arts manual distribution and abandon intel warfare.
'What? Is the royals this stupid? Nah, no way. There must be some rational reason.'
Rex couldn't even dream that the royals were overvaluing this martial arts primer.
The royals saw it as valuable enough to quell all protests across the duchy,
and thus treated it as a legendary manual boosting up to hierarchy 3, planning accordingly.
Naturally, Rex—who knew it only as a basic swordsmanship and general knowledge text—couldn't guess their logic.
'At best, it's political.'
The most rational guess was that the factory raid was a provocation disguised as military action.
Suddenly, Rex recalled his past life.
The northern hog barons' historical antics from unification history class, a century ago.
Remembering that, he vaguely grasped the royals' aim.
'The royals' grip on power must be shaking lately.'
That would explain throwing agents into the fire.
Rulers would stomach national losses to cling to power.
Especially if they propagandized burning an enemy nation's ideological tome—they'd rally public support first.
'Never thought the Eschric royals cared about public opinion.'
Politics stayed the same no matter the world, huh.
Rex nodded and returned to reality.
For now, he'd stop guessing royal motives and opened his interface to draft a diplomatic note.
Rex was basically a coward, but more precisely, he hated responsibility.
Thus, he couldn't tolerate insults to those who trusted and followed him.
'If provocation was the goal, it worked perfectly, Your Majesty.'
Right now, Rex was in a very foul mood.
The duchy's diplomatic document arrived at the palace.
A familiar expression of deep regret and demand for explanation from Rex's old world.
But in this world, it was a symbol of cowardice.
Where swords and magic trumped talk, and superhumans were all war prep needed, diplomatic notes seemed laughable.
Thus, the king mocked the duchy's document.
"Looks like the duke got chills from his pillow being targeted."
At the king's sneer, the ministers chuckled obsequiously.
The king glanced at the empty chair once held by the intel chief,
"It failed, but it showed us this much, so I'll forgive it."
He issued a pardon to absent ears.
Eschric's king shoved the diplomatic note aside and eyed the foreign minister.
"They don't want war, so play along for now."
The kingdom wasn't quite ready for war yet.
Other marquises and counts eyed their backs.
Until he sorted the pecking order with them, no war with the duchy.
"We know nothing of this incident."
With the intel chief gone, the royals knew nothing.
Evidence would linger, but so what?
The enemy clearly didn't want war.
Best for leaders to sweep it under the rug.
"Orgal. You handle it. Use that Gray Tower on the border."
The duchy called it the Cloud Obscure Tower.
A border building for diplomatic talks during truces.
Foreign Minister Orgal flashed a gum-toothed smile and rose.
"Yes, Your Majesty."
In this world, words didn't settle diplomacy.
A bit of blood, some fisticuffs, maybe a head or two, then talk.
Or trade gold and goods equivalently.
That was diplomat Orgal's role.
Flex national might, squeeze maximum tribute.
Thus, the minister gathered his arms and headed to the border.
The border count received him lavishly; days later, Orgal reached the Gray Tower.
A familiar ducal knight awaited.
"You..."
"Sargas. Long time."
The pale-skinned bloodkin middle-aged man bowed gracefully.
A familiar face.
They'd met during truce talks.
Orgal had come ready to brawl, but 2nd Company Commander Sargas—with his brutal moniker—forced negotiation.
Corpse Gardener Sargas.
A polite face hiding cruel hobbies.
He bloomed flowers on corpses for gardens—an distasteful type best avoided.
"Damn. Smells like corpses. What'd you do here?"
"The border count's envoys lacked manners, so I gave them trials. Sadly, it ended like this."
Sargas showed three roses.
Superhuman senses picked thick blood scent from them.
"Tch. Idiots."
Orgal offered no condolences to dead allies.
He wasn't sentimental enough for unknowns, and fighting Sargas over loyalty was too costly.
Orgal erased the missing count's retainers from mind and cut to the chase.
"So why send that document? Does the duchy mean 'regret' differently?"
- The regrettable incident you mentioned is unknown to our kingdom.
"Exactly. Your kingdom must define rudeness differently—no regrets there."
- Cut the crap, you rude bastards.
Sargas's retort made Orgal's eyebrow twitch.
The last truce went like this.
The bloodkin's annoyingly slick tongue dragged pace, yielding ground.
Not this time, Orgal vowed, and spoke.
"Heard about the capital incident. The lord must be heartbroken. We'd like to offer condolences for the fallen, diplomat."
- That's truly unknown. And we don't recognize your duchy's ruler—a mere lordling.
"..."
Sargas's face stiffened.
Seeing it, Orgal was certain he'd gained the upper hand.
'Good, this time...'
Then Sargas pulled a comm crystal from shadows.
Placing it reverently like a superior, he told Orgal:
"You're misunderstanding. Today, I'm not the diplomat."
"?"
"Today's negotiation is hers."
Sargas activated the crystal.
Beyond the head-sized orb, a familiar figure appeared.
Duke Awik.
The famed duchy second-in-command.
"You..."
[No introductions. We're not meeting on good terms.]
Arrogant knight, as rumored.
Always assuming superiority, insufferably haughty.
Veins bulged on Orgal's forehead.
'Strutting after beheading mere lords.'
Sneria border war tales of her butchering lords impressed, but Orgal feared not.
Her hierarchy: 6.
Couldn't telekinetically drag a count from walls, but axe to the skull? Possible.
Matter of spell impression, not skill gap.
'Think I'd fear you?'
Plus, Duke was remote via crystal.
Likely capital office, by room shape.
No reason to fear.
Recalling knights obsessed with chivalry, Orgal jabbed lightly.
"Knights must have heavy asses."
- Why send a subordinate to vital diplomacy? Chivalry's overrated.
Duke ignored him, continuing prior topic.
[Days ago, printing factory raided. You know which.]
"No idea."
[Raiders bore royal insignia.]
"Slander. Anyone can forge badges."
[Not here for truth games.]
"This attitude troubles the kingdom."
Duke fell silent.
Orgal smirked inwardly.
Shameless? So what.
Deny, and options were few.
Why diplomacy lagged here.
Easier forcing truth with superhuman blades.
They wouldn't yield easily, though.
Thus, Orgal recalled king's budget and spoke.
"To express regret for the fallen, we'd like to send condolence gold."
- We'll pay. Let's call it even.
About 70% of budget.
Silent Duke replied, voice edged with anger.
[Watch your tongue, diplomat.]
"Condolence too stingy? How about this?"
Upped to 80%.
Duke shook head.
Before Orgal could demand 90% as greedy knight,
Duke showed left hand through crystal.
[Said I'm not here for truth games.]
As words ended, Orgal's tongue throbbed painfully.
Like invisible forceps yanking, it protruded from his mouth.
"Ughh eeeiii (What is this?!)"
Using telekinesis remotely via crystal? Orgal's first hearing.
More shocking: a hierarchy 6 like him couldn't resist.
As Orgal panicked, Duke murmured lowly.
[Told you to watch your tongue.]
"Aaaah!"
Splurt!
Gruesome sound; blood sprayed the desk.
Orgal spat a long, anatomical chunk he cared not name, eyes rolling back as he collapsed.
Duke eyed Orgal's aide behind impassively through crystal.
[Congrats on promotion, nameless adjutant. Shall we continue?]
Pale-faced aide nodded frantically.