Chapter 70
Chapter 70
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 69
Chapter Title: Providence Dynasty's Second-in-Command
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Motion sickness from mana deficiency isn't something you experience every day.
Simply hitting zero mana just brings a sense of lethargy, not nausea.
To get motion sickness from mana, it has to dip into the negatives beyond zero.
Of course, that's impossible through normal means—it's borrowing from your future self.
And the cost? You have to pay it back with interest.
Duke clutched his forehead as the interest arrived in the form of a throbbing headache, leaning back in his chair.
For the first time in fifty years, he opened a book.
"Dungeon generation, generation... here it is."
The book he'd opened was none other than a grimoire.
One he'd secretly swiped from the imperial palace's forbidden library on the day the Empire fell.
Through this grimoire, he'd learned the magics necessary for a second-in-command, but most of them were imperfect.
"Should've studied more thoroughly... Got to master this first, at least."
Besides the telekinesis he'd used since the first rank and a handful of other spells, everything felt a bit unstable.
This was because he'd crammed advanced magics at the last minute.
Normally, reaching the ninth rank was estimated to take around eight hundred years.
Even that assumed no external interference.
But Duke had shortened it to four hundred years, then halved it again to two hundred.
And during that tight two-hundred-year schedule, he'd also had to hone his cultural knowledge, literature, and acting skills, leaving him perpetually short on time.
So he'd chosen to focus.
Concentrating solely on telekinesis and swordsmanship—which he'd used since the first rank and grown familiar with—along with a few spells, while skimming the rest.
Even with that, he'd only fully honed his swordsmanship and telekinesis to the ninth rank a week and a bit before meeting Rex.
If the schedule had slipped even slightly, his whole persona might have unraveled—it had been that close. (Though even then, his telekinesis had been at eighth-rank level.)
After joining Rex, he'd trained in his spare moments to fill the gaps, but dungeon magic had ultimately missed its deadline.
Which was why Duke was now poring over the grimoire, enduring the belated headache.
'Ah, the rune got twisted. I was too lax.'
That said, Duke was the abnormal case here.
Typical superhumans would master one magic or martial art to their level, and if they needed another field, they'd only train it to auxiliary levels.
Take King Esiric as an example: he'd honed his hand-to-hand combat to the eighth rank, with swordsmanship as a mere auxiliary at the sixth.
Mages might train martial arts for support, but never to main-weapon levels.
If Duke had been a typical superhuman, he'd have compromised on either swordsmanship or telekinesis and ignored dungeon magic entirely.
But the greedy second-in-command Duke refused to compromise on any front.
With swordsmanship and telekinesis both at the ninth rank, he was now reaching for dungeon magic.
'Mana's tapped out anyway, and there's time before Rex arrives. Might as well study this.'
To use a university analogy, it was like double-majoring, graduating early, getting two PhDs, and now prepping for a third.
No wonder Rex's retainers stuck out their tongues in awe at the sight of Duke.
'Goal is two years. Master it within two.'
He'd already demonstrated it publicly, so backing off wasn't an option.
If anyone suspected his magic was unstable, he'd just shove the perfected version in their face and refute them.
That way, he could claim it was his signature technique: fixing a dungeon mid-loading.
'Speaking of which, that selection domain... Am I going to have to use it often now?'
Anxiety washed over him amid the dizzying headache.
But no matter how much he racked his brain, no alternatives came to mind.
'Haa... To boost my mana pool, guess I'll have to brew some elixirs after all this time.'
His eyes stayed glued to the book as one corner of his mind outlined future plans.
Before Duke could fully recover from the motion sickness aftereffects, Rex beat him to the castle.
Duke's current state still had his mana slightly below zero.
If an assassin targeted Rex, Duke could die right alongside him.
And if some retainer challenged him to a rank-determining duel, he'd get wiped out on the spot.
But Duke betrayed none of it, performing the perfect second-in-command as always while guarding Rex.
'Me? Duke. The guy who bluffs a full house against no pair in an underground gambling den.'
For the record, the stakes back then had been Duke's and the dealer's hearts.
Thankfully, his habit of concealing his alertness meant no one noticed Duke's weakened state.
And so, under the second-in-command's masterful bluff, the triumphal entry began.
A grand procession stretching from the border all the way to the kingdom's capital.
It doubled as a festival to remind every territory it passed that the kingdom's master had changed.
"Hold on. Do I really have to be king? There are still royals left. Let's hand it to them."
Rex, who no longer craved more territory, now timidly made the suggestion.
Normally, they'd brush off Rex's opinion and proceed with the retainers' plans.
Ari and the company commanders were ready to push forward as usual.
But for once, Duke and Peter accepted Rex's view.
"Understood. Continuing the royal bloodline will minimize backlash from the people."
"I agree. Blood isn't always right, but you come to realize it's thicker than water living life."
With the second- and third-in-commands backing the first, the other retainers had nothing to say.
In the end, the kingdom's disposition proceeded with the duchy elevating a new royal as king.
Watching his compliant second- and third-in-commands, the Providence Duke inwardly cheered.
'Yes! After fifteen years of suffering, a day like this is only fair!'
These two were always the ones throwing wrenches in things.
One would snatch up land the moment you blinked; the other would start inciting rebellion if you blinked.
As talented as they were mad retainers, nothing ever went the way he wanted—not once in fifteen years.
But once every fifteen years, things going right had to be fair, no?
While Rex happily prepared the succession procedures himself, Duke and Peter exchanged glances.
- 'You knew?'
- 'If you're too old to notice that, time to die. Saw it occasionally in the Empire too.'
The two nodded quietly.
No matter how Rex flailed, King Esiric's legitimate heir was Ari.
She'd become the strongest among those with royal blood after executing the king.
She'd personally defeated the king, proving her power.
And she was the daughter of the woman the king had loved most.
No one could challenge her legitimacy.
Only Duke and Peter knew this fact.
The others wouldn't learn Ari's birth secret until they reached the palace and opened the king's diary.
'If he doesn't want to part with Ari, he'll have no choice but to...'
Rex already saw Ari as someone special—he couldn't discard her.
The harder Rex worked now, the clearer his fate as the kingdom's ruler became.
By then, his only choices would be becoming king or the queen's consort.
Oblivious to their intentions, Rex excitedly even crafted his own collar by hand.
"Hehe. Got to make the king's resignation conditions nice and strict."
This world's kings had annoyingly long lifespans.
Thus, clauses for voluntary retirement were standard for kings, clan heads, or nobles alike.
Rex's clause boiled down to approval from three interior ministers, the duke's consent, and one military representative.
A total of five approvals needed for retirement.
But oops?
The military representatives were Peter and Duke.
'Sigh. Wonder what grave he's digging so enthusiastically.'
Duke looked pityingly at Rex as he prepared the procession.
A week after they began preparations amid their crossed intentions, the procession concluded successfully.
- "Please spare us—this is our family's entire fortune. At least our children..."
- "Srm en jepumneundeug..."
Barring the misunderstandings in every city where the demon-cum-undead Third Company Commander Remesis appeared, the procession went off without a hitch overall.
- "Gyaack!!!"
There was the incident where Rex screamed upon learning Ari's birth secret, but that was minor too.
Afterward, Rex, seeking to legitimately inherit the Esiric dynasty, got engaged to Ari, and the Esiric dynasty was reborn as the new Providence dynasty.
The Providence dynasty's first order of business was settling old scores.
In a sort of war crimes tribunal format, they summoned the lords, compared their karma values, and issued purges and rewards.
The rewards consisted of Esiric dynasty treasures.
A treasured sword that recreated an eighth-rank strike.
A mirror said to block all curses.
Fortuitous items like these that covered shortcomings in rank or weaknesses.
Though loaned rather than gifted, it actually strengthened control over the lords even more.
Those who automatically survived were the reformed ones.
- "Our thanks to His Majesty!"
In the palace's audience chamber.
The lords prostrated en masse toward the jade throne draped in a black veil.
Beside it sat the queen Ari demurely (surely just an illusion that her queenly attire resembled a black-and-white maid outfit).
Exactly one step below the throne.
Duke and Peter—who'd handled the noble purges—stood with arms crossed, looking down on the lords.
But curiously, they feared the king behind the veil, whose expression was unknown, more than Duke, who'd personally swung the sword.
And this fear instilled loyalty in them.
Respect stems from fear, after all.
Once you know someone can crush you, courtesy seeps into your attitude naturally.
Thus, Rex steadily stacked his misconceptions as the kingdom's chaos settled.
"Guess it's time to head back."
They'd stayed in the Esiric palace until things stabilized after conquest, but he had zero intention of making it the capital.
Objectively speaking per Rex, it lacked geographic advantages and was far too decayed to serve as a capital compared to the duchy.
"Gotta get home quick."
Of course, the biggest reason was simply Rex missing his sweet home.
But there was one fact Rex didn't know.
His somewhat grand and cozy mansion—his sweet home—had transformed into a full castle while he stayed at the former Esiric palace.
(For the record, Ari the lady of the house and Duke the marshal had approved it.)
In other words, upon returning, he'd throw a new-house-syndrome cat fit in the bedroom.
Oblivious, Rex happily headed back to his house(?).
Naturally, Yu Hana and his personal guard followed him to the capital.
This necessitated selecting a new proxy lord to manage the queen's direct territory, now the former Esiric royal demesne.
- "Citizens! As for me, I rule the bountiful Humf Plains..."
- "Know the tale of the lightning bolt striking a tree ten feet away? That was me!"
Ten counts gathered at the round table, per Rex's voting system.
Having shamelessly sold their dignity to woo the citizens' votes, they assembled in the conference room awaiting results.
"I'll announce the vote results."
The votes had been overseen by an elite knight from the Yormungand Honor Guard still stationed in the royal demesne.
"Congratulations, Baron Kurin. Forty-seven percent of the citizens within these outer walls chose you."
Hooray!
The middle-aged man with his hair tied in Baroque noble fashion jumped up cheering.
The knight handed him the letter of appointment with light congratulations.
At that moment, one noble in the conference room raised his voice.
"I cannot accept this result!"
The knight hardened his expression but questioned the noble politely.
"Wait five years, Count Pierie. Your chance may come then."
The royal demesne proxy was a term appointment.
No limit on reelection, but qualification had to be proven every five years.
In other words, other nobles could get their shot after five years' wait.
But the count wouldn't accept it easily.
"I gave up my county for this. Am I to live as a commoner for five years? This is unfair!"
As the count said, he'd forfeited his territory to run here.
Proxy lords of the royal demesne couldn't own land, to prevent draining the area's resources to their own domains.
The conditions were strict: no lording for five years prior or five after election.
Thus, most candidates were landless, fallen, or nobles indifferent to commoner life.
The count was the only one who'd gambled big.
"This is rigged! No way I don't win! No way the citizens chose these nobodies over me!"
Underlying his superior class entitlement, sure—but the loss stung given what he'd sacrificed.
Above all, the count, steeped in elitism, couldn't stomach commoner life.
"I demand a revote!"
The knight shot the count a cold look.
"Count, calm yourself. Your actions could be seen as treason."
"Treason? Treason? How is this treason!? I'm protesting the vote, not His Majesty!"
As a purge survivor, the count had no beef with the regime or Rex's methods per se.
He accepted the system.
He just couldn't concede the result.
His behavior stemmed from misunderstanding the system.
In superhuman society, laws and promises bent freely to power logic.
Most nobles and lords saw rules not as binding even on rulers, but as principles applied variably by affection.
'I'm a noble who received a treasure directly from His Majesty! He surely favors me more!'
Having lived centuries as a superhuman, the count interpreted the system as affection-flexible.
But surviving the purge just meant he hadn't excessively exploited the people—not that he'd lived exemplarily like Yu Hana.
Thus, survival didn't equate to Rex's personal favor.
Unfortunately, the count lacked the rationality to spot the logical flaw.
'His Majesty will take my side. He'll allow a revote.'
Why give the treasure to him instead of the long-serving guard knight otherwise?
The count figured Providence's king would side with him over the knight.
The knight, of course, saw through the count's motives and sighed.
Greedy, sure—but loyal enough not to call malicious; too vague for praise.
One word summed it: ignorance.
Ignorance still chained to the past.
The knight sighed.
"Milord. Seems we'll need your help, as you said."
He addressed the air.
No sooner had he spoken than footsteps echoed outside the conference room door.
Every noble inside recognized those footsteps.
The second-in-command's, invariably heard during survivor selections.
Once they stopped, even the mightiest nobles ended up bisected and dead.
Thus, he bore the moniker "the royal family's brutal guillotine."
As the nine innocent nobles triggered PTSD fits, the door opened, and Duke entered.
Even the protesting count paled like the others, stuttering.
"Y-yo... Milord... didn't you return to the capital...?"
"His Majesty foresaw something like this and ordered me to handle the wrap-up."
In truth, he'd volunteered to stay and cement his ruthless image in Rex's absence.
'Been living too nicely lately.'
In the kingdom's north, he'd treated lords and officials as a too-kind knight.
After all, he'd massacred their leadership entirely for a clean sweep.
But the Esiric south was different.
Surviving leaders remained, and the populace—brainwashed or whatever—wouldn't listen to polite words.
Unlike the north's gradual conquests, the south's leadership flipped overnight in one war, leaving little adaptation time.
So Duke decided to wield the stick in the south.
'Said not to kill, at least.'
His authority didn't extend to summary executions in peacetime zones.
"An active second-in-command does whatever he wants within the system"—Duke, who'd memorized every law, made sure of that.
'Can't kill, but can beat. And with my authority, smashing belongings is fine.'
Having reviewed the laws, Duke settled on a policy.
"Count. Care to repeat that? What's wrong with the vote results?"
"Milord... it's not that... I think there was a problem in the process..."
The count answered in a shrinking voice.
Still oblivious to his error, he peeked at Duke while voicing his thoughts.
"If I explain well to His Majesty, a revote..."
"Do you distrust the system His Majesty created?"
"N-no... it's..."
Duke drew his hand from beneath his cloak, as if he'd heard enough.
"Your ignorance is truly grating."
Crack.
The royal treasure in the count's bosom shattered.
As if smashing his delusion of being favored.
"His Majesty gave you that treasure because he can reclaim it anytime. Like this."
The conference room gasped at the sound of the count's gifted treasure—a mana-absorbing seal stone—breaking.
'Milord...?'
Even the knight who'd summoned Duke.
That gem's value was a national treasure among treasures: capable of absorbing a sixth-rank ultimate technique, or blocking seventh-rank magic under right conditions.
And it turned to powder in an instant.
By immeasurable magic.
But the perpetrator eyed the count nonchalantly.
"In this kingdom, that stone's about your worth. Don't delude yourself."
The count nodded reluctantly.
Duke inwardly celebrated one matter settled, turning on his heel.
Then the count, not yet resigned, called at his back.
"Might you provide a new treasure for the broken one...?"
Treasures were symbolic too.
Of Rex acknowledging the count's authority.
Having lost his county too, clinging to the shards was natural psychology.
But the target and timing couldn't be worse.
"...Could you replace it... hngh!"
The count couldn't finish.
The space around them began warping.
Bookshelves, desks, chairs folding into the distortion.
As if space itself mirrored Duke's mood.
Before doors layered hundreds deep and closing, Duke spoke with his back turned.
"No pongas el corazón en la balanza."
⟨ (Don't put your heart on the scales.) ⟩
Delivering it in the magadom tongue with a stylish imperial accent, for the first time in ages.
For the record, even if he knew other magadom dialects, he'd memorized only this line to make it his signature.
Memorizing full conversations would just make it chit-chat, not a signature.
As Duke mulled that, the dungeonizing space's walls gradually closed in, pressing on the nobles.
He hadn't mastered dungeonization yet, but he could control whether space narrowed or widened.
In the squeezing space, the count nodded for dear life.
"S-sorry. I overstepped."
"Hm."
Duke withdrew his hand, and the conference room returned to normal.
Thud thud thud.
Books spilled from the shelves, proving the scene hadn't been an illusion.
Ignoring the sweating count, Duke left the room without a glance.
To the remaining guard knight, the newly elected baron quietly asked.
"Who oversees this territory's inspections?"
"You just saw."
As queen's direct territory, high-level oversight was par for the course.
The as-yet-unoffending baron dabbed his brow with a handkerchief and asked.
"...Can I resign?"
"Resigning right after election—should I interpret that as intent to mock His Majesty too?"
"...I'll do my best."
Later, the count's tale reached Rex,
and upon hearing the national treasure had been smashed, he immediately enacted related laws,
and the count, vowing never to meet anyone again, picked a mirror reflecting tragedy from the treasure hall—none of which is particularly important.
'Quick stop at the capital, then time for a long-overdue southern inspection tour. Gotta be some slave-hoarders lurking.'
Duke headed to the capital with light steps.