Chapter 40
Chapter 40
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Translator: uly
Chapter: 40
Chapter Title: The Hero's Oath
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"I'm not particularly talented at spinning long-winded tales."
For now, he decided to politely decline once, as a formality.
If he bit the bait too eagerly with a clunk, someone might rejoice, but others would grow suspicious.
To draw them perfectly into this play, he had to make them sit down in front of the stage of their own accord.
"Why dodge it like that?
The guy who could talk so smoothly in front of the young ladies."
Ludwig was the first to mutter in a tone that scratched at him teasingly.
He seemed quite resentful about getting pranked so badly at his own estate and was eager to find some weakness in Sion to shake him with.
In response, Estia of the Oner Marquis Family warned Ludwig to mind his manners, even if they were acquaintances.
Thanks to that, Ludwig—who secretly harbored feelings for Estia—had to grumble and back down in a way unbefitting a knight who claimed to bear the kingdom's future.
"I have to agree with Ludwig this time.
You were always so quick to boast about yourself—why clam up in a place like this?
Here, your boasts wouldn't just be empty bluster; they'd be praise that elevates this nation's stature."
"It's not a particularly enjoyable story."
At Sion's words, not only Berekrick but Estia's expression also stiffened slightly.
How could someone who had won a war and earned great merits say recounting their feats wasn't enjoyable?
". . . Young Lord Sion Klauzen.
What do you mean by that?
Not enjoyable?"
"Just what I said.
Lady Estia.
I'm simply saying I don't want to share a story that's not all that enjoyable."
As he spoke, Sion didn't forget to gaze at Estia with soulful eyes.
It wasn't born from any intent to seduce her or win her to his side.
He was just doing it to rile up that Ludwig bastard.
". . ."
Of course, the effect was tremendous!
For a brief moment, Estia blushed and averted her gaze from Sion.
As a bonus, Ludwig's face crumpled miserably.
"Hold on, Young Lord Sion.
Didn't you achieve victory?"
"That's right."
"And weren't you the main figure who led that victory from the front lines?"
"That's correct as well."
So what exactly wasn't enjoyable about it?
Berekrick seemed on the verge of asking.
For a warmonger, winning a war was no different from a merchant closing a deal or a farmer reaping a bountiful harvest.
Estia and Ludwig stared at Sion, their views apparently aligning with Berekrick's.
Sion let out a light sigh and swept his gaze across the banquet hall.
"Those who watch war from behind come to see only the glory, honor, and benefits it brings—nothing more."
"Hmm?"
"I used to be the same.
I thought victory in war would grant me glory no one else could claim.
That it would be worth risking every threat to seize."
This was where it began.
Sion activated his facial acting skills.
It would have been utter nonsense for his original self, but Sion Klauzen's appearance was a beautiful youth capable of making even those haughty noble ladies shrink back.
He had to put this face-only body to use now.
"Ah."
The moment he adopted a melancholic gaze, a sigh escaped Estia's lips.
Berekrick and Ludwig might think, 'What a pointless act,' but to women, at least, these eyes were guaranteed to appeal.
'The key here is to recite the lines very slowly.'
With the atmosphere set, it was time to dive in.
"But . . . but . . .
When I actually stood before the war . . .
And took in the devastation with my own eyes . . ."
The two men didn't matter.
He only needed to appeal to that one woman.
The other two would be handled by Estia anyway.
"I realized it was all . . . all so futile . . ."
Aaaah, a sigh burst from Estia's mouth.
And that wasn't all.
The majority of the female nobles and ladies-in-waiting who had been eavesdropping and watching the scene covered their mouths with "Oh my" and let out gasps of admiration.
'Spotlight secured for now.
Time to pick up the ones who haven't boarded this atmosphere yet.'
The nobles checked each other and worried the royal family might grow too powerful and strip their influence—but at their core, they worked and fought for this country, fulfilling at least their minimum duties.
If the nation fell, they—all who enjoyed basic privileges within it—would be thrust into a brutal survival match of eat or be eaten.
So, like it or not, they had to protect the country, and from childhood, they were inevitably taught to love and uphold Hispanya.
Sion planned to exploit exactly that.
"In that moment, leaping back into the horrific battlefield to rescue our stragglers, I took in the sight of our exhausted, wounded allied soldiers.
People who might have no connection to this war—yet when it breaks out, they are conscripted first and thrown into the inferno."
He expanded the stage.
No longer addressing just the three, but continuing to the nobles gathered around.
"His Majesty the King graciously called me a hero.
But looking back, I was no hero.
I merely fought alongside them."
"Ah . . ."
"This gathering celebrates our victory over Nudia.
And so, I dare to add one more: a tribute of gratitude to all the heroes who perished valiantly—and a pledge of my utmost efforts for this nation henceforth, to all of you assembled here."
It was an utterly trivial play on words, but a trap lay hidden within.
In a hall full of nobles pledging their all for the nation.
It shifted the mood to one of recommitting loyalty to the fatherland and royal family.
'No Kim Yu-hyun?
Before moving on, Sion quickly scanned the surroundings.
Even if Kim Yu-hyun was present, the chances of being spotted were slim—but caution was always key.
Fortunately, Kim Yu-hyun wasn't at the banquet.
Since Lucia hadn't appeared, he hadn't moved either.
'Okay, next.'
Sion paused his words and looked around.
Victory, heroes, valiant sacrifice, gratitude.
All the keywords to move them were out.
A light touch on their emotions, and they'd sweep themselves up in the mood.
"This is a letter left by one soldier who fell in this war."
". . ."
"For reference, he died on the same day his wife gave birth."
Sion imprinted a death flag on a nonexistent letter to tug at heartstrings.
A father perishing the day his child was born—what a blatant cliché.
But clichés work precisely because they're obvious!
"When I am called to duty, O God,
Grant me the strength to face the enemy on any battlefield.
Let me protect neighbors' children from enemy hands, and save the elders trembling in fear."
Gazing at the blank paper—as if it bore a tear-jerking testament too painful to read—Sion recited the final passage.
"And if it be Your will that I lose my life, by Your grace . . . watch over . . . my wife and family . . ."
Perfect—even the choked-up quiver at the end, trailing off.
It felt a bit prickly doing something so trashy, but Sion comforted himself that for survival, he could stoop even lower.
". . ."
". . ."
". . ."
No one spoke.
The surrounding nobles, Berekrick, Ludwig, Estia—all of them.
They simply stared at Sion with dazed eyes, awaiting his next words.
"It is the nameless ones who protected our nation, and the victory they forged.
We must all strive eternally to keep that spirit unstained."
There was no applause.
No, applause would have been wrong from the start.
If someone had clapped, Sion might have bashed their head to knock them out.
Swish—
One noble slowly raised his glass.
High, arm fully extended.
Then the one beside him followed, and the next, and the one after.
Soon, every noble around raised their glasses.
When all present had unified in the gesture, someone spoke again.
"Glory to our fatherland.
Loyalty to our royal family."
"Glory to our fatherland, loyalty to our royal family."
Of course, fewer than half would echo those words from true sincerity.
Loyalty to the crown stemmed merely from desire to preserve their power.
Love for the nation was just a wish their status not diminish.
But in this oddly charged atmosphere, there was no need to defy it.
No—defying it now would brand one a traitor on the spot.
With the banquet's star and war hero Sion Klauzen gazing at them teary-eyed, who could hold back?
The nobles spoke the words and drained their glasses in one gulp.
False oath or sincere, one thing was certain.
Having uttered such vows in a full assembly—even in the royal palace.
Like it or not, they now had to show even greater effort than usual.
Why?
Simple.
'You said that there, yet ignore the crown and aid the enemy?
That's treason.' It gave other nobles the 'pretext' to tear into him.
One who pledged loyalty but didn't act on it—fair game to strike!
'It was just a corny play, empty rhetoric.'
But politics was always like that.
Toying with opponents over a single word, slaying kin without batting an eye—that was power.
Pretext became a noose around one's neck or a dagger to the heart.
The underbelly of seemingly noble politics was pathetically childish.
Sion knew that better than anyone.
Or perhaps, it had been drilled into him.
Politics churned out comedy more entertaining than any variety show or film, outshining gag programs—just watch TV or news articles.
'My part's done, Your Majesty.
The rest is yours—handle it well.'
True to his promise, Sion delivered the king a splendid picture: 'nobles pledging fealty to state and crown,' complete with pretext.
So, did Sion gain nothing?
Absolutely not.
He shattered the image of rising solely through his father, instead etching himself as the one who bent nobles with mere words—the greatest gain.
'Above all, the princess won't react aggressively to me anymore.'
From the vibes, this body had committed some rude act in the past.
Not ideal for him, tasked with advancing Kim Yu-hyun and the princess's relationship.
Thus, Sion shapeshifted into 'the immature fool of yore, now reformed' to ease her wariness.
'Yu-hyun.
Trust your hyung.
I'll get that castration sticker off you soon.'
He'd endured every hardship for him, yet pitied the fool who couldn't secure even one heroine properly.
As the novel's protagonist, this treatment was fitting, Sion thought with a smile.
Gazing at Vanessa, who watched him with an intrigued look, he mused that things might resolve easier than expected.
Of course, utter nonsense.