Chapter 252: Do Not Stop (6)
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 252: Do Not Stop (6)
Lennon’s face contorted.
Demirea frowned.
Soon, she reached behind her back and opened her palm, fingers held straight and pressed tightly together. It was a Siegfried hand signal.
—Hold.
It meant to hold their position and not attack, but her reason for using it now was slightly different than usual.
‘Do not let anger make you act rashly. Wait.’
Lennon lowered his head.
A laugh was leaking through his twisted expression. It was very quiet, but it was a distinct chuckle, as if he couldn’t hold it back.
Such behavior was common enough among nobles, but it was a situation the knights who had spent their lives in Siegfried had never experienced.
“Ah…!” a small, whispered exclamation escaped him.
Upon hearing of Evan Brissen’s death, Lennon was rejoicing.
That was why Demirea had ordered them to hold. She was concerned that the knights, confronted with a reaction they could never have imagined, might become agitated and draw their swords.
“Viscount Brissen,” Demirea said, her voice cold. “Shouldn’t you first confirm whether I’m telling the truth?”
“Ah, indeed.”
He had simply been too overjoyed.
Watching Lennon’s behavior, Demirea gave an order to a knight behind her.
A moment later, a corpse covered in a black cloth—not Calian’s—was brought over and placed between them. Lennon pulled back the cloth just enough to confirm it was Evan, his brow furrowing at the sight of the blood-soaked body.
Someone beside Lennon whispered in his ear. Hearing the words, Lennon pressed his lips together, as if determined not to let another laugh escape.
“I have confirmed that Siegfried has harmed my father,” he announced instead. The person who had just whispered to him nodded.
He must keep someone nearby just to do his thinking for him, Demirea thought, staring at Lennon before asking, “Pointing the finger at us so quickly. Your judgment is hasty.”
“My father died while you were blockading the mansion. Who else would I suspect?”
“You have a loose tongue, Viscount Brissen.”
“Watch your mouth, Young Duchess.”
I am Marquis Brissen now. Lennon was about to add this with an excited look, but he stopped as if suddenly remembering something.
“Ah. Come to think of it, there was a child. Where is she?”
“...A child?”
“My daughter is here. She must be about six or seven… around that age. Is she dead?”
He asked so casually.
Demirea had to open her palm behind her back once more. She signaled “Hold” to the knights, and to herself.
“Was there a young child in the mansion?” she asked, feigning ignorance to buy herself time to think.
—It’s a bit strange.
—What is?
—There’s no reason for Marquis Brissen to suddenly support the Viscount’s trading company. He hated it so much when the Viscount established it with Brissen funds that he threatened to disown him. Yet now he’s suddenly granted him a title and is fully backing the company. It makes no sense.
—Since Lennon Brissen can’t wield a sword, perhaps he was just paving a path for him to make a living.
—They are different from us. There are too many suspicious aspects to simply think of it that way.
She suddenly recalled a conversation Serie and Yan had shared long ago. Demirea had been too young to fully understand it then, but in this situation, the memory returned with surprising clarity.
The young girl Calian had said would likely be the successor of Brissen.
“I didn’t know the Viscount had a daughter. I wasn’t even aware you were married.”
“There’s no reason for the Young Duchess to concern herself with my personal affairs. So, was the child really not there?”
It wasn’t even public knowledge that Lennon was married. Thus, no one could have imagined he had a child. Since he wasn’t the type to marry without rumors spreading, it was likely a child born out of wedlock.
That Evan made quite an unexpected choice.
The relationship between Gray Brissen and Evan Brissen was notoriously poor. Evan had been unable to name either Gray or Lennon his successor. Gray Brissen had also embarked on the Path of the Sword, and it was well known that Evan did not want his children to follow that path. He had simply wanted them to grow up moderately and inherit the family’s swordsmanship.
But Gray had chosen the Path of the Sword. Upon learning this, Evan had made Gray a Margrave and banished him to a distant territory.
They said Gray has a son. I knew Evan was wary of him, but I never realized it was to the extent that he would rather bring in Lennon’s hidden daughter as the successor. To think he would grant Lennon a title and support his trading company in exchange for custody of the girl, all while keeping her a secret.
It was shocking that Evan, who had shown such a strong aversion to anyone with Calian’s blood, had contemplated making a secretly born child his successor.
What became of the woman who gave birth to that child?
Demirea pondered this for a moment before giving a slight shake of her head. Lennon was still unmarried. It was obvious what the Brissen family, a house that always employed the most absolute methods of maintaining secrets, would have done.
Having finished her thoughts, speculations, and conclusions, Demirea made her decision.
“There was no child.”
She said it because she could not hand the child back to a bastard who had sold his own offspring for a life of comfort. Besides, Lennon would soon…
“I see.” Believing he could just search for the child himself, Lennon nodded. Then, his face filled with anticipation, he spoke. “At any rate, today will be the last day for those grand elephants of yours.”
Demirea said nothing more.
—There are no corpses that died with their backs turned.
—None of the dead are ordinary servants.
—Evan Brissen is the only one who died from more than two strikes.
Treating even these bastards as human, Calian had spared the fleeing and the civilians, killing only the attacking knights and Evan. He had simply let the survivors escape. He hadn’t been unworried about them talking, yet he had let them go.
That was why Demirea had not drawn her sword. She had endured it for his sake.
“Young Duchess.”
Just then, the knight Yuran approached her side.
Without a word, Yuran gave her a slight nod. Demirea let out a silent breath and nodded in return, a small smile playing on her lips.
She understood. Calian had been safely evacuated.
Which meant she no longer had to listen to this bastard’s drivel.
“Lennon.”
Addressed by his name alone, Lennon’s face twisted in fury.
“I shall consider your attempt to frame my family with groundless accusations as an act of dishonor.”
Strength surged into Demirea’s fingertips.
She clenched her fist.
The knights lined up behind her moved as one, forming a long, unbroken line. They shifted into stances, ready to draw their swords at a moment’s notice. Seeing the knights in black chainmail instantly transition to a battle-ready formation, Lennon took an involuntary step back.
‘Thank you for the help, Demirea. Once you let him know the Marquis is dead and scare him a bit, Lennon will back off on his own. I’ll handle the rest after that.’
Killing intent radiated from Demirea.
Lennon didn’t sense it, but the private soldiers and knights with him certainly did.
“Do not kill anyone,” Demirea commanded.
“Yes, Young Duchess,” Ronansite replied.
“As long as you do not kill them, I will tolerate whatever you sever.”
“Yes, Young Duchess.”
Clang! Clang! Clang!
With Ronansite’s response, the knights’ swords were drawn in unison with a crisp ring of steel. Lennon Brissen’s face turned a bruised shade of blue.
Demirea stared him down.
Her blue-gray eyes burned with fierce anger as she growled, “I… will deal with Lennon Brissen myself.”
Shring!
A silver sword was drawn.
*
Right. That light green thing.
That color of my eyes.
That round thing.
That dry, mealy thing.
That sweet thing.
I shouldn’t have come.
“Excuse me…”
What did that crazy bastard of a younger brother just call me?
If he said that out loud, the knights trying to decipher his gibberish would become certain. Judging by how quickly they were turning their heads away, it was already too late, but if he got angry here, there would be no going back. It was already rumored that he couldn’t eat bell peppers and raw onions; he couldn’t let this go any further.
Let’s pretend I didn’t hear it.
Finishing his thoughts slightly faster than when he had received the poison pouch, Franz closed his half-opened mouth, shut his eyes tight, then opened them again.
He looked down at his crazy younger brother, who had passed out after staring at him with the triumphant expression of someone who had just achieved the greatest feat of his life—barking with all his might the moment they met, as if it were his only chance. Then, Franz briefly glanced up at the sky.
…The scattered stars seemed to look like peas, so he stopped and looked forward again.
Then again, who was he to get angry at whom?
Reaching this conclusion, Franz finally let out a short sigh and shook off his emotions.
The only person long accustomed to Calian’s strange pronouncements acted as if he had heard nothing.
Kyrie.
In truth, it was more accurate to say he didn’t have the peace of mind to react.
With a touch as gentle as placing a fallen baby bird back in its nest, Kyrie supported Calian and helped him onto Raven’s saddle. Raven, who had even bent his knees to let Calian mount easily, let out a soft snort.
Fixing his gaze on Calian, Franz spoke. “There are many eyes watching. Cover him up before you go.”
Speculating about who was slumped over Raven was one thing; seeing with one’s own eyes that it was Calian was another entirely. Although the nobles had already shut their gates, there were bound to be more informants acting as their eyes and ears than usual tonight.
“Yes. Understood.”
Instead of saying he had already intended to, Kyrie gave a brief reply and reached to take off his own robe, causing Franz to frown slightly.
“It would be better if you didn’t expose yourself either.”
“I left in such a hurry that I couldn’t prepare anything else.”
Lingering here would do Calian no good. Without further hesitation, Franz unfastened his cloak and handed it to Kyrie.
Of course, neither Franz nor Kyrie knew that two spare, pitch-black robes were ready for use at any time inside the bag strapped to Raven’s saddle.
A pure white cloak embroidered with gold thread.
Accepting it without a word, Kyrie draped it over Calian and said, “Please ride my horse to where your own is waiting, Prince Franz. I will escort you.”
Instead of nodding, Franz issued an order to the knights who had accompanied him. “Five of you stay. The rest of you, take Prince Calian and return.”
The ten knights who fell under ‘the rest’ bowed their heads slightly.
Kyrie asked with a puzzled expression, “Why are you dividing the knights?”
Franz stared at Calian’s slumped form and spoke at length, his voice filled with a desperate wish. ‘Please, just open your eyes for a moment and listen to me.’
“My younger brother is so frail. As his older brother, I cannot possibly send him back without an escort.”
Shaking off the feeling of having been caught in a petty power struggle between children that had escalated into a hair-pulling brawl, Kyrie looked at Franz. “Do you not intend to return immediately, Prince Franz?”
Franz merely nodded.
Staring for a moment at Franz, who was dressed as if he had proudly come all this way with no intention of hiding his face, Kyrie asked again in a low voice, “May I ask why you came here?”
“For a few reasons.”
Uttering words that Calian would have absolutely loved, Franz turned his head and spoke in a low voice.
“To retrieve… what’s mine.”
Below the hill, where his light green eyes were fixed, the massive mansion lay shrouded in silence.
*
It was an absolute rout.
From the beginning, they were private soldiers, not Brissen’s knights.
From the beginning, they were facing Siegfried’s elite.
After Yuran had descended the hill.
In the brief time it took for Franz to send Calian back to the royal palace, the suppression of the Brissen forces was complete.
Although the private soldiers far outnumbered them, it was futile. Every swing they made was blocked, and once blocked, they lost their weapons. They couldn’t even parry a Siegfried knight’s blade five times before being disarmed or cut down.
The battle, which had erupted in an instant, subsided just as quickly. Lennon stood with a completely pale face, staring at the sword that had stopped precisely at his Adam’s apple.
Thud, thud, thwack!
Three swift, heavy blows broke both of his ankles, forcing him to his knees.
Then, with a sharp whoosh, a gleaming silver blade was at his throat. He opened his tightly shut eyes to see it.
“The situation has been cleared, Young Duchess.”
“Any escapees?”
“No. We have confirmed that no one escaped toward the hill or the road.”
It was a situation where even offering a word of praise felt like a waste, all because of Lennon Brissen—who seemed to think anyone in armor was a knight. Demirea simply nodded.
Soon, she turned her gaze back to him.
Even in this state, Lennon pondered what to say first—whether she thought she would get away with this, or if she had forgotten who they were. Finally, he settled on one thing.
“Margrave Gray Brissen will not stand idle. He will lead an army from the Brissen Marquisate.”
“Whatever happens, you won’t be of this world by then, so there is no need for you to concern yourself.”
“Do you think you’ll be safe? The royal palace will surely hold you accountable for this, Young Duchess.”
Demirea merely nodded, having no desire to exchange any more words with him.
Instead, thud!
Something was tossed in front of Lennon, delivering an answer on her behalf.
“I don’t know who is holding whom accountable.”
A deep, low voice was directed at him.
What had fallen to the ground was a black pouch, very familiar to Lennon. He had always been the one to prepare the poison, and this time had been no different.
Lennon stared ahead with wide eyes, then quickly tried to pick up the pouch and say something. But the newcomer’s words came faster.
“My younger brother said the royal palace must not intervene.”
Unfamiliar attire.
A knee-length white jacket embroidered with gold thread. The crest of Kairis was engraved near the chest.
And, not on his back, but clearly engraved on one of his forearms, was the emblem of Valkan.
“But I don’t listen to my younger brother very well.”
Not as the cliché prince he played every day, but as the Valkan Vice-Commander, Franz stood looking down at Lennon Brissen.
At that same moment, a deafening roar shook the earth.
Rumble! Boom! Crash!
The mansion began to burn, as if to bury whatever had happened inside forever.