Chapter 52: It Wasn't Intentional (4)
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 52: It Wasn't Intentional (4)
Lemain took off his glasses and let out a long sigh.
He had just heard Calian’s plan to use Lennon Brissen’s betrayal as a weapon. What’s more, Calian wouldn’t even be the one holding the hilt. He intended to make Marquis Brissen capture his own son.
“To think he would plan to buy off the Marquis with money.”
It was surprising enough that Calian possessed a sum large enough to do so, but the very idea of using it to command the Marquis was even more astonishing.
Watching him, Alan spoke.
“I will handle this matter alongside Baron Polun. It would be best to make it appear as though Your Majesty and Prince Calian have no involvement.”
He meant to ensure that Calian’s move against Randel’s faction could not be traced back to him. Alan’s plan was to have Melfir Polun provide the funds while he personally negotiated with Evan.
Of course, even with this arrangement, Randel’s faction might grow suspicious, but as long as Calian remained in the background, they wouldn’t be able to escalate the issue openly.
Lemain mulled over Alan’s words for a moment before nodding.
“Do so.”
The moment the words left Lemain’s mouth, Alan rose from his seat and walked out. He was off to meet Marquis Evan Brissen.
* * *
That day was the scheduled meeting of the Central Noble Council.
Evan Brissen, who was leaving his mansion for the Kairis Royal Palace, paused and stared toward the main gate. When he remained motionless for some time, the butler standing behind him followed his gaze, wondering what the matter was.
After a long silence, Evan spoke.
“I shall stay home today.”
The butler had no idea why the Marquis had changed his mind after being fully prepared to depart. However, knowing all too well the price of prying into matters the Marquis did not willingly share, he dared not ask and simply bowed his head.
Just as the butler straightened, a small carriage began to roll through the mansion’s main gate. The carriage, which looked like one any ordinary noble might ride, bore the crest of the Barony of Polun. Evan watched it for a moment, then turned back toward the mansion.
“Guide them to the study.”
Confusion flickered across the butler’s face once more. Evan always met his visitors in the reception room. It was highly unusual for him to order a guest to be brought to his private study.
“Yes, my lord.”
Yet, the butler had no choice but to comply.
After Evan went inside, the carriage arrived at a leisurely pace. Its door swung open, and the butler gasped in surprise. Instead of the round-featured Melfir Polun, a sharp-featured mage with reddish-silver hair tied back in a ponytail stepped out.
It was Alan Manasil.
Alan had hitched a ride in Melfir’s carriage to avoid sparking unnecessary rumors, employing the same tactic Calian had used when recruiting Melfir.
Setting foot on grounds he never thought he’d visit, Alan stepped down from the carriage, completely unfazed by the wary glares of the numerous knights on guard. Guided by the butler, he made his way to where Evan was waiting.
Evan was already seated at a table in his study. By age, he was likely five or six years older than Alan, and the streaks of white in his blue-green hair were a testament to that.
Alan was the first to speak.
“I am Alan Manasil.”
Though he surely knew the name, Evan nodded as if hearing it for the first time. He replied curtly.
“Evan Brissen.”
The Archmage and the Sword Master exchanged curt greetings, forgoing any pleasantries. Evan gestured to the seat opposite him.
“Had you given me advance notice, I would have prepared.”
“I came unannounced precisely because I feared you would prepare too much.”
Alan’s sharp eyes crinkled into a pleasant crescent. How could he have known whether the Brissens would prepare a welcome, poison, or a blade? There was no reason to give them advance notice.
Taking the seat Evan offered, Alan spoke again, getting straight to the point as always.
“Your second son seems to be looking toward His Majesty’s eldest son.”
With that brief statement, Alan fixed his gaze on Evan.
Evan remained silent for a moment, but he understood perfectly that Alan was accusing his son of betrayal. Without a change in his expression, he simply replied, “An unexpected tale. However, Lennon lacks the caliber to pull off such a stunt.”
It was a clear statement: Lennon lacked the nerve to betray his own family for another faction. Alan chuckled.
“That’s a rather harsh assessment of your own son.”
Evan refused to believe Lennon had turned. Alan shook his head and snapped his fingers, and a leather bag materialized out of thin air. Seeing this, Evan’s brow twitched.
The reason Evan had received Alan in his study was the magic interference device installed there—a precaution in case they came to blows. But watching Alan cast magic so effortlessly proved that any such precautions were futile against him.
Alan placed the documents he pulled from the bag onto the table and glanced at Evan. Then, as if he knew exactly why the Marquis was frowning, he said with an easy air, “A mere toy designed to interfere with magic? You shouldn't underestimate a mage who lives by defying the flow of time.”
Alan then slid the documents toward Evan.
“And these will likely prove far more reliable than your son’s word.”
Evan silently reached out and took them.
They were a compilation of the information extracted from Hale, Malcolm, and Eila. Evan’s face remained hidden as he flipped through the pages, but his hands trembled slightly. His expression hardened as he suppressed a mounting rage.
“So. What is it you want?”
“Aren’t you already thinking of removing Lennon?”
“That is not for a mere mage to interfere with.”
“...That is hardly something to be said by a mere swordsman.”
At those words, Evan’s aura shifted instantly. A sharp, murderous intent, potent enough to tear Alan limb from limb on the spot, surged toward him.
“My word.”
Feeling the killing intent, Alan looked slightly taken aback. He hadn’t expected the Marquis to unleash such raw hostility over a single remark. After all, he was Alan Manasil.
“It seems I’ve been underestimated,” Alan chuckled softly.
He understood what Evan was doing. A fight here would benefit neither of them, so the Marquis didn’t actually intend to attack. He was merely trying to crush Alan’s spirit for speaking out of turn.
“I wonder if you can handle this.”
Alan had once said these same words to Lemain, though the meaning had been very different.
The moment Alan finished speaking, the very air in the room seemed to freeze, heavy with the terror of death. Evan’s pupils dilated.
Those who wielded blades commanded killing intent.
Those who understood the principles of mana were said to project Fear.
It was a power that dragged out the deepest terrors hidden in one’s heart. Though their methods differed, both served to crush an opponent. Alan’s presence pushed back the killing intent, choking the very breath from Evan’s lungs as he spoke.
“For today, let us simply have a quiet conversation. Unlike my disciple, I am not so soft.”
Alan’s smile did not waver. Nor did the suffocating dread tightening around Evan.
Evan, who had only meant to test Alan, withdrew his killing intent. Instantly, Alan returned to his usual, seemingly harmless self.
As Evan backed down from their clash of wills, Alan continued, “I trust you will deal with your son appropriately, but allow me to propose a method that might be less burdensome for you.”
Evan frowned slightly as Alan explained his proposal. If Evan quietly handled the matter so that no one, Randel included, would know the true reason for Lennon’s ousting, they would purchase the Brissen Trading Company.
“The trading company?” Evan asked.
It was a deal that required no second thought. He had always despised the trading company that bore his family’s name. The only issue was that the one offering to buy it was Alan—or rather, Calian.
“Why should I do something that benefits the Third Prince?”
To Evan, who had quickly regained his composure, Alan replied with a look of feigned confusion.
“Do you truly believe the Prince has the kind of money to buy the Brissen Trading Company? Besides, he isn’t even here.”
“If not Prince Calian, then who?”
“There is someone who wishes to run the greatest trading company in Kairis.”
Of course, Alan had already secured Melfir’s consent for this fabrication. Melfir had no reason to refuse, as his name would merely be a front to acquire the Brissen Trading Company.
“Fabricate a plausible reason and sell it. In return, we’ll buy it for a very generous price.”
Evan was quite surprised by the figure Alan presented. He pondered for a moment, then nodded.
It was a sum more than sufficient to trade for one foolish son and a troublesome trading company.
* * *
Lennon Brissen had been incredibly anxious when he first learned of Hale Latran’s arrest. He had spent days consumed with worry, fearing his connection to Hale would be exposed and he’d be forced to liquidate his assets and flee to Tensil. But Hale Latran was now locked away, and no repercussions had reached him.
Vowing never to endure such an ordeal again, Lennon swore off any future dealings with the Latran family. He had a few dealings in the territories Hale had controlled, but they were too insignificant to worry about.
Who cares about a few measly territories? What does a food shortage matter to me?
Today, he had successfully delivered the sacred artifact—the one Hale Latran had procured—to a priest from Tensil. He had also made sure to ask for an introduction to Prince Randel.
So, how could he not be in high spirits?
Humming a tune, Lennon watered the houseplant by his window and wiped its leaves. He’d neglected it for a few days, and its leaves looked rather limp. The plant’s pathetic state reminded him of Calian, and he burst into a hearty laugh.
“Let’s see. Where did I put the fertilizer?”
He turned around and froze.
Two knights stood before him—familiar faces from the Pavel division that guarded the royal palace.
Startled, Lennon flinched and took a step back, his back hitting the window frame.
“What is this? How dare you bastards barge in here—!”
His words were cut short.
The knights shoved a rag into his open mouth. After binding him tightly, they threw a black cloth over his head.
Lennon thrashed wildly, twisting his entire body in resistance until one of the knights finally knocked him unconscious.
In the struggle, the flowerpot he had just been lovingly tending to tumbled from the window. If only they knew how much that pot was worth, was Lennon’s final, fleeting thought before he lost consciousness.
When he next opened his eyes, he was in a pitch-black room. Deep in the basement of the Brissen mansion, Lennon’s screams echoed, again and again, until they faded into the darkness.