Chapter 160
Chapter 160
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 160
Chapter Title: Alliances and Compromises
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“Be quiet.”
A low, heavy voice laced with intimidation spread through the air, and the pandemonium calmed in an instant.
But the gazes directed at Eugene were still filled with dissatisfaction and excitement.
“There seem to have been several misunderstandings all around. For now, we’ll return to the castle. I’ll explain everything there.”
“But, Your Grace...”
“Our Elrand...”
The moment Bonmer and Prabow parted their lips to speak, Eugene’s gaze snapped toward them.
“For prisoners, you talk too much.”
“...!”
Glared at fiercely by Eugene, the two flinched as he growled one more word.
“Act with restraint when I’m treating you honorably. My honor weighs as much as yours.”
“Y-Yes.”
“Understood.”
With the representatives falling silent, the men on both sides stopped their clamor as well.
They had grown lax, forgetting that they were prisoners.
That Duke Bartla was a wise and reasonable nobleman, but above all, someone who preferred and excelled at conversing with spear and sword.
“Let’s go.”
Having silenced the parties to the chaos, Eugene headed for the ducal castle.
* * *
Perhaps due to the incident with the Brodia royal family and Reima Fransil, the mood in the castle was far from good.
Eugene briefly acknowledged the greetings from the nobles and elders before summoning the two culprits of the pandemonium to his office.
Looking at Prabow, who was suppressing his emotions with effort, and Bonmer, who kept glancing nervously between him and Eugene, Eugene spoke.
“First off, I want to say there’s been a misunderstanding on both sides.”
“...”
They had words they wanted to say, but Eugene’s gaze was so cold that they simply listened in silence.
“I have no intention whatsoever of marrying Lorraine. As for Reima Fransil, I have no idea why he would say such a thing.”
“Hmm. I see.”
Meeting Prabow’s gaze, which had softened with some satisfaction, Eugene continued.
“Nor do I intend to marry a direct descendant of the Elrand king.”
“Your Grace!?”
“I’m not done speaking.”
“Hoo... My apologies. Please continue.”
Prabow took a deep breath to steady his emotions.
“The promise to make a direct descendant of the Elrand king the queen of Brantia—I will keep it. But that doesn’t mean marriage to me. I have no intention of becoming Brantia’s king.”
“W-What do you mean by that?”
“Ha! If Your Grace doesn’t take the throne, then who? You told me yourself that you would unify Brantia. That doesn’t add up.”
Eugene clicked his tongue at Prabow’s sharp point.
“Does unifying Brantia necessarily mean becoming king?”
“If I may be so bold, that’s just playing with words.”
“Sir Prabow. Do you think the honor of Duke Bartla is so light that a sword master would resort to word games?”
“Urgh!”
Prabow flinched at Eugene’s resolute gaze and voice.
“I will unify Brantia. But someone other than me will sit on that throne. And that person will have more legitimacy and rightful claim than any of the pretenders calling themselves kings in this land.”
“Who could that be...”
“Count Krollmarin.”
“Gasp!”
The two widened their eyes at the unexpected name.
To the pair lost in shock and confusion, Eugene said quietly.
“The House of Count Krollmarin may pale in comparison to Bartla or Durak. But in the past, it was acknowledged by both royal houses with titles. It’s a noble house with deep history and prestige.”
“Hmm. That’s not wrong.”
The house had weakened considerably around the time of the Prayer Book War, but House Krollmarin was no inferior noble family.
In fact, it was a renowned house that had dominated southwestern Brantia for far longer.
“Over the long years, blood from various dynasties has mingled in. But the decisive condition that allows Count Krollmarin to take the throne—this is it.”
Their expressions had completely changed from when they first entered the office. To them, Eugene stated firmly.
“I, Duke Bartla, and the king of Elrand will both support Count Krollmarin. As king of Brantia. Do we need any stronger legitimacy than that?”
“Oh!”
Prabow’s face brightened instantly.
Even just having Duke Bartla—the man every dynasty had sought alliance or cooperation with—as a patron would greatly favor claiming the throne. Add Elrand to that?
The game was over before it began.
Moreover, as a sword master and exceptional knight, Prabow had already witnessed Eugene and his army.
Duke Bartla held both position and legitimacy, possessed skills unmatched by any peerless knight, and commanded a mighty army to boot.
Who could oppose a king backed by such a figure?
“The direct descendant Elrand’s king sends will become Count Krollmarin’s principal wife. Are you satisfied, Sir Prabow?”
“Forgive this foolish knight for failing to grasp Your Grace’s profound intentions.”
Deeply satisfied, Prabow bowed his head without hesitation.
Though the marriage partner had changed from a lofty figure to an ordinary human, that was fine in its own way.
If a king died before his queen, power would eventually pass to her and their children.
“And Sir Bonmer.”
“Yes, sir!”
Bonmer’s attitude had completely changed.
He had always been wary of Eugene due to his terrifying prowess.
But this conversation had delivered a shock just as immense as that inexplicable strength.
‘He’s not just strong. To think he possesses such profound schemes...’
Eugene spoke to Bonmer, who swallowed dryly without realizing it from the tension.
“If Sir Fransil desires it, you may send Lorraine Fransil to Count Krollmarin. Nothing builds trust between houses like marriage. However, she cannot be the principal wife. If you accept, after I and Count Krollmarin unify Brantia, I will elevate House Fransil to march lordship. I’ll also guarantee independence for your eastern territories.”
“Urgh!”
Bonmer swallowed a groan at the unexpected proposal and said cautiously.
“Um... It may not be my place, but I believe our lord is unlikely to accept. He’s a man of very strong pride...”
“Even if it saves your eldest son?”
“...!”
Bonmer’s eyes shook violently at the grand scale, having momentarily forgotten Reima’s situation.
“If you refuse, the Brodia royal knights can kill or save your eldest son for all I care—I’ll stand by. Then I’ll hand you and Lorraine over, declare war on House Fransil.”
“T-That’s...!”
“Enough excuses. You came at me first. Handing over you and Lorraine Fransil for ransom fulfills my duty. Declaring war after releasing prisoners is highly honorable. Isn’t it?”
“Ah...”
Bonmer’s face turned ashen.
There was no flaw in Eugene’s words. Even if war broke out between the houses, everyone would see House Fransil as the instigator.
‘The problem is having to fight the Brodia royals too.’
Harsh as it was to Lorraine, the reality was that her and Reima’s standing in House Fransil was incomparable.
If Brodia demanded ransom, they’d ask for dozens of times more than for Lorraine. And if anything happened to Reima, it would ignite full-scale war.
Amid that, a massive army led by this terrifyingly strong and colder-than-ice duke declares war on House Fransil?
‘It’s... over...’
Bonmer, who had planned to strongly argue upon return for maintaining good relations with the new Duke Bartla for the time being, broke out in cold sweat.
“Y-Your Grace. I...”
“I know it’s not for you to decide. Convey this to Sir Fransil when you return to your house.”
“Y-Yes.”
Bonmer could only let his despairing face droop.
Eugene’s gaze turned to Prabow.
“Now then, Sir Prabow.”
“Please speak.”
“If you trust my promise, then from this moment, we are family in the same boat. Isn’t that right?”
“Haha! Of course.”
“Then, as an ally rather than a prisoner, I propose to Elrand’s sword master: Will you join in rescuing Reima Fransil?”
“It is the greatest honor to fight alongside Your Grace.”
The elf sword master’s sky-blue eyes gleamed. In contrast, Bonmer’s face grew even darker.
‘Duke Bartla and now Elrand’s sword master too... House Fransil’s debts just keep piling up.’
* * *
“Eat.”
“Hmph! You think I’d put food touched by the hands of cowardly honorless scum into my mouth? Take it away!”
Though stripped of armor and weapons, wearing only his outer garments, Reima held his head high.
At that, the knight who brought the bowl of hard black bread and stew reeking of odd smells glared.
“Keep acting up and it won’t end well. Behave when we’re treating you like nobility. Your piss-weak knights are all dead—where do you get off mouthing off? No wonder your knights are the way they are with a master who doesn’t know his place.”
“Hahaha!”
The other knights dining nearby burst into laughter.
Reima’s face flushed crimson like autumn leaves.
“You who claim to uphold chivalry—aren’t you ashamed of your cowardly ambush!? Ah, I see! The Brodia royals are nothing but bandits who attack without declaration of war!”
Thwack!
“Guh!”
Reima’s jaw spun from the knight’s fist, sending him tumbling backward.
“The bandits are your house, occupying Brodia royal territory without permission. Step outside your backyard and you’re weaker than Roamer monsters.”
“Exactly. That runaway spoiled young master needs to suffer a bit before coming home to wise up.”
“Worst case, dying’s pretty common, right?”
“Hahahahaha!”
Seized by shame and rage at the blatant mockery, Reima bit his lip until blood flowed.
But disarmed and with his ankles bound by iron shackles, there was nothing he could do.
Even fully armed, victory against eight Brodia knights plus the others over there was impossible.
“Still, he’s the Fransil heir. Treat him honorably, sirs.”
“Ah! Understood, Sir Helmund.”
The knights who had been taunting Reima apologized and showed respect toward the source of the voice.
Thud, thud.
Amid heavy footsteps, a figure approached Reima as he barely managed to rise.
“I apologize on their behalf for their rudeness, Lord Reima Fransil.”
“Urk...”
He wanted to tell them to shove their apology and get lost, but Reima had no choice but to look up.
“I accept your apology, sir. I can’t fathom why someone as honorable and noble as you associates with Brodia’s ruffians.”
“An unheard-of continental kin rampaging without regard on this great land—it’s my duty as a native to restrain them. And your house is even betrothed to that thunderbolt madwoman? It’s no longer someone else’s problem.”
A handsome man in his mid-twenties grinned, his lustrous golden hair swaying in the wind.
“Sir Frederick Helmund! Does the Helmund Clan truly intend to make an enemy of Fransil?”
“If necessary, of course.”
Frederick Helmund.
High Lord of one of Brantia’s two great vampire clans—his large, pointed fangs gleamed blue.
At that moment, two horses galloped swiftly from afar.
“Whoa, whoa!”
Knights clad head to toe in black robes, their helmets protruding like beaks, quickly dismounted and prostrated before Frederick.
“We report to the great High Lord. The one calling himself Duke Bartla leads an army northward, past Liwad Territory.”
“Hoh? Does that mean his brother-in-law’s fate is of no concern?”
“So it would seem. However, the forces are somewhat smaller than reported. Banneret Randolph and his knights also appear absent.”
“Randolph? Hmm.”
Stroking his smooth chin, Frederick smirked.
“Even better. One kin to exterminate is enough. And he’s walked out of a castle one can’t enter without invitation—surely an omen.”
Turning toward the setting sun, Frederick smiled silently.
Though facing the brilliant sunset head-on, his expression remained utterly serene.
(To be continued)