Chapter 165
Chapter 165
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 165
Chapter Title: The Besieged King
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It was a tale brimming with incredibly complex and headache-inducing backstory, but a few things were clear.
“The knight of the Durak family serves under Duke Bartla?”
Durak knights rarely ventured beyond their family lands, and even when they did, they led with chivalry, performing good deeds without meddling in political strife.
For such a knight to step forward openly meant something significant.
“But what on earth does that mean?”
“Well... So, the young lady who might or might not become the wife of Count Krolmarin, the vassal of Duke Bartla... Argh!”
A nobleman, recapping what he'd heard earlier, let out a frustrated burst.
“Shouldn't we at least try talking to them first?”
“Mmm. Let's do that.”
At the nobles' words, laced with fear, King Cameron III could only nod gravely.
If those forces down there—enough to choke the breath from anyone just looking at them—launched an attack, the walls wouldn't hold for an hour, no, thirty minutes.
“Send a herald. The King of Brodia wishes an audience with Duke Bartla.”
“Yes, Your Majesty. But whom shall we send?”
“That is...”
King Cameron III scanned the nobles.
His opponent was Duke Bartla himself. Even for a mere herald, they needed to send someone of appropriate rank.
But under the king's gaze, the nobles averted their eyes one by one, their faces screaming they wanted no part of the responsibility.
“Sigh... Lord Roswell and Lord Avolan, I must ask you to handle this.”
“Uh... Y-yes, understood.”
“W-we obey your will.”
The two nobles replied with reluctant faces and descended from the walls. Yet even after several minutes, they hadn't emerged beyond the gates.
“What the hell are they doing!?”
Just as King Cameron III's patience reached its limit, the gates finally creaked open, and the two nobles stepped out.
“What...?”
Peering down from the walls, King Cameron III was dumbfounded.
Not only were the two nobles clad in mismatched chain mail, but they had also brought a dozen men-at-arms and grooms each, charging en masse toward the Durak knight.
“Ha! Haha...”
A bitter laugh escaped King Cameron III as he twisted his lips.
Comparing that lone, supremely confident Durak knight to them was too shameful, too pathetic.
Moments later, the two nobles fled back inside the gates with their entourage in tow.
“Y-Your Majesty!”
Though he felt no desire to even speak with them, King Cameron III suppressed his emotions and questioned the nobles.
“What happened? What did the Durak knight say?”
“That insolent cur! He said not to spout nonsense and to send the king himself—or someone with the king's full authority!”
“W-what did you say!?”
“That's not all! He gave us just one hour, and if no proper envoy appears by then, he'll attack immediately!”
“Grr!”
His face flushed crimson with the first humiliation of his life.
But King Cameron III had no choice.
“Whew! Then who shall serve as envoy...?”
Scanning the nobles again, King Cameron III let out another long sigh without realizing it.
The nobles, avoiding his eyes and bowing their ashen faces, meant only one thing.
“...I'll go myself.”
“Oh! The brave and honorable act of His Majesty the King will be blessed and revered by all the kingdom's subjects!”
“His Majesty the King is the true shield of this realm! History will remember this decision!”
The young king, who had lost all hope in the nobles cheering his decision in unison, could only squeeze his eyes shut.
* * *
The gates of Brodin yawned open once more, like a cat stretching.
“Hoo?”
Lanslo, who had been bored atop his saddle awaiting Brodia's response, lit up with interest.
A single knight in gleaming chain mail had emerged from the gates.
Unlike typical knights with just a helm, this one wore a golden coronet studded with jewels atop his.
“Is that the king himself? And alone?”
Lanslo nodded in admiration.
As expected of a king—he was a figure who made those nobles from earlier, who hadn't even dared meet his eyes before fleeing, seem unworthy of comparison.
The young king halted about five meters away and opened his mouth with considerable poise.
“Lanslo of Durak. I am Gadif Cameron Brodia, ruler of the Kingdom of Brodia, granted the right and duty to ascend the throne of Brantia by the gods and spirits.”
To the grandiose introduction from a king barely twenty, Lanslo smiled faintly, placing a hand over his left breast and bowing lightly.
“It is an honor to meet you, King of Brodia.”
Cameron III's brow twitched at the simple address. He had steeled himself, but such treatment was unfamiliar.
“Lanslo of Durak. Withdraw quietly even now, and I shall overlook your and the Durak family's error. Your utterly bizarre tale is something I...”
“Bizarre? It is the strict truth.”
“What?”
Lanslo pulled the parchment Eugene had given him from his breast pocket and waved it.
“It is a blackmail letter from Your Highness's knights. They hold Lord Reima Fransil hostage, so if you wish him returned...”
As Lanslo calmly continued, Cameron III's expression shifted dramatically.
‘Those mad fools! I sent them to scout, and they cause a disaster like this!?’
Even amid his urge to rage and leap, Cameron III finally understood Lanslo's cryptic words.
‘In that case...’
Realizing this wasn't entirely bad, Cameron III regained some composure inwardly and spoke.
“Hmm. From what you've said, something comes to mind.”
“...?”
“If your words hold, then my knights have secured the Fransil family heir who was to become Count Krolmarin's in-law. So if you continue to oppress me and my kingdom like this...”
“Haha. Your Majesty seems to be misunderstanding.”
“What...?”
Unlike usual, Lanslo wore a slightly sardonic smile.
“Lord Lorein's status remains that of a prisoner. It hasn't been decided if he will become Count Krolmarin's wife. Does His Grace the Duke need to concern himself with the Fransil family's plight in this situation?”
“T-that is...”
The leisure vanished from Cameron III's face in an instant.
True to his sharp mind, he quickly thought of something and blurted it out.
“Then all the more reason not to treat me and my kingdom this way, no? And you call it a misunderstanding, yet why target us Brodia, who have no relation to Duke Bartla...”
“Whether Lord Lorein becomes Count Krolmarin's wife or not, rescuing the captured heir would create a debt with the Fransil family in advance, wouldn't it? And if I may say so...”
Lanslo glanced around as if checking his surroundings, then lowered his voice.
“His Grace Duke Bartla has a rather—nay, very—nasty temper. He doesn't let those who threaten him go unpunished. Be it the Brodia royal family or whatever, His Grace couldn't care less.”
“...!”
Cameron III's face drained of color.
In other words, no matter the reason, he'd take the chance to punish the Brodia royals?
“Your Majesty should consider speaking with me a stroke of fortune. If His Grace were here instead? He'd have seized you as a hostage on the spot.”
At Lanslo's threat, Cameron III cried out desperately.
“How dare you! Treat me thus, and my knights won't let Reima Fransil or even Duke Bartla...”
“Harbor no vain hopes of perhaps dealing with His Grace. He walks as a lord among men. He has felled two Swordmasters of Brantia, no less. So the conclusion is.”
Lanslo flashed his white teeth in a brilliant smile.
“Your Highness can do nothing. That's it.”
“...!”
“Even so, considering Your Majesty came personally, I'll grant a day. Decide by tomorrow's dawn what to do. Come yourself or send an envoy. With that, farewell.”
Having said his piece, Lanslo unhesitatingly wheeled his horse around.
Clop, clop.
“Grr!”
“Ah, right.”
To Cameron III, face flushed red with humiliation as he ground his teeth, Lanslo glanced back after a few steps with a pitying look.
“If you send an envoy, spare those lords from earlier. They were so terrified they could barely speak. Your Highness must worry greatly having such vassals. Truly, farewell now.”
Lanslo had nailed the coffin shut.
“Argh!”
Cameron III's lip finally split from his gnashing.
* * *
“Kihhet! M-master, master! Over there! Kiiih~”
As Mirian chattered noisily, Eugene nodded lightly while staring at the city flickering with countless torches.
“That must be Brodin.”
Upon hearing that the Fransil army had invaded Brodia territory, Eugene had hastened his pace and arrived near Brodin City in just two days.
“Master. Should we find the main force first? Where the hell are these bastards?”
“Hmm. Probably the opposite side.”
Unfamiliar with the route, Eugene's group struggled to navigate.
They had asked captured bandits and thieves along the way, leading them here.
But with no sign of the vanguard sent ahead, they seemed to have come from the wrong direction.
“Even if we fight, it'll be tomorrow daytime anyway, so let's take it slow.”
As the sole human, Reima dozed atop his saddle, the three horses ambling leisurely.
After about twenty minutes...
“Hm? Wait. Something's there.”
Eugene narrowed his eyes and reined in his horse.
“Y-yes!? What's wrong? Monsters?”
Reima, jolting awake from his nap and wiping drool, asked—but Eugene ignored him, glaring into the darkness.
“Not moles, so why crawl out from underground?”
“Underground? Undead?”
“No, humans. About thirty of them.”
Reima grew more uneasy at the two conversing in Keiler Kingdom tongue without a glance his way.
“Galpredic, seems suspicious—go capture them all.”
“Leave it to me.”
Grinning, Galpredic dashed into the darkness like the wind.
Soon, sounds of breaking, snapping, and screams echoed from afar, then Galpredic returned herding a group.
“What are these guys?”
As Eugene frowned at the over thirty men...
“P-please, spare us!”
“L-Lord! G-g-gold! We'll give as much gold as you want! Pretend you saw nothing and let us go!”
Three men rushed forward, throwing back their hoods to reveal pale faces as they begged.
Eyeing their ghostly visages, Eugene asked suspiciously.
“You lot—Brodin nobles, by chance?”
“Y-yes! Lord, we beg you!”
“Why crawl out underground at this hour?”
“Well...”
The nobles evaded answering in unison.
Then the one who seemed highest-ranking stepped forward with a resolute expression.
“Of course, Lord, you might misunderstand us. But know this—we are no cowards. An army of honorless, treacherous, utterly vile scoundrels attacks our city. Thus, out of true loyalty to Brodia, we seek to plan for the future...”
Despite lofty words and earnest pleas, it boiled down to fleeing to save their own skins.
‘Isn't this a golden opportunity?’
Eugene's mind raced. But first, one phrase caught his ear.
“Treacherous and vile scoundrels? Who?”
“Duke Bartla! His army...”
Sensing a chance at dialogue, the young noble eagerly replied.
“Lord Roswell!”
Another noble tried to intervene at the odd vibe, but it was too late.
“You know me?”
“Huh? First time seeing you today...? Ah! Have we met somewhere? This is perfect! Lord, then talking will be easier...”
“No. I don't know you either. Yet you know me awfully well?”
“Uh...?”
Eugene grinned, surveying the nobles now realizing something was off.
“The cunning, ruthless Yann Eugene, Duke of Bartla.”
Under the moonlight, Eugene's fangs gleamed coldly.
At that moment, the faces of Brodin's nobles—who had fled through the city's secret underground passage with their families—turned pitch black as death.
(To be continued in the next installment)