Chapter 9 - Banquet (4)
To tell a story from a little while ago, that was how it was.
Three years ago, the Imperial Capital was hell. No, not just the capital; it was a demon realm that could be described as a living hell anywhere on this continent.
Why wouldn't it be? At that time, the 'Human-Demon War,' the climax of [Evil Lore] that Deltain had played, was taking place on this land.
"As you all know, the threat of the demons is cunning. And cruel."
Demons had burrowed among humans.
A demon wearing the mask of a child killed its own parents, and a demon wearing the mask of a lover slaughtered its spouse. A demon wearing the mask of a knight assassinated its lord, and a demon wearing the mask of a noble burned its territory's people to death.
It was during such a time that the Demon King, the Demon of Chaos Hermanishis, made the Emperor commit suicide.
"I still remember the death of the late Emperor. I do not wish for such things to repeat."
It was a truly horrific death.
The late Emperor had been hung from the flagpole of the highest spire of the Imperial Palace for seven days and seven nights, pierced from his anus to the crown of his head. The fresh blood flowing from the corpse dyed the spire red, and countless people felt despair and terror at that sight.
As such, the words Ishmark was spitting out now were shocking.
Because he was bringing up the day's events, which everyone was too afraid to even recall, let alone speak of.
And because he was trying to use that to gain his own profit.
'There will be backlash.'
The moment Deltain had that thought, Marquis Grobin raised his hand.
Ishmark nodded.
"Yes, Marquis Grobin. Speak."
"Your Majesty, may I dare ask for your intentions?"
The expression floating on Marquis Grobin's face was calm. However, his tone was truly aggressive.
It wasn't just aggressive, though.
He was a seasoned veteran of the political world.
He was reacting this way because he knew deep down that he was the target of the words about to come out.
"As you heard. As the Emperor of this Empire, I wish to keep potential possibilities in mind."
"That means...."
"Starting tomorrow, I will strengthen the security of the Imperial Capital. I will uncover everything happening in the capital to prevent any potential threat from demons."
In an instant, a crack appeared in Marquis Grobin's poker face.
Deltain let out a small scoff.
'Ah, so that's how you're going to play it.'
In truth, Ishmark probably wasn't worried about demons at all.
The only thing he was aiming for was to move the military and catch the tail of the rebel army organized by Marquis Grobin and a minority aristocratic faction.
He was likely trying to pressure Marquis Grobin, who would be behind it, by tracking the flow of funds secretly moving through the aristocratic faction.
'I didn't know Ishmark knew about it too.'
It was also a coincidence that Deltain found out about the rebels.
It ended with him hearing the facts that his worry-prone butler, Gerhart, had accidentally discovered while tracking the source of the gifts Marquis Grobin had sent.
Since there was no possibility that Gerhart had spread this information without his permission, it was correct to assume that the Imperial family had found out about the rebels on their own.
For Deltain, it was quite a satisfying turn of events.
'As expected, Imperial intelligence is useful. It will be quite helpful for procuring materials too.'
There are plenty of places that gather information for him even while he just sits here like this.
Deltain finally felt that it was worth it to cater to the Emperor's whims.
It was at that moment.
"Your Majesty, if I may, could I ask one more thing?"
"Speak."
"Your Majesty just said that demons might be hiding in this capital. I apologize, but I am worried that this might be taken as suspecting Count Hebron's 'Saint Hall' from the outside."
A murmur arose in the banquet hall.
Marquis Grobin just bowed his head and let those sounds wash over him.
Agnes whispered.
"It looks like he's turning the arrow toward you."
"I know without you telling me."
Deltain's brow furrowed.
'Sly bastard.'
Marquis Grobin's intention was clearly visible.
If Ishmark moves the army, the rebels are in danger. The Marquis had no justification to suppress the order that used 'demons' as a pretext.
So, he must be trying to create that justification from him.
'He's probably telling me to pay for the gifts, roughly speaking.'
Meanwhile, Ishmark cast his gaze toward Deltain.
A monarch's smile still hung on his face.
"Count, that was not my intention. Will you understand?"
What followed was a situation of choosing one of two options.
In this situation, the only stance Deltain could take was to side with one of the two.
Either support the Emperor to crush Marquis Grobin, or support Marquis Grobin to crush Ishmark.
Deltain closed his eyes to observe the situation, then lifted his eyelids.
A cold light was swirling in his pupils.
'This is....'
Insolent. Both of them. Very much so.
"...Does my opinion matter?"
Deltain stood up from his seat. All eyes in the banquet hall turned to him.
But Deltain had not even a speck of agitation.
The only thought he had right now was one.
'I didn't agree to play along to this extent.'
He was a man who had no intention of fitting into this society of pigs.
He was a man who had no intention of suppressing himself according to their rules.
The only reason they had been able to maintain this society until now was because Deltain was a man who did not invest time in unnecessary entertainment.
"Saint Hall is intact. Taking the past 'mistake' as a lesson, I have made it even sturdier."
A faint joy rose on Marquis Grobin's face.
However, it didn't take long for that expression to change.
"However... yes, the demons that had been hiding have started to move in a different pattern than before."
Marquis Grobin began to show signs of panic.
Ishmark's mouth also clamped shut.
They felt it at the same time.
That Deltain's demeanor was somehow strange right now.
Deltain bowed his head briefly.
He was expressionless, and there was no emotion in his tone.
"I will find a countermeasure. Aside from Saint Hall, I will devise other physical means to protect this capital."
The declaration he spat out was like a bomb.
Clench.
Strength entered Ishmark's hand. His pupils began to harbor a faint tremor.
'...I made a mistake.'
Deltain had clearly said it.
'Physical' means to protect the capital.
This meant that Deltain would install weapons in this capital that he could use as he pleased.
It meant he would seize the leashes of both himself and Marquis Grobin at the same time.
'A loss.'
The price for creating the justification to track Marquis Grobin's funding source was the surveillance of an Archmage.
It was the installation of weapons that could overturn the capital at his single whim.
It was impossible to even retract his words now.
Deltain Hebron is the first Demon Hunter. He is the hero who slaughtered the Demon King.
Once he brought up demons as a pretext, there was no other excuse to bind his feet.
It was a painful blunder, but the only consolation was that this blunder did not apply only to him.
Ishmark looked at Marquis Grobin.
Bloodshot veins stood out in the whites of his eyes.
He had ended up in a situation where he could not achieve anything he had aimed for.
Ishmark racked his brain.
He began to draw up a blueprint to make up for the loss he had just suffered.
'I'll have to call the Count again soon.'
First, he needed to apologize for today's events. If he could prevent the deterioration of their relationship and just cater to Deltain's whims, he could put off worrying about the weapons to be installed.
Then he would be able to fully tighten the noose around Marquis Grobin's neck.
Not only that. Externally, his relationship with Deltain appeared friendly, so the weapons Deltain would install would also be seen as the Imperial family's military power.
Of course, using that advantage for other matters should be avoided as it could incur Deltain's grudge.
Ishmark finished his calculations and pulled up the corners of his mouth.
Born an actor, and also a storyteller.
He showed Deltain a face filled with joy.
"Ah! Would you do that!"
"It is naturally something I must do for the Empire."
Deltain's expression was still icy.
However, Ishmark maintained his composure.
'It's still okay.'
That was just a level of being displeased. In his language, it meant a warning not to be insolent.
It could be salvaged.
"Then I will look forward to it."
"I will live up to your expectations."
Deltain said that and sat down.
Now, all that remained was Marquis Grobin.
But he was only exuding deep anger at the ensuing situation.
Ishmark smiled at that.
'End it here for now.'
Scratching more was a bad move. He had done enough to stimulate Marquis Grobin's impatience, so it was time to ease the atmosphere.
"I am sorry for having such a grim conversation in my banquet hall. However, I felt that if not at a moment like this, there would be no opportunity to speak in a gathered setting."
Ishmark said that, then stood up and raised his glass.
"We are the heart and blood vessels of the Empire. If we, of all people, do not have a sense of alarm, then who else will have a sense of alarm for the Empire's future?"
What was sloshing in the glass was dark-colored wine.
"I brought it up because I wanted you to know that. I will end my boring story here, so I hope you all enjoy the rest of the banquet."
At the words that ended like that, the nobles in the banquet hall raised their glasses.
Those in the banquet hall, no matter how dull they might be, were nobles.
It meant that it was possible to grasp which side, the Imperial family or the aristocratic faction, the flow of this situation was moving toward just by the atmosphere.
A society of pigs, as Deltain described it.
They began to rack their brains busily to ride the flow and grasp more.
It wasn't a worry that would last long.
Ishmark said.
"Glory to the Empire."
The nobles raised their glasses and responded with shouts of appropriate volume.
"Worship to the Imperial family."
This flow is heading toward the Imperial family.
*
Ishmark drank exactly one glass of alcohol and left the banquet hall.
After his exit, Marquis Grobin also left, and what remained now was the suffocating psychological warfare of those trying to pick up the scraps.
Deltain sat with his legs crossed, watching the scene, and said to Agnes.
"Let's get going now."
It was a seat he had remained in because she had no intention of moving, even though he had wanted to leave a while ago.
Deltain spoke in a slightly angry tone due to his discomfort just before, and Agnes answered to that.
"As expected."
"What."
"I think that expression suits you best. The one where you glare."
Is she picking a fight?
As Deltain thought that and glared at Agnes, she laughed lowly.
"Cute."
"That's a word that doesn't suit me. Because the word 'cute' implies being immature."
"That's why I say you're cute. You're like a kid who stands on tiptoes for no reason because he wants to look manly."
"That's a new way of picking a fight."
"It's a compliment."
Agnes tapped the table with her index finger.
"Today was good. Because I found out that you're a person who can make an expression like that too."
"What is that supposed to mean?"
"The extremely cold expression you showed when talking to the Emperor earlier. You're always only passionate with me, so I haven't had a chance to see it."
Deltain let out a scoff.
Just how deep in delusion must one live to come up with such an idea?
It wasn't like he hadn't heard it once or twice, but Deltain was even feeling a sense of wonder at her attitude like that.
"This is definitely a mental illness."
"I'm hurt."
It was the moment Agnes said that.
The band's tune changed.
It was a very slow jazz.
"Ah."
Agnes stopped what she was about to say and raised her head.
And she said to Deltain.
"It's finally our turn."
"What?"
"Deltain, dance with me."
Deltain furrowed his brow, and only a beat late did he realize her intention. His face crumpled strangely.
"...Were you holding out until music you could dance to came on?"
"Yeah. We came all the way to the banquet, it would be a shame to leave without dancing. If it's jazz this slow, it's easier than walking."
The dance for jazz is a simple movement that ends with just leaning on each other and moving slowly to the beat. Deltain knew that too.
"...You're really tenacious."
"If you say you won't dance, I'm going to sit down and roll around right here."
"I think that would be more fun."
"I'll scream about the fact that I slept with you, too."
Deltain flinched. Agnes giggled and stood up from her seat.
And with smooth movements, she approached Deltain and grabbed his hand.
"Yeah? Let's go."
The smile she wore while saying that was tinged with a somewhat bewitching air.