Chapter 42
Chapter 42
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 13
Chapter Title: The Awl in the Pocket Will Eventually Stick Out (3)
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To talk about my relationship with Igor Trakieri first, an explanation of the Hermit Convent was necessary.
Hermit Convent (Collegium Eremitarum)
It was a community of ascetics who withdrew one step from the secular world, living through penance and prayer.
But there was a trap here.
Contrary to its name, the Hermit Convent was deeply invested in worldly affairs, even participating in the royal family's power struggle.
This contradiction was the very essence of the Hermit Convent. In other words, everything affiliated with the Convent should be taken the opposite of its name.
For example, it went like this.
The most hot-tempered bunch across the entire Convent were the brothers of the Patient Brotherhood, and the most neurotic and ill-tempered were none other than those from the Compassionate Brotherhood.
The brothers of the Diligent Brotherhood were lazier than stray dogs, and those from the Honest Brotherhood spewed lies the moment they opened their mouths.
My own Silent Brotherhood was no different.
In defiance of the "silence" in our name, we brothers were horrendously talkative.
By that point, I couldn't help but wonder.
In truth, wasn't the name "Hermit Convent" given precisely to tell them to stop paying attention to the world and just live quietly?
Our brotherhood's name must have been bestowed in the same vein: shut up and stay silent.
Anyway.
I belonged to the Silent Brotherhood, but I was on good terms with brothers from the other orders as well.
As the youngest among all the brotherhoods, everyone liked and cherished me.
They'd get antsy if they couldn't give me something whenever they saw me, and they'd always try to teach me things in their spare moments.
At first, they simply checked through Q&A or demonstrations if I'd properly learned what they'd taught me. But after the power struggle erupted, they started bringing me to meetings every day.
There, I offered various opinions based on what they'd taught me.
In the conference room with everyone gathered, I'd get scolded or mocked, and sometimes impromptu lessons would begin right then and there.
Rarely, my suggestions would even earn praise.
When that happened, my ideas would immediately shape our next moves, and as a member of the brotherhood, I'd join the battles.
Over time, the frequency of my opinions being adopted increased.
So did how often I participated in combat.
I was thrilled and worked even harder to earn their recognition.
The Second Prince—now deceased—once seized a perfect victory.
I can confidently say that if his forces had stuck to the plan until the end, Thracia's history would have changed.
But the faint-hearted Second Prince and his aides got cold feet at the last moment and ordered a retreat.
Not only did they let Igor Trakieri—who was practically right in front of my nose, literally caught!—slip away, but we brothers, abandoned by our allies, took fatal blows in isolation.
After that, as everyone knows, the Second Prince lost the power struggle, and the Hermit Convent was shattered to pieces.
In any case, that one perfect opportunity given to the Second Prince's forces had come straight from my head.
"......"
In the stifling silence, a whirlwind of thoughts swirled in my mind.
How did he figure it out? I was wearing a helmet back then.
Should I run now? No chance that's possible.
Then take Igor hostage? What next?
One thought led to another in an endless chain.
All the while, my heart pounded like mad.
Cold sweat dripped down.
The back of my neck prickled.
I half-expected Igor Trakieri to shatter this unpleasant silence with a bellow of "Chop off this bastard's head right now!"
But.
Eh?
Igor Trakieri, who had looked ready to string me up on the gallows any second, turned his body away.
Thump, thump.
The limping footsteps receded.
Had I just imagined that Igor Trakieri recognized me, all because I got jumpy on my own?
Swish.
I cautiously lifted my head—and froze solid.
Glaring.
Seated on the throne, Igor Trakieri was glaring at me.
I swear, it was absolutely not the expression of a king looking upon a loyal soldier.
Damn it!
I snapped my head down again, cursing inwardly.
Like hell he didn't recognize me! He totally did!
I didn't know how, but he'd definitely figured out who I was.
Otherwise, he wouldn't be staring daggers at me like he wanted to devour me whole.
"Your Majesty?"
That was when the master of ceremonies cautiously addressed him.
"Begin."
Igor Trakieri spoke for the first time.
The master of ceremonies lavished us with flowery rhetoric, recounting our achievements and offering words of praise.
-Promoting the fallen to two ranks higher and awarding them the 4th Class Military Merit Medal...
-Raising the ranks of everyone present except Captain Yannick Schrelgriff and Captain Lenin Chesov by two grades...
-And furthermore...
A lot of good words seemed to flow, but none sank in.
My scalp tingled.
He was definitely still glaring at me.
If only I could lift my head to gauge the mood—but without permission to look up, even that was impossible.
"Praise the grace of Igor Trakieri, His Majesty the King, wise and benevolent, merciful and prudent!"
The master of ceremonies shouted.
"Long live His Majesty the King!"
As we'd been drilled upon entering the palace, the Bluecoats roared at the top of their lungs.
"Long live His Majesty the King!"
I joined them.
"Long live His Majesty the King!"
I praised Igor Trakieri with more fervor and passion than anyone, pouring my heart and soul into it.
Somehow, it felt like this might convince him to spare me.
Whether my desperate zeal reached even that narrow-minded monarch, once the ceremony ended, Igor Trakieri left the hall without a word.
Thump, thump.
The irregular yet rhythmic footsteps faded away.
Those sounds kept my heart uneasy until the very end.
It wasn't entirely unrelated to me, after all.
"In the end, we never got to see His Majesty's face up close. What a shame. Such a shame."
No sooner had we exited the hall than Captain Lenin sighed.
"By the way, I saw you again."
Spotting me nearby, he spoke in an admiring tone.
"I had no idea you revered His Majesty so much. Shouting 'Long live His Majesty' until your throat gave out—you were like a paragon of loyalty. Just your voice alone gave me chills; it was that passionate."
It came across as not just loyal, but downright desperate.
"If there's ever an incarnation of military spirit, it'd surely look just like you."
Watching him blather on, oblivious to my turmoil, a fire rose in my gut.
But that lasted only a moment.
"Anyway, congratulations. Major Yannick."
"Eh? Major?"
"What is it with you? Everyone heard it."
Major Lenin looked at me like I was absurd.
"You and I both got promoted."
I still couldn't wrap my head around it.
"You're a proper field-grade officer now."
Igor Trakieri, who could have ground me to dust, had promoted me instead.
"Why?"
I blurted out my inner thoughts in my daze.
"Why? Because you deserved it, so he promoted you. Frankly, I'm a bit embarrassed since I barely contributed, but your case is different."
With achievements like that, a reward was only natural.
If anything, the rewards felt insufficient compared to the merits.
"You really should have gone easy on the heroics. Scoring two consecutive two-rank promotions in two years must have given His Majesty a headache. You disloyal rascal."
Five promotions in under a year and a half—probably a first in Thracia's army.
"Making new history in the Thracia military, and the protagonist's a non-academy grad to boot. I can picture the academy officers' faces without even looking. Obvious as day."
Captain Lenin—no, Major Lenin now—grinned mischievously.
"Anyway, thanks to you, I advanced too. I thought I'd retire as a captain, but now I'm a field officer out of nowhere. I'll owe you forever."
In other words.
I'd run into my mortal enemy, yet instead of trouble, I got rewarded.
"Oh."
Igor Trakieri might be surprisingly magnanimous.
"Major Yannick Schrelgriff, please follow me."
...Or maybe not.
"His Majesty awaits."
The attendant's words made my heart sink.
"Looks like His Majesty's granting you a special reward personally! Congratulations!"
The oblivious Major Lenin chuckled heartily.
"......Want to come with?"
Natasha, who'd been too preoccupied with her own concerns to notice my mess, eyed the situation dangerously.
"His Majesty summoned only Major Yannick."
The attendant stated flatly, but Natasha ignored him.
"I'm fine. Head back to the lodging first."
She looked ready to bombard the palace with magic if left alone, so I calmed her down and sent her off.
Then I followed the attendant's lead.
I didn't know where we were going, but it wasn't the hall where I'd faced Igor earlier.
This was much deeper inside.
"Do we have farther to go?"
"We're here."
Replaying the path in my mind—since I had no idea what awaited—I crammed every detail into my head.
"This is it."
We arrived somewhere after traversing a maze of winding corridors.
"Enter and wait; His Majesty will summon you."
With a curt bow, as if his duty ended there, the attendant scurried away.
Click.
As I moved to enter, a Redcoat guarding the entrance stopped me.
"They already searched me when I entered the palace."
"......"
No response.
He simply patted me down in silence.
Swish.
Once finished, the Redcoat stepped aside.
"Then I'll be on my way. Thanks for your hard work."
"......"
Stoic guy.
Awkward, I paused to straighten my disheveled clothes.
Then I opened the door and stepped into the unknown inner sanctum.
Surprisingly, beyond the door was a small garden with a glass ceiling.
Not the opaque, murky glass you usually see, but perfectly transparent, high-quality stuff.
The kind of extravagance only a king of a nation could afford.
Swish.
I stopped in place and surveyed the surroundings.
The meticulously tended garden was quite small, but nothing to complain about.
"..."
Stop with the bad thoughts.
I shook off the distractions.
My mind was far calmer than before.
Maybe because I'd already faced Igor Trakieri once, or perhaps I'd resigned myself.
Didn't matter.
Asha was a con artist, but at least one thing she said was true.
I don't die easily.
And even if my luck ran out and I had to die, it wouldn't be here.
It was baseless confidence from who-knows-where, but I believed it.
Otherwise, well. I'd die.
With a much more relaxed heart, I waited for Igor Trakieri to arrive.
Thump, thump.
Familiar footsteps approached.
At this point, protocol demanded I kneel and bow my head.
That's how you greet royalty.
But I neither knelt nor bowed.
"How much I've longed to see that face again in my lifetime."
He hadn't expected me to, either.
"How desperately I've wished never to lay eyes on it again."
Igor Trakieri looked at me.
"Even now that we've crossed paths, you still give nothing away about your feelings."
His lips twisted.
"And you?"
Angry, perhaps. Overwhelmed, maybe.
"The final scream left by silence."
Only the long scar crossing his face was smiling.
"Last hermit."