Chapter 97: Suspicion and Evil
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 97: Suspicion and Evil
Andrill's mother was the Count's favorite mistress. So deep was his favor that, despite her status, she effectively served as the lady of the house.
Thanks to his mother, Andrill was fortunate enough to be designated the next heir. That was what most people in Count Broua's domain believed.
‘Count Broua wasn't the type of man to be swayed by petticoat influence.’
If Andrill hadn't possessed the talent befitting an heir, the Count would never have designated him as such.
Indeed, in the future that would never come to pass, he had switched allegiances before the comital house fell, thus saving his own skin.
He then endured hardship for the sake of revenge, serving under the very king who could be called his arch-enemy.
As a result, by the time he reached middle age, he had reclaimed the lost domain of House Broua and become a count himself.
‘He was a character who personally embodied the saying, ‘It is not the strongest who survive, but those who survive who are strong.’’
This meant that his act of being pushed around by his uncle and half-brother during the talks, and his emotional reaction to the Count's death, was all a performance.
That was why I had anticipated Andrill would seek me out.
“You want to live?”
I looked up from reading the letter handed to me by a messenger who had secretly infiltrated the camp. The man, who introduced himself as the butler of Andrill's maternal family, swallowed hard.
“Yes. The Young Master is but an innocent child. He was persecuted by Lord Antonius for being illegitimate, and even kept in check by Lord Aden, who shares the same circumstances. He never had any interest in the title of Count.”
The messenger was trying to appeal to my sympathy. The amusing part was that he wasn't lying. Well, except for that last sentence.
“No interest in the title of Count?”
I scoffed inwardly. Of the three heirs, the one who coveted the title of Count the most was Andrill himself.
The messenger's Adam's apple bobbed. A drop of cold sweat trickled down his forehead and clung to the tip of his chin.
“Yes. The Young Master desires only one thing: to find a safe place and leave the domain with his mother.”
“And this is the same man who raised an army to block my path and threw a fit at the conference, vowing to avenge his enemy?”
The messenger quickly retorted.
“It was to deceive Lord Antonius and Lord Aden! They doubted the Young Master's true intentions and were wary that he might reap a fisherman's gain while they fought each other.”
The messenger added that if not for those two, Andrill, with his negligible personal might and small force, would never have gone to war.
It was a plausible excuse. Had I not known Andrill, I might have actually fallen for it. Pretending to be deceived, I nodded and said,
“So, what's the reason you came to me?”
“Your offer to recognize one of the three as the new count is surely a ploy to sow discord. Wouldn't that ploy be far more effective with an accomplice on the inside?”
“There must be a price.”
“The Young Master doesn't desire the title of Count. Just grant him a small domain, enough to live on, and the rank of baron.”
I saw through Andrill's scheme at once. Anyone else might think he was after the land, but I knew what he truly coveted was the title of baron.
‘Because Andrill is an illegitimate son.’
To ennoble an illegitimate son as a baron was tantamount to legitimizing his birth.
Since the opposing factions were destined to fall in this war anyway, there would be no one left in the comital house to challenge it.
Ultimately, this would give Andrill his justification.
Later, should Andrill gain power, he would use this justification to try and reclaim the domain of the comital house.
‘Just as he did in the future that will never be.’
Even knowing his true intentions, I considered his offer. As he said, having a collaborator on the inside would make it much easier to dismantle their large army.
Andrill must have known this when he demanded the domain and the title of baron.
I looked down at the messenger, who kept licking his dry lips and nervously watching my expression.
“It seems Andrill trusts me?”
The only thing that puzzled me was that he couldn't possibly be unaware that I might cast him aside after he had served his purpose.
I had ignored customs and traditions to kill Count Broua in a surprise attack.
Though I used loyalty to the king as an excuse, it was an unorthodox move. I was not a man to be trusted—especially not by the Count's son.
And yet, he was entrusting his life to me? On what grounds? Something smelled fishy.
“…He has no choice. No matter who wins between Lord Antonius and Lord Aden, it will be difficult for the Young Master to survive. The only person he can rely on is you, Sir Allen.”
The messenger flinched, then bowed his head low, begging for my mercy—this, from the man who had just demanded a domain and a title as the price for his betrayal.
‘He's still green, I suppose.’
Andrill wasn't supposed to make his move until the more distant future.
Besides, Andrill wasn't the type to place his fate in another's hands. I had a pretty good idea of what he was up to.
Being cornered by his uncle and half-brother, his options were limited.
“A small domain and the rank of baron, you say. Not impossible to grant. But he'll have to deliver results to match.”
“Thank you for your mercy, sir.”
I wrote a letter detailing Andrill's tasks and pressed it into the messenger's hand. The moment he was clear of the camp, I summoned Muel.
“Muel. I have a job for you.”
A moment later, a small group of men on horseback slipped out of the camp and melted into the darkness.
#
The next morning.
Andrill stopped pacing inside his tent, his hand resting on the hilt of the sword at his waist. He had heard someone approaching outside.
A shadow fell across the floor, preceding its owner into the tent. A moment later, a hand reached in and pulled the flap aside.
“Young Master. It was a success…! Albeit a conditional one.”
It wasn't an assassin. It was the messenger he had sent to the enemy camp yesterday.
“Haaah…”
Andrill let out a sigh of relief. The frantic pounding in his chest gradually subsided.
“Tell me the details. What do you mean, conditional?”
“He said he will decide whether to grant the domain and the barony based on your performance.”
“A relief, a relief. We've bought some time.”
Despite it being only a partial success, Andrill was pleased. The domain? The title? Those were just a smokescreen.
He had another plan, and all he needed was time to execute it. The butler said,
“However… he seemed to be suspicious of our intentions.”
“Of course, he is. Just yesterday, I was raging about avenging my enemy, and now, not even a day later, I've surrendered.”
Andrill placed a hand on the butler's shoulder.
“Don't worry too much. He isn't our enemy. We don't need to confront him. We're simply traveling with him to an intermediate stop, since our paths align for now.”
If Allen had heard this, he would have said:
Who are you to decide that?
“Lord Andrill! You are summoned to the command tent!”
At the voice from outside the tent, Andrill rose to his feet.
“Then I'll leave the next steps to you. Please give my mother my best regards.”
“You must stay safe. You must.”
“You too, Butler.”
Andrill left the butler and exited the tent. After watching his retreating back with worried eyes for a moment, the butler also departed.
Andrill paused in front of the command tent to catch his breath, then flung the flaps open and raised his voice.
“Why are you hesitating! We must avenge our enemy at once!”
The faces of Antonius and Aden soured. Antonius slammed his fist on the table.
Bang.
“It's not that simple! Our opponent is an alliance between Dresden and the king! We outnumber them two to one, so we might win the battle. But what happens if those two enraged houses decide to come at us with their full might? Our entire family could be destroyed!”
Aden chimed in.
“There's no guarantee we can even defeat the enemy before us. We'll suffer immense casualties crossing that narrow bridge.”
There were geopolitical issues as well. Andrill asked Antonius,
“What about detouring through the neighboring domain?”
“Duke Baeneng refused. He made it clear he will not get involved. The messenger said it seemed like he was trying to save his own skin.”
“This is the king's affair, is it not? He has to be more cautious than other nobles.”
Antonius and Aden exchanged remarks. Duke Baeneng was a relative of Bronx II, a kinsman who, depending on the circumstances, could make a claim for the throne.
That was why he had to be mindful of Bronx II. Besides, his actual power was less than that of a count.
“What about requests for support?”
House Broua's history was short, but they were still grand lords with a vast domain and power befitting their rank.
Many houses wished to form ties with them, and the Count had always strengthened his connections with those he deemed useful.
“Frustratingly, he's right. Everyone was startled by the news of the alliance between the king and Dresden, and now they're all lying low. They've made it clear there will be no direct military support. We were lucky to get promises of provisions and financial aid.”
“So in the end, we must avenge our enemy with our own strength. Do you understand now? Why we can't act rashly?”
Andrill glanced toward the entrance of the command tent and spoke.
“I see it differently. If we win and prove that the alliance between the king and Dresden is nothing to fear, the nobles who are currently on the sidelines will flock to our side. No noble wants to see the king's power grow. Furthermore, their political rivals will also begin to move.”
Andrill's argument made sense. Even Antonius and Aden acknowledged that. But they merely scoffed at him.
“If you’re so eager to fight, you can take the lead.”
Andrill, who had been so passionately arguing for revenge, fell silent. The sneers on the other two men's faces deepened, as if to say, ‘I knew it.’
“Hmph, all talk, that bastard.”
Having witnessed Count Broua's death, they knew Allen was a far more powerful knight than the rumors suggested.
And he was undefeated not only in duels but also as a military commander.
If the rumors about his command ability were also downplayed, whichever force took the vanguard would suffer catastrophic losses.
Strictly speaking, they hadn't gathered for the Count's revenge. They were here to gain legitimacy as his heir by taking revenge.
But if their forces were crippled in the process, what good would that legitimacy be? The cries of the powerless are nothing but empty air.
“Are we just going to stand by and watch, then? Let's join forces for now. Once we've united to avenge our enemy…”
Andrill continued his desperate performance, his eyes constantly darting toward the tent entrance. Right on cue, the news he was waiting for arrived.
“Lord Aden!”
One of Aden's vassals entered the command tent without warning.
“What is this insolence? Can't you see we're talking?”
“It's important.”
The vassal took a rolled-up parchment from his tunic and handed it to Aden.
Aden's eyes widened as he read it. His gaze then shifted to Antonius.
Antonius instinctively felt something was wrong, a feeling confirmed by Aden's hardened expression.
“What is it?”
“They say they've found a spy.”
“A spy?”
“Are you going to keep playing dumb? I have proof right here that you, Uncle, have been colluding with the enemy!”
Aden brandished the parchment. Simultaneously, the vassals arrayed behind him placed their hands on their swords.
Antonius's vassals matched the movement, their hands going to their own swords.
The situation was explosive. Antonius scowled and shouted,
“What is this nonsense! Me, a spy?”
“Hah! This is the letter found on a spy heading for your tent, Uncle! It says they will attack at dawn in three days, and that you are to support them from within!”
“Lies! Why would I join hands with the enemy who killed my brother!”
“…In fact, didn't you cooperate in killing my father, too?”
Aden had no choice but to react this way. If Antonius, the most powerful of the three heirs, betrayed them, they would have no chance of victory.
“How dare a bastard like you insult me!”
“Hmph, the person who stands to gain the most from Father's death is you, Uncle!”
“What? This bastard doesn't know his place!”
Antonius drew his sword. Aden immediately followed, and the knights on both sides did the same, glaring fiercely at one another.
“Stop! Stop it! This must be another of the enemy's ploys to sow discord! Look! The letter isn't even sealed, nor does it bear an insignia! It's far too crude for a matter of such importance!”
Only after Andrill intervened did both sides sheathe their swords. But their wary gazes remained, even after acknowledging that the spy's letter was an obvious ploy.
They were rivals competing for the same position to begin with. There was no trust between them.
Furthermore, the seeds of discord Allen had sown the day before still lingered deep in their hearts, and this latest ploy had only caused them to grow.
The meeting that followed ended without any conclusion. Left alone in the command tent, Andrill bit his lip.
‘It went just as the letter said.’
Sending a clumsy spy and using Andrill to mediate—it had all been part of Allen's instructions.
At first, he hadn't understood the order. To sow discord, shouldn't one incite both sides?
But Allen had wanted him to mediate. The only clue to this puzzle was a single sentence written in the letter.
‘After the rain, the ground hardens.’
Andrill deciphered the hint.
Allen had been worried. If he had sent a competent spy who was then discovered, Antonius and Aden might have genuinely joined forces.
The stronger a common enemy, the more likely rivals are to cooperate. After all, they first had to defeat the powerful alliance of the king and Dresden before they could even think of inheriting the title.
That was why he had used such a clumsy method—to avoid putting them on high alert while still planting a firm seed of suspicion in their minds.
‘A fearsome man.’
Even Andrill, who considered himself clever, couldn't begin to fathom the depths of the man's schemes.
The important thing was that this was only the beginning. Allen still had many more moves prepared. Andrill mulled over the contents of the letter his butler had given him.
‘Once suspicion takes root in the mind, it never disappears. Instead, it grows larger and larger until it eventually consumes everything.’
It was an intuition that pierced the very core of human nature. Andrill felt his heart pounding. He was afraid of Allen.
‘I just need to survive. If I can survive, an opportunity will come eventually.’
Andrill overcame his fear and made his move. He had more work to do.