Do You Have Anything to Say?
A meeting room of the Asonia family.
The beautiful twilight that announced the start of night in the capital painted the interior in warm hues.
Ten people sat around a large rectangular table.
“······.”
Occupying the seat of honor was Ceren, the sole daughter of the Asonia family. As usual, she kept her arms crossed and her face a cold, expressionless mask.
“““······.”””
Seated to the left were five central nobles led by Count Wendell Borsha.
Some were fighting to keep the corners of their mouths from twitching. Others were smoothing out furrowed brows. Still others were struggling to keep their cheeks from spasming.
In short, every last one of them was thoroughly displeased and barely holding it in.
“Hmm, hmm. Alalalala~. Arrrrrr~.”
The one currently turning their insides upside down in real time was Leon, seated center-right. He was contorting his face, making bizarre noises, and loosening up his mouth and tongue.
Leon’s appearance today was a little different from usual.
He wore the sort of uncomfortable yet dignified clothes he normally wouldn’t give a second glance, and a maid had helped him style his hair neatly.
That alone transformed his usual freeloading playboy look into that of a confident young nobleman.
The person sitting here now was Leon Crusif, third son of the Crusif Ducal family.
Flanking Leon were two beautiful girls who had also put a little extra care into their appearance for the occasion—Celia and Aria.
One was Celia, fourth daughter of the Helbridge Ducal family.
The other, Aria, looked every bit a high-born young lady even when she simply sat in silence with her mouth shut. Not a single noble on the left side of the table could have guessed she was a commoner.
And the final person.
“······.”
Limon, first son of the Crusif family and Leon’s eldest brother, was also present.
He radiated a presence like a vast lake—calm, quiet, and heavy. One of the reasons the nobles who had stormed in fuming still couldn’t open their mouths carelessly was him.
Soon, Leon spoke.
“A pleasure to meet you all.”
Legs crossed, both arms resting on one armrest, waist leaning diagonally against the chair—his entire posture was steeped in leisure.
“As you can see, I am Leon Crusif, currently visiting the capital.”
“I have long heard the name of the young master rising as a new star. I am Count Wendell Borsha.”
Count Wendell spoke as their representative. Among the nobles, he maintained the most composed demeanor.
Of course, that was only on the surface. Inside, he was seething with rage.
His son Kendrick—whom he had never once laid a hand on in his entire life—had returned beaten into a bloody rag by that bastard. Emergency treatment had come too late; both legs were on the verge of becoming permanently crippled.
The same went for the gang that had been with Kendrick. Their calves had been thoroughly crushed to powder; even a high-ranking priest would struggle to fix them.
“There was an unfortunate incident this time.”
The cripple-maker, Leon, said.
“—To me.”
Silence blanketed the room. The nobles on the left blinked, momentarily stunned.
“······Young master, what do you mean by that?”
Count Wendell was the first to recover from the shock. Even in this situation, he displayed the seasoned politician’s skill of never raising his voice.
Leon began to work the mouth he had just loosened.
“Today was truly a fine day. The sky was clear, the breeze warm. It was a memorable first day of sightseeing in the capital. As a swordsman, the excitement I felt upon stepping into the Asonia family—a renowned house of swordsmanship—is beyond words.”
Instead of swift swordsmanship, he unleashed swift tongue-manship. In other words, he moved his tongue at blistering speed.
“Upon arriving, I headed with a pounding heart to the famous training grounds of the Asonia family. After touring them with repeated admiration and wonder, I entered the sparring arena and trained with my sword in high spirits. Then, all of a sudden, my sword path began to waver like a candle in the wind.”
He had been chattering away when he suddenly bellowed without warning.
“Good heavens—liquor! It was the smell of liquor! That intensely foul stench of alcohol crashed over me like the torrential rain I faced that day in Pribil! How could this be?! The reek of alcohol… in a training ground meant for the sword!”
He didn’t forget to slip in a touch of his specialty either.
“My mind reeling, I then witnessed an even more shocking sight!”
His blood-red eyes glittered with madness.
“Swordsmen charging at me with drawn blades, without a single word of warning!”
One of the nobles squeezed his eyes shut.
“They were fast! Swollen muscles, veins bulging all the way up their faces! Dilated pupils! To me, it felt as if they were fully prepared for a fight!”
Leon suddenly dropped his voice low.
“At first I thought they were simply trainees with excessive competitive spirit and enthusiasm. I even showed magnanimity toward the rudeness of swinging swords right off the bat. Clearly—clearly—I warned them several times. That I had no intention of fighting. That if I crossed blades with them, they wouldn’t last ten exchanges.”
“······.”
No one present could pick a fight with those words.
He was the top student of Elprime Academy. The man with the greatest skill among his peers in the martial arts.
“Oh, Artius. Their eyes had already lost all reason. From their gaping mouths leaked only bizarre laughter and screams.”
Exaggerated gestures and delivery like a stage actor.
“First I attempted to subdue them. I tried to knock them out, but strangely—really, strangely—they wouldn’t faint. Around then they began showing clear killing intent and hostility toward me.”
Leon deliberately repeated the word “strangely” twice for emphasis, carefully watching the shifts in their expressions. His mana-infused eyes caught even the finest twitches of facial muscle.
“How much longer was I supposed to endure? In the end I broke their legs. Even unable to walk, the sight of them swinging swords while lying on the ground was amaz—”
“That’s enough!”
Leon’s voice was cut off by someone’s roar.
Bang!
“Does that even make sense?! Listening and listening—there’s no end to this nonsense!”
One of the nobles slammed the table and flew into a fit. It was Viscount Tuiln Anverse, Gien’s father.
“What?! They charged first with swords? They wouldn’t faint? That’s all just the young master’s claim! Even if every word of it were true, is it acceptable to leave a person in that state? My son is hovering between life and death right now—!”
Tuiln shouted, thoroughly worked up.
A frosty voice fell then.
“Viscount.”
From the seat of honor, Ceren murmured coldly.
“I would prefer you lower your voice. It seems you have forgotten where you are.”
The aura she casually leaked carried a blade-like edge.
“······!”
Viscount Tuiln flinched and shut his mouth.
“Viscount Tuiln.”
Leon leaned forward with a smile.
“······I’m listening.”
“Then are you saying that I······ am lying right now?”
“Th······!”
“Haha. The capital is truly an interesting place. Absurd things happen several times in a single day.”
“Your words are excessive.”
“Excessive? Perhaps you don’t quite understand what it means that you sent assassins after me?”
“Wh-what all of a sudden?! Assassins?!”
“If drawing a real sword and trying to cut a person down isn’t an assassin, then what is it? Multiple people against one, no less? Without even attempting a single word of conversation, ignoring every warning, and still showing fighting spirit to the end even after being subdued? I’m not thoroughly versed in imperial law, but······.”
“······.”
“Isn’t this a situation where I could have killed them on the spot without issue?”
“Young master!”
“And yet, enduring the unpleasantness and the threat, I only subdued them. But you don’t even recognize the grace I showed, and now you’re trying to paint me as a liar? Raising your voice and getting angry? Perhaps you’re simply the type who doesn’t grasp situations well?”
Viscount Tuiln’s face turned beet-red, ready to burst.
Coming to the rescue was Count Wendell.
“The young master is correct. We are grateful for the deep magnanimity he has shown.”
He readily offered acknowledgment and thanks. Unlike Viscount Tuiln, he was skilled at controlling his emotions.
“But is it not true that there is no physical evidence? Was there anyone nearby who saw it? Even by the imperial law the young master mentioned, summary execution without clear proof is impossible.”
“Who said there is no evidence?”
“?!”
Count Wendell’s eyebrows twitched.
Tak!
Leon placed a single object on the table.
It was a small ampule containing black powder. The amount of powder in each ampule had been slightly reduced.
“Items taken from them. Every last one was carefully carrying one on their person.”
Twitch!
Leon’s keen senses caught the nobles in front stirring.
He grinned and met their gazes one by one.
“Judging by the reactions······ it seems you know perfectly well what this is?”
“······.”
The corner of Leon’s mouth curled upward in a mocking smile.
“Do you have anything to say?”