Chapter 32
Chapter 32
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 32
Chapter Title: Black Magic Tower (6)
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"Ah, no? I didn't think that at all. In fact, wasn't it shortsighted to throw away the chance to extract information and just kill him outright?"
"Even if you'd pretended to attack me as Balmor suggested, you could've lulled me into even more complacency."
Rubia defended herself calmly. Her emotions were faint, but she wasn't so dull as to be easily overwhelmed in a verbal spar.
Unfortunately, she'd picked the wrong opponent. At first glance, Nerissa seemed like a mere servant. But in reality, she was an eloquent speaker who had carved out her position in the Steelore household—one of the empire's great noble families—solely through her silver tongue, without any martial prowess, authority, or family backing.
"That means Lord Ivar cherishes you that much, miss!"
"What?"
"He didn't even want to point a blade at you, even in pretense. Betrayal from those you trust is more than enough after twice!"
She confessed to being one of those two betrayers without a hint of hesitation. For her, remaining lifespan mattered more.
At the same time, it wasn't hard to accept her persuasion. If our positions were reversed, my actions had only helped Rubia, never harmed her in any way.
"It was Lord Ivar who ordered Adjutant Wagner to deal with Alex, and I nearly died because I didn't repent my sins against you. Thanks to that, you've been freed from your family's chains."
"Ha, but..."
"Even amid all that, he didn't show it and lent you his carriage. Doesn't that make you feel he's cut from a different cloth than those other noblemen who can only flap their mouths in high society?"
"......"
Nerissa's intimate knowledge of Rubia's tastes, her seasoned insight, and above all, her years-honed skill in gaslighting. For Rubia, just beginning to recognize her own feelings, it was no contest.
The weapons began to render their verdict. The result was a resounding victory for Nerissa... or rather, for me.
I'd said nothing, just sat silently listening to their exchange. Yet some of them had even fashioned a throne from their own bodies for me to sit on.
In the end, Rubia was stripped of all her armaments. Even the armor she wore yearned to come to our side, seating itself beside me before I knew it.
"......This isn't a loss."
"It sure looks like one."
"It's my emotions in the end! I'll take them back."
I could see her earlobes flushing red. As she stubbornly refused to admit defeat, Nerissa leaned in close.
"If you want them back, there's a simple way, miss."
"That's......!"
"What's the method?"
"Just reclaim them. They can't be controlled only when they're in weapon form."
She was right. All I had to do was return them to her body. No matter their egos, they couldn't be taken by another.
Yet despite knowing this simplest method Nerissa mentioned, Rubia couldn't bring herself to do it. Only one reason: reclaiming the weapons would immediately restore her emotions as well.
"You're scared, aren't you? The feelings those weapons sense right now are yours, after all."
"......"
"You're just keeping them at bay for now. Once they're back in your original body, you'll have to admit you like Lord Ivar."
A man cautious as an arrow on guard, unflappable in all things.
A man who valued courtesy and loyalty like a rage-axe, showing honesty in critical moments.
Even in small actions, consideration must shine through; above all, he must protect her preciously, be upright, decisive without hesitation, and unlike other retainers, never prattle noisily even when by her side.
Listing them out, even for a nobleman's daughter famed for high standards, these were exacting conditions. Whether I truly met them was beside the point—she felt I did.
If she reclaimed the weapons now, she'd have to shoulder those emotions fully. That might force her, without a shred of excuse, to throw herself into a barbarian's arms of her own will.
As Rubia fidgeted desperately to avoid such humiliation, Nerissa spoke. Her eyes held not the prior urgency, but a touch of pity.
"Before you left, your lady mother told you to meet Lord Ivar."
At the time of Rubia's mother's death, Nerissa had naturally been present. She wouldn't let the Steelores' sole stain hear alone the words her mother left for her daughter before dying.
The Minister of Justice, hearing the deathbed wish to pursue power, was satisfied. But to Nerissa, who had witnessed the passing firsthand, it carried deeper meaning.
"That wasn't just telling you to take an emperor-approved royal consort as your husband."
The mother's warm gaze on her doll-like expressionless daughter. Her gestures, trembling eyelids, and heartfelt voice rising from her chest.
All the emotions Rubia hadn't understood pointed to one truth.
"It was to find someone you truly love. Even if beyond the empire, someone who could bring you only happiness."
"......"
"That person's right in front of you now. Miss this chance, and you'll regret it once you're back with your family."
Perhaps the first sincere advice she'd ever heard. Rubia's eyelids fluttered, then sank deep like butterfly wings.
Recalling her final memory with her mother, perhaps. Lost in thought for a while, she finally placed a hand on her chest.
The black armor melted like liquid, absorbing into her. Unarmed, I hadn't noticed, but her body was slimmer and smaller than expected, save for her chest.
Her undergarments peeked through, so Nerissa hurriedly draped her outer cloak over her mistress's form. With part of her emotions restored, Rubia gazed at me, her voice trembling unlike before.
"I understand Mother's will. And the feelings I have for you."
"I see."
"But I can't let go of my weapons now. Not when I need them to return home and clear away the obstacles."
Her resolve not to be swayed by Steelore's whims anymore was palpable. She might even turn against her father, the Minister of Justice. For that, she needed her unique magic path.
Rubia made me a proposal.
"Weapons must obey their master. If you decide to lend them to me, they'll have no choice but to follow."
"Then......"
"In exchange, I'll give you information. I overheard your talk with the shaman. You want to save tribes beyond the grasslands, right?"
It was the advice from Irena. One way to wield the Dragon Words freely: save a minority on the brink of extinction and receive lifespan from their god.
Conveniently, the group I sought was inside the empire. Rubia handed me a black envelope stamped with a golden seal.
"The descendants of Papfna. A century ago, their homeland vanished, and most survivors were absorbed into the empire—but a resisting faction remains."
The descendants of Papfna weren't a threat like the grassland tribes that the empire needed to defend against. Most had already been enslaved, awaiting disposal.
— Their fate will be decided soon. My Ministry of Justice handles it formally, but in truth, high society figures will convene and rule on it.
Rubia couldn't vote directly. Instead, she promised to attend the meeting and propose relocating them to the grasslands.
Accepting such a large group wasn't my call alone, so I summoned Harald. He listened gravely.
Though brothers, as chieftain, he couldn't decide for me alone. Weighing the tribe's future, the grasslands' balance, and the risks of welcoming a foreign god, Harald reached a heavy conclusion.
"Rubia, was it? Marry that woman first."
"Strange conclusion, Harald."
"Why? Wives who pawn their futures to save their husbands are rare."
As an executor in the Ministry of Justice, Rubia faced constant lobbying. Staying impartial required tireless effort.
This case too: her role was merely compiling noble decisions, yet for me, she'd push an unprecedented one.
"She claims it's payment for reclaiming her armaments, but it's welcome all the same. The epitome of a virtuous wife, even."
"What's that script in your hand?"
"Picked it up by chance."
By chance, my foot. I'd seen Nerissa slip it to him as Rubia's group left. Just as my wives seemed to multiply Harald's, he got scraps from the women around me. Serath, Meb, and now this.
This bribe was a trendy capital dessert. It looked like shit.
"Try it, Ivar. Chewy outside, crispy inside—tasty."
"Pass."
I had no desire to soil my mouth with snacks resembling half-digested hay clumps from a karangal. Tiny things, yet absurdly expensive.
"Anyway, I need to head to the empire briefly. I'll contact you—prepare and wait."
"Smashing walls, eh? I'll muster the warriors."
"No need."
I'll decide after meeting them. Their will matters most. No saving those without the drive to swim for extended life.
I'd arranged entry via the Schmidt Company, who visited recently.
He seemed fine with it.
But as I announced my departure, Harald asked in unwonted earnest.
"Brother."
"What, brother?"
"You know, right? This will bring winds utterly unlike before to the grasslands."
Meddling in imperial internals from within the empire. Like with Marcus, but unlike then when Serath hid it all.
The moment a grassland consort liberates another race, even the court will wary us. Without absolute allies among the empire's top powers, vanishing from the map would be swift.
Serath, Meb, Rubia—Harald's words to take them as wives were always sincere.
"What's the issue?"
Hearing my reply, Harald bared his teeth in a grin.
"Warriors will be ready. Call if needed."
As Rubia departed, in the black axe blade she'd secretly left in my tent, my reflection grinned the same.