Everything's Going Smoothly. Very, Very Smoothly
Victoria clenched her teeth.
…There it is again. Always the same.
The moment Octavian had brought up the subjugation of the Corrupted Dragon, Victoria had known. This was nothing more than a transparent scheme cooked up by her despicable brother to do Kyle harm.
And yet that guileless man was accepting the order so calmly, as if he hadn't the faintest idea what lay behind it.
…No.
Victoria shook her head at once.
There was no way he didn't know. However naive he might appear, she knew better than anyone how sharp that man truly was. Octavian's shallow little ploy was not something Kyle would have failed to see through.
And still he had accepted the command. Why? Because of that stubbornly upright nature of his, and nothing else.
Because he put the common folk who would perish under a monster's claws ahead of the danger to his own life—because of that foolishly kind heart.
…You idiot of a man. How can you be so incapable of looking after yourself?
She was proud of him for it. Proud—and every bit as desperately worried.
How could she not be? Victoria already knew how completely he threw himself into anything he believed was right, without a thought for what came after.
Unbidden, a scene from the past flickered across her mind.
The day they had hunted a manticore. Kyle had fought at the front with a recklessness that bordered on self-destruction, never once sparing himself. Thanks to him, she had been rescued from a banquet hall thick with Octavian's schemes—and that night, in secret, she had tended his wounds with her own hands.
The trembling fingers that had wiped away the blood seeping red. And in that moment, had she not sworn a solemn vow to herself?
That in this life, at least, she would never allow that man to throw himself away so recklessly. That no matter what it took, she would protect Kyle.
…I will not allow it. Never.
Unable to hold back any longer, Victoria stepped forward.
"…Your Majesty is well aware of how virulent the Corrupted Dragon's poison is. How can you send Sir Lowenheim alone into such a deathtrap? This is nothing less than driving a loyal servant to his doom!"
Gritting her teeth, Victoria laid out every injustice, point by point. She had to stop this absurd expedition somehow. She could not cast that man into danger like that again. Not ever.
But just then, an unexpected voice cut across her path.
"…Forgive me, Your Highness. I must respectfully disagree."
It was Celine.
"…His Highness the Crown Prince is quite right. Against a beast of that nature, a small elite force is preferable to a large army. That said, sending Sir Lowenheim alone does indeed carry considerable risk."
Celine took a step forward and spoke with steely resolve.
"…Therefore, I shall accompany him. If the Commander and Vice-Commander march together, there is no monster we cannot put down."
"…!"
Victoria's eyes flew wide.
That woman. What in the world was she saying?
"…Oho. If the two pillars of the Imperial Guard ride out together, that is nothing short of the Empire's finest strength."
His Majesty the Emperor slapped his knee in satisfaction.
"…Very well. Sir Lowenheim and Sir Frostheim—the two of you shall subjugate the Corrupted Dragon together!"
And just like that, the Emperor's decree fell.
Victoria stood rooted to the spot, fists clenched and trembling.
She should have stopped it. She hadn't. Because that woman of House Frostheim had chosen that exact moment to interfere.
And worse—she meant to go with him. Alone with Kyle, into that perilous deathtrap.
Something black and seething boiled up from deep in Victoria's chest.
…Octavian. And Celine von Frostheim.
As if it weren't enough that her vile brother had laid a snare to harm Kyle, now that woman meant to use the chaos to worm her way to his side.
Jaw locked tight, Victoria burned a razor-edged hostility toward the two of them.
But here and now, there was no way to reverse the expedition.
In that case—
…Fine. If that is how you wish to play it, then I shall not sit idle and watch.
Victoria's crimson eyes darkened.
She would uncover, down to the last detail, who had orchestrated this entire board—and what lurked behind it. And every threat that reached for Kyle, she would cut down with her own hands, leaving not a single one standing.
…So Victoria vowed, cold and absolute.
Celine and I spurred our horses toward the Frontier, where the Corrupted Dragon had appeared.
…Honestly, it was a little awkward at first.
These past few days, the Vice-Commander had been watching me with such icy eyes. Just remembering that murderous stare still sent a chill down my spine. And now I was supposed to spend several days on the road alone with her?
…Aigoo. This is going to be like sitting on a bed of nails.
I rode carefully, doing my best to read Celine's mood.
But then—
"…Sir Lowenheim. There is a stream ahead. Shall we rest the horses a moment?"
…Unexpectedly, the Celine on the road was nothing like the one at the palace.
That frosty air had vanished without a trace. If anything, she was thoroughly attentive and kind. She saw to the tired horses first, rode ahead to scout the rough stretches of trail, and when we made camp, kindled a fire with practiced ease.
"…You should get some sleep, sir. I will take the first watch."
"…Ah—are you sure? Then I'll gratefully take you up on that…"
After a few days of traveling together like that, I found myself gradually relaxing around Celine.
…Come to think of it, she was a remarkably steady, reliable person. Her martial skill went without saying, and she never lost her composure no matter the situation. On top of that, once we started talking, she turned out to have a surprisingly easygoing side.
"…Haha. So you've held a sword since you were little, then?"
"…Yes. Born a daughter of House Frostheim, I had a wooden practice sword in my hand the moment I could walk. Thanks to that, I've never once managed a proper embroidery stitch, even at my age."
"…Hahaha. Well now."
…Laughing over trivial chatter like that, her chilly first impression was gone before I knew it.
…Huh. Would you look at that. She turned out to be a good person.
I found myself smiling inwardly.
Apparently I had been jumping at shadows and misunderstanding her all this time. After a few days on the road together, she was so mild that whatever murderous air I'd thought I'd felt seemed like pure imagination.
Of course, I still had no idea why she had been watching me so intently in the first place. But either way, a comfortably warm current had begun to flow between the two of us.
.
.
.
.
.
Then, several days in, as we pressed deeper into the Frontier—
…At some point, the scenery along the road began to change, little by little, in unsettling ways.
"…Sir. Look at that."
Celine suddenly reined in her horse and pointed off to one side.
Where she indicated, the ruins of what must once have been a village lay abandoned. And the state of it was anything but ordinary.
The collapsed houses, the skeletal trees—every last thing was rotting and crumbling, blackened through and through. As if something foul had eaten the entire village alive.
"…This is—"
I dismounted and approached the ruins with care.
The closer I drew, the thicker the sour, nauseating stench that clawed at my nose. A grimy, moss-like growth spread across the ground, and every blade of grass and every tree it had touched was withered black and dead.
…Miasma. This is the poison the Corrupted Dragon was said to breathe.
A chill ran down my spine.
A passage from the original novel floated up unbidden. The miasma exhaled by the Corrupted Dragon slowly rotted everything it touched. In the wake of that virulent poison, only the traces of death remained—just like this.
"…If it has come to this, the beast cannot be far."
Celine had already drawn up beside me, a hand on her sword hilt, sweeping the surroundings with a hawk's sharp gaze.
The easy atmosphere of moments before had vanished without a trace. In its place, a taut tension settled heavily between us.
"…Yes. From here on, we keep our wits about us."
I answered quietly, looking out toward the distant mountain ridge where the miasma hung thick.
Somewhere out there, it was waiting. The Corrupted Dragon—and perhaps something even more venomous still.
In a dimly lit room, Noah Grim sat alone, gazing into a crystal orb.
Beyond the crystal, the images of two figures rode toward the distant Frontier. Kyle Lowenheim. And Celine von Frostheim. The two pillars of the Empire's vaunted Imperial Guard.
"…Heh heh. Everything's going smoothly. Very, very smoothly."
A cold smile curved Noah's pale lips.
Everything was unfolding exactly as he had drawn it up.
That foolish Crown Prince, Octavian. The man had been such an easy piece to play. Blinded by inferiority and envy toward Kyle, he had snapped up the bait Noah had dangled. Congratulating himself on a masterstroke for removing a thorn in his eye, he had cheerfully shoved Kyle into a deathtrap.
But the man would never dream of the truth—that the board had never been laid for his sake at all.
"…Octavian. You are nothing more than a chess piece in my hand."
Noah murmured softly, stroking the crystal orb.
His ambition was not so small as the mere elimination of Kyle. That was only the first step in a far grander design.
Use the Corrupted Dragon as bait to lure the two of them into a desolate killing ground. And there, capture them—and turn them into puppets who would move at his command.
Kyle Lowenheim, the Sword of the Emperor. And the blade that stood nearly his equal, Celine von Frostheim.
If he claimed the Empire's two strongest swords, what followed was obvious. The Imperial Guard. Then the imperial family. And in the end, the entire Empire would fall into the palm of Noah Grim.
"…Heh heh heh. Yes. For that day… I have endured all these long years…"
A damp, greedy fire smoldered in Noah's eyes.
To weave plots from the shadows, to drive fools before him, and to advance—one step, then another—toward that supreme throne. That was the one lifelong wish to which he had devoted everything.
And now the time had come to play the decisive move that would make that wish real.
"…Well then. Shall I go out to greet them?"
Noah rose slowly from his seat.
The Corrupted Dragon's miasma would wear them down. And when they were battered and broken at the end of a desperate struggle—that would be the moment for him to appear.
Noah raised a hand, and a black magic circle bloomed soundlessly in the air. A translocation spell that folded space and carried him to his destination in a single breath.
⟨ Teleport ⟩
That damp light cast Noah's pale face into shadow.
"…Wait for me, Sword of the Emperor. And you, Silver Blade. I shall come to meet you soon."
…And with those words, Noah's form was swallowed into the black magic circle and vanished.
In his wake, only an empty room remained, and the lingering residue of magic that had yet to fully disperse.
And immediately after—
…Creeeak.
Through a window that slid silently open, a black shadow slipped into the room without a sound.
…A single crow.
The bird surveyed the deserted chamber, tilting its head this way and that.
…This was the room. I'm certain of it.
The crow's round eyes flashed sharply.
Its master's order: root out the mastermind behind this entire conspiracy. Obeying that command, it had tracked a suspicious trail all the way here.
…But it was a step too late. Not a soul remained in the room.
…Missed him, have I? And yet—
The crow paced the floor with quick little steps, diligently searching. Then, all at once, it caught the damp residue of magic that had yet to fully fade.
…This wicked aura. No ordinary foe.
The crow's eyes darkened.
This had to be the one. The architect of the scheme who dared bar Her Highness Victoria's path and had driven Kyle Lowenheim—soon to become Her Highness's own sword—into a deathtrap.
…I must report this to Her Highness at once.
The crow beat its wings urgently and launched itself back toward the open window.
The conspiracy in the shadows was only now beginning to show its true face to the world.