Chapter 88
Chapter 88
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 88
Chapter Title: 28. Nobles, Princes, the King, and the Empire (5)
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The Leonberger royal family had summoned the kingdom's nobles.
Under normal circumstances, it would have taken quite some time for them to gather from all corners of the kingdom, but this time was different.
The nobles who had already been staying in the capital or nearby cities, at the behest of the empire's ambassador, Marquis of Montpellier, rushed to the palace the moment the summons was issued.
Within just two days, half of the kingdom's nobles had arrived at the palace.
And they were immediately ushered into the grand banquet hall.
"I heard they received the northern lords as victors of the war. Maybe they're holding a victory celebration banquet."
"The atmosphere feels far too stiff for that."
The nobles, gathered in small groups throughout the vast banquet hall, chattered about the northern lords' visit that had recently set the capital abuzz.
"Who could've guessed that crusty old knight would go that far."
"Even the mighty Silver Lion couldn't win against the ravages of time in the end."
The late Earl Ballerhard, who had met his end fighting valiantly,
"It's truly unfortunate for His Highness the First Prince. To lose his guardian like that—his position is so pitiable now."
"There are rumors that pushing all the credit onto His Highness the First Prince led to disaster in the north. If that's true, it's a real tragedy."
The First Prince, who had been all but chased out of the capital upon his return, was little more than idle gossip to most nobles.
They mouthed sympathies, but their faces clearly betrayed a sense of schadenfreude.
"I hear they already caused a scene."
"They say he used some grotesque trophy from the north to humiliate the refined folk. Even after war, his temperament hasn't changed."
"Maybe he didn't truly experience the horrors of war."
Whether the stubborn old knight or the ill-tempered First Prince, both were thorns in the nobles' sides. Mocking remarks, barely disguised as refined discourse, echoed throughout the banquet hall.
"Tch. How can they be so frivolous?"
"They can't even offer condolences and remembrance to a knight who devoted himself to the kingdom. They're only flaunting their own vulgarity."
Only a few nobles, led by Marquis Billefeldt, mourned the fallen and honored his noble death.
Sensing that today's gathering was connected in some way to the empire's ambassador, Marquis Billefeldt could only hope the kingdom wouldn't suffer great humiliation.
Speak of the devil—the empire's ambassador arrived at that very moment.
"Entering is the Marquis of Montpellier of Burgundy, Cliang de Bourgogne Montpellier, ambassador of the eternal ally of the kingdom, the Burgundy Empire, whose authority has been duly recognized by His Imperial Majesty the Emperor!"
It was unprecedented for the empire's ambassador, who usually entered after the king to flaunt his status, to appear so early.
"Hoo. Something big must be about to happen."
Marquis Billefeldt watched the ambassador with a hardened expression.
But whether watched or not, the ambassador hurried forward without his usual swagger, almost as if pursued by something—an uncharacteristic sight.
"Ambassador, you've arrived."
A few tactless nobles approached to fawn over him.
"From now on, do not speak to me until I address you first."
The ambassador snapped at them.
The nobles blinked in confusion before retreating with embarrassed faces. Back at their seats, they gossiped that the ambassador seemed in a foul mood today.
"Could a higher-ranking imperial official have been dispatched?"
A noble who had been observing closely whispered to Marquis Billefeldt.
It made sense.
The ambassador's fidgeting and straightened posture resembled that of a subordinate awaiting a superior.
"This is unsettling. Truly unsettling."
As Marquis Billefeldt observed the ambassador, the royals began to appear one by one.
"Entering are His Highness Maximilian Leonberger, Second Prince and second son of the rightful ruler of Leonberg, the most noble Lionel Leonberger, King of Leonberg; and His Highness Gillian Leonberger, Third Prince and third son of the Leonberger royal family!"
The princes took their places right before the dais in the banquet hall.
The marquis felt a strange sensation watching them.
The Third Prince strutted arrogantly, surrounded by his fawning nobles as usual, but the Second Prince—who always wore a gentle smile—had a rigidly tense face, which was out of character.
The Second Prince seemed to know something about what was to unfold today.
As Marquis Billefeldt subtly shifted to approach the Second Prince, the banquet hall doors opened, and a royal chamberlain bellowed.
"Entering are His Highness Idrian Leonberger, First Prince and eldest son of the rightful ruler of Leonberg, the most noble Lionel Leonberger, King of Leonberg, of the Leonberger royal family; and Bert of the northern County of Shurtol, of the County of Gwern..."
Through the wide-open doors, the First Prince appeared, flanked by the northern lords and their knights.
"Gasp."
The nobles who saw the First Prince drew in sharp breaths.
The boyish youth from just a year ago was gone.
His once baby-fat cheeks were now sharply angled, and his build lacked nothing compared to a sturdy knight's. Above all, what drew the nobles' eyes were the hideous scars covering his body, impossible to conceal even under elaborate formal attire.
His exposed hands and neck were riddled with savage gashes, and snake-like wounds scarred his jaw and forehead.
"S-scars..."
"Hah. I heard he was in the rear..."
As the nobles whispered, the First Prince scanned the banquet hall.
Those who met his gaze inhaled sharply and stepped back. Goosebumps prickled their skin as they retreated.
Looking at them, the First Prince grinned.
"Not kneeling?"
His amused tone was almost affectionate, yet the nobles felt a chill like being thrown into a frozen river midwinter. By the time they regained their senses, they were slamming their knees to the floor, heads bowed low.
Thud. Thud.
His footsteps were utterly unlike those of high nobles—more like a massive beast prowling threateningly before their eyes.
The nobles held their breath, ears perked.
Like small prey hiding in the grass, waiting for the predator to pass.
Finally, the First Prince's steps halted, and the nobles exhaled in unison, as if on cue.
But none dared lift their heads.
In that posture, they awaited the king.
"Entering is Lionel Leonberger, the rightful ruler of Leonberg, the most noble and wise King of Leonberg! All pay him due reverence!"
The king appeared through the open doors.
"Hm?"
Sensing the unusually subdued atmosphere in the banquet hall, the king paused briefly.
He turned his head.
And amid the kneeling, bowing nobles, he spotted his eldest son standing tall, gazing at him.
The king's face stiffened, and the First Prince smiled faintly.
Ignoring his son's gaze, the king proceeded forward.
Facing the unwelcome figure was unpleasant, but seeing the nobles bow deeper than usual improved his mood somewhat.
When he noticed even the empire's ambassador with head bowed, the king unwittingly smirked.
But it was a solitary illusion.
The nobles' and ambassador's obeisance wasn't for him. They sensed only the beastly youth lurking behind—not the deer-like man strolling lightly before them.
Only the king remained oblivious.
* * *
The moment I saw the nobles' plump, rosy faces, the pent-up rage surged forth.
But I held it back.
It wasn't time to unleash it yet.
For now, I had to take solace in watching them cower on the floor like whipped dogs.
I suppressed my anger and waited.
For the king to appear.
"Entering is Lionel Leonberger, the rightful ruler of Leonberg, the most noble and wise King of Leonberg! All pay him due reverence!"
Finally, the king emerged through the wide-open banquet hall doors.
He stiffened upon spotting me but soon ignored it and walked among the nobles.
Forcing his heels down with contrived weight,
Feigning nonexistent dignity.
Parading through the nobles like a clown,
He ascended the hollow, towering dais and took his seat.
"All of you, rise."
The king spoke with forced authority.
The nobles stood awkwardly.
I watched them before turning my gaze.
The royal swords, forged with utmost care yet broken before they could be used, trembled faintly.
The emotions on their faces were complex, hard for me to fully grasp.
Seeming to welcome the reunion with the king, yet resenting him for not recognizing them. Or perhaps relieved he didn't.
"If you wish, I can grant you a private audience later."
"We do not."
They refused my quiet offer.
"Then watch."
They eyed me questioningly.
What exactly were we to watch?
I quietly surveyed the surroundings.
A negligent, incompetent monarch who let the noble perish in vain, a blind king lost in delusions, sat upon the dais.
False courtiers, clinging to the rotting great tree like snakes flicking their tongues, bowed their heads in pretense below him.
Lame loyalists strained to prop up the tilting tree, scanning the situation with wary faces.
Northern mistletoe, trampled by harsh winter winds yet sprouting stronger, watched me.
A dog once guarding for the empire now waited, leashed by me, for its collar to be unleashed.
The farce these players would soon enact—far from comical.
While eyes turned to the royal family's claim of forging 323 swords,
The rotten true face of the kingdom.
That was precisely what I wanted to show them.
They would have to find the answers themselves.
As would I.
Today, I would watch from this seat. And judge.
"The reason I summoned you all here today is by the 'Imperial Ambassador's Emergency Summons Authority' stipulated in the treaty between the empire and the kingdom."
The blind king, playing the deluded clown, spoke first.
"With over half the kingdom's nobles assembled, we can proceed without issue."
The fat lapdog barked at the blind king's words.
"We gathered you busy nobles here to discuss the kingdom's future."
No one objected as a foreign dog yapped about the kingdom's future.
Once.
Nine more to go. My patience with the complacent nobles and the king's impotence.
"But first, we must speak of the recent war in the north."
The fat dog glanced at me.
I stepped forward one pace.
"Bring it."
No sooner had I spoken than Arwen and the knights placed a large chest before me.
I shattered the lid like kindling.
And tossed in the Warlord's severed head, tongue lolling.
Right before the dais, amid the gathered nobles.
Roll... roll... roll.
The head, larger than an average man's torso, tumbled across the floor before stopping.
"Wh-what?!"
"Urgh!"
The nobles screamed, and the banquet hall descended into chaos.
"What do you think you're doing?!"
The pale-faced king lost his composure and scolded me.
But I ignored him, pulling out the Warlord's arm from the chest and hurling it again.
A noble struck by the forearm fainted without even screaming, eyes rolled back.
"Aaaah!"
"He's lost his mind! Mad! Only a lunatic would do this!"
Amid the timid nobles' screams and groans, and the enraged king's shouts,
"We achieved victory, so naturally, I present the enemy commander's head before the king."
I bared my teeth.
"Isn't that right, Your Majesty?"