Chapter 89
Chapter 89
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 89
Chapter Title: 28. The Difference Between Charity, Rewards, and Spoils of War (1)
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The screams and curses that had filled the air came to an abrupt halt, as if they had all been a lie.
The nobles' faces drained of color, their mouths hanging open. Their eyes darted wildly between the king on the dais and me.
The king glared at me with bulging eyes.
His face was twisted in rage, as if he might leap to his feet and bellow at any moment, yet his body sank even deeper into the throne.
To my eyes, it looked like he was trying to hide himself in a throne that didn't even fit him properly.
I took in that pathetic sight as I walked toward the dais.
Clack.
Knight in resplendent golden armor placed hands on their sword hilts and surrounded the dais.
I bowed to them, their faces rigid with tension and concern.
Once the great king who had ruled over tens of thousands of orcs and terrorized the North, now reduced to a sideshow—the greenskin king I had vowed to mock eternally, even in death.
I picked up the severed head and arm of the warlord I had toppled.
Straightening my back, I looked up at the dais.
There sat another king.
I held out the warlord's head to him.
The king rebuked me.
"How long do you intend to proudly display that hideous thing?!"
His eyes burned with fury, inevitably followed by hatred and contempt.
In the past, I hadn't understood those emotions.
Because I didn't know what the original owner of this body had done.
But now I did.
I knew his sins and karma so well that I had taken them upon myself.
Yet even so, I couldn't empathize with the king's feelings.
This was the retribution of a father who had raised him but failed to guide him properly.
The failing of an incompetent ruler who had eyes but overlooked the shadows.
It wasn't a burden a mere twelve-year-old boy should have to bear.
But the king acted as if the failure of his grand designs and the kingdom's daily decline all stemmed from that young boy.
He took responsibility for nothing and corrected nothing.
He merely resented and turned away.
Unaware that his own soul was staining with that resentment and hatred.
He simply hated his young son.
Suddenly, it struck me as absurd.
The karma of a son who had broken three hundred and twenty-three treasured swords and ruined a century-long plan; the karma of a father who had so negligently allowed the sturdy shield that had protected the kingdom for centuries to shatter.
Both sides were equally soiled with filth.
Yet one side never even thought to look at himself.
To my eyes, that stained soul was so clearly visible.
I gazed silently at the king.
The power that pierced only the essence dwelled in my eyes. Before it, the king's soul was stripped bare, revealing its wretched true face.
Not weak, but not resilient enough to withstand external pressures.
Not dull, but not sharp enough to take the initiative.
Not incompetent, but not capable enough to handle great matters.
His vision not dim, but not broad enough to survey beyond the palace.
A vessel sufficient for his own rule in peaceful times,
But woefully inadequate to overcome chaotic eras.
He had likely struggled, donning ill-fitting royal robes and bearing an unbearable crown's weight, scurrying about east and west.
And failed, despaired, and despaired again.
His negligent and complacent handling of the recent Northern war was just one of those failures.
"We fought for three straight months, waiting for reinforcements that never came."
But to me, it was no mere mistake.
"I sent two legions—four thousand troops. Were they not reinforcements?"
I had lost my uncle, and countless comrades with whom I had laughed and joked just yesterday.
"Our soldiers had to stab their spears ten times to fell orcs, and their legions numbered over ten, while ours were barely three."
Yet there were legions awaiting royal orders and knight orders ready to draw swords at any moment.
"We had natural fortresses that had held for centuries and valiant knights."
But the king offered only excuses.
"Those fortresses that held for centuries fell, and those valiant knights all perished."
"In the end, it was victory. Didn't you call yourself a victorious general?"
"A victory of wounds alone is still a victory, I suppose."
I would hear no more excuses.
"But we will never again shed blood for such a victory."
The king mulled over my words, then shot to his feet, pointing accusingly at me.
"H-Have a care what spills from that impudent mouth! Do you even grasp the meaning of what you've said?!"
I shot back coldly at the bellowing king.
"It means I'll never fight alone again."
"What?"
I glanced at the king's stiff face and turned away.
"Every noble house in the kingdom received our call for aid!"
The nobles, who had watched our exchange with keen interest until now, flinched at my sudden roar and bowed their heads.
"Who here answered?!"
None. Not a single one. Not even a single reply.
"What were you doing while we fought?!"
Excuses in subdued voices rose from here and there.
The distance was too great. No leader to march the troops. They were bedridden at the time. They never received the messenger.
Not one wasn't a pathetic pretext.
"I won't hear such flimsy excuses."
I declared to them.
"If you won't help, the North will no longer fight."
"You insolent cur! How arrogant! If not fighting, will you open the gates and let the monsters through?!"
A shout came from behind.
"Is there any reason I shouldn't?"
I asked the king, turning only my head.
"Who do you turn your back to speak?!"
I turned fully.
"What?! Who granted you such authority, and what gives you the right to spout such nonsense?!"
"Authority..."
I met the king's eyes squarely.
"The Warden of the Marches encompassing the North, Commander of the 3rd Legion, Patriarch of House Ballerhard."
"What?"
"Does his full proxy suffice?"
"What do you..."
"With the full authority of seventeen houses north of the Raintes River delegated to me, do I have the right to speak thus?"
The king bulged his eyes at the Northern lords.
"I, Bert of House Shurtol, have delegated all rights to His Highness the First Prince."
"I, Guinness of House Gwern, have delegated all rights to His Highness the First Prince."
"I, Anders of House Astain, have..."
The Northern lords knelt as one and cried out.
"Wh-What."
The king repeated the same words over and over, his face utterly lost.
"Do you still deem my authority insufficient?"
No answer came. The king, stunned by the sudden turn, seemed devoid of wits to respond.
Pathetic.
I ignored the king and shouted at the nobles again.
"All I ask is that we fight together! Is that so hard?!"
The nobles averted their eyes, too busy to reply.
"I tell you now: this is your last chance."
I said to the nobles, who pretended not to hear.
"Send one direct heir to Winter Castle. Eldest, second, youngest—it matters not."
"What do you..."
"They will serve as officers for a set term at Winter Castle."
"Absurd!"
"We cannot accept!"
At least they valued their own offspring, making them seem marginally better than the king despite equal incompetence.
As I scanned their faces, a throat-clearing came from behind.
"Ahem."
It was the Montpellier bastard.
"It's not for a foreign ambassador to meddle in kingdom affairs."
The nobles looked baffled at his sudden words.
"But strengthening the North's defenses and giving invaluable experience to those who will lead houses—and the kingdom—why view it so negatively? I don't understand."
He had skirted it, but no one here missed Montpellier's point.
"As an aside, His Imperial Majesty was greatly troubled by the recent Northern war. I too was severely reprimanded for failing to aid an ally properly. If it happens again, your friend Montpellier will be in a real bind."
Without prompting, the bastard even invoked the Emperor.
The effect was disgustingly effective.
The nobles, ready to rebel en masse, fell silent as bees with honeyed mouths, glancing warily.
Watching them, my stomach churned.
Valuing a foreign ambassador's words more than their own prince.
I mentally crossed off another number.
"I've heard the North has always been barren and poor. Why not have me subsidize part of their military costs to ease their burden another way?"
An unnamed old noble asked Montpellier. Others quickly chimed in agreement.
"I cannot fathom why you'd ask me, a mere foreign ambassador."
Montpellier glanced slyly at me as he spoke.
"When the proposer himself is present."
At his blunt words, the nobles' faces paled starkly.
Looking at those snow-white faces, I
Grinned.
The nobles were dumbfounded, and the king hadn't recovered.
Time passed, but no one spoke.
The nobles looked unwell, faced with sending precious blood to peril; the king seemed confused by my unexpected actions.
He must have thought I'd claim merits for personal gain.
A wastrel who sold even the royal secret knights would have.
But I wasn't that wastrel.
What I wanted wasn't paltry rewards doled out like the king's charity.
I looked at the nobles.
Now they would have to yield either a precious heir or cherished wealth.
Hostages to ensure Northern support, or gold at least worth a son's life.
Of course, I didn't expect easy compliance.
They feigned thought out of imperial fear, but would flip upon returning home.
They might adopt surrogates or dump unwanted bastards.
That gained the North nothing.
I needed them to yield truly cherished blood.
Conveniently, I had the perfect bait to make them offer their golden children willingly.
I signaled Montpellier.
"Failing to properly address the recent war was my own shortcoming as the kingdom's foremost allied ambassador. Thus, I take partial responsibility and vow to prevent recurrence."
The king eyed the bastard wearily, face full of fatigue, as if his head already ached at the scheme.
But today's Montpellier wasn't here as imperial ambassador; nothing he said would harm the kingdom.
"By the authority granted me by His Imperial Majesty, I hereby partially lift the seal on the kingdom's magic tower per treaty!"
The king shot to his feet from his weary gaze.
"S-Say that again!"
"The magic tower's seal is lifted to the third floor, and per treaty, the restrictions on mage training and combat magic practice are temporarily lifted."
"Say it again!"
"Congratulations. The kingdom may now train mages up to third circle."
The king trembled with emotion.
But it wasn't time for that yet.
"This is officially approved by His Imperial Majesty, who, considering the North's great suffering in the war, has also permitted construction of a new magic tower."
The king's face now looked ready to faint.
Lifting the seal was shocking enough; approving a new tower seemed unbelievable.
"The new magic tower will be built exclusively north of the Raintes River, with all construction and management authority vested in His Highness Idrian Leonberger, First Prince."
The king bulged his eyes at me.
No, not just the king—all nobles present stared at me.
Evidently, a magic tower was a finer bait than I'd imagined.
Seeing their dog-like gazes fixed on that meaty bone.