Chapter 15 Auction House (5)
The Auction House (5)
Clop, clop.
Inside the rickety carriage where the sound of hooves echoed, a man stirred and opened his eyes as if regaining consciousness.
The one who greeted him was a man with ashen-gray hair. Seated in a chair, he was flipping through a stack of papers.
Noticing the movement from the man, the ashen-haired figure turned his head and looked at him.
"Awake?"
At the question, the man stiffened momentarily. Soon, he realized his body was bound and lifted his head.
Then, he began scrutinizing the other man carefully.
Gray eyes and ashen hair. A scar marring his face, and attire befitting a noble. A face so flawlessly perfect that one might believe it was a divine blessing.
It didn't take long for him to recognize the man's identity.
Abel Hardenberg.
The family head of House Hardenberg and the most influential among the empire's four dukes.
Also known as the Iron-Blood Duke, he was a figure dangerous enough to be marked as a person of interest even by the Imperial House.
"You..."
"I doubt you'd fail to recognize me."
At Abel's words, the man nodded slowly.
"Why am I in a place like this...?"
"If you're thinking of glossing over it, you'd best stop now. Emperor's Sword."
"...How?"
The man—Luke—stared at him with startled eyes.
The existence of the Emperor's Sword was one of the Imperial House's most closely guarded secrets.
A blade that not only severed the heads of nobles plotting treason but also carried out every filthy deed under the Emperor's command—that was the Emperor's Sword.
It was information meant to be buried in absolute secrecy. So how could Abel possibly know?
As Luke's gaze flickered with confusion, Abel sighed and spoke.
"Luke von Shpenheim."
At the sound of his name, Luke flinched violently before immediately straining against the iron chains binding him.
But the harder he struggled, the tighter the chains constricted.
Whether enchanted or treated with magic, the chains suppressed even the aura rising from his body.
Abel watched the display impassively before continuing.
"Son of Luka von Asrihi and the Second Prince. Officially declared dead after becoming a Sword Master and assuming the role of the Emperor's Sword."
Abel recited the information with an air of indifference, as if mocking Luke's futile resistance.
"A dog of the Imperial House, branded by the Emperor—who took Luka von Asrihi hostage—and reduced to nothing more than the Emperor's blade."
"...You bastard!"
Luke snarled, his voice laced with fury as he glared at him.
Abel remained utterly unbothered by his gaze, his tone calm and composed.
"Is there anything incorrect in what I said?"
"Ghk...!"
Unable to break free, Luke forcibly swallowed the rage surging from the depths of his chest. Watching him, Abel let out a soft chuckle before speaking again.
"I'll give you one opportunity."
"...What?"
Luke frowned at Abel's proposal.
"How long do you intend to keep playing the Imperial House's dog?"
"...So what? You're telling me to abandon my family?"
"Admittedly, that wouldn't be a bad idea either."
The sheer lack of hesitation in Abel's response made Luke let out a hollow laugh.
What kind of person could so casually suggest abandoning one's family?
It seemed the epithet Iron-Blood Duke was not an empty title after all.
"That's absurd—"
"It's best to hear people out until the end, Second Prince."
With those words, Abel extended a hand toward Luke and asked:
"How much has the Brand's erosion rate progressed?"
"How do you—"
"Do you really think I, who knows of the Emperor's Sword, wouldn't be aware of something like that? Just answer."
"...About halfway."
"Impressive that you've endured this far."
Abel's tone carried something akin to admiration.
The Brand placed on the Emperor's Sword was so potent that an ordinary mind wouldn't last even a month under its influence.
Yet Luke had resisted its erosion for years. Without an indomitable will, such endurance would have been impossible.
"Luke von Shpenheim."
"...What now?"
"I intend to overturn the Imperial House."
"...What?"
At Abel's sudden declaration, Luke's face twisted in bewilderment. To openly confess such treason to him—the Emperor's Sword himself—what could he possibly be thinking?
"Compared to staging a rebellion, rescuing a single noblewoman from the Imperial House shouldn't be too difficult."
"...Are you being serious right now?"
"If you refuse to cooperate, your life ends here. And if that happens... well, I can already picture what will become of your mother."
There wasn't a trace of falsehood in Abel's voice as he spoke.
"...Tch."
"Choose. Will you cooperate with me to overthrow the Imperial House, or will you meet a meaningless dog's death here?"
There was no real choice to speak of.
The options Abel presented were essentially no different from a threat. Luke gritted his teeth and glared at him.
"...You planned this from the beginning."
"Who knows? That's for you to decide."
"...Fine. I'll accept your proposal."
"How fortunate. Now we won't have to spill blood here."
As he spoke, Abel retrieved a sheet of paper from midair. A contract, seemingly prepared in advance, appeared there.
He floated it in the air so Luke could read it.
Luke's eyes scanned the contract's contents. The further down his gaze traveled, the more his vision began to tremble.
"Don't you think these terms are reasonable?"
"...You anticipated everything from the start, didn't you?"
Luke stared at Abel with an expression that suggested he was creeped out. Abel chuckled faintly before answering.
"That's for you to decide."
Luke fell into brief thought.
The Imperial House would never release his mother anyway. They'd likely keep her as a hostage for life, using him as the Emperor's Sword.
In that case, it was far better to assist Abel's rebellion. Rather than spending his life being manipulated by the Imperial House, he might as well gamble on this slim possibility.
"...Fine. I'll take that gamble with you."
"A wise choice."
Luke's mana was sucked into the contract. Simultaneously, Abel's mana was also absorbed.
The contract trembled briefly from the mana's repulsion before settling—proof that the agreement had been sealed.
After skimming the contract briefly, Abel addressed Luke.
"Then return to the Imperial House to avoid suspicion. For information exchanges, just show this token at the Information Guild on whichever day you choose each month."
Clink.
A medal dropped from midair. The lock-shaped medal had rusted in places, turning a dull brown.
"I've released the iron chains. Now go."
"...What?"
Before Luke could even respond to Abel's abrupt words, the carriage door swung open. At the same time, the carriage began to slow.
Luke confirmed that the chains binding him had loosened and rose to his feet.
"...You'd better honor the contract."
"Of course. Isn't that why we wrote it?"
Luke exhaled deeply and stepped out of the carriage. What greeted his eyes was a rest stop crowded with carriages.
Had Abel arranged this so he could return to the Imperial House quickly?
When he turned his head, all he saw was the retreating silhouette of the worn-out carriage already pulling away.
***
Pillars adorned with gold and chandeliers. A ceiling engraved with intricate emblems and lavish golden carpets.
A statue of a man stood before the wall, and before it sat a massive throne.
Upon the throne sat a blonde-haired man.
He rested his chin on the armrest, gazing downward with an air of oppressive arrogance that seemed to forbid all approach.
His name was Yud von Shpenheim.
The 16th Emperor of the Arieh Empire—also known by the epithet "Emperor of Conquest."
"So... you're saying this operation was only half a success?"
At the Emperor's words, Luke swallowed hard and bowed his head.
"The fault is mine, Your Majesty."
"Is that... truly the case?"
Watching him, the Emperor smiled faintly—an inscrutable expression—before extending a hand toward Luke. Simultaneously, the Brand on Luke's neck began to sear with heat.
Overwhelmed by the pain, Luke let out an involuntary groan.
"Ghk—"
"Falsehood always comes at a price."
The Emperor murmured this before issuing his command.
"Sever the ring finger of your left hand."
Luke's body moved beyond his control. His flesh drew his sword without hesitation and swung it toward his left ring finger.
Sschk.
"Khh—"
Blood gushed wildly from the severed finger. Watching this, the Emperor smiled with satisfaction.
"Dismissed."
"...Yes."
Luke bowed deeply before retreating from the audience chamber. The Chief Steward, who had been observing from behind, spoke to the Emperor.
"Your Majesty. May I ask one thing?"
"Speak."
"Why did you not expose his lie?"
"Hmm... Who knows?"
The Emperor smirked before continuing.
"Even the rebellion of a mere rat is... somewhat intriguing, don't you think?"
As he spoke, a twisted smile crept across his face.