Chapter 14
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 14
Chapter Title: Dilemma
-----------------------------------------------------------------
"Ha."
Duke Karls let out a short sigh and pressed his temple firmly. His head throbbed.
What if, the thought suddenly reared its head.
What if he loaded the emperor into a carriage and took him straight to Argent?
He closed his eyes and ran a simulation. Load him into the sturdiest prisoner transport carriage.
Have the elite knights escort him. If they switched horses without rest day and night, they might reach the border in five days—or four if they pushed hard.
If he sent a messenger to Helena declaring, "I'll bring the emperor right to your face," she would have reason to halt her advance and wait at the border.
It seemed like the surest way to prevent his territory from being trampled and to avoid pointless bloodshed.
But Duke Karls's brow furrowed.
It would be surrender.
The empire's duke delivering—even if deposed, still unjudged by law—the emperor to a foreign queen like a package.
It was obvious it would look like handing over a criminal like luggage at the border.
'Holding a trial in the capital with Helena and executing him there is worlds apart from handing him over at the border.'
A trial in the capital was justice. Judging the tyrant according to the empire's laws and procedures, establishing a new order.
Helena attending as an observer or victim would be diplomatically acceptable.
But handing him over at Argent's border? Helena would sever his head right there.
That was private vengeance. The empire would appear to have bowed to foreign military pressure, abandoning its sovereignty, and Karls himself would go from revolutionary leader to coward who sold out the emperor under Roselia's threats.
King Gras in the north or Elder Sage King Eldric in the east wouldn't sit idly by. They'd use it as precedent to nibble away at imperial territory bit by bit.
Worse, the empire's authority would crumble, and other nobles might rise in revolt.
Karl stood and walked to the window. His reflection in the glass looked haggard with fatigue. His armored shoulders felt like lead.
Argent territory's walls. They embodied the pride his family had guarded for generations.
Would he sell out the emperor to protect those walls, or watch them fall to preserve the empire's authority?
Neither was the right answer.
He gripped the windowsill tightly. His knuckles whitened. The stars stitching the night sky glittered unusually cold and indifferent tonight.
Argent's soldiers were likely atop the walls now, torches lit, glaring at the red banners of the Roselian camp beyond the darkness. Their fear and tension seemed to transmit across hundreds of kilometers.
'Lilia...'
There was no good way.
Time was ticking, and every option was the worst. He had to pick the least bad one.
The emperor's proposal—that blasphemous Oath Room—wormed back into his mind.
Entrust fate to a madman, or face an honorable war? Or was war even honorable to begin with?
Or shove his hand into the cesspool to stop the mudslinging fight? His head was too muddled.
Knock knock.
The office door was rapped cautiously.
Karl snapped from his reverie, straightened his clothes, wiped the anguish from his face, and donned the mask of the cool-headed duke once more.
"Come in."
His adjutant entered and set down some papers. An updated battle report. Karl picked up the parchment, ink still fresh.
"No changes in the situation."
Helena was encamped before his territory, refusing messengers and magical communication alike.
Five thousand elite troops. And the trailing reinforcements loomed in Karl's mind's eye.
The tent ceiling flapped rhythmically in the wind. The night air was chill, the tension across the camp sharp as a blade.
Queen Helena sat at a round table with her staff. Argent territory's map lay spread before them, the pieces arrayed in attack formation.
A small crystal orb before her blinked red. A communication request from Duke Karls.
"Your Majesty, another contact."
Her adjutant spoke cautiously. Helena didn't even glance at the orb. Her gaze fixed on the red pin atop the map—the Argent gates.
"Ignore it."
Her voice was ice. Devoid of emotion, purely calculated chill.
The adjutant hesitated, nodded, and refused the connection. The orb's light faded.
The staff exchanged glances. Roselia's army supreme commander, Marquis Dukran, spoke up.
"Your Majesty, a day's rest is honey to the troops, but it might buy Duke Karls time. If he calls for reinforcements from northern or eastern imperial nobles..."
"He won't have time."
Helena cut him off firmly. She tapped the wall on the map with her fingertip.
"The imperial army is chaos incarnate now. The emperor's imprisoned, nobles are too busy watching their backs. No matter how capable Karls is, he can't summon reinforcements in a day. He's isolated."
Flames flickered in her eyes. Rage—not just diplomatic insult.
That night, the emperor's gaze through the screen. Beastly eyes burning with desire even facing death. Shame mingled with an odd sense of defeat tormented her.
'How dare he, how dare he look at me like that...'
She clenched her fist. Nails dug into her palm.
"Tomorrow morning, at sunrise, we assault the gates. If Karls doesn't open them, we smash them down."
"But a siege will bring heavy losses. Argent's walls are famed for their sturdiness."
One staffer voiced concern.
"I know. That's why we'll advance the mages. We won't break the walls—we'll melt the gates."
Helena paused.
"No... Karls might open them before they melt."
Helena rose. Her chair scraped back harshly. She strode to the tent flap and pulled it aside.
Stars glittered indifferently in the night sky. Far off, torches flickered atop Argent's walls.
"Send an ultimatum to the gates. Tell Duke Karls of Argent to choose! Open the gates and yield the way, or burn with his territory."
The night breeze tousled her red hair. Her profile was beautiful, yet laced with chilling killing intent. The staff dared not even breathe loudly.
Roselia's command tent crouched on the night plain like a massive red silkworm cocoon.
Its velvet exterior flapped heavily in the wind, while inside, beeswax candles atop dozens of metal holders cast thick shadows.
The flames flickered uneasily, licking the red inner walls, making the gold embroidery writhe like veins.
Thick Persian carpets muffled footsteps, but couldn't stifle Helena's ragged breaths as she gripped the central table.
Helmet and breastplate discarded, she stood in a thin linen shirt and leather pants.
Sweat-soaked, the shirt clung to her back, outlining her spine starkly. Her nails scraped the map, especially over "Argent."
Detour? Compromise?
A scornful laugh escaped her lips. Duke Karls. That stubborn man pretended civility to the end, trying to placate her.
But behind the courtesy lurked arrogance to protect the empire's pride. That arrogance disgusted her. The empire he defended was a cesspool ruled by a rotten emperor.
She crumpled the map in her fist.
"Endure two more days? While that bastard still breathes?"
Unable to contain her fury, Helena swatted the wine glass from the table. Crash. The thin crystal shattered on the floor.
Red wine spread like blood across the carpet. She stared at the shards, shoulders heaving.
But beneath the rage, a strange, unfamiliar sediment settled.
Closing her eyes, last night's scene replayed on her retinas.
Batanias. That incompetent fool of an emperor's expression. Hollow eyes, pale face—but those pupils gleamed fiercely. No fear of death.
Instead, staring straight at her, as if stripping her soul bare.
And that white fluid.
Helena unconsciously gripped her inner thigh. Twenty-two years without knowing a man.
As queen, for Roselia's prosperity, she'd castrated her emotions and desires. Men were political tools or loyal vassals. Their bodies and lusts irrelevant.
Yet that white, viscous spurt arcing into the air. Filling the screen as it poured—that shock wasn't mere disgust. It was primal curiosity and fear, like flinging open a forbidden door.
'Is that... a man's desire?'
She shook her head to dispel the thought. Her face burned. Not the wine. Not the candle heat. A hot flush rose from her core, her deep abdomen, spreading through her body.
"Disgusting."
She muttered low.
"Repulsive, vulgar, beastly cur."
Yet even as curses spilled from her lips, her mind clung obsessively to that beast's image.
Lounging crookedly on the throne, spewing obscenities at her. 'Helena, just show me once.' The words echoed in her ears.
She leaned on the table, breathing hard. Her chest heaved. Sweat beaded above her collarbone, visible through the shirt gap.
She couldn't understand her body's reaction. Anger, she told herself. Trembling from humiliation.
'Batanias.'
Chewing the name ground her teeth. She couldn't let him live. If she did, this shameful memory would haunt her forever. Only killing him—severing his head, silencing that mouth—would quench this odd heat.
"Your Majesty."
Her head maid's cautious voice came from the tent entrance.
"What is it?"
Helena whipped around. Her tone was sharp.
"Dinner is ready. And another message from Duke Karls..."
"Cut it."
She sliced it off.
"Don't accept it. No contacts until the army moves tomorrow morning."
"But..."
"That's an order!"
Helena shouted; the shadow at the entrance flinched back.
"Yes, understood."
As footsteps faded, silence returned. Helena approached a candlestick and blew out a flame. Smoke rose with a acrid scent. She took a deep breath in the shadows.
Tomorrow morning, advance. If Duke Karls didn't open the gates, smash them. Reach the imperial capital, drag out that arrogant emperor, make him kneel.
'I'll see what face you make then.'
She swept back her sweat-dampened bangs and walked to the bed. A small mirror sat on the bedside table.
She peered into it. Flushed cheeks, wet eyes. Not the face of a queen heading to battle.
Helena flipped the mirror over. Thud.
"Just sleep."
She threw herself onto the bed. The fluffy down comforter enveloped her, but sleep wouldn't come easily.
Not when closing her eyes would make that white fluid flicker in the darkness again.