Chapter 103
Chapter 103
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 103
Chapter Title: Baseless Provocation
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“Viscount Lucas and Count Cligrove are entering!”
As we stepped into the venue, countless gazes converged on us. Most were faces I'd seen at least once before—merchants, lower nobles, knights, scholars. And among them were some familiar ones.
“Count Ragos!”
“Hoho! Viscount Lucas, isn't it? You're positively glowing.”
Count Ragos, with his thick white beard and bushy eyebrows, laughed as he doffed his hat. Though protocol might call for me to remove mine first given our rank difference, this was likely his way of showing respect to the party's host.
Besides, as Lenia's fiancé—and she a countess—I was practically a count-in-waiting. Count Ragos waggled his albino-like white eyebrows as he spoke.
“I trust you've been well?”
“This old body's holding up better than most youngsters. Hoho. But more to the point... I didn't expect you to have such shrewd business sense.”
His eyes flicked briefly toward Lenia.
“Lady Lenia... no, Countess Cligrove now. To think you'd get engaged to the very woman rumored to have no interest in men.”
“It just sort of happened that way.”
“When word of your engagement reached the capital, the young nobles there let out heavy sighs. Did you know? Before she got engaged, she was supposedly getting dozens of love letters a month.”
I hadn't heard that one. As I fell silent, he chuckled heartily.
“Well, it's just a rumor.”
So it was tabloid fodder after all. No surprise there—with us living in the same manor and me working under her, I'd have known if it were true.
“In any case, to celebrate your engagement and as a gift for a comrade from the battlefield, I've picked out something special. Check it out later.”
I had no idea what it was, but if a count had put thought into it, it wasn't some ordinary trinket. In thanks, I handed him a vial I'd prepared in advance.
It contained the fatigue recovery potion I'd bought from Oliver—the one with side effects. The pale green liquid sloshed gently inside a custom-made, luxurious glass bottle.
“This is...”
“Just a small token in return. You didn't think I'd shamelessly accept your gift without reciprocating, did you?”
“I'm a noble with my own territory, you know. I didn't bring that gift expecting anything in return...”
His white eyebrows twitched, as if offended that his gift might be seen as a ploy for reciprocity. But that passed quickly, and his expression softened at my next words.
“So you're saying it really has that effect?”
“That's right. If the gesture doesn't sit well with you, just think of it as a party favor for all the nobles who've graced us with their presence.”
It wasn't a lie. I'd stocked up plenty to hand one out to every lower noble here too. The packaging differed, of course.
“In that case... I gratefully accept.”
In the end, even Count Ragos was just an old man afraid of the dark. Disproportionate to his snowy beard and brows, he swiftly tucked the vial into his robes.
“Congratulations, Count!”
“You...”
“I'm the second son of Baron Regil's family—from that cavalry unit we fought with back then!”
“That's right! Thanks for coming. Enjoy yourself, and don't forget your party gift on the way out.”
As night deepened and the party filled out, more people came up to greet me. I didn't remember them all, but they didn't seem to mind—they'd say hello and head back into the crowd.
But as the saying goes, not everyone at a famous feast comes with good intentions.
Bang!
A loud crash echoed from outside, and the venue doors flew open as if about to shatter. The man who kicked them wide was the first of his kind I'd seen in this world. Bloodied despite his fine attire, he scanned the now-silent hall without hiding his rage.
“Viscount Lucas! Have you no shame?!”
My name spilled from this stranger's noble lips.
“I don't know who you are, but crashing someone else's party like this hardly seems proper. Aren't you the one who should be ashamed?”
As I stepped forward, he flinched momentarily. But he quickly bellowed in a booming voice.
“Are you Viscount Lucas?! I've been looking for you!”
To cause such a ruckus at someone else's party. Even a duke would catch flak for it. And I didn't even know the guy. If you're going to make a scene, at least state your rank. Glaring at him, I said:
“I'm the Viscount Lucas you've been hunting for. You know it's rude to barge into someone else's party and act like this, right?”
“Hmph! Rude? You dare speak of rudeness after trying to assassinate me?!”
Assassinate? What nonsense was this? The other nobles began murmuring among themselves at the absurd claim.
“Isn't that... Viscount Wayne?”
“Assassination? Viscount Lucas tried to assassinate him?”
So this was Viscount Wayne. Learning his identity from the whispers soured my expression.
“You're Viscount Wayne. I never even invited you—why show up here claiming I tried to kill you?”
The mood turned hostile. The viscount kept insisting he'd been invited and that my planned hit had nearly killed him.
“Here's my proof!”
What he called evidence was a half-dead man on the brink, dragged in by knights and dumped on the floor. Smeared with soot and covered in blood, the man whimpered:
“It was the lord's grudge against Viscount Wayne! Please... just spare me...”
The surrounding nobles wavered at Wayne's brazen attitude and the mystery witness. But those nobles or knights versed in swordsmanship shook their heads.
The man showed none of the calluses or scars from soldier training. He had some, sure—but not from wielding weapons.
Still, a solid witness would help, so I sent Cutter to fetch mercenaries who'd served here since the Sarisa Count days and now worked freelance. And...
“This guy's not from the territory, my lord.”
“Doesn't look like a soldier either! No calluses from holding a spear!”
The summoned mercenaries examined Wayne's so-called witness and shook their heads. The nobles nodded along. But Wayne smirked.
“They're your private guards, aren't they, Viscount Lucas? Why should we believe them?”
So we can't trust the guy you dragged in and claim is my soldier? It was ridiculous, but that's when I caught on. Shockingly, this was all just him picking a pointless fight.
I'd assumed some grand scheme and missed the obvious. Crashing an uninvited party just to hassle me? That said it all about Viscount Wayne's caliber.
“Tch... Let's be straight. Why come all this way to spout nonsense and provoke me?”
A proper noble and territory lord wouldn't stoop to this over mere merchants... But instead of answering, he challenged me to a duel.
“Hah! I never knew Viscount Wayne was such a boor.”
Count Ragos twitched his white eyebrows, cursing Wayne. As he said, it was utterly lacking decorum. No evidence, just slapping an assassination charge on someone out of nowhere, then demanding a duel.
Even winning wouldn't shield him from backlash, yet his recklessness screamed powerful backing.
“I doubt you'll lose, but win or not, I'll mediate properly.”
With the count declaring for me, I donned my armor with a smile. Wayne had named a proxy for the duel, so I could too—but no need, no desire.
“Be careful.”
Lenia hugged me from behind, fretting despite knowing I'd win. I held her and headed to the dueling ground.
“Count Ragos and Countess Cligrove will serve as witnesses! And I trust all you honorable folk here will ensure fairness as well!”
Nobles and merchants alike watched from afar at this sudden duel. Whoever had the right of it, accepting the challenge meant heavy reputational damage in defeat.
Count Ragos, witnessing, glared sharply at Wayne. Behind the viscount stood an armored knight.
“Of course. My proxy is Baron Aston.”
Clank! Clank!
The designated proxy, Baron Aston, was a hulking figure. Roughly 190 cm tall, clad head to toe in plate, with a poleaxe at his hip.
“Baron Aston? You mean the one who was Count Osland's knight?”
“Why's he with Viscount Wayne?”
The nobles' murmurs suggested a notable reputation. No wonder—he looked formidable just standing there.
And House Osland rang a bell. No personal ties, but it confirmed they'd allied with Wayne against me.
A count's knight wouldn't betray his lord for a viscount's service—any more than a big corp exec jumps to a small firm.
Regardless, Baron Aston approached with his visor up, eyeing me with intrigued curiosity, as if sizing up foes was a novelty.
“You're the biggest opponent I've faced. Heard plenty about you.”
He grinned.
“Always wanted a shot.”
“Why does Count Osland see me as an enemy?”
He shook his head—no comment. But it answered my question: Osland was targeting me, and he was involved directly. Motive unknown.
“Prepare for the duel! May it be an honorable clash of mutual respect!”
We lowered our visors and raised our weapons. My two-hander, his poleaxe. Oh, and worth noting now: few nobles or knights wield poleaxes.