Chapter 63
Chapter 63
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 63
Chapter Title: War of Words
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"I am Lenia of Cligrove."
"I am Viscount Lucas Kyle."
The man, who was both the host of the party and a duke of the empire, introduced himself first. Kyle and Lenia hurriedly followed suit. The duke smiled at their reactions and spoke.
"They say there's a flower in Cligrove, and you've grown even more since the last time I saw you."
Not a single word was mentioned about Count Sarisa. The musicians in the party hall poured their hearts into their performance, letting soft music flow through the air, but no other sounds could be heard. Every noble in the hall was focused on their encounter.
"That woman is from Cligrove...?"
"What a thick-skinned one. Why did she even show up here?"
"Honestly, Count Sarisa... no, that guy didn't even act like a noble. How could he invite them and then pull something like that?"
The nobles buzzed as they watched the two. Meanwhile, the duke's gaze shifted from Lenia to Kyle. His first impression of Kyle was brief.
Damn, he's tall as hell.
He was used to looking down on others, but now he had to crane his neck up to meet this giant's eyes. He regarded Kyle with intrigued eyes. Yet, the man didn't have a brutish face. With that massive build, if he just slimmed down a bit, he'd probably be called handsome.
"Are you Viscount Lucas Kyle?"
The duke recalled the invitation he had sent, deducing that this hulking figure was indeed Lucas Kyle. Gathering intel on the Cligrove-Sarisa war naturally meant learning the names and traits of those who shone in battle.
"Yes, that's me."
"I've heard a lot about you. The epitome of a knight."
And personally, he held a favorable view. Sure, Cligrove had crushed his faction, but at the time, Kyle was just a minor noble.
Besides, the duke himself had once dreamed of knighthood. Kyle's tale of holding the line in enemy territory to buy time for his lord was more than enough to earn his admiration.
"You're too kind."
"I may not care for Cligrove, but I do admire knights like you. If things ever turn sour, feel free to come to me anytime."
A duke, and he's playing petty games.
Kyle cursed inwardly. Outwardly, he smiled and nodded. Praising him as the model knight, only to say 'come to me if things go bad'—what was he supposed to do with that? If he actually abandoned his lord, would that make him the duke's ideal knight?
It was a trap, plain and simple. Short-sighted fools might take the bait and run to him in tough times, only to be branded traitors and turned away at the door.
Meanwhile, the duke was pleased to see Kyle's discomfort.
Not just some brainless brute who only knows fighting.
Any notion that this mercenary-born man was a simple thug vanished from the duke's mind. As the duke's opinion of Kyle rose a notch, Lenia, who had been watching, stepped forward.
"I hope you've had your fun teasing Sir Kyle. Your Grace. No matter how exalted you are as a duke, I have no intention of handing him over."
Lenia's face and voice were as cold as the frozen northern tundra in a blizzard. The duke didn't get angry at her sharp retort; instead, he laughed heartily.
"Haha! I was just having a little fun, but it seems the lady of Cligrove is quite upset. I wouldn't want to catch a chill, so this old man will take his leave."
With those words, the duke turned away without a hint of lingering. As their conversation ended, the nobles who had watched with keen interest resumed their chatter as if nothing had happened, laughing and talking.
The party hall sprang back to life the instant the duke departed. The atmosphere flipped like donning and doffing masks. Kyle could only stand there, dumbfounded. How did the mood shift so fast?
"Speaking of the elves' movements this time..."
"How did that even happen?"
Regardless of his thoughts, the nobles had already turned their attention from Lenia and Kyle. They mingled amiably, chatting about their own interests. And then...
"His Imperial Highness the Crown Prince has arrived!"
Right on cue, the crown prince made his entrance, drawing away even the nobles who had been drifting off. Or so Kyle tried to tell himself.
"Viscount Lucas Kyle. We meet again so soon. Didn't I say we'd see each other shortly?"
If not for the man approaching now.
"Viscount Loban... I presume."
"Call me Sir Loban. I prefer that."
It was Viscount Loban. He approached with his entourage, grinning as if fulfilling his earlier promise. But it wasn't a friendly smile—his eyes burned with hostility.
"I hear you're a former mercenary."
Even as a fellow viscount, the condescension flowed naturally. Kyle merely nodded impassively. He remembered Lenia's advice: endure the first provocation.
"That's right."
"So how did you manage to get in here? Mercenaries aren't allowed inside the castle walls, are they? Haha!"
Loban's cronies laughed along, mocking Kyle. His origins were prime fodder for noble ridicule. It would follow him like a tail until his dying day.
"Haha! It must be thanks to His Majesty's mercy!"
"Lowly mercenaries are lucky just to sleep at the castle gates!"
The blatant taunts didn't anger Kyle; they barely stirred him. The bar was too low. Viscount Loban, for all his noble birth, couldn't transcend his limits. What mercenary would snap at such childish jabs? Kyle replied calmly.
"I know why you're picking on me, Sir. Count Sarisa, whom I captured, was your friend, so naturally you'd want revenge. Isn't that right?"
"......"
Loban's smile vanished, replaced by a glare. His fury carried the weight befitting a renowned swordsman, but Kyle didn't flinch.
He pondered how to rattle this viscount. And then...
"Ah, I remember Count Sarisa's end. Captured by me, he begged for his life."
Since they were close, maybe twist the knife a little. Kyle phrased it as if the count had pitifully pleaded, though in truth, he'd raged to the end before imprisonment. How would Loban know?
"Impossible! He wouldn't do that!"
Loban snapped first at Kyle's calm lie. The count he knew wouldn't beg. Yet doubt crept in. Hadn't the count forsaken noble honor? What if...
"On top of begging the lady to reduce the war reparations, he even launched a night raid... Well, it says plenty about your standards to befriend such an un-noble-like man."
Truth hurts more. Everyone knew this story, making it sting deeper. Linking the two inseparably only worsened it. Loban's face flushed at Kyle's blunt insults, unheard of in noble circles.
"You... you... damn it... that lowly blood never changes!"
"Oh? Indeed! The man who begged a lowly mercenary for his life was so very noble. Oh wait, his title was stripped, so he's not even a noble anymore. Haha! I'm just curious what state a noble who consorts with such scum is in."
"......"
Loban fell silent. He knew he couldn't win this war of words. They'd barely exchanged words, but it was clear.
Retreating now would mean admitting defeat, with all eyes on them. Instead, he shifted targets from Kyle to Lenia beside him.
"To embrace a man with no dignity... even the count's lady can't escape that blood."
His cronies' eyes wavered. Even if he'd ruined his friend, insulting the count's heir was too far. But Loban, blinded by rage, crossed the line.
"Are you insulting Cligrove right now?"
"Oh? Insulting Cligrove? But the lady isn't truly of that blood, is she?"
Lenia's blue eyes gleamed coldly. No sword drawn, but the tension screamed for a duel. The gathered nobles watched with fascination. And then—
Thwack!
Kyle's fist connected with the viscount's face. Not full force—just enough. He couldn't stand by while his liege was insulted; that would disqualify him as a knight. It looked bad to the other nobles too.
"Stop flapping your gums. If you're a man, settle it like one—with a duel. Viscount Loban."
"...A mere mercenary dares."
"If you're scared of this mercenary, back off now. But you won't run after all that talk, right?"
Loban ground his teeth. Refusing the duel branded him a coward. Winning against a newbie mercenary viscount gained no glory.
Trapped in Kyle's setup, he had no choice but to accept a duel that was break-even at best.
"What's all this commotion?"
Meanwhile, the disturbance reached the duke, who was greeting the crown prince. Frowning at the uproar in his own party,
"Viscount Lucas just challenged Viscount Loban to a duel."
"Those two?"
"I'll go mediate."
A knight offered, but the duke pondered and shook his head. He'd assumed it was some petty squabble over a woman, but these were unexpected players.
Loban, no knight but a famed swordsman among nobles, with skill surpassing many knights. His opponent, Lucas, had just piqued his interest. The duke grew intrigued by the sudden duel.
"No. I'll go myself. Is that alright, Your Highness?"