Chapter 32
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 32
Chapter Title: Candidate
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One of the highest-ranking women in the Empire.
And the person who had tried to kill me.
She now stood before me.
Up close, her wrinkles seemed even deeper. But her eyes were as sharp as a young viper's, sizing up where to strike for a fatal blow.
"It's been a while."
Her voice was leisurely.
The tone of an adult addressing a child. Like a grandmother looking at her cute grandson. At least on the surface.
I bowed at the waist.
Politely. Impeccably.
"It's an honor to meet you, Duchess Clara."
I raised my head.
And added,
"Thank you for the sandwich last time."
Silence descended.
I could feel Lize's breathing stop beside me. A flinch. Sir Heinrich's expression also stiffened.
The sandwich.
The poisoned sandwich.
The one that had killed five sparrows on the spot.
Of course, there was no evidence. No proof anywhere that Duchess Clara had personally poisoned it.
But we both knew.
That I knew.
And that she knew I knew.
Our gazes crossed.
It was brief. A mere blink. But in that instant, countless things passed between us.
Duchess Clara's lips curved up ever so slightly.
"Ho."
A sound that could have been admiration or mockery.
At that moment, I felt a gaze on me.
It was Father.
He was looking back and forth between me and Duchess Clara. His expression remained impassive.
But there was something in his eyes.
Interest.
The eyes of someone who had found an entertaining spectacle.
And most importantly, Father said nothing.
He didn't stop me.
He didn't scold his son for sniping at the Emperor's aunt.
Tacit approval.
Or maybe he was just too lazy to intervene. Either way, it didn't matter. The result was the same.
Duchess Clara spoke again.
"Such a bold child. That's why I recommended you as a match for that girl."
That girl.
The princess born to the Empress.
Her tone was like she was bestowing a gift.
But I knew better.
It wasn't a gift.
It was a shackle.
If the marriage talks went through, I'd become part of the Imperial family. A consort. The princess's husband. The Emperor's son-in-law.
It sounded plausible, but in reality, it meant living under the Imperial family's watchful eye.
And a marriage arranged by the woman who had tried to kill me.
Who knew what would happen on the wedding night.
A life spent anxiously checking if poison lurked in the food my wife prepared.
Testing every meal with a silver spoon, triple-checking the doors before bed, inspecting the bath for hidden assassins.
I'd rather die than live like that.
"Your words are too kind."
I bowed my head.
Duchess Clara let out a smirk.
Whether it was satisfaction or scorn, I couldn't tell.
"We'll discuss the marriage talks in the Imperial Capital."
The Imperial Capital.
She was telling me to come to the capital?
Come to think of it, I'd have to go there anyway once I enrolled in the Royal Academy. I'd won the chess bet against Duke Sylvesta, so admission was confirmed.
My plan had been to join the history department and live quietly doing research.
And that Royal Academy was in the Imperial Capital.
I might have to revise my life plans.
The Krushtein Academy was plenty good enough.
It had a short history, but a rich collection of books, and above all, it was close to home.
Did I really need to go all the way to the capital?
Did I really need to live right under that viper's nose?
Even Ernst, who was more than qualified for the Royal Academy, had chosen Krushtein Academy.
Ah...
There'd be plenty of Ernst's cronies crawling around there too, in their own way.
The capital had Clara. The duchy had Ernst.
Ha... damn it.
Fortunately, the conversation with Duchess Clara ended there.
She turned her gaze away from me and slowly walked toward the prisoners.
The Kuman tribesmen bound in a line. She strolled slowly among them, inspecting something. Like picking out goods at a market.
"What do you think she's looking at?"
Lize asked softly.
"Who knows."
I had no idea either.
"Maybe it's because of the ice dragon? Earlier, Kurluk was talking about it when he got cut off."
"No way. That old hag made it clear she has zero interest in dragons or anything like that."
"Then what?"
"Dunno."
I really didn't.
Duchess Clara was only interested in the Imperial family's well-being. She wouldn't care about northern barbarians. Unless they posed a massive threat to the Imperium, which they absolutely didn't.
Was there something there?
Or was it just the whimsy of an old woman?
Either way, it didn't matter.
What mattered was that her attention was off me.
For now.
At that moment, I heard the familiar clank of armor.
I turned to see Sir Heinrich.
"Young master. His Grace the Duke is waiting for you in the drawing room."
He was right there, but instead of calling me himself, he sent a knight.
Classic Father.
I nodded to Sir Heinrich and started walking.
Lize followed.
"He's definitely going to praise you."
"...What?"
"You did amazing this time. You captured a thousand prisoners. And our side barely took any losses."
Lize's voice was bright.
Her eyes full of genuine belief.
I swallowed a sigh.
"That's what's scariest."
**
Drawing room.
Father spoke first.
"Ernst refused to send reinforcements, I hear."
Straight to the point.
Less a question, more a confirmation. Like he already knew.
"Yes."
"How many requests did you make?"
"Three."
"On what grounds?"
"That troops were needed to suppress the southern rebellion. That defending the duchy came first."
Father snorted.
"And?"
"We handled it ourselves. Just as I reported earlier."
"You handled it alone, without any reinforcements? Subdued a cavalry-heavy enemy with infantry, with almost no losses?"
"Yes."
Father's eyes scanned me.
Impassive eyes. But beneath them, something lurked. Appraising eyes. Eyes putting a price on me.
"Quite impressive."
Praise?
Praise from Father? It felt awkward.
"Most who yap about strategy are just full of hot air. Even if they luck into merit once, it never happens twice. But you... you repeated it."
Orc subjugation.
Two counts taken down.
And the Kuman tribe.
Three times.
Won all three.
"I was lucky too."
Humility. The safest answer.
But.
"Luck doesn't repeat."
Father cut it off sharply.
A short reply, but heavy with weight. A tone that brooked no argument.
He was right.
Luck doesn't repeat.
A 1-in-100 chance can hit once. In life, you see 1-in-100 crits making things go right or wrong more often than you'd think.
But...
Twice? Rare.
Rough math: 1 in 10,000.
Three times?
1 in a million.
"Three repeats makes it clear. Your ability is real."
Ability.
My ability.
500 orcs.
Lize had scouted the canyon terrain. Lize had suggested adapting the envelopment strategy.
I just told her Three Kingdoms stories; she applied them to the battlefield.
The two counts.
Lize's nose and brain had sniffed out the treason evidence.
Kuman tribe.
Dispersal tactics? Lize. Bait operation? Lize.
Spotting the tribal alliance's fractures, reading the psychology of the starving—all Lize.
Ah, I did handle the meat porridge promotion a bit.
It was my idea to have Kurluk yell that "the rice comes out great." Surprisingly effective.
But that was it.
Honestly, I'd just rubber-stamped Lize's plans.
Of course, I couldn't say that to Father.
'Actually, my maid planned it all.'
Ridiculous.
A ten-year-old bastard planning strategies was already a stretch. His maid doing it? Forget it.
There's a limit to teasing Father.
"Thank you."
So I just accepted it.
Praise or misunderstanding.
Result's the same anyway.
"Right. Reward and punishment according to merit. You've earned a reward."
A reward.
Honestly, what I needed most right now was security. Duchess Clara's assassination attempt. Ernst refusing aid. Blades coming from all sides.
If it was a reward, I'd take it in that form.
"What reward?"
"Guess."
Father's lips curved slightly.
Playfulness.
A rare expression. This man giving riddles?
"More escorts?"
Like sister Celine. A catfolk half-breed assassin. One more like that, and I'd sleep better at night.
"Too small."
Gruff reply.
"Then... a fief?"
"Small."
"Gold coins?"
"Even smaller."
Father snorted.
I furrowed my brow.
Bigger than escorts, bigger than a fief, bigger than gold?
What the hell was he planning to give?
"A hint."
Father said.
"It doubles as punishment for Ernst."
Punishment for Ernst.
Refusing reinforcements. Trying to get me killed. Siding with Duchess Clara.
A reward that served as punishment for that.
No way.
My mind raced.
Father had never officially named an heir.
Not even a candidate.
Ernst was called 'Little Duke.'
Eldest legitimate son. Obvious heir. Everyone thought so.
But it wasn't official.
Just tacit agreement. Custom. Atmosphere.
That's why bastard brats like those at the bastard assembly could run wild. Nothing set in stone, so they built factions, eyed opportunities.
"...Officially naming me and brother Ernst as equal heir candidates?"
"Correct."