Chapter 4
Chapter 4
The Nucal Alliance Works Even on Nobles
Until just a moment ago, I had been facing the pink-haired young lady.
Her candy-colored hair, her absurdly honest way of speaking, and that aura as if she belonged in an entirely different genre from this noble banquet—she was pure romance fantasy material.
But the humans now before me were no such thing.
Here, the scent of flowers had been replaced with the stench of tobacco.
Their skin had dried with age, and their eyes were clouded from seeing too much filth.
All of them were high-ranking nobles, heads of powerful houses.
The only ones who could still be called young in the room were me and 1st Prince Manuel.
The air had felt somewhat bright a moment ago, but as soon as I stepped here, it became suffocating.
If they were corpses, it would be meaningless. But these humans were alive.
Alive, and therefore heavier.
A noble family may seem to pass down its legacy gracefully on the surface, but look inside, and parents, siblings, everyone could be an enemy. By this point, it’s fair to call them seasoned veterans of political intrigue.
So I spoke curtly to a count who was about to light his cigarette.
“Count, smoke when I’m not around.”
“Huh…?”
The count’s fingers froze.
The gazes of the surrounding nobles simultaneously shifted toward me.
Nobles usually address each other politely. It preserves the dignity of both sides, and raises the perceived value of one’s own bloodline. Even if relations are poor, this etiquette is maintained. I, of course, am a madman who ignores such rules.
When I spoke shortly and rudely to a count of high rank, his expression immediately stiffened.
Before he could show any sign of offense, I lightly raised my sword.
Actions speak louder than words.
“Wh-what do you mean by that?”
“If you don’t understand words, I can show you through action. Count, put out the cigarette.”
His fingers trembled at my words.
He ultimately couldn’t light it.
Other nobles, who had been fidgeting to pull cigarettes from their pockets, silently put them back.
A wise decision.
Officially, I’m still a madman.
I no longer beat servants or smash palace furniture as often as before, but a person who duels armored knights with almost bare hands cannot seem sane.
Knights are the pinnacle of martial power in this era. Anyone who dares to meet them in combat unarmored must be either a lunatic or a masochist.
As a result, my reputation hadn’t diminished one bit.
And now, that reputation was quite useful.
The bodyguards remained at their posts, but no one intervened.
Why?
Because weapons are officially banned in the banquet hall.
The host, Manuel, is responsible for security, not the guests. If someone didn’t trust him, they could bring their own weapons, but everyone here supported Manuel. If they came to support him but brought swords due to distrust, it would be a massive contradiction.
So no one intervened.
Except me, of course.
Because I’m royalty like Manuel.
More accurately, I’m royalty, but a madman, so people half-expect the chaos.
Moreover, my sword skills were already known from dueling knights.
Before the bodyguards could rush in empty-handed, no one could guarantee how many I might cut down.
Nobles cherish their own lives and take others’ lives lightly.
Such people would never risk their necks. The polite nobles had already perished in the power struggles for family leadership. Those remaining knew to prioritize self-preservation over etiquette.
I slowly swept my gaze across them and added,
“And I am a guest. I’d appreciate proper treatment.”
The nobles’ expressions immediately turned icy.
Surely, they all thought the same:
‘Does this look like the attitude of someone asking for hospitality?’
Fair point.
But no one spoke. My sword was still alive in my hand.
More importantly, I didn’t want to stay in this old, stale air any longer.
So I got straight to the point.
“Anyway, there won’t be many days left for us to be entangled. Better to end things amicably, right? Brother, you think so too, don’t you?”
“...Yes. I would like it to end without conflict.”
Manuel answered quietly.
He always was like that.
Soft and composed on the outside, with the face of a golden-haired, blue-eyed model student.
I, on the other hand, was black-haired, black-eyed, with eyes sharp as blades. My father had golden hair and blue eyes, my mother black hair and black eyes—so we split the colors evenly.
The problem was that the contrast made me look particularly villainous.
Which wasn’t entirely inaccurate, considering the amount of madness I had actually committed.
As a child, Manuel and I were close.
He wasn’t the type to bully his younger brother—at least at first.
The problem came afterward.
After the assassination incident, Manuel didn’t properly purge his political supporters.
There was evidence that the Emperor and Manuel gained political advantage from that incident. But as a child, none of that mattered.
What mattered was simply that those who tried to kill me weren’t caught.
That alone was enough.
Manuel gained even more political authority and support after the incident, bolstered by his status as 1st Prince. I, in contrast, had fallen out of the power struggle and became a prince the nobles could gradually ignore.
And I accepted that.
“My brother is not on my side.”
“Even my family won’t protect me.”
Enough reason for a child to become twisted.
Perhaps that’s why Manuel even now couldn’t strongly restrain me when I held a sword.
Because of guilt.
I looked at the nobles and threw the words bluntly:
“I’ve said it with my own mouth, that should be enough, right? Everyone, move quickly.”
“...Ahem.”
“Your Highness, then we shall take our leave.”
“Yes. I have matters to discuss with my brother alone, so you may leave first.”
The nobles hesitated, glancing between my sword and Manuel.
They feared I might cut my brother’s throat on the spot.
Even as a madman, I wouldn’t do such a thing—but if they didn’t believe me, I had to show them.
So I handed the sword to the count I had threatened earlier.
“This...?”
“Keep it. You were worried about my brother, right?”
The count’s expression twisted subtly.
Should he be pleased to be entrusted with a prince’s safety, or angry at having been saddled with a role like a servant guarding a sword? He couldn’t decide.
Encouraged by the surrounding nobles, he reluctantly followed out.
“Wait by the door.”
Bang!
The door slammed roughly.
He had reason to be upset. It would be strange if he weren’t—he’d been treated like a servant despite his rank.
But I had gained something.
‘That count probably isn’t involved in the assassination.’
If he truly were, he would have concealed his emotions, enduring the insult without flinching.
But this count showed it too clearly.
His face plainly expressed indignation at being humiliated.
Meaning he was more likely taking the fallout for someone else’s factional misdeed.
Someone like that, once time passes, will quietly investigate who caused the trouble. Even if Manuel dislikes internal strife, and can’t act openly, he might move in secret.
Later, a small nudge could yield useful evidence.
With the door closed, only Manuel and I remained.
A brief silence passed.
Manuel spoke first.
“I wish you wouldn’t get too angry with them.”
I immediately countered.
“Then whose fault is it?”
His mouth hardened for a moment.
“...Mine. I’m sorry.”
An apology.
I had heard it before, and now again.
But apologies gain sincerity only when followed by action.
Even if a ruler is poor at governance, if they sprinkle support money, the people will welcome it. Why? Because it at least gives the impression of action, whether the country flourishes or not.
If Manuel had even made a show of reprimanding his own nobles, I wouldn’t have become this twisted.
But he was always the same.
Apologize. Make a sorry face. No action.
That annoyed me the most.
I had heard enough apologies.
Now what was needed was action.
Of course, based on what I’ve seen, I doubted Manuel would act on my behalf.
I looked at him with tired eyes and asked:
“So, what is it you wish to discuss with me alone?”
Manuel hesitated.
Then quietly spoke.
“Father wants you to marry.”
“...Excuse me?”