Chapter 111: In Truth, They Knew (5)
Chapter 111: In Truth, They Knew (5)
"......Is it true that you covet this seat?"
"Of course."
"Then why do you covet it?"
"Because Edoardo Desert is not a man fit for the emperor's throne."
The Duke had observed the Emperor for a very, very long time. Patiently, persistently.
And so he saw it. He could not help but see it. A child being crushed to death under the weight of the imperial crown, unable to bear it. The sight of him desperately enduring the crown's weight at the cost of his own lifespan was so vivid that the Duke could easily conclude: the man was not fit to be emperor.
How could he acknowledge as emperor a man who had to carve away at his own life simply from having that crown placed upon his head?
"He is quick to feel guilt, and quick to crumble under it. An emperor ought to look forward and advance, yet his gaze is fixed only on things past, on things lost—so how can one call him emperor?"
You see hallucinations, do you not? The Duke asked it like a whisper.
Before anything else could escape the Emperor's lips, the Duke continued.
"There is no need to deny it. I am already certain. And please—do not ask how I know, either."
"......."
"You repeatedly touch around your eyes. You frequently squeeze your eyes shut and then open them again. Your gaze goes unfocused, or fixes on empty air as if looking at something. When you so openly display your condition, I could not fail to know even if I wished not to."
Hallucinations were the corroborating proof of guilt. Stamp a document incorrectly even once, and countless lives vanished. So many lives that it would be better to go out onto the battlefield and swing a sword oneself—
He killed people. The hallucinations increased. He stamped a document. More hallucinations appeared. After confirming the casualty lists from the war, his vision turned pitch-black with phantoms brimming with malice.
"......No. That is not it."
The Emperor pressed his left hand with the thumb of his right.
The Duke's words were eloquent, but the Emperor had not claimed the throne with resolve so flimsy as to be easily shaken by that much.
Therefore, he spoke again.
"Do not artfully change the subject. I distinctly asked why you covet this seat. My being unfit for the emperor's throne does not constitute an answer."
This time, the Duke closed his mouth. The silence did not last long.
"......Does desiring power require a reason?"
"That is not incorrect, but it did not seem as though that reason was the entirety of it. Is that truly all?"
The situation had reversed. Now it was the Emperor pressing the Duke.
The Duke, who had maintained an unwavering expression even in circumstances far from pleasant, parted his lips dismissively as if about to answer immediately—then paused. He raised his gaze and looked into the Emperor's eyes. Violet pupils meeting golden irises vanished beneath eyelids that curved as if closing gently.
"Whether it is a person or an object, to protect something, one requires power mightier than anyone else's."
"......Does someone like you, Duke, also have something to protect?"
"Who can say. In any case, the emperor is the pinnacle of that power. Is it not only natural to covet it?"
Therefore, the Duke resolved once more.
Whoever the opponent might be—even if it were Edoardo himself—he would take that seat without fail.
"I more or less grasp your reason now, but you must also know this well, Duke. That I could not possibly surrender this seat over a few words like those."
"......."
"I do not understand why you go to such pointless trouble speaking pointless words. Why not simply retrieve the imperial crown from my severed head?"
"—What terrifying words you speak. I intend to have that seat lawfully transferred to me."
Though, a degree of pressure during the process would be unavoidable.
He inclined his head gracefully in a bow.
"In any case, I have clearly understood Your Majesty's intent, so I shall take my leave for today."
What could he do, when His Majesty wished to continue playing at war? There was nothing further to add or any action to take here. He would simply have to let him enjoy playing emperor a while longer.
The violet serpent folded its eyes and smiled.
* * *
There was something the Emperor had overlooked. The uncomfortable truth that Deon Hart had picked up on, that Stigma had agreed with, and that even Margrave Amiable had been unable to refute.
'The possibility of other kingdoms siding with the Demon Realm.'
'Further, the possibility of imperial nobles betraying the Emperor and aligning with the Demon Realm.'
From the very moment the Emperor declared war on the Demon Realm, the Duke had already been weighing those possibilities.
And having met the Emperor, exchanged words with him, he was now certain.
The Emperor was setting that possibility aside. Excluding it from consideration.
'His Majesty is truly so very naive.'
If he followed his heart, he would simply leave matters alone and watch the situation unfold—but he could not do that.
"'My Empire' cannot be lost so pointlessly."
Could it.
He murmured it deliberately under his breath and snapped his fingers. From somewhere in the empty space far removed from the banquet hall, a man in black clothes appeared.
"Inform Saelin. Tell her to use 'them' to spread malicious rumors about the demons."
"Exactly what kind of rumors do you mean......?"
"Anything will do. Rumors that they betray as easily as eating, that they lie as naturally as breathing—those are good. Rumors that they devour people are also good. Whether realistic or outlandish, it matters not, so long as it makes people unable to trust the demons."
Rumors that spread through the slums would soon spread among all the Empire's citizens, and rumors among the citizens would reach the nobility through their servants. Nobles' rumors would eventually reach the Emperor—and other kingdoms, keeping a wary eye on the Empire, would not possibly miss them.
If that happened, there would be no human who dared contemplate siding with the Demon Realm. This was one of the reasons he had deliberately left the Salvation Church intact.
Having received an affirmative answer from the man, the Duke smiled with satisfaction and moved his halted steps. Then he paused again.
"......Ah. One more thing."
"Please speak."
"Are there any instances of a person who possesses a Hero's Fragment losing that power, or being unable to manifest it under certain circumstances or in particular aspects?"
"To my knowledge, there are none. If you command it, I shall investigate."
"I suspect there are none, but...... still, you never know. Investigate it."
"Yes."
Whether the bowing man vanished or not, the Duke kept his own head lowered, placed a hand on his chin, and murmured.
"If that is the case...... then it is persistent self-harm."
The Duke knew that the Emperor did not wear gloves.
When had it been—during a conversation with the Emperor, he had once mentioned the bandages wrapped around his hands. The Emperor had grown guarded and changed the subject. And today, he had come wearing gloves. The answer was obvious.
[The wounds had not healed.]
Was it that they had failed to recover, or was it persistent self-harm?
The Emperor was a 'hero.' A Hero's Fragment allowed one to surpass all human limitations. When even lifespan was included in that, recovery ability could not possibly be excluded.
Thus, the answer split into two once again.
[Has the Hero's Fragment lost its power, or is it persistent self-harm?]
An emperor who had been rampaging across the battlefield until just recently could not have possibly lost his power now. The timing did not match, so this hypothesis was discarded.
Then, had the Hero's Fragment lost its power only with regard to 'recovery ability'? The Duke cut off his own train of thought right there, stopping himself from analyzing further in greater detail.
Why cling to low-probability scenarios? The most obvious answer was right here.
'Self-harm...... self-harm....... Come to think of it, he did press down on his hand at certain moments.'
To be precise, he had stood his fingertips upright and pressed down in a slow, twisting grind. It must have certainly been reopening a wound.
'What sort of moments were those?'
—When stress intensified, when his eyes lost focus, when situations likely to evoke 'the dead' arose.
......Ha.
"A tenacious man."
To think he had been enduring hallucinations through such a brutish method.
* * *
When the Emperor returned to the outdoor banquet hall, the first thing he discovered was nothing other than the knifefight breaking out on one side.
A green-haired man, blocked by a table after backpedaling, ducked his head with a troubled expression. A dagger slicing across the space above him shattered the candlestick adorning the table. Crash! A tremendous noise resounded, and stifled screams burst out from all around.
Spotting the white hair fluttering crisply at the center of this uproar, the Emperor silently raised a hand and covered his face.
"What on earth is this......."
* * *
Merely fifteen minutes prior, Stigma had been wordlessly watching Deon Hart down his glass.
With each sip of alcohol, those red eyes sank, carrying an ominous air. With the next sip, emotion drained from a face that had already lacked expression to begin with.
Having watched this entire process unfold right in front of him, Stigma laughed quietly.
'Of course. As if the man who made that outrageous request to the Emperor himself could possibly be normal.'
He'd thought the man was subtly normal—but it seemed this true nature had been hidden all along.
Though he had learned something unexpected, he did not particularly care. The reason Deon Hart had appealed to him in the first place was not because of personality but because of his action of 'destroying my family,' after all.
Even if Deon Hart were more insane than he was now, or a more normal person than he had been a moment ago, Stigma's fondness for him would likely have remained unchanged.
'If anything, it's rather unexpected that his revealed true nature is much tamer than I anticipated.'
More to the point, it was about time he started talking, yet there was no answer forthcoming.
Eventually, unable to wait any longer, Stigma called out to Deon.
"Junior?"
"I know nothing about it."
"......What?"
Clear red eyes stared directly at him. Stigma frowned slightly, unable to comprehend his attitude or his words.
He wasn't drunk—so what was this? Something felt off. Had his true nature not yet been fully revealed?
"Those words refer to what you requested during the merit-awarding proceedings after the Eight-Year War......."
"I know nothing about it."
It was an unmistakable signal: he would neither receive nor answer any questions concerning this matter, so do not ask.
"......I see. You know nothing about it."
The reason was unclear, but a sober Deon Hart was refusing to discuss this topic.
—Then, all he had to do was cloud his mind.
He gestured to a knight standing nearby and retrieved the alcohol he had left in his care.
"Won't you have a drink? I happen to have alcohol I confiscated from my subordinates."
"......Is that permissible?"
"They're my subordinates, so what problem could there be. Besides, this is a type of alcohol I personally banned."
He gestured to a passing servant, received a clean empty glass, and pressed it into his junior's hand.
Something about it being a liquor painstakingly obtained from the North. Since Stigma's assigned region was the far south, it must certainly have been difficult to obtain.
He chuckled as he casually poured the alcohol—mingled with the blood and tears of Subordinate A—into the glass. Perhaps feeling quite uneasy, Deon, who had been eyeing the glass with suspicion, casually posed a question.
"If it's a banned alcohol...... does it contain drugs or something?"
"Well, such things are also included on the banned list, but this isn't one, so don't worry. It's simply a bit strong. Surely you don't think I would feed drugs to my junior."
Strong liquor, you like it, don't you?
Stigma's eyes curved in a smile, as if tempting him. Deon, who had been staring at him blankly, examined the glass once, then downed it straight without hesitation.
......And merely having him drink that a few more times had led to this.
He tilted his head aside. A dagger whistled through the air, stabbing into the spot where his face had just been. Clearly registering this, Stigma gave an awkward laugh.
He had definitely heard a swish just now. You truly meant to kill me.
"Hmm...... Junior, wouldn't you like to stop around here? At this rate, the banquet hall will be completely wrecked."
"Youuuu...... said you were my enemyyyyy......."
"That was a lie, in truth. I am not your enemy."
"You said enemyyyyy...... you said enemyyyyyyy!"
Oh dear.
He stepped back one pace and clicked his tongue quietly.
'Had I known it would turn out like this, I wouldn't have told such a lie.'