Chapter 112: In Truth, They Knew (6)
Chapter 112: In Truth, They Knew (6)
It was nothing special. Just one of those common, trivial things that always happened at banquets—someone drinking too much and getting drunk.
At least, until the junior, completely drunk and staggering about with a sloppy smile, asked in a slurred voice whether he was an enemy.
A mischievous curiosity raised its head. Honestly, when a drunk person asks you a question like that, don't you ever feel tempted to say yes, just once? Stigma simply had exceptional follow-through.
So he answered.
[Yes, I am.]
The junior's reaction was unexpected.
He laughed. He laughed like a madman. He laughed so hard I worried he might stop breathing—then, he attacked without warning.
At first, he was a bit flustered, but in the end, it was just an attack from someone who didn't possess a Hero's Fragment, the rampage of a drunkard. Even though they were both official heroes of the Empire, as long as this gap existed, it was nearly impossible for Deon Hart to kill Stigma.
'If only he hadn't been drunk, the story would have been different.'
In any case, the situation had escalated, and this couldn't be maintained indefinitely.
He tried to resolve things as peacefully as possible, but since there was no sign of him calming down, what else could he do?
'Subdue him.'
Seeing him thrashing about like a madman with daggers in both hands, he lacked the confidence to subdue him barehanded, so he drew his sword.
He swung, intending only to deflect the daggers... but Deon Hart disappeared!
Following the afterimage, his gaze rose to see Cruel Hart holding Deon Hart in his arms a short distance away. The Emperor's voice was heard almost simultaneously.
"Do not kill him, Marquis Primiro."
***
His younger brother was born deprived of pigment. Perhaps because he was in such a hurry, he was born early. Before anyone could even be surprised by his unique skin and hair color, the family breathed a sigh of relief that he had barely avoided being premature. Even at that young age, he remembered it clearly.
Of course, they were horrified by the color of his eyes when he opened them later.
As if stealing his color wasn't enough, the heavens even took his health. Yet, as if pricked by conscience, they left him with one thing. Cruel still remembered the doctor's words from that day.
[It seems all the health that should have been evenly spread throughout his body has concentrated solely in his liver!]
Even though so much time had passed, how could he forget those words? It was the one thing the heavens, which had taken everything, did not take away.
His younger brother, Deon Hart, the only health he had left.
'... But.'
How dare you try to ruin even that, and not only that—
'Swing a sword at my brother?'
He was a child so precious that he could never bring himself to hate him. And to that child, you—
'How dare you.'
Seething with rage, he struggled to suppress it as always, but the emotion he hadn't managed to contain leaked out, causing the hand holding the child to tremble.
Quietly, Cruel tightened his arms around Deon Hart and glared at Stigma as if he would tear him apart. Naturally, Stigma could only feel wronged.
But before he could even try to explain, Deon, having lifted his head and confirmed who was holding him, spoke first.
"You... are...?"
"..."
Was he about to ask if he was an enemy?
Preparing the answer 'No' and waiting for the rest of his words, their eyes met, and Deon, seeming to flinch, moved.
"So you are an enemy!"
He didn't even ask.
Cruel hurriedly twisted his body to dodge the dagger swung at him. He avoided a fatal wound, but because he had been blatantly exposing his vital spots and had let his guard down, he couldn't prevent a gash from forming on his neck.
Not stopping there, Deon continued to swing his weapon. The persistent attacks, seeming as though they would never end as long as the opponent was alive, shifted to a new target and rained down. Stigma had long since been relegated to the background.
Finding it difficult to dodge or defend in this posture, just as he hurriedly tried to set Deon down and retreat, the Emperor moved.
"Stand back."
As soon as Cruel pulled away, the Emperor stepped in. Before he could even register that his opponent had changed, the Emperor slid his hand blade along the side of the dagger aimed at Cruel, pressing it down, and slipped down to grab his wrist, subduing him.
Belatedly recognizing the new figure, Deon tilted his head.
"You... are you an enemy?"
"Deon Hart."
"Are you an enemy?"
"Snap out of it."
"Enemy?"
"..."
"... So you are an enemy."
At the last word, just as he felt something hair-raising, the wrist he was holding suddenly went heavy with a 'pop-' sound. Feeling an unpleasant vibration beneath his grip, the Emperor quickly let go.
As if waiting for the moment his gaze fell on the wrist, the other hand gripped a dagger and swung it up vertically. The Emperor tilted his head back to barely dodge it and let out a hollow laugh.
'... He dislocated his wrist by putting his weight into it.'
Judging that it would be difficult to pull his caught wrist free with pure strength, he used it as bait.
If he had a Hero's Fragment, he could easily support the weight of a person, so he was certain that no matter how much weight he put on it, the Emperor's grip would not lose his wrist or be dragged down, and using that, he dislocated his wrist.
Since the Emperor's objective was to subdue Deon Hart without injuring him, he naturally expected him to let go of his wrist, and without missing the opening created by his fluster, he attacked.
Since it was an action born from intoxication, it was safe to assume the calculation was made unconsciously.
'Even after determining that they were enemies, he still calculated how the opponent would treat him.'
Who could be certain that an enemy wouldn't harm them? In the end, his unconscious was convinced that his opponent was not an enemy.
How audacious. Using his conscious and unconscious as he pleased.
'Anyway, now that even his wrist was in that state, I can't waste any more time.'
This time, by using his full strength, he succeeded in pinning the thrashing Deon Hart onto the table and subduing him without much damage.
Pressing down on his good hand and his back with his knee, the Emperor took hold of the dislocated wrist dangling loosely. Even in his drunken state, he clearly felt the pain, as the body beneath him flinched.
Of course it hurt. Who told him to do something like that? Ignoring the reaction to the pain, the Emperor gently rotated the held wrist to gauge its position and called his name again.
"Deon Hart."
"... Urgh..."
"─Now it's time to come back to reality."
Snap. He set the bone back into place in one motion.
"!"
Deon's mouth opened as if to let out a scream. But no sound came out.
Watching him quietly, the Emperor removed his knee that had been pinning him down and spat out a single word.
"Breathe."
"─Haah!"
A ragged breath burst out. Coughing intermittently and gasping for breath, he slowly blinked, then sluggishly raised his body. His red eyes, somewhat clearer than before, met the golden eyes that had been quietly watching him.
"Are you coming to your senses?"
"Your Majesty..."
"Yes."
"I... want to resign..."
"You're not fully sober yet."
It should have been about time for the alcohol to wear off. Seeing how he had made such calculations unconsciously, he was likely already sobering up.
Deon Hart was strong against alcohol, so he also sobered up quickly.
"Pull yourself together. This is not a battlefield."
"Ah..."
"Someone bring cold water."
The first to react to those words was Cruel.
Even if what had already happened couldn't be helped, nothing more should occur that might cause Deon Hart to be shaken by Cruel Hart's actions. The Emperor snatched the cup of water from Cruel's hand as he tried to approach Deon.
... Come to think of it, Cruel Hart was the Duke's man.
His eyes met those of the Duke, who had entered at some point and was watching this side with a face full of interest. The Emperor's face crumpled.
"... Tch."
Without immediately handing over the cup, he took a sip first, then offered it to Deon. Watching him accept it meekly and sip, he called a man without turning his head.
"Stigma Primiro."
"... Yes, Your Majesty."
"I did not place any alcohol in the banquet hall strong enough to intoxicate Count Hart. Explain what happened."
"There was alcohol confiscated from my subordinates. Due to the nature of my territory's location, I have to kill many people, so occasionally there are weaklings who try to rely on alcohol and drugs."
"..."
For a moment, Deon, who had been drinking water, tightened his grip on the cup. The only person who noticed was the Emperor.
It was fortunate that he had at least sobered up; otherwise, Stigma would have become the target of that attack again.
Interpreting the Emperor's silence as something, Stigma bowed his head.
"My apologies."
"Enough."
The incident had already occurred and had been resolved; there was no need to escalate it further. Especially if the causes of the incident were figures the Emperor cherished.
In truth, that wasn't why he fell silent, but...
How a commander handles his troops is his own prerogative. The Emperor had no intention of commenting on that either, so he called Deon Hart instead.
"Are you more awake now?"
***
"Are you more awake now?"
Yes, very much.
'I planned to erase all memory of what happened a moment ago, and I wish everyone else would conveniently forget along with me.'
"Count Hart?"
"... I'm sorry."
'But of course, that wouldn't happen.'
I didn't remember exactly what had happened. My wrist throbbed and I kept feeling like a coughing fit would break out, but I didn't remember what had happened.
'The banquet hall is half-destroyed, but that probably has nothing to do with me.'
'Yeah, that's gotta be it.'
There were scenes floating up in the foggy, hazy memories, but I had a strong feeling I'd regret it, so I didn't bother to concentrate on recalling them.
I carefully gauged the Emperor's mood and took a sip of water. Then my eyes met Cruel's.
"Kuk, urp, cough cough! Keck! Blargh!"
"... Imperial physician!"
It was just a cough from choking, so why the imperial physician... Ah.
My stomach ached. My throat burned with pain. But this kind of pain, as always, was quickly pushed beyond my range of awareness.
I stared blankly at the blood on my palm, then wiped it off on my clothes. I couldn't have been more grateful that it was red, so it didn't show well. The clothes the Emperor had given me today were serving their purpose nicely.
Stigma, who had been standing still all along, cautiously spoke up.
"Is this... some sort of poison?"
"No, it's not poison. At least the water cup isn't. I checked it myself."
Now he's finally ruling out the assumption of poison. Every time something happens, he always shouts, 'Is it poison?!'
'My guess is it's just from stress and everything piling up. Honestly, it's to be expected. I went through a lot today.'
'Besides, even though I don't remember, my body aches all over, so I must have taken a hit.'
The imperial physician came running over in a huff. This time, I didn't say I was fine. Because I wasn't.
I abruptly held out my wrist to the imperial physician.
"My wrist hurts."
"What?"
"I'd like you to look at my wrist."
"But blood is flowing from your mouth..."
"It seems the effects of the alcohol still remain. Ignore it and treat him."
'Is he a king or what?! I said my wrist hurts!'
But no matter how much I made a dissatisfied face, the Emperor's orders took priority. The imperial physician ignored the wrist I offered, collected the remaining blood in my mouth, dropped it onto various sticks, and then began pressing various spots on my stomach.
"Please tell me if there's anywhere that hurts."
"..."
'There isn't any, you bastard. It wasn't like that in the first place...'
"Ugh!"
"Is it here?"
"Heok, wait...!"
'Yes, yes it is! It is, so stop pressing! It hurts!'
I hastily grabbed the imperial physician's wrist and gave him a desperate look to stop. Fortunately, it seemed to get through, as he flinched and quietly removed his hand.
After finally checking the color change of the stick, the imperial physician, as if done, inched away from me and bowed to the Emperor.
"Fortunately, it is not poison, but the abdomen was strongly pressed by something, causing a bruise. Under normal circumstances, it wouldn't be enough to cause vomiting blood, but..."
"If it's the Demon King's Curse, it would be possible."
The Emperor's gaze reached me. Not my face, but a little lower, off to the side.
Following his gaze, I groped around my neck, and my hand touched the spot of the tracking mark the Demon King must have inscribed.
'No, wait. That it's visible and can be felt means...'