Chapter 142: Plaudite! (1)
Chapter 142: Plaudite! (1)
It was the first time something like this had happened.
The Duke and Cruel had a subtle relationship. Cruel voluntarily served as the Duke's subordinate, but the Duke also respected Cruel—an ambiguous, tilted relationship that was neither vertical nor horizontal.
Because of this, the Duke addressed Cruel with the honorific 'Sir', treating him differently from his other subordinates, and the one time he had made Cruel kneel was the first and only time, back when he was suspicious of him.
The Duke, who had been looking down at Cruel with his head pressed to the floor, rose from his chair.
Step, step. The distance was close from the start, so he reached Cruel in just two strides and lifted his shoe, placing it atop the hand resting on the floor.
"What to do with you, Sir."
He shifted his weight onto the foot resting on the hand.
"Originally, I am not a man who gives second chances to spies or traitors of this sort."
"......."
"You kicked away the chance I so generously gave you."
The Duke was certain now.
"Receiving the Hart territory as a reward for the Salvation Church incident was also for the sake of Deon Hart, who was refusing it, wasn't it?"
Crunch. Crack.
A gruesome sound, as if the hand was being strained, rang out, and a crushing pain was felt.
Even so, Cruel kept his eyes silently fixed on the floor without stirring. The Duke, who had been watching Cruel's tenacity with a certain look in his eyes, withdrew his foot as if something had just occurred to him.
"You are right-handed, Sir."
"......."
"I nearly made a grave mistake. I almost ruined the right hand of a right-handed swordsman."
He moved his foot to the left hand.
Crunch. When he deliberately put his weight into it and ground his foot down, the sound of bone, seemingly snapped at last, echoed through the room.
There was no scream or groan.
"Far from killing Deon Hart, you tried to protect him...."
"......."
"I have evidence now, so normally I would have you killed or maimed to a similar degree and cast out, but what can I do? I am fond of you, Sir."
I suppose I must give you one more chance.
He pressed down hard on Cruel's hand one last time, then lifted his foot and knelt before him. Resting one hand on Cruel's shoulder, he bowed his head and whispered into his ear.
"Kill Deon Hart."
"!"
The body that hadn't flinched even when his hand was crushed now trembled sharply.
The Duke ignored it and continued speaking.
"With your own hands, bring me that bastard's head. This is the final chance I am giving you, Sir."
I will have eyes on you, so don't even think about trying anything foolish.
* * *
Only after the Duke left and he was alone did Cruel raise his body. The crushed hand had already swollen, covered in shades of purple, blue, and red.
Without paying it any mind, he cleared the chessboard on the table and brought out a different one.
A chessboard given as a gift long ago out of pity for a child confined to the mansion. It was a chessboard worn and weathered from being played together until they were sick of it, but Cruel hadn't forgotten to pack it when he left the mansion where the massacre had taken place.
'He told me to kill Deon, that child, with my own hands.'
Click.
The pieces began to move across the old chessboard.
The Duke had personally called it a final chance. If he failed or showed any suspicious signs, he would surely be killed. Though all of the Empire's official heroes were fundamentally under the Emperor's protection, it was unclear whether the Emperor would bother to protect a hero serving under the Duke, an opposition figure.
'......Is the time finally approaching?'
The old sorcerer had said it.
If it truly seems like you're going to die, kill that child Deon, and then die yourself.
He replayed the chess game they had played before leaving for the hunting competition, then cleared the pieces and began setting them up again.
A chaotic, messy chess strategy where one pawn was sent to the very end of the enemy's camp at all costs and converted into a queen.
Having fulfilled his role, Cruel picked up a chess piece that rolled off the board.
'Acta est fabula, was it?'
Long ago, when he had been learning the liberal arts as the eldest son and heir of a noble family, he muttered a passage he had stumbled upon in a book and let out a dry chuckle.
'There is no need for applause.'
It had been a play with no audience from the start, after all.
It would only be right for the curtain to fall quietly, with no one the wiser.
* * *
"We will be carrying out the coup."
"......In this current situation, you mean?"
"Yes."
He had wondered what was going on when he heard about the unexpected visitor right after returning to the mansion. The Duke quietly pressed a hand to his forehead as he looked at the resolute face of the Revolutionary Army leader.
"I believe I told you that the timing was not good."
"We've waited too long. There's a limit to how much we can quell the discontent within the Revolutionary Army."
"Haven't you managed well enough so far? If you could just hold on a little longer...."
"A little... longer?"
The Duke hesitated momentarily at the mocking tone. It wasn't an illusion; Daniel was letting out a hollow laugh.
But only for a moment. His laughter stopped abruptly, and he slammed his hand down on the table.
"The end of a war cannot be easily gauged! How can we guarantee when it will end and wait based on that? Moreover, the demons' lifespans are longer than humans'!"
"......."
"If this continues, the coup might become impossible within our generation."
"If we entrust it to the next generation...."
"Emotions are not passed down through generations!"
He appeared to be considerably agitated.
Given that he was mocking, interrupting... acting in ways one shouldn't toward the Duke.
But his opponent was the leader of the Revolutionary Army. A man who could jump any direction, and thus had to be kept on a tight leash, coaxed, and placated. The Duke remained silent and focused on the statement that emotions couldn't be handed down.
"The vast majority of the Revolutionary Army are people gathered out of rage! Even knowledge is often cut off generationally, so how could emotions, which can't even be put into writing, possibly be passed on? The next generation? It might be possible right away. But it won't be to the same degree as now. Then what about the generation after that? After just three generations, people always forget the past! The Revolutionary Army will disintegrate. I would rather attempt it boldly and accept collapse if it comes, than see the people and plans we struggled to gather fizzle out—I don't want to see that even after I'm dead!"
Looking at that state, placating him wasn't going to work.
"......Are you truly determined to move?"
"Yes. Since we don't know when the war will end, I think it would be better to carry out the coup in the early stages, before things get worse. This is simply a thank you for the help you've given us and a notice given out of the goodwill we've built up, so you don't have to help us, Your Grace."
"No, I will help you."
"......Pardon?"
In that case, he would have to kill him.
He couldn't guarantee how a headless Revolutionary Army would react, but the man who was supposed to be holding the reins was trying to run wild at the very front, so what choice was there?
"It's not that I don't understand how you feel, and I feel somewhat guilty for constantly telling you to wait and holding you back. I'll help."
Impatience narrows one's vision.
And a narrowed vision turns even a genius into a fool.
The Revolutionary Army was finished now.
* * *
The leader of the Revolutionary Army was no fool.
Although his words and actions from a moment ago had certainly been foolish.
Daniel, his expression calm as if his earlier agitation had never happened, walked slowly down the corridor until he arrived at a familiar door. He knocked, as always, and asked for permission.
"Mother, it's Daniel."
"Come in."
He had tried to keep his expression as usual, but a mother's intuition couldn't be avoided.
As her gentle smile of greeting froze the moment their eyes met, he smiled as softly as possible toward his mother and spoke.
"I know this is rude, but I've come to ask for the gift I gave you last time."
* * *
When I was in the Empire, I was loyal to the Empire. When I'm in the Demon Realm, I'm loyal to the Demon Realm.
Maybe that was why, aside from the Emperor, the Demon King, and a select few, no one knew my true identity.
Why am I suddenly saying this?
"Fucking hell, stop following me!"
It meant I was the number one priority target that both sides aimed to take out first.
When I was in the Empire, I was the number one hunting target for the demon commanders. When I was in the Demon Realm, I was the number one hunting target for the Imperial commanders!
Wow, I'm not happy at all! Damn it!
"Get lost!"
Right now, I was leading the mad dogs and running away from the demons.
I shouldn't have given them an opening in the last battle. I never imagined that letting the demons go because of my injury would come back to bite me this hard. I should've just dodged back then.
'......But why did I just take that hit? I'm pretty sure I could have dodged it.'
I tilted my head, then put strength into my legs, which were threatening to give out due to the mad dogs' urging.
For once, even if I cursed as much as I wanted, it wouldn't be followed by the words 'old speech habit' from Stigma. Because he'd stayed behind in that living hell to buy us time.
So, to summarize the events so far: we'd fallen into a trap.
We'd chased after the retreating demons to carry out the 'extermination' order, but that had been a trap. Our retreat path was thoroughly blocked, and I could feel the demons' momentum—they were heavily laden with long-held grudges and dead set on exterminating us in turn.
[Sh...hit!]
[Junior, your speech habit.]
[I didn't even finish the word yet...!]
[If I hadn't stopped you, you would have finished it. Well now, Junior. My knights and I will hold off the ones pushing in from this side, so you run along. I'm sure you can manage to break through a retreat path on your own, right?]
As I rubbed my stinging mouth, Stigma smiled and drew his sword.
A retreat path? I'd break through even if it killed me. If I couldn't break through, I'd die... no, unless I stayed behind?! Startled, I grabbed his sleeve.
[Then what about you, Senior...!]
[Oh my, did I look so weak that I'd actually make you worry?]
[......Still, be careful.]
Somehow, I'd ended up growing attached to him.
He'd tormented me about noble dignity and speech habits, but I knew it was advice and counsel that considered me in his own way. It was too helpful to dismiss as the nonsense of an old-timer trying to act like a senior.
Stigma's eyes went round as if surprised, and then he smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners.
[Yeah. See you later.]
With that, I turned around and moved to lead the Murderer Knight Order to break through the retreat path...
"Why are you only chasing me?!"
"Stop right there!"
"Damn it!"
How can I not curse in this situation?!
Of course, I was focusing on running away while Lady Rien and the mad dogs took the lead in breaking through, but it was still unavoidable—my already insufficient stamina was getting chipped away at a terrifying rate.
Where the hell had all the hero candidates gone? They'd scattered everywhere, so there was no way of knowing.
How long had we been fighting and fleeing mindlessly like this? At some point, the guys following behind us disappeared.
Seeing as no one was blocking the path ahead either, it seemed we'd escaped properly...
"Where... is this?"
"Heok... He-eok... Don't... knoww......."
"Hu-ah... Where could it beee......."
"If you don't know, then shut your mouth for a second! My apologies, my lord. I don't know either."
Right, I'm the idiot for asking these guys.
I looked around, realized this was some kind of junction, and shuddered. It was a reflexive gag response triggered by the trap we'd fallen into at a junction just a moment ago.
"Marquis, are you cold?"
"Hey, someone take off a coat."
"Shut up... Don't hand me clothes soaked in blood......."
I'll kill you all.......
I lifted my eyes with a fierce glare, laced with irritation, then froze at a sound that caught my ear.
"......Don't you hear something?"
"Pardon? Hear wha...."
"Shh, lower your voice...."
"Who goes there!"
"...No need. Attack!"
"My lord?! That's too sudden...."
"Waaaaah!"
To think they'd formed an encirclement all the way out here!
I examined the one standing at the very front, then looked behind him. The road curved slightly so it was hard to see all the way, but at a glance, that guy in the lead seemed to be the commander.
'......If that's the case, if I just take him out, things will somehow work out.'
It somehow seemed like this situation was flustering him, but that was probably my imagination. Even if it wasn't, nothing changed as long as they were demons and we were humans.
I twirled a dagger. Out of habit, I folded and unfolded my thumb, sweeping the hilt as I settled into a stance.
From somewhere, I vaguely heard Cleter shouting.
"Millan! Take care of the Marquis!"
"Take care of the Marquis!"
* * *
Deon Hart had severed the demons' supply route.
Even while fleeing after falling into the enemy's trap, he had persisted, found the supply route, and cut it off.
Due to the strain he'd put on his body in the process, he had to be carried back on the backs of the Murderer Knights, but the Empire welcomed the hero who brought good news back with him and assigned him a skilled physician for a swift recovery.
"I begged you so please just stay healthy... it's not even a difficult favor, so why......."
A rumor briefly circulated about a desolate weeping sound heard somewhere, accompanied by muttering about an herbal tonic with doubled effects, but it quickly died down with the news of the hero.
Stigma Primiro, who had slaughtered his foes and returned alive safely, burst out laughing when he heard the news.
"As expected of my junior. But......."
"......."
"Where is the protagonist of those rumors now?"
"W-well, that is......."
"I was clearly told he was here."
The room he'd been guided to, supposedly where Deon Hart was staying, was empty.