Chapter 34: The Emperor's Strongest Sword (1)
Chapter 34: The Emperor's Strongest Sword (1)
But by then, he had already heard everything.
In the suffocating silence, a languid voice continued.
"Right... Come to think of it, you said you became a hero...."
"...."
"Ha, hahaha! Ahahahahahaha!!"
What kind of luck was this? Laughter escaped him.
When the Demon King had told him to go to the boundary line, informing him that a new hero had appeared, Deon recalled what the Demon King had said.
[As you know, heroes and the demon race don't get along well, do they?]
"...."
The laughter stopped abruptly.
"My dear older brother."
"...."
"You've even managed to get your hands on a Hero's Fragment, it seems."
He strode into the room.
Faced with his status, His Majesty's orders, and the overwhelming pressure he exuded, the doorkeeper could not even think of stopping him and could only stare blankly.
And the doorkeeper's eyes met those of the knights of the Murderer Knight Order, who had been whispering among themselves about what they should do now.
"...."
"...."
An awkward silence flowed.
* * *
Step.
With every step, red footprints were stamped onto the pristine palace corridor. As if to decorate them, droplets of blood scattered messily around.
The soldier guarding the banquet hall door flinched at the appearance of a figure who could not possibly be normal and nearly leveled his spear, but upon realizing who it was, hastily backed away.
Deon Hart, Honorary Count.
Why was he in such a state, and of all days, on the day of the banquet?
Before long, he stopped in front of the door, wiped the red liquid that kept obstructing his vision, and spoke in a dispassionate voice.
"Open the door."
"..."
Could they really open it?
The hesitation was short, but Count Hart did not even wait that long.
Striding up to the door, he pushed the great doors open with both hands.
The doors opened, and the soldiers who watched Deon Hart enter without a shred of hesitation soon noticed the red handprints left on the door and stared at them with dazed expressions.
"Am I... dreaming...?"
"I understand wanting to escape reality, but this is reality, my friend..."
"...He really is as terrifying as the rumors say. But why does he look so displeased?"
"Think about who the guest of honor at this banquet is."
"Ah."
Cruel Hart.
Inside, Deon paused for a moment and looked around.
The banquet hall was still peaceful, as if no one had noticed his entry. No, hearing the sound of someone drawing a sharp breath nearby, it seemed one or two had noticed.
He paid it no mind.
These were people he would likely never exchange a single word with in his entire life anyway. There was only one person he needed to pay attention to.
'The Emperor is...'
Over there.
On the dais, a man sitting in a splendid chair, looking down with a bored expression, entered his field of vision.
Blonde hair and golden eyes. A young and beautiful appearance that made one doubt he was the so-called Blood Emperor.
His age was barely twenty-eight, wasn't it?
Entertaining such stray thoughts, he began to walk slowly.
Straight across the center of the banquet hall, directly toward the Emperor.
Red footprints were left in a perfectly straight line, without the slightest waver.
Starting with a young noble lady who let out a small shriek upon spotting him, the gazes in the banquet hall gradually fixated on him.
"Oh my."
"Good heavens. What in the world..."
"How can he be so rude."
Anger at the rudeness, and fear they could not hide.
Amid the sharp gazes filled with all manner of negative emotions aimed at Deon, two gazes held interest.
'He came back alive after all.'
Duke Stave Illustar, wearing a faint smile as he scrutinized Deon Hart, whose body clearly showed the traces of battle, and
'I did well to send the knight order to meet him.'
the Emperor, Edoardo Deserte. He watched Deon Hart with a faint smile on his lips.
At some point, as if by agreement, the Emperor and the Duke's eyes met. But the Emperor's gaze merely brushed past him and returned to its original place, once again taking in Deon Hart.
The Duke's gaze likewise vanished as if nothing had happened.
Deon Hart, who had reached the dais in no time, lowered his blood-soaked mask, knelt on one knee, and bowed his head.
A drop of blood that had been precariously dangling from the ends of his hair fell with a plop.
"Glory to the Empire. I, Deon Hart, behold the present Empire."
Silence descended.
The only audible sound was the occasional drip of water—no, blood.
Watching the blood drip from Deon Hart's hair, the Emperor's sharp eyes gleamed as he leaned forward.
"Deon Hart."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
"What is the meaning of this insolence?"
Those were the words of none other than the Emperor himself. Everyone in the banquet hall held their breath.
In an atmosphere that felt as though even the air itself might freeze, Deon calmly opened his mouth.
"I was attacked on my way here."
"An attack, you say..."
This was a play.
Though he knew everything, the Emperor furrowed his brow as if hearing the news for the first time.
He shifted in his seat and murmured slowly. The voice that flowed out was thick with compressed killing intent.
"It seems there is a spy in the Count's residence."
"My apologies."
"If you wish, I could deal with it. What do you say?"
"There is no need for Your Majesty to dirty your hands."
"Hmm, if that's the case."
The Emperor slowly rose to his feet.
Looking at Deon Hart, who still had his head bowed, he lifted the corners of his mouth faintly.
"You must have much to say to me."
"..."
"I, too, have much I wish to hear from you. It seems it will be a long conversation; let us move elsewhere."
* * *
Sitting in a reception room that had been quickly prepared, the Emperor took in Deon, who was seated across from him.
What a figure of many words and many troubles. Even the titles attached to him were extremes that ran to opposite poles.
'Vampire Earl, they called him.'
A very fitting nickname.
Pale skin, red eyes. And a disposition that flew into a blood frenzy the moment he fought—if that wasn't a vampire, what was?
That was not all.
'The blood-crazed vanguard captain' and 'master of the Murderer Unit', contrasted with titles like 'Hero of the Empire' and 'companion of the Last Hero'.
And furthermore...
'The one who held back the Demon King and retrieved the Hero's body.'
In truth, it was because of this that he had bestowed the title of hero upon him.
One did not become a hero merely by possessing a Hero's Fragment.
Possessing a Hero's Fragment only served as bonus points; what mattered was 'how much skill and achievement one had demonstrated.'
In that sense, Deon Hart was supreme.
During the Eight-Year War, as a vanguard captain, he had achieved unspeakable results.
When he set out as the Hero's companion, he had accomplished the retrieval of the Hero's body, something no one else had succeeded in doing.
A hero defeated by the Demon King could not even rest his body in peace.
His limbs were cut off, his torso thrown as feed to demonic beasts, and his head, after being forcibly stitched into a smiling face with needle and thread, was cast onto the boundary line between the Empire and the Demon Realm.
If Deon Hart had not rescued this generation's Hero, that would surely have been his fate.
'A truly remarkable achievement... but in return, he was cursed by the Demon King, and his body grew weak.'
To bear the burden of the corpse and face the Demon King himself—no matter how much of a distraction it was, it could not have been easy.
In the end, Deon Hart succeeded in retrieving the Hero's body, but failed to protect his own.
Due to the Demon King's curse eating away at his body, he coughed up blood at all hours, and even the slightest shock imposed a great burden on him.
To the Emperor, who cherished talent, it was nothing short of lamentable.
"...Have you found a way to break the curse?"
That was why he could not stop Deon Hart when he said he would enter the Demon Castle to find a way to lift the curse.
Rather, he had intended to use this as an opportunity and make him a spy.
"I have not found one yet."
"What is the state of the Demon King?"
"No different from usual."
The Emperor lifted the teacup prepared before him and smiled lazily.
"Then, go ahead and tell me what you have to say. Haven't you waited long enough?"
"Thank you for sending the knight order to meet me..."
"Not that."
"...There was an intruder at the Demon Castle."
As if this was not the answer he desired, the Emperor's brow furrowed minutely.
"You mean the hero candidate? It was nothing. A foolish fool who ran wild believing solely in the fact that he possessed a Hero's Fragment."
"It seems he was indeed guilty. Is that why you sent him to his death?"
"Yes. I expected him to die on the way, and even if he managed to enter alive, I thought he would be caught. Besides, I did not think you would risk danger to save him. Was I wrong?"
"...No."
The intruder had been imprisoned, and the disposition authority had passed to the Demon King.
After seeing him just once, Deon had paid him no further attention.
"Do you truly have nothing else to say?"
"..."
"I heard a story that the 0th Legion Commander appeared on the front lines."
"I apologize. I had no way to refuse."
"No, not that. You must have seen something."
"..."
Deon Hart raised his head. His full face was revealed, and his red eyes directly met the Emperor's golden ones.
The Emperor met that gaze leisurely and waited for what would come out.
At last, the awaited topic burst forth.
"Cruel."
"..."
"Why did you raise that man to the position of a hero?"
Rarely, anger flickered in those red eyes.
Deon clenched the fist resting on his knee and spoke in a suppressed voice.
"You know as well, Your Majesty."
Cruel Hart.
A name he would never forget as long as he lived.
"That not being able to kill him is my greatest regret."
He was the sole survivor of the Hart family, aside from Deon.
...Explaining it that way, you would not understand, so let me say it again.
──Cruel Hart was the only survivor of the Hart family who lived through Deon Hart's hands.
* * *
I was strangled by a revolutionary army soldier who looked like a monster, lost consciousness, and when I woke up... the Emperor was right in front of me!
I was so shocked I nearly shot to my feet in a panic.
And that, right in front of the Emperor!
'What the hell? What happened?'
Just barely managing to hold onto my fleeing mind, I started rolling my eyes frantically.
So, I was in a banquet hall.
I was kneeling on one knee before the Emperor with my head bowed, and for some reason, red liquid kept dripping in front of my eyes. And my whole body was sticky and smelled of a fishy, metallic scent...
'Wait, why is my body like this?!'
No wonder my whole body ached—something must have gone down. My clean white uniform was dyed red.
It wasn't just blood splattered from somewhere—it was so soaked that if you wrung it out, blood would pour out. As if someone had poured blood over my head.
Realizing that the blood dripping before my eyes was what had been dangling from the ends of my hair, I incongruously thought of a certain maid.
A maid who had tried to transform my public image by putting forth the image of a 'sickly young noble'.
'...Sickly?'
If there had been a moderate amount of blood, I could have glossed it over with a 'Ahaha, he must have coughed up blood because he's so frail.' But this was a total bloodbath. A sight straight out of a ghost story.
This wasn't sickly; this was a disease demon.
My current state was so horrific you'd believe it if I said I was a demon.
And I came to see the Emperor looking like this. What the hell were the soldiers guarding the door doing instead of stopping me?
'You bastards. Could've stopped me.'
No, more than that, I felt a little sorry for that maid.
It seemed she'd put a lot of thought into picking out my clothes. And even my hair, which she'd carefully arranged, was ruined.
Silently apologizing to the nameless maid, I maintained my kneeling posture.
When you don't have a solid grasp of the situation, staying still is better than doing something stupid.
Still, what on earth had I done?
"Deon Hart."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
"What is the meaning of this insolence?"
The Emperor spat out terrifying words.
I couldn't remember what I had done. There was no way to know why the Emperor was angry. Nor was I given ample time to recall the memory.
In other words, I was screwed.
Even though it was just words, it felt like a sword was hanging right in front of my throat.
Suppressing the urge to touch my neck, I valiantly...
...blacked out.