Chapter 68: Declaration of War (3)
Chapter 68: Declaration of War (3)
It hadn't been a meeting. It had been a declaration.
That alone was absurd enough, but three days? What kind of outrageous nonsense was this?
So much for my resolution to keep my mouth shut as much as possible. Countless words began to spill out.
"Your Majesty declared the war over a mere two years ago. Why would you speak of waging war again?!"
"I declared an end to it because there were no longer any kingdoms insolent enough to crawl their way up. Yet it seems a kingdom has forgotten the Empire's terror in just two years."
The Kingdom of Ireon.
At the snap of the Emperor's fingers, an attendant who had been waiting set documents down before each of the nobles. Those who read them let out low groans.
It wasn't something you could clearly call the Empire's fault. Still, that didn't make it grounds for war. Wouldn't the losses outweigh the gains?
While they gritted their teeth at the foolish kingdom blinded by profit and debated how to dissuade the Emperor, words even more shocking than the previous ones reached their ears.
"And since we are going to war anyway, at this juncture I—"
"......."
"—intend to move forward with the goal of continental conquest."
"!?"
"This is something I've been considering for a long time. It would be better to sweep away the Kingdom of Ireon and finish everything at once."
"Your Majesty! What do you mean...!"
It was the goal he'd set long ago, the moment he ascended the throne. Whatever his ministers said, the Emperor had absolutely no intention of backing down.
Besides, Ireon wasn't the only one acting insolent in the current situation.
Ever since word of Deon Hart's injury had spread silently beneath the surface, the other kingdoms' attitudes toward the Empire had grown noticeably more relaxed.
That was the sheer weight of the name 'Deon Hart.'
'Well, that's understandable.'
Turbulent times breed heroes.
During the long eight-year war, countless 'heroes' had been born, only to die so pointlessly that their fame proved meaningless.
When the war ended, those who survived numbered a mere three.
Deon Hart was the last among them to make his name as a hero, yet also the most famous.
Unlike the other heroes who each had their own assigned regions, he had acted as a vanguard, roaming all over the place throughout the war.
Originally, this was done because it was the most effective way to utilize Deon Hart at the time, but before long it revealed an unexpected effect.
Namely, a fear of 'Deon Hart.'
He already possessed a distinctive appearance with red eyes and white hair.
As the rumors spread, this image twisted until the enemy saw him as a demon incarnate. It was a bonus that his looks—not just distinctive but also heartwarming—made him famous in multiple ways among his allies.
Whatever the nature of his fame, his mere existence alone cut the enemy's morale by half, and nearly everyone unconsciously came to believe that 'Deon Hart accounts for the majority of the Empire's military power.'
So it was only natural that the other kingdoms, who'd kept their heads bowed low at the news of Deon Hart's injury, now began to raise them little by little.
'It's not actually true, so it doesn't matter.'
Annoying.
Every time they regained their nerve, they'd get crushed back down, then raise their heads again, then get crushed again...
If continental conquest was the goal anyway, was there even a reason to do it piecemeal like this?
So just finish it all now.
That was the conclusion he'd reached.
Naturally, the other ministers were horrified. What did he mean by that? Wasn't this no different from saying you'd buy the building while you were out shopping for goods?
He had to be stopped.
Their thinking shifted. A war with the Kingdom of Ireon was inevitable, but at the very least, continental conquest had to be prevented.
The nobles, faces gone pale, began opening their mouths, each racing to be first.
"Continental conquest is still premature! There is an enormous amount to prepare, and the budget...!"
"The basic preparations have already been completed."
Wondering when on earth he'd prepared it all, a tidy budget proposal was placed before each noble.
"War will inflict great damage upon the Empire as well! It is not only when enemies enter our territory and trample upon it that damage occurs!"
"You need not worry for the Empire. Do you think I haven't considered that?"
"We still haven't rooted out the Revolutionary Army! Waging war with an enemy within is dangerous!"
"That is precisely why I have called you here. We must devise a plan, mustn't we?"
"The aftermath of the Eight-Year War is not yet fully resolved. The people of the Empire will be uneasy. Even for the Empire's stability..."
"During the Eight-Year War, did the enemy ever push so far as to trample upon the people's livelihoods? This time too, they will be safe."
"B-but, Your Majesty... the psychological anxiety... "
The arguments that followed were all much the same.
Please, for the sake of the Empire and its people, at least postpone the continental conquest. Something along those lines.
The nobles knew very well what the Emperor prioritized above all.
Responsibility.
Edoardo Desert held duty and responsibility paramount. Ever since he became Emperor, even if he disliked it, he never once neglected his responsibility for the Empire or his care for its citizens.
A course of action utterly at odds with his self-proclaimed title of tyrant.
So they thought if they invoked the Empire and its people, he might reconsider, at least a little. But the Emperor, as always, was a formidable opponent.
"For the sake of the Empire... you say?"
A chill voice descended.
The voices that had been rising as if ignorant of the sky's height deflated in an instant, and the Emperor slowly rose from his seat. His golden eyes, sweeping over the nobles, glinted fiercely like a predator whose pride had been scratched.
The moment they felt it on their skin and realized something had gone wrong, the Emperor called out the Duke with a growl.
"Duke Illustar."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
"What manner of greeting is it one gives to the Emperor?"
......Ah.
The corners of the Duke's lips curled upward.
'To think he'd try to resolve things this way.'
If you're going to come at me like that, well then, I'll just have to let myself be used.
He rose gracefully from his seat, placed a hand over his heart, and bowed before the Emperor. A voice tinged with faint laughter flowed smoothly from his lips.
"I, Stave Illustar, behold the 'present Empire.'"
"Indeed."
As if it were only natural, the Emperor averted his gaze. He then looked around at the frozen nobles and spoke firmly, as if driving the words back into their heads.
"I am the Empire."
"......."
"You have heard my answer to your concerns for the Empire, yet you keep raising them. Does that mean you find my words unconvincing?"
"N-not at all!"
"We spoke only out of loyalty..."
As a tension that felt ready to burst at any moment pressed down on the conference hall, desperate answers came flying from all directions.
When the Emperor's wrath erupted, someone was guaranteed to die. Not figuratively—literally.
The atmosphere was thick with people trying to calm themselves, worried their own heads might go flying. The Emperor closed his mouth for a moment, then spoke again slowly, his tone considerably softer.
"I am well aware of your loyalty. But if you do not wish to insult me, you would do well to refrain from further words on this."
"We shall take it to heart."
The nobles bowed their heads, swallowing silent sighs.
They'd been completely cornered. At this point, persuading the Emperor was as good as a lost cause. And the Emperor would be very well aware of that fact.
Sure enough, as if having said all he had to say and meaning to adjourn, the Emperor rose from his seat and drove the point home.
"The war is confirmed. I will hold one more meeting later, so see that you have prepared a plan for dealing with the Revolutionary Army by then."
"......We hear your command."
"And Duke Illustar."
Meeting the Emperor's gaze upon him, the Duke silently lifted the corners of his mouth.
The meeting was over. The gathered nobles dispersed with grave expressions, and the conference hall stood empty.
The Duke, who should have mingled among them and left, was in another room facing the Emperor.
Watching the Duke—who still wore a faint smile on his face—with fierce eyes, the Emperor slowly opened his mouth.
"Duke."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
"Thanks to you, we were able to apprehend the ones behind the Salvation Church. For this, I extend my gratitude."
"That was not my doing, but Sir Cruel's."
As expected, he wouldn't get off that easily. The Emperor quietly furrowed his brow and stared straight at the Duke. The Duke too, without backing down, met his eyes with a smiling face.
The two gazes clashed in the empty air.
For a long time, neither looked away. Finally, still glaring at the Duke, the Emperor spat out his words as if grinding them between his teeth.
"As it happens, that mastermind was someone who opposed you within the Noble Faction."
"Still, the Noble Faction is still the Noble Faction. Who would welcome a loss of power? As a fellow member, I merely find it regrettable."
Ridiculous.
The Duke never left those who opposed him alone. He couldn't openly target the Imperial Faction, so he'd picked out someone from within the Noble Faction who rubbed him the wrong way. It was obvious.
Should he probe a little further?
Depending on the opponent, it might turn into blatant cornering, but a man like the Duke would surely slither away smoothly. No matter how hard he pressed, it would only ever be probing.
But even that much probing was useful right now.
"I've been hearing interesting stories lately,"
the Emperor began.
"Something about the Emperor being 'Sin' and the Duke being 'Salvation,' was it?"
"It is the nonsense of ignorant, unenlightened fools. The Salvation Church has been swept away, so is there truly any need for you to mind it now?"
Chaang!
It happened in an instant. The Duke closed his mouth, quietly lowered his gaze to confirm what was aimed at his neck, then looked back up at the Emperor.
The Emperor, having drawn Nemeseus's sword from behind him, held it leveled at the Duke's throat.
Rarely, he twisted his lips upward in a sneer and lifted the blade slightly. The Duke's head rose along with it.
"Indeed, it is nonsense. For I am closer to 'Calamity' than 'Sin,' am I not? Isn't that so, Duke?"
"......."
The moment he kept his mouth shut, the Emperor's expression shifted.
As if any trace of laughter had never existed, his face filled with pure killing intent, looking ready to kill him then and there.
"Do you find me so laughable."
A wrathful, gloomy voice descended. The killing intent emanating from the Emperor's body crushed the air itself.
Trrrickle.
Blood ran from where the sword had bitten into his skin. Violet eyes dropped downward to confirm this, then immediately fixed back upon the Emperor.
The Duke was still smiling.
"Your Majesty... cannot kill me."
Calamity does not discriminate between people. But the Emperor before his eyes did discriminate between people.
Therefore, you are not Calamity.
That is why I covet your power. Against Calamity, a power struggle would be useless, but against you, it is possible.
"......You seem to regularly forget, Duke, that I have already crushed one ducal house before."
"As if I could forget."
"Do you think I will hesitate just because you are the last remaining ducal house?"
"You would not hesitate for that reason. And yet, Your Majesty, you still cannot kill me."
Even without that reason, you have many reasons you cannot kill me.
'Do you think I cannot kill you?'
'You cannot kill me.'
Countless looks were exchanged. Meeting those wrath-filled golden eyes, the Duke smiled as if to prove a point.
If you kill me, you will be considerably troubled. You'll face the backlash of countless nobles. There's a limit to what you can suppress with force.
You want to wage war. You want to conquer the continent. To do that, you must first secure internal stability.
A man like you... would never kill me, would you?
'Even if you aim for it, you'll aim during the war.'
Of course, even that wouldn't be easy.
Withdraw the sword, or slice through right there.
After a long battle of wills, the one who ultimately backed down first was the Emperor.
He withdrew the sword, handed it back to Nemeseus, and spoke as if chewing and spitting out the words.
"They call me 'Sin,' yet it seems Sin was elsewhere all along."