Chapter 212: Lainella's Fate is Decided by Lainella (5)
Chapter 212: Lainella's Fate is Decided by Lainella (5)
For a long while, silence hung heavy in the dim, secret room.
It was a place with few light sources. Only a flickering candle provided a faint, hazy view of the surroundings. Nevertheless, neither of the two men present voiced any complaint.
On the contrary, they moved with a natural ease, as if the darkness were their preferred element.
There was no hesitation in the sequence of their actions—lifting the teapot, pouring the tea, and draining the cups. It was clear that their vision was already well-adjusted to the gloom.
They weren't just sipping tea; they were also composed enough to carefully observe each other’s expressions. Eventually, it was the middle-aged man in the jet-black uniform who broke the silence.
He let out a weary sigh.
"…Fine, I give up. I truly have no idea who you are."
"As I told you, I am merely a loyal retainer of the Empire."
The response to the middle-aged man’s lament was remarkably blunt.
The man let out a short, dry laugh. A loyal retainer? Was there such a thing as a loyal retainer whose very existence was unknown to the Emperor?
Still, how fortunate it was that he at least claimed to be a 'loyal retainer.'
The youth was a talent who had already achieved so much at such a young age. While the other agents seemed to have missed it, they couldn't deceive the middle-aged man’s keen eyes.
The man’s actual mana capacity was ordinary.
However, his skill in manipulating it was ghostly. As if the limitation of a small mana pool meant nothing, the man concentrated his mana only where and when it was needed.
The result was an explosive increase in physical ability.
Of course, there were limits.
Fundamentally, concentrating mana into a specific body part places a corresponding strain on the frame. Furthermore, the man was moving massive amounts of mana all at once.
In a war of attrition, he would surely lose. No matter what tricks he used, the physical limits of his body were clear.
But then again, would this man ever allow himself to be drawn into a long-term battle in the first place?
The middle-aged man weighed that possibility as he tapped his fingers on the table. It was a steady, rhythmic beat, like that of a trained musician.
"Impressive skill. To be honest, your mana control is comparable to that of a Master… Where did you receive your training?"
"Is there any training ground more excellent than the battlefield?"
As he spoke, the man sipped his tea with a weary expression. The fatigue in his golden eyes seemed particularly deep.
The middle-aged man hummed thoughtfully and lifted his own teacup.
The Continent had been enjoying a peace that had lasted for hundreds of years. There were no places where actual wars were breaking out.
At most, the subjugation of different races in the far north or the 'Frontlines' located in the far south could be called battlefields.
The Empire kept a close eye on both of those fronts.
Naturally, the middle-aged man was well-versed in the vast amounts of information regarding those areas. Yet, no matter how much he searched his memory, he could find no information related to this man.
This meant the man’s answer was a lie.
The reason was obvious.
He wanted to keep it hidden.
Since it was an expected response, the middle-aged man decided to let it slide without comment.
"Right, let’s say that’s true… By the way, your skill with chains was quite extraordinary. Have you had separate training for that?"
"…Everything in existence has a flow."
The middle-aged man’s hand paused as he was about to set down his cup. His blue eyes deepened as he stared at the man.
"When you master that flow, you realize that all weapons are essentially the same. Whether it’s a sword, an axe, a bow, or a chain, it makes no difference."
"Isn't it a bit of a stretch to say a sword and a bow are the same?"
"It’s a figure of speech. In reality, I prefer swords or axes myself."
The middle-aged man chuckled at the candid admission. He set his cup down with a soft clack.
"You’re an interesting fellow… Someone I know says something very similar."
A faint sense of longing flickered in the middle-aged man’s eyes. It was clear he was currently tracing back to some point in his past.
What snapped him back to reality was a single sentence from the man.
"I know."
"…You know me?"
There was a hint of intrigue in the middle-aged man’s question.
Beyond mere surprise, he was now feeling a strong sense of curiosity. He couldn't fathom where this man’s limits lay.
Meeting that expectation, Ian spoke the answer without hesitation.
"If I didn't, wouldn't I have been broken the moment I challenged you? Sir Sword Duke of the Empire."
The middle-aged man, addressed as the 'Sword Duke,' finally couldn't hold back and burst into laughter.
The Sword Duke of the Empire.
The weight carried by that title was by no means light.
He was one of only three Masters currently existing on the Continent. A swordsman of the highest caliber, with no one to oppose him unless it was the Saint of the Holy Kingdom or the Great Witch of the Southern Kingdoms.
He was a monster rumored to have once leveled a mountain during a duel with the Saint of the Holy Kingdom back in his hot-blooded youth.
However, time had a way of turning even the hottest fires into ash.
The Sword Duke, who had spent years roaming the Continent and spreading his fame, had one day returned to the Imperial Palace, and his public activities had become rare.
In the end, he could not overcome the ties of blood.
For the blood of the Imperial Household flowed through his veins.
Decades had passed since then, but the Sword Duke’s fame and majesty remained intact. No matter how much time passed, a Master was still a Master.
He was not a force that could be compared to a mere Expert.
Even if the current Ian were to challenge him, he would lose nine times out of ten. The composure of the man, who looked to be only middle-aged, was rooted in that level of strength.
After laughing for a long while, the Sword Duke couldn't help but let out a sigh.
"Time is a cruel thing… To think I cannot draw my sword against such a fine opponent."
"You look like you're still quite eager to draw it, though."
At the man’s nonchalant remark made while sipping tea, the Sword Duke gave a thin smile.
"That depends on you. This old man is a bit confused…."
Tap. The Sword Duke’s index finger drummed the table once more.
The look of wariness in his blue eyes was growing increasingly sharp. It was a gaze that wouldn't be strange if he drew his sword this very second.
Yet, there wasn't even a hint of a sign.
The man silently drained his tea. His cup was now empty.
"…How is it that you possess Dragon Blood Runes? My niece says she never granted them to you."
The man let out a faint sigh at the question. A hazy emotion flickered through his golden eyes.
Regret and longing—the colors of an emotion only a defeated soldier might possess—made the Sword Duke’s eyebrow twitch once.
A soft sigh escaped the man’s lips. He asked in a low voice.
"Is His Majesty still in good health?"
"No, he’s quite weak. So I truly hope you can resolve the headache my niece and I are facing."
After a moment of contemplation, the man finally spoke, as if he had no choice.
The Sword Duke found himself tensing up despite himself.
Depending on the answer, he might have to stain his hands with the blood of a promising young man today.
And in the next moment.
"A dragon hidden in a cradle, a rusty sword that cuts better than a famous blade."
"…?"
The Sword Duke’s eyes went blank for a second at the cryptic words.
As he glared at the man with a face full of questions, Ian added one more thing.
"You just need to relay that exactly."
"…To whom?"
"Is there more than one rightful owner of the Dragon Blood Runes in this era?"
He meant to relay it to the Emperor.
Realizing this, the Sword Duke’s expression sank with dissatisfaction. He was the guardian of the Imperial Household, but he was also its eldest elder.
After all, he was the Emperor's uncle.
As the saying goes, people tend to get more meddlesome as they age. He didn't quite like the fact that this youth he’d never seen before shared some secret with his nephew.
However, the Sword Duke’s answer was already as good as decided.
"…Fine."
It didn't matter that he was the Sword Duke of the Empire or the Emperor's uncle.
The only master of the Empire was the Emperor.
The Dragon Blood Runes were a symbol of that authority, and naturally, any judgment regarding them was entirely the Emperor's prerogative. The Sword Duke knew this all too well.
The Sword Duke slowly rose from his seat. It was to report to the Emperor.
What stopped him as he was about to leave was another request from the man.
"And tell him that I will take charge of the Academy branch of the Imperial Intelligence Agency."
The Sword Duke stopped dead in his tracks and looked at Ian with an absurd expression.
He was in a situation where he might lose his life depending on the Emperor's decision. Yet, he was brazenly making an additional proposal.
Furthermore, not a single ripple of emotion could be seen on his face.
He was merely sipping his tea with tired eyes.
"Also, tell His Majesty to cut back on the drinking. It’ll cause big trouble later."
"…I heard he hasn't been drinking much lately?"
"He’s obviously drinking in secret. If you open the second drawer of the nightstand next to his bed and tear off the bottom panel, you’ll find the bottles."
The Sword Duke had to shake his head, now looking completely fed up.
He wondered if this youth could possibly know a secret that even he, the uncle, was kept from.
But that suspicious look soon turned into one of begrudging acceptance.
When the Sword Duke returned to the interrogation room, he held a seal symbolizing the Imperial Household.
"…It’s as you wished. And I confiscated two bottles of liquor."
Ian merely nodded silently, as if he had expected as much.
"Please tell His Majesty that I will come to see him in the near future."
As he spoke, the man struck the handcuffs binding his hands as if brushing off dust. The restraints, which had been glowing white-hot, snapped instantly with a sharp clang.
The Sword Duke’s gaze became even more sour as he watched Ian dismantle the restraints one by one.
It was the look of someone realizing for the first time that those expensive restraints could be broken so easily.
The Sword Duke didn't forget to leave a warning for the man until the very end.
"For now, I will try to trust you, but this is strictly temporary…."
"I know."
Even so, the man merely replied in his usual nonchalant voice.
"Just watch. Until the end."
And so, the Academy branch of the Imperial Intelligence Agency fell into the man’s hands.
Immediately after hearing the news, Neris let out a curse into the air.
"…Don't give me that bullshit!"
Neris already didn't have good feelings toward Ian. To be precise, 'terrified' was a more accurate description.
Not only was he cruel, but she couldn't even understand his intentions or principles of action. Even for Neris, who had dug up and analyzed information on countless individuals, he was a type of human she had never seen before.
Naturally, he was the worst possible person to have as a superior.
She cursed several more times after that, but there was no way the directive handed down from above would change.
Neris knew that much already.
She just needed time to accept this unfortunate reality.
Before long, Neris, exhausted from cursing, eventually came up with a more optimistic outlook.
Right, no matter if he was the 'Mad Dog of the Academy,' Ian Percus was still human, wasn't he?
Setting aside what happened last time as a special circumstance, as long as she didn't cause any trouble in the future, he wouldn't be able to treat his subordinates too poorly.
Thus, Neris decided to serve her new superior as best as she could.
Of course, when she faced him again, Neris poured out a bucketful of curses inside her head.
Bastard, trash, murderer, violence addict….
He was someone she had chewed up and spat out countless times in her mind, but every time she met Ian’s golden eyes, Neris would quickly lose her nerve.
It was because the fear hadn't faded yet.
Nevertheless, Neris held onto hope.
Ian seemed like a stickler for rules, even if he was a bit strict.
If one didn't commit a fault, there was no punishment.
Therefore, as long as she didn't cause an accident, Neris wouldn't be punished. It had been only a few minutes since she faced Ian with that belief.
Thwack! Blood splattered into the air.
Neris’s eyes went blank. Her lips parted in a daze.
It wasn't just blood flying through the air.
A long, slender finger was flying, spraying blood. And the original owner of that finger was none other than Neris.
The man who had slammed an axe down onto the woman’s finger spoke in a nonchalant voice.
"Neris…."
Just as he always did.
"I told you… not to doubt me."
Ian Percus was no stickler for rules, Neris realized through her frozen thought process.
He was the incarnation of violence.
Soon, a piercing scream echoed through the air.