Proving Worth (10)

"It's been a while, boss. You've stirred up quite the spectacle, haven't you?"

The moment I stepped into the shop, Karia was there to greet me. She was smiling as she spoke, but her eyes told a different story.

The glint of her pupils peeking between those smiling lids was very clearly reprimanding me. What on earth did you think you were doing, pulling off something so insane?

Granted, it had been a mad thing to do. Calling the Second Prince the Idiot Prince was one thing — but then I'd dueled him, and picked a fight with him right after the duel was over, and brawled with him on top of that.

"If you wanted to stress-test Benedict's stomach lining, you could've just fed him poison. Do you have any idea how much of a pain it's been? That man's been summoning me nonstop ever since he heard the news."

Karia grumbled that she could barely get any work done with Benedict hovering around in a nervous fidget, spent a good while nagging at me, and then finally let out a long, deep sigh.

"The results weren't bad, so I'll leave it at that. But next time, do me a favor and actually think before you act."

I did think before I acted. I committed the whole thing after consulting with Grandpa, even. Not that explaining it would make her believe me. Best to just keep my mouth shut.

"Anyway, back to business. Thanks to the massive ruckus you caused, word of your prowess is spreading fast, boss."

A duel between Lucy Aln — the madwoman whose name was now known across the continent — and the Second Prince of the Soladin Kingdom was prime material for every gossip and expert commentator with an opinion. And as the story spread, so too did the Second Prince's martial talent, and the talent of the girl who had overwhelmed it.

Conquering an Academy dungeon in a single day. Casually deflecting the concept-infused Aura the Second Prince had swung at her. That kind of thing.

With this new anecdote added to her duel against the First Prince at the Partran festival, Karia explained, hardly anyone doubted my talent anymore.

"Here's how you're perceived externally right now, boss: 'A true Aln, blessed with overwhelming martial talent and a sharp mind — but with a filthy personality and a noble who does whatever she pleases.'"

Let me summarize that in one line.

A skilled bitch.

So the evaluation that used to be ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠confined within the Academy walls was now spreading across the entire continent.

Having my skills acknowledged was a good thing, sure, but the "filthy personality" part riding along with it was a little delicate.

Then again, with the news spreading, the fact that I'd called the Second Prince the Idiot Prince had spread right along with it. Worst case, it just made things worse — nothing was going to soften that image.

"There's some church-related chatter too. That you've repented. That you might actually be devout. That you've turned friendly toward the Church."

The church-related rumors were almost entirely positive.

They had to be. Lucy's past had been wretched enough, and everything I'd done recently was exactly the kind of conduct the Church could only view favorably.

I'd received a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠divine revelation and obtained Ruel's Mace. I'd lifted two of Agra's curses. I wielded divine magic backed by staggering quantities of divinity. And I happened to be close friends with Phoebe, of all people.

If the protagonist of this story had been anyone but Lucy, everyone would be nodding along, calling her a faithful believer.

"The Church itself seems to be starting to take notice of you, too. Keep that in mind, boss."

The moment I heard the words taking notice, my brow furrowed on its own.

Attracting the Church's attention was never a good thing. The Church of today had no interest in the genuinely faithful.

...Hmm. Maybe I should ask Johan to spread some unflattering stories about me later.

"Oh, and there's this, too. 'A beauty carved by the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠gods themselves.'"

'...What on earth is that?'

"Boss. What kind of nonsense is that supposed to be?"

"The Apostle of Beauty and Art wrote a song about you, boss, and has been spreading it around."

Ah. That pervert I met at the Partran festival.

I hadn't wanted a long conversation, so I'd just told her to do as she pleased and sent her off — and she wrote a song?

"The lyrics are pretty bizarre, but the melody's good, so bards perform it all the time. Care to give it a listen?"

Curiosity flickered to life for an instant, but I crushed it and shook my head.

No matter how I thought about it, hearing that song was bound to deal me grievous emotional damage.

This was a song written by a pervert who could go toe-to-toe with the Face-Connoisseur Fox herself. Her degeneracy was undoubtedly soaked into every note. I had zero desire to expose myself to that.

"In any case — now that your talent's been proven beyond doubt, everyone's green with envy. You're Benedict's daughter, after all. Anyone who remembers what that man was capable of can't help but pin their hopes on his child."

The daughter might inherit the glory her father created. She might even surpass it and forge something greater.

The expectations born from combining the Aln name with my own string of accomplishments had sent my personal stock soaring. The daughter of the monster who had single-handedly turned the tide of a war — who wouldn't want to keep someone like that close?

Even if I were difficult to handle, that was still far better than having me as an enemy.

"Why else do you think the Second Queen still wants you, boss, even after you handed her son an enormous humiliation?"

Sure, the duel had showcased the Second Prince's martial ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠talent — but that was only part of the outcome. What I'd actually given the Second Prince was far more humiliation than glory.

Given the circumstances, the Second Queen — who wants her son on the throne — should have narrowed her eyes at me. But this time, she hadn't. My value was simply too great.

"Now, the main event."

Karia, who had been chatting so leisurely until a moment ago, suddenly dropped her voice.

"Alsaetin is going to escort you to someone from the Second Queen's camp. They'll bring up the incident first."

Naturally. The incident spreading far and wide meant the nickname Idiot Prince had spread far and wide too.

The Second Prince's side — already walking a PR tightrope — couldn't possibly let that nickname slide.

"I know it'll be a bitter pill to swallow, boss, but you need to approach the nickname issue with humility. Got it? Humility. At the very least, you have to protect their pride!"

It wasn't that I failed to understand what Karia was saying. I just couldn't bring myself to give her the obliging reply she was hoping for.

The Mesugaki Skill was never going to permit me to grovel. If it could, I never would have called the Second Prince the Idiot Prince in the first place!

"They won't drag things out, either. After all, their side doesn't exactly come out of this with clean hands. Once the discussion about the incident is over, they'll move on to trying to win you over."

They might drum up my culpability for the whole affair. They might whisper all manner of sweet-sounding promises. Having laid this out, Karia paused briefly, then continued with a smile.

"Whatever they say — refuse it all. It isn't worth the air they'd use to say it."

《This woman speaks truly. Whatever terms they dangle, refusing them is the correct course for you.》

Grandpa and Karia were in perfect agreement. Not a single word of it worth hearing. Let it in one ear and out the other, then stand up and walk out — that was all there was to it.

I found it curious how matter-of-factly he said it, and asked him why — at which Grandpa gave a dry chuckle.

《Think, girl. Do you lack the confidence to grow stronger than you are now?》

'No.'

How could I not? I was the Apostle of the Scrub Chief God, bound to obey the quests he handed down.

Someday, without a doubt, the day would come when I'd have to face an Evil God with my own two hands.

If only to survive that day. If only to live to see the end of this world. And if only to deliver a flying kick to the Scrub Chief God himself — I had to become far, far stronger than I was now.

《Is your situation so dire that you must bow your head to the Second Queen for support?》

'No. Not remotely.'

I didn't need support of any kind right now. As I was always saying, I was built to obtain whatever I wanted the moment I wished for it.

《Is your backing so flimsy that refusing their offer would cost you your head?》

'Hardly, right?'

The influence of the people around me was one thing, but above all, I had Benedict behind me.

Who in their right mind would want to enrage the monster who had crossed blades with the Evil God of Fire — incomplete though he'd been at the time?

《Then why on earth would you walk in with your head bowed? Your value only grows with time. You wait until they're the ones bowing to you.》

Ah. I get it now. So Lucy Aln, Inc., is trading at its all-time low right now.

Right. No selling here. I'm holding out for Mars, baby!

Having grasped Grandpa's lecture, I steeled myself to remain unmoved no matter what the Second Queen's people said, and rose from my seat.

Alsaetin, whom I hadn't seen in ages, looked utterly worn down. His face made me genuinely wonder whether he'd slept at all recently, and worried, I asked if he was all right. Alsaetin smiled.

"I've been busy learning all manner of things from my master. It feels like my deficiencies are being filled in, so I couldn't be happier."

For a fleeting moment, the eyes of a second-class private insisting that army life is bliss flashed across his smiling face.

Well — if he says he's happy, I suppose he's fine.

The place Alsaetin guided me to was the same shop where I'd met Cuz Newman.

Just as before, I followed an attendant's lead and opened the door to a private room, where I came face to face with a familiar old gentleman.

"It is an honor to make your acquaintance, Lady Lucy of House Aln. My name is Nabil — a knight of House Bedford, and a trusted servant of the Second Queen. I look forward to our acquaintance."

Nabil.

One of House Bedford's most trusted men — and the person the Second Queen chose whenever something important needed doing, in the shadows or the spotlight alike.

The fact that this man had shown himself here under his own name meant the Second Queen rated my value extremely highly.

It also meant that whatever came out of his mouth next would be, for all intents and purposes, the Second Queen speaking through him.

'Hello there, Nabil.'

"Good to see you, Knockoff Grandpa."

Knockoff, huh. Fair enough. There was precious little about Nabil that was genuine once you peeled back the surface.

I'd just hurled an insult at a man who ranked among the Second Queen's most powerful confidants, and I felt nothing about it.

It wasn't the first or second time I'd done this sort of thing. And this man, as far as I knew, wasn't the type to make a fuss over it.

"Haha. Just as I heard — the young lady refuses to address anyone by their proper titles, I see."

Nabil laughed pleasantly and invited me to take a seat. I wondered how he planned to win me over. Given what the Second Prince had done, he'd surely prepared something substantial.

"I trust you've already surmised as much, my lady, but the reason I've come is that I have several things I wish to convey to you. Of late, matters have been rather..."

'Could you get to the point?'

"Knockoff Grandpa. Any chance you could stop rambling? Do I look like a man with your kind of leisure time to you?"

I hadn't wanted to sit through a long wind-up to a conversation I was going to refuse anyway, so I'd cut him off — and Nabil simply shrugged.

"Oh dear. My apologies. Age has a way of multiplying the small talk."

As if to play up his advanced years, he chuckled and clucked his tongue — then, in the space of a heartbeat, the laughter drained from his face and his voice turned grave.

"First, what I must tell you is this: the person you are to speak with here today is not me."

...Huh? What's that supposed to mean?

I was still blinking in incomprehension when Nabil drew a crystal orb from inside his coat and set it on the desk.

When he fed mana into the orb, the enchantment within it awakened, and above the crystal, a woman's face rose up in a shimmer of projected light.

Eyes set in a perpetual glare. Irises so piercingly intense they bordered on painful. The lines etched between her brows. Lips pressed into a thin, hard seal.

Every last feature radiated the certainty of a terrible personality, and I froze solid at the sight of her face.

No. I mean, hold on. So...

...If I open my mouth, I'm completely screwed, aren't I?