Chapter 76
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 76
Long ago, humanity faced times when it was forced to unite. The invasions of the Salamans, the Orcs, and the Norsemen were such crises.
Dozens, even hundreds, of scattered tribes joined forces to fight, endure, and sometimes assimilate, ultimately overcoming these threats. Through this struggle, they survived and went on to establish the Empire.
The Nibelung Tribe played a central role among them, and the current imperial family, House Nibelinger, took its name from them, meaning "descendants of Nibelung."
The Empire had no official capital. Rather, wherever the Emperor resided served as the capital.
The imperial city of Nibelungen, the ancestral home of the Nibelung Tribe, was a place of deep historical significance. Yet, many cities across the Empire were just as old, if not older. Consequently, Nibelungen was not the largest, most populous, or most magnificent city in the Empire—it was merely one of several major hubs.
Still, as the residence of the King of Kings, it functioned as a key administrative center, boasting better security and more abundant goods than most cities.
One of its unique features was its lack of defensive walls. The belief was that the surrounding crown lands and the territories of the Emperor's relatives served as its true defense.
Nibelungen was an impressive sight, with hunting grounds as vast as a small fiefdom, the Main River winding around its perimeter, expansive farmlands, and neatly arranged buildings.
Like any major city, Nibelungen had a pleasure district that was far livelier by night than by day.
Yet, while it was still broad daylight—far too early for the nightlife to begin—a carriage drawn by two horses entered the district.
The carriage rolled along the paved road, passing grand, ornate buildings before coming to a halt in front of a shabby brothel.
When the coachman announced their arrival, the door opened and an elderly man stepped out.
For an old man, his skin was remarkably clear, his posture was erect, and his eyes were sharp and full of life. The sword at his hip did not look out of place.
This was Hellauman, the Count Palatine of Kelbron and the Emperor's Champion.
He entered the brothel, named "The Spinster's Secret," with practiced steps. Though furniture, curtains, and carpets made a desperate attempt at decoration, they failed to hide the establishment's cheapness.
A few prostitutes with caked-on makeup and disheveled hair milled about. They barely spared Hellauman a glance, their expressions suggesting his presence was nothing out of the ordinary.
Hellauman, in turn, paid them no mind, walking straight toward the room at the very back.
A man with a sword stood guard outside the closed door. He glanced at Hellauman with an indifferent expression. He, too, was one of the Emperor's Champions, serving as a personal bodyguard.
"His Majesty?" Hellauman asked.
"Inside," the bodyguard replied.
"Has he woken?"
The bodyguard merely shrugged, and Hellauman let out a soft sigh. It seemed this situation was trying even for a Swordmaster of his caliber.
He opened the door without knocking. Sprawled naked and facedown on the bed like a corpse was the Emperor—Claudius, the ninth Emperor of the Empire, nicknamed the "Lustful" or the "Libertine Emperor."
Three women lay on the massive bed beside him, all of them far too vulgar and unappealing for an emperor's consort. But Claudius was never picky. He had once even remarked that he was sick of beautiful women with perfect bodies.
Among the countless women he had bedded was Hellauman's own great-great-granddaughter. The Emperor took women regardless of status, beauty, or age.
Emperor Claudius was not even aware his own daughter, Martelia, existed. Her official recognition was a purely administrative matter, not a decision he had made.
In a way, it was almost impressive. Only God knew exactly how many bastards he had fathered.
Hellauman nudged the prostitutes with his foot. It was absurd for a Count Palatine to be waking common prostitutes, but what was even more ridiculous was that they didn't get up right away.
They squirmed and tossed for some time before sluggishly dragging themselves up, openly scowling at Hellauman as if he were the one causing a nuisance.
As the prostitutes gathered their clothes to leave, one had the audacity to slap the Emperor on the buttocks. Claudius twitched and grumbled, still facedown.
"Hey, you crazy bitch. I don't have any energy left."
Hellauman looked down at the Emperor and spoke quietly.
"Your Majesty, it is the Count Palatine of Kelbron."
Claudius lay still for a moment before his face twisted into an irritated frown.
"Ah, damn it… Why do you always have to barge in and embarrass me like this?"
"The sun is high in the sky, Your Majesty."
"Then come at night."
"...The Empress Dowager is looking for you."
The Empress Dowager was the Emperor's mother. With the Emperor in this state, she was the one who actually ran the affairs of state.
"Why? She'll just do whatever she wants anyway."
The Emperor pulled the blanket over his lower half and leaned against the headboard, venting his discontent. With his hair sticking out in all directions, he lacked even a shred of imperial dignity.
"Maintaining your presence and receiving envoys is one of your most important duties, Your Majesty."
"So you want me to play the scarecrow?"
"No one would dare treat Your Majesty as a scarecrow."
"I don't think so. Or is my mother the exception?"
That's because you're incompetent and do nothing but cause trouble. The words rose to Hellauman's throat, but he barely managed to swallow them down.
"An envoy has arrived from the Kingdom of Adelorn. A rebellion has broken out over the crown, and they are requesting Your Majesty's protection in accordance with the sacred vassal treaty and marriage alliance. No matter how much the Empress Dowager handles, your presence is required for this matter."
"Adelorn? Where's that again?"
Despite there being only five kingdoms within the Empire, the Emperor did not even know its location.
"Riding hard to the southwest, changing horses along the way, one could reach it in three days."
"Then it's quite far, isn't it? What does it have to do with us? Why do we even have vassals? Aren't they supposed to govern their own territories?"
Hellauman was so dumbfounded he was at a loss for words.
"Maintaining the peace of the Empire is the Emperor's most important duty, Your Majesty."
"Ah, yes, that again. Duty, obligation… I'm sick of it. You say no one treats me like a scarecrow, but this invisible 'duty' of yours does exactly that. Fine. Great. Just have your precious Swordmasters go wipe out the rebels. Wouldn't that solve it?"
"..."
"I have given my command as Emperor. Now stop bothering me and handle it yourselves."
"...Rebellion spreads like a plague, Your Majesty. If it isn't suppressed early, no matter how far away it seems, insidious factions across the Empire may rise up in response. Furthermore, the blasphemous cult known as the Order of Condemnation has been expanding its influence. If we fail to stop this, the vassals may begin to doubt Your Majesty's power. A tower built with great effort can crumble in an instant. Should that day come, would Your Majesty be prepared to don armor and endure the wind and rain of a military camp?"
"So what do you want me to do? Are you just making excuses because you don't want to go, Count Palatine?"
"Receive the envoy and declare that you will formally summon the army. At least say the words."
"I refuse."
"..."
Even a Swordmaster over a hundred years old had his limits. He had no desire to exchange another word.
Hellauman had served five emperors before this one. One commanded the lords with powerful charisma and conquered uncharted lands. Another established a stable foundation of rule with a brilliant mind. A third, though lacking in comparison, at least protected the imperial family well. The other two had, at the very least, understood the weight of their responsibilities and made an effort.
But Claudius knew nothing and did nothing. He had no motivation. He had no will.
"...I shall take my leave."
Bowing his head, Hellauman stepped out of the room, which reeked of cheap perfume and stale sweat.
As the door clicked shut, the Emperor's bodyguard—his fellow Champion—spoke.
"You've had a hard time, Elder."
In truth, Hellauman had been practically retired. He had only recently returned to the imperial court at the Empress Dowager's summons, only to find a situation unfolding that was beyond his capacity. A Swordmaster was neither a politician nor a soldier. They were strategic weapons, diplomatic instruments used to threaten, coax, or appease vassals.
But a weapon, no matter how powerful, was useless if the one wielding it was so pathetic. Furthermore, the Emperor's Champions could not move freely because they could not fully trust one another. If one of them were to lose their mind and attempt to harm the Emperor, who could stop them? Only another Champion. Thus, if even one left their post, the delicate balance of power would collapse.
It was a dilemma. A Champion was both the Emperor's strongest weapon and his greatest threat. The situation only appeared stable because Hellauman had guarded the imperial family for so long. Controlling the Swordmasters—soothing them, earning their loyalty, and managing them properly—was entirely the Emperor's responsibility.
"I leave His Majesty in your hands."
Hellauman patted the shoulder of the Champion he trusted most. The man simply nodded.
Leaving the cheap brothel, Hellauman climbed back into his carriage. The coachman cracked his whip, and the horses broke into a run.
Inside the rattling carriage, Hellauman was lost in thought. In truth, he possessed little loyalty to the imperial family. He feigned it, but his relationship with them was strictly transactional. What mattered most to Hellauman was himself, his family, and his sword. The title of Count Palatine and its stewardship of the crown lands was hereditary; if anything happened to the Emperor, it would spell trouble for him and his family.
But now, he could hear the foundations of the imperial family beginning to crack. With an Emperor like Claudius, the reason was obvious. Still, Hellauman was not an ambitious man. He had no intention of plotting against the Emperor or the imperial family. He merely thought that, just in case, he should begin preparing his next move.
Hellauman's carriage crossed the drawbridge and entered the imperial palace. He stepped down and headed for his office. On his desk lay a scroll sealed with wax. Breaking the seal, he unfurled it. It was a report from the Beringen Adventurers' Guild, detailing how Rickert and Ice had slain a High Vampire and successfully completed a special-grade request.
Hellauman's gaze lingered on the name Rickert. Ever since killing Clan Master Lorenzo, the boy had been building an unbelievable record. He had been a key player in the guild war, and now he had even slain a High Vampire—a cunning abomination that even Hellauman himself would find troublesome.
It was impressive. Truly impressive. His innate combat instincts and sheer bravery were undeniable. But that was precisely what made it such a waste. The boy had no mana.
Hellauman rolled the scroll back up, then pulled another from a stack on his bookshelf and unfurled it. It was a list of the hidden Swordmasters serving each kingdom and great noble house, as well as the special-grade adventurers of the Empire's various guilds. There were more than he expected. It was as if they were deliberately hiding from the world. What were they all aiming for?
Every name on that list was both a potential threat and a potential tool for the Emperor and the imperial family. Handled well, they were tools. Handled poorly, they were blades that could cut the hand that wielded them.
It was impossible to suppress them all with just four Emperor's Champions. Yet they couldn't simply increase the number of Champions—that would be far too dangerous. It was an incredibly difficult balancing act.
Among all these names, however, Rickert was remarkably appealing.
It was a pity he had no mana, as his limits were clear. But his skills and courage were undeniable, which made him seem easy to manage. He was useful enough, but posed no real threat.
"It's about time for a changing of the guard," Hellauman muttered, lost in thought. First, he would dispatch two of the Emperor's Champions to the Kingdom of Adelorn.
If they fought well, all the better. If they died, they could simply select new Champions. Since they wouldn't die the moment they arrived, he could use their absence to nurture new talent. Naturally, Rickert was his top priority.
Thinking of Rickert, the knot of frustrating problems in Hellauman's mind seemed to loosen. One idea led to another, his thoughts connecting until a plan began to form.
He would hold a swordsmanship tournament. It would be the perfect pretext to eliminate those who needed to be eliminated, nurture those who needed to be nurtured, and watch those who needed to be watched.
And for the grand prize? An engagement to his fifth-generation granddaughter, Marie, would be more than enough.
What was the point of having so many descendants, after all? This was precisely what they were for.