Chapter 345
Chapter 345
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 345
Chapter Title: Battle for the Throne: Rallying the Provincial Nobles -1
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The throne room.
A frail old man, thin as a withered branch, sat upon the ornate golden throne. He ruled this vast empire, yet he looked more wretched than the lowliest slave.
His back was hunched, his face pallid, his body gaunt and shriveled, his sunken eyes hollow and lifeless. Those deep-set pupils held nothing but anxiety.
He seemed less vital than a pinned insect in a display case.
The three imperial heirs had gathered to plead as one: Hold the Battle for the Throne sooner. They feared a vacancy at the helm of the empire.
The emperor granted their request. The ceremony would commence next year without delay, and the crown would pass to the most capable among them.
The brief audience concluded.
As First Princess Elaine and Third Prince Sledo stepped out across the crimson carpet, Second Prince Irid turned to face the emperor.
He had a question for his father.
"Your Majesty, have you ever imagined what lies beyond the death of an evil god? Do you even remember what you wanted to do?"
"That's unwise. He peers deeply into those who defy him. He cherishes them as his favorite toys. Like the Sword Saint of the Empire. So do not oppose him—submit."
"Eternity does not exist. Not even for gods. And you haven't answered my question, Father."
"......"
The aged emperor pondered long. Since learning of the shadowy wings that enveloped the empire, he had never once entertained such thoughts.
The cruel fate imposed by a savage god had turned him into a puppet. For a puppet to reclaim its humanity was no easy task. Only after much time did he finally stir his lips. The old man spoke.
I want to be a farmer.
In a small greenhouse he could tend even in his dotage, growing tomatoes and such with care, honoring his late wife, living out his days in peaceful senescence.
Irid replied.
"It will be so during my reign... Father."
"......"
He turned and walked away.
His ascension to the throne was all but certain. Elaine and Sledo had consented to Irid's succession. Now it was merely a question of how.
For a nation bereft of divine protection to endure, it needed a robust centralized system. He would use this Battle for the Throne to lay the foundations of an empire without gods.
And Irid's gaze turned first to...
The domains of the provincial nobles, rife with corruption and depravity sown by the "Virgin Who Drinks Pleasure," where imperial authority had grown faint...
Uniting them would stabilize the empire—the first step.
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Sunport, in the southeastern reaches of the empire, was a small, quiet barony ruled by Baron Fort.
It nestled against a modest hill, its soil ideal for vineyards, exporting wine as its signature product. Otherwise, it was utterly unremarkable.
The Fort family had long been known for their lack of greed and incorruptible ways, so Sunport wasn't wealthy but harmonious. As long as folks tended their own business diligently, life posed no hardships.
No exorbitant taxes, no ostentatious luxuries—reputation among the locals was stellar. A true bastion of peace.
Until the silver mine was discovered in the nearby hills.
"Why us?!"
Baron Fort tore at his hair.
A silver mine promised immense riches if properly developed. Yet why did the baron wail "Why us?" in bitter lament?
The neighbor was the culprit—a belligerent, greedy sort.
Baron Stump.
Infamous for bleeding his people dry to bolster his military. He wielded that force to extort concessions from neighbors, funneling the gains back into arms.
He commanded thirty knights under him. Rumors even swirled of recruiting a Transcendent Knight—though no one had laid eyes on such a figure.
Should blades clash, Sunport would be overrun.
No one checked Baron Stump's thuggish ways. He sheltered under Duke Redburn's patronage.
Baron Fort consulted his predecessor—his father, now retired.
"Father, what do we do? Can't we just hand over that damned mine?"
"If it were on the outskirts, we'd cede it gladly. But it's near the heart of our lands. Yield it, and half the barony vanishes."
"Just the mining rights, then..."
"If they'd stop at that, you wouldn't be ripping your hair out."
Soon, armed brigands would storm in and seize everything. What recourse? Squander the coffers on mercenaries?
No. They'd still lose. And where in this backwater to find a Transcendent-grade hire?
Or pen missives decrying Stump's tyranny, distribute far and wide?
No. Futile.
Fleeing the barony felt wrong. A lord had a duty to protect his people—and Stump's takeover would grind their lives to dust.
As Fort groaned in agony, his father spoke.
"Word is, His Majesty has finally chosen his heir. The Battle for the Throne is upon us. The imperial heirs will compete on merits."
"Just rumor? Last time you brought that tall tale of a massive white monster halting a landslide."
"Brat, this is different. An official edict bearing His Majesty's seal!"
Then it must be true.
Fort mulled briefly before responding.
"Even if decided, it'll be First Princess Elaine. None match her deeds or power. But Father, are we really discussing politics now?"
"......Rumors say Second Prince Irid is meeting provincial nobles."
"Pardon?"
Central figures had long ignored locals like forgotten stepchildren. Interest now?
No—reversed. To catch Elaine, Irid needed every provincial scrap. This could be opportunity.
"Align with the Second Prince... to check Stump? But if Elaine ascends, that line snaps."
"It buys time to survive. As if swearing fealty via courier would draw her eye to our speck of a barony."
"......No other way, then. I'll track Irid's whereabouts and ask directly if he needs our loyalty. If he'll shield Sunport..."
Policy set.
"Let's move."
As Baron Fort barked orders to attendants and scrawled a desperate plea to Irid, frantic with eagerness...
Bang!
An attendant burst in, gasping.
"A-a man claiming to be... Second Prince's retainer has arrived! Says he has urgent business with the lord..."
"Retainer? Lead him to the parlor, serve refreshments! I'll be right there! Father, where's my formal attire? Stuffed in the wardrobe and forgotten... Damn, where?"
"Yes! He's in the parlor; refreshments coming right up!"
"I told you not to cram unworn clothes away—organize them properly! You take after your mother, loathing the chore..."
"Not the time, Father!"
Fort fumbled into his outfit in haste, pants backward at one point, delaying him. Attendants swarmed to smooth wrinkles, straightening as best they could.
"Son, the barony's future rests on you. Pour wine, speak well."
"Father, what's the rank of a prince's retainer? Honorifics or peers—which?!"
"Even a commoner retainer gets respect. Bow if he seems mightier than me. Hurry—don't keep him waiting!"
Sage advice.
Fort hastened to the parlor, bowing the instant the door opened.
"Forgive the wait. Handling urgent barony matters... You're from His Highness the Second Prince? From the Violet Magic Tower?"
"Indeed. I'm an illusion mage."
Tap, tap.
On the parlor sofa lounged a black-haired youth, leg crossed, foot bobbing. His eyes gleamed deep crimson; his robe bore violet accents.
"......"
Fort's expression turned wary. A con artist?
Far from the capital, Sunport heard little unless earth-shattering: holy city razed, throne battle begun.
Thus ignorant of the "mad illusion mage" in Irid's circle, suspicion bloomed naturally.
Illusion mages routinely duped nobles for gain.
Reading the doubt, the black-haired illusionist spoke.
"I get it. Power balance here differs from the capital. Visited other baronies—asked why no mental barriers; they asked what those were. Wild, right?"
"Mental barriers...?"
"Aigoo. I'll whip one up later if you want. First, credentials? You think: Would a prince like Irid keep an illusion mage close? Scam?"
"......"
The mage voiced Fort's unspoken thoughts flawlessly.
"Fair. You've only seen wild illusion mages. No clue what a skilled one does. Baron, glance at the sky. Watch me erase it."
"Pardon?"
"Dim the light a touch, close your eyes just so—Mini Eclipse."
Tick.
Incantation done, night fell pitch-black.
"Wh-what... Huh?!"
Moments ago, broad daylight: sun high, sparrow perched on a branch. Now night. In a blink...
"Cool, huh?"
"H-how...?"
Fort staggered back in shock. Outside, clamor rose: "Night fell sudden!" "Goddess wrath!" Not just him, then.
In the void, red eyes glowed. He proffered documents.
"And here—the edict. Irid stamped it personally. You guess my business? Loyalty pledge."
"L-loyalty..."
"Yep. Swearing to Second Prince gives cause to smash Red-flavor Duke's puppets."
"......?"
Red-flavor?
"Trouble with the neighbor noble? I'll clean it up neat. Just pledge here... Tempting deal, no? Join, get perks free."
Fort's mind raced. Odd phrasing, but context clear: The mage targeted Stump. Red-flavor = Red = Redburn. Eliminate the duke's lackey.
Fort's eyes quivered. Day to night—that power. Irid's elite assassin!
Terms appealing; refusal unthinkable. Facing that crimson glare in darkness... How deny?
"Y-yes. I pledge loyalty."
"Excellent. Welcome aboard. Wise choice."
Tick.
Night lifted; day returned.
Basking in restored sun, the black-and-red mage grinned, introducing himself.
"I'm the Mad Mage. No grand meaning—just friends' teasing nickname. Relax. Won't harm you."
"......"
"For real."
No conviction.
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Conviction dawned.
Entrance dramatic, but the Mad Mage proved affable, decent. Lighthearted, perhaps.
"Ooh, great wine. Spare a few bottles later? Family'd love 'em."
"Of course. How many in the family...?"
"Wife, wife, daughter, disciple—four-ish."
"......"
Quirks aside.
Conversation flowed, so Fort asked what burned in him: the capital's look.
"Crown Hall much different?"
"Not hugely. Big, flashy—but Gold Tower mages could build anywhere quick... Holo-show?"
"You can?"
"Sure. Hologram."
Beee—
The Mad Mage projected Crown Hall in 3D hologram for touring. Vast, crowded buildings, bustling—expected.
A living city, capital or not, wouldn't differ that muc...
"......What just passed?"
"Ah, Vigilante Magical Girl Squad. Chased by Full-Armor Capital Knights. Disciple Gordius collab'd—thicker plating."
"......That below?"
"Secret giant robot—no, golem. Under Knight HQ. Specs: 100 meters tall."
That different.
Fort seriously pondered if Sunport lagged at primitive age.