The One Who Devises Bizarre Schemes (1)
All eyes were glued to the conversation.
Even the refined ones pretending to be uninterested perked up their ears, mouths firmly shut.
That's when Garten Count hurriedly spoke to the interpreter.
"Ah, let me rephrase the question. That was too direct."
On second thought, asking outright about a harem could be risky.
The other side was a prickly dark elf noble.
Offend her pride, and she might just storm out.
Since it seemed like a harem was indeed the case, Garten Count switched gears.
"So... how many does he command?"
The dark elf noblewoman tilted her head at the question.
She understood it as asking about the number of warriors under Heroicus's command, but there was no precise headcount for that.
Then it hit her—one detail came to mind.
The queen had sent Heroicus off on her adventure with a hundred warriors.
That had to be it.
"He shall lead a hundred outstanding warriors."
The interpreter, as usual, put his own spin on the translation.
"She says he shall lead a hundred outstanding beauties."
As he relayed it, the interpreter felt quite pleased with his own ingenuity.
He'd caught the word for "outstanding."
But "outstanding beauties" sounded off, so he'd improvised "peerless beauties" on the fly—and damn, he thought it was brilliant.
My skills are this sharp; standing out in this field is just a matter of time.
Stand out he did.
His translation sent ripples of shock through the Bris nobles.
"What? A hundred beauties?"
And the follow-up made it even wilder: the queen herself had granted them.
Jaws dropped all around.
"How mighty must Heroicus's prestige be for the queen to personally assemble his harem?"
"Heh heh! Astonishing. Today truly broadens my horizons."
"Customs abroad differ, but this... damn, I'm so jealous...."
Seeing the Bris nobles' stunned reactions finally brought a satisfied smile to the dark elf noblewoman's face.
Hah! These country bumpkins are finally grasping Heroicus's majesty.
Buoyed by the moment, she added one more line.
"If Her Majesty permits, I too wish to serve him. Starting tonight!"
Of course, she meant standing with him on the battlefield, but to the Bris nobles, it fueled the misunderstanding.
"No—tonight!"
Her bold declaration sent Garten Count's pupils shaking like an earthquake.
She's clearly high nobility, isn't she? And dripping with allure—not your average beauty. For a woman like that to want to serve him immediately... Leire, what the hell have you done?
Garten Count, who'd recently learned just how haughty dark elf nobles could be, was doubly shocked.
But he wasn't alone in his thoughts.
Every Bris noble felt envy twisting their guts.
To them, dark elves were beings of dazzling beauty.
Frightening, sure—but that pale brown skin, exotic features, and revealing tribal garb stirred a man's imagination.
Just then, Owen happened to pass by and spotted the group.
He'd been mingling, thanking everyone who'd fought alongside him this time.
Reinforcements from the nobles. Gotta express my gratitude.
With a friendly smile, bottle in hand, Owen headed their way.
He quickly clocked the highest-ranking one and bowed.
"Garten Count, you must have endured much hardship."
But the elderly count ignored the greeting, staring at Owen with a bizarre expression. He finally managed to ask,
"A hundred of them... can you handle it, Leire?"
"Pardon?"
Owen blinked, wondering what that meant.
Some eastern joke he didn't get? But everyone else looked dead serious, not just Garten.
He'd never seen nobles so fixated on him before.
As he tilted his head, the dark elf noblewoman nearby whispered a hint.
"Heroicus. They're talking about how Her Majesty will grant you a hundred warriors. That's why they're asking."
"Ah... I see."
Owen instantly grasped Garten Count's concern.
Dark elf warriors were arrogant, with sky-high pride.
He's worried a kid like me can't lead a hundred of them. What a warm-hearted guy.
But Owen brimmed with confidence.
In his past life, he'd commanded vast imperial armies as the empire's guardian. A mere hundred dark elves? Piece of cake.
"I can handle them just fine."
Owen's firm assurance darkened Garten Count's face.
"Heh heh... Your back's sure to give out...? And draining your stamina daily at your age invites an early grave."
"My back? Early grave?"
Something felt off here, but Owen brushed it aside.
Lots of drunks around; probably just that.
Instead, he reaffirmed his resolve.
"I won't back down."
"Such spirit!"
"That many? I can tame them all in one night."
Owen boasted of his leadership, but Garten Count recoiled in horror, nearly toppling backward.
"One night—for all of them?!"
The young man's bravado struck him as sheer recklessness.
The surrounding nobles couldn't hide their agitation either.
They looked ready to scream.
Owen wondered what the fuss was about.
Maybe this reaction makes sense? Humans still find it hard to accept dark elves as neighbors.
Misunderstanding the whole thing, Owen wrapped up with a few more pleasantries and moved on.
But that was a mistake.
Garten Count, face etched with grave concern, summoned one of his viscounts.
"Listen. This is bad. Those cunning dark elves are scheming. They're trying to lure away our promising eastern youth with a honey trap—mark my words!"
"Indeed! Granting him the title of Parte from the start was suspicious. Prepping the ground to snag a dragon knight, no doubt."
"You're right. When does the ship to the east depart?"
"Tomorrow. They said to hurry the victory news...."
"Perfect! I'll write a letter; you deliver it to His Grace. Crucial matter—no mistakes."
"Of course."
"We're allied with dark elves, sure, but we can't just sit by while they poach talent. They're infamous for their beauties, after all. If this continues, it'll be a major problem."
The loyal count had thoroughly misunderstood—and now fretted in earnest.
Two weeks later. Bris.
The victory news from Margel Island sent the whole city into a frenzy of joy.
Surpuk Duke, in high spirits, distributed bread and ale galore, plunging the citizens into sudden festival mode.
"The gods favor His Grace!"
"We all fretted over allying with dark elves, but look at these results."
"To our wise and noble duke!"
Bris's excitement permeated even the duke's court.
From his residence atop the city's highest hill, the nighttime cityscape blazed like midday, even at this late hour.
There, he discussed future plans with the dark elf queen over tea.
At her side, Tia—Surpuk Duke's adopted daughter—served as her handmaiden.
Tia often advised the queen on eastern and human affairs.
The queen had quickly taken a liking to the beautiful maid.
Knock. Knock.
A knock at the door, and Surpuk Duke's elderly steward entered.
"Garten Count sent a private letter. One of his viscounts delivered it earlier."
Sensing something important, the nearby queen rose to leave.
"Duke, attend to your business. I'll take my leave."
"No, Your Majesty. I haven't answered your request yet; it'd be rude to let you go like this."
The queen had come asking if he could fund the North Sea Fleet's operations.
Of course he planned to; he stopped her from leaving.
"It's from Margel Island. Might need Your Majesty's input. It'll be quick—please enjoy your tea a moment longer?"
"Very well, Duke."
The dark elf queen replied with poise and lifted her teacup.
Meanwhile, Surpuk Duke took the sealed missive.
Odd. Garten's not one for covert messages.
Garten Count was upright, impeccable.
Not one of the Four Swords, but trusted enough to command the entire relief force.
For such a man to send a secret letter? Alarm bells rang.
Something wrong with the official report?
He unfolded it hastily—and the contents hit like a thunderbolt.
"Urk...."
The unflappable duke gaped in shock.
"Y-Your Grace?"
The steward called out at his master's reaction.
The queen, sipping tea, exchanged glances with Tia—what could it be?
But Surpuk Duke had no attention for them.
The letter was that shocking.
Your Grace!
As I see it, the women of that race are utterly lascivious; any young man would stir with desire and lose control.
Not just Leire—even Bris's dignified gentlemen can't tear their eyes from them strutting with thighs bared.
How can a noble not feel shame and despair? They prance like colts in spring breeze; we must stay vigilant.
As the ancients said: When the heart wanders, the will does not linger. Your Grace, heed this and correct it sternly.
This is no trifling concern.
— Garten Count
Having read it through, Surpuk Duke's mind blanked in bewilderment.
First time for something like this.
"Duke, what's wrong?"
The queen asked worriedly; he scowled.
"Your Majesty, I've tasted every bewilderment till my beard turned white, but nothing like today."
"What on earth is it?"
"Read this letter. If it's your doing, I worry how long this fine alliance lasts."
With nothing to hide, the queen took it casually.
I've done nothing wrong. Why the fuss?
But soon her jaw hung slack too.
"What in the...."
The letter claimed Owen was taking a hundred dark elf beauties to form a harem.
No way—that lunatic? What the hell has Glendower been up to?
The queen now understood Surpuk Duke's words.
"Duke, I never ordered anything like this."
Her flat denial eased his expression.
The queen he'd seen was serious, no casual liar.
And her character didn't fit cheap tricks like this.
"Hrm... Your Majesty, I seem to have misjudged you."
"No. Whatever this is, we must clarify it plainly. We never do something so horrific as giving a hundred women to one man."
Rarely, the queen furrowed her brow.
Frost crept over her teacup.
Let's see here? A harem with a hundred?
A dark flame writhed in her chest.
The dark elf queen didn't know what emotion it was, but it was unbearable.
Crack!
Her cup fully froze; Surpuk Duke hastily intervened.
"Your Majesty, calm yourself. My rudeness."
"It's not you, Duke. With things like this, shouldn't we summon Leire to Bris? I'd question him personally—er, interrogate him."
Surpuk Duke accepted her request at once.
He was dying to know what happened too.
"I'll summon Owen Leire right away. Island's secured anyway—no issue. New Year's soon; perfect excuse for a visit."
"That sounds ideal."
The queen smiled sweetly.
But Tia, watching close, noticed.
A vein pulsing faintly on her forehead.
Tia secretly resolved.
This is bad. Leire's in a bind. Gotta tip him off by letter!
She figured helping Owen was smart.
Prime business partner; a favor wouldn't hurt.
A hundred wives was iffy, but she'd respect his harem tastes.
Not my husband anyway; no skin off my nose.
That night, Tia penned a secret letter.
It'd arrive with the summons on the next ship.
A girl's good intentions.
One problem, though.
Tia had a delicate look but a rather scatterbrained personality.