Chapter 85
Chapter 85
Saint, You’re So Vulgar! – Chapter 85
Whenever you think of a banquet, the first things that come to mind are dazzling lights and neatly arranged, mouthwatering dishes.
However, Baern's banquets were different from all others.
Crash!
"Wooooaaahhh!!!"
Blood splattered instead of brilliant lights.
Roaring laughter echoed in place of refined chuckles.
The air reeked of booze and roasted meat.
The closing banquet of the martial tournament was a private arena for the big shots known as the Big Ten.
"Fight! Fight harder!!!"
"Hey, Walter! Keep this up, and you'll get booted from the Big Ten!!!"
There was a ring smack in the middle of the banquet hall.
A burly man covered in thick beard and another with hair down to his waist were trading punches there.
Sparks flew from their eyes.
It was just as Asher remembered.
'Some things never change.'
Baern was a city-state.
Beyond the city walls lay countless ancient ruins in the desert, making it a land flowing with gold, but with ten massive factions crammed into that narrow territory, their turf wars were inevitably fierce.
The martial tournament had started as frequent fistfights from their verbal spats.
Now, it had become a full-blown cultural event.
So,
"This place is a riot! Yeah, that's how a banquet should be!"
that explained why Halia was so thrilled.
She fidgeted, dying to jump into the ring herself.
But she couldn't. Halia was playing the spoiled young lady who only hired expensive mercenaries.
Diego calmed her down.
Asher watched the central brawl alongside Versia and Gester.
Even amid it all, eyes were fixed on the Blue Sword from all corners.
Whispers buzzed everywhere.
"That's divine power."
"A new name might join the Big Ten soon."
"Who'll drop out? Windist? Sun Chaser?"
Voices predicting shifts in the power structure.
It was amusing talk for those planning to leave once the job was done.
That was when it happened.
"I watched the matches closely. Blue Sword."
A man approached.
Short black hair, copper skin, a scar across his left eye covered by a flame-shaped tattoohe was striking.
At that moment, Asher and Gester stiffened.
'He's here.'
The man you couldn't avoid meeting in this place.
The man at the heart of Baern's upheaval.
And the enemy of both of them.
"No need to be on guard. I always welcome new winds."
He was Grost Hilden, captain of the Lion Corps and the Sandstorm Mercenaries.
* * *
Stories about what kind of man Grost was had swirled around since Asher was a babe.
Some of the standout rumors went like this.
A natural-born warrior, an elegant fighter mismatched with his brutal bulk.
By twenty-five, he'd risen to lead the top mercenary band, Sandstorm, and elevated it to the pinnacle of the Big Ten with his managerial prowess.
That was Asher's memory of him.
A man who always shook hands with Trevion's captainbold and taciturnand shared tough talks.
Even when his mercenaries harassed Trevion's men, he'd kept up appearances.
They later learned it was all a facade for his black heart.
Especially after he sparked the rebellion, slaughtered the Lion Corps, and installed a new kingno need to belabor how insidious he was.
Naturally, Asher's gaze sharpened.
What was power worth, to sow chaos across the whole city for it?
The silver lining was that his tension probably read as mere wariness.
Not just Ashereyes on Grost were sharp across the board.
The moment he appeared and spoke, every Big Ten merc shut their mouths. No one else dared claim the floor.
It blatantly showed his image among the city's power players.
A tyrant. And evil.
Whether he knew or cared about that image, he remained utterly nonchalant.
"The tournament was impressive. Where are you from? Who taught you the sword?"
It wasn't aimed at Asher.
Grost was after Diego.
Diego, a full-fledged 1st Class Knight unbound by physical limits, had given the standout performance of the event.
Anyone could tell it was a recruitment pitch.
Diego tilted his head with a smooth refusal.
"My master taught me. I'm following the young lady to repay that grace."
"Your master, huh..."
Grost's eyes shifted to Halia.
Halia glared at him, arms crossed.
"...Grace, loyalty. Pointless things. He's not a rational fellow."
"A beast that doesn't know grace isn't even animalit's no better than a fledgling chick."
Halia smirked, her fangs peeking out.
Gulps echoed from all around at her provocative tone.
Halia showed no fear.
Of course not. The only being in this world who could make her afraid was one: the Parent God.
Grost scowled. Thankfully, nothing more came of it.
Her childlike appearance made her easy to dismiss, but it also prompted opponents to think, 'No need to get serious with a kid.'
Grost swept his gaze over Diego and Asher as if dropping the matter, then spotted Versia and flinched, trembling.
His brows furrowed. Tension flooded Asher. Had they been made? The worry flashed through him.
Versia asked slyly,
"Is something the matter?"
"...No, you just resemble someone I know."
Asher's eyes narrowed.
She still remembered his face, it seemed.
But he'd grown, dyed his hair Versia's color, and looked far less boyish now.
Unless you'd shadowed him like Gester, there was no way to tell.
Grost didn't press further.
He turned and vanished into the crowd.
Only then did the cold sweat stop.
A long breath escaped.
They exchanged looks.
Gester glared at Grost, bloodshot eyes bulging over his own.
Halia muttered low,
"Just hold on a bit longer. If we make it through tonight, we'll uncover everything."
"Got it~."
A coquettish reply, sticking to her role.
Halia smiled contentedly.
The mood settled into a lull.
Grost had left the banquet hall.
After that,
the one who'd been watching them finally appeared: the crown prince of the current dynasty.
He had pale green hair and a mild-mannered face.
Not what Asher had expected.
As the usurper's son, he'd imagined a brute reveling in atrocities, but this man was quiet and timid.
His beaming greeting even carried a hint of strange anticipation.
"Ah, hello! I watched all the matchesthey were amazing!"
A guy like this could be easy to manipulate. The thought slipped in unbidden.
Halia had already hinted at it before.
Versia disliked it, but couldn't deny its potential.
Halia nudged Asher's side with her elbow.
Asher hesitated. The curse wouldn't worsen without physical contact.
So charming him with words might...
'...Why am I even pondering how to seduce a man?'
Self-loathing surged. He squeezed his eyes shut, shaking it off.
For the greater good. He steeled himself and opened his eyes.
He was about to speak.
Then he saw it.
"?"
"Mi-Mila! The matches were so close! I watched from start to finish! Even in defeat, your resolve was just...!"
The crown prince flushed crimson, eyes sparkling at Gester in drag.
His voice, once subdued, brimmed with energy.
"Oh, ohohong...?"
"I've been a fan forever! I hope you spread your wings in a fine mercenary band! I'm thrilled you've found such great comrades...!"
Asher clamped his mouth shut.
Fanboy crush? No, it felt like more than that...
"You know what I mean, right?"
"......"
There was no mistaking what Versia meant by "that."
A storm of vexed emotions churned in his head.
No one in all of Baern truly thought Gester was a woman.
Not even the crown prince. He knew it was a man in dragand blushed anyway.
'...A rotten dynasty.'
Offspring of traitors, after all.
Not entirely free of bias, but Asher doubted he'd ever view him favorably.
Gester panicked, his falsetto cracking with phlegm.
Versia just murmured, intrigued.
"The child of my enemy who loves me. Isn't that just fascinating?"
If they weren't both men, it might've been a little intriguing.