Chapter 105
Chapter 105
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 105
Chapter Title: A Fitting Entrance
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Inside the carriage heading to the palace.
Kallias, resting his chin on his hand, caught sight of one knight riding alongside outside, serving as escort.
One knight for the count's protection. One coachman.
He could have led a small group of knights without issue, but Kallias saw no need.
He wasn't one to fuss over ceremony in the first place, and it would only be a hassle.
So he set off for the palace with the bare minimum.
For coachman, Brans was perfect—the man who single-handedly handled every odd job around the estate.
No one else had stepped up.
As for the escort, there had been plenty of discussion among them, but Allen ended up coming along.
Aaron hesitated, saying he still couldn't properly wield a sword and thus couldn't fulfill escort duties, and Orphin felt the same, so Allen was chosen.
This time, since they were heading to the count—wait, no, the palace—the members of the Sixth Unit couldn't join.
“Why are you here, anyway?”
Kallias eyed Jenos von Gradas, who had settled into the carriage.
“'You'? Call me Captain.”
“I'm a count right now.”
“...Should I use honorifics?”
“The kingdom's laws are strict. It'd be better for your well-being. The royal castle's underground prison doesn't discriminate.”
Normally, a count outranked a captain. But that didn't mean one would be rude.
They both held positions deserving of respect.
Kallias, however, had no such qualms.
“We're on the way anyway. It's not like riding in this spacious carriage is a squeeze. Why glare like that... Bah, forget it. How about we drop the formalities?”
“Good idea.”
It had been a joke to begin with.
“And I had something to say.”
“You hopped in and started devouring those cookies right away. What could you possibly have to discuss? Seems you had more to say to the cookies than to me.”
“Don't talk about these cookies so casually.”
Kallias's eyes narrowed.
What was the story behind those cookies?
“My future wife made them. Tasting stale cookies would be disrespectful to her.”
Kallias furrowed his brow.
“What nonsense is this? Those cookies have a brand label. They're 'Prine' cookies, famous even in Carradi. You think I wouldn't know?”
Prine Confectionery.
A renowned maker of delicacies.
They sold only a fixed quantity each morning— the real deal.
Due to the limited stock, most went to noble estates, with a small amount sold first-come, first-served in the markets.
“You know your stuff... Like them?”
“My daughter begged me to get some, so I lined up once.”
Emily had wanted them, so he'd queued up a few days ago.
Of course, right in front of Kallias, the stock had run out, so he hadn't tasted them.
He'd considered pulling rank as a count but held back.
Using his status for mere cookies would make him no better than the nobles he'd executed.
Being an upright noble was tough.
“Prine, the maker of these cookies, is the kindred spirit of my soul.”
“Prine's owner is a middle-aged woman with grown children. How could she be your soulmate?”
“Heh. You know one and not the other. Let me explain perfectly—hold on.”
Jenos popped a cookie into his mouth whole and savored it, shaking his head.
“Now explain.”
“Never mind. Not interested.”
Jenos's womanizing far surpassed Kallias's to begin with.
Though he'd never succeeded even once in his life.
*Virgin simp extraordinaire.*
The poster boy for hopeless romantics.
He fell in love easily and gave up just as fast. Call it pure or call it pathetic.
His looks weren't bad, and as Heretic Inquisitor Captain, he had status—yet here he was.
They called him Cat-Step Jenos; as one of the Five Stars, he was a Three Realms powerhouse, from one of the Four Great Noble Houses. No lacks there.
Yet he scared himself out of love, stuck to crushes, and quit at the drop of a hat. Nothing more to say.
*The scar on his nose is a bit much, but it's like the Jerban eyes—no shame in that.*
If House Jerban received the Ashen Grace from the gods, Gradas bore a nose scar.
A kind of stigmata.
Thus, their noses sensed more than mere smells.
But that wasn't important now.
Kallias knew Jenos's path to romantic success and his fated partner but had no desire to share.
If Jenos had offered even one cookie, maybe—but not now.
“...How's Pedro? His daughter seemed to be thriving. Looked good.”
“He's content.”
Kallias was grateful regarding Pedro.
Without him, Pedro would be dead or at least gravely wounded.
“Good to hear. I enjoyed seeing more people around the count's residence each visit. Their bright energy lifts the mood just watching.”
“...Something going on at the royal castle?”
Changing the subject awkwardly, Kallias prompted a smirk from Jenos before he replied.
“Family business. The family head's mostly retired now, so I need to inherit the count's title. Not the headship yet, but take the title first, he said. Probably after hearing about you.”
“Hm.”
The current Gradas head: one of the kingdom's five rare Masters.
Not well-known due to his reclusive nature, but the kingdom's top assassin? His name came to mind.
Silent Gradas.
“With the Empire's pressure mounting daily, the head plans to halt external ops. Better I handle the Empire's key figures, he said. No stopping that.”
“A weighty decision.”
It meant the kingdom's situation was dire.
Not just Gradas.
Many nobles strove to save the kingdom as best they could.
Kallias had a duty to execute those draining its strength instead.
“The head's taken an interest in you. Invite you east sometime.”
“When the time comes.”
Jenos nodded, crossed his arms as if done talking, and closed his eyes.
Kallias had nothing more to say either, so he shut his eyes and circulated the divine power of the Manhwabong Yuk through meditation.
* * *
The royal castle's ballroom.
Arriving first was the exemplar knight with water-blue hair.
The Holy Pilgrim.
Esther Sol Sellied.
She arrived early, calmly surveying those already in the hall.
An old man stood beside her: Pope Felice, who often requested meetings with her.
“To come this far, and still Sullivian won't see me.”
“Your Holiness, even I can't break Sullivian's stubbornness. And from what I know, Your Holiness was the first to betray her heart.”
“How could I accept her telling me to step down as pope? The Church was dying, the kingdom too. I had no choice.”
With that, the pope leaned on the second-floor railing, gazing down at the ornate, glittering ballroom.
Pity colored the pope's eyes.
“Carpe's balls were once called Sword Dance Assemblies—places to clash blades and exchange insights. But now? No one draws the sword at their hip. No wonder the nation heads to ruin. The young should risk severed hands and arms for sword enlightenment! Stand tall in a world of the strong—tch, tch.”
End times, end times.
Chaos raged beyond the borders.
Yet those in the castle prattled about swordplay like frogs in a well.
“You're all I can count on, Esther. When I die, turn this back into a Sword Dance Assembly. Then the papacy's yours.”
The pope spouted nonsense often, but this time Esther shared the sentiment. Still, her response defended the situation.
“...Some may suffer, but if it brings peace to others, that's the true use of the sword, I believe.”
“Commoners, yes. Nobles have noble duties.”
Noblesse oblige.
Nobles must fulfill their obligations.
Those who abandoned them weren't worthy of noble treatment.
“Those fools have never seen a battlefield. And they do nothing of note.”
What interest would battlefield virgins have in sword-clashing traditions?
Obsessed with elegance and poise, they sparred without intensity.
Just enough to break a sweat—then complaints about nobles unseemly with perspiration, all while gorging and reveling.
This wasn't true Carpe Sword Dance.
“Peace has lasted too long. They're steeped in it. The Empire gnaws at the kingdom from below, yet here it's all serenity.”
“Why not command it yourself, Your Holiness? One word from you, and swords will draw again.”
“You truly believe that?”
“...”
Seriousness in the pope's ever-playful eyes silenced Esther.
“The fallen Church's prestige. What's the point of this backroom old man stepping up?”
This was the royal castle, not the Church.
Royalty and Church were inseparable, yet lines must be held.
“I miss those days dancing swords with Sullivian.”
The queen was frail, the prince gripped by madness. With the royal pillar gone, nobles seized the castle—hence this mess.
Roaring now would only draw mock swordplay before the pope.
No need to witness such ugliness.
“Old folks should die quick. Sorry for the dull griping.”
The pope smiled bitterly at the distance, then turned.
“...”
Esther felt a twinge of helplessness and bowed her head.
“Count Kallias von Jervan enters!”
A new arrival was announced in the hall.
“That must be the rascal you mentioned.”
Esther, momentarily downcast, looked up. Kallias reflected in her eyes.
“Yes. Here as a count today, it seems. Didn't expect him to attend.”
“Ho?”
The pope, staring at Esther, grinned.
“You sure talk a lot when his name comes up.”
“Y-Yes?”
Turning in confusion, she found the pope smirking mischievously. Esther whipped her head away.
“...Just interest in an outstanding swordsman.”
“Ho. Ho?”
Teasing her relentlessly, the pope watched Kallias enter the hall.
Handsome enough to be a noble ideal, his gait and arrogant expression blended into an intriguing aura.
His appearance hushed the noisy hall; one unpleasantly smug young noble approached him.
“A noble among nobles. And he's the wastrel?”
“During his church days... he caused much trouble.”
Esther grimaced, recalling Kallias's torments. She cleared her throat and straightened.
“But he's changed a lot lately. Still brash, but...”
“Still looks the wastrel to me.”
“What?”
Before Esther finished—
Pow!!
Kallias backhanded the smug noble's face.
“...”
“...”
The room froze, failing to grasp the scene.
“...”
Even Esther gaped in shock.
Only
Kallias and the pope wore smiles on their lips.