Chapter 106
Chapter 106
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 106
Chapter Title: Corrupted Sword Dance
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“Lord Kallias. We’ve arrived.”
“See you later then.”
As if he had business to attend to, Jenos vanished, leaving Kallias and Allen to enter the castle alone.
Majesty incarnate.
The royal palace carried a somewhat religious air but exuded an antique elegance.
It lacked ostentatious luxury, yet its simplicity made it all the more stylish.
Upon entering, the first sight was a long stretching garden interspersed with a statue of a god. At the center stood a towering fountain, with castle wings extending to the east, west, south, and north.
After walking straight for some time, guards appeared alongside a man who offered to guide them, leading the way to the inner keep.
“We’ve been expecting you. Shall we head straight to the ball?”
“Indeed.”
No further explanation was needed.
Kallias’s black hair and blue eyes served as proof of his name and title.
“At the ball, you may carry only the iron sword permitted by the palace. If you have any personal swords or artifacts, we can store them here.”
He led Kallias and Allen to a storage room displaying various armaments.
It was one of the places knights despised most.
No matter how well-managed, no one wanted to leave their sword—akin to their own heart—there.
This was especially true for knights, and even more so for paladins.
That explained why Jenos had disappeared the moment they arrived at the palace.
“I didn’t bring mine.”
His sword was already in the Subspace, and he had no artifacts worth noting.
There was no reason to arrive fully armed at the palace.
“I’ll take one.”
He accepted the offered sword.
It was an iron sword forged by a master smith.
The blade was unremarkable, but it appeared as sturdy as a Carcass Sword.
‘Sacred alchemy runes are etched on it.’
That seemed to enhance its durability.
Even so, it was only Carcass grade, but not bad for sparring.
Sparring.
That was the true purpose of the ball.
While balls in general were gatherings where nobles mingled with laughter and social chatter.
The palace ball was different. One could tell just from the fact that swords were worn.
The king’s ball was a place to prove one’s achievements and to evaluate and test each other’s swordsmanship.
In short, it could be called a sword dance assembly.
For that reason, Kallias held high expectations for this sword dance.
Since he had devised this setting himself, he was curious how the stories and characters at the sword dance would unfold and in what ways they had changed.
Anyone not curious about the elegant sword dances born from swords and ball would be no swordsman.
Anticipation swelled within him.
“The Count Kallias von Jerban enters.”
As the doors opened, the first to greet Kallias was none other than sound.
The clash of iron swords? No.
The rhythm of sword dances? No.
It was the lively chatter of sword-bearing men and ladies discussing this sword and that.
Laughter from men and women.
That alone wouldn’t be strange.
After all, it was a banquet, swords or not. Yet Kallias quickly realized.
Not a single person at the sword dance had drawn their sword.
No one exchanged words or danced with blades.
Swords were merely tools to elevate their worth, items to boost their status.
There were no knights at the sword dance.
Kallias’s expression grew icy.
Originally, Carpe’s sword dance was for gauging and exchanging skills.
But at some point, its purpose had devolved into something trivial.
To think it had rotted this far.
And as if to prove it, a rotten stench began to waft.
It was perfume.
The myriad scents they had doused themselves in mixed into a putrid reek.
Their behavior was rotten too, so it was fitting.
No need to create a hostile atmosphere, but Kallias’s stomach turned at their complacent antics.
In the north alone, hundreds of soldiers and knights had died to orc scum swayed by the Empire’s temptations.
A war spanning months had only ended by staking lives repeatedly.
The north wasn’t alone.
The south and west resisted the Empire too, small in scale but wagering their lives all the same.
To wield a sword meant to offer one’s life.
On the battlefield, soldiers, knights, and even kings fought with lives on the line.
So he didn’t want to see this.
He couldn’t stand the sight.
But leave it be?
That wasn’t an option.
Survival demanded change.
Just as stagnant water doesn’t purify easily, altering a corrupted culture was no simple task.
Yet that difficult feat.
Kallias intended to attempt it.
“Isn’t that Count Jerban?”
Sure enough, a man with hair slicked like butter approached.
“Who are you?”
“I am Jordan de Aulije. Surely you’ve heard of Aulije wines.”
In the fetid ballroom, this apparent ringleader eyed them while ladies hid smiles behind fans, and men boasted endlessly about where they bought or acquired their swords, laughing uproariously.
“I’ve heard of your renown. In this barren season, your bloom is the kingdom’s pride. Why not join me and the ladies to discuss swords?”
Kallias scanned the room with distaste and let out a scoff.
“It’s like a trash heap.”
“……What did you just say?”
“That was too rude. A slip of the tongue.”
“Ah. I nearly misunderstood…….”
“Parading around with bravado about debating swords while fussing over appearances like vermin worse than trash—this isn’t a ball, it’s a cesspool.”
Jordan’s face froze mid-smile, as if he’d nearly been fooled.
“……Even as a count, that’s too much! Calling a sword dance with ancient history and tradition a cesspool?!”
“What good is ancient history and tradition if the inheritors are trash?”
Ancestors’ legacies deserved respect, but if twisted into filth, it was right to discard and refresh.
“H-How dare you spout such nonsense…….”
“That remark insulted not just the ball but Carpe itself! Even the Empire’s emperor wouldn’t say such a thing, yet a count does!”
The Empire’s emperor? Dragging the Empire into this? Fine.
“I’ll tell you exactly why you’re trash and filth.”
“Go ahead.”
First.
“The Empire’s emperor has the right. If he came here and called you trash, you’d be trash. Why? He’s qualified to say it.”
Qualified indeed.
If the emperor saw this, he’d erase any pride from subjugating Carpe.
Why not?
Seeing such pathetic displays, he couldn’t boast of the hardship.
At least the man actively pursued his ambitions, unlike these nobles wasting away.
“What?! In Carpe, acknowledging the Empire’s emperor…….”
“Let’s hear him out. No matter how this ends, we must test Count Jerban’s swordsmanship. History and tradition will judge if a wastrel’s skills suit the sword dance!”
Ridiculous.
Still calling Kallias a sword-illiterate wastrel.
Blind and deaf, frog in a well, giggling with ladies and spouting empty boasts.
And second.
“If defeated by the Empire, noble heirs become slaves first. Ladies sold as concubines, men enslaved, thrown into meat grinders on the front lines to die.”
Yet they came to the sword dance without drawing once.
This atmosphere had likely persisted for ages.
The outside world was despair unending, and they craved comfort amid harsh lives.
“Your parents toil day and night to save the kingdom from its plight. Yet you squander this chance laughing idly. Vermin.”
Swords were too good for such scum.
“Insulting the sword dance insults our ancestors!”
“First the Empire, now ancestors. Have you nothing of your own? Always hiding behind others with worn-out words.”
As Kallias finished, Jordan, unable to bear the humiliation, drew his sword from his waist.
The momentum was decent.
“Pathetically slow.”
Yawn-inducingly slow.
Child’s play compared to orc axes. But the moment it aimed at Kallias’s throat, he flicked it with middle and index fingers.
Tang!
Infused with Phantom Smoke Sword subtlety, it easily deflected Jordan’s blade.
“Hup!”
The rebound sent Jordan’s sword flying; startled, his face met Kallias’s fist.
Crack!!
“Gah!!”
Crash! Clatter!! Shatter!
Tableware and wine glasses tumbled everywhere.
White and red foods, wine splashed across his clothes in a colorful mess.
As Jordan crumpled instantly, the room fell silent.
No one had ever beaten another noble like that.
“Count Jerban. Are you prepared to bear the consequences?”
“What consequences can’t I bear?”
“Making enemies of us nobles.”
Likely asking if he’d side with the powerless king.
The sword dance’s corruption probably stemmed from noble faction overpowering royalists.
Thus, the queen knew but couldn’t act rashly.
He got the picture.
The man before him asked Kallias.
Would he stand by the weak king?
Could he face all nobles as foes?
Kallias brushed off the heavy pressure lightly.
“How many nobles’ heads did I take marching south from the north?”
Rumors must have spread by now.
“……Treating us as Empire spies?!”
“Nothing stopping me.”
Kallias’s other identity was captain of the Heretic Inquisition’s sixth squad.
“You’re the ones who must bear it.”
As a kingdom count and inquisition captain, if he willed it.
He could drag even dust to the gallows.
“This isn’t the north.”
“That’s why it’s fortunate. My foes are in my grasp.”
But other nobles?
Kallias implied as much.
“T-Threatening us!”
“You threatened first. Can’t even remember your own words.”
The pressuring noble fell silent like a honey-mute, mouth agape.
Like a gawping crucian carp—refreshing.
“Right. He called this place a sword dance of ancient history and tradition.”
Kallias nodded at the still-downed man.
“Carpe proves strength with swords; only the strong speak, the weak shut up.”
Might makes right.
That was this world’s essence.
Worship the strong, hone power to ascend—that was Carpe’s true banner.
“You’re not even worth my knight’s toes.”
So shut your mouths.
“Don’t acknowledge it?”
They chose silence over answer.
But not affirming silence.
“…….”
“…….”
Their faces were a spectacle.
Allen. Outwardly, still a boy not fully adult.
One-eyed, but youthful enough to mistake for a novice.
Judging by looks alone, these idiots wore doubt and complaint: he can’t be that good.
To think they couldn’t even gauge Allen’s presence—utterly rotten. Disillusionment hit.
[Sub Quest]
「Change the Sword Dance」
-The sword dance, created by Carpe’s founding myth heroes, has long lost its meaning and tradition. Restore it to its original form.
<Reward>: Goblin gold coins.
A quest popped up perfectly.
An amusing idea struck.
“Allen.”
“Yes.”
“You’ll have to handle this.”
“Speak.”
Allen gripped the scabbard of his palace iron sword, looking to Kallias.
Kallias declared to the silent nobles.
“Spar with my knight. If any of you beats him, I’ll kneel and personally apologize for my rudeness.”
“……!”
The nobles stirred.
One of the four great nobles, wielder of the Judgment Sword. Inquisition captain.
With all that, they couldn’t retort.
But if he knelt and apologized, his face and prestige would hit the dirt.
He’d never dare such violence again.
“Well? Do it?”
A chance to force the rude fool to kneel and beg forgiveness.
And beside him, a small knight who looked like a boy.
Irresistible temptation.
Glory as the hero who subdued and humbled the wastrel. Unable to resist, one noble stepped forward.
“……A-Alright!”
A grin curved Kallias’s lips.
* * *
“Your Majesty. It’s time.”
“Yes, let’s go.”
Today, many dignitaries gathered at the sword dance.
The queen held some expectations.
Foolish to sit hoping for change. But new winds occasionally blow away rot and bear fruit.
“Her Majesty the Queen of Carpe enters. All show proper respect!”
The moment she entered the hall.
The queen’s pale eyes widened round.
“Amusing.”
Most nobles—save a few—lay sprawled.
At the center stood a man tall and proud.
Kallias von Jerban.
The queen’s eyes curved like crescent moons for the first time in a while.