Chapter 14
Chapter 14
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Translator: uly
Chapter: 14
Chapter Title: Does the Sheep Dream of Freedom? #2
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The central palace court of Angmar was one of the most beautiful in the world.
Sparkling marble floors and crimson carpet rugs. A ceiling soaring endlessly toward the heavens, supported by towering pillars.
The elegant furniture was all crafted from white sandalwood, each piece a work of art.
Statues carved from ivory praised the great kings of Angmar's past as tribute.
But amid all this beauty, the most stunning sight was the queen herself, seated upon the throne.
“…….”
Queen Aira lounged on the throne, arms crossed lazily, gazing down at everything with regal detachment.
This was nothing unusual for her.
Yet for the high officials furtively watching her expression, today was the absolute worst.
*Ahem.*
*Hem hem.*
As everyone eyed each other cautiously, the fifth in official court rank—Chancellor Pargas—stepped forward with a cough.
“Ahem, ahem. W-well then, let us begin the regular court assembly.”
With the phlegmy rattle of his chronic lung ailment, the court assembly finally commenced.
It had begun.
But nothing progressed.
“Anyway. What’s the agenda for today’s meeting?”
Chancellor Pargas finally unrolled a long scroll all the way to the floor and peered at it closely in response to Sir Belmot, the Finance Minister in charge of court finances and treasury.
*Shrrrrrrrrr.*
“Let’s see. First item on the agenda is... the activities of those rogue bandits plaguing the nobles lately, the Black Robe Gang, and—”
“Gang or robes? It’s Black Robe Gang, isn’t it?”
“Ah, right. Black Robe Gang activities, hmm. Where is it... The writing’s so small.”
“Pfft.”
“Hmm.”
Everyone groaned in frustration at the dithering old minister’s words.
Pargas had once been an exceptional man, but that was twenty years ago.
How could such a faltering fellow lead the meeting? Yet none of the other ministers dared step up to replace him.
They lacked the guts. And there was no need.
At least until yesterday.
Finance Minister Belmot scanned the surroundings, searching for one man—no, one boy—but his distinctive face was nowhere to be seen.
Then someone tugged at Belmot’s back.
Turning, he saw a bald, one-eyed minister staring at him.
Foreign Minister Philaf, the sly survivor who always played his cards right.
“Sir Belmot. He’s nowhere in sight. Theo Gospel. Do you know what’s happened?”
“Why ask me, Sir Philaf?”
“Why? Because you hated Theo the most, didn’t you, Sir Belmot? Did your behind-the-scenes schemes finally bring him down?”
“Schemes? Watch your mouth. I’m the queen’s trusted confidant now, a royalist.”
“Hah. If you say so.”
Foreign Minister Philaf and Finance Minister Belmot chatted as if the assembly meant nothing to them.
Without Theo Gospel, it was just an empty shell anyway.
Even Queen Aira sat with eyes closed, lost in thought.
Belmot glanced at her face and spoke.
“I truly have nothing to do with this. If anything, I’m dying to know what happened. All the hands I planted got cut off by that bastard Theo the other day.”
“I see. I heard the queen and Theo sneaked out last night, hopping the palace walls to wander the city.”
“The city?”
“Must’ve slipped up somewhere.”
“I suppose.”
Belmot nodded casually with an “I suppose,” but he knew Theo Gospel wasn’t the type to make careless mistakes.
The young man, barely reaching thirty, had dismantled Belmot’s long-prepared conspiracy in a single day, dragging it through the mud.
He’d even ferreted out Belmot’s secret hideout, his daughter, and held her hostage as a palace maid.
How did he find out?
*The hideout where I stashed Clara was so secret even I barely knew it.*
Thanks to him, the seeds of rebellion centered on the Dawn Society were crushed before they could ignite.
As much as Belmot hated to admit it, the guy had chillingly sharp instincts.
Was his “witch doctor” nickname literal? Some kind of precognition?
Really a slave?
No info on his past or origins whatsoever.
The only leads were his Gospel name linking him to the church and his purchase as a slave by the Lioness family.
Before that? A complete void.
Even a human should leave some trace of life.
Unless he’d lived like a wild dog in the mountains before late integration into society, there should be records or witnesses.
But Theo Gospel had none.
A perfect erasure, like he’d been wiped from existence.
Chilling.
*He seemed right at home in high society. Sure, a bit awkward, but his manners and speech were impeccably refined. Not some wild vagrant. Probably a fallen noble…*
A highly ambitious fallen noble.
That was Belmot’s guess on Theo Gospel’s identity.
For such a man to infiltrate the palace, seduce the queen, and manipulate everything.
No wonder the kingdom was teetering.
Maybe revenge against the nation that ruined his house? Belmot had thought so until yesterday.
But today brought new knowledge.
“This meeting isn’t going anywhere. Never thought I’d miss that bastard.”
“Indeed. If things go south, it’ll all be on you, Sir Belmot.”
“Sir Philaf, why me?”
“You sowed the most discord against Theo, didn’t you? Spreading rumors in the markets that he’s a witch doctor or whatever—that was you.”
“…There were reasons back then. For the grand plan, we had to drive a wedge between him and the queen…”
“Then don’t fail. Now he’s fallen from the queen’s favor and faces punishment. Congratulations.”
“…….”
Belmot had no retort to Foreign Minister Philaf’s sarcasm.
He’d dreamed of ousting Theo and Queen Aira.
But that was when he had the Dawn Society and his secret funds, confidence they could reshape the kingdom.
Now, with those gone.
If the one man who could control the queen vanished for good, Belmot couldn’t imagine what horrors awaited the court.
He didn’t want to.
Philaf said,
“The mad queen’s leash is off. Someone’s got to grab it. Who’d dare hold a tiger’s leash? This is a disaster.”
Belmot agreed.
How had the seemingly eternal bond between Queen Aira and Theo Gospel shattered?
This was very bad.
What if his smears had finally taken effect?
*Not good.*
As much as he hated admitting it, with his daughter held as a maid in the palace, Theo was essential for court stability.
“So, Sir Philaf, do you know where Theo Gospel is and what he’s up to?”
“Of course.”
Foreign Minister Philaf smirked slyly.
This crafty bald bastard. Plays dumb while reaping all the benefits. Belmot did the same.
Or rather, hyperbolically, everyone in this court played the fool on purpose. Act smart or superior, and you’d get saddled with all the work.
Like the star of a group project in academy forced to lead.
So they feigned idiocy, and it worked until now.
For the past year, the dirty work? Theo volunteered for it all…
So where was he now?
Philaf revealed Theo’s location.
Belmot was stunned.
It was the last place he’d expect for Theo.
Or maybe the most fitting…
“…The dungeon?”
* * *
*Clank, clank.*
“Theo Gospel, meal time.”
As I sat endlessly confined in my iron cell, someone brought a tray my way.
Looking up, a maid with blonde hair neatly tied back and a headband stared down at me in contempt.
“Miss Clara. What’s today’s lunch special?”
“Cream of mushroom soup. Hmph, you look pathetic. Manipulating the foolish queen, throwing innocents in prison. Never dreamed you’d end up here yourself, huh?”
Clara, daughter of Finance Minister Belmot, hurled sharp criticism at me, locked in the palace dungeon. She clearly despised me.
No wonder.
Forced into palace maid duty because of me, something she’d never have faced otherwise.
I said by way of excuse,
“I never imprisoned innocents. Only those who deserved it.”
“Who’d believe that?”
“Believe it or not, it’s the truth. Denying it doesn’t make it false.”
Clara snorted derisively.
Chatting, I checked her over—her face had color, no signs of injury or beatings.
“Palace work treating you okay?”
“Thanks to you!”
Maids’ hazing for newbies was like nurses’ teasing—rough but not extreme.
Maybe the slap I gave her earned sympathy from senior maids, skipping the brutal “welcome.”
Of course, Clara wouldn’t know or care.
“What happens now? Court gardener Theo Gospel. Or just plain Theo Gospel now? Execution?”
“You’d like that?”
“Couldn’t lie if I tried.”
She didn’t mince words.
I took the soup from the maid and casually changed the subject with a joke.
“You didn’t spit in it, did you?”
“…….”
Why the silence?
As I set down the spoon, Clara spoke.
“No. No need. Abandoned by the queen, left to die. Pathetic.”
“You keep insulting and provoking me. What if I somehow break out? Could you handle that?”
You think you can handle me?
Like a movie line, she burst into incredulous laughter.
“Escape the palace dungeon? Only corpses get out of this place. Maid or prisoner. You know that best, Gospel.”
True enough.
But my case was different.
“What’s this? A visitor? Wow, Theo, moving up. Even got a girl visiting.”
Someone approached leisurely from afar, torch in hand. He stopped at my cell and unlocked the door with the key.
“You’re... from the Lioness family... Why are you here?”
“Oh, Clara? Working as a maid, huh. First time since Aira’s birthday party a year ago?”
“Uh, uh—”
“Suits you. Now, step aside. Gotta enter the cell.”
Elga Lioness shoved Clara aside, entered my cell, and unlocked the chains and shackles on my wrists and ankles.
*Clank, clang—thunk. Thunk.*
“Half a day confined in the dungeon for reflection. Time’s up. You’re free, prisoner Theo Gospel. I’ve taken custody of you for now.”
*Shrrk, shrrk.*
Relishing my freedom, I rubbed my wrists and ankles. Even half a day in this hellhole was pure nightmare.
Ghost rumors aside, the bugs were fucking everywhere—utterly revolting.
“H-how...”
Clara trembled, shocked I’d be released so soon. Trauma from the slap, probably.
“I told you. Can you handle me?”
“Eek, heeek.”
I growled menacingly, and she collapsed to the floor. Grinning wide enough to bare my teeth at her.
“Just kidding.”