Chapter 71
Chapter 71
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 71
Chapter Title: The Queen's Suspicion
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The Elf Queen let out a hollow laugh.
With an incredulous expression, she turned to the priests who had bowed their heads and asked once more.
"Killed before they could even set sail? By mere barbarian whelps not even worth the monkeys?"
"C-Circumstantially, yes."
The delegation dispatched to the North had returned.
But inside the returned ship was not the Elf delegation that had departed with such bold assurances—only a tangle of unrecognizable, rotting flesh.
The port clerk who first witnessed the scene had fainted from the sheer horror within the vessel.
The royals hurriedly dispatched investigators to uncover what had transpired before departure.
Clearly, those Northern barbarians had finally crossed the line—voices clamored to send the army at once and make them pay for harming the delegation.
But the results were unexpected.
After two days of thorough investigation, the Elf investigators unanimously concluded:
'The degree of decomposition is uniform across all bodies. And the cause of death matches the weapons found.'
'It's undoubtedly the work of the barbarians killed on site.'
The delegation had been ambushed during cargo loading.
The attackers were not Northern forces but a horde of barbarians. In their hasty attempt to depart, the delegation had fought to mutual destruction with the foes who boarded the ship.
Unloaded cargo, corpses on both sides with wounds matching the weapons, and sails fixed toward home.
The circumstantial evidence and reconstruction provided by the investigators rang utterly true.
Elven scholarship was the finest on the continent.
To doubt investigators versed in anatomy would be to spit in one's own face.
'Typical of the barbaric North.'
'How incompetent must they be to fall to mere barbarians? Oh, keep this hush-hush, please.'
What could they do when the truth was so plain?
The nobles' outrage swiftly twisted into disgust and mockery, their boiling interest fizzling out like a mere diversion.
But the Elf Queen alone sensed something amiss in this truth that fit together all too neatly.
It was perfect, like a spider's web meticulously spun.
'Suspicious.'
Situations always harbored variables.
Her years of political savvy instinctively recoiled from such flawless alignment.
Crunch.
If this farce was all some schemer's design, whose handiwork could it be?
Among the Northern humans she knew, only one possessed the cunning for such a ploy.
Gritting her teeth, the Elf Queen closed her eyes, unable to pinpoint the irksome cause.
Her mouth, rinsed with water, still seemed to hold the grit from that day's stone dust.
Achoo!
My nose itched, forcing a sneeze.
Rough Oats, walking beside me down the corridor, looked concerned.
"Caught a cold, sir?"
"Nah, no way."
I'd heeded recent warnings to mind my health, but I wasn't frail enough for a mere cold.
I sniffed back the tickle and crossed the bustling corridor's center.
"Everyone's busy."
"Times like these, yeah."
Even at this early hour, the administrative offices centered on the Prime Minister's room buzzed with clerks and officials scurrying about.
Overwhelmed by the influx of work, they'd passed overtime, all-nighters, and holidays—now pulling all-nighters at the offices.
Yet from the lowliest clerk to the Prime Minister himself, not a single complaint arose.
All this preparation hinged on the North's uncertain fate.
"Has Lord Gray Wolf departed?"
"Set out at dawn."
Gray Wolf, supplies in tow, had marched with the Northern army to the coast where the Elf delegation had landed.
No matter how meticulously they'd disguised the delegation's demise, they had to prepare for contingencies.
Coastal landing sites would soon host fortresses and garrisons; riverbeds leading inland would bristle with stakes.
Without such measures, the rear was too vulnerable.
Before summer's end, we aimed to seize White Gate—eliminating every variable.
Step, step, step.
With heavy hearts, Rough Oats and I passed the administrative wing and opened the door to the training grounds where the knights awaited.
Creeeak, thud.
The knights stood assembled.
Silent until our entry, they snapped crisp salutes.
Snap!
Two senior knights, eighteen full knights, fifteen squires, and five knight aspirants.
Including me, our forty-one formed the entirety of the Northern Knights.
A pitiful number compared to our past heyday, but twenty aura-wielders made for formidable strength.
I thanked them heartily for joining, then turned to the notably slight Eastern duo.
There stood squire Prince Richard and full knight Ronald.
"Training treating you alright?"
"Speak freely, sir!"
"If you insist."
We'd tested the Eastern prince.
Had he sought only one-sided aid, we'd have cast him out without hesitation.
But Richard passed Snow-Covered's standards with flying colors, formally joining my Northern Knights.
This went beyond basic squire training.
Every lesson and experience here would nurture the prince's growth.
Toward the day he'd claim true kingship of the East.
Word was he arrived first at the grounds and left last for quarters—may he never lose that beginner's zeal.
Thrones reward the patient.
Step, step, step.
Encouraging Prince Richard and his knight Ronald, I resumed my pace.
Stepping onto the prepared platform, I gazed down at the forty armored souls.
"As you know, the Elf delegation came and went. Though an unfortunate accident prevented their return home, the next won't end in mere provocation."
"That's not all. The Second Prince holed up in White Gate sends scouts harassing our borders at will. He knows we're not fully recovered."
The North clung to an uneasy peace.
The slightest twist would reignite the kingdom in flames, enslaving every Northerner who cherished this land.
No room for second mistakes.
I met the eyes of each knight gazing up with fervent heat.
"We've reclaimed the kingdom, but enemies endure, dangers linger."
How long would we tremble in fear? How long endure their mockery and insolence?
Delay meant doom.
Before the fronts split in two, we needed a bold stroke to seal one tight.
I cleared my throat.
Addressing the Northern Knights—core to this White Gate assault—I conveyed the king's will.
"The king commands: this coming summer, we reclaim the kingdom's lost White Gate."
"...What must we do?"
"Lead the vanguard."
The Northern army wasn't whole.
Impregnable White Gate would resist even our full might.
Yet if it must fall, a way existed.
Just as we'd infiltrated the capital—via terrain beyond their expectations.
"Cross Old Mountain to Screaming Canyon in the east. Disguise as an Eastern caravan to enter White Gate."
Eastern war supplies shipped monthly to the frontline White Gate.
Posing as such a caravan, the orcs would wave us through unsuspectingly.
Accent and appearance posed no issue.
We had two Easterners intimately familiar with the routes and protocols.
I eyed Prince Richard and knight Ronald, tasked with local aid.
"They'll handle the cover."
"Leave it to us, sir!"
We'd brave lifeless Old Mountain and notorious Screaming Canyon.
A reckless op where the entire Northern Knights might perish.
Yet none questioned or defied.
They knew it was the best path.
Bowing sincerely to knights ever ready to die, I spoke from the heart.
"It's an honor to fight alongside you."
"The honor is ours, Sword Saint."
"Boss, things feel off lately, right?"
"........."
"Hey, don't ignore me!"
On an uninhabited island adrift in the ever-warm northwestern seas, a short-haired woman lounged in a hammock, flicking her hat with a lazy drawl.
Her pirate garb was spot-on.
But her slightly pointed ears and elongated limbs betrayed mixed blood—not fully human.
Not just her; every crew repairing the ship on the isle shared that trait.
They were half-elves—mongrels, slaves, traitors, exiles, cursed with every vile label.
"Elves are moving weird lately. Lingering off the North more than usual."
"Those bastards?"
"Yeah! Those pointy-eared pricks!"
Elves clung to vicious purebloodism.
Mixed-bloods were enslaved or exiled as norm.
But unlike most, this crew rallied around their "boss"—defying slave fates to serve under the Knight King in battle.
'Black Arrow and the Exiles.'
Black Arrow, named for vanishing arrows.
One of the scattered heroes, she'd fled North's grim fall to waste away on this masterless isle.
Black Arrow reclined, feigning disinterest.
"What do I care."
"For real?"
"Go lend a hand with repairs."
"...Boss has changed."
Something had shifted in the North, no doubt.
But before the indifferent Black Arrow, the youngest half-elf sighed in defeat.
No matter they'd left, the North and kingdom had once been another homeland.
The exiles, ever nostalgic, abandoned eavesdropping with heavy sighs.
They sailed again in a week.
Under Captain Black Arrow's absolute command, they toiled on the ship.
"------."
But as interest waned, Black Arrow slyly lowered her hat, glancing about before rising from the hammock.
Rustle, rustle.
Pretending to grab a bottle, she checked an Elven compass and map on the ground.
Elves prowling Northern coasts? No small matter.
Change had come, as the kid said.
Black Arrow bound her blue hair tight to quell her pounding heart.
Gulp.
I'm not heading back to the North.
Just bored, checking the map.
Rationalizing, she confirmed Northbound currents.
Right, log it before forgetting.
Habitually wetting her quill, she noted the currents.
Her body froze.
She'd locked eyes with the nosy kid who'd hidden instead of fleeing.
"Heh heh."
"You, you little...!"
Of course the boss hadn't changed.
Grinning mischievously, the kid bolted; Black Arrow surged after, channeling aura into her legs.
Even migratory birds return in season.
The flock lifting from the isle veered North over the vast sea.