Chapter 145
Chapter 145
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 145
Chapter Title: Shattered Orb
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"Tch."
Ivarella furrowed her brow after cutting off the communication.
"Huh? What's wrong, Third Imperial Princess? Is something not going according to plan?"
Livia de Crusader of the White Sheep Palace, who had been reporting on church matters, asked upon seeing Ivarella's expression.
Just a short while ago, she had been thrilled at the prospect of shaking the Shield Family from within, that perennial thorn in the empire's side.
Shring!
Instead of answering Livia's question, Ivarella drew her shamshir from its scabbard at her waist.
"Wh-what?"
There was no reason to draw her shamshir right now.
Ignoring Livia's flustered reaction, Ivarella's blade mercilessly sliced through the communication crystal orb.
Crack!
"Argh! What are you doing, Ivarella?! Are you insane?!"
Livia screamed involuntarily at the sight of the orb splitting in two with a sharp crack.
"Do you know how hard it was to secure a direct line to the Carviot Count family? It was harder than threading a camel through the eye of a needle, and now you've smashed it! How are we supposed to undermine the Shield Family from the inside now?!"
"Doesn't matter. This game's already lost anyway. Better to cut the connection and destroy the evidence before they trace it back to us."
"W-what? Lost? Why?! The Lord clearly gave the oracle: 'In the westernmost land adjacent to where my gospel has spread, a flower of hope shall bloom.'"
Ivarella looked at Livia with pity as she ranted about the successful oracle.
"Stop putting so much faith in that three-card monte scam. I told you, it's just a reference at best."
"S-scam?! You dare call a divine oracle from the Lord himself a scam? Blasphemy! This is blasphemy!"
"The Third Young Master has intervened."
Freeze!
Livia, who had been dramatically crying heresy at Ivarella and preparing her Divine Fist, stopped like a broken machine.
"...Him? Didn't the Black Rat say he wouldn't get involved in the succession?"
"I just got word from that Black Rat. Jerome von Carviot has officially entered the succession trials."
"...Hmm. Still, wasn't smashing the orb a bit hasty? There's no guarantee he'll become the successor..."
"Do you really think that?"
As Ivarella questioned her, Livia quietly dispersed the holy power gathered in her hands and rubbed her faintly aching arm.
"...No. If it's him, he could very well become the successor."
Though not widely known, he had defeated the empire's 27th Star Knight Order at the tender age of just fifteen.
Not satisfied with that, he had also taken down the empire's sword, Duke Kamil's hound, rescuing the elf princess and ultimately securing trade with the elves.
Moreover, in Philador Kingdom, he thwarted the covertly prepared civil war between the Philador royal family and Marquis Midas's house, and single-handedly defeated the genius Livia, the youngest of the Twelve Archbishops.
"A monster who achieved all that at such a young age won't be ousted from his family's succession just because his siblings are talented."
"Hmm, you're not wrong, but..."
Ivarella changed the subject as Livia muttered about the oracle specifying "this time."
"What happened to those lackeys my idiot brothers sent to the Dragon Mountains?"
"Communications cut off from every single one. The princes are in an uproar."
Livia's face brightened as if the earlier tension had never happened.
The First and Second Princes' forces—multiple marquises and archbishops sent to retrieve wyvern eggs—had suddenly vanished in the Dragon Mountains.
Thanks to that, Ivarella's influence, which had waned amid rumors of her leading Philador's rebellion, had not only recovered but grown stronger than before.
Ivarella herself, who had claimed the title of Wyvern Knight, showed no further movement as if it had all been a dream, fueling dark rumors in the palace that it was her scheme.
Even if it were true, no one dared voice it.
With half their forces gone, neither prince could match the Third Imperial Princess in real power, rumors be damned.
"As you predicted, Third Princess, it seems Genos, that mad old monster, swallowed them up."
Livia let out a frivolous giggle, crediting the Third Princess's plan.
"No, it might not just be Genos."
"Huh?"
"The Black Rat mentioned it. Right after Jerome von Carviot returned from Philador, he headed somewhere else. That kid might be connected to these disappearances."
"Hmm, Ivarella, isn't that a bit paranoid? Even so..."
Livia sounded skeptical, but Ivarella was convinced.
"Doesn't it strike you as odd, Livia? The timing of him leaving and returning from Banten lines up perfectly with when your brothers' underlings vanished in the mountains."
In some way, the Shield Family's third son was surely involved in these disappearances.
"The Black Rat isn't stupid. He's held that position for a long time. With the most dangerous player jumping into the succession game, he'll definitely make a move. Better to cut ties now than get caught in his trap later."
Ivarella judged it wise to approach anything involving Jerome conservatively.
One or two coincidences could be dismissed, but persistent ones were no longer coincidences.
Everything involving Jerome von Carviot had always deviated from expectations or derailed plans.
'I won't underestimate you anymore, bug.'
However, Ivarella overlooked three key facts.
First, among those missing in the Dragon Mountains was Luna of the Virgin Palace, captured by Jerome.
Second, Jerome already knew full well about the Black Rat's existence.
And finally, third, Jerome had no interest in the successor position at all.
"They've started moving."
Saladin spoke, focusing on the sensation from the 'thread' placed in Darcan's room.
"He's an odd one, that's for sure. How the hell did you know Darcan was sneaking around behind the scenes?"
Right before heading to the succession meeting, Jerome had shown up out of nowhere while Saladin was repairing Mimi and Nene, instructing him to plant a 'thread' in Dark Knight Darcan's room.
Saladin had wondered if Jerome had his head gnawed off by a wyvern, echoing Sir Dwayne's words.
Suspecting Darcan, a core Hexagon member right below Sir Arandal in the Shield Family.
But there was no choice.
The law was far, but the fist was near.
When the 'thread' actually reacted, Saladin was dumbfounded.
"Lucky guess. Figured if things went well, it'd be a chance for him to maximize his value as a contributor, so he might make a move. Didn't think he actually would."
"Hmm, 'lucky guess,' huh... Yeah, sure."
Saladin eyed me suspiciously but soon chuckled it off.
"So, what now?"
It sounded like he was suggesting we interrogate him immediately, but the timing wasn't right.
"We wait first. Darcan's a veteran right below Sir Arandal. If he unleashes his seal, he'll be on par with those marquises we took down. We need ironclad evidence to take him out for good."
The Hexagon's unsealing was a secret technique passed down in the Shield Family.
A feat that temporarily expanded the mana rods in the body, exploding their limits in an instant.
Though a step below Arandal, at Darcan's level—overwhelming the other Hexagons—unsealing would grant power equal to those marquises.
'Stage one, I might handle alone with a trap, but if he goes mad and hits stage two, I'm outmatched solo. So we hold off until we corner him completely.'
"Brother's slightly ahead of Sister. So if I drop out, you'll be next to pass the Tower of Trials."
The siblings' levels I'd glimpsed in the meeting hall.
Their realms were extremely close, but Brother still edged out Sister by a hair.
"Hey, what if Lady Mercy fully absorbs what that guy offered and overtakes Ares?"
Saladin sounded anxious, but I was confident on that front.
"No need to worry. The sister I know wouldn't act that way."
"Lady Second, why won't you accept the elixirs I've offered?"
Darcan's irritation boiled over at Mercy's refusal of his gifts.
'This damned wench. Just take them and eat already to become successor. Why make such a fuss?'
"How many times do I have to say it, Sir Darcan? I want to win through my own talent and effort. Not some sleazy shortcut."
"Milady, there's no single right way to victory. You are the future lord chosen by me and many others. For their sakes, you must not lose."
Mercy frowned as the usually meek Darcan pushed harder than usual.
"...I don't want to hear any more. Leave. I can win with my own abilities."
"The Third Young Master."
Flinch!
Darcan's quiet mention of her brother made Mercy's steadfast shoulders twitch slightly.
"I understand your will, Lady Second. But now that the Third Young Master has entered the race, can you still claim victory?"
"...Of course."
A brief hesitation preceded Mercy's answer, but Darcan didn't miss it.
"Very well. If you insist, this old body will trust and follow. However."
Slide.
Darcan knelt, extending the box of elixirs.
"I, Darcan, truly wish for you to become Banten's master. Objectively, it's plain as day that Jerome the Third is closest to successor."
"......"
Regardless of his betrayal over the years, Darcan, who had watched Mercy for so long, could tell.
Her silence stemmed from inner conflict.
'She's almost there.'
Darcan drove the wedge home.
"I only hope my future lord isn't so foolish as to let a great seat slip for the sake of petty pride."
Mercy gazed at the elixirs and the kneeling knight who had supported her for years, her eyes wavering.
Not just Darcan—Kamit too had endured countless missions at her side.
He grumbled endlessly, but didn't she want to repay them?
Prove their choice right, that she—the one they followed—was the true heir to this great land.
She had never once thought she'd lose to her brother Ares.
But.
Her brother Jerome. At his name, her ironclad resolve shook like a sailboat in waves.
'He was definitely a worm. Beyond saving.'
Yet that pathetic brother had suddenly shone brilliantly and gained immense power.
Inexplicable. If such a brother entered the race, her defeat was obvious.
'But...'
With these elixirs from Darcan, she might close the power gap massively. Perhaps even surpass it.
After agonizing deliberation, Mercy finally spoke her decision.
"I..."
A week had passed since Elena von Carviot, the Phantom Mage who reached Idea, set foot in Banten.
In that time, Mother had the magic corps handle basic external repairs on the Tower of Trials while she secluded herself inside, inscribing additional magic circles.
With a mage of Mother's caliber investing over a week, the difficulty had surely skyrocketed beyond imagination.
Brother and Sister, anticipating this, had refused contact with others and focused solely on training.
And on the morning of the eighth day, Father's order came: Assemble at breakfast fully armed.
"The Tower of Trials improvements are complete."
At the breakfast table, Mother announced the succession trial's approach while buttering her bread.
"Ares, Mercy. Are you prepared?"
Ignoring me as usual, Mother confirmed their resolve once more.
"Yes."
"Yes."
Satisfied with their short, firm replies, a pleased smile graced Mother's lips.
"Good. Prepare right after breakfast, then. Sooner is better for this. But..."
When Mother's gaze landed on me with my gauntlets on, three furrows creased her smiling brow.
"Jerome, why are you armed? You've already given up, haven't you?"