Chapter 153
Chapter 153
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 153
Chapter Title: Banten's Sword
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"...What the fuck. How the hell does this shit happen...?"
This was the first thing my sister said after listening silently to my story all the way until the sun set and the moon rose.
"Just one question. You little shit, you knew everything from the start and pretended not to?"
"Well, yeah."
"Why? If you'd spoken up when you first learned that Sir Darcan—no, that fucking bastard Darcan—was a traitor, it would've been better. I wouldn't have made a fool of myself from the beginning."
Sister Mercy scolded me as if she felt utterly wronged.
"If I'd revealed it back then, how many in this family would have believed me?"
This time, it was Mother's voice. I'd improvised about the heir's involvement to shake Darcan's composure when I left the Trial's Hall. If not, we'd still have had to leave that bastard alone.
With a poisonous mushroom rotting away in a corner of my heart, no less.
Sister knew that too, so she just let out deep sighs.
"Ha... damn... this fucking sucks."
A sigh laced with all sorts of tangled emotions finally burst from Mercy's lips.
Even with the lord present at the meeting, her language was as rough as ever, but no one dared scold her for it right now. They couldn't.
After all the hardship to pass the heir trial, it turned out the knight she'd trusted as her closest aide had been colluding with the family's archenemy for decades.
The balance of power between factions had collapsed, but more fatally, it was a critical blemish on her candidacy for heir.
The fact that she'd elevated someone colluding with the family's nemesis. Everyone knew it wasn't Mercy's fault. No one in the family, not even Mercy herself, had suspected Darcan's betrayal.
Not even Lord Bacchus von Carviot, the territory's governor, had seen it coming. How could it be her fault?
Yet despite that, it meant Mercy couldn't become the Shield Family's heir.
To inherit Banten, one had to be flawless.
"Goddamn it, everything I've done so far was all for nothing...?"
Drag!
Mercy, mumbling her despair, shoved back her chair and stormed out of the meeting room.
It was just as I'd expected.
I shot Father a look, and he met my eyes with a small nod.
The eldest brother, still reeling from leaving the Trial's Hall himself, would be Father's to handle.
I followed after Sister. Far ahead, she was running aimlessly.
How much longer did I trail her in silence?
She finally stopped at the outer walls of Banten, after just running and running.
Step.
Even though I'd deliberately made some noise, Sister's gaze stayed fixed on the Dragon Mountains beyond the walls.
"Why'd you come here?"
Sister didn't answer, just stared endlessly north toward the Dragon Mountains that seemed to touch the sky and the Empire beyond.
"......"
I waited through her silence.
After quite a while, her lips parted.
"...Goddamn. It's disgustingly vast, isn't it?"
The Dragon Mountains' interior rivaled a kingdom in size, and the northern plains— the Empire's invasion route—were lands that took hours on horseback. She wasn't wrong.
"...Someday, if those fucking Empire zealot bastards eye this land, I wanted to defend it from the highest point."
I knew the desperation and ambition in those words.
"It's not your fault, Sister."
"Ha! Fuck. Right, it wasn't my fault. But it ended up being my fault anyway."
Sister's eyes turned to me, laced with a hint of resentment.
Though her head understood why I'd taken down Darcan at this exact moment, her heart couldn't accept it— a complex swirl of emotions.
I knew it. Despite her rough mouth, her gaze was always fixed squarely on Banten.
But knowing what end her overheated dreams and ambitions would meet, I couldn't cheer her on.
'For my plan to succeed, Banten must be rock-solid above all. Better an honest, stubborn brother as lord than an aggressive sister.'
So, I'd made sure she couldn't claim the governor's seat.
But when I'd left for trade with the elves, I'd glimpsed Ares and Mercy's true hearts. In this life, I didn't want to clash with my siblings again.
So, I offered a new path to Mercy, who'd lost her goal.
"Defending the walls isn't the only way to protect Banten, right?"
"...What?"
Her eyes screamed, What bullshit is this? Even now, that foul temper held.
"Don't you know why I'm leaving Banten?"
"Fuck, how should I know?"
"The Holy Empire will start a war soon."
"......!!"
Mercy's eyes widened.
"Not some local skirmish—a massive war sweeping the entire continent. That's why I'm leaving Banten: to win that war."
"...How the hell do you know something that huge?"
"Does it matter?"
Sometimes, a look or action conveyed more than endless words.
Sister would recognize my seriousness now. Her mouth was foul, but her head was sharp.
"...Ha, fine. You're right, it doesn't. So what? Even if I rack up merits in the war, my chances of becoming lord are... "
"Tch. Your thinking's too rigid, Sister."
"What?"
A fixed notion shared by all on the continent. No one escaped the stereotypes forged by ancient history.
Not even Bacchus, the Heavenly Shield of the Shield Family. Mercy was no different.
"Why do we always think in terms of 'defending'?"
The continent's deep-rooted belief: the Empire always pushes south, and the Alliance repels them to protect the land.
But it wouldn't always be that way.
"We'll crush the Empire decisively. Then, someone has to plant our flag first in their suddenly empty lands. Who'd have the best shot?"
"......"
Mercy fell silent, probably calculating already.
Banten sat at the Alliance's northernmost edge, alongside Dalton, Sharon, and Yak of the Five Nations Union, plus some northern border counts from Osiris Kingdom.
They were frontline territories blocking the Empire's southbound push—but also spearheads for a northbound advance.
And right now, among all those northern domains, only Banten could prepare for war and push north. I knew it.
In other words, we could grab more land than anyone by moving first.
"...So you're saying I should...?"
"Exactly."
I gave assurance to Mercy, whose math had checked out.
"Become Banten's sword."
Currently, Ares and Mercy were evenly matched in martial prowess.
But as heir, Ares would have to handle territory management and administration, inevitably spending time on bureaucracy.
You couldn't protect this vast Banten with raw power alone.
No matter how capable aides like Baron Geibel were, the final decisions rested with the lord.
Thus, the Shield Family's lord had to master it all.
But what if Mercy was out of the running?
"You know the family code. Those who fail the succession must aid the chosen heir, using their honed talents to exalt Banten's name."
"......"
Before I knew it, Mercy had turned to meet my eyes.
"Sharpen that sword of yours to lead the vanguard when war breaks. So someday, you can be the first to step onto Empire soil."
"...What if no war comes, contrary to what you say?"
Her worry was natural.
I knew the future, but from her view, wasting years sharpening her blade with no chance for glory would sting. However.
"Then sit at a desk with Brother and learn administration amicably."
"......!!"
"So, swing your sword hard, figuring it's a gamble. Who knows? You might get lands as vast as Banten—or bigger—in the Empire. Then Banten wouldn't guard the kingdom's frontier; the Empire territory under your flag would."
The Mercy I'd known from my past life to now suited a warhorse and blade better than a desk.
No way she'd refuse.
"...You damn brat. You know my tastes too well. Gives me chills."
As expected, new ambition flickered in Mercy's eyes.
"Fine, I'll play along. Let's prepare a proper sword dance for the days ahead."
"Prepare properly. You need at least mid-master level to rack up merits against the Empire. But... you can do it, right?"
"Ha!"
My taunt lifted the corners of Mercy's mouth.
"Who do you think I am? Promise. I won't disappoint. Look forward to it."
Boom!
In the imperial capital Vatican, within Byzantium—the palace of the Holy Empire's supreme ruler, Emperor Peter von Hekaron III—one modest hall (small compared to the grand audience chamber, but hardly tiny) rang with a man's rampage.
"Arrrgh! Ivarella, you goddamn bitch!!"
Despite the man hurling vulgarities at the Empire's princess, Ivarella, none of the palace knights or attendants dared stop him.
Nay, they fretted lest his fiery rage turn on them.
For this man was the Empire's second-most noble: First Imperial Prince Michael von Hekaron.
He should have smoothly succeeded Peter as crown prince and then emperor.
But his younger sister Ivarella's excessive brilliance had overshadowed him, leaving him in unfortunate(?) obscurity.
Screeech!
As Michael smashed palace furnishings, the massive doors swung open.
"Aigoo, Brother. Why the fuss? If you keep this up, only the attendants suffer. You must uphold the dignity befitting the Empire's first prince."
A slight man frowned at the wreckage, fanning away dust with his hand.
"...Cale."
The diminutive man was Second Imperial Prince Cale von Hekaron.
Cale's arrival calmed the excited Michael somewhat, who ordered an attendant to bring tea.
Slurp!
"Mm, fine tea."
While Cale savored the aroma, Michael downed his in one gulp and slammed the cup down.
Thud!
"Cale, cut to the chase."
Cale clicked his tongue at Michael's attitude.
"Tsk tsk. Still boiling over Ivarella getting dunked in the Dragon Mountains? Ruminating on passed events is pointless, Brother."
Bang!
Michael slammed the table, rage reignited by Cale's words.
"Don't you have any pride? Two of the Four Marquises died—two! And three of the Twelve Archbishops! Half our support base is gone!"
The three siblings vied fiercely to succeed Emperor Peter.
Then Ivarella's involvement in Philador Kingdom's rebellion surfaced, narrowing her public standing.
Michael and Cale, poised to expand their influence, lost much of their base to Genos and Jerome in the Dragon Mountains.
In their daze came a protest letter from the Shield Family.
Learning the full story, Michael could no longer contain his fury.
"That's why I'm saying: not time for anger—time for payback."
Clink!
Cale set down his cup, his expression icy cold—even startling Michael mid-rant.
"His Majesty summoned the author of that Carviot count family protest directly to Vatican, right? Naturally, to get the full story."
"Yeah, probably."
His Majesty—father in private—Emperor Peter would likely use this to curb Ivarella's authority.
Peter was emperor before father; he wouldn't share power even with his children.
Thus, despite his grown offspring in their thirties, no heir was named.
To keep power concentrated on himself.
"I don't wish Father's will always, but this time, we should back it to pressure Ivarella. Of course, we can't let her lose all power to him."
The Third Prince openly favored Ivarella despite pretending otherwise; exclude him, but seize at least much of the military.
"How?"
Cale answered Michael's question simply.
"Bribe him in advance. That count family brat coming in spring."
Winter, as Jerome von Carviot turned nineteen.
In Vatican's palaces, two snakes prepared for hibernation, awaiting spring's arrival.