Chapter 164
Chapter 164
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 164
Chapter Title: Princes' Invitation
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Having wrapped up his satisfying discussion with the Emperor and the princes, Jerome had only just returned to his guest quarters when he received an invitation from the First Prince, Mikhail.
"Oh! You've come?"
As soon as he entered the palace chambers, Mikhail greeted Jerome with a face full of goodwill.
"Greetings to Your Highnesses. Have I perhaps made some blunder?"
"What blunder? A young man like you spoke so eloquently. I was simply impressed by your silver tongue and wanted to treat you to a cup of tea for a bit more conversation. No need to be nervous."
Beside Mikhail sat the Second Prince, Kyle, whose expression was much the same.
For Jerome, it had merely been a ploy to tie Ibarella's ankles as tightly as possible, but for these two, Jerome's consideration(?) had given them a second chance at life. It was only natural they'd be grateful.
Even before Jerome's visit to the Empire, they'd planned to buy him off using Kyle's financial resources.
They'd expected it to cost a fortune, but now they could save every coin. It was no wonder they were pleased—even princes didn't mind a freebie.
Pour...
As Mikhail poured from the teapot, clear red tea steamed gently, rising in delicate wisps.
"Here, have a taste. It's flower tea brewed from blossoms grown by the nuns of the Golden Lion Church themselves. It might seem modest for a young lord from a famed kingdom house, but it's quite palatable."
'...No tricks here.'
Mikhail and Kyle's faces, as they offered the tea, held no hint of malice.
If they could fake expressions so convincingly, hiding daggers behind smiles, they wouldn't have been so cornered by Ibarella in the first place.
Slurp!
'...!!'
One sip, and Jerome's eyes widened involuntarily.
A fragrant floral aroma chased by a sweet aftertaste—one that could only come from expertly steeped tea by a true connoisseur.
"Hahaha, it seems young Lord Jerome is surprised by my brother's tea skills."
The Second Prince, Kyle, burst into laughter at his reaction.
It wasn't flattery—he was genuinely astonished.
That the continent's most noble figure after the Emperor—a prince—would take an interest in tea ceremony.
It was a far cry from the humble image he'd imagined.
'Come to think of it, what kind of men are these princes?'
Until the Philador Kingdom incident and this Hexagon affair, the continent's kingdoms had believed the imperial throne struggle boiled down to the First and Second Princes.
Ibarella had hidden herself well, but the kingdoms' lack of suspicion also stemmed from the princes' own competence.
'Without Ibarella, both princes were seen as vessels worthy of the Empire, weren't they?'
Thinking back, the First Prince's and Second Prince's factions he'd encountered in the Dragon Mountains were impressive.
The Twelve Archbishops were one example, the Four Marquises another. They weren't the Three Dukes' equals, but pillars of the Empire—they wouldn't follow princes without reason.
In the past timeline, Ibarella had purged them all in her conquest, so Jerome had never met them. Now, he found himself curious about these men.
"As Second Highness says, the tea is exquisite."
Clink!
After some light small talk, Mikhail set down his fragrant cup and cut to the chase.
"We're both busy men, so I'll be direct. Did you know Ibarella from the start?"
A question out of nowhere, floating like a cloud.
"A strange question, Your Highness. No noble house on the continent is unaware of Third Princess Ibarella—or Your Highnesses, for that matter."
"Spare me the wordplay. You know I mean more than surface knowledge."
As Mikhail pressed, Kyle intervened.
"Brother, even if you're in a hurry, we should take it step by step. You're startling young Lord Jerome."
He turned to Jerome with a gentle smile.
"Forgive us, Lord Jerome. My brother's a bit impatient. Allow me to apologize on his behalf."
"No need at all. I take no offense."
"Good, then. My brother's question was abrupt, but that's precisely why we summoned you. Did you know Ibarella beforehand?"
Kyle's narrowed eyes scanned Jerome swiftly.
'As expected, not complete fools.'
If they'd been idiots content to rejoice at the Emperor's words and their renewed chance, they couldn't have opposed Ibarella this long.
They'd sensed it.
That Jerome was checking Ibarella.
Slurp!
"I did."
"How?"
"A few years back, my advisor attended the Continental Peace Conference with me. He mentioned her danger then. I've been wary since, but I truly grasped her threat during the Philador Kingdom rebellion plot."
"...Impressive advisor. Spotting Ibarella's danger at the Peace Conference."
A mix of admiration and doubt, but they'd uncover nothing.
It was far more plausible than 'In my past life, I saw your heads roll from the guillotine at her hands.'
Kyle's narrowed eyes stared, then he smirked at Mikhail.
"Seems genuine, brother. He used us, alright."
True to his merchant mastery, he'd gauged truth from reaction.
Impressive, sure. But Jerome had rolled in those circles too.
"Haha, cheeky fellow. Using us to check Ibarella."
Their words scolded, but Mikhail and Kyle's faces showed no displeasure.
From their magnanimity, Jerome saw it.
Both were born with royal talent.
He'd thought them just unfortunate princes swept aside by Ibarella.
"Yes. I fear Third Princess Ibarella. So I used both Your Highnesses—and His Majesty."
With men like these, candor changed things. He laid truth bare for deeper talk.
"You two joined my terms because you know her danger, didn't you?"
As Jerome pressed, the princes' faces turned serious.
"Indeed. We know her threat well. We've allied against her several times, only to fail each one."
Thud!
Mikhail set his cup down, eyes fixed on Jerome.
"But you're different. Unlike us, you've thwarted her plans multiple times already."
Kyle extended a hand from beside him.
"To stop Ibarella's ascension—shall we join hands?"
"...Before that, one question."
Jerome ignored the offered hand, staring at their faces.
"What kind of emperor do you two dream of becoming?"
A deep night where even moon and stars hid their faces.
No matter that the entire city was adorned in Vatican white, it couldn't defy such encroaching darkness.
Yet darkness or no, life didn't halt its duties.
Forest owls knew this, as did the little rats in streets and alleys.
Under shy moonlight peeking through passing clouds, tiny ground creatures revealed themselves softly.
This night, in an unfamiliar place, an unfamiliar shadow appeared.
On the outer wall of a building animals avoided.
Whoooosh!
Shadows too large for owls or rats moved swiftly.
Ssssh!
Evading moonlight, they hid bodies nimbly, traversing buildings silently despite speed.
The lead shadow crouched, sniffing, then lifted its head.
A slight nod to those behind, and their eyes gleamed.
Found it—at last.
Joy swirled in the eyes of the Ghost Shadow Unit's squad leader, Far Sight, pursuing Karma and Rampang on Crow's orders.
Once, he'd lost Water King's Fragrance—Rampang's Heterogenous Power, the White Wing's scent.
But Far Sight persisted, shifting focus. If not Rampang, track Karma.
Karma bore His power.
Faint at distance, endless pursuit yielded fruit.
Squad member Trace Scent had finally found the trail.
'Got it. Time to withdraw.'
Their mission wasn't killing Karma and Rampang.
Impossible from the start, and their master issued no reckless commands.
Ghost Shadow Unit's task: locate them. Others would follow.
Next: trail their allies, seek potential gains.
Far Sight signaled withdrawal to Trace Scent and squad; they nodded, turning.
Clunk!
Relief too soon? A squad member bumped something, making noise.
Deep night, utter silence—the sound carried far.
'Tch, idiot.'
Far Sight glared; the member panicked.
Gaze to his feet: a massive doll.
Not a pebble, but failing to dodge that?
'After this, request Crow replace him.'
A fool endangered the squad.
Glare chilling, Far Sight turned to leave—then a fleeting doubt.
'...Was there a doll like that in the alley?'
Glancing back, an unthinkable sight.
Trace Scent, top tracker, now last after turn—brushed the doll.
Flail!
It clung to his back, muffling his mouth like a living thing.
Startled, Trace Scent thrashed silently to pry it off.
Shriiik!
"...!!"
Razors erupted from the doll, shredding his body.
Thud!
Agony flipped his eyes; he knelt.
In the dark alley, guts pierced, blood pouring—Trace Scent's fall chilled the Ghost Shadows' spines.
'Ambush!'
Far Sight signaled scatter and retreat—
"What're you wiggling your fingers so busily for?"
A small voice by his head.
"!"
When?!
"No personal grudge against you all. But..."
The whisperer, considerate of sleeping imperials, raised a hand; the killer doll stirred.
Silent despite joints—utterly eerie.
"As proud Black Lions, following the Turbid Flow alone merits death. Moreover."
A flick of the other hand; another doll dropped before Far Sight.
"If you return alive, your esteemed employer will throw a massive fit."
'Kugh!'
Ghost Shadows moved to act, but bodies rebelled—some trick.
"No hard feelings... I'll send you off painlessly."
The man's voice rang; their eyes flicked to fallen Trace Scent—as if by pact.
Blood still gushing from wounds—his "painless" claim rang hollow.
Sensing it, the man sounded embarrassed.
"...Tch. Wasn't intentional. Don't misunderstand."
Hiss!
Thick green gas billowed from a doll behind him, veiling vision.
"...!!"
Gas swept them.
Plop!
They collapsed like falling asleep.
Confirming all Ghost Shadows dead, Saladin frowned.
"Damn. Need to refine Mimi Fragmentation. Too gory for use, tch."
Saladin waved; gas from Nene's body lingered over corpses.
When it cleared, alley empty—no Saladin, no bodies.
As if nothing happened.