Chapter 195
Chapter 195
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 195
Chapter Title: Return to Banten
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Rampang and I headed straight to the lord's office in the castle upon our return to Banten.
Knock, knock!
"Come in."
As I opened the door to the office, there was my father, casually sipping tea with Sir Karma, just as expected.
"We're back now, Father. But... Baron Met is struggling because trade has been blocked. Did you know about this?"
"Of course I knew. Baron Met himself reported it to me, so how could I not?"
I couldn't help but question my father's response.
"But why haven't you done anything about it? You surely know how important this trade route is."
Sip!
"It's simple. It's not something I should get involved in."
My father—no, the lord of the Shield Family, Bacchus von Carviot—set down his teacup calmly as he answered my question.
"I've already handed full authority to Ares and stepped back. If Ares judged that negotiations with the Empire take priority, then it's up to his retainers to act accordingly. If I step forward, it would only disrupt the chain of command."
'He's already thought that far ahead?'
He had named him as successor, but I hadn't expected him to hand over the entire command structure to my brother so decisively.
'Well, if that's Father's decision, I have to respect it.'
Banten's ruler was Father, not me. If he thought that way, I had no right to argue.
"Besides, since you went there, I trusted you'd handle it well enough on your own."
What an embarrassing compliment. Still, it didn't feel half bad.
"Oh, and Sir Karma, I have something to discuss with you privately, if that's alright?"
There was the matter of the World Tree's treatment, plus other questions I wanted to ask.
Karma, who had been chatting over tea, followed Jerome and Rampang out of the office. Arandal, who had been standing quietly by the window, shot Bacchus a sullen glare.
"Come on, just be honest for once. Wouldn't it be better to tell the Third Young Master straight up that you're training to prepare for the war with the Empire that he predicted?"
"What nonsense. Besides, it's true that I'm backing Ares, so I didn't lie."
"The whole reason you're backing the Eldest Young Master is so you can focus entirely on raising your realm, isn't it, my lord?"
"Well, anyway, it all worked out, didn't it?"
"Yes, yes, of course it did."
Arandal shrugged with an odd expression, and Bacchus quietly gripped the shield leaning against the sofa.
"...You seem awfully cheeky lately. Is it just my imagination?"
Sensing the extraordinary aura rising from Bacchus as he held the shield, Arandal quickly bowed his head.
"My apologies, my lord! I overstepped your wise intentions!"
As Arandal tucked his tail submissively, Bacchus relented and set the shield down with a sigh. Arandal let out a breath of relief but grumbled inwardly.
'Damn, he's gotten even stronger in the meantime.'
It seemed this dishonest lord was truly taking the Third Young Master's prediction to heart and throwing himself into training.
Jerome led Rampang and Karma to his own room.
The conversation they were about to have was best kept from prying eyes—the fewer witnesses, the better.
Click!
He carefully unsealed the box, tightly warded against any leakage of energy. The dense life force from the World Tree's root immediately filled the room.
Karma, who felt the power of nature more acutely than anyone, widened his eyes in surprise.
"This is...? Isn't this a root from Yggdrasil? The elves gave you something this precious?"
"When they heard your condition was poor, the World Tree gave it directly. It said this should keep you stable until Paeonia is secured."
Jerome slowly recounted to Karma how he and Rampang had met Yggdrasil.
The World Tree's root had withered, and past Karma had helped restore it. Then, weaving Maya's power into a manual from her evil deeds, and the guess that Veras had inherited that power.
"I see..."
Karma closed his eyes after hearing everything. His expression was filled with regret.
"Master, please tell me. Is it really Veras who inherited that power? But Veras's power is..."
"It's different. Maya's power was purely mercury."
A bitter smile touched Karma's lips.
"That fool Veras didn't have much to show for his Heterogenous Power. But he had overwhelming perception."
Karma pulled aside his upper garment, revealing his abdomen scarred by Veras's mineral poison.
"His power was originally about diligent study. It was known as a mediocre ability that just made you a bit smarter. But Veras took it to the extreme."
"In what way?"
"It allowed him to artificially master manuals whose wavelengths didn't match."
Manuals could only be mastered if their wavelengths matched the creator's. But he forcibly manipulated that artificially?
'Not a talent of this world.'
Veras's character aside, his talent was the real deal.
"Forcing himself to accept Maya's Myriad Transformations—which didn't suit his originally quiet nature—naturally shattered his personality. In the end, he gradually revealed demonic tendencies. Well... the rest is as you know."
"Then why are Maya's power and Veras's different?"
"They're not. What he mastered was indeed mercury. But in the process of artificially mastering Maya's mismatched power, the manifestation of the Myriad Transformations became different from hers."
...This was getting complicated.
If Karma was right, the clash with Maya offered no insight into countering Veras's abilities.
According to Rampang, Veras's body was ruined by Karma's fatal blow, so he'd be desperately hunting for Paeonia too.
'...We'll inevitably clash at some point.'
Whether during the rescue of Paeonia or after he fully recovered.
Neither Rampang nor Veras had reason to leave each other alone.
'Still, I've done everything I can for now.'
He hadn't saved Paeonia, but he'd prevented Karma and Ishvar's conditions from worsening.
Trade with the elves, resumed thanks to the World Tree, would grow ever stronger over time.
Stroke!
After sending Karma and Rampang to their quarters, he gazed out at the towering Dragon Mountains.
On the surface, the range looked the same as ever, past or present. But its reality had completely changed.
Within the Dragon Mountains, once a demonic realm of otherworldly horrors, he had forged countless allies.
He executed the traitor who sold out the family, protected the house from crumbling in internal strife.
He set right the Philador Kingdom, which betrayed the alliance and colluded with the Empire.
He safeguarded the royal family, threatened by misguided loyalists.
He disrupted secret research in the Holy Empire spectacularly, and above all, kept the heels of Ibarella—once his greatest foe—pinned down relentlessly.
'I've lived hard.'
Despite nonstop effort, the road ahead was still so long.
He had to stop the Osiris Kingdom's rebellion and suppress the archipelagos.
In the process, he might clash with Black Wing Veras or Pirate King Ballak.
No, he definitely would. It was inevitable.
And there were plenty more problems piled up.
'At least, everything I can do right now is finished.'
Yes.
As the third son of Banten, of the Carviot Count family, his 'external' duties were all done.
At least until spring came next year, he had only one task left.
Humm!
As he circulated Earth, golden aura rippled around his fist.
Stage 4, Another Ore, was still distant—no hint of a breakthrough yet.
But Earth and Pankration continued steadily strengthening his body.
'Get stronger. Even more.'
If he failed to grow, all this effort and preparation would be for naught.
Was it because he was anxious about leaving Banten soon? This winter felt exceptionally harsh.
Stroke!
Just like when he'd visited the Empire, he donned a crisp black uniform.
He equipped mithril-coated greaves gleaming silver, and the orihalcon gauntlets that had become both his beloved weapon and symbol.
"My, Third Young Master, you look so dashing. Hehehe."
Bori, who had served him for years and was now his staunchest supporter, smiled.
"I never dreamed the Third Young Master, who used to worry me sick every day, would turn into such a fine man. The young ladies of Edirne won't leave you alone. Hehehe."
"...Bori, everything's fine, but can't you do something about that nasal laugh?"
No matter how many years passed, he just couldn't get used to it.
"Oh my, such unkind words. This laugh is my trademark, you know. Hehehe."
"Sigh, never mind."
Knock, knock, knock!
As he bantered and dressed with Bori's help, a knock came from outside.
"Jerome, may I come in?"
It was his mother, Elena von Carviot.
"Yes, come in."
Creeeak!
His mother entered and reacted much like Bori.
"You look quite handsome. And your physique has developed astonishingly in the meantime."
It had. Over the winter, he'd trained Pankration and Earth to their limits.
Her admiring gaze reached the chest of his uniform and darkened momentarily.
"...The brooch. You haven't put it on."
Unthinkingly, he touched his right chest at her look.
"Ah, this? Yeah. I'm heading to receive my title, after all."
Yes. He was preparing to go to the capital for the spring festival, where he'd receive his peerage.
Receiving a title meant recognition as a fully independent noble.
No longer just a son of the Carviot Count family, but Jerome von Carviot standing on his own—so he'd decided against the family brooch.
Stroke!
But his mother thought differently.
"...Wear it. Even if you're becoming independent, you're still a full member of the Shield Family, no matter what anyone says. Leaving without that symbol is out of the question."
She stubbornly pinned the golden turtle—crisscrossed with red and blue—to his chest.
His body, honed to extremes through Pankration, could dodge a mage mother's touch easier than flipping his palm.
Yet, for some reason, he couldn't refuse her hand.
"...Thank you, Mother."
It was the familiar turtle emblem he'd always seen, but today...
...it felt warmer somehow.
"What took you so long!"
As he exited the inner castle, Saladin, already waiting, grumbled.
"Damn it, I'm the one getting the title, so why drag me along? I was just starting to get a feel for it."
"What can you do? Princess Seira insists on seeing you. It's a royal summons, right?"
"...Tch!"
Saladin flushed and averted his eyes at the teasing. No matter how you looked at it, there was definitely something between that guy and Princess Seira.
"Young Master, I'm sorry I can't join you this time."
Looking apologetic, Beskin bowed to him.
"It's fine, Beskin. I heard the joint technique you've been researching with the vice-captain and chief knight is nearing completion. Show me next time."
"...Yes! You won't be disappointed!"
He didn't forget to encourage the beaming Beskin.
"Oh, and make sure Captain Jean's transport prep goes smoothly. We'll have to leave again soon after returning."
"Yes, sir. Not only the ships docked at Elunheim, but the four additional vessels are fully constructed. No worries."
Preparations for departure to Olivia were under Beskin's charge, so it was only natural he couldn't come.
Rampang had to tend to Karma, and Misha and Miron were in training to be of more help, so they stayed behind.
"Third Young Master! What are you waiting for? Hurry up!"
Unlike the grumbling Saladin, one man urged him on with an excited face.
For anyone else, it might not mean much, but for this man, the journey was thrilling beyond measure.
It had been years since he'd left this land for the royal palace.
Hesway & Dwayne.
The man, who had shed all the blubber that once made him look like he'd roll away, awaited them.
"Let's go."
Unable to resist Dwayne's prodding, he lightly snapped the reins, and the horses began trotting toward the capital, Edirne.
The Five Nations Alliance is a unique confederation of countries, each thriving on distinctive enterprises.
Among them, the Sharon Kingdom was infamous for its slave trade, quietly scorned by the other four kingdoms.
Unlike their ventures, it was a shadowy business propped up by the state, lacking any legitimacy.
Yet, by nature, the most profitable pursuits dwell in the shadows.
Sharon's kings, generation after generation, brushed off such subtle disdain and amassed vast fortunes.
King Tolkin van Sharon of the current era was no different.
No—rather, he was a man whose cunning outshone all predecessors.
Under Tolkin van Sharon's brilliant maneuvers, Mercado's slave traders had piled up enormous wealth.
And the merchants, never forgetting the king's grace, funneled that wealth back to him, fattening the royal coffers in an ironclad symbiosis.
Yet, even this supposedly unbreakable fortress of king-merchant relations began to crack.
As winter's chill faded and spring brought life anew...
King Tolkin van Sharon suddenly passed away.