Chapter 33
Chapter 33
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 33
Chapter Title: The Third Princess's Orders
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The grand throne room was immense.
Its marble floor gleamed blindingly white, and the walls were adorned with pure gold right down to the corners.
The opulence bordered on sanctity.
The atmosphere alone was enough to make anyone instinctively straighten their clothes.
Yet only two people occupied this vast chamber.
Though just the pair of them, their presence filled the space without the slightest shortfall.
Both the throne room itself and the aura emanating from its occupants made it abundantly clear that these two held far from ordinary positions.
"Failure?"
In the center of the throne room, a breathtakingly beautiful woman murmured lowly as she wiped down her gently curved shamshir with a cloth.
Her leg, draped over the arm of her chair, revealed smooth pale skin that exuded a subtle allure.
But the chill gleam of the shamshir's blade lent her the air of a fierce warrior woman.
The man seated opposite her burst into mad laughter at her murmur.
"Kekeke! That's exactly it, Ibarella! Ah, what a pity!"
The name that escaped the man's lips was Ibarella—the third imperial princess of the Holy Empire and a future monstrous emperor.
The man abruptly stopped laughing and struck a pious pose toward the heavens.
"However, this too is a trial bestowed upon us by the Lord! Oh Lord, why do You visit such hardship and adversity upon us?!"
He wailed in lament, tears streaming down his face in bizarre theatrics.
Perhaps irked by the man's antics, Ibarella's eye twitched.
She hurled the shamshir she had been tending straight at him.
Whiiiiiing!
"Job."
The man, who had seemed half out of his mind, playfully extended a finger.
Clang! Kiiiing!
The shamshir struck a translucent shield and ricocheted away, gouging the throne room floor harshly.
"Ahh! Princess! Third finger of the great Lord's empire!"
The man cried out in feigned anguish at her action.
"To vent your twisted rage upon this humble servant of the Lord! I am truly, truly..."
Ibarella scowled, her beautiful eyes narrowing in disgust at the spectacle.
"Shut your mouth, Livia. Didn't you receive an oracle? Kidnap that elf princess or whatever, and we'd have the foundation to seize the continent."
Livia—the youngest archbishop with the church's absolute backing, who would later be branded the demon pope by the continental alliance.
"So why am I getting this nonsense report about Hiran—my loyal vassal—and the 27th Holy Knight Order being wiped out?"
Ibarella ground her teeth, her tone deadly serious.
Livia ceased his antics and replied.
"A variable intervened midway through the oracle, Princess."
"A variable?"
Livia nodded curtly.
"Yes. Last night, the Lord spoke: 'The time has come to spread My gospel across the world, yet a black and unyielding wall has appeared, dimming the gospel's light.'"
"Hmm..."
Ibarella scratched her chin at Livia's answer.
"In other words, there was an interloper?"
Livia nodded once more, affirming her words.
"Precisely, Princess. By the Lord's oracle, this is no minor issue."
He retrieved the deflected shamshir and handed it back to her, his eyes gleaming.
"It means a major wrench has been thrown into our plan to bypass the crown prince and first prince and rule this holy land."
Snort.
"A major wrench?"
The third imperial princess of the Holy Empire merely smirked at Livia's warning.
"Hey, Livia. Do you know why I wield a shamshir—the pirate blade from the Punish Isles—instead of the empire's standard longsword?"
She fiddled with the shamshir Livia had returned.
"Ahem. Why does one destined to rule the holy land keep losing all decorum..."
Livia grumbled disapprovingly, but Ibarella paid him no mind.
"That's rich coming from you, the one giggling like a lunatic every day."
Who was advising whom, exactly?
"Simple reason. This ugly pirate sword."
Swish!
She swung it briefly.
"Is lighter and sharper than any sword on the continent."
Livia's teacup shattered in half, spilling its contents.
"Nothing's more efficient for killing."
Ibarella leaned back into her chair.
"Oracle? Tell it to fuck off. What power does God even have? It's all done by men. I got complacent believing your oracle, Livia. Thought Hiran was enough for grabbing one elf princess, but it was my mistake sending a greenhorn on something this important."
Ting-a-ling!
Ibarella rang the bell beside her chair.
A waiting attendant entered with a large map, handed it to her cautiously, and backed out of the throne room.
Flap!
"Livia. Your oracle didn't say where those interlopers were headed, right?"
Ibarella unrolled the map and asked.
"The Lord only explained why the last oracle failed and hasn't given a new revelation since."
Tsk.
Ibarella clicked her tongue briefly at Livia's response.
"See? Oracles are just for reference. If we relied only on that crap, our empire would have conquered the continent ages ago."
Livia wouldn't let the remark slide.
"Hold on, Princess. Did you just call it 'that crap'? To the Lord Himself? Dare you?"
Ibarella ignored him and traced a line across the map in one direction.
"Look. The elves will head back to their homeland, the Beast Forest. Assuming the interlopers are moving with them."
Thud!
"They'll definitely regroup here. No better spot to supply a large group."
She jabbed her shamshir at one point along the line.
"Ho, that's... pretty far out."
Curious about the marked spot, Livia leaned in to peer at the map.
"Too far for a pursuit from the homeland. Contact Kamil, the duke handling the Dragon Mountains border. Have him intercept."
Livia's face hardened at her words.
"You already shoved the entire 27th Holy Knight Order into Sharon Kingdom last time. If Duke Kamil moves, it could spark not just internal backlash but an international incident."
Ibarella shook her head at his objection.
"No time. I can only tolerate my brothers strutting around like successors for so long."
Her eyes gleamed coldly.
"Besides, it's all land we'll conquer anyway. Why tiptoe around?"
She marked the spot with red ink and summoned the attendant again.
"Connect me to Duke Kamil. Tell him to grab the pointy-eared bitch's princess heading there. The rest are just mouth to feed—kill them or toy with them as he pleases."
Perhaps due to the map's colors, the name of the marked region stood out starkly.
The Mining City Jaun.
The Five Nations Alliance.
Seen across the continent, they were tiny kingdoms that the Holy Empire could blow away with a mere puff—yet they banded together for survival.
To distinguish from the broader Continental Alliance spanning the southern continent against the Holy Empire, they were commonly called the Five Nations Union.
Tiny as they were, the synergy of five nations acting as one was no small thing.
Especially since the Five Nations Union controlled the prime central lands, handling key logistics across the continent.
Leveraging this geography, each nation had developed unique trade goods to amass wealth. They were:
Sharon Kingdom: slave trade.
Yak Kingdom: liquor trade.
Fran Kingdom: industrial goods.
Millen Kingdom: foodstuffs.
Millen focused on processed foods rather than raw ingredients like Philador Kingdom, so it was a slight variation.
In any case, Dalton Kingdom had its flagship trade good as well.
Weapons.
No matter how united, the Union's territory and population paled against the Empire.
Meaning fewer powerhouses in proportion.
For Dalton Kingdom, at the Union's northern tip bordering the Holy Empire directly, importing weapons to bolster firepower was only natural.
The Mining City Jaun formed the backbone of Dalton's arms trade.
Indeed, Jaun was renowned continent-wide for producing top-quality ores.
"Ugh, this city's pretty nasty."
Upon entering Jaun, Millia pinched her nose and grimaced.
Not just Millia—the entire elf ranger unit looked displeased.
'Well, can't blame them.'
For elves who coexisted with forests, a mining city like Jaun was the utter antithesis of their nature.
They clearly wanted out ASAP, but sadly, I couldn't grant that wish.
"Sorry, but bear with it a bit longer. No supply hubs until Banten after this. We need time here to restock food and inspect weapons."
Millia's face darkened at the implication we'd be staying a while.
Sorry about that.
"Ugh... How much longer, then?"
"Hmm, let's see."
I closed my eyes briefly to think.
Jaun wasn't huge, but we could get most essentials nearby. Shouldn't take long.
"Empire's pursuit will catch up, so we can't linger too much."
Millia's expression brightened momentarily at my words...
"Three days should do it."
...only to darken further as I continued.
"You bastard, what's your game?"
"Hm?"
"Don't 'hm' me, asshole. Cut the act. We've been wandering the market for a day and a half on this supply excuse."
Saladin grumbled as he walked the streets with me.
"No game. You need to fix Mimi and Nene anyway. Not done yet, right? They were wrecked—need materials."
"Well, yeah."
Saladin's face turned serious.
"But really, you good? Empire ain't stupid. They'll send pursuit. Knowing you, you're not just killing time without a plan."
I stared at Saladin silently for a moment.
"W-what? Why the look?"
He flinched and shot back.
"Nah, nothing."
Even half-unhinged in that puppet body, his sharpness reminded me of old times.
"Whether we bolt from Jaun now or take it slow, we'll clash with pursuit anyway. That third princess won't miss our route."
I was certain. Ibarella was crazy, but smart.
If collision was inevitable no matter the haste, better to resupply, rest, and power up.
Plus.
'He's worth the delay to find.'
Berserker Miron.
Stigma Mercenary Corps' devil, wielder of the Heterogenous Power 'Rage'.
Searching for him here stemmed from a past conversation.
—Me? Noble? Nah, street rat through and through. Grew up begging in Dalton's mining city, Jaun.
—Grew up that rough, no special love for the homeland? Why suffer in the resistance?
Scratching his cheek, Miron had replied:
—Eh... no big reason. Jaun was tough, but good folks too. And above all... the Holy Empire took what I treasured most.
—Treasured?
He just smiled silently. I didn't pry further.
Stigma had few without backstory; privacy was rule.
'Wandered this much and no sign... guess he's really not here now.'
Time to give up and move on; couldn't waste more.
Just as I resolved to leave.
"You little shit!"
Crash!
"Die, die! You trash! Trying to steal my apples again?!"
Thud! Thud!
A kid caught stealing was getting pummeled wildly by the shopkeeper.
Yet despite the beating, the kid didn't scream. Not even a groan.
Instead, curled tight to shield his body from the kicks as best he could.
"Fuck! Tough little bastard. Fine, one of us dies today."
Crack!
The enraged shopkeeper slammed a crate down on the kid like a hammer.
The crate splintered, drenching him in fruit juice, but the kid's eyes still burned fierce.
Spooked, perhaps, the shopkeeper spat:
"Huff, huff... Tough kid. Your retard sister's fault? Makes you extra feral."
At those words, the kid's eyes changed.
He sprang up.
Stamped the shopkeeper's foot with a crate shard.
Stab!
"Gaaahhh!"
As the man toppled, the kid darted into the crowd.
Toward me, coincidentally.
Our eyes met briefly. I saw it.
Blue right eye, red left.
"...?"
As a strange familiarity hit me from those rare eyes.
The shopkeeper's howl rang out.
"Aaaagh! Miron, you dog! Next time I see you, you're dead!!"
I could only stare blankly at the fleeing kid.
No.
Plenty of good people, right?