Uninvited Guest (1)
No one in the kingdom had helped Knight Mente. She had become a Sword Master with the empire's aid—and not by her own choice, but through the emperor's methods.
"The way to forcibly turn someone into a master? Simple. Pump mana into their body until they become one."
To conquer the kingdom, the emperor had resorted to extreme measures.
"Melt down magic stones harvested from mana beasts, force-feed them, and inject mana-laced drugs into their veins to embed it deep."
What the emperor exploited was desperation. The desire to grow strong. To be acknowledged. To dominate. By preying on the inferiority complexes and sense of deprivation that plague human interactions, he had forged numerous masters.
The Eight Divine Generals. The eight masters under the emperor's command.
Knight Mente had become a master, but her body was infused with the blood and mana of countless imperial subjects.
That was the case in the future. But not now.
Not since we'd crossed paths here and now.
I hadn't planned to go hunting for her specifically, but since fate had delivered her right to me, there was no reason to let her slip away.
So.
"I'll put that offer on hold for now."
Even as Knight Mente refused with a faint smile, I wasn't worried.
"I'd appreciate it if you could say that again once the formal administrative process is complete in Morgania."
"Lucky for you."
I hadn't come here expecting her to swear loyalty on the spot, after all.
"I was a bit nervous you might turn down my proposal outright. You're talking about going through proper channels, right?"
"Exactly. If I just up and left Morgania, I'd owe the ducal house a massive penalty fee."
Knights operating independently typically contracted with noble houses. Lifetime contracts were rare; even those loyal sorts committed through decade- or two-decade-long terms.
"How much time is left on your contract?"
"Seven years."
"That's quite a bit."
Seven years. I dredged up my memories.
'Even if she'd trained for those extra seven years, it wouldn't have made much difference from where she is now.'
She must have stayed with the Morgania ducal house until then, only to fail at renewal.
'They probably discarded her.'
An aging knight cast off by a grand ducal house.
'No family, no relatives to turn to.'
No marriage, no kin.
'The empire must have been an easy choice.'
With no other houses willing to take her in, the empire's invitation would have felt like a lifeline from the heavens.
'Even with some foundation, becoming a master in three years...'
Her skill was one thing, but how much mana had the emperor crammed into that tiny girl's body—enough to shatter her curse and make her grow thirty centimeters taller?
It must have been agonizing, torturous enough to kill her.
"Serve us on dispatch for those seven years to fulfill your contract, then sign with us when it's done."
"Hmm... I'm kinda expensive, though?"
"Gibraltar might look poor at a glance, but we've got more money than you think."
The earl and his wife weren't big spenders, leaving us with a surprisingly ample budget.
"Don't worry about the money. Just don't change your mind while the process goes through."
"And if I do change my mind and refuse to be your teacher?"
"Then I'll find someone else."
"What? Ha, listen to you."
Knight Mente let out a hollow laugh.
"Luring someone in like this and then saying that?"
"I don't plan to force anyone who says no to stick around."
"Then who else would you take as your teacher?"
"That's for me to figure out from here. Once the Gibraltar Knights are officially formed, people will line up—even those willing to moonlight as the talentless eldest son's teacher just to get in."
"......"
She had a high chance of becoming the empire's sword, sure, but I had no need to cling desperately.
"If you need time to think, rest in the garden until the alcohol wears off. I should head back to the banquet hall."
"What?"
"Everyone has their own battlefield. It's also why Father never taught me the sword."
"How's that got anything to do with this?"
"I've got something I wield better than a sword."
I stuck my tongue out lightly at Knight Mente.
"What do you think?"
"...Annoying, but yeah, you talk like that's true. Still, it's uglier and dirtier than you imagine."
She shook her head in disgust.
"Noble talk? Let it go in one ear and out the other. It's just jealous drivel from the insecure."
"Noted, milady."
"Wasn't I 'Knight' earlier?"
"Once you're on my side, I'll call you 'Lady' again. Or."
I bowed properly to Knight Mente.
"If you'd prefer 'Master,' return to Morgania, await the invitation, and come back to Gibraltar. I'll be expecting you."
* * *
Circling the garden, I returned to the mansion's main entrance.
"Young Master Grey."
Head Butler Malcolm spotted me and glanced alternately between me and the banquet hall, dabbing his forehead with a handkerchief.
"Nervous for the first banquet in ages, Butler?"
"N-No, of course not. Just..."
"Or maybe you're having fun gossiping about me inside."
"Y-Young Master...!"
"It's fine. No point stressing over that."
I brushed past Malcolm—
"Oh. Take this, though."
"A g-glass...?"
"Fill it with sparkling water."
He filled the glass with clear, bubbling soda water and I stepped into the banquet hall.
If the training grounds were for knights' duels, this hall was the arena for high society's nobles.
Posture steady. Eyes forward, gaze impassive. Ears open, attuned to every whisper around me.
"Good lord, he's back."
"He's just a kid. Doesn't know who's who."
The nobles' murmurs reached me.
"The margrave chose his younger son as heir. What does a ten-year-old know?"
Just the reaction I'd hoped for.
"What about the second son?"
"Typical kid that age. But his talent seems solid."
"Good thing we tipped off the kids early. Told them to focus on chatting with Noir."
Perfect.
They danced on the stage I'd set, oblivious puppets reciting their scripted lines, convinced of their own agency.
'Aim for Noir.'
Not the disowned eldest, but Gibraltar's chosen heir, the one the earl himself had handed a sword to.
"Why hand the house to the second son, though? The eldest seemed sharp enough up close."
"Brains won't cut it in Gibraltar. You need sword skill."
"Must've pissed off his father. Sending the kid alone to the capital? The king slapped him... ahem. He was furious—yet they sent the eldest there?"
"Who knows. Maybe they planned to rebel if he'd been beheaded. Ha. Just kidding."
Positive feedback.
Nothing beats the thrill of a chessboard where your pieces dictate the opponent's moves five turns deep.
'Going smoothly so far.'
As long as no wild cards disrupted my board, I'd welcome the party ending like this.
The eldest son skims the edges of the hall, while the second son schmoozes endlessly with nobles and their kids, building connections.
'Grey Gibraltar is a throwaway card.'
The seed of doubt would sprout, rumors would spread through high society. My room to maneuver would widen.
'Anyone stirring things up?'
Smooth sailing was fine, but zero sparks meant—
"Still, that kid's got a handsome face."
"Takes after the margrave. Hair color's totally different, though."
"You, didn't you knock up some girl outside? Any daughters worth using? Ten years old, or maybe a year or two younger."
"Ahem. Why bring that up here...? Let's talk at home, yeah?"
A couple nearby sparked my interest briefly.
"Thinking on the way home's too late. It's Gibraltar blood. If he dies on the field, a survivor inherits, right?"
"Ahem. Don't blab like that at someone else's party..."
"No one's listening. Who knows? Gibraltar genes might bloom big in the grandkids. It's happened before."
Even as a discarded card, a few still eyed Grey for his Gibraltar utility.
"Ah."
A wild card emerged.
Not a good one for me. I lifted my glass and strode forward.
"Father."
"...Yes."
As I approached the father standing guard over Mother—with Noir and Letar at her side—he glanced sharply at certain nobles.
—You know, right? His eyes signaled.
—Once we've chosen treason's path, filter out half the chatter you hear. I replied with a smile.
"Hm..."
Father gave a heavy nod and, in a move natural to any onlooker, raised his champagne flute for a casual sip.
"Haha. Isn't that Gibraltar's eldest son?"
"Baron Ervant. Good to see you again."
The middle-aged noble in the bowler hat I'd greeted early on—Baron Ervant Langier—had been chatting with Father.
"Where's Knight Mente?"
"She wanted to tour the garden alone."
"Haha. Lucky her. The margrave spent over a decade cultivating that garden for his countess. Haha."
I glanced at Father. He treated Baron Ervant with stiff formality, showing no desire to prolong the talk.
'Endure it, Father.'
Unfortunately for us, Baron Ervant was seaweed tangled in the net we'd cast for catches like Knight Mente—nutrient-poor.
But even worthless kelp had its use in becoming top-tier traitors. Basics demanded we utilize every strand.
For instance—
"Speaking of, Margrave. Heard the news?"
"......"
"What news might that be?"
As Father went silent, I jumped in with feigned interest.
"Haha. I was asking the margrave, lad."
"He's right here."
"Heh, true enough."
Quit eyeing him like an ill-mannered oaf and prove your worth already.
"Well, it's relevant to you too. Word is, the Morgania house is buying up land in the capital's fourth district."
"......"
"Rumor has it they're planning something huge there..."
No matter how eagerly he rubbed his hands to latch onto the margrave's power, applause needs two palms.
"What kind of facility?"
"Haha. Quite the curious young master. They say it's an 'academy.'"
"......"
Hm. An academy in the capital.
"Copying the empire's model?"
"Oh! Margrave, interested in academies?"
"It's piqued my curiosity."
"Right? Haha. With the kingdom officially founding an educational institution, I plan to send my own kids."
There it was—the real pitch.
The reason for dredging up a rumor-shrouded, unbuilt academy.
"If an academy opens, Margrave, who would you send?"
The baron had the gall to ask outright, with all three kids present. Whispers rose behind: 'A mere baron, so brazen?' He didn't notice.
He'd cornered the margrave.
Seized the upper hand in conversation.
"The empire botched plenty, but their academy system works. Personally, I dislike commoners learning alongside nobles, but if the kingdom builds one, it could take another form..."
Blind to the stares, he blundered on, the epitome of overreaching.
"Academies are premature."
Father didn't cut him off—Mother did.
"Our family's invited tutors are already teaching the children excellently, and at their age, they still need their parents' care."
"Milady, but—"
"Thank you for your interest in our family's education. We'll discuss it closely with the earl later. Hehe."
Mother bowed with a radiant smile.
'Ah.'
Another wild card.
"......"
"A-Ahem!"
Father caught Baron Langier's gaze drifting to Mother's hand—precisely where it had risen—and unleashed killing intent.
'Can't blame his eyes.'
No exposed skin, no cinched corset, yet...
'Like the future empress?'
Mother's maternal allure shone through even her ample gown, ranking in my top three across timelines.
'Some vulgar tongues claim that's why the incompetent king didn't choose Queen Carmen but Mother—'
Which explained why that fool king was still besotted.
Top three ever, but number one in the present kingdom.
"......?"
As I pondered Mother's society-shaking weapon amid the brief trance—
"Father?"
"Tch..."
"Baron Langier over there, his gaze is a bit—"
"Party's over."
Father set down his glass as if on cue.
"We've got an uninvited guest."
"H-Hiiik?!"
Viscount Heks cowered in the corner, but Father's glare fixed not on him—
"Didn't send invites to the empire, after all."
Toward the gorge.
Brrrr.
"Enemy raid."
The necklace at Father's throat began to glow red.