Sevillea, the Plague-Ridden City (6)
May the departed rest in peace. Anyway, legendary.
Funerals are rituals to honor the dead, but noble funerals are a different beast altogether. A stage for socializing amid solemnity. The dress code is uniformly black, a memorial banquet where joy and pleasure are the only emotions tucked discreetly away.
"Sevillea's baron is dead. Wonder what the next one's like?"
In the center of the banquet hall, wrapped in black ribbons, nobles attending the funeral clinked glasses and chatted idly.
"Who knows. Is that wreath from the previous generation or the current one?"
No one cared about the deceased. Those gathered here had eyes only for the successor.
"Never thought Gibraltar would send a wreath."
"Isn't it the neighboring territory? They must've had some exchanges."
"So when Gibraltar raises its flag later, will Sevillea fall under it too?"
"Now, now. That's speculation. Even if Gibraltar's starting to move on the international stage..."
The guests had completely upstaged the host, but what could you do? It was Gibraltar, after all. Right beside the royal wreath that always arrived for noble deaths stood the bold one from Crimson Gibraltar, Margrave of the Borderlands.
"They say Viscount Romana's here too."
"He's an investigator, but it's basically Morgania sending him to pay respects."
"Something new this time... the Judiciary Office? Word is he's the real head of that freshly minted organization."
"Gamos must've greased a lot of palms here and there. That stubborn old coot... ahem."
These moments were always amusing. The nobles whispered among themselves, but eavesdropping was pure entertainment.
Times like these really take me back to those pre-regression banquets.
Traitor Grey and the backstabbers reveling beneath him. Laughing and exchanging pleasantries up front, then scrambling behind the scenes to find flaws and nitpick. A despicable bunch.
I personally favored this human tapestry. No absolute good or evil—just selfish types who bowed to the strong and devoured the weak. And since I was cut from the same cloth, it felt comfortable.
"Young master. The investigation's done."
"Lady Mente. Did you find it?"
"Not yet."
Since it was a formal occasion, Lady Mente approached and spoke politely.
"What about the 'Numbers'?"
"They're holed up at the hotel in case they're spotted. They could bolt if things go south..."
"No. Staying out of sight is how they help this time. Assuming the enemy's playing to form."
"......"
Lady Mente silently scuffed her boot against the thick shadow pooling on the floor.
The Empire's Shadow. What we were hunting.
New Silver Dust might not carry a scent, but even without Shadows, spies could show.
Plambel Sevillea had died consuming Silver Dust. Gamos Sevillea, the new baron, knew nothing about it—so someone was bound to make contact. To recover any leftovers. Or suggest Gamos try a dose himself. Or...
"Lady Mente. Where's Baron Gamos now?"
"Talking privately with Viscount Heks."
"Ah. The hunting ground contract. Perfect. He'll handle it fine."
We'd spoken briefly before, so Viscount Heks could steer the deal to benefit Gibraltar and Morgania.
"We got a hunting ground for one wreath—what better deal could there... hold on."
Off in the distance. Someone was approaching.
"Not heading for you, Lady Mente."
"Eyes on you, young master."
Right at me.
"Grey Gibraltar."
A middle-aged man with deep brown hair called my name precisely as he drew near. I knew the face.
"Marquis Hastings Roland, I presume."
"Hm."
One of the kingdom's loyalists. Led his knights against the emperor to halt the advance, only to be slain by the emperor himself—a northern noble.
"How fares the margrave?"
"Well, as ever. She just gave birth to twins."
"I see. Still so leisurely..."
The marquis smacked his lips in regret.
An advanced knight who never reached master. Harboring an inferiority complex toward my father as a swordsman. So when Father turned traitor, he'd raged in genuine fury and charged the imperial army with his knights.
"Lady Mente grows stronger by the day. Might even surpass me sooner than I think."
"Thank you, marquis."
"Should've brought you to House Roland back then."
"I'm a Gibraltar now. If you'll excuse me, marquis."
"Bold enough to say that outright. My apologies, then. Just a pity—don't glare so."
How could I not? I'd poured so much effort into recruiting her to Morgania, and here he was trying to snatch her with a casual aside.
"Lady Mente is my mentor and a Gibraltar knight. She'll become a master here, no doubt."
Still, no need to be too prickly.
"More importantly, who's that behind you...?"
"Ah, my eldest son. Fifteen, like you."
A boy with orange hair, two heads shorter than me, flinched and gave a slight bow.
"P-Pelwood Roland... that's me."
"......"
"Um, excuse..."
"Pleased to meet you, Sir Roland. Grey Gibraltar."
Pelwood Roland. The one-sided "friend" from my academy days who tormented me relentlessly after the kingdom fell.
He wasn't this short when he entered the academy. He used to be my height—still tiny now.
"Have we... met?"
"I've heard the rumors. A dragoon master-to-be from Roland."
"Ah, yes. Nothing else, but he's dragoon material."
Praise the son, and Marquis Roland smiled faintly, patting Pelwood's shoulder.
"Different from the rumors, eh?"
"Y-Yes..."
"Rumors?"
"You have to see for yourself. Grey Gibraltar's not like the gossip..."
Marquis Hastings grinned fiercely.
"He's hiding a proper blade."
"...I'm just the inadequate eldest son."
"By master standards, anyone's inadequate who isn't one."
"......"
"Don't look at me like that. I get where you're coming from."
Marquis Hastings twirled his mustache, gazing wistfully out the window.
"Being born noble is a chain. If you didn't know freedom, fine—but glimpsing the world beyond the mountains? Greater torment."
"......"
"Whoops. Steady on. Till next time, then. Greetings to the margrave."
"Yes."
Marquis Hastings turned and left, casting a final longing glance at Lady Mente. She stood steadfast behind me, silent.
"...Lady Mente. Did you catch what that guy just said?"
"No."
"Middle-aged sensibilities..."
It sounded like someone yearning to cast off noble shackles for a free life—but
Bullshit.
Just the whining of someone who had even that freedom.
"Kingdom nobles, average as ever. Sheesh."
Analyzing succession at someone else's funeral to see political gain. Fleeing with empty bluster when outmatched by the kids. Romantic fools freezing in their own frost.
And now, two years after starting Empire ties...
"Lady Mente. Found it."
...someone already tainted by the Empire slinking about.
"Catch it before it acts, but then the trap's wasted, right?"
"Exactly."
Lady Mente smacked her lips, fiddling with her sword.
"Young master. Mine this time?"
"Of course. I'll light it up right beside you at bedtime."
"Heh. This time for sure..."
Lady Mente bit her lip hard.
"I'll cross that wall."
* * *
Dawn, 4 a.m. As all slept, shadows began slinking through the pitch-black corridor.
"Yaaawn."
A guard at the morgue entrance stretched with a long yawn.
Slash.
The shadow closed in instantly, and the guard's head tumbled down.
"Jack, what're you—"
Slash.
The other guard's head followed. The sound wasn't loud, and both bodies froze at attention.
Creeeak.
The black shadow opened the door. Inside the cold room, mana stones glowed faintly. In the coffin at center lay an old man's corpse, hands neatly folded.
Step, step.
The shadow approached swiftly, drawing something from its bosom.
A sharp dagger. Its curved blade gleamed with red liquid, like lightning frozen.
This was the morgue, for preserving bodies—but
Stab!
The shadow plunged the dagger into old man—Baron Plambel Sevillea's—corpse. Straight into the heart.
"......!"
No reaction. No spurt of blood—nothing.
And then.
Clank!
A lock snapped shut at the entrance.
Whoosh.
The shadow vaulted the coffin toward the window—but
Crash!
A small girl's kick shattered the pane, slamming into its solar plexus and sending it tumbling.
"You filthy...!"
"Hold it, ma'am."
The shadow saw.
"It was just a magical illusion anyway. Of a corpse already dead."
"......!!"
Beyond the broken window, a gray-haired youth descended a rope from above.
"Hey. You came."
Bathed in moonlight, the youth flashed a dazzling smile.
"My Silver Dust."
"!!"
The shadow spun to flee—but
Shunk!
A blade pierced its gut, pinning it to the floor.
"Lady Mente."
"Yeah."
"W-Wait—"
The shadow's desperate words cut short.
Shunk.
It realized its vision fixed on the ceiling, then its body drifted sideways as consciousness faded.
In its final moment, it registered its head rolling across the floor—after spotting the gray youth strolling leisurely toward the body.
"Grey... Gibraltar—"
The shadow blacked out.
* * *
"Told you it'd come for sure. Viscount Heks."
"...Good thing we slipped those guards."
The morgue door opened, and Viscount Heks entered pale-faced, locking it behind him.
"Hey. Isn't this overkill? Keeping a magic doll standing out there."
"That's why we gave you those mana stones from our hunt."
"For two hours straight."
"Took the enemy two hours to scout before entering. Blame this Shadow if you wanna complain."
I sliced the decapitated Shadow's thigh with my dagger.
"Hm..."
"Checking gender?"
"No. Number's burned off."
"...Really? Burning skin like that usually means disposal."
The Shadow was female. The thigh spot where a number should've been was charred.
"Hair looks black..."
"Dyed, probably."
"Damn. Does the imperial family really use their own bloodlines like this?"
"A nation that values ability over blood, isn't it?"
Discarded and culled, hence Shadow.
"Anyway, found it."
Rummaging the inner pocket yielded the item immediately.
"Silver Dust."
"......."
"Quick check."
I spilled a bit from the paper packet onto my hand, sniffing then tasting the tip of my tongue.
"Hey."
"......Sluuuurp."
Sweeter than sugar, a dizzying rush.
"Yep. Silver Dust."
"...You okay?"
"Compared to Caroline? Meh."
"Sigh... Can't live like you."
Viscount Heks scratched his head, raising his cane.
"Light."
Fwoosh.
As light flickered on, we saw it.
"...What the hell?"
"......."
In the coffin. What should've been lying there had bolted upright, upper body raised.
"Lady Mente! The neck!"
Lady Mente swung wide at the rising figure.
Claaaang!
A sharp ring like steel on steel.
Crunch, crunch.
The emaciated old-man shape chewed Lady Mente's sword in its jaws.
"......Wow."
Empire quality, indeed.
"That corpse arm's something else."
Even a dead old noble's body, weaponized against foes.
"Ngh!"
Lady Mente yanked her sword, leaping back to me. Viscount Heks leveled his cane tensely.
"Grey. D-Do you know what's happening...?"
"Yeah."
Nothing major.
"Vampire turned the corpse into a ghoul before dying."
To confirm the dead Shadow was vampire, check the fangs and ears under the hood.
"At least we know that dagger's heart-stab holds the power."
Vampire or human, the force making corpse-kin was in that dagger.
"Empire, as expected."
Perfect.
Buy one, get one free.
Acquireable Silver Dust just doubled in real time.