Chapter 55
Chapter 55
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: Ebonarch
Chapter: 55
Chapter Title: Grand Duke's Heir, You've Run Away
-----------------------------------------------------------------
< Conversation between Marquis Fabius and Duke Bastain. >
A late night. Marquis Fabius visited Duke Bastain's tent. After a cursory glance from the guards, the marquis entered, and the duke, who had been reviewing reports by the light of magical lanterns, rose with a welcoming smile.
"Marquis Fabius. Please, come in."
Duke Bastain was a man in his late forties. Though streaks of white threaded his hair, his youthful features made him look like he could pass for a man in his thirties. Yet no mana aura emanated from him. As a general, his skills were exceptional, but as a warrior, his talents barely rose above the ordinary.
"So, Duke. What did you need me for?"
"I had something to ask you briefly. I heard you went to Kara recently."
"That's right."
"Would you mind sharing the details with me?"
"If it'll help, gladly."
"Then please, have a seat here."
Duke Bastain led Marquis Fabius to chairs side by side at the table.
The marquis glanced at the chessboard on the table.
The duke was famous for his chess prowess. It was a chance to witness a master's play, so a game wouldn't be a bad idea.
"Duke. Instead of just talking, how about we chat over a game of chess?"
"Sounds good to me."
Duke Bastain opened the chessboard and placed the white pieces on his side. The marquis followed suit with the black pieces.
The marquis opened by moving a pawn and struck up conversation.
"So, what are you curious about?"
"I've heard two Masters joined Kara. Do you happen to know them?"
"I do. I met them myself."
"What kind of men are they? We get spy reports, but they're based on rumors, so nothing solid."
With that, the duke moved a pawn. The marquis pondered briefly, then advanced a knight.
"First, the one called Zenbe of the Sacred Oil—he's like this knight. Extremely honorable, steadfast in temperament. Straight-laced, you might say. Once he believes it's the righteous path, he won't turn back."
"Then leave him to you, Marquis, and there shouldn't be issues."
"Exactly. If he takes the field, I'll handle him."
"Understood. Now, about this White Mask?"
The duke made his move, and the marquis advanced another pawn.
"Hard to say for sure, but he's like this pawn. Very profit-oriented, always acting in vulgar ways. Seems like a natural layabout too, especially fond of women."
"A reckless sort."
Duke Bastain slid his bishop diagonally forward, and the marquis pushed up the pawn he'd just moved.
"But not particularly hateful."
"Patience?"
"Next to none. Blows up the moment he gets angry."
"Wise?"
"Seems clever, but loves to strut."
"No need to worry about him, then."
Marquis Fabius rested his chin on his hand thoughtfully.
"Not so sure."
"Why not?"
"He lost his temper big once, and even I got a bit scared. Because of it, Zenbe and I ended up too awkward for a match—just drank and left. Heh heh."
Duke Bastain's face grew slightly troubled. A man whose presence could make the realm's top mid-tier swordsman hesitate warranted caution.
The duke advanced his bishop to target the marquis's pawn.
"Then who do you think should keep him in check?"
The marquis moved his rook to protect the pawn.
"Hard to say. He's so unpredictable..."
"Why?"
"He seemed to despise war, yet here he is fighting in one."
Duke Bastain stared at the marquis with sudden surprise.
"A pacifist, perhaps?"
"Less that, more humbly reverent toward war. Loves to brag, but his view of battle was profoundly humble."
"Pardon? How so?"
"He called himself a fool general of a hundred losses. Fought hundreds of battles and lost every one—enough said."
Duke Bastain paused mid-move with his queen.
"You're certain?"
"Likely true. He admitted his own shame, so I take it as fact."
Duke Bastain expressed deep concern.
"A major variable like White Mask in this war... damn."
"Duke. What's wrong?"
"White Mask—he's undoubtedly one of the world's rare master generals."
Marquis Fabius chuckled.
"Duke. Didn't I just describe him as a fool general of a hundred losses?"
"Marquis Fabius. 'Fool general of a hundred losses' means the same as 'master general of a hundred victories'."
"How so?"
"Both have fought a hundred battles."
Duke Bastain let out a long sigh and began explaining.
The duke had an older brother lost to illness in his youth. Incredibly brilliant, but frail from childhood, a constant worry for the family.
One day after a severe illness,
Pitying his bedridden brother, their father—the previous duke—began teaching him chess. It required no physical exertion and passed time well, perfect for his weak son.
The brother took to chess immediately. After the first game, he was hooked.
Of course, their father was a renowned chess master in Robros Kingdom, so defeats piled up, but the brother pestered him endlessly, undeterred.
After ten losses, a hundred, then hundreds. Someone mocked his pathetic brother—young Bastain himself. He belittled his skill after watching him lose to their father.
One day, young Bastain challenged him, deeming him an easy mark.
"What happened?"
"Hell. I was crushed so thoroughly, I feared touching the pieces for a while."
Marquis Fabius furrowed his brow.
"So?"
"Yes. An old military text says: A general's talent is like a blood flower that blooms gorgeously only after devouring the blood of countless subordinates. Victory or defeat in a hundred battles doesn't matter. If he's fought a hundred, he's a master general."
Marquis Fabius groaned. It made sense. War or chess—hundreds of experiences make anyone a master.
"Still, there must be reasons for losing every time."
"Results being what they are, yes. But whatever they were, they're gone now."
"Why?"
"Didn't you say he was humble about war?"
"Yes."
"That means he acknowledged his mistakes, reflected deeply on past failures. Makes him scarier. People learn more from failure than success."
The marquis let out a thoughtful hum.
"Hmm. So what's your plan?"
"For now, spread false rumors to sever Kara's links. White Mask might dismiss it as a jest."
"Do as you think best."
Afterward, Duke Bastain continued the chess game with Marquis Fabius. But in the back of his mind, White Mask lingered clearly. He was the war's biggest wildcard.
I stood with Padilla on a balcony overlooking Kara Castle. Her cautious breaths brought a warm satisfaction.
"Padilla. Sky's so clear tonight, isn't it?"
"Yes."
The mood was perfect. But I struggled with the next line. We'd reminisced about our first meeting on the way here; now only pickup lines remained. Like, 'Shall we head to the room?'
As I slyly reached for her waist, Rajal came charging with a roar.
"White Mask! You bastard! I knew you'd pull something like this!"
Padilla whipped around, grinding her teeth.
"Rajal! What insolence is this!"
Rajal dropped to his knees, pleading earnestly.
"Your Highness. We've been deceived. White Mask is a spy planted by Robros Kingdom in our Kara."
I smirked; Padilla looked incredulous. We knew my identity too well.
"Where did you hear such nonsense to spout this madness!"
"Rumors are rampant in the markets, and among spies my men captured, one confessed it. It's certain."
"Rajal, you dare...!"
I cut her off and approached Rajal.
"Hey, you. So I'm a spy?"
"Doesn't it fit perfectly? The spy said so, your arrival timing, hiding your face, flouting Kara's noble traditions—who but a spy would do that!"
"Oh, really? Heh heh."
"What!"
I stroked Yojjo while looking down at Rajal.
"If I were a spy, would you still be breathing? Or dead?"
"Th-that..."
Rajal paled instantly. I patted his shoulder.
"Mistaking me for a spy is fine, but report like this? If only you die, okay—but the Sovereign's right here. Gauge the moment, report secretly after I leave. Got it? Think of us for once."
"..."
What to do with this fool. Even excited, how could he lose all composure?
Once war started and we took a castle, appoint him governor fast. Loyal, respected—should earn his keep.
"Anyway, follow me. I'll show you what a real spy looks like."
"Pardon?"
"Spy hunt. Not your fake ones. Hurry."
I led Rajal outside.
This rumor might be Robros spies' work. Maybe not, but if so, more would come.
Better catch quick.
Influx of outsiders lately; planned mass roundup later, but ongoing issues complicated it.
I ordered Rajal and Udin to round up past war-supply hoarders and frequent magic comm users.
Spies likely among them.
The dank underground dungeon. I interrogated a man named Alif. Originally from the Tajjika tribe, he'd settled in Kara long ago with friends, built wealth trading foodstuffs—a self-made merchant.
"Truth now. No one in Kara knew of war when you bulk-bought supplies. How'd you know to hoard?"
"I-I just did legitimate business. War info? Overheard in Robros Kingdom by chance."
Plausible. Merchants trade; could've heard there.
"Sure. Then why hide the war outbreak till now? That's treason."
"Un-unsure, so..."
"Unsure, yet bet your fortune on war supplies?"
"Business is risk. Only gamblers win big."
I grinned.
"Perfect. Your big win time. Where are those supplies? I'll buy dear. Jackpot incoming."
"Th-that..."
"Not in Kara, surely?"
"Warehouses here cost too much."
"Fair. Where then?"
"Hussein territory."
Hussein—now enemy lands. No checking.
"Slippery bastard."
"No, pure truth."
"Know something?"
"Yes."
"Not just you nabbed. Your friends, caravan workers—all questioned here."
Alif's cheeks twitched. Then a man outside the bars beckoned and whispered.
With new info, I resumed.
"Oh, those supplies. One says part in a mountain warehouse near Rael tribe."
"Y-yes, some there too."
"Can't put all eggs one basket."
"Right."
"But suspicion mounts, yeah? If spy, confess quick. I don't kill spies lightly—only loose-lipped ones. Useless."
"Misunderstanding. Not a spy."
"We'll see. Next: Why contact Robros envoy group? Witnesses saw. Truth better."
Alif blurted in panic.
"Frame-up! Met a Robros merchant with their group. Business."
"Name?"
"Jevens."
"Got it."
I smirked coldly. Question was bait; he bit. I whispered to the man outside: Relay same to all suspects via interrogators. Now truth bait.
Soon, more info flowed.
I turned back.
"Not Jevens—Ferral, continent caravan worker?"
"I-I met Ferral too."
"Should've said first. Suspicious."
"Old, forgot."
Alif wiped sweat.
"Why meet Ferral?"
"Business."
"Odd. Said you were friends?"
Alif spat excuses.
"Friends on business."
"Sure, friends do business. Still meet lately?"
"No."
"Bad friends. He's here too—nabbed for magic comm overuse. Meet later, chat."
"..."
Alif paled. New report; I pressed.
"You. Spreading rumors I'm Robros spy?"
"W-well... rumors around, mask suspicious."
"Am I that weird?"
"A bit."
I stroked my chin, staring.
"Hey. Time to come clean? You're Tajjika. No need die for Robros."
"N-not spy."
"Evidence says you die anyway. Wartime: suspect first, execute later. Confess, see light."
"But..."
"Didn't you see? Others spilling. Resist alone, you die. Pitying you. Spill a few secrets—I'll keep mum. Sit war out, free after, win or lose. Deal?"
"That..."
Others confessing. No point holding secrets. People choose life.
I leaned close, tempting devilishly.
"Didn't betray tribe willingly? Tough living, they offered cash—easy slip. I get it. Live first, right? Confess full: 50 gold riffs, resume trade. Fair?"
Alif gulped, pondered long, then cracked.
"Gordon."
"Gordon?"
"Robros spy disguised mercenary. My handler two years. Still employed in Kara."
"Good boy. Innocent now—life made."
Jackpot. Gordon: Robros plant for siege betrayal. Deadliest spy exposed—heaven-sent.
Root him out fully.
Bonus: Alif's hoarded supplies for Kara.
1.6 million arrows, 6,000 tons grain/dried food, masses metal/war goods.
< End of Conversation between Marquis Fabius and Duke Bastain. >