Chapter 363: The End of the Civil War (2)
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 363: The End of the Civil War (2)
The wait was agonizingly long.
Marquis Belfir had already conveyed his desire to speak with Dmitry, yet he couldn't sit still, plagued by the gnawing fear that things might go wrong. The die was cast. If he had never reached out, it would be one thing, but the moment he made his decision, his only path to survival lay in forging a connection with Roman Dmitry.
How much time had passed?
Finally, the magic communicator flared to life.
[Marquis Belfir. What business do you have with me?]
It was utterly humiliating.
Roman Dmitry’s cold voice was a stark reminder of their standing, but Belfir was the desperate one now. Their past animosity? His pride as a man of power? His overwhelming desire to survive crushed it all.
"...I will get straight to the point. I do not believe you spared my life out of mere mercy, Lord Roman Dmitry. You must have had a clear intention. I wish to align myself with that intention and discuss our future. I am well aware that you do not look upon me favorably, but I assure you—hearing me out will undoubtedly benefit Dmitry."
He spoke in a firm, resolute tone.
To make his case, Marquis Belfir actively promoted his own worth.
[I have no patience for smooth talkers. I will give you ten minutes. Prove your worth.]
Beyond the screen, he could almost picture Roman Dmitry looking down on him with an imperious gaze.
Belfir swallowed hard.
The man was far from receptive, but he had at least secured a chance to speak. That alone was reason enough to pour everything he had into this negotiation.
"There are certain truths in Valhalla treated as the highest of secrets," Belfir began. "People believe that the Emperor of Valhalla, the fourteenth son, suddenly seized power without any prior indication. That is false. I only recently discovered this, but the former Emperor had already drafted official documents declaring his intent to pass the throne to his fourteenth son. In other words, it is safe to assume that the Emperor's current special forces originated from his predecessor. Why the former Emperor chose his fourteenth son, and why the throne was taken through a rebellion rather than succession, remains a mystery. But what is certain is..."
He paused, letting the anticipation build before emphasizing his next words.
"...the dangerous rumors suggesting the Emperor of Valhalla is colluding with Kronos are false. I do not know the full truth about the Emperor, nor the exact strength of his hidden forces. Even after serving him for so long, he remains a difficult man to read. However, I am privy to many secrets that others are blind to. Furthermore, a vast number of nobles in Valhalla follow me. Those who fear the Emperor rely heavily on my protection. Consequently, the faction I command wields enough influence to overturn the current political landscape of Valhalla."
This was the fatal flaw of a reign of terror.
The Emperor of Valhalla ruled through coercion, completely indifferent to the opinions of his subordinates, which had naturally allowed Marquis Belfir to cultivate his own faction. Had the Emperor's absolute power remained unchallenged, such a faction would have meant nothing.
But things had changed.
With the Emperor's authority wavering, the nobles of Valhalla hung onto Marquis Belfir's every word.
"I do not ask for much. When the rebel forces overthrow the Emperor of Valhalla and declare a new era, simply help me maintain my current power in that new order. I do not believe this is a losing deal for Dmitry or the rebels. Concede this small portion, and you gain the means to instantly seize control of this tightly contested battlefield."
It was a persuasive argument.
Over the past few days, Marquis Belfir had endlessly agonized over his decisions, searching for the perfect way to sway Roman Dmitry. He concluded that this deal was entirely feasible. Though Roman Dmitry was infamous for his ruthlessness toward his enemies, Belfir believed that the moment Roman spared him, it proved there were exceptions to the rumors.
He had played his best hand.
Now, it was Roman Dmitry's turn.
As he waited for a positive response, a baffling statement echoed through the communicator.
[I have heard enough. However, I never had any intention of accepting you from the very beginning.]
* * *
In an instant, his heart plummeted.
What on earth did that mean?
No intention from the very beginning?
Flustered, Marquis Belfir stammered.
"W-what do you mean by that? If you wanted nothing from me, there was no reason to spare my life at the Valhalla Imperial Palace! If you had killed me—the very center of Valhalla's political power—the sheer terror spreading among the nobles would have granted you a massive advantage, Lord Roman Dmitry!"
It was because of that conviction that he had picked up the magic communicator. Believing that Roman wanted something from him, he had spent days agonizing over how to craft an attractive proposal.
[You highly overestimate yourself.]
Roman chuckled.
This exact scenario was precisely what he had anticipated. He had orchestrated and guided it, but the picture he painted was entirely different from Marquis Belfir's.
[I do not reject those who face reality and cling to the strong. In fact, I believe such people are necessary for a nation to grow into a great power. However, I have a strict standard for how I treat people. Have they crossed the line, or have they not? Is there room for forgiveness, or is there not? Marquis Belfir, which standard do you think you meet?]
"That is..."
He was at a loss for words.
His ill-fated past with Dmitry flashed through his mind. From inviting Roman to the Valhalla festival for an assassination attempt, to exerting significant influence over the events that brought Kronos into the fold. He bit his lip anxiously. Come to think of it, he couldn't even claim to be entirely uninvolved in the Kronos warp incident that had so deeply enraged Dmitry.
If so, why had Roman spared him?
No matter how much he racked his brain, he couldn't find the answer.
"What on earth do you want from me?!" he shouted in frustration. "Tell me your true intentions!"
The reply that came back chilled him to his core.
[Just as you said, you are a figure of significant influence within Valhalla. That is why I spared you. I sowed deep distrust between you and the Emperor, creating a board where you can never return to his side.]
From beginning to end, it had all been intentional.
Roman hadn't just stopped at driving a wedge of distrust; he had already meticulously mapped out the subsequent scenario.
[Fifteen days from now, I will send the recording of this communication to the Emperor of Valhalla. Your thoughts, your schemes, the proposals you just made to bring down the Valhalla Imperial Family—I will reveal it all. Marquis Belfir, because you are so influential, I believed there was a far more profitable method than getting my own hands bloody. And the fact that I manipulated you into this matters little. Once he hears this recording, the Emperor will unleash his full wrath upon your treason.]
Belfir was paralyzed with shock.
As the Marquis sat there dazed, Roman Dmitry hammered the final nail into his coffin.
[Therefore, from this moment on, use any means necessary to bring down the Emperor of Valhalla if you wish to live. If the Emperor's power remains intact fifteen days from now... you will surely die. Not by my hand, but by his.]
* * *
Click.
The communication cut off.
Marquis Belfir shouted urgently into the device, but Roman Dmitry did not bother to reply.
"A person only becomes truly desperate when pushed to the very edge of a cliff."
Accepting Marquis Belfir's surrender was one option.
But even if he had, Belfir would have constantly schemed for his own survival, always keeping his options open. That was why Roman had completely severed his retreat. If defeating the Emperor of Valhalla was his only path to survival, Belfir would have no choice but to muster every ounce of his strength to achieve that goal.
And above all, Roman had no desire to let the Marquis off so easily.
Letting him live a few days longer was already more mercy than he deserved.
Internal strife.
The stage was perfectly set.
With Valhalla eating itself from the inside out, the Imperial Family would face an unprecedented crisis.
'Will the rebellion actually succeed?'
The rebel forces of Hernad.
The rioting citizens.
Dmitry's allied forces in the North.
The Kingdom Alliance on the Western Front.
And finally, the traitor within.
The picture was flawless.
It was a coalition more than capable of toppling any ordinary nation, but Roman's thoughts had shifted after personally encountering the Emperor of Valhalla.
'Marquis Belfir said there is a mysterious truth regarding the Emperor. Though even the Hao Sect's intelligence network cannot uncover what it is, one thing is certain: he must possess a force far more powerful than what has been revealed. Something capable of single-handedly turning the tide of battle. Just as Kronos mobilized hidden forces like an 8th Circle Mage, the Emperor of Valhalla will not fall so easily.'
It was a firm conviction.
During their brief clash at the Imperial Palace, the Emperor of Valhalla had chosen to flee—yet there had been no fear of death in his eyes.
It had been a hair's breadth.
In a situation where a single misstep would have cost him his life, those indifferent, empty eyes had stared unblinkingly at Roman. In his past life, Roman had encountered such individuals a few times. A nobody could never possess a gaze like that.
Therefore, he had factored the possibility of the rebellion's failure into his calculations.
By pushing Valhalla to its absolute limits, whatever the outcome, it would inevitably translate into a direct benefit for Dmitry.
'From now on, there is only one variable that could arise.'
Kronos.
Only their intervention could rescue Valhalla from the abyss of chaos.
* * *
A few days ago.
The Western Front of Cairo.
Marquis Vandenberg, the commander stationed there, closely observed the movements of the Kronos Imperial Army across the border.
"Something is definitely strange."
Over the past few days, Valhalla had become a veritable crucible of chaos.
If they had intended to resolve Valhalla's issues, the normal response for the Kronos Empire would have been to cross the border and attack Cairo long ago. Even if they had suffered massive losses during the recent ceasefire negotiations, the alliance between Valhalla and Kronos meant there was no reason for Kronos to simply stand by and watch.
Yet, there was no significant movement.
Seeing their troops moving strictly under the guise of training only heightened Marquis Vandenberg's sense of foreboding.
'The Kronos Empire is a bellicose nation. A country of scoundrels that blames others even when they themselves are in the wrong would never keep their heads down like this over a single defeat. They must be plotting something. Though I cannot tell what it is, we cannot simply rejoice just because they are standing idle.'
He had experienced all kinds of dirty dealings with Kronos on the Western Front.
With his instincts blaring a warning, Marquis Vandenberg immediately contacted Roman Dmitry.
[Kronos... I believe we need to ascertain their true intentions.]
The landscape of the war had changed.
They were no longer taking a passive stance, waiting for the enemy to make the first move. Now, they sought to actively disrupt the enemy's plans.
A few days later, under Roman Dmitry's strict orders, a certain individual headed straight for the Kronos Empire.
* * *
The capital of Kronos.
The Warp Gate flared with a brilliant light.
Flash!
Step, step.
The surrounding Kronos soldiers exuded a menacing aura.
The figure currently crossing through the Warp Gate was widely discussed as an incredibly dangerous individual within the Kronos Empire.
Soon, as the fading light scattered, a man stepped forward.
"Ugh. This is exactly why I hate long-distance warping."
The man's identity: Count Fabius.
He looked around and let out a smirk.
'Geez. Look at those vicious glares.'
He had journeyed to the heart of the Kronos Empire under Roman Dmitry's orders.
Even though he knew it was an incredibly dangerous task, Count Fabius spoke with a bold, unhesitating voice to the knight who had come to receive him.
"I've heard the rumors that the Emperor of Kronos has entered his eternal rest. So, guide me to whoever holds the decision-making power in Kronos right now. Ah, let me warn you in advance: if you bring out some low-ranking lackeys, I will turn back without hesitation. I'm making this perfectly clear—it must be someone with actual authority."
He scratched his belly lazily.
At his absurdly audacious attitude, the expression of the receiving knight grew even colder.