Chapter 288
Chapter 288
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 288
Chapter Title: The Key to the Nine Myriad Long River (4)
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Peace had come to civilized society.
Some lords concealed their regrets, while others swallowed their relief, thinking as much.
The civil war that had arisen like a whirlwind and battered the empire had ended, and the allied forces of the eastern kingdoms had toppled the Elector Counts, showcasing their might.
The territories of the secular lords groaned beneath the chaos of new borderlines. Of course, it was merely temporary noise. From the common folk's perspective, nothing changed aside from the lord's name.
It was a year when the empire's influence over the eastern kingdoms waned, discord among the Elector Counts grew fiercer, and the pride of imperial citizens crumbled away.
From the empire's standpoint, these were times more horrific than words could describe.
And bells heralding a new era were tolling. Here in Paltennoia. No—at this very moment, in every major city of the empire.
-Deeeeng! Deeeeng!
After eight tolls came a moment of silence. Then one final toll. By tradition, this signified that one emperor had ascended among the eight Elector Counts.
Roughly half of the imperial citizens bowed toward the capital with genuine sincerity, offering their respects.
May peace reign in the new emperor's era.
* * *
“In the midst of evil rampant throughout the world and the tribulations it brings, awaken in purity, and let light follow. Holy Pantheon, grant your protection.”
The emperor's coronation traditionally unfolded before the Lion Gate, facing the bronze statues of past emperors, under the witness of the seven Elector Counts, with the emperor himself donning the laurel crown. Yet the Lion Gate lay in ruins, and the newly ascending emperor prepared the rites anew, disregarding the Elector Counts' consent.
No Elector Count dared oppose it.
Every feudal lord had a blade at their throat, and Rene lurked in the shadows, gripping and shaking the leashes of the others.
It was a bizarre spectacle born of refined political machinations, certain agreements, and the tragedy of the previous emperor. That the Pope of the Holy Pantheon personally placed the laurel crown upon the emperor's head in this absurd ceremony.
“What do you make of it, Duke Tremulle?”
“Duke Grimoire.”
The Pope was visible, delivering his address to the crowds gathered in the plaza through a magic tool amplified for sound. Grimoire clicked his tongue and shook his head.
“It's absurd enough that the man who proclaimed non-interference in secular royal affairs now bestows blessings upon them himself. But the emperor of the empire—who never once bowed to the church's authority—kneeling at the Pope's feet? Laughable.”
Grimoire spoke without masking his disgust. It diverged from the facts. Rene was conducting the ceremony from a position effectively equal to the Pope's, with only the slightest bend of one knee.
No one would believe the Pope stood above the emperor. Not the church, nor the nobles. Not even the onlookers among the commoners.
Priests blessing nobles was hardly uncommon in their daily lives.
In truth, even the Pope—who bowed to none beneath the gods—showed deference before the emperor's rites. It was the utmost courtesy the church could publicly offer, a gesture affirming respect for imperial authority.
And that gesture... also hinted at a political alliance between emperor and Pope. Grimoire's words bristled with thorns.
“What does my daughter think?”
“That's sudden.”
“I've no taste for circumlocution. I'm not accustomed to the refined manners of Paltennoia nobility.”
Grimoire whispered softly, gazing upon the Pope's face. Not accustomed to capital noble decorum? Robert let out a short chuckle at the remark. The political venom laced into those very words was vicious.
The House of Grimoire ruled as dukes of Jacqueling. And Jacqueling—an inland realm with scant maritime trade routes—had suffered almost no losses from Robert's privateer fleet.
From House Grimoire's view, House Tremulle made for an enticing match.
Even if the late emperor had been branded a heretic and sparked imperial civil strife. The current Tremulle Chamberlain of the Court was a linchpin figure, a man who had salvaged his house from the brink of ruin through sheer political brilliance.
Young. Unwed. Finding a match of such caliber across the continent was no simple task.
“Regrettably, marriages between feudal houses are impossible.”
“By imperial decree, hasn't our emperor already shattered that precedent? There's always a way.”
“Haha. Duke Grimoire...”
Robert chuckled at the elder noble's words. By etiquette, it bordered on rudeness. He dipped his head slightly to mask his mouth and murmured low.
“Care to die?”
“...W-what?”
“I've no desire to die. You claim unfamiliarity with noble phrasing, so I'll match that candor. Hearing my true mind is a rarity. Keep your ears open. I have no wish to die.”
Grimoire's face went rigid, mouth working soundlessly, before he hastily bowed under Robert's feral glare.
He had forgotten. This affable young man before him had commanded the empire's premier intelligence organ since boyhood.
“What... do you mean by that?”
“I have a sister.”
“That much I know. The last daughter standing, isn't she? Word is she's raging about liquidating the family fortune for poor relief...”
“With her temperament, that's utterly impossible. Yet when she declared it, I emptied my personally hoarded gold into her hands without reserve. Care to guess why?”
Grimoire fell silent at Robert's words.
“Because I know the true reason behind her feigned zeal for 'poor relief' is one man. Duke Grimoire—do you know who?”
“...No idea.”
“Burn this in: an excommunicated priest. Inquisition affiliate—you may not know it, but he long operated as chief of Religiosa Demonica.”
“What... does that imply? An excommunicated priest is just some commoner. Lowborn rabble.”
“Look there.”
Grimoire raised his head at Robert's gesture. The Pope smiled benignly, settling the laurel crown atop Rene's brow.
Deng—! The bell tolled, and soon the plaza erupted in cheers as petals rained down. The Pope patted Rene's shoulder twice before withdrawing.
To any observer, it appeared heartfelt congratulations on the young emperor's ascension.
Robert whispered amid the scene.
“The Pope and emperor have clasped hands. Should the Carverlier ducal house produce an heir, that child enters Beitasser Church. Sincere or no.”
“Makes sense...”
“And my sister now speaks of wedding a Beitasser priest. Her true intent or not, the implications are stark.”
The woman who ceded the Tremulle Chamberlain title to Robert and was cast from power, deemed politically inept. Such was Everize's public face. But Robert knew her talents and heart.
She alone had held the imperial cabinet intact amid the emperor's deviations. peerless as politician and administrative noble alike.
In this climate, her chosen partner: an excommunicated priest?
“The child from Everize and that priest will eye Tremulle succession next.”
And then, the Pope would back that claim directly. His secular ambitions already laid bare, he wouldn't forgo planting two clerical Electors among the eight.
Grimoire's face drained of color at those words. Only now did he grasp Robert's meaning fully.
I don't want to die.
Even the mighty Elector gripping the empire's top spy network feared assassination.
Natural enough. With Carverlier on the throne, the imperial cabinet—especially Ironside's head—wouldn't stay delegated to rivals forever.
For a moment, Grimoire eyed Robert as one granted stay of execution. His expression unchanged from start to finish.
“Shh.”
Robert smiled gently, finger to lips. Chills prickled Grimoire as he whipped his head away.
Far off, atop the dais, the Pope gazed down upon them.
A fleeting glance exchange. The smiles of two men brushed eyes.
Grimoire beheld politics' forged monsters. He stumbled back a step.
“Glory to the Holy Levineiter Empire. Long live His Imperial Majesty.”
Robert spoke evenly, applauding as laurel-crowned Rene advanced.
* * *
-How's that Tremulle whelp going berserk?
‘Scenarios 13, 87, 102. All manageable.’
Fernandez murmured atop the ramparts, sea horizon in view. A rare venture out, respite for his battered frame—yet thoughts wouldn't cease.
-Carverlier emperor corrupted?
‘77. Slim odds, still manageable.’
Research amid unknown apocalypse differed from that post-apocalypse, aimed at averting a second.
‘At this rate, I could end the world myself, honestly?’
Human and material riches dwarfing his past life. Built foundations across factions. And 155 'doomsday scenarios' wrung from his skull these past days.
No finer stratagems conceivable; thus, apocalypse's seed lurked within his notes.
Now, simply excise each of 155 scenarios, uprooting causes outright.
-32 unavoidable scenarios, 121 counterable, 42 with probabilities negligible.
So one might parse by odds.
One crisis crushed.
Roots of 32 surprise dooms eradicated. Counterables ignorable for now. Rest: pick off piecemeal.
Fernandez stretched, mood surprisingly light. Nothing beat events aligning as foreseen.
“Only those bastards remain.”
He smirked toward the vast island beyond the waves.
-Deng deng deng deng deng!!
Yonder loomed an island. Griffons wheeled its fringes, small vessels bobbed seas around.
From visual acquisition, every Gaimern royal warship blared alarms in unison.
Gaimern vessels pressed on. The 'island' swelled in scope. It closed faster than the flagship sailed. Meaning plain:
No island—a warship.
“Jerolen of the Nine Myriad Long River.”
Factions' fleets fanned wide, postures alert. Jerolen's numbers were few, yet its flagship dwarfed Reia's in scale.
Malern's like a vast fortress; this, a true isle.
Crag-like peak atop, sprawling fortress, townships, harbor below.
“Let's see what you know.”
A swift cutter neared, yellow banner flapping from its mast. Millennia past, first diplomacy 'twixt sundered elf dynasties now commenced.