Chapter 355
Chapter 355
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 355
Chapter Title: Hunters and Plunderers (1)
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Light filtered through the stained glass, spreading in a rainbow of colors that painted the corridor. Vicente walked silently through the hall, gazing up at the palace's stone pillars.
Depicted there were the achievements of past kings. Every king of Dane had to be a knight before they were a monarch, and succession to the throne required completing a knight's pilgrimage. These carvings told those stories.
The youngest and most valiant princes of their eras. The heroic deeds of their ancestors stretched on endlessly: slaying evil spirits, saving the people, butchering giants, and sometimes vanquishing wicked sorcerers or fairies.
As he approached the throne room, the carvings on the pillars grew fainter. Deeper into antiquity, toward the realm of myths and legends. And at last, when the doors to the throne room swung open.
"The successor to the great King Dane, head of the Round Table Council, and lord of thousands of knights. Ruler of the war horns, slayer of giants, restorer of myths. His Highness Vicente enters the court!"
"Glory to the royal house!"
Vicente stepped onto the red carpet that crossed the throne room, proceeding without a word. He walked ramrod straight, eyes fixed on the carvings extending up to the ceiling.
Knights slaying giants, knights driving out evil spirits, knights rising against the undead. Beneath the faded, dim images, words still sharp after all those ages remained clear.
"Have mercy on the fallen."
The carving ended before an image of a knight kneeling by a lake. The roof had torn away, destroying the foremost part of the depiction. But Vicente remembered that spot from his childhood.
It had once shown King Dane facing a dragon and receiving his sword. He gazed at the brilliantly shining sky contrasting the dim interior and smiled faintly. His steps quickened.
-Shing!
With each stride, the chill sound of blades being drawn filled the throne room. Every step he took, the passing knights drew their swords and slammed them into the floor.
-Thud! Clang!
-Clang!
When he finally crossed the forbidden line and reached the throne, Vicente turned and looked down upon the chamber. The kingdom's lords and their retainers had gathered, all thrusting their swords into the floor and gazing up at him.
"Eternal glory. My knights, the Round Table Council begins. Speak."
"Egloin of Altcherest seeks to propose."
A sharp-featured man stepped forward and bowed his head. In the Round Table Council, the king merely moderated; the knights held equal authority, so no excessive formality was needed beyond respect.
Vicente nodded and gestured. Egloin straightened and spoke.
"Your Highness, you must beware the recent events unfolding under Fairn. Command it, and three hundred knights and five thousand soldiers of Altcherest await only your order."
"Is this a shortsighted judgment?"
"Lucan."
"I, Lucan of Altaquis, seek to propose. Fairn's claims are indeed threatening, but rash preemptive action risks isolating great Dane."
A sturdy-built man bowed his head. He was a middle-aged knight with fiery red hair that seemed to blaze as it whipped about.
"Fairn dares not advocate conquest. They merely seek to hold the Pantheon Church accountable. Moreover, our position within the alliance has weakened since the imperial civil war expedition. The justification lies with them, so it is wisest to observe for now."
"Coward's logic!"
"You dare call me a coward?"
"Indeed! Lucan, your lands border Fairn's, so fear grips you! Your Highness! Observation is mere fancy for cowardice. Decide firmly—war's outcome hinges on those who seize the moment and those who miss it!"
"Enough!! What shame is this in the All-Swords Council!"
-Bam!
A young knight stomped forward furiously and shouted. The knights, veins bulging as they traded insults, flinched and turned to him. The youth glared fiercely at them, then bowed to Vicente.
"Your Highness, Pafnarmere of Althais seeks to speak."
"Proceed."
"Their words were heated, but both Sir Lucan and Sir Egloin speak reasonably. Prepare for war, but keep it hidden from them."
Pafnarmere straightened and scanned the room. He saw the king's knights. These were heroes who had endured the previous king's tyranny without losing their spirit.
Just a few years ago, this city—Alvert—had been consumed by darkness. The king, reduced to a puppet of the undead, and sorcerers whispering wicked spells in his ear had openly practiced black magic and exploited the people.
Some nobles had abandoned the royal house in response; others had retreated in despair; some rode the tide to become the old king's sycophants. But not those at this table, the Round Table knights.
They had gathered the will for rebellion alongside his own late grandsire, staking their lives on the single word: justice. Even if their opinions clashed now, they were truly worthy of respect.
Thus, Pafnarmere met each one's eyes in turn, offering a brief nod.
"Vigilance is wise amid these suspicious times. Yet the eastern alliance kings view our arming with displeasure. Trade severed by the war aiding the empire has only recently been restored."
"Then what do you propose?"
"Autumn approaches, winter soon after. The late summer before harvest is hunting season, is it not? Your Highness, decree a nationwide sea beast subjugation."
"Surely we cannot mobilize knights for mere sea beast hunts?"
"Is it not long tradition to hunt beasts during knightly pilgrimages? Decree a national hunt, arm garrisons at key points, and prepare for unrest."
He bowed and stepped back. Vicente stroked his chin and surveyed the room. No retainer opposed Pafnarmere's proposal.
"Fairn now merely condemns the church without actual military action. Many kingdoms sympathize and align with them; those who disagree find themselves isolated."
Vicente's words echoed long through the throne room.
"It may seem reasonable at face value. The uproar began in their territory, after all. But you and I already know of those who reject the church, band together, and deceive the people."
The knights bowed their heads in silence. This spoke of the previous king. Having endured his fall to black magic, Dane's high nobility held deeper faith than any other nation.
"We cannot punish unseen villains on suspicion alone. But we are knights before we are kings, lords, or commoners. To beware them is not our right, but our duty—"
-Bam!
As his words continued, the throne room doors burst open. A pale-faced knight rushed in. Undeterred by the knights' stern glares, he dashed forward and knelt before the forbidden line.
"What disturbance is this?"
"Forgive me, Your Highness. The urgency of the report led to my rudeness!"
"Chamberlain, give him water. Speak once you've caught your breath. What happened?"
A chamberlain brought cool water; the knight drained the cup without breathing, then slammed his forehead to the floor.
"Your Highness, forgive my impertinence. A courier from the Inner Circle's agent in Merlinport has sent word."
"What does it say?"
"The Fairn royals are seizing and killing women across the kingdom."
"...Women? Repeat that. What did you say?"
"They indiscriminately round up young women from mid-teens to mid-twenties, torture them, and execute them!"
"How... How could such atrocities occur openly without alliance backlash?"
"Information to foreign lands is controlled. Contact with the courier has since been lost; their whereabouts are unknown!"
After the church's northern expedition fiasco, House Dane had dispatched spies to Merlinport and nearby Fairn ports. Continental chaos had briefly diverted attention, but the lines remained faintly active.
The same held for Fairn's agents. When Fairn's royal infighting intensified, Vicente ordered them to go dormant. Exposure now could escalate to accusations of grave interference.
Silence fell over the throne room. The report was too abrupt, too unreal; the knights were speechless.
Indiscriminately capturing young women aged mid-teens to mid-twenties, torturing and killing them? Was this sane?
"Are you in your right mind?"
Vicente muttered blankly. Why? In this chaotic political climate, why risk backlash and internal revolt with such madness?
"Pafnarmere, the beast hunt proposal is tabled."
"Yes, Your Highness."
Vicente's hair began to rise slowly, like a lion's mane rippling in the wind. A master swordsman's body channeled mana; now, emotional turmoil made it manifest outwardly.
Fury blazed in his eyes like fire. He rose slowly from his seat and spoke lowly.
"Bayemier?"
"Yes, Your Highness!"
"Cross into Fairn and assess the situation. The rest of you, ready all available forces to assemble in Alvert. Summon the mages. We march the moment Sir Bayemier returns."
The Round Table knights silently drew their swords from the floor. Clang, shing. The sharp scrape of steel filled the throne room.
Their hair and garments stirred faintly. Even the most moderate among them. Everyone here trembled with rage, awaiting the king's command.
"Go. Knights of Dane. Evil does not pause while you hesitate. Go!"
"Glory to the royal house!"
* * *
"Your Highness, Your Highness!! This is madness!!"
"Oh, you've arrived?"
Ludwig von Wolfstal shoved aside the flaps of the hastily erected field tent and charged in. He glared at the prince, face ashen.
The prince twirled a goblet of red wine in one hand, laughing. Stripped women fawned over him; around them stood lavish items adorned with gold and jewels.
The prince's bright golden hair swayed softly. Ludwig ground his teeth at the man's composure and bellowed.
"Your Highness, how could you incite such a calamity? How... How!"
"Calm yourself. Sir Wolfstal. What use is a commander on war's eve acting so rashly?"
"War...? Your Highness! This was surely the church's—!"
"Ah, yes. A righteous uprising to condemn the church's atrocity. Correct."
The prince rose languidly, stretching. His thin silk robe slipped away, baring pale skin. Above his chiseled chest loomed an ominous red tattoo undulating.
"And to condemn the church that dared pollute greater Fairn's domain with hellish mana—while the king and ministers dawdle, cower, and obstruct—the uprising to restore justice."
"...I believed in you... Truly...!"
"Amusing. I believe in you too, Sir Wolfstal. With the king and his kin slaughtered, my death would tear Fairn asunder. Or would it? You couldn't stand for that, so you won't kill me."
"Sigismund...!!"
"Will calling your sovereign by name serve?"
Ludwig clenched his jaw, glaring at the prince. Sigismund Lois von Blamburg. This youth was the last of Fairn's royal blood. No one from the main or branch houses had survived the coup.
After hell mana erupted from the Dragonspine Mountains, polluting the skies, Sigismund rallied ministers and commons to condemn the church. The king and moderates hesitated at his radical stance; branding them cowards, the prince raised an army under justice's banner.
For all its swiftness, the rebellion was too systematic. Ludwig had joined upon hearing his homeland burned, yet even he found the coup oddly peculiar.
How had the second prince, lacking support, assembled an army so swiftly? Why had the royal generals crumbled without resistance?
He vowed to purge traitors, betrayers, and cowards, to raise Fairn anew. Conscription swept the land; dissenters hung from gallows, popular support soared skyward.
The prince was silver-tongued, touring impoverished, oppressed folk to rally them. Ministers hailed him this era's hero and followed.
'They're all insane.'
Ludwig glared at the prince with burning eyes. Nobles invited to his feasts either became fanatical loyalists or vanished. Ludwig had chalked it up to charisma.
But when the prince abruptly ordered young women conscripted and executed wholesale, Ludwig realized no opposing courtiers remained—and terror seized him.
A devil. Nothing else explained it. And that assumption unraveled every mystery. The inquisitorial fire—not mere relic mismanagement...?
But it was a quagmire. No escape now. The old knight captain, whose sole value was loyalty to state and crown, could not defy the last royal blood.
Sigismund was right. With all royals gone, exposing the kingdom's madness and executing the prince left Fairn no future.
Hell mana spreading from Dragonspine. War-ravaged lands. Purged administrators. Walker outbreaks and heresy probes crippling the economy... With sea trade dominance lost, Fairn had only slow death ahead.
Seeing resignation dawn in Ludwig's fiery eyes, the prince smiled darkly.
"Calm yourself, Sir Wolfstal. Fairn is eternal, soon to rebirth as the sole empire. Its people shall be the world's wealthiest, noblest. Your choice was right. I'm pleased you're sharp enough to defy me."
"Your Highness... But withdraw the order."
"Mere wenches. No? Half Fairn's population is female; one-fifth of them around twenty. Trivial. Grumbling and hardship will pass. Hasn't it always? Once fed and warm, they'll forget and laugh."
"They are not livestock."
"Aren't they?"
The prince pressed a goblet into Ludwig's hand and poured.
"Truly not? How many serfs in your lands, and how did they live? Was their lot truly superior to dogs, pigs, horses, cattle? What differs them from beasts, save speech?"
"What do you hope to gain?"
"Seeking one woman. Around twenty. Of divine blood, or otherwise bearing divinity."
The prince paused briefly, then murmured. The last one.
"Not killing every woman that age. Find her, and it's done. Suffering brief, glory eternal. Endure, as you always have. Close your eyes, catch your breath. You deserve rest."
Ludwig stared blankly and slowly drank. The prince's high, sharp laughter echoed through the tent.