Impudent
“Ha.” The marquis let out a hollow laugh.
It was time for the execution. The count would ask the marquis if there was any reason he should be allowed to live. The marquis wouldn't answer. And then Valerich would sever his neck.
“Do you have any reason I should spare your life?”
The expected question burst from the count's lips.
“You must think everything is proceeding according to your will.” The marquis spoke with feigned composure. His legs trembled, but he tensed them. His teeth chattered at the edges, but he focused on his pronunciation.
“But laying hands on me is a different matter altogether. Behind me stands someone even you cannot handle.”
The marquis had no choice but to play his final card. Yet the count had already seen it coming.
“The Second Prince?”
“……!”
The marquis failed to maintain his composure at the casually delivered question.
“What is there to be surprised about? Anyone who needs to know is already aware that the Second Prince favors you.”
“And yet you dare commit such recklessness!? If word of this outrage reaches the prince's ears, you won't escape unscathed either! That man forgives no one who touches what is his.”
The marquis raised his voice. The calm facade he'd so carefully maintained crumbled. In stark contrast, the count's face remained rock-solid.
“Marquis. I care little for the distinction between traditional nobles and robe nobles. Nor do I consider it wise to discriminate between them—it serves no purpose in binding the kingdom together. But seeing the likes of you, I can't help but feel the limitations of robe nobles.”
“W-what are you talking about?”
“You seem to think that half-formed prince is some reliable backer of yours. I suggest you recalculate. Do you truly believe the royal family spared the Goetes from extermination after my ancestor's grave error a century ago out of the late king's mercy? That we cowered in submission to the crown?”
“……Even if I say otherwise, history has already……”
“If that's what you think, you're greatly mistaken. And that mistake will claim your life.”
“Gasp—!”
The marquis swallowed a sharp breath. The guards kicked his calves, forcing him to his knees. His vision drew closer to the ground. There stood Valerich's blade, rigid and unyielding. Its wavy pattern and gleaming edge seemed utterly merciless.
“W-wait a moment. My lord count, have you forgotten? I am an inspector. Executing a royal inspector through some private judgment like this……”
“It seems you didn't hear me clearly. I will report your filthy deeds to His Majesty. And if he does not see them rectified, then I am no longer his subject, his friend, or the shield of this kingdom.”
“A-are you speaking of treason right now?”
“Treason requires a kingdom to exist. If even this cannot be set right, it deserves no such name. It would merely be a pack of beasts lost to madness.”
There was no flicker in the count's blue eyes. The massive sword of justice rose from the garden floor.
“R-reconsider, I beg you!” the marquis cried desperately.
“You took lives in my territory without my permission, cruelly at that. As the rightful lord of this land, I pronounce judgment.”
“C-count!”
“Death.”
The count raised Valerich.
Whoosh—It was but an instant. The marquis squeezed his eyes shut, convinced these were his final moments.
Clang! Clang!—Yet Valerich's blade never reached his neck. A sharp metallic ring echoed, birthing afterimages in his ears.
“……What is the meaning of this?” The count spoke in a voice laced with fury.
“My apologies, my lord. It is the young master's command.”
Carlson had deflected Valerich and answered calmly. When the marquis opened his eyes and looked around, two guards lay fallen, and the head butler narrowed his eyes while rubbing his wrist. A sword lay discarded at his feet. In a flash, Carlson had subdued three men and blocked the count's blade.
“Those Baisman bastards, finally…… Urk—blegh!”
Overwhelmed by sudden relief, the marquis retched. He'd mistakenly taken Carlson for one of Baisman's swordsmen. Vomit dribbled from his mouth. Only now did he realize how intensely he'd been suppressing his tension under the count's aura and mana. The boundary between life and death had loomed before him time and again. His mind, unable to endure further shock, flickered out like a snuffed candle.
“Father. That's enough.”
Isaac appeared at the entrance to the execution garden.
“Young master?”
The butler looked puzzled. He couldn't fathom why Isaac was stopping the marquis's death. The count felt the same.
“This is no place for you.” The count's voice was ice-cold. He was always impassive, but this time was different. The cold rage he'd hidden while facing the marquis burned openly in his piercing gaze.
“We cannot kill the marquis.”
“I have already passed sentence before this blade. He deserves death.”
“You know it yourself. Killing the marquis will bring hardship to the Goetes.”
“The Goetes have the strength to forge their own path.”
“Too much blood will flow.”
“Are you defying my will?”
“If necessary.”
“……”
Instead of replying, the count summoned his mana. Sensing the ominous shift, Carlson and the butler supported the fallen guards and marquis, pulling them far from the count.
“Young……”
The butler tried to advise Isaac against further resistance, but Carlson blocked him with a shake of his head.
“This is no place for you, sir.”
“No place for anyone.”
The butler stared past Carlson at the count and Isaac facing off. Wrinkles deepened on his brow. Carlson was right. This was no one's place to intervene. It was a matter for the House of Goethe—father and son.
“……”
Isaac felt a chill that made his body tremble. It was as if a blizzard had descended with the cutting wind. The mana promised death and cold to any who stood in its way—fierce and unrelenting. It wasn't just the dense magic enveloping everything. The count's expression, his eyes, his very presence screamed it.
Is this the man I know? Isaac wondered. What had ignited such fury in him? He had a vague inkling. Likely the same reason as his own.
Isaac had never once feared his father. The count was cold, yes, but fair and always rational. Like a boulder on a winter mountain, unmoved by snow or rain. But now…
For the first time, Isaac felt fear toward the count.
“Do you still intend to defy me?”
“……Yes.”
Isaac forced the word out. His guts churned. He wanted to vomit everything inside him. Pain lanced through his skin and every muscle, as if they were being shredded. Yet Isaac stood firm.
“Can't you see what that man has done? He built an orphanage right in the city and slaughtered children like pigs or cattle. He sold their preserved heads to monsters who called them art. And you—the one who discovered it first—tell me to spare him for the sake of Goethe? Are you mad!?”
“You…… said before. That I was right.”
He hadn't wanted to, but Isaac activated his multiple circulation paths to maximum. He pushed back slightly against the mana crushing his body. The fear and pain didn't vanish. But at least he could think and speak.
“You said we shouldn't rely on the shield tax. For that, we need the marquis. We use him to deceive the crown…… and secure Goethe's independence. Killing him here only gives our enemies ammunition.”
“Well spoken, even in this situation.”
The count showed a hint of surprise. No creature could breathe within a few paces. Hearts would ache with every beat, blood burn in the veins. Yet Isaac held his ground. Impressive. Isaac's newfound magic use was known, but not to this extent.
But that was the end of it.
“No matter what you say, the marquis dies. I…… neglected this territory too long. I thought it was to protect it, but it only festered.”
Bitter regret laced the count's words. There was one reason he hadn't resisted the crown: he didn't want to see his family's or retainers' blood spilled. He'd witnessed the downfall of nobles swarmed by assassins night and day, time and again.
But that choice had only bred more sacrifices.
“Without order, such tragedies will recur, no matter how prosperous the house becomes.”
“……Order is a word for those with power.”
“Are you saying I lack it?”
“You may have it, Father. But the house does not.”
“……”
The count's face hardened. It was a painful truth—one that negated all his efforts to safeguard the territory. Yet he showed no anger. Isaac's words were the harsh reality.
The Goetes had become tools of the crown. Tactical tools. Political tools. Shields against foreign foes, swords to wield at the crown's whim. Despite their elector status, their position was no more, no less.
“Spare the marquis, and he'll do it again, backed by the Second Prince. Turning a blind eye isn't justice or righteousness.”
“Do you remember Pfeil?”
“Why bring him up here?”
“Why did he sell vagrants to slavers to fill Winterband's supplies? Why did that corruption and injustice arise?”
“That was……”
“Do you think I'm spouting this because I don't know justice and righteousness from scriptures or knightly tales?”
The count had no chance to rebuke his son's rudeness.
“Then let me be clear. To me, justice and righteousness mean what benefits this house. Anything else holds no meaning for me.”
“……”
“What justice or righteousness can a powerless lord establish? If he can't even uphold it in his own territory, should he worry about others'?”
“……”
The count fell silent. It was far from noble virtue. But it was truth—simple, stark truth. The very thing his moral code had blinded him to. And to hear it from his twelve-year-old son struck the father like a hammer to the skull.
“Isaac.”
The count approached. Isaac's lips were blue. He'd endured to his limit. His son's height only reached the count's solar plexus. But he'd grow taller. Perhaps even beyond his father.
The count's hand rose above Isaac's head. It seemed like a pat…… until his fingers flicked with a sharp snap.
Thwack!
“Ow!” Isaac yelped, falling on his backside. It was the first flick he'd ever received from his father.
“Impudent.”
The count uttered the word and strode slowly from the execution garden.
Did I screw up?
Drained, Isaac sprawled out. His mana reserves were nearly empty. Resisting the count's mana had consumed too much. He'd held on somehow, but with no gains from the exchange, emptiness washed over him.
Then, suddenly, the count's voice echoed in Isaac's ear.
“I'll spare the marquis for the time being.”