The Unleashed Mad Dog is the Most Terrifying
The Theodor Holy Empire hereby declares the utter annihilation of the Valtenstein family for producing a great villain.
27th Count: Albrecht von Valtenstein
Eldest Son: Trid'an von Valtenstein
Second Son: Kaspar von Valtenstein
Once a third-rate noble house of mongrel blood, the Valtensteins have ascended to the most despised status among the sacred empire's nobility.
As proof, instead of an honorable guillotine, they are sentenced to the dishonorable noose: hanging.
They will be executed before the plaza's crowds—throats gripped, dangling in mid-air, limbs twitching until breath fails, bodies displayed long-term as a warning to all.
Even families that spawn great villains typically receive beheading to preserve a noble's minimal honor. But after the scandal's exposure shattered their pride, the Theodor Holy Empire—its own dignity in ruins—sentenced them to die like livestock, swinging from ropes.
"Are you okay? No, of course you're not. I'm sorry."
"I'm fine."
"Stopping a public execution is practically impossible. If we'd known the empire's cruelty sooner, we might have rescued one of your family members..."
"No, it's entirely possible."
The Eisenreich Colonial Empire's intelligence bureau reported that the Valtenstein patriarch and his sons had been transported to the Imperial Capital and sentenced to hanging without trial. The silver-haired beauty sighed heavily, her face clouded with regret, offering comfort.
To Leonora, I presented the swords from the Sword Duke and the Red Tower's magic weapon.
White Night Sword Albrus. Black Star Sword Morion.
The Sword Duke's premier blade. The Red Tower's unparalleled masterpiece.
Albrus and Morion were the Theodor Holy Empire's finest legendary swords.
"If the Valtensteins' public execution proceeds... I'll threaten to reduce the White Night Sword and Black Star Sword to scrap metal. A countermeasure, of sorts."
"Will that rein in the empire's madness?"
"It'll work on those arrogant purebloods. They treat mongrel lives like dust... but they obsess over their houses' prestige and honor."
"Even while defecting from enemy lines, you prepared contingencies! As expected of my capable vice captain!"
Leonora's garnet-red eyes flashed as she exclaimed in admiration. She reached out, stroking my head.
The Theodor Holy Empire's mad dog. Maybe because I'd been called that so often? The noble heiress treated me like a pet, touching me casually and affectionately.
If the knights of Nilfheim—who serve House Edelgard—saw this, they'd weep blood and swing jealous blades.
I sighed, recalling the Eastern Front knights I'd fought alongside day and night for three days straight.
"Does the War Council need to approve a declaration of war first?"
"Unlike other nations obsessed with pretexts and procedures, the Colonial Empire prioritizes pragmatism and efficiency. Even without full council approval, if two arbitrators declare war, we mobilize immediately."
A true military state. Ruthless utility on full display.
Arbitrator. Military commanders with absolute authority. Like the jiedushi of Tang China's chaotic era, wielding unchecked military power.
"Two arbitrators..."
"We need the other one besides me."
"Then we should recruit an arbitrator who'll back the war now."
"Didn't the Executor hint at it via crystal projection? The Red Mercenary King, overlord of the wandering wilds' mercenaries, must declare for war. Frederica Baltaria Wynder—that war maniac without a shred of pride or dignity—will jump at the chance."
War maniac.
Leonora spat the words with utter disgust. Pure contempt and loathing.
Her hostility baffled me.
"You there."
"Your orders, Lady Leonora."
"Deliver this letter to the Red Mercenary King. Orbital transfer should get it there in three days. Will you take the messenger's role?"
"Of course. This is all because of me, after all."
The silver-haired beauty slid the letter across the table.
As I left the office, I encountered a crowd waiting in the corridor. Familiar faces. Knights from the Theodor Holy Empire.
Rozalin von Lucien was among them, having occasionally joined our training for some reason.
"We heard, Captain!"
"Your family taken hostage by the empire...!"
"Waaah! How heartbroken you must be! Let my sturdy arms hold you!"
The burly men swarmed me, lamenting and grieving.
Shared misery, perhaps? I'd grown close to these Theodor Holy Empire knights.
I'm no social butterfly. No knack for smooth talk or flexibility.
But our common bond—lowly mongrels sacrificed and wronged by the empire—had united us tightly.
Even when Leonora comforted me, it was the same... I don't care what happens to Count Valtenstein or my brothers. Honestly, live or die—I've cut blood ties since defecting.
Not just because this is a mere transmigration via possession.
Paranoid father. Dim-witted, frail eldest brother. Sly, greedy second brother.
No love lost for the Valtenstein bloodline. Not a speck.
If there'd been even a hint of affection, I might've schemed to defect with them to the Colonial Empire despite Zigrinde's exploitation.
"Why did Father abandon me...? Why endure such humiliation...? I shut myself in my room, weeping helplessly, agonizing over it."
"Uh, um..."
"But seeing Captain Valtenstein press on with effort and hope despite his family's desperate hostage situation gave me courage."
"......"
Her voice reverent, formal. Rozalin placed a hand over her heart, eyes brimming with sincere respect.
"Stay strong! We'll fight together!"
"As fellow outcasts from our homeland... how could we not share your pain!"
"Iron fists for the empire's arrogant emperor and nobles! If they discard us, we'll discard the empire!"
Despised as mongrels, the Sword Saint's subordinates were officially "killed in action" to cover up the truth.
Ghosts in life, they raged at the Valtenstein tragedy, unleashing furious anger.
That said—I'm fine. Really, I feel nothing.
My heart was stone-cold; even Lü Bu with three fathers would flinch.
But saying "I hope Father and brothers drop dead" would paint me a heartless bastard instantly. So, I faked sorrow.
The Wandering Plains, smack in the continent's heart—a lawless paradise where criminals and adventurers mingled freely. Even the Colonial Empire's laws, which dominated the region, held no sway here, drawing ever more scoundrels.
Vast badlands. Cities welcoming adventurers. A frenzy of dust-kicking carriages racing wild.
The beauty with flame-red hair cascading like wildfire tilted her glass with her brutish mercenaries, savoring vodka.
The bartender trembled in terror as the War Council's arbitrator and her thugs barged in.
"G-Golden Sovereign...! Our saloon's finest vodka!"
"Pour one."
The gold label on the bottle screamed luxury. The bartender's shaky gaze flicked to the corpses littering the saloon.
Local thugs who'd claimed the place. Dead the moment they neared Frederica.
Recalling how she'd butchered them like cattle with her massive sword, he gulped and averted his eyes.
"The Eastern Front's Executor... Ice Witch wants your help?"
"Looks like they're invading the Holy Empire. Needs another arbitrator for war... dragging me in."
"Hahaha! Theodor Holy Empire's stuffed with gold matching its arrogance. Dump the risky frontline crap on the Ice Witch, we snag the fancy loot?"
"You tell her that. I'll pass—Leonora's scary when she's pissed."
The greedy mercenary captain shut up.
Frederica chuckled darkly.
"Leonora sent a messenger, huh... Speak of the devil."
Her orange eyes fixed on the door. It swung open with a creak, and a black-haired youth shook off sand as he entered.
No doubt. The culprit tarnishing the Holy Empire.
Word was, he'd tried to beat a self-proclaimed war heroine to death alive. Kailun von Valtenstein.
True to his noble roots under the Steel Lorelei, he cut a striking figure.
His ugly, scarred mercenaries scowled, hostility aimed at the imperial pretty boy.
"Stop right there."
Frederica set her golden vodka glass—swirling—on the table.
"Fancy a drink with this sleek beauty? If you drop all these orc-faced, ugly mercs first."
I wondered why that icy woman had invoked War Council authority for custody priority.
Frederica eyed the delicate noble surrounded by her one-man-army thugs, flashing a bewitching smirk.
How long would he last?
No killing intent. Just wanted to see him struggle.
The Red Mercenary King had a sadistic habit of tormenting intriguing men.
"Five minutes. Your drink won't even warm up."
"...It's vodka on ice?"
Kailun rolled up his sleeve. Scars riddling his forearm captivated Frederica.
