The Old-Fashioned Way (2)
“This is an utterly absurd demand.”
High Court Chief Judge Ollite bristled, his beard trembling with indignation.
“Deciding a territorial dispute by duel is an archaic piece of common law long past its usefulness. And for claimants to the title to take the field themselves, when they aren't even knights? There is no reason whatsoever to entertain such an outrageous demand.”
“I don't like it either,” said Uncle Luca, arms crossed.
“The duchy is well fortified. We could win a defensive war with ease. Why should we walk into a board we haven't even seen, on a game they've rigged themselves?”
“There is no such thing as a guaranteed victory in this world,” Lucian added, equally skeptical. “We know nothing of what equipment Mabel has prepared, or which Awoken Ability users are backing her. In a contest between masters, such small differences decide everything.”
The non-combatants were cautious, while the swordsmen brimmed with confidence.
“Mabel is weak. Show her the gap,” Shaka declared flatly.
“That's right! Is there any chance at all of Lord Iden losing?” Vitten chimed in.
“The young lord is about to dig up his own grave, so I see no reason to refuse.”
“……It's a difficult matter,” said Talon, my father's adjutant, ever the careful one. “If there is a way to minimize damage to the duchy, it deserves consideration at least once.”
When the inner circle had finished speaking, I noticed Lily. She stood quietly behind them, eyes squeezed shut, offering up a prayer.
“Vitten is right. I don't expect to lose to the likes of Mabel,” I said cheerfully.
“Haha, what did I tell you?”
The martial men laughed along with me, but a shadow fell over the faces of the cautious ones. I kept smiling as I continued.
“However, I hold a position responsible for the lives of ten million subjects. Even if there were only a one percent chance of my losing to Mabel, I cannot stake the fate of ten million people on a duel.”
It should have been a simple decision. What would Father have done? Would he have charged out like a foal maddened by the chance to duel, or held his seat as the eldest elder of the territory?
“I will send Mabel a reply,” I said, looking around the room. “If she wants something, let her come and take it.”
Before long, the Intelligence Bureau delivered its second report — an analysis of why Mabel had pulled out the classical solution.
― The intimidation operation exploiting Lord Iden Esterzy's tyrant image worked far too well. When the nobles she had painstakingly persuaded began defecting in a line, the duel appears to be the card Mabel drew in her panic.
― Mabel expected Iden to refuse the duel. In that case, she could counter the tyrant image by proclaiming that 'Iden fled from the duel like a coward.'
― Even if he accepted, it would have made no difference. The imperial family has a singular talent for turning a losing battle into a winning one.
Whichever choice I made, the other side held all the winning tickets, it seemed.
So that's how confident they were?
Or had greed simply blinded them? To seriously contemplate seizing land that even the Demon Dukes had failed to conquer and turned back from — the nerve of it.
I sent Mabel a formal letter: the rightful Duke of Esterzy was me, and I had no obligation to answer unjust demands.
Mabel shrieked to anyone who would listen that I had run away. Overnight, I became the coward who dodged a duel — a coward who, mind you, still carried the image of a man who tortured and killed his own people.
A weakling tyrant.
The righteous cause stood tall, and troops began pouring in. Most of them, however, were green recruits from the capital who had never seen a proper battle in their lives.
While Mabel's faction swelled like a snowball, our side was quietly getting its affairs in order.
“You look magnificent, my lord.”
Lily clapped her hands, gazing at the mirror. I turned this way and that, examining my reflection.
“Isn't the color a bit too bright?”
“Then shall we try the next one? This one has a completely different feel to it.”
Wedding preparations were proceeding without a hitch. I had little to do with it, beyond lending myself as a clothes rack for Lily whenever I could spare a moment.
From what I heard, Uld was having a far busier time of it than I was. She wasn't just being fitted for clothes — she was receiving etiquette lessons on top of everything else.
We only saw each other's faces at dinner. Uld seemed to have little talent for anything outside of swordsmanship; her table manners remained as clumsy as ever.
It was a fortnight before the wedding when Srudal requested an audience in his capacity as expedition captain.
While the entire duchy braced for the coming war, Srudal was off on his own small adventure, together with his curious band of scholars.
Surveying the Underworld was every bit as important as preparing for war. The duchy's future livelihood depended on it.
“Tell him to come in,” I said absently, then corrected the order. “No — I'll come out myself.”
I remembered the last time I'd let Srudal into the office and the chandelier had come crashing down. Even with the castle's rather lofty ceilings, his height had been too much for them.
“Lord Iden.”
Srudal stood in the courtyard. When he saw me, he grinned, baring his long fangs.
“You've become a Duke in my absence. My sincerest congratulations.”
“Thank you, Srudal.”
I smiled up at him. I had grown tall enough by now that I no longer had to crane my neck straight up to meet his eyes.
“The reports on the plant and livestock candidates have been filed with the Survey Bureau. But this is something I believe you must verify with your own eyes, so I brought it separately.”
Srudal held out a worn old notebook. I recognized at a glance that it was something from three hundred years ago.
“Another record, I see.”
“Yes.” He nodded. “It was found at Sir Ivan Esterzy's second camp, twenty-four kilometers from the base camp.”
I took the notebook and opened it carefully.
Sir Hans was killed by a magma dragon. That is the eighth casualty already.
Sir Ivan has found a detour route. He judged that our current strength could not contend with it.
No hope is in sight. We press onward by duty alone.
— R
“Is this all of it?”
“It is. The second camp was smaller than the first, and the traces of battle were plain to see. They likely had no leisure to keep proper records.”
So my ancestors had been fighting the earth dragons underground three hundred years ago. Had they cleared out all the dangerous monsters back then, so that when I finally descended there was nothing left but Gulok and his like?
“Also — we found a great deal of dung and residual magma, presumed to be from a magma dragon. If it truly is one, there is a strong possibility it is the very individual that ravaged the expedition of three hundred years ago.”
“You found traces of a dragon?”
“Yes.”
“……Hmm.”
The truth was, something had nagged at me when the duel challenge arrived.
Three years ago, during the war, Mabel had watched me fight up close. And yet she had challenged me to a duel without the slightest hesitation.
I had harbored the suspicion for some time now. Perhaps Mabel had ascended beyond the Grand Master realm — into the Transcendence Realm itself.
It was not an impossible story. Born into a family overflowing with talent, she had twisted an entire duchy into withered ruin by her power alone.
In a territory of ten million, how strong would one become after devouring a decade's worth of vitality all to herself?
To face such a monster, I would need to graduate from the Divine Realm soon enough.
The ultimate item that would heal my severed meridian and carry me into the Transcendence Realm.
In other words — the heart of a fire-attribute dragon.
“To secure the safety of the Subterranean World, we must first locate the dragon.”
“Agreed.”
“Good. I'll leave this to you. Find out whether the dragon truly exists, and if it does, where its lair lies. But do not take any risks — none at all.”
Srudal nodded with grim resolve.
Ten days before the wedding, I transformed into a great bird and flew to Temperion.
Since Mabel was so actively grabbing at my ankles, it was only right that I grab at hers for a change.
My target was Adras, who spent his days churning out report after report in Temperion. Through him, I planned to loose a little poison into this debauched city.
Upon arriving in Temperion, I changed my appearance first thing. Finding Adras was not difficult — I had only to follow the message talismans he had sent me.
But the place the talisman was leading me to felt… strangely off.
“My, what a cute young lord. Care to rest a while before you go?”
“For a pretty young thing like you, I wouldn't even charge.”
Scantily clad women leered at me from beneath red awnings. Blushing furiously, I quickened my pace.
Where in the world was that wretched boy? Had he really been holed up in a place like this, writing his reports?
The place the talisman guided me to was redder and more lavish than any building around it. Rough-looking bruisers guarded the entrance, but to my surprise they said nothing and simply cleared the way.
Inside, it was another world entirely. Shameless moans seeped out from behind the partitions. I climbed the stairs reciting the Tranquil Void Mantra like a prayer.
Adras was in the VIP room on the top floor. I had expected them to refuse me entry, but somehow I passed through unimpeded again.
Only when I opened the door did I understand why. Everyone Adras had summoned was a boy my own age.
“Hahaha, yes! That's the spirit!”
He turned to me with a delighted grin.
“Well, well. The cute one's back again.”
“You look happy, Adras.”
Adras's jaw dropped. His face drained slowly to the color of ash.
“M-m-m-my lord…!”
I had not yet released my transformation. Thank goodness he had the wits to recognize me. If he hadn't, I might have found myself dragged to the Holy City by the collar of my own words.
“Out. Everyone, out, now!”
Adras hastily threw on his clothes and shoved the boys out the door.
“Th-this was… part of my intelligence work.”
Once only the two of us remained, Adras stammered out his excuse.
“I obtained information that Count Baran, a close aide to Prince Raphael, is a regular at this establishment, so I was… investing considerable effort.”
So that was why Adras's reports had been so unusually detailed.
In the Central Plains there had been a sect called the Lower Five Gates, famous for the courtesans enrolled among its members — and perhaps because of that, it had a storied reputation for information.
“So Count Baran's tastes ran to men, I see.”
I grinned wickedly. Adras was so mortified he couldn't even lift his head.
Imagine doing this while failing at your job. Your neck would leave your shoulders on the spot.
“Here.”
I drew a pill from my breast and handed it over.
“What is this, my lord?”
“A mana source graded between first and second class. A rare thing that only I on this entire continent can make. Spread it around Temperion and say Mabel gave it to you. Pick only the biggest gossips to receive it.”
Adras's head snapped up.
“An operation to make them suspect one another!”
Good — quick on the uptake as always.
Mabel and the imperial family were bound together by the thin thread of their own mutual profit.
So all I had to do was drop the spark of suspicion — that Mabel was hiding something — and from then on they would stew and squabble among themselves without any help from me.
Besides, this pill was a prototype, so I had no great attachment to it. The pills Kaspar could produce now were of better quality than this one.
And since the Scarlet Blaze used in the pill had originally been Mabel's own property, she would find it rather hard to deny it was hers.
“And… one more favor.”
“Your command is mine.”
“Secretly arrange a meeting between me and Prince Iris.”
Wonderment flooded Adras's eyes.
“You intend to form an alliance with Prince Iris?”
“Alliance, my foot.”
I snorted.
“He won't grant me an audience anyway. So just make it look like you tried to arrange one. 'Secretly,' mind you.”
“Ah…!”
Adras gasped in understanding.
Chris had destroyed himself — undone by the delusion that I was after his title. That is how terrifying suspicion can be.
I formed a single clone of myself with a talisman. Adras's mouth hung wide open.
Do try not to end up like Chris…
Wouldn't you agree, Raphael?