Chapter 57
Chapter 57
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 57
Chapter Title: Shurton, the Capital
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Clop, clop!
How much time had passed since he entrusted his body to the pleasant rocking of the carriage?
The beautiful scenery visible in the distance filled his eyes.
The lake encircling the castle sparkled transparently under the warm sunlight, and the houses where the citizens lived blended harmoniously in a riot of colors.
This city, evoking a peaceful and cozy atmosphere that melted away tension just by looking at it, was none other than Shurton, the capital of the Aslan Kingdom.
"Whew, impressive! The capital really is something else."
Ralph whistled, his halberd slung over his shoulder.
Shurton boasted an overwhelming scale and landscape compared to all the territories they had passed through since leaving Titan.
"Tsk tsk. Ralph, don't act so provincial. If someone from the Kalia military family behaves like a country bumpkin, it drags down the entire Lichtenauer Martial Clan's reputation."
Dane adjusted his glasses and scolded Ralph from the side.
Of course, even as he scolded, Dane's eyes were just as busy peering through his lenses at the sights.
"I am a country bumpkin, sure. Stuck right next to the Great Cataclysm like us, when do we ever see a view like this? All we get is nature and monsters until we're sick of them."
Ralph grumbled in response to Dane's reprimand.
In truth, Ralph wasn't entirely wrong.
The territory ruled by the Lichtenauers—Titan—or the Magic Tower's domain of Megalovria were no slouches in size compared to Shurton.
But due to their strategic importance, they were steeped in a stark, military or research-oriented atmosphere.
Thus, they couldn't help but feel worlds apart—like heaven and hell—from the serene beauty Shurton exuded.
"Besides, honestly, the people of Shurton shouldn't think of us as bumpkins anyway. We're the ones staunchly protecting the kingdom from the Great Cataclysm. Bluntly put, it's thanks to us that the Bestrika folks can sleep with legs stretched out straight."
"Well, sure, but that's exactly why the royal family grants the Martial Clan a marquisate and sends regular gifts, right?"
Sylvia responded to Ralph's words.
The Aslan Kingdom was the sole nation in Bestrika on the southern continent that bordered the Great Cataclysm along most of its inland frontiers.
As such, roles were more strictly divided here than in any other Agena country.
The Martial Clan and Magic Tower blocked monsters from the Great Cataclysm from encroaching on human lands.
The royals sorted and processed the monster byproducts from those two groups, amassing vast wealth through trade with other continents.
This generated fortune not only enriched the Aslan Kingdom but also allowed the Martial Clan and Magic Tower to focus solely on their duties without distraction.
Of course, minor nobles spanned the borders of all three domains, but this was the overarching structure of the Aslan Kingdom.
In fact, Patriarch Paon Lichtenauer of the Martial Clan and Magic Tower Lord Midas Alloin wielded such influence that even King Demur Aslan dared not treat them lightly and granted them autonomy.
Their relationship transcended mere lord-vassal ties, resembling that of partners in enterprise.
Thus, royal decrees rarely oppressed the two groups.
At least, until Isabel Aslan came of age.
"Alright, everyone, enough chit-chat. We're almost at Shurton, so watch your mouths. And behave properly—no need to invite trouble."
"Yessir, yessir."
"Once is enough."
At Ian's words, the Latent Dragon Squad members began preparing to enter Shurton.
The reason they had to mind their words was simple.
The royals "rarely" oppressed the groups meant it still happened occasionally.
If members of the Martial Clan or Magic Tower caused a ruckus in Shurton, the royals did intervene.
But as Isabel grew up, the atmosphere grew even more rigid.
Having matured into a spoiled wastrel, she picked fights indiscriminately with the cautious folk from the Magic Tower or Martial Clan.
It got so bad that Alex, the Eldest Young Lord who rarely missed royal events, fled in disgust—a testament to her level of notoriety.
The Latent Dragon Squad members were well aware of this.
"Man, the Patriarch's being a bit much, don't you think? No rewards or anything. Even so, dumping this annoying chore on us right after we return from earning merits? Isn't that over the line?"
Ralph's final mutter reached Ian's ears.
Smooth.
He turned to look at his squadmates. They said nothing, but their subtle dissatisfaction was plain.
Was it really?
Ian saw it differently.
If his senses were correct, Paon was pleased—thrilled, even—that he had inherited the Hegemon's martial arts (in a manner of speaking).
Probably highly rating his overcoming of the heavenly tribulation and rising anew.
In that context, would Paon really assign him a task no one wanted just to fill a slot?
No way.
The Paon Ian knew was a man of clear rewards and punishments.
There was definitely some hidden intent behind this mission.
Uncovering it was entirely up to Ian.
It was both an opportunity and a test.
—You, patient enough to hone the Hegemon's arts in secret for so long: can you seize the chance I've given you?
If Ian grasped Paon's intent and took the opportunity, he would soar once more. Fail, and he'd just be another handling the unwanted task Alex and the elders kept passing around.
Fun. I don't know the hidden meaning yet... but I'll find it.
As they crossed the drawbridge lowering from Shurton's walls, Ian's lips curved into a sly smile.
While Ian and the Latent Dragon Squad passed through Shurton's walls...
In a certain room of Brussel Palace, the Aslan Kingdom's royal palace, a small scuffle was unfolding.
"Argh, I said no, Nanny!"
"Oh dear, Princess! Why must you do this? Have you forgotten? Your seventeenth birthday is coming up soon! You're the princess—not just anyone! It's your coming-of-age ceremony!"
A woman with hair like the deep blue sea clashed endlessly with a plump, middle-aged woman of kindly demeanor.
"If the guests see the star of the show not greeting them properly but sneaking out in these shabby clothes, what will the honored visitors from afar think of you?"
"Ha, honored visitors?"
Isabel Aslan's lips curled in a sneer as she endured her head maid nanny's nagging.
"I wonder if those people even care about me at all. They probably don't even notice me slipping away."
The nanny gazed sadly at the princess's self-deprecating tone.
"Princess..."
"Nanny, do I still look like a clueless child to you? Do you really think those busy nobles are using spatial magic arrays to come here just for my birthday?"
"......"
Isabel spat coldly, and seeing the nanny's silence, she continued.
"There's only one reason. You know it too. The Martial Clan and Magic Tower—their goal is ties with those big shots. I'm just the excuse."
The nanny wanted to deny it, call it a misunderstanding.
She wanted to say the king was a true sage monarch everyone respected, and the princess was a noble figure people lined up to speak with.
But she couldn't utter a word. She had eyes and ears.
The Aslan people revered the wise royals who governed prosperously.
But that reverence stayed within the kingdom.
The Aslan name held little sway elsewhere, regardless of their benevolence.
The Martial Clan and Magic Tower were different.
The Martial Clan's warriors, battle-hardened daily against Great Cataclysm monsters, were in constant demand across the continent.
The Magic Tower's unparalleled artifact and scroll crafting needed no mention.
The kingdom was ruled by House Aslan.
Yet their "retainers," the Martial Clan and Magic Tower, commanded even greater prestige.
As Isabel matured and her worldview expanded, this truth bred immense inferiority.
She believed her family supreme, her father the world's greatest for bringing peace.
But outside, his subordinates outshone him.
Unable to bear it, Isabel veered irreparably off course.
Chatter!
A commotion drifted through the window.
Slam!
Opening it, Isabel saw a flag: a knight's helm crossed with sword and shield.
The crest of the Lichtenauer Marquisate Martial Clan.
Sneering at the crowd gathered below like clouds, she quipped,
"Look, a Martial Clan carriage flying their flag is arriving. Must be that great Eldest Young Lord Alex making his entrance. With the real star here, I don't need to stick around."
Twirl!
She pulled a shabby robe from the wardrobe and said,
"The Magic Tower elders will send one tomorrow or the day after anyway. Just tell them to handle their business and go. I have no hobby of pathetically greeting guests on a birthday that's not even mine."
"......"
"Nothing more to say, right, Nanny? I'm off. Cover for me appropriately."
Shoving aside the dress the head maid nanny urged, Isabel donned night clothes and the robe.
"Don't worry too much, though. I won't cross the line. I'll at least show up on the actual day."
Even that was her last held line—the spoiled Isabel's final boundary, lest it tarnish her father's honor.
Where there is light, there must be shadow.
You can lead a horse to water, but you can't make it drink.
No matter how sagely King Demur Aslan ruled, he couldn't redeem those with irredeemable natures.
Thus, Shurton's slums were inevitable.
Lazy, indolent souls who couldn't overcome their flaws.
An average king would ignore them, but Demur Aslan granted even them the freedom to choose their lives.
Moreover, he provided ways for them to work when hungry, ensuring bare survival.
Thus, Shurton's slum dwellers avoided crossing lines and blended into the capital.
Though relegated to the outskirts, inevitably.
In Shurton's remotest slum—a place tourists and citizens alike shunned—a stranger appeared.
Thud, thud!
The small, slight figure entered stealthily and silently.
A rare guest. The slums wouldn't let such prey pass.
Swish!
Slum dwellers emerged from alleys, encircling the stranger.
"Well now. This ain't a place for outsiders to wander into."
"Could be they didn't know. Still, stepping into our turf means paying a toll, right? Fair's fair."
Swish!
They menaced with broken chopsticks, kitchen knives, clubs.
"......"
"Aw, frozen stiff with fear? Don't worry—we're Shurton citizens too. By His Majesty's grace, hand over your stuff, and we won't take your life."
Hahaha.
The laughing slum dwellers said to their guest,
"That robe looks nice. Take it off first."
"...Hah..."
Swish!
As the guest shed the robe, the slum dwellers' eyes bulged.
Beneath was a woman with stunning red hair, breathtakingly beautiful.
...Gulp!
Someone's swallow thundered.
"Ahem! Snap out of it, lads—no funny ideas."
The frontmost cleared his throat; others belatedly refocused.
"Sorry 'bout that. Anyway, just drop your gear and—"
"You vermin yapping since earlier—what gives you the right?"
"...What?"
"Must be deluded, thinking I'd heed scum like you. I removed the robe for one reason: I hate soiling good clothes."
The woman's vulgarity flushed their faces.
Offensive words were bad enough; being called vermin stung worse.
"...If you want a beating when you could've walked away, so be it. Lads, take her!"
Aslan's laws forbade killing.
But a thorough thrashing would vent their rage.
Rush!
They charged the woman.
Fwee!
Her hand flicked lightly toward them.
That was the last sight the slum dwellers beheld.
Splatter!
Splat, splat!
Blood rain poured; mangled flesh scattered like trash.
"...Tch."
Despite claiming dozens of lives at once, she merely clicked her tongue.
Not out of pity.
"Ugh, filthy... This robe's ruined now."
A few blood drops had splattered her neatly removed robe.
"Tch, and I liked it..."
Swish!
She scanned the surroundings.
In the massacre site, even these unlearned, lazy slum folk knew one thing.
Gaze out or scream at a stranger's arrival, and you die.
"Heh, not bad for bugs—decent instincts."
Hunting hidden pests was a hassle.
If they hid themselves, all the better.
As she nodded in satisfaction and turned,
Amid mostly shuttered windows, one open house met her gaze with a child's wide eyes.
"Tsk tsk, kids, huh? No street smarts."
That sluggish reaction sealed the child's fate.
Moments later.
—Aaahhh!
A horrific scream echoed from one slum house.
But no one opened their door to check.