Chapter 61
Chapter 61
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 61
Chapter Title: An Invitation from the King
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As if the host's introduction were the signal, the curtain concealing the area behind the jade throne drew back, revealing an elderly man who slowly emerged into view.
His hair was stark white, and his small, slender frame held no trace of anything extraordinary.
Were it not for the crown upon his head and the ornate robes draped over his body, he could have passed for an ordinary old man from any village.
Yet despite this unassuming air, for some reason...
...thud!
A footstep so faint it might escape notice unless one strained to listen.
But that tiny sound reached not only Ian's ears but every single person in the banquet hall, clear as day.
It carried no aura, no magic—nothing supernatural.
Even so, the old man's steps possessed a strange, captivating power that drew people in.
And crucially, this elder harbored something no ordinary old man could ever possess: an extraordinary quality.
It was in his eyes.
Stern yet gentle.
Profound and arrogant.
How could someone embody such utterly opposing traits and still be just a village elder?
Only a true king, a vessel worthy of ruling nations, could hold eyes like those.
One who listened softly to the words of loyal retainers, confronted external threats with unyielding resolve.
Who wielded arrogant authority to suppress schemers, and turned great calamities into opportunities with profound cunning.
Despite the myriad disadvantages plaguing the land compared to foreign realms, he had led the Aslan Kingdom to prosperity and strength—a sage ruler.
This old man was Demur Aslan.
...swish!
The old man's gaze swept across the banquet hall from left to right.
For some reason, when it passed over Ian, there was the briefest flicker—a spark in his eyes, gone in an instant.
But Demur betrayed nothing as he ascended the dais.
"Everyone."
Straightening from his slightly bowed posture atop the dais, Demur opened his mouth in dignified poise.
"I am truly grateful that you have all come such great distances to celebrate the day my daughter comes of age. We have prepared as best we could to entertain our esteemed guests, however modest it may be. I sincerely hope this becomes a gathering where all of you can relax and enjoy yourselves."
Clap clap clap clap clap!
Amid the applause from the VIPs, Demur concluded his brief speech, took his seat, and soon withdrew, citing fatigue.
'......?'
Ian clapped along, but for some reason...
He felt an inexplicable sense of incongruity in Demur's speech.
Demur Aslan was no warrior versed in martial arts, nor had he ever studied so much as a single line of magic—a mere mortal.
Yet he commanded respect from the kingdom's people rivaling that of Paon or Midas.
Those who reached the pinnacle of any domain inevitably carried an unmistakable aura of the extraordinary.
Even if that domain was not the sword or sorcery, but governance.
Yet for some reason...
To Ian, Demur's speech just now lacked that extraordinary quality.
For a king hailed as the reigning sovereign, addressing the coming-of-age of his beloved daughter... it felt oddly deflating, somehow.
'Who knows.'
Both Demur and Isabel...
Ian simply couldn't fathom the mindset of royalty.
But he didn't dwell on it long.
"Young Lord Ian, good to see you. I am..."
Before he could pursue the thought further, people in the banquet hall began approaching him one by one to strike up conversations.
'...I'll think on this later. For now, focus on gathering information.'
Isabel's coming-of-age ceremony ended today.
So from tomorrow, guests would start heading back to their homelands one by one.
Improving relations with the royal family was the most promising mission candidate, but it was mere speculation.
Until he confirmed Paon's intentions, building rapport with these people took priority.
While conversing with the person before him, Ian simultaneously eavesdropped on others' chatter with his ears.
Through this process, he steadily narrowed down the candidates.
'As expected, no matter how I look at it, the external matters point most strongly to the Pang Kingdom or the Holy Nation.'
If relations with the royals were good, Ian might have chosen one of those two as the fruit of this mission.
But with rumors swirling of yearly tensions between the martial clan and the crown, dismissing the royals outright wasn't wise.
'Damn it, if only Isabel hadn't flipped like a pancake all of a sudden.'
Ian chugged water in frustration, unable to even attempt anything due to Isabel's sudden attitude shift.
Of course, his ears remained open the whole time.
How long had he been tuning into the surrounding talk?
Tap tap!
As the banquet hall's atmosphere gradually heated up, someone tapped Ian's shoulder.
"......?"
Turning his head, he saw a stranger smiling warmly as he spoke to him.
"Pardon the intrusion, Young Lord Ian Lichtenauer. If it's not too much trouble, might I borrow a moment of your time? My father is quite eager to speak with you."
Father, huh.
What kind of fool noble couldn't even approach himself and sent his child to arrange a meeting instead?
"...Apologies, but I don't make a habit of chatting with strangers. And you are...?"
Irritation naturally sharpened his tone.
"Ah, how rude of me. I haven't introduced myself properly."
Yet the man seemed utterly unperturbed by Ian's attitude, smiling as he politely introduced himself.
"My name is Karso Aslan."
"......?"
Strange.
It was a name he'd definitely heard somewhere before.
"I'm the older brother of that filly Isabel."
'Wait, Isabel's brother...'
It clicked.
"My apologies. My lack of social experience led to a grave discourtesy."
Karso Aslan.
The third prince of this kingdom.
Ian smoothed the slight irritation from his face and returned a smile.
"Hahaha, not at all. So, could you spare a moment? If Father moved himself... it would draw too much attention."
...Considering the other party's comfort enough to send his son for a discreet approach.
A choice revealing true delicacy.
As expected of the man called the reigning king.
'Ignoring such consideration wouldn't befit a direct heir of the martial clan.'
"Of course, Your Highness. Let's go right away."
Ian readily accepted Karso's proposal and soon began following him at a leisurely pace.
"Heh heh heh, so you're Young Lord Ian? A pleasure."
Despite ruling a nation, Demur greeted Ian with an affable demeanor.
'...Different.'
But as Ian regarded Demur, he felt something entirely unlike before.
Extraordinariness.
As if to prove those eyes from earlier were no illusion, Demur—in private audience with Ian—freely exuded the majestic aura only a king could possess.
Naturally, Ian corrected his slightly casual mindset and bowed respectfully.
"Your Majesty, please speak freely. I dare not receive such formality."
Pleased by Ian's courtesy, Demur let out a hearty laugh.
"Heh heh heh! The second young lord, known as half-witted, proves so polite. Thank you for honoring this worthless old man. Paon, that fellow, has raised his children well."
"You overpraise me. Is it not Your Majesty who has made this chaotic land—plagued by great calamity's monsters—strong and prosperous? No one in this realm would call you worthless."
"Heh heh heh! Rumors truly can't be trusted, eh?"
After this brief exchange of compliments, Demur abruptly added,
"And well they shouldn't be, for Young Lord Ian subjugated the orcs nesting in the volcanic mountains. But that's not all—you quelled conflicts with other strike teams within the clan and even subdued the black rock trolls harassing the magic tower. No halfwit could accomplish such feats."
Demur calmly recited Ian's achievements.
From his words, Ian inferred much.
First.
Demur possessed vast intelligence networks, knowing even events unpublicized beyond the martial clan.
Second.
If he knew Ian's path, he knew his capabilities. Meaning, he had a task for him.
Having organized his thoughts, Ian directly asked Demur,
"Your Majesty, do you have a command for me?"
"Heh heh heh!"
Was he pleased by Ian's question cutting straight to the point, sparing needless preamble?
"Indeed, conversing with the wise is a delight—no need for tedious explanations."
Chuckling once more, Demur met Ian's eyes with grave seriousness.
"There is a nefarious group seeking to shake this kingdom."
Graver than expected words spilled from Demur's lips.
"......!!"
'Shake the kingdom?'
Ian's mind raced.
'Who? Internal insurgents? The ones who gave the White Ghost Unit to Urk? A third force? Or... one of the people in this banquet hall right now?'
"Your eyes tell me you're thinking what I did when I first heard. Regrettably, no—the culprits remain unidentified riffraff for now."
Gazing steadily at Ian, Demur continued.
"Only one fact is clear: someone massacred the slums mercilessly, then slipped away clean."
'......?'
Ian looked puzzled at Demur's statement.
"Your Majesty, if I may... isn't it a bit of a stretch to assume they're targeting the kingdom just from a slum massacre?"
He had to ask.
Slums existed in every corner of Agena.
In any era of peace, through any reforms.
They were an immutable law, places where security simply couldn't exist.
A slaughter there was tragic, but judging it a plot against the kingdom solely on that basis... wasn't that overinterpreting?
Ian pointed it out.
"Heh heh heh! Well now. You're not as rumored, true—but it seems you've been cloistered in the clan too long. A bit ignorant of royal policies."
Demur laughed again at Ian's question, but the answer came from Karso Aslan, the third prince who had brought him here.
"Young Lord Ian, in our kingdom, no one commits murder lightly. Not even nobles."
"......?"
Still incomprehensible.
Ian was the Hegemon who unified the great plains' tribes.
Blood and death had flowed beyond count in that process.
Hence, it felt alien.
Karso Aslan's words.
"I love my kingdom's people. Due to my inadequacies, I cannot fill all their bellies... but there is one thing I vow to protect."
Demur added to Karso's statement.
"No one suffers injustice on my soil. Not even the lowliest slum dweller."
"......"
"The common folk may lack learning and not know every letter of the kingdom's strict laws. But they do know this: commit murder here, and you'll pay dearly."
At the very least, in Aslan.
Whoever committed murder faced inevitable justice.
Even if they were from the martial clan or magic tower.
The crown's laws were that absolute, enforced so rigorously that neither clan nor tower dared violate them.
Yet indiscriminate slaughter in the capital, Shurton?
This implied two things.
First, the perpetrator scorned the kingdom's authority entirely.
Second, even if the crown noticed... they had the power to shrug it off.
"On the southern continent of Bestrika, we've cataloged every unaffiliated powerhouse in the intelligence bureau. None of them entered the capital."
'In other words, an external foe infiltrated with nefarious intent.'
Through this conversation, Ian grasped one more fact.
The crown's intelligence network was staggeringly vast and deep.
Even Magic Tower Elder Rocherto had been displeased about Ian's dispatch.
Yet the crown knew not only clan internals but even the secret commission's outcomes in detail.
"Heh heh, your face says you're quite shocked."
"...Yes, Your Majesty. Frankly, I am."
Words that might seem disrespectful, but Ian had no other choice.
'So he didn't just manage paperwork to rule the kingdom.'
Of course not—the king ruling land bordering the great calamity couldn't be ordinary.
"Heh heh heh! Naturally. Do you think peddling goods from other continents lets us stand above the clan and tower? Come now, don't underestimate the crown."
At Ian's candidness, Demur spoke with pride overflowing.
"At least while living in this land, no one escapes the crown's eyes. Not even Paon or Midas."
His expression brimmed with conviction. It was surely true.
No such man would boast emptily.
"I don't know which bloated fools they are, but..."
Ian finally realized it viscerally.
"The scum who butchered my people in the capital Shurton... I have no intention of letting them leave alive."
The Aslan royal family.
They were every bit one of the kingdom's three pillars.