Living Life My Way (3)
The king leaned forward with intense interest at my words.
"What is it?"
"Kill Elua and Alvis."
The king stared at me, speechless for a moment. I continued to him.
"If Gobert can't handle those two, just wipe them all out and make Gobert the only option left."
"But... how do we suppress the backlash from their supporting factions...?"
As expected from this old man who'd survived a lifetime in the royal palace, his first thought wasn't emotional rejection at the idea of killing his daughters, but the political fallout from their supporters. This was exactly why I shouldn't get involved in politics. It turns people cynical and rotten.
"I wouldn't know about that part. You'll have to handle it yourself, Your Majesty. But one piece of advice: make Gobert a general first."
"To give him military superiority? That's too simplistic a view."
"No. Do that, then send him to the front lines. Separate him completely from the palace."
The king seemed puzzled by my suggestion to pull him away from the palace when there was already too much to do right there.
"The front lines have the kingdom's strongest elite legions. Send Gobert there—make it seem totally unrelated to the succession—and let him take command of those elites. Then, Your Majesty, eliminate all the other candidates. Poison, disguised agents, whatever. Hell, you don't even have to kill them."
"And then?"
"You know what you're good at. Use all your schemes and tricks to block them from the throne. Above all, create a pretext. Something like the noble council's greed going too far, or Elua's faction plotting your early abdication. Make shit up."
The king listened intently.
"That'll definitely spark fierce backlash. Rebellions might erupt, or assassination attempts on you. Then your fabricated pretext becomes reality. 'Those bastards were plotting rebellion, so I'm striking first!' And when they rebel in outrage, you go, 'See? I told you they'd rebel!'"
"So... what next...?"
"You've laid the groundwork, and sure enough, chaos ensues just as planned. That's when Gobert marches in with his elite legion to the capital. He stabilizes the mess, upholds the royal traditions, blah blah blah. He seizes the capital with his forces, arrests and executes the ringleaders under the guise of restoring order, and roots out Elua and Alvis's factions completely."
"Hm..."
"Two power-hungry factions let greed consume them and cause trouble. The loyal bastard son, who sacrificed everything for the kingdom and went to the front lines, returns to save it from crisis. That's a narrative anyone would buy emotionally."
The king mulled over my proposal in silence. Of course, this was an extreme method. Things might not go smoothly as I described, and Gobert himself didn't seem resolute enough for something like this. Every time I saw him, he was just watering terrace flowerpots and wiping leaves—nothing more. Whether that guy could actually lead a legion and seize the capital was a huge question mark.
"Bertrand. You're a frontier bumpkin chosen by the Goddess and thrust into the palace out of nowhere... but sometimes you sound like a scheming politician with decades of experience."
"I've been in and out of the palace for ten years—picked up what I could by watching. What's so hard about it? Betrayal, slander, fabrication, defamation. It's easier to bare your teeth and fight than to get along peacefully."
The king chuckled with a sigh and nodded.
"That's the essence of palace politics. I'll give your advice serious thought. It's crude and brutal... but undeniably simple and effective."
"Killing and smashing is my specialty, after all."
The king's gaze shifted to the Holy Sword hanging on the wall behind the bar. His eyes gleamed.
"Seeing that sword still here means the Goddess hasn't withdrawn her blessing from you."
"No idea why, but I can still wield her power."
"Your comings and goings with the palace are human affairs. The Goddess, on a higher plane, seems to watch over you separately from all that."
"Yeah. No clue why she picked me out of all the humans."
The king glanced at me, then surveyed the inn hall, offering his own answer.
"Maybe to her, you're still a hero. Perhaps she wants you to keep saving the world."
"Ha! Even the Goddess can't expect that. She slapped 'hero' on me outta nowhere, made me suffer for ten years, and now more? No way."
"Just my guess. How could mere mortals fathom a god's will?"
The conversation paused there. We quietly sipped our beer and picked at the fried fish one bite at a time. The king clearly loved it, chomping away with satisfied smacks.
"This is... ridiculously good fried fish."
He wiped his fingers neatly on the napkin beside him. I called Della over for a refill. Moments later, Francois emerged from the kitchen herself, carrying a wooden bowl of fresh fried fish and half a lemon.
"Oh, you're the head chef?"
Francois replied to the king's question with a graceful smile.
"Yes. Do you like my cooking?"
"Of course. I've never had fried fish this good in my life. What's the secret?"
"Passion for cooking. Good ingredients and equipment come after."
She took his used napkin and laid a fresh one from her apron. The king looked mildly surprised.
"Well then, you two. Enjoy your time."
As Francois left, the king asked me,
"Is that chef from nobility?"
"Huh? How'd you know? She does have that noble look, yeah."
"Not just that... In royal or noble households, they change napkins mid-meal. It's an old custom turned etiquette—flaunting wealth with fresh high-end linens."
"Ah... I see. Never seen her do that for other tables. She must've clocked you as the king."
"Heh, unlikely."
The king dropped the succession talk and reminisced about my old impossible missions instead. They were tough at the time, but looking back, pretty amusing. We laughed, downing more beer and fried fish.
Late at night, as the hall tables emptied, Guard Captain Kamei descended the stairs with her bag. The king wiped grease from his hands on a napkin.
"Time for me to head out."
"Already?"
"Stay overnight, and my throne might be gone."
Not sounding like a joke at all, he stood. I rose too, tossing out casually,
"Brione stopped by recently. Remember? The palace apprentice mage who hung around with me."
"I do."
"Seemed like she was sent to dig up info on me. Tell 'em I'm just running an inn—don't send more."
"Ah... sorry about that..."
The king sighed, shoulders slumping.
"That mage was probably Elua's doing. Officially intelligence bureau, but I can't deny her influence."
"Got it... Tell your daughter to quit bothering us."
"Will do."
I walked them to the courtyard to see them off. Beyond the stone wall, in the darkness, a dozen royal guards in plain clothes waited.
"Had a great time today, Bertrand. Nice to vent openly for once."
"My pleasure. Come back anytime."
We shook hands firmly. Still gripping mine, the king said,
"Bertrand. Truth is, I see four succession candidates, not three."
I knew it, you old fox... Finally getting to the point.
"But the fourth will refuse the throne."
He eyed my curt rejection, coaxing,
"Can't you save the kingdom again, like all those crises before?"
"I'm barely managing one inn. Leave ruling to folks with the brains for it. And me, a king? Some passing slime would die laughing."
"Bertrand Balder. Who else has your legitimacy in this country...?"
"Ah-ah. If you're dragging up my ancient ancestors, drop it. That road has no end."
Even with my sharp refusal, he clung to my hand. Useless. King my ass. The inn had mountains of work. And legitimacy? Sure, Vengeance King Blavban Balder was an ancestor, but waving a guy from thousands of years ago around? No thanks.
"Go on now. I gotta clean up."
"Alright... See you, Bertrand."
"Take care."
Descending the courtyard steps, the king paused midway and turned.
"Bertrand. You're still the Goddess-blessed hero. Don't dismiss my proposal lightly—think it over."
He crossed the yard under Kamei's guidance. Suddenly, a Dimensional Gate ripped open in the pitch-black road. The king, Kamei, and guards filed in one by one. I watched it close, then returned to the inn.
At the bar tallying ledgers, I turned to gaze at the Holy Sword on the wall. It hung there proudly, sleek and noble.
"Balder. That gentleman gone?"
Francois asked, passing by after kitchen duties.
"Yeah. He left."
"He's royalty, right?"
Shocked, I gripped my pencil too hard and snapped the lead. Staring at her, she shrugged nonchalantly.
"Saw him eating lunch—his spoon work was unique. Watched closer, and it was pure royal etiquette."
"Uh... yeah. He is."
"His visit's a secret, of course?"
Still dumbfounded, I nodded. She flashed a dignified smile overflowing with poise.
"Good night, Balder."
"Sleep well, Francois."
Ah, so that's it. She'd figured him out and treated him to the napkin swap per protocol. Sharp eyes, and cool composure chatting with suspected royalty despite her own noble roots... Francois was one hell of a woman.
As she climbed to the third floor and the hall quieted, I eyed the Holy Sword again. Why hadn't the Goddess withdrawn her blessing? Was the king right—was I still her hero, meant to save the world more? I was Rosens' innkeeper now. Saving the world took a backseat to running the place, making money, and paying my staff. So, Goddess, if you're expecting more from me, better cut it off. I wasn't born with some noble destiny to protect the world from evil. You just told me to be a hero outta the blue, and I stumbled here. Me, a materialistic slob as hero? Come on...
Next dawn, the door nearly burst off its hinges as Della burst into my room. Her face was ghostly pale. I bolted upright in bed.
"Wh-what? What's wrong, Della?!"
"Master! Big trouble! It's gone!"
"What's gone? The money?"
Frustrated, Della stomped and gestured frantically for me to hurry.