The Madwoman's Invitation (6)
As we drew closer to the royal palace, Francois peered out the window in awe. Within a kilometer radius of the palace, there was nothing—no small buildings, not even a single tree. Just an open grassy plain. And surrounding the palace was a wide moat several meters deep. All these measures were for the palace's defense. Any force bent on attacking the kingdom would have to go through multiple stages to even reach it.
First, they'd punch through the elite legions stationed at the borders to enter the territory. Then, from that point on, guards scattered across the directly ruled lands and regional defense legions would swarm like mosquitoes in midsummer. If they somehow pushed through that to advance on the capital, they'd face crossbowmen packed into high-rise buildings and legion soldiers hiding in every alley. Once they finally broke through the city streets and reached the palace, a vast plain suddenly opened up with nowhere to hide. And that's when those cannons...
I looked up through the window at the massive cannons lined along the palace walls. They were magic-powered artillery that launched cannonballs the size of this carriage with terrifying force using mana. Those cannons were only deployed to defend the palace walls and key areas in the kingdom because they were too heavy and expensive to mass-produce. I'd seen one fire in a demonstration once—a house-sized boulder shot out like a quarrel, gouging dozens of meters into the ground. It was unforgettable. The moment attackers formed up to assault the palace, those shells would rain down, mincing soldiers into ground meat. Even the mighty Demon King's army was helpless against them, forcing him to deploy swarms of flying beasts. But even that failed thanks to the Vengeful King's Blessing.
The Vengeful King's Blessing was an invisible barrier protecting the palace in a semicircle. A mystical phenomenon that physically repelled anything hostile to the kingdom. What had Francois gawking now were the scars from that brutal battle. Scattered across the wide plain were cannonballs half-buried in the earth, their tails dragging long furrows. And standing there, exposed to the rain, were enormous bones thick as palace beams—far larger than the troll skeletons near Apenzel's north gate. They were all from the giant monsters commanded by the Demon King's forces, like the chimera I'd fought on the road north of Rosens.
I explained the cannons and the remnants, and Francois listened with keen interest, peppering me with questions.
The avenue leading to the palace was jammed with carriages attending the funeral. Knights in full plate armor directed traffic. As they approached our carriage, Brione said something to one, and he waved us off the main road to the left side. Unlike the right, clogged with lined-up carriages, the left was wide open. Our carriage sped straight to the palace without delay.
"Impressive," Francois murmured.
"State guest treatment," Brione replied.
Francois glanced at me, probably startled by the "state guest" bit. She looked like she wanted to ask, but noble poise kept her silent for now.
We crossed the drawbridge over the moat and entered the palace grounds. The end of the bridge led to the outer wall's gate, but instead of heading straight to the inner keep, we veered right for a long detour. This layout let defenders on both walls rain fire on invaders searching for the inner gate. Only after entering the inner keep did the palace's grand main structure reveal itself.
Stepping out, Francois's mouth fell slightly agape as she gazed up. "Up close... it's enormous."
"Right? See those slits? Crossbowmen man them. Lean a ladder against the walls, and hidden magic traps..."
"Ahem. Bertrand?"
Brione cleared her throat as I geeked out to the fascinated Francois. Right—classified info.
In front of the main palace, other top-tier guests like me disembarked straight from their carriages. High provincial officials and marquises or higher, by the look of them. They exchanged handshakes with their refined, condescending tones and subtle sneers.
"We'll go in with them. Let's move."
Brione led us over. The "noble" faces lit with confusion at our approach. Fair enough—Francois might pass, but I screamed commoner at best.
"Hey, you there."
One called me gruffly. "No umbrella? Raining like this, and you're unprepared?"
He mistook me for palace staff. I pulled out my invitation. "I'm here on one too."
"Bertrand Balder...? Balder family...? What's your title?"
"None."
My offhand reply left them baffled. Nobles used to flowery etiquette probably found it outright rude. Contempt flickered on nearby faces—a titleless pleb disrespecting nobles. Whatever, you fucking pricks.
I flashed them a grin and pocketed the invite. Just then, someone emerged from the palace, drawing eyes. Nobles who knew him greeted with smiles, but he just scanned them stone-faced. I knew him well: the palace chamberlain. Our eyes met; he stared a beat, then looked away.
"Interiors are ready. Honored guests, please enter."
We followed him inside. Francois gasped at the central corridor. "So opulent..."
Flanking the long straight hall were elegant marble statues in arched niches, depicting the kingdom's heroes in their signature feats. Naturally, no me. Few knew me as the hero. Maybe high palace officials and old comrades. Pelle and some demons too. The palace had erased my records, fearing I'd claim the throne—or that people would back me. Given my ancestor Vengeful King Blavane Balder and my history of wild antics, their worry wasn't unfounded. Hell, they might've wanted me dead to cut loose ends. But impossible—who could kill me?
Passing vaulted frescoes and chandeliers, we reached a vast hall. It served as the central lobby before branching corridors and a hub for palace staff. Today, it was the king's funeral chamber. Black velvet draped the galleries, black chairs packed for attendees. At the front sat a glossy black coffin ringed in white mistflowers, guarded by heavily armored knights.
The king really croaked... Did that mad bitch actually kill her own father...?
The chamberlain called names, assigning seats. Our noble escorts got third row—marquises at least. Protocol ranked royalty/dukes, top officials like ministers, marquises, then lesser nobles and influential commoners.
"Bertrand Balder. This way."
He led me and Francois to the back row. Fitting for commoners, but why send a mage via portal if they planned to bench us? Probably Brione to ensure I came, then humiliate me. State guest? Bullshit. That bitch was certifiably insane, going all out to grate my nerves. But I wasn't dumb enough to bite.
The princess held a grudge, dangling bait for me to snap first. Francois had every right to question our seats but stayed composed, never mentioning the letdown after all the hype. Brione ditched us for another hall.
Alone, we sat silently amid the heavy funeral air. Up front, nobles chatted and laughed. To them, the king's death wasn't big—the real draw was avoiding political isolation during the transition and networking. None mourned genuinely.
Soon, people streamed from side corridors and our entrance hall. The queued carriages outside had finally entered—lesser nobles and officials, guided by servants, not the chamberlain. Seats filled; the hall buzzed.
I scanned for old comrades; Francois stared ahead. A nearby man spotted her and tilted his head. "Ahem... um... excuse me...?"
She hadn't noticed, looking elsewhere. He kept puzzled, then tried again. "Miss, if I may..."
"The regent enters."
The chamberlain's stern voice boomed as a group emerged from the inner hall.