The Marquis's Fury
“……”
Hallum Marquis doubted his own ears. That sniveling fool of a prince, who had always groveled before him, was now showing this kind of attitude? He found it baffling. It might have been fear back in the banquet courtyard, but now?
…Has he decided I'm no longer useful?
If he interpreted all the prince's previous behavior as a ploy to claim the throne, then this attitude was unmistakable. Hallum had been marked as a card to discard.
As that realization sank in, Hallum's face flushed crimson with rage.
This insolent bastard…!
Even after being ousted by Erone and branded a rebel, Hallum had fed him, housed him, protected him, and treated him with the respect due his station…! And now he dared to threaten him?
Just then, as Hallum's eyes burned red with fury, the council chamber door swung open and a soldier stepped inside.
“Reporting!”
Cowed by the heavy atmosphere in the room, the soldier hesitated but approached Hallum cautiously. “Last night, an unidentified group entered the territory. The guards claim they didn't try to stop them.”
“……”
Hallum's aura grew savage, but the oblivious soldier pressed on. “We don't know for sure, but they might be heretics…”
“Is that the problem right now?!”
Hallum's hand lashed out, striking the helmeted soldier across the face. The man's head snapped back as he staggered, but Hallum ground his teeth, staring at the skin torn from his own knuckles.
Ash, who hadn't caught the soldier's words properly, blinked in shock.
“Damn it! Damn it! Damn it!”
Hallum yanked the soldier's sword free and plunged it into his throat. The sickening grind of bone and rip of flesh echoed through the chamber, followed by the man's agonized screams. The nobles and Ash froze in place.
As the soldier's body crumpled to the floor, Hallum panted heavily. “Did you just say I should take responsibility, Your Highness?”
“……”
“If you're going to press the issue, then you bear responsibility too! For inciting rebellion, losing our forces, and bringing in some mysterious group! You should answer for that!”
At that moment, a commotion erupted outside the door. As the nobles glanced between Ash and Hallum, the door flew open and a familiar group strode in.
A handsome man with turquoise hair and eyes, accompanied by a burly middle-aged warrior. Nords. The very ones who had turned the mansion's front courtyard—used for the banquet—into a hellscape.
“N-Nords?”
“Wh-What business do you have here…!”
“Soldiers…! What are the soldiers doing? Why didn't they st—”
The nobles' words died as they peered behind Aum and Kudan. Soldiers lay sprawled in the doorway.
Their faces drained of color, the nobles opened their mouths to scream…
“We'd prefer to handle this quietly. If you make it complicated… we'll make it quiet for you.”
“……”
The nobles clamped their mouths shut. With the chamber falling silent, Aum's expression turned satisfied.
They're thoroughly spooked.
Hallum looked the most rigid of all. As the mastermind behind this mess, he now faced the one person he least wanted to see.
But they've already had a go at each other?
A soldier twitched below Hallum, bleeding out. Aum barely suppressed a laugh at the sight.
What a clusterfuck!
At a time like this, they'd wasted a soldier so carelessly? Utter fools.
Masking his thoughts, Aum stepped forward gracefully. He placed his right hand over his heart, stepped back with his left foot, and bowed his head. The epitome of noble courtesy.
“Lord Hallum Marquis.”
“……”
“Our lord wishes to see you.”
“M-Me…?”
“No harm will come to you. Merely…” Aum lifted his gaze, narrowing his eyes. “A conversation.”
***
“…Prince Ash arrived just a few days ago.”
Rapilta nodded at the villager's words. “So the rumors were true after all.”
Rumors that Prince Ash was dead. Yet separately, word had spread that he was returning to Roden Territory. Apparently, refugees had rallied behind him, following his lead.
But how did that happen?
Rapilta turned, gazing at Roden Territory's central square.
“I-I didn't know!”
A guillotine stood erected, a ragged prisoner bound before it. “I didn't know it was the prince! This punishment is too harsh! I just—!”
“Execution!”
The blade dropped, severing the man's head.
Brutal. Walking in to see an execution right away.
Word was, these were refugees who'd been rude to Prince Ash and guards who'd blocked him at the checkpoint.
“The mood's gotten even more grim.”
Villagers hawked wares on the streets just to survive, but their faces were etched with anxiety and distrust.
Because of that execution?
It probably aimed to instill fear and quash riots. But how long could terror politics last…?
“…Not the best welcome sight.”
Pol averted his eyes from the headless corpses. Then he noticed it: in the alleys, starving folk and would-be thieves lurked with gleaming eyes.
Pol shot them a pitying glance.
Will it get better once the war ends?
Suddenly, he spotted something unusual.
What’s that?
In a narrow alley, frail, sickly people knelt, hands clasped in prayer to a woman.
Her face was veiled in black cloth, but her striking black-and-white hair stood out.
Who… is she? A nun?
An aura both mystical and eerie. But something felt off for a Holy Church nun…?
Sensing Pol's gaze, perhaps, the woman turned to look at him.
As Pol felt a strange chill, Rapilta clapped a hand on his shoulder.
“Hey, what're you doing?”
“…Yah!”
Startled, Pol yelped before he could stop himself. Every eye on the street turned to him.
Flushing with embarrassment at being caught staring, Pol lashed out at Rapilta. “What the hell!”
“Why're you mad? Spot an interesting girl?”
“…Wh-Who said I was mad!?”
“You're flustered, so it must be true. Makes sense at your age—full of hormones! So, who is she?!”
Rapilta grinned mischievously, scanning around. Then she shouted, spotting something.
“Ah… beautiful. A goddess?!”
Pol sneaked another peek down the alley, but the woman was gone.
“……?”
What? She's gone…?
Disappointed, Pol turned back to Rapilta. But she was staring elsewhere now.
Through the bustling market stalls and crowds, a woman passed. Her long turquoise hair was neatly braided, matching her eyes. Clad in pristine white armor, she drew Pol's mesmerized gaze—until he shook his head vigorously.
Why am I acting weird today?
Regaining his senses, Pol looked around. Everyone stared at her too. But… their eyes differed from Rapilta's admiring ones. The villagers regarded her with horror and dread.
Why? To such a beautiful knight…?
Wait, she's a Nord?
Were they judging her as a barbarian? After meeting Hoon the Nord, Pol felt uncomfortable with their prejudice.
“…Should I say hi?”
But mimicking Rapilta's snap judgment based on looks felt even worse.
“Beautiful. If I were ten years younger…”
“…Lord Alber. You're starting to sound just like Rapilta, you know?”
“Ahem, Pol, what do you take me for? She looks lost, glancing around. Helping a lady is a knight's duty, isn't it?”
Rapilta smirked. “Then let's help! Lady! Knight Rapilta, coming to your aid!”
“Didn't you renounce your knighthood?!”
Ignoring Pol's protest, Rapilta shoved through the crowd. Pol and Alber had no choice but to follow.
“Lady! If you have time, how about tea alone in a quiet spot—er, I mean tea!”
At Rapilta's words, the knight—something slung over her shoulder—halted and tilted her head. Her innocent, childlike reaction paired with her pure beauty.
My type!
Rapilta steadied her pounding heart and pressed on confidently. “You seem new here. If it's alright, I could show you around!”
“Rapilta! What are you doing? That's rude to the knight!”
“Indeed. Rapilta! Can't you see she's troubled? In that case, say, ‘Lady, if it's not an imposition, may I escort you?’ That's [knight-ly duty!]!”
Even Alber was excited, his scolding tone laced with thrill. Pol clutched his head, exasperated by the two knights.
“This isn't the time! It's rude! Rude!”
At Pol's shout, the knight blinked. The gesture was so charming that even Pol forgot his words for a moment.
The knight, Kankun, spoke. “Are… you talking to me?”
Her voice was clear and pure as a bell, turning Pol's cheeks pink.
“Y-Yes? Ah! Yes…! S-Sorry. My companions were rude…!”
“No, it's fine. But earlier… you mentioned guiding me around the territory?”
Her knightly tone contrasted her crystalline voice, and her bright smile made Pol's heart race.
“Y-Yes…! N-Not really… we're not that busy…!”
He'd long forgotten the need to report to the prince quickly.
“I-I could show you around for a bit—”
Suddenly, Pol's mouth was clamped shut by Rapilta's hand.
“P-Pol… say no more.”
Her face had gone pale, her words stumbling oddly. Annoyed at the interruption, Pol shoved her hand away. “What do you mean?! ‘Don't say it’—and earlier you said helping a lady is knightly duty! She seems new here, so guiding her…”
Rapilta's face grew paler with every word.
“Rapilta?”
Perplexed by her reaction, Pol tilted his head at Alber. “Lord Alber?”
He too was speechless, mouth agape, eyes wide.
“What…?”
Rapilta and Alber stared at one spot.
Spears? But… three of them?
Strong for her slender frame? Pol's gaze traveled up the shafts.
And at the tips…
Corpses?
Burnt, melted bodies skewered like kebabs.
“……”
Pol's heart began to pound for an entirely different reason.