The Value of a Decoy
In a quiet room within the Knight Order barracks, Filgret sat in a chair that looked far too uncomfortable for an injured man, writing something down. A clean bandage was wrapped tightly around his wounded flank. Seeing me enter, he hastily tried to stand, but I raised a hand to keep him seated.
"It seems your 'eight-to-two' estimate was nothing but modesty."
Filgret had predicted an eight-to-two advantage, but the actual match had been an absolute slaughter. Those who had argued that Wilter Grave was his equal—or even his superior—must be thoroughly eating their words by now.
"No, that is not the case, Your Highness. Had Wilter fought with absolute, unwavering resolve yesterday, the outcome might have been different. I simply did not expect him to flee in such a manner."
"Hmm, is that so?"
Lacking any formal training in swordsmanship, I couldn't tell if his words were genuine or merely humble. Still, since courage itself is a form of strength, Filgret's overwhelming victory remained an indisputable fact. I took a seat opposite him.
"In any case... it was a magnificent performance. Thanks to you, Sir Filgret, a major problem is about to be cleanly resolved."
"You flatter me, Your Highness. I am merely glad to have been of service."
"Is there anything you desire? As a princess, I will grant whatever is within my power."
Filgret seemed to ponder for a moment. Given the magnitude of his achievement, I was prepared to give him whatever he wanted—be it gold, a legendary sword, or even women. However, the request that slipped past his lips was entirely unexpected.
"If so... would you tell me who it is you are truly fighting against, Princess Sera?"
Filgret's expression was graver than I had ever seen it.
"Why do you wish to know that?"
"Is it not only natural for a knight to wish to know where his blade must be aimed?"
Even without my telling him, Filgret likely had a fair suspicion already. He surely knew that my primary adversary was Queen Carmel. His decision to ask me directly was probably a quest for a token of trust—or perhaps he simply required absolute certainty.
The loyalty and prowess Filgret had demonstrated at the Festival of the Sword more than earned him that trust. In truth, I could have told him much sooner. But a delicate dilemma had held me back. Carmel and I were not in a simple, straightforward rivalry. While she might still view me as an enemy to be overthrown, I wanted this twisted relationship of ours to continue indefinitely. I had hesitated, unsure of how to convey that subtle nuance to him. It wasn't as if I could openly confess to my loyal knight that I harbored a deep, insatiable lust for my stepmother.
Yet, I had just promised to grant any request within my power. It would be dishonorable to break my word to a knight who had literally bled for my sake. Steeling my resolve, I spoke.
"Very well. As you have likely guessed, the one I am locked in a shadow war with is none other than Carmel."
Not a single flicker of surprise crossed his face. Filgret merely nodded, as if simply confirming a hypothesis he had already proven.
"I see. Understood. Thank you for telling me, Your Highness."
"Wait. I am not finished. While Carmel is undoubtedly my enemy, I do not wish for her complete ruin. You must keep that in mind."
"May I ask why?"
"Carmel is a decoy."
"A decoy?"
"Yes. You mentioned it yourself before, didn't you? The nobility of this kingdom holds far too much power. The moment a catalyst like Carmel appeared, those nobles immediately began to move to satisfy their own greed."
Filgret listened with rapt attention. What he desired was a powerful monarch who could command absolute authority over the nobility. A justification like this would be exactly what he needed to hear.
"I intend to use Carmel to root out the corrupt nobility of this kingdom. She is indeed my enemy, but her own ambition makes her the perfect tool to flush out those of her ilk. Carmel has value—a value that is absolutely indispensable to me."
"Ah... I see. To drag out the nobles who hide like foxes in their dens... I am deeply impressed, Your Highness."
Phew. It seemed I had successfully smoothed things over. Filgret gazed at me with profound respect, thoroughly moved by my explanation. It appeared my excuse aligned perfectly with his personal ideals.
Well, it wasn't entirely a lie. I fully intended to purge every single noble who had conspired with Carmel to torment Princess Sera in the original novel whenever the opportunity arose. And it was also undeniably true that Carmel held immense value to me. Her breathtaking beauty, her haughty temperament, and above all, her incredibly voluptuous, sensual body—those were the very values I sought to possess in this world.
Yet, a sudden thought crossed my mind. Filgret Ostana. Would this fiercely loyal knight remain devoted to me if he knew the full extent of my desires? The twisted craving of a woman wanting to claim her father's wife—her own stepmother—as her personal plaything. Depending on one's moral compass, such a depraved urge might be viewed as far more scandalous than any of Carmel's political tyrannies.
Perhaps that brilliant swordsmanship I witnessed yesterday might one day be aimed at my own throat...
Masking that bitter thought behind a bright, serene smile, I rose from my seat.
"I shall take my leave now. Rest well and recover quickly, Filgret."
"Yes, Your Highness."
I gestured for him to remain seated once more as he tried to rise, then walked toward the door. At that moment, Filgret's voice called out to me.
Even after leaving the barracks, I still had places to be. Before the shockwaves of the Festival of the Sword could fade, there was one final matter I had to settle.
The Grave estate welcomed me calmly, almost as if they had been expecting my arrival. Guided into the drawing room, I sat face-to-face with the heavily lined countenance of Alen Grave.
"This is the second time I have had the honor of seeing your face up close, following yesterday, Princess Sera."
His expression was entirely unreadable. Perhaps the intense emotion he had displayed yesterday was a rare anomaly for a man like Alen.
"I assume you know why I have come, General Alen."
According to the reports I received earlier, Wilter Grave had failed to show up for duty with the Direct Division today. An unexcused absence. It was safe to assume that his pride, along with any thoughts of marriage, had been utterly shredded. A coddled prodigy who had never tasted defeat had been publicly humiliated on the grandest stage imaginable. The higher one flies, the harder the fall.
Alen closed his eyes tightly, a look of sheer exhaustion washing over his face.
"Yes. I am well aware. You have come to officially nullify the marriage proposal and to hold Wilter accountable for his actions."
To the royal family, the Direct Division played a role just as vital as the Royal Guard. Although the vice-commander had stepped in as acting captain today to keep operations running smoothly, Wilter's dereliction of duty could not simply be overlooked.
"And how is Wilter faring, if I may ask?"
"He merely stares blankly into space in his room, as if his soul has left his body. I have tried roaring at him, even throwing him onto the training grounds, but nothing works..."
A deep shadow fell over Alen's weathered face. In that brief moment, he looked less like a stern general of the kingdom and more like a weary, defeated father.
"How tragic. In truth, though my stepmother pushed for it aggressively, I was always hesitant about this match. Under the circumstances, I would appreciate it if we considered the matter entirely forgotten."
"Yes. We always knew it was an honor far beyond our station. We shall abide by your wishes, Princess."
Everything was proceeding exactly as planned. Given Wilter's current state and his disgraceful display yesterday, this was the only logical outcome.
"Very well. That leaves the matter of the Direct Division... I assume we must conclude that Wilter is currently unfit to fulfill his duties as commander?"
"Regrettably, yes."
"I understand. In that case, I have no choice but to recommend to my father that Wilter Grave be dismissed from his post. May I assume... that the Grave family now owes a significant debt to the royal court?"
Alen Grave did not dare to sigh. He drew in a deep, heavy breath, fully accepting the gravity of the offense committed by his own flesh and blood, and answered with calm, resolute clarity.
"Yes. The Grave family shall repay this failure with our very lives."
How solemn. I offered Alen a gentle, reassuring smile.
"The Rustier royal family has always relied on the unwavering loyalty of House Grave. I do not believe a minor tremor like this could ever sever the bond between us. My father, the King, undoubtedly shares this sentiment."
"I am deeply, truly grateful for your benevolence, Princess..."
Alen bowed his head low. I couldn't help but feel a twinge of pity for the old man, suffering so much simply because of his foolish son. It was rather ironic for someone like me to think such a thing, though.
Escorted by Alen, I departed the Grave estate. Settling the matter with them had gone far smoother than anticipated. Had Alen Grave been more stubborn, it would have dragged on. Thanks to his cooperation, I still had plenty of time left in my day.
I was currently in the eastern district of Lurie. The brothel where Rika was being kept was not very far from here.
The mental brand left by the Hypnotic Incense was not easily broken. Even so, it was vital to periodically monitor her condition and etch the conditioning even deeper into her mind.
I ordered the coachman to change our destination. The carriage turned, rattling along the cobblestones toward a small, secluded brothel just outside the eastern gates of Lurie.