Chapter 110
Chapter 110
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 110
Chapter Title: Too Many Fallen Nobles 3
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“Argh, so violent. Creatures without the intelligence to resolve their emotions with words are truly pitiful.”
Scott grumbled while rubbing his nose after taking a hit from Ismael.
“Shut up. Unless you want another one. And I hit you because you were making moves on Midiam.”
“Moves? How could you possibly interpret that conversation as making moves? Don’t tell me your comprehension skills are that low? The stupidity of dullards never fails to exceed imagination.”
“…….”
“Let me explain it clearly. I was warning you not to harbor any sexual fantasies about me because of my intellectual charm and superior looks. For orcs, engaging in physical relations with an inferior race like yours is an unforgivable, horrific crime.”
-Clink...
Ismael couldn’t hold back and placed his hand on his sword hilt.
“Wait, what part of what I said is worth getting angry over? I was just teaching you something you didn’t know, and instead of being grateful... Oh, is that it? Inferiority complex? Goodness. I’ve never felt such an emotion, so I wouldn’t know.”
Scott panicked as Ismael grew furious.
“Enough. Let’s move. We don’t have time.”
Azadin began heading south first to avoid Count Lantarik’s forces.
“They’ll probably realize something’s up if the Cell Sword Guild mercenaries don’t return... Fortunately...”
Guillaumevald was so terrible in a fight that they wouldn’t think the Cell Sword Guild members failed to kill him. The words swirled in Azadin’s throat.
‘Even so, saying it outright would be rude.’
Fortunately, Guillaumevald wasn’t completely thoughtless.
“If this many mercenaries all came to kill me, they’d have no doubt they succeeded. If contact with the soldiers is cut off, they’ll assume it was some mishap or that I got lucky and escaped.”
“...Sorry.”
“Hm? Sorry about what?”
“No, it’s nothing.”
“More importantly, you seem to be the leader of this group, which is unusual. Not Paladin Sir Zivec, but you? What exactly are you people?”
“We’re treasure hunters, you could say.”
“Treasure hunters?”
“We’re looking for the count’s memoirs.”
“My father’s memoirs? Why?”
“Because they contain clues to the location of the treasure we’re after.”
“So you’ll help me?”
“Yeah. To get into Count Lantarik’s mansion or castle, we need a pretext, right? Better to enter through the front gate with the legitimate heir’s help and search properly than to sneak over the walls, dodging guards. Even then, thoroughly ransacking the study will take time—how else would we get the info under cover of night?”
Extracting the needed information from the count’s memoirs or stacks of letters would be incredibly difficult. They desperately needed the help of the clerk Brand, who had done it before, but right now Brand was once again lost to madness, transformed into the Brass Knight.
“How far is it to Lantarik from here?”
Midiam asked.
“If we hurry, four days. But...”
Zivec said, furrowing his brow.
“I don’t think we’ll get there unscathed.”
“It’s fine. That’s why we left the letter, right?”
Azadin shrugged.
“Come to think of it, you left a letter with the bodies? What did it say?”
“Save that pleasure for later. Let’s go.”
*********
Count Lantarik’s retainers were in a bind.
Everyone knew that Count Lantarik favored his youngest son, Prince Adler, over his eldest as successor. That’s why they had Guillaumevald trained by paladins, ready to send him off to a monastery at any moment to tidy up the succession.
But the paladins training Guillaumevald were troubled.
‘You lack talent.’
‘Even in the Paladin Order, you couldn’t perform missions.’
Nobles inheriting the blood of the Yaegas divine race were at least stronger than common peasants, no matter how untalented. While peasants toiled in fields, they could eat meals prepared by others and focus on training and education.
And not every paladin was a master swordsman. They only required the bare minimum in swordsmanship or combat ability, and some lived their entire lives as priests or paladins without ever taking field missions.
Even so...
Even so, the paladins refused to take him as a squire knight, deeming him incompetent.
‘Is he doing this on purpose?’
The retainers suspected Guillaumevald knew his fate and was deliberately playing the fool to delay his exile. But those suspicions soon faded...
Because Guillaumevald was just too unimpressive-looking. His horse-like long face and slightly crossed eyes couldn’t be called handsome, even politely.
And his every action was lacking, so everyone concluded he wasn’t acting—he was genuinely incompetent.
“But... why no word?”
The retainers had entrusted Guillaumevald’s disposal to the Cell Sword Guild.
Monsters appeared and killed Sir Guillaumevald.
That was the plan for the report, but the Cell Sword Guild scouts who left in the morning hadn’t returned by nightfall.
“Let’s send an investigation team at dawn.”
They wasted the day guarding the fortress.
*********
The next morning, the scouts found the Cell Sword Guild members’ corpses in the reed fields.
“Wh-what is this?!”
“What happened?!”
The retainers surveyed the scene. It looked like ambushing archers had shot arrows, followed by swords and blunt weapons finishing them off completely.
With no other bodies besides the Cell Sword Guild’s, it must have been a one-sided slaughter.
“An ambush? Assassination? Who?!”
“Monsters that attacked the count?”
“Or the herald clan approaching the count?”
“Arrows, so...”
As the retainers speculated, one spotted something.
“Wait! This body’s clutching a letter!”
“A letter?”
“Let’s see. Oh?”
They noticed mud shaped into a seal ring pressed atop the letter. Though mud instead of wax, they recognized it as Guillaumevald’s ring.
The letter read:
‘The capable hawk hides its talons. Since I deceived you first, I fully understand your disloyalty. But I am the one to rule Lantarik and Adirop; how can I govern justly without strict rewards and punishments? Thus, I beseech you: do not stain your honor with open rebellion. Minor disloyalty will be forgiven based on future conduct.’
“!!!!”
The retainers who read the letter were stunned.
“N-no way!”
“Sir Guillaumevald?”
“My god.”
They passed the letter around in confusion.
So Guillaumevald had been hiding his skills all this time, thoroughly playing the fool?
With Count Lantarik missing, he’d shed his idiot mask and begun showing his true power? To launch a real succession battle?
“No way. How could that have been an act?”
“He has no money, no men?”
“But hiding that might have been the point, right? He could’ve secretly gathered men and funds without us knowing!”
“What do we do? Signal Adler with beacons or flags?”
“No, then he’d know we’re telling Adler!”
Beacon fires or flag signals were relayed through fortresses along the imperial highway. Anyone could see them.
If they lit beacons or raised flags here, Guillaumevald would learn of it, and wouldn’t that look like open rebellion?
“If Sir Guillaumevald really hid his abilities and becomes count, won’t he punish us for signaling with flags or beacons?”
“We’re already traitors. Only if Prince Adler becomes count can we survive!”
“But the letter says he’ll forgive us.”
“He says that now! What if he wipes us out after becoming count? We’d have handed him the sword and be left begging for mercy!”
“But we don’t know his capabilities. If we try to take him out now and fail, what then? Betraying someone who promised forgiveness would land us in hell.”
The retainers debated how to save themselves.
In the end, they agreed not to risk beacons or flags that Guillaumevald might spot, but to send a separate courier to warn Adler.
“Too scared of that horse to even use flag signals, sending a rider instead.”
Count Lantarik had long viewed the Salasma earldom as an enemy, preparing for war by building fortresses and flag stations between Salasma and Lantarik for a signal system.
It stung that they couldn’t use this proud, resource-intensive flag signal network.
*********
“Good. It’s working.”
Azadin noted no beacons or flags rising and realized the letter he’d made Guillaumevald leave was bearing fruit.
“Maybe they just haven’t found the bodies yet?”
“No way. With the mercenaries not returning, they’d send scouts, and they couldn’t miss twenty corpses.”
Azadin’s group had considered cleaning up traces and fleeing, but disposing of twenty bodies wasn’t easy. So Azadin had bought time by planting the letter on the corpses.
“Just a little hesitation, and we achieve our goal. The problem is...”
Azadin glanced at Brand’s condition. Brand was excitedly chatting with Guillaumevald.
“If you become count, Sir Guillaumevald, will you take me as a retainer?”
“Ah, yes. If I do.”
“Wow. Then at my age, I become a knight. An appointed one, sure, but a real knight—fulfilling the dream I had as a kid. I’m deeply moved.”
“Haha...”
Guillaumevald looked awkward. If what Brand said was true, he saw Count Lantarik as an archenemy, and that rage and hatred extended to Guillaumevald too.
Even knowing Guillaumevald was the unloved discard son, that fury had reignited his madness.
Plus, his age wasn’t young anymore. Inheriting an appointed knighthood brought little gain, yet his joy suggested it was meaningful in itself.
It drove home that the man before him wasn’t the clerk Brand he knew, but truly Sir Brand, the Brass Knight.
‘To turn him into this... Father and his agents did such things.’