Chapter 83
Chapter 83
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Translator: Ebonarch
Chapter: 83
Chapter Title: Eye of the Typhoon (2)
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The grand ball was in full swing at the Northern Imperial Palace.
There was one office reserved for the Prime Minister's use during his visits.
"You've arrived."
"Yes, Lord Aints..."
Larson, the young master of the Silver Dawn Club, shuffled in hesitantly.
A bandage wrapped around his neck, his face bore the marks of deep exhaustion and fatigue.
"So, what happened with that warden?"
"I got a cut right under his collarbone. The paralyzing poison should be spreading through him by now."
"Mm, good work, everyone. So, how skilled is he?"
"......"
Recalling the events in the garden sent chills racing across Larson's skin.
The confident, leisurely demeanor of the noble young master he'd shown moments ago had vanished completely.
It was the face of a reckless boy who feared nothing in the world, as if he'd just encountered a ghost.
His terrified pupils had shrunk to pinpricks.
"Honestly, he was even stronger than we expected. It felt like facing the Black Knights Order."
"That guy's skill is on the level of a Black Knight? You mean he mainly uses thrown weapons?"
"Yes. He took down over a dozen of us with just a single fork. He exploited the dark environment especially well."
"Hm. So he makes good use of darkness."
Aints nodded calmly, as if Derek being stronger than anticipated was entirely expected.
"We'll assign the arena a light marble floor. Even if he uses smoke or the like, his silhouette will show up clearly."
The Prime Minister scribbled out an order on paper to send to the relevant parties.
"Any other characteristics?"
"His level was higher than we thought. He looked like upper-tier Sword Expert at first glance, but his practical combat experience was on par with knight commanders."
The white-haired Prime Minister raised his monocle.
His gray eyes, murky as if mixed with every paint under the sun, pierced through Larson coldly.
"It's not just that you all got overwhelmingly beaten and felt that way, is it?"
"N-no, of course not! Even the elite knights among us who were former members agreed."
Aints paid no more attention to his words.
No matter how experienced, he wasn't a Swordmaster.
That level alone wouldn't let him survive the first match against a master from the Eastern Continent and Stillman.
"Hm, I see. You can go now."
Still, the Prime Minister handed him a checkbook for his troubles.
Larson bowed politely and closed the office door behind him.
"Did you hear that, Sophia? The poison took hold properly."
"That's welcome news."
From the reception room adjoining the office interior, a middle-aged woman sipping black tea leisurely replied.
"But couldn't our Stillman handle it on his own? Was the poison really necessary?"
"His Highness the Prince only finds satisfaction in getting exactly what he wants."
Unlike Calix, she placed great importance on honor and prestige.
She brimmed with confidence in a proper, fair match.
"I don't understand why someone with so many talents already would target a warden from some backwater prison."
"It seems the Holy See's intelligence is still lagging behind."
Aints rounded the corner and sat facing her in the reception room.
Unlike when he was with the Prince, he crossed his legs relaxedly.
"In your eyes, does Derek Minster really look like just some civil servant?"
"Controlling Anje does seem special. His arrogance at the hearing and absorbing the mafia forces did too."
Sophia set her teacup down with a clink.
Once a Holy Knights Order Captain, her eyes flashed sharply.
"But that's about it. Why would a noble prince bother absorbing a man with such a notorious reputation?"
"Notoriety isn't always bad. Honestly, by Eastern Continent standards, who else is as famous as Derek right now?"
The Prime Minister took a sip of whiskey instead of black tea.
He was a pragmatist who enjoyed liquor and cigars over refined tea.
"If word gets out that Prince Ivan snatched such a famous talent from Camillia, what do you think will happen?"
"It'll deal a massive blow to Camillia's prestige."
"Exactly. It could completely break the momentum of that haughty princess with her nose held high."
"I like the sound of that. Especially considering the damage Camillia inflicted on our church."
"The Holy See stands to gain big too. 'Judge Stillman overwhelmingly crushes the Empire's delinquent!' That news will spread far and wide."
The Archbishop accepted the glass.
It was tacit agreement.
"The Holy See must remember the favor I did you today. I even arranged for Tutton's eldest daughter to avoid facing you in the first round."
"We're deeply grateful for that. The Pope himself will express his thanks soon."
Sophia raised her glass filled with golden liquor.
"May this tournament bring great gains to us all."
"Of course. The victory will be ours."
The clear crystal glasses clinked together.
The toast of the power brokers rang crisply through the office.
Prime Minister Aints gazed leisurely at the majestic palace visible beyond the window.
"Sorry, Camillia."
The participant Derek, the warden, had been poisoned.
His bracket had been rigged to pit him against the strongest opponent.
Even his partner had been assigned the worst possible match.
And finally, the arena itself had been changed to a place where hiding in darkness would be impossible.
"Can't be helped, right? This world runs on dirty tricks anyway."
While卑劣 schemes festered darkly in the Imperial Palace...
Berryhill Prison was extraordinarily peaceful.
So peaceful, in fact, that a small banquet was unfolding behind the prison.
"What are you doing? Eat up, everyone."
The king of nobles, Grand Elder Dark, clad in a refined cardigan for the first time in ages.
Hands clasped behind his back, he addressed the men seated around the long dining table.
They were all officials involved in this Northern Supreme Sword Tournament.
"No appetites? I harvested all this myself."
"Ah... No, sir!! What are you all doing? Eat!"
The Northern Archduke's closest aide and chief steward bellowed, his mustache quivering.
At that, everyone hurriedly picked up their forks and knives in unison.
"Sorry to pull you all here from enjoying the party."
"It's fine. We're not the party type anyway."
The officials ate the freshly made pasta with awkward smiles.
It tasted good enough, and soon it was disappearing down their throats steadily.
"So, Elder, why did you summon us...? You've only replied by letter until now."
The mustachioed gentleman who seemed to be the lead official asked cautiously.
Wearing a black hat, he swallowed hard, enraptured at facing a legend of the political world.
"I was the one who first suggested expanding this tournament's scale. I have very high expectations."
"Haha... We'll do our utmost to meet them, Elder."
The mustached man shot a glance, and all bowed their heads.
Even the haughty nobles of the North were meek lambs before the Grand Elder.
"By the way, I noticed several tournament rules changed just one day before."
"Yes. We had to consider various factors."
Seated at the head of the long table, the Grand Elder elegantly stroked his cleanly shaven chin.
"Various factors. I see."
"I-is there something inconvenient about it?"
As the lead official asked again, Dark slowly shook his head.
Like in his prime, when he'd tear apart any displeasing politicians in an instant.
"No. So the arena suddenly being changed to favor the Holy Knights, and the team assignments rigged to overwhelmingly benefit one side..."
The Grand Elder's violet eyes gleamed murderously from beneath his golden hair.
Even in old age, his aura promised to devour these herbivores in one bite.
"...those are just among those various factors?"
Everyone froze, utensils mid-air.
The tension was so thick they might have vomited up the delicious food they'd just eaten.
"Tell me, Lukton. I'm asking you."
"Yes."
The lead gentleman squeezed his eyes shut and mustered his courage.
As if he had some faith that Dark would protect them.
"I see. Understood."
But.
It was a colossal miscalculation.
"Come to think of it, Lukton, didn't you recently transfer a considerable fortune to your wife's name?"
"......Pardon?"
"Land and gold bars too expensive for your salary, bought through Bakar merchants."
"H-how did you...?"
The Grand Elder overlooked them all from far higher than they'd imagined.
"And Cecilia, sitting next to Lukton?"
"Y-yes...!!"
"Your son's grades have improved dramatically lately. From 187th in his year to 5th."
He even knew intimate details about the sons and daughters of mere tournament officials.
Down to their grades and rankings.
"That academy's examiner recently changed carriages... I'm suddenly curious about the funding source."
The Grand Elder's fork pierced a plump tomato.
He lightly savored the pierced flesh and asked politely.
"Mind if I look into it personally?"
"......"
The banquet fell deathly silent.
Only the faint chirp of crickets could be heard.
The invited guests struggled to steady their trembling legs.
"Elder, why show us such... intense interest...?"
"I'm not particularly interested in what you do. Embezzling petty cash or pulling strings for your kids."
The political titan tapped his temple lightly.
"But the news came to me on its own. Even living out here in the deep countryside."
Hearing the Grand Elder, the officials realized in unison.
He still gripped this world tightly in his fist.
"Friends who brought the news asked my advice. What to do with you lot."
The Grand Elder admired the tomato on his fork like a work of art.
"I haven't replied yet. Guess it's time."
He set the tomato back on his plate.
And as he began to rise from his seat...
"S-sir...!! We'll fix it!! We'll correct everything!!"
The quick-witted lead official shouted desperately.
Soon, everyone rose and bowed deeply after him.
"What must we do? Please, tell us!"
"......"
The Grand Elder stood from his chair, hands behind his back.
"I told you. I have very high expectations for this tournament."
He turned his gaze solemnly toward the Northern Imperial Palace, where the warden resided.
"I hope it unfolds with maximum excitement."
He pulled a pre-prepared arena blueprint from his cardigan pocket.
Conditions favoring Black Knights and assassins.
"Handle it well."
While the Grand Elder met with the officials...
In the warden's office, two women were holding a secret meeting.
"Clea... Here's what we talked about before..."
The hooded woman handed over a glass vial with a tense expression.
"The alchemist said it's top quality, so it should be reliable..."
The red liquid sloshed lightly.
The vice warden's stern face reflected on the smooth glass surface.
"Mm, yes. Top-grade holy magic resistance potion."
"Y-you'll really let me go now, right?"
The hooded woman asked desperately.
A golden lion badge symbolizing an Imperial Secretary adorned her chest.
"Of course. Taking this potion makes me your accomplice too, doesn't it? Using anti-noble drugs will stay our secret."
"Really? Thank you so much!"
The blue-haired vice warden, who held dirt on her Imperial Secretary colleagues one by one.
Having secretly investigated the tournament thoroughly, she knew everything.
About how this match had been rigged to be extremely unfavorable for her boss.
"This is a bonus. One for you too."
The Imperial Secretary sighed in relief as her colleague handed her another potion.
A peculiar one mimicking Clea's blue eyes.
"What's this?"
"Well... It's great for men. Keeps them from tiring out at crucial moments, or so they say..."
The hooded woman grinned slyly.
Clea regarded her with disgust for a moment.
"I said I'd overlook it once. I never told you to use it on nobles again."
"S-sorry...!! I was just so grateful..."
The colleague startled and reached to take the potion back.
But at that moment...
"......?"
Clea gently grasped the blue vial again.
"I didn't say no. Stamina matters in the tournament."
A subtle spark lit the face of her usually expressionless colleague.
12 hours until the tournament.
As the warden danced and returned leisurely...
The world rushed onward busily.
No longer a knight commander, nor the Imperial Prime Minister, nor an assassin—just a mere prison warden.
Derek Minster returned home alone and lonely.