Count’s Territory (8)
Count’s Territory (8)
“Answer quickly. How long do you intend to keep your wife waiting?”
The Count could not keep up with the situation.
Where had the Apostle and the Witch gone? And why were a boy and a girl sitting here instead?
Had the reports been wrong? Impossible.
The cultists of the Hyungshin Society had all been paralyzed with fear.
The Cursed Scripture had also foretold the Apostle’s descent.
Though the record had not specified the exact place of his appearance, all circumstances pointed to the Apostle being summoned into the Dead Shadow.
Suppressing his agitation, the Count fixed his gaze calmly on Johan and Illea.
Even with his wife held hostage, he clung tightly to reason.
Desperate though he was, he betrayed no sign of panic.
True to his epithet as the Blue Demon, his heart was cold.
The Count spoke.
“Are you servants of the Apostle? I wish to speak directly with him.”
Johan let out an admiring chuckle.
“As expected, Cromwell. Even in this situation, you show little disturbance—or rather, you hide it well. Either way, impressive.”
In truth, the Count was wracked with dread. He longed to rush forward and tear them away from his wife.
But of course, he did not act on it.
Emotional actions always carried consequences.
He had to first discern their hand and their strength.
The Count was a seasoned negotiator and warrior.
He said,
“You seem to know of me, yet I know nothing of you. If you want a deal, should you not reveal your identity first?”
Johan nodded.
“A reasonable demand. Very well, I’ll reveal my name. Johan von Miyatro. You must have heard it plenty.”
The Count’s eyebrow twitched ever so slightly. He must have been deeply surprised.
Their connection ran deep.
The moment Johan appeared, the Count’s plan to swallow the baron’s house had collapsed.
Krill Miyatro’s suicide had robbed him of any justification.
And that was not all.
The knight Campbell, whom he had sent as envoy to the baron’s family, had suddenly betrayed the Count’s house.
He had heard the reason from Knight Myra, but it had been incomprehensible to him.
To the prattle of chivalry, now of all times. Nothing could explain that betrayal.
Both matters involving Johan were still shrouded in mystery.
The Count despised such unknowns—and so he had been wary of Johan himself.
Now Johan had appeared before him.
In a situation utterly beyond his control, the very person he most dreaded had shown up.
The Count forced down his unease and said,
“So you’re the bastard son of the Miyatro family?”
Johan smirked.
“Unbelievable? Then here’s proof.”
He pulled a slip of paper from his breast and tossed it over.
“…An invitation. Sent by me.”
The Count studied it closely.
The seal imprinted was indeed his family’s.
No trace of forgery.
Johan spoke.
“I’ve revealed myself. I am your guest. Now then, may I hear your answer?”
Earlier, Johan had given him two choices.
First, to follow his wife into death.
Second, to revive her and spend a lifetime together.
The Count had not yet replied.
He said,
“Forgive me, but I still know nothing of you. I must first hear your relationship to the Apostle. I need to know whether you truly hold authority over the Heavenly Womb—otherwise no deal can be made.”
Illea smiled softly.
“Sound reasoning. But that only applies between equals. Your wife’s fate lies in our hands. Let’s see if you can still speak so calmly when her destiny is decided.”
She suddenly unlocked the glass cover of the Heavenly Womb.
The skeleton lay exposed.
At the same time, a long icicle formed in the air, slowly falling.
Toward the Count’s wife.
He flinched.
“Don’t try anything foolish. You must want something out of this. If Eriyan is harmed, I will never speak another word to you. Stop at once.”
No reply came.
The icicle continued its descent toward the bones.
A crushing sense of futility engulfed him.
He had brought no mages or knights here.
Because of Belzarak, only he himself could enter this chamber.
Even Belzarak, his last hope, did not respond to his summons.
The Count was frozen, unable to act.
The icicle was about to pierce the skeleton.
He steadied his breath and said,
“I was reckless. Please, stop.”
The icicle halted with a snap. Its tip rested just against the bone.
Illea withdrew her mana.
The chill vanished like a mirage.
“Now, are you ready to talk?”
Johan cast her a sideways glance.
‘A Witch indeed.’
She had struck without hesitation at the Count’s weakness.
It was a reminder of her true nature.
Still, thanks to her, the Count’s spirit had been crushed.
Johan was pleased.
The Count said,
“…From this moment, I will treat you as envoys of the Apostle in our discussions. Will that do?”
Even now, he remains cautious.
Johan clicked his tongue in annoyance.
“Think what you like. Now let’s hear your choice.”
The Count answered without hesitation.
“Of course, the second. I want my wife restored.”
Johan’s face remained calm.
“Good. I shall grant your wish.”
“…You, not the Apostle?”
“Think of me as the Apostle if you like.”
The Count began to protest but let it go. Exhaling lightly, he asked,
“How will you bring her back?”
“By using the power of the Heavenly Womb. But I won’t turn her into a monstrous abomination.”
The Count’s eyebrow twitched.
“Do you not know? The Heavenly Womb cannot be used for personal matters. It isn’t just about ethics—it is an unspoken law, a Prohibition.”
The Heavenly Womb functioned only for a greater cause.
Love could never move it.
That was why the Count had resolved to corrupt it, to turn it into a horror.
Even if Eriyan returned as a demon instead of an angel, he did not care. To see her again was enough.
Johan said,
“I have a cause. That’s enough. I can make it work.”
“You, who serve the Apostle, claim a cause?”
“Cromwell, let’s set this straight. I am no servant of any Apostle.”
Johan’s expression turned grave.
The Count stared at him in puzzlement.
When their eyes met, a strange trust swelled inside him.
The Eyes of the Great Saint were at work.
“…Disconcerting words. You make me even more curious about your relation to the Apostle.”
“I share my will with the Thirteenth of the End. For now, think of it at that level.”
To all appearances, Johan was just a young boy.
That such a child could stand as an equal to an Apostle was beyond reason—but the Count felt a peculiar faith stirring within.
He asked,
“One last question. What are you to the Apostle?”
Johan clicked his tongue.
“You wouldn’t believe it even if I told you. See with your own eyes someday. That’s all I’ll say.”
For Johan was Mapheltan himself.
A hundred explanations would never match the truth of seeing.
The Count, surprisingly, accepted it calmly.
“Very well. Now back to the matter. Show me proof that you can truly move the Heavenly Womb.”
Johan sneered.
“I shouldn’t have spoken of a deal. Let me rephrase: this is extortion. From here on, you have no right to demand anything.”
The Count still sought to drag the talk into negotiation.
Johan had no intention of playing along.
The Count said,
“You’ve only offered the possibility of Eriyan’s return. I still need some grounds to believe you.”
Johan shook his head.
“Just hope I keep my word. Whether you have grounds or not, you have no choice.”
“Not wrong. But mark this: a bond built only on threats always shatters in the end. If you wield the whip, someday you must offer the carrot.”
Johan gave a dry laugh.
“Don’t worry. The carrot’s ready. Obey my demands, and Eriyan will be revived.”
The Count kept a composed face.
“Then what do you want from me?”
“Support the Miyatro family fully.”
Johan needed a political base.
No background was sturdier than the House of Staviana.
“Specifically?”
“The Order is investigating the south. First, make them withdraw.”
“A simple task.”
“And, nominate me for the Council.”
The Council—the kingdom’s highest decision-making body.
Membership meant great power.
The Count said,
“I can arrange that immediately. Is that all?”
“Of course not. One last goal. One day, I will separate the barony of Miyatro from the kingdom.”
Long ago, Miyatro’s domain had been a duchy.
Johan intended to restore its greatness.
“You mean to become a Grand Duke?”
Johan nodded.
“It’s still far in the future.”
The Count pondered, then spoke.
“I won’t say it’s impossible. But it will demand immense time and effort. And the Emperor’s sanction.”
The barony’s independence was not something the kingdom could decide.
The Emperor’s approval was required.
The Sacred Nation would surely interfere as well.
Even a Count could not sway empire and church alike.
Johan said,
“Do everything in your power. The day I become Grand Duke, Eriyan will be revived.”
The Count fell silent for a long time.
At last, he spoke.
“You know as well as I—Miyatro is a candle in the wind. The Order is about to launch a major investigation, and the baron’s family will not escape its reach. Soon, your ties to the Apostle will come to light.”
Nearly every recent event traced back to the south.
Unless the Order were fools, they would send investigators.
The barony would likely collapse.
Too much evidence of Mapheltan existed there.
Johan asked,
“What are you getting at?”
“Seems to me you’re in dire need of my strength.”
Indeed, without the Count’s aid, Johan would be in difficulty.
A shadow crossed Johan’s face.
“And so?”
“I propose a bargain.”
“I told you. Do not make demands of me.”
The Count shook his head.
“Our positions are equal. We both hold daggers at each other’s throats. If I die here, can you handle the Order?”
It would be exceedingly difficult.
Johan clicked his tongue.
“Cromwell, I’ve given you plenty of chances.”
He looked to Illea.
She gave him a look of pity.
“A sad thing indeed.”
At the same time, the icicle fell toward Eriyan’s skull.
Crackkkk—!
The cranium shattered into fragments. White dust scattered into the air.
The Count could not utter a word.
He simply froze in place.