30 Years Have Passed Since the Prologue - Chapter 148

WeTried Translations x Flame Comics

Translator/Editor: Hydrogen B

Chapter 148: Waiting for Winter (2)

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* * *

The grand audience chamber of the Palais de Royale was in chaos.

No, calling it chaos would have been too generous. It was a ridiculous farce.

A handful of royalists and the factions of each count were scattered throughout the chamber, keeping up their hollow performance.

“Your Majesty! An urgent report has arrived. Count Grandmartel has crossed the border of Saint Matilene!”

“We must open the gates! Count Grandmartel stands only with righteous people trying to protect this country’s royal family. Opposing them would be foolish!”

“You wretch! Will you shut that mouth of yours?! Look at what those so-called righteous people are doing! The grain is withering in the fields during harvest season! Your Majesty, punish those traitors!”

“House Vermonfort has begun raising an army. Your Majesty, you must head to Perbonne! Saint Matilene cannot withstand the traitors’ forces!”

The king looked over his ministers with dry eyes.

More than half of them wanted to drag him from the throne.

The moment the Defender Duke had left his post, the rebellion had begun moving like clockwork. Not one person among them stood on his side.

Not even his worthless sons.

“Your Majesty, from what this son has observed, Count Grandmartel is a loyal subject without equal. His troops exist only to weather this country’s turmoil...”

“What kind of madness is that?! Your Majesty! Give the order, and I shall personally head to Perbonne with Count Vermonfort’s forces to defend Saint Matilene!”

Open the gates and welcome the traitors.

No, invite traitors from other regions instead.

No. Wait for the Defender Duke.

Better yet, flee abroad, then march back with foreign armies.

The royal court was filled with countless cries from people who all wished to kill this country.

The king pressed his brow.

Alone in that noisy court, he sat in quiet solitude.

The scepter in his hand felt so light.

His royal authority had been built by killing righteous men, executing patriots, and slaughtering loyal subjects.

He had cut down brothers and sold his niece, all to preserve this country’s royal authority.

Without it, the country would have ended. A king’s strength did not itself symbolize a nation. Yet if the royal family’s authority fell among these snake-like nobles, this country could never continue as a single state.

Too much had been lost in the war against the demonfolk.

The moment the nation’s strength hit rock bottom, every noble who had successfully preserved their own power became the king’s rival.

It was an inescapable trap.

Obeur III, Tilles’s old king, raised a hand wrinkled by age. At last, the ministers fell silent.

This was the only authority he still possessed.

The sight of his subjects’ eyes pained him. Their greed was plain to see, not for the king’s safety, but for the wartime maxims they could carry to the next generation of rulers.

Not even a handful of loyal subjects remained at his side.

The old king had endured a long war and kept his throne. He had once been called Tilles’s Lion King.

Now, this old man did not have even a shred of will left to resist.

“If we fight them, can we hold out?”

“Your Majesty! Count Grandmartel is not a traitor...”

“Enough. Tell me, who would extend a hand if we asked for reinforcements? Krasilov has only recently emerged from internal strife. Kallion lies beyond a distant sea, and Droan is farther still.”

The same was true of every nation called a great power of the Allied Kingdoms.

The alliance could not save Tilles right now. Much less Tilles’s own forces.

Half of them were in Count Grandmartel’s grip, and the other half were scattered throughout the country. Even if he issued a summons, they could not reach the capital before the traitors.

What, then, could they do?

How could they stop the dagger already racing toward their throat?

The old king lamented.

So this country truly ends here.

Was this country one that would collapse the moment the Defender Duke was gone? Had none of his many subjects seen it coming?

Or had they seen it and chosen to support those men anyway?

What had he struggled for all his life?

Had it all been for the sake of hollow royal authority?

“Your Majesty. The Duke of Etakrikh’s son requests an audience.”

“How dare he! Does he know where he is?!”

“Does that brat think he has become his own father?!”

It was an outrageous thing to say in the royal court. The agitated nobles rose from their seats and began condemning the duke’s absence.

Before the king’s lament could continue, bang.

The thick doors of the audience chamber burst open.

“How dare you!”

“Are you declaring rebellion? This is the royal court!”

“I know.”

-Step. Step.

Oscar walked along the audience chamber’s long carpet. As his presence slowly unfolded, the nobles shrank back.

It was clearly the presence of someone who had reached the realm of superhumans.

A presence capable of strangling someone with killing intent alone.

There were others in the chamber who had reached that realm. Yet no one dared step forward before Oscar.

Having lost the initiative, the nobles hesitated before sitting back down.

“Your Majesty, Initiate Knight of the Eastern Knights, Oscar de Etakrikh, stands before you.”

-Shing.

A sword slowly slid free.

Under the mana lamps of the audience chamber, the blade burned white.

Everyone there knew what that sword was.

The sword of the Duke of Etakrikh. The symbol of military authority, the sacred relic of the Eastern Knights.

And the fact that it was here meant...

“Has the Defender Duke... fallen in battle?”

At the king’s groan, uproar broke out among the nobles.

The despairing cries of the royalists and the joyful screams of the House of Nobles echoed through the chamber.

Amid that noise, Oscar quietly lowered his head.

“Give your command. Gilles Ver’s son is not standing here. Etakrikh stands here with its sword in hand.”

“Can you bear this burden?”

“If it is a duty no one can bear, yet someone must fulfill...”

Oscar raised his head and looked at the old king.

Amid the uproar, the two shared a quiet silence.

Oscar spoke with gravity.

“Etakrikh must always stand at the forefront.”

“I grant it. From this moment onward, fulfill your duty as Defender Duke.”

“I receive Your Majesty’s command.”

Oscar rose with the sword in hand.

His cold eyes swept over the nobles. He walked toward the noble at the very front, whose veins bulged as he shouted.

“Do you dare believe you have become your own father?!”

“No.”

-Shing.

He raised his sword and stepped forward.

“There is only one Etakrikh standing here.”

-Slice.

The noble’s head flew limply through the air. It spun before staining the royal court’s carpet red.

As the shocked nobles began retreating, Oscar spoke with his sword still in hand.

“From this moment on, the Capital Corps will protect your sovereign.”

“We obey!”

Soldiers rushed through the open doors of the audience chamber.

Nearly half of the Capital Defense Force Gilles Ver had left behind still remained in this city.

The royal court became a slaughterhouse.

Every noble who had joined the factions of the Three Counts lived or died at Oscar’s gesture.

In the audience chamber strewn with blood and corpses, Oscar quietly knelt again.

“From this moment on, I shall devote myself wholly to protecting Your Majesty.”

That was what the position of Defender Duke meant.

It was a post where only death brought freedom from duty.

And one Etakrikh still lived in this place.

Before his death, Tilles would not fall.

The old king reached out and seized the sword of a guard officer. Staggering to his feet, he walked to stand before Oscar.

Shing. Cold steel touched Oscar’s shoulders.

Without a word, the king tapped both of Oscar’s shoulders, then held the sword above his head.

A moment later, the king returned to his throne with unsteady steps and collapsed into it.

“At least one loyal subject remains. Now I can die a king.”

* * *

“All right, all right. It’s not as if we already know the day we’ll die. Everyone, raise your heads.”

At Eugene’s words, the group raised their heads.

They all looked exhausted.

They had ridden for three straight days, returned to the capital, taken action at the royal court, seized military authority, and only now finished confirming the composition of their forces.

They had killed most of the high nobles who managed conscription and military affairs, so the administrative vacuum was devastating. After returning from checking the troops with the remaining officer-class military officials, collapsing from exhaustion was only natural.

Still, this was only the beginning.

The enemy would arrive within two days.

Saint Matilene was the largest city in the country. Even if they merely deployed soldiers along the walls, four thousand would not be enough to cover them all.

“What do we do? At this rate, we might as well open the gates if they come and knock.”

“Wouldn’t it be better to take whatever we can from the royal family and leave together?”

“It’s too early to give up. My brother is still alive.”

“...What changes just because that old man shows up?”

“He hasn’t given us any instructions yet.”

Eugene spoke with certainty in his eyes.

“If there really had been nothing we could do, he wouldn’t have sent us here alone without saying anything. As long as my brother is alive, there must be a way. We should assume he hasn’t responded because there is one.”

“Unless he suddenly descends from the sky leading an army...”

“The Lord did not mention my brother’s plan in particular.”

Eugene’s Status Window still showed Ivan as alive.

So it was not time to give up.

If Ivan was alive, and if he had not told them to retreat or flee from this situation, that meant there was another way.

Until they learned what that way was, they should focus only on holding out.

That was Eugene’s opinion.

“But how? Once the siege begins, we can’t hold out at all.”

“We abandon the outer city.”

Oscar, who had listened silently to Eugene, spoke bluntly.

“Are you insane? You want to fight in the streets?”

“We take every civilian who has not yet evacuated into the inner city, then abandon the outer city and the surrounding capital district. If we deploy along the outer walls, we can hold out for about a day.”

If the area they had to defend was reduced, four thousand people could cover the entire wall.

But with their supply capacity already worn down, they could not sustain a long battle.

They could not feed all those civilians and endure for days on end.

“Let’s use Ivan’s method.”

“What?”

“Isn’t that what we learned over summer vacation? Infiltration, survival, and...”

Assassination.

At Oscar’s words, Isabelle fell silent.

If one considered it more coldly, the Hero Party was not the kind of group that commanded wars and brought victory.

Strictly speaking, they were closer to a decapitation unit. An infiltration force that cut off the heads of the Demon King and the Seven Dragon Generals.

They were assassins.

So Oscar had no intention of taking military authority and leading them to victory.

That was aside from whether anyone capable of doing so even existed.

The enemy outnumbered them by more than eight to one. Their supply routes were entirely in enemy hands, and time would not turn the tide in their favor.

Yet if they could personally cut off Count Grandmartel’s head, it was not impossible to win.

The enemy was like the demonfolk army from those days. The lords gathered under his command were united only by Grandmartel’s authority.

“If we begin defending the inner city, they will certainly try to control all of Saint Matilene. Not destroy it.”

Grandmartel did not wish to destroy this country like the demonfolk had.

If what he wanted was the throne, he would want a whole prize, not a kingship over ruins.

So they would fight in the streets.

“Will he really come in? Without thinking it’s a trap?”

“Would he think we have the strength to set a trap? He’ll assume it’s a final desperate struggle. And...”

They had sent him a gift.

The severed heads of the nobles from the House of Nobles who had supported the Grand Counts, along with a personal letter bearing the seal of the Duke of Etakrikh.

He would not be able to give up the honor of personally defeating a member of the Hero Party and claiming the throne.

“Hoo... Fine. Even if we defend the city, we can hold out for a day at most. In that time, somehow... We’ll find a way.”

“If you don’t wish to, you may wait here.”

“After coming this far?”

“Miss Isabelle aside, this is not a matter concerning the rest of your homelands. You have no reason to risk your lives.”

“We do have a reason.”

Aesidis smiled as she wound her hair around her fingers.

“We’re all in the same party.”

* * *

“Saint Matilene...”

Etouan de Grandmartel sat atop a pure white horse and looked down at the great city spread beneath the hill.

Though it was late at night, lines of refugees fleeing the city dotted the plains in the distance.

“Is this the will of the Tilles royal family?”

The chief attendant prostrated themself before Etouan, opened a large chest, then lowered their head and stepped back.

The chest was filled with severed heads.

He knew every one of them.

All the nobles he had planted in the House of Nobles over many years had been sent back as corpses.

As administrative nobles, each had been a promising administrator for the country’s future.

Etouan felt a trace of regret, then gave a short laugh.

[Victory Without Surrender]

[Duke of Etakrikh]

The note attached to the chest was simple.

One sentence written in a forceful hand, and the seal of the Duke of Etakrikh.

Gilles Ver must have died in the Vernini Mountains, so this is his son’s work. He has some nerve.

“Your Highness, please give the order to advance.”

“No, we cannot do that.”

Etouan crumpled Oscar’s note in his fist, then raised his head.

With the sprawling city directly before him, he smiled coldly.

“Would it do to steal victory under cover of night? Tend to the soldiers and make sure they eat well. Not for battle, but for a triumphal entry. At daybreak, we march and take the crown from the old king.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

Etouan turned his eyes from the departing attendant and climbed higher up the hill.

Tilles was now in his grasp.

* * *

At that moment.

“Where does your loyalty lie?”

Count Guillaume looked up at the pale blue eyes staring down at them, terror written across their face.

The moment Count Guillaume opened their mouth to beg for mercy, a finger touched their lips.

“No. I won’t listen. You’ve already proven enough through your actions.”

“W-What do you...”

-Bang!

A shell casing rang out as it rolled across the floor.

Ivan holstered the smoking pistol at his waist, then turned around. Amid the noisy camp, he gripped the dead Count Guillaume’s head tightly and began walking.

“Please get at least some sleep. How many days has it been already?”

Ivan glanced at Baron Noar, who had approached and asked quietly, then gave a short answer.

“Eight days, nineteen hours, twenty-three minutes.”

A trained agent had to be able to judge the time accurately at all times.

At Ivan’s answer, Noar opened and closed his mouth once, then turned away.

“You may be fine, but the soldiers are in poor condition. The losses have been too severe.”

“Gather up the survivors. Only those who can move will follow.”

“There won’t even be sixty people. Even if we choose only knights.”

“Send home anyone among the remaining troops who cannot continue fighting.”

Ivan fastened Guillaume’s head to the saddle and mounted his horse.

Blank-faced, he looked at the sky and got his bearings. He ran through the map in his mind and checked the terrain.

It felt as though someone had pressed a red-hot iron into one corner of his brain.