WeTried Translations

Translator/Editor: Hydrogen B

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Chapter 85: 14. The King's Silence (3)

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* * *

Soft pattering came from bare white feet pacing across the velvet carpet.

Elphihara had shut herself away in her quarters, circling restlessly as she chewed at her lip. Hours had passed, yet no matter how hard she racked her brain, she could not find a solution.

"That... rutting beast...! I was going to take him in myself if he only waited a little longer...!!"

It could only be blamed on the hot blood unique to short-lived races.

Creatures with brief lives, such as mice, rabbits, and humans, only had to look away for a moment before they started pairing off and breeding.

Look at dragons, phoenixes, and elves instead. They welcomed one mate into their lives, spent long years together, slowly cherished each other's minds, and bore the fruits of love!

The expression "growing old together for a hundred years" was merely human wordplay. To an elf, a love that lasted only a hundred years was no more than a momentary fling.

And yet Ivan Petrovich was about to miss the chance to take an elf as his mate because of the impatience unique to short-lived races!

How foolish....

Elphihara sighed in distress.

"Still... Lord Petrovich doesn't have much of a lifespan left. Of course he'd want to find a mate and have descendants as soon as possible. I wasn't being understanding enough...!"

If he waited two and a half years, they could go to Kallion together. Kallion had many ways to cure humanity's congenital defects.

Humanity's congenital defects, in this case, referred to their short thoughts and short lifespans. Since a longer lifespan naturally led to deeper thought, it was fortunate that only one treatment was necessary.

Elphihara dropped onto the sofa and sank into thought.

"I can't let him win."

If he won, he would marry the princess!

Among ordinary humans, marrying royalty would undoubtedly be an immense rise in status, so Lord Petrovich had made a bold choice.

But no. He was choosing the wrong path. Marrying an elf was beyond comparison with marrying a human royal...

"This isn't the time for that."

Elphihara was a rational elf, so she forcibly stopped herself from sinking back into anger and regret. What she needed now was a cool assessment of the situation and a solution.

If she made even the slightest mistake, she might not be able to save Ivan.

"How do I stop him from winning?"

Should she support a noble capable of defeating Ivan?

But what if Ivan was seriously injured...? A horse with an injured leg lived a shorter life than it should. Humans could not be any different. Short-lived races could die from even minor injuries!

"Should I ask the homeland for help?"

Wait. This might be a good idea.

"The tournament starts in five days... and tournaments like this never end quickly."

Ordinary jousting tournaments held by knights often lasted a full week because they doubled as festivals.

A tournament hosted by the royal family, with marriage to a princess as the prize for victory, could hardly end in a single day.

In that case... there was enough time for Kallion to send reinforcements. If they traveled at high speed aboard an air warship, they could arrive within a week!

"If I request support, and the reinforcements arrive immediately... I only need to win the tournament for the first two days."

Tournaments involving jousts or duels did not require participants to compete more than once a day. The participants were nobles, not gladiators.

It was partly to preserve each participant's condition, but such events also functioned as social gatherings. A tournament participant only had to fight once a day, twice at the most.

"I can do this. I'm a genius. The genius mage Beolgreen's daughter... Elphihara Grikenkos!"

Calmly stating an indisputable fact, Elphihara steeled herself.

In an instant, she arranged her mana and activated an emergency communications crystal. It was a remote-channeling artifact that linked illusion-type spells in both directions, a miraculous creation beyond the dreams of humans who still used telegraphs.

Soon, the crystal rippled, and a low voice rang out.

-What is it?

"Father!!"

-Yes, my daughter. I'm listening.

As though she had forgotten every bit of noble etiquette and rhetoric, Elphihara shouted.

"Please send Lady Coenwulf to Pritchenkaya at once!"

-...?? Did you eat something strange this morning? Ah, is it evening there now? Was there something wrong with dinner? Or mana poisoning?

"Ugh... no, that's not it...."

Elphihara brushed aside her father's affectionate mockery and did her best to explain the situation. Not the whole truth, but the elf's rational version of it.

1. The princess is hosting a noble duel with her marriage at stake.

2. Whoever wins this duel can form a marriage alliance with the princess.

3. Therefore, Kallion must use this situation to its advantage.

4. This duel has no nationality restrictions. Naturally, this information had only been quietly circulated among the nobles within Pritchenkaya. There had been no need to explicitly state restrictions on foreign nationals.

5. Therefore, if one of our Privy Council members wins, we can establish a union kingdom of Kallion and Krasilov!

The logic she had devised in such a short time was flawless. Elphihara looked down at the crystal with a confident smile.

Of course, the crystal only transmitted sound. Unable to see her smile, Beolgreen let out a deep sigh.

-My daughter is more interested in international affairs than the studies she's supposed to be doing. Your father is truly reassured.

"Fatherrr...!!"

-Yes, I understand. It is a reasonable argument. But it seems you've left something out. What is it?

"Pardon?"

-You would not ask me for a favor, and especially not dare ask me to dispatch Lady Coenwulf, for such a reason alone. What is it? Who do you want to interfere with in this tournament?

That was insight worthy of an elf. If his daughter suddenly asked for something, then something lurking beneath that request must be her true goal.

Elves did not directly say what they truly wanted. This was Kallion-style noble etiquette.

"Um... Lord Ivan Petrovich is entering... entering the tournament."

-Ah, Little Ivan. Hmmmm.... Mm. Well, Elizaveta was interested in Ivan. Then this is... oh... that child has been thinking rather cleverly.

"What? Thinking?"

-This so-called marriage duel is really the princess's little game. Fine. You do not need to concern yourself with it.

Beolgreen muttered something to himself in amusement, then spoke to Elphihara.

-Very well. It would not do for our Ivan to be tied down in one place yet. I will send Lady Coenwulf. But it will take a full week. Did you not say the duel starts in five days?

"Ah, I can handle about two days! I'll submit an application under Lady Coenwulf's name first!"

-Hm. And you do know that Lady Edelplat Coenwulf is a woman, yes? That is not a particularly suitable gender for the princess's mate.

"Love knows no gender, race, or national borders!"

-It does... though. Fine. What does that matter? If Ivan is entering the tournament, Lady Coenwulf will take an interest anyway.

The crystal communication ended. Elphihara clenched her fist tightly and trembled.

Elves did not practice swordsmanship. They considered it vulgar to sweat while rushing into close combat.

And as mentioned before, if an elf carried a sword, it meant that despite such customs, they had achieved greatness through swordsmanship.

Elves were long-lived, and when they devoted an entire lifetime to a single art, they could attain a level beyond every known race. Their available time existed on an entirely different scale.

Lady Coenwulf was the strongest among those elves who carried swords. In other words, she was the strongest swordswoman in Kallion.

Strong enough to teach swordsmanship to the Hero.

* * *

The next day, after finishing her morning classes, Isabelle headed out to the campus square with Yuri as usual. It was the best part of the day, lunchtime.

It was not as though she were some factory worker eagerly awaiting lunch. It was because the old man came out with a packed lunch.

Most men could not cook. No, most chefs in this era were men. Still, Ivan's packed lunches were usually made from ingredients in their original state. In other words, he poured some sauce over vegetables and called it a salad.

This was the time when she taught him food from her homeland. Isabelle was confident in her cooking, and that confidence had generally been proven through good results.

Even if the old man only gave reactions that could be summarized as, "Tasty," "Mm," or, "Greasy," no matter what she fed him....

'I told him to come see me as soon as he got out of the hospital...!'

She had waited patiently at home after hearing he had been discharged, but he never came. In the end, she had to throw away all the stew she had made that day.

Adults who broke promises were bad adults, and bad adults needed to be punished.

Isabelle chuckled wickedly as she stepped onto campus.

Then she spotted Aesidis alone, kicking at the ground.

"Huh? Esi, where's the old man?"

"Uncle is, um... busy today, maybe? He wasn't around your department either?"

"Uh... I didn't see him at the Knight Department."

Well, he must be busy. It was normal for him to be busy, really.

Isabelle accepted that. He would have to be busy enough that he could not even come to see her.

Apparently, there was something important enough for him to resist the temptation of kimchi stew.

At least he had not stood her up. Isabelle grinned and took out her lunchbox.

"It's nice not having to eat that weird salad today!"

"Y-Yeah."

Aesidis nodded as she chewed.

* * *

The next day, and the day after that.

Ivan could not be found anywhere at Saint Yansk University.

"Does this make any sense?!"

A person who had seemed to appear everywhere whenever she turned her head had suddenly vanished without a trace?

As Isabelle fumed, Aesidis gnawed at her thumbnail. It seemed Ivan's disappearance had caused a nutritional deficiency, since he had been responsible for her balanced diet.

"Did he... did he go stalk someone again...?"

Isabelle became intensely curious about what that meant, but chose not to ask. She knew better than to seriously react to the ramblings of someone with a weakened mind and body.

Wisely, Isabelle sought out Mord, who had been driven out of the orphanage after the King of Droan destroyed it, hoping he could resolve the situation.

"Do you know where Uncle Ivan went?"

"How would I know that?"

"Well, lately, he always rushed to the orphanage after classes...."

"Ahem... hem."

A Droan man doing volunteer work was rather embarrassing, so Mord cleared his throat before speaking.

"I was wondering about that myself. I need to ask when the construction on that blasted orphanage will finally be finished. Yes, I know someone who might know."

Mord headed somewhere across campus with confident strides.

Toward a man occupying a bench in one corner of the grounds, with a newspaper covering his face.

"Get up."

"A Counterintelligence Command agent does not sleep. He merely rests."

"Quit talking nonsense and get up. Isn't this dereliction of duty?"

"Is that something a spy from an allied nation should be saying?"

Pavel crumpled the newspaper covering his face and sat up, rubbing his eyes.

He looked over Mord, Aesidis, and Isabelle, who had surrounded him, then sighed.

"How does our captain do this every day.... It's seriously such a pain."

Assigned to protect the children of the Hero Party in Ivan's absence, Pavel stood and wiped the dried drool from the corner of his mouth.

He was an intelligence agent who had personally carried out terrorist operations in central Pritchenkaya. Therefore, he knew every weakness in Pritchenkaya's intelligence apparatus.

Now that he had returned to the Counterintelligence Command, no human agent could cause trouble in this city. They would inevitably be caught in his intelligence network.

So this was only a way to pass the time. If something urgent came up, he could still respond without being too late.

Pavel scratched his forehead and asked.

"What is it? Keep it short. I'm working."

"Sure you are.... Where's that bastard Ivan Petrovich?"

"Our captain? Uh... why?"

Isabelle stepped forward and shouted.

"Ever since he kicked me out last time, saying it was a state secret, the old man has been missing!"

"That's because he's carrying out official duties right now."

"For three days? Without going home? Isn't that exploitation? Doesn't this country have rules about working hours?"

"What? Tilles has that? I want to become a citizen of Tilles."

"Whoa."

For reference, Tilles did have statutory working hours. Sadly, the law did not apply to serfs, tenant farmers, or other commoners.

But Krasilov did not even have that. Why would anyone let a person rest when they were capable of working? Was that not a waste of labor?

"Well, want to go see? I was curious too."

"What?! We can go see? This isn't another state secret or something, right?"

"Of course it's classified. It is classified, but... does it matter? What could you do even if you knew?"

"What? Then... what is the old man doing right now?"

Pavel grinned.

"Training."

* * *

"Next."

Ivan bowed his head, blindfolded, and whispered in a low voice.

Even in a room swallowed by darkness, a superhuman's senses could detect the faintest echo of light. It was a measure to heighten his senses to their limit.

Soon, he sensed his next opponent entering his range.

The unavoidable sounds a person made while moving. Joints rubbing together, muscles tightening, a heartbeat, sweat running down a cheek and falling to the floor.

Nervous. One hundred eighty-seven centimeters tall. Judging by the sound of the lead foot, somewhere between eighty and a hundred kilograms. A well-trained build.

The right foot landed more heavily. Right-handed. They would be carrying a heavy weapon.

What was the weapon's length? What kind was it?

He would find out.

-Tsk.

Ivan clicked his tongue softly.

Tsk, tsk, tsk.

Into the darkness, toward an unseen opponent, toward someone panting with tension.

The opponent must have entered with a darkvision spell active. Yet even with sight, they hesitated to approach Ivan, who was little different from a blind man.

The tiny clicks of his tongue echoed through the room, letting him gauge the shapes and distances of the objects around him.

Hearing turned into sight through the echoes of the space. Slowly, he formed an image of the room in his mind.

Ignoring the dozen or so men collapsed at his feet, panting, he noted the weapons they had dropped and the spaces around them, then turned his attention once more to the opponent before him.

Tsk, tsk, tsk.

Low, like a venomous snake coiling itself and whispering.

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Footnotes:

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