WeTried Translations

Translator/Editor: Hydrogen B

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Chapter 93: 14. The King's Silence (11)

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The tournament was not a festival for the people. Strictly speaking, it was an evolved form of a social gathering for nobles.

Every participant was a noble. It was a venue to display that they remained in good health and strength, and its purpose was royal marriage. In other words, it was about infusing new blood into the royal bloodline.

For that reason, throughout the five days of the tournament, every great noble in Pritchenkaya opened their private coffers and held banquets every day.

"Oh, Lord. Your duel yesterday was truly magnificent!"

"You flatter me, Your Excellency. How could my modest skill compare to your son's? Please accept my congratulations in advance."

"Ha ha ha, you're too kind! Even if my son has a little talent, what of it? Is it not all because he has cultivated a loyal heart beneath His Highness's grace?"

"That is exactly right. Ha ha!"

As drunken great nobles and their heirs exchanged empty praise while silently competing to see how their factions would divide after the winner married the Princess, the host of the banquet, Duke Sheletif, was one of the most displeased men there.

"Have they still not arrived?"

"No, Your Excellency."

The attendant lowered their head. Duke Sheletif clenched his fist out of sight and swallowed his anger.

Even if people considered him the least of the Three Dukes, he was still a duke. One of the most honored nobles in the nation, and now its wealthiest noble.

Unlike the other dukes, who commanded the military forces along each border, his territory of Yelyabinsk stretched across southeastern Krasilov. It had not been directly exposed to the previous war, and it was a vital crossroads for the ocean trade coming from Tilles.

The immense wealth it brought him, the authority of a central noble, his unmatched position in Pritchenkaya's noble society.

Both duelists from today's match had ignored all of that and refused to attend his banquet. It was an insult.

"The elf is one thing, but is that lowborn wretch truly so badly injured?"

"I heard Her Highness the Princess personally requested that he be cared for, but it is difficult to obtain information when the order comes directly from Her Highness."

"Tch. Paranoid woman."

The relationship between the Counterintelligence Command and the Princess had grown cold, but she still commanded the finest intelligence organization in Pritchenkaya.

Stealing information from a place she oversaw personally was nearly impossible. That was what irritated Duke Sheletif enough to click his tongue.

"The priest refused, and he did not even respond to the invitation..."

"What should we do with today's preparations?"

"Leave them as they are. Make sure our 'guests' are compensated generously."

"Yes, Your Excellency."

The attendant bowed deeply and withdrew. The duke tapped the table as he sank into thought.

'If that man's injuries are worse than expected...'

Then there was no problem. But if he was only recuperating from overexertion, fatigue, or a minor wound...

He had to be dealt with today. There were two days left before the final. If the man recovered by then, there would be no way to stop him from winning.

Could his foolish son, or that other foolish noble he was meant to face, possibly fight Coenwulf as Ivan had?

No. They could not. No matter how generously he judged them, the skill needed to force Coenwulf into such a struggle was real.

That lowborn wretch had to die today.

But how?

He could not forcibly break into the hospital guarded by the Princess. Attempting an assassination carelessly would be no different from provoking a lion that had finally grown quiet.

He had to remember this. No matter how much the Princess's authority had fallen due to her recent mistakes, and no matter how her personal forces had slowly begun to abandon her...

Elizaveta Kirillovna Krasilov, Iron-Blooded Liza, was a beast who had imprisoned her own father and driven out her brother's forces overnight.

This extreme situation, where she had put herself up as the prize, was an opportunity that would never come again. He could not provoke her recklessly. In battles between nobles, justification mattered more than force or execution.

"Your Excellency! Your Excellency!"

An attendant rushed toward the brooding duke.

"What is it?"

"H-He has arrived!"

"Who?"

"Lord Yermof. He has just arrived before the estate!"

"Alone? He came alone?"

"Yes? Yes! It seems there were no companions..."

"Ha!"

The duke set down his glass and laughed loudly.

So the man protected within the Princess's embrace had come alone to a banquet held by the Crown Prince faction.

This was why lowborn men with mercenary origins should never be valued, Your Highness.

The duke smiled coldly.

"How could a hunting dog resist the smell of meat? The hungrier they are, the greedier they become."

There were fools who believed the poor and weak to be righteous. They were wrong. The hungrier someone was, the more fiercely and viciously they chased prey.

One should never have expected loyalty from the third son of a northern mercenary noble, a wandering mercenary with no inheritance rights. The success or failure of a plan was decided not by its sophistication, but by whether the people carrying it out could be trusted.

The Princess should have bought one of the Crown Prince faction's young nobles instead. Not a wandering knight who strutted about because he trusted his own abilities.

"Show him in. I will welcome him personally."

When her treasured hunting dog left to wag its tail at another house and only its head came back, what expression would the Princess make?

If she married a noble after losing even her final justification, the rights of the royal bloodline would never smile upon Krasilov again.

* * *

Ivan had not panicked when Edelplat Coenwulf's tournament registration was confirmed. He was a trained agent.

A trained agent did not panic when an emergency arose during an operation. Confusion was the first step toward poor judgment.

So Ivan changed the objective of the operation. This would have to become a somewhat bold, yet delicate diversionary operation.

"Welcome! I was terribly worried when no reply came. Are you well? Did you not collapse in the stadium?"

"I am as usual."

Ivan looked calmly at the duke, who welcomed him with his arms spread wide.

The duke gave his body a quick once-over, then burst into hearty laughter and patted him on the shoulder.

"Truly a man of Krasilov. You are so sturdy beneath that helmet, yet you never once showed your face to us. I was deeply disappointed."

"I see."

"..."

Edelplat Coenwulf would certainly advance to the final. No matter how the bracket was arranged, he could not avoid facing her.

If she lost, that would be an even greater variable. It would mean there was someone powerful enough to defeat her whom he had failed to identify.

Ivan had already assumed he would face Adel. Not that he would win, but that they would duel.

"Come now, let us go inside. Everyone will be greatly surprised. Today's star has arrived! Your struggle was truly a great honor for our nation!"

"Yes."

Then when would it be most sensible to face Adel?

The final four, the semifinals. Whether he won or lost, it would be best to clash with her there.

If he faced Adel in the final, the operation's objective, gathering and defeating the anti-Princess nobles, would become difficult to achieve.

But if the bracket placed them against one another in the semifinals...

'The anti-Princess nobles will naturally gather in the other semifinal.'

Whether he defeated Adel or lost to her, the opposing side would certainly approach Ivan.

The more spectacular and fierce the battle was, the more likely they would be to try. They would either attempt to recruit him, now that his value had risen, or assassinate him. In the eyes of the nobles, he was clearly a knight of the Princess's faction.

It did not matter even if Adel won the tournament. Edelplat Coenwulf could never marry the Princess. Every member of the House of Nobles would foam at the mouth, and the other nations of the Allied Kingdoms would surely oppose it as well.

A blood alliance between Kallion and Krasilov carried that much weight. If the landlocked bear and the ruler of the seas joined hands, becoming the strongest nation in the Allied Kingdoms would be easy.

'If I arrange the bracket so Adel and I meet in the semifinals, then on the other side...'

Duke Sheletif's son and Count Yelchinopov would advance. The two great nobles with the most influence among the surviving Crown Prince faction would both need to marry the Princess to gain new political power.

If Adel won, one of those two would demand marriage to the Princess.

If Adel lost, the two would attempt to eliminate Ivan, who had advanced to the final.

It did not matter which happened. He only needed the moment when those two great nobles, once rivals, joined hands.

That was why the duel with Adel had only been a step in the process. The outcome did not matter.

All that mattered was that Ivan still had enough strength left to move afterward.

And now Ivan had walked here on his own two feet. That alone was enough.

"I will take your coat, Lord Yermof."

"Hm."

Ivan removed his coat and handed it to the attendant, along with the longsword slung across his waist.

Duke Sheletif quickly examined Ivan's light attire. The inspection device in the reception room remained silent. The man was completely disarmed.

The duke smiled quickly and shook his head.

"I hope you understand, Lord. One cannot help an old man's worries."

"I do not mind."

The attendant respectfully opened the doors leading to the banquet hall.

A lavish salon worthy of a great noble unfolded before him.

The furniture had been made with extravagant amounts of marble. Red velvet curtains embroidered with gold thread hung around the room, while the enormous chandelier was adorned with intricate golden and pearl snowflake designs.

Ivan did not recognize anything among the drinks and refreshments carried about by the attendants. Wine from Tilles and every sort of finger food circulated busily through the hall.

"I am truly honored to have this opportunity to introduce him. The star of today's tournament has arrived! Everyone, praise the victor!"

"Whoaaaa!"

Applause echoed through the banquet hall. The orchestra politely paused its performance the instant the duke spoke.

Ivan slowly swept his gaze across Pritchenkaya's great nobles, wrapped in expensive dresses and suits.

The duke beside him smiled warmly and patted his shoulder.

"Was the potion this old man sent of any help?"

"Yes."

"That is good. It was not an easy item to obtain."

Of course it was not.

The potion had likely been mixed with some kind of undetectable drug. It was a careful preparation, but the duke did not know one thing.

Ivan never personally drank healing potions. He would rather endure the injury.

"Ah, this is Count Yelchinopov. Have you heard the name? He is meant to be your next opponent in the final."

"You flatter me, Your Excellency. Is Lord Boris not a knight even I would struggle to handle?"

"My son may have one small talent, but how could he stand against you? Let me congratulate you in advance. Ha ha!"

Count Yelchinopov smiled warmly and held out his hand. Ivan expressionlessly took it.

Beneath firm muscles, powerful mana pulsed.

"I watched your valor with great admiration. There is one thing I am curious about... You are Viscount Yermof's son?"

"Yes."

"I heard the viscount's son had only just passed twenty, but you are older than I expected, Lord."

Count Yelchinopov tightened his grip as he asked.

"Who are you?"

"Count Yelchinopov, what rudeness is this?"

"Why bother with manners after coming this far, Your Excellency? We waited until this hour because of this one lowborn wretch."

Yelchinopov gave a cold smile and flicked his fingers.

About half the seated nobles rose. The musicians set down their instruments, while the attendants slowly retreated to the walls and drew the curtains.

"Let us stop with the useless formalities. Those are not for lowborn people, are they?"

"You are impatient."

"Is it not already rather absurd that I am smiling and sharing drinks with Your Excellency here?"

At Yelchinopov's words, Duke Sheletif sighed as though he found the man pathetic and stepped back.

Purple lines of mana began spreading across the floor around Ivan. When he looked up, mages on the second-floor terrace were weaving spells.

Beneath the chandelier, attendants drew weapons. Their blades glinted blue beneath its light.

Most of the nobles who had participated in the tournament were already armed. Count Yelchinopov before him also gripped a longsword handed to him by an attendant.

"I will crush that man's face! My son suffered at his hands!"

A large middle-aged man seated in the distance shouted roughly. What was his name again? Ah. Count Turgenev.

He must have been one of the opponents Ivan had defeated in the tournament. Good.

Ivan slowly shifted his gaze. Each face among the nobles brought forth their name and faction. He had memorized every detail about the targets.

Nearly every noble he had marked as a target was here.

Most of the great nobles from the Crown Prince faction who had attached themselves to the House of Nobles were here.

"Are you frightened? You have gone silent. Hm?"

Normally, it would be impossible to deal with the nobles one by one.

Nobles were not fools. The moment they realized they were slowly being purged, civil war would break out.

But now the great nobles had gathered so conveniently in one place.

And they had even secured the justification of attempting to assassinate a man expected to advance to the final of a royal tournament.

"Should you not be kneeling and begging us even now? Can you not think that far? What did the Princess give you? Did that whore spread her legs for you? Hm?"

No one here thought Ivan would leave alive. They laughed even as they openly spoke insults against the royal family.

As Ivan remained silent, the nobles' words grew harsher. The Princess who had slept with a lowborn man. The ruin of Krasilov's thousand-year legacy. The Princess's favored lover.

"I will keep the place beside Her Highness the Princess nice and warm in your stead, so do not worry. Close your eyes peacefully."

Count Yelchinopov released Ivan's hand with a cold smile.

He slowly raised the hand gripping his sword and waved it as though showing it off. He too was skilled enough to reach the final.

Assessing an opponent's condition was a basic principle. Ivan clearly was not in normal condition. His mana had been overloaded so badly that not even a trace remained.

And if he had also consumed Duke Sheletif's poison, this much preparation might even be excessive.

"Five targets. Second-floor terrace."

"What?"

Ivan slowly raised a hand and pressed behind his earlobe.

-Targets confirmed.

"Remove the light sources."

-Executing.

-Bang!!

A gunshot rang out. Any superhuman would have recognized the overlapping report of dozens of shots fired at the same moment.

The curtains billowed violently with the gunfire. Every light illuminating the salon shattered at once.

Groans followed. Those with sharp hearing would have known they came from the second-floor terrace.

Feeling the magic circle writhing beneath his feet break apart, Ivan held out his hand.

-Whoosh!!

With line-of-fire detection, he caught the object flying toward him.

At the same time, Count Yelchinopov's sword fell toward his head. Like a superhuman, he had not been flustered by the gunfire and had swiftly attacked Ivan before him.

-Clang!!

Sparks flew. Ivan spun the axe caught in his hand, redirected the sword, and stepped forward.

Movement stirred in the darkness.

"What is this? Guards! Guards!!"

The duke's estate was guarded like a fortress by forces he had raised himself. Even if an army charged in, it would have been impossible not to detect the attack beforehand.

Duke Sheletif staggered in the darkness and looked around.

-Click.

Through windows shattered by bullets and torn curtains came the sound of a heavy mass of metal scraping.

Ivan raised his axe toward Duke Sheletif, who fumbled in confusion, and Count Yelchinopov, who gritted his teeth and raised his sword.

"Where does your loyalty lie?"

At the same time, between the salon's broken windows,

on the terrace railings,

behind the seated nobles, and among the armed attendants,

agents of the Counterintelligence Command emerged, weapons aimed.

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Footnotes:

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