Even a Scoundrel Gets Tired

128 – Within the Royal Castle…

Meanwhile, the still-splendid banquet continued in the royal castle.

The people there were

thoroughly intoxicated by the scene.

Some, by the beautiful and

ancient atmosphere of the banquet.

Others, by the rich and potent

wine and the glistening food.

Still others, by…

In this dreamlike place,

where meetings unfold,

each person, for their own reason,

is becoming utterly drunk with the atmosphere.

Except for one soul amongst them,

who remained untouched by the wine’s sway.

“Hahaha, so I’m saying, you see…”

“Ho-ho… did it truly happen as such?”

“Of course, it’s only natural, that… Your… Your Majesty?!”

“Haha, why such consternation?”

It was Siegfried Pravel,

the host of this revelry,

the man who sat upon the Imperial throne.

“Y-Your Majesty, what brings you here…”

“Well… I simply wished to listen

to your tales. There’s no other reason.”

“Is…is that truly so?”

“Indeed, you were telling them quite well.”

“Y-You flatter me!”

Lest there be any room for misunderstanding,

Siegfried did not, by any means, dislike banquets.

Quite the opposite, he rather enjoyed them.

The reason he was not swept away

by the festive mood

was simply because his every thought was consumed elsewhere.

‘Baron Jubreau… contrary to rumors, a man of considerable vanity.’

“Haha… Your Majesty, the food is exquisitely delicious.”

“Is it? I am glad to hear

it pleases your palate.”

“Haha…! It possesses a flavor

one would surely seek out again later.”

‘…Hmm, and somewhat prone to gushing.’

He was currently moving about the banquet hall,

approaching the barons and counts one by one,

his reason being that he wished to cultivate a network

for someone.

For the boy he himself had ennobled,

the one who might one day succeed Reindel.

‘The dukes would be adequate as well, though…’

“It’s always best to build things up, step by step.”

Introducing someone too grand

from the very beginning,

it’s all too easy to be dismissed.

Well, how many dare belittle a child

that *he* himself has vouched for?

But all backstabbing happens behind closed doors, after all.

“Haha, well, you two enjoy your conversation. I’m afraid I have matters to attend to…”

“Ah…al-already…”

“Hmm? Is something the matter?

Is there something more you wished to say?”

“Ah…no, nothing! May you have a peaceful evening.”

“Yes, you as well.”

Zubur Vizier, laughing away, oblivious

to the scarlet mark already against his name in the Emperor’s mind.

How often will he be granted an audience

with the Emperor from now on, I wonder?

‘Well, none of my concern, I suppose.’

Coolly dismissing it,

the Emperor sets out to find someone else.

Over there, Duke Reüniel was engaged

in light banter with several noble ladies,

and on the opposite side, there was the loathsome Reinhardt

and his throng of sycophants.

And near the tables,

laden with food,

stood the proprietor

of the Empire’s most esteemed trading house.

Duke Iris, meticulously examining the offered delicacies.

Likely assessing their commercial value.

The constant readjustment of his spectacles

certainly suggests as much.

And amongst all those mustaches, there,

as always, should be Duke Charlotte…

Gone?

“…Leindel.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“Do you know where Duke Charlotte has gone?”

“If it’s the Duke Charlotte you’re asking about,

the report is that he left the Royal Palace just a short while ago…”

“….”

“…Is something the matter, Your Majesty?”

He left the Royal Palace.

So suddenly?

And a Duke, no less, would abandon

his place at the banquet before its end.

At least, the man I know

would never do such a thing.

He abhorred even the smallest bit of gossip, so

he would never, ever

act in this way.

…Something’s amiss?

“Reindel, what did you say he was wearing?”

For a moment, a sinister

image flashed through my mind, but

I forced myself to calm down, assuring myself that it couldn’t be.

Of all the Dukes,

he was the one most reasonable to speak with.

On the surface, he was the most gentle of them all.

But, how many truly know

what he is really like?

That those gentle hands

are stained with all sorts of blood,

and that those benevolent eyes

are a performance of astonishing skill.

Do they know?

‘…They couldn’t possibly know.’

“Your Majesty, confirmation of the Duke’s attire has arrived.”

“Yes, what was it?”

“…It is.”

“…I hope my suspicions are wrong.

Speak quickly.”

“He was… wearing black clothing and a

cloak.”

Oh, dear.

This is the worst possible scenario.

He always had a habit of wearing black clothes

whenever he killed someone.

So the blood splattering on his person

would go unnoticed.

And whenever that happened,

there was always some kind of uproar.

Like a mass of corpses turning up in the streets.

Or a notorious

noble house vanishing

overnight.

Or a slave caravan being

utterly destroyed, things of that nature,

incidents even the Imperial Court found difficult to resolve.

We cannot bear to see

his black attire.

“…What troubles are brewing this time?”

“….”

“Has anyone heard where he’s

headed, or his destination?”

“Alas, no, I regret to say…”

“Then at least, who accompanies him? Are there any companions?”

“….”

“Speak, Reindel!”

After a long hesitation,

Lord Reindel’s lips parted.

As if he truly, desperately, wished to avoid saying this.

“He… took the hounds with him, sir.”

“Wh… what?!”

The Hounds.

The blades forged by the Charlotte family.

Raised solely for combat,

their fighting prowess is unmatched.

The skill of a single Hound is

slightly superior to that of a typical knight commander.

Duke Charlotte…

Is he not enough on his own?

Who could the target be?

“Hah… did he impart anything else?”

“No, that is all.”

“…Tch, I don’t know what’s what… but still.”

Looks like today’s going to be quite busy.

“There must be matters aplenty to resolve.”

*

Meanwhile, at that very hour,

the nobles still clinked glasses,

chattering and laughing jovially.

Standing aloof in the midst of them, though,

was Duke Reinhardt, who seemed, somehow,

profoundly displeased.

“He doesn’t appear to be enjoying himself, does he?”

“I’d say not. You’d be lucky to find your bones if you spoke to him now.”

“..Why did that whelp have to say such things,

and make such a mess of it all?!”

His followers’ conjecture was spot on.

It was true that Duke Reinhardt was,

at present, most decidedly out of sorts.

Where before he would have maintained

an impassive mask, that expression now

was unmistakably contorted,

enough that anyone could discern it.

‘..The audacity! To dare utter such insolence to me..!’

Just now, the Duke was replaying

the earlier scene in his mind.

Struggling to contain

a rage ready to burst forth.

Instead of being overwhelmed with gratitude

at his proposal,

his son, knowing his place not at all, had refused it point-blank,

a reaction he could neither

comprehend, nor contain his anger at.

It was only natural that the deficient should be culled.

And yet, he’d graciously considered

welcoming the boy back, seeing his growth with pride,

only to have the wretch narrow his eyes and glare back at him.

The boy, congenitally and circumstantially,

was far inferior to him in every way.

‘..Even so, there is clearly still use for him…yes, for now at least.’

“Lord Reinhardt.”

Forcing himself to contemplate the advantages

he would reap when that boy returned to the family,

he wearily ran a hand across his face,

Someone calls his name.

Surely, they must know he is in

a foul mood.

“…If you have something to say, be quick about it.”

Annoying, to be sure,

but impossible to simply brush aside.

After all, this nameless fellow was also a noble, and

even as a Duke, he couldn’t

commit an outrage against a noble without just cause;

it would stain his family’s honor.

“Um…it might be presumptuous to say…”

“Too much preamble. To the point.”

“Lady Charlotte wished for me to deliver a message.”

“…She did? To me?”

For a moment, his brow furrowed once more.

An entirely unexpected

figure had entered the stage.

If it had been the Emperor, with whom he’d

just had a disagreement,

it would have been somewhat understandable.

“Are you certain it was her?”

“Y-Yes…yes, indeed…”

“…Curious.

Let’s hear it, then.”

He brought the glass in his hand,

filled with liquor, to his lips,

and took a mouthful, holding it there.

In his current state,

he felt he couldn’t bear it all

without the drink.

“It’s…it’s…”

“…Speaking quickly will be beneficial to your well-being.”

As if interrupting his already simmering irritation wasn’t enough,

the man continued to

stammer endlessly before him.

His patience truly began to fray.

“She…she said to tell the Reinhardt Dukedom she apologizes in advance!!”

“…Hm?”

In an instant, it vanished.

The anger that had filled him moments before.

The problem, perhaps, resided in the scale of the emotion,

matched only by the creeping tendrils of doubt.

“What… was… that noise?”

“H…hiiik…”

“Speak clearly, one more time.”

“I… I truly know nothing… only that this message… must be delivered…”

Duke Charlotte.

There likely wasn’t a noble who

remained unaware of the man he was.

And rightly so.

I had witnessed him myself, just once.

The manner in which he

executed and concluded his orders.

That scene remained seared into my memory.

Truly, his fingertips harbored

not a sliver of mercy,

and I, since that moment, had begun to

extend no leniency of my own.

‘But… for him, *he*, to offer an apology beforehand… to *me*?’

A primal chill raced up the back of my neck.

As though, subconsciously, I had grasped something essential.

My heart hammered a frantic alarm,

gooseflesh prickled my skin,

and this sensation, this creeping cold

that slowly crawled across my entire being…

I knew it. I had, without a doubt, felt it before.