Chapter 5 - A Clash of Opinion
Grinahae Antgadull viewed his position as an Imperial marquis serving the Earthworld Empire as completely involuntary.
My father was pathetic… He played up his role as the wise man, forgetting his pride as a king and giving up his own throne!
Grinahae was a direct descendent of the royal family, destined to be king. And yet, his predecessor—the former king of Antgadull—had offered vassalage to the Empire and consigned his line to the humiliating rank of marquis.
And what has that brought us? The Empire stole half our land. The allied nations see us as traitors. The Imperial nobility snub us as newcomers. This is a titular role with no say in Imperial politics.
These were the seeds his father had sown. And Grinahae was left cleaning up this absurd mess—Grinahae, the person who should by all rights have been in line to be the next King of Antgadull.
If he’d stayed in the alliance and crushed the Empire, Antgadull would have made even greater strides under my rule.
This was Grinahae’s ongoing pet theory.
—But children tend not to understand their parent’s intentions.
King Antgadull had seen through the fact that his child lacked the wisdom required of a ruler. And that with the fall of the Empire, the Eastern continent would fall into an era of rivaling warlords, and Antgadull would inevitably end with his son’s reign.
In truth, Grinahae wasn’t doing a stellar job of running the country, even though he’d been left to rule only half of the area his predecessors had administered. The lands had fallen to ruin, and the hearts of his people grew more and more distant.
That was why King Antgadull had betrayed the alliance and sided with the Empire. He’d brought an end to the Kingdom of Antgadull and allowed it to become a sullied name in the continent’s history—all so his son would stand a fighting chance.
After his nation became a vassal to the Empire, the king had made sure they stayed out of Imperial politics. He’d known his son would be eaten alive if the boy ever poked his head into the palace’s den of thieves, so he took measures to keep him at a far distance.
But Grinahae took no notice. Which wasn’t surprising. If he’d been the type of person to come to this realization on his own, King Antgadull wouldn’t have made any of those decisions in the first place.
Then, earlier that summer, an opportunity fell in his lap.
“Lord Grinahae, I have welcome tidings for you…” a man named Owl had said.
They’d been first introduced to each other by a vassal. He’d had initially claimed to be a merchant, but after repeated meetings, he revealed himself to hail from a ruined nation, too. Owl told him the former alliance had been talking about rising up against the Empire once again.
Grinahae had immediately jumped on board. The Kingdom of Antgadull could be restored in its former glory, and then, everything would be right for once. It’d be his time to shine. He believed this with utmost sincerity.
And then he’d declared his support for one of the Imperial Princes as advised by Owl without question. He began to gather weapons under the pretense of preparing for civil war. Though Antgadull’s influence in the Gairan State had taken a big hit in the past, it still ran strong. He gathered more and more weapons and soldiers. Everything was going well—or so it seemed.
But this was where his bad habits reared their ugly heads.
—Is this really gonna work out?
Grinahae was said to be a man who had inherited his father’s looks and ambitions but none of his courage or resourcefulness. These days, he made no attempt to hide his criticisms of his predecessor, but when his father was alive, he didn’t once object to any of his opinions. Antgadull the younger was a coward.
That meant there was no way he’d be able to join this overzealous plan and keep a level head. In his bouts of anxiety, Grinahae had constantly demanded that Owl tell him the details and probability of success, trying to ease his racing mind. But Owl always sidestepped his inquiries, citing the need for absolute secrecy. This had made Grinahae even more nervous, heightening his suspicions.
He wanted some sort of guarantee—a card up his sleeve that he could use to defend himself should anything happen. It was only natural Grinahae would think that way. It was part of his disposition.
When the news came that Imperial Princess Lowellmina would be visiting the neighboring country of Natra, he couldn’t have asked for better timing. She held a claim to the throne; her retinue was scant; Natra had just battled Marden practically the other day; their soldiers had to be exhausted. The princess would be in his possession by midwinter, and the heavy snow would frustrate the advance of responding Imperial troops. Once spring came, their rebellion would begin.
It was a perfect setup. He could have called it divine will.
Since he had been preparing for the revolt, he could dispatch soldiers immediately. All that was left was to set out for Natra under his command.
But all of his activities ground to a halt—when a letter from Natra wound up in his hands.
In a room of his mansion, Grinahae was glaring at the person across from him and made no attempt to hide his scowl.
“As per your request, here are the names of those participating in our plan, my lord…”
Sitting across the table from him with a reverent expression was his acquaintance Owl. Grinahae had no idea if that was his real name or not, not that he particularly cared. It was more important that this man was his connection to the uprising.
“As you can see, each person on this list is worthy of standing by your side. I leave this with you only because I have utmost faith in your wisdom and insight. To accomplish our goal, we all must observe caution and discipline. I ask that you refrain from any reckless movements…”
“You don’t have to tell me! I know!” Grinahae boomed, raising his voice as he slammed the documents on the desk.
Grinahae had been pestering Owl for info on the members of their plan, and until this very moment, Owl hadn’t made any moves that suggested he’d oblige.
But that all changed once Grinahae began organizing his soldiers.
Of course, Owl had been flustered when he realized the target was Imperial Princess Lowellmina, who was currently residing in Natra. Grinahae was confident of their success, but that outcome didn’t matter. Owl viewed it as a move that would jeopardize their plans for revolt, which was why he’d sought to curry favor by providing the signature bearing document. But even Grinahae couldn’t help but get irritated over this obvious change.
Not to mention he was now dealing with an even bigger problem.
“Enough! Go! I’ll make sure the soldiers stay in the territory!”
“…Understood.” Owl dragged his feet out of the room, weighed down by his displeasure.
But Grinahae quickly forgot his insolence. On top of that, he gave only a cursory look at the documents that he’d been desperate to obtain before tossing them aside. Instead, he took out a single letter.
The very one he had received from the crown prince of the Kingdom of Natra, as a matter of fact.
The contents were simple: An aristocrat wished to visit the mansion of Marquis Antgadull after their stay in Natra.
To think I’d receive such news…
One would obviously think it was referring to the Imperial Princess Lowellmina.
But he had a few questions: Why did the princess want to visit Antgadull? And why did she go through the crown prince to contact him? There were no clear answers.
But upon scrutinizing the letter enough to pierce through it, he read between the lines that this was of Princess Lowellmina’s own volition, and she meant for him to keep it a secret.
In other words, she doesn’t want the factions to know about it.
It made sense. She was surrounded by people belonging to each of the Imperial Princes’ factions. If she were to send a letter herself, its contents would be censored before she could blink. That’s why she went through the crown prince.
Well, that was assuming everything in the letter was true.
I can’t see any reason for Princess Lowellmina to want to come here…
He approached it from every angle but it was this point that he couldn’t figure out, which was why Grinahae couldn’t completely trust the message.
Well, it would be more precise to say that if he’d been more creative with his approach, he might have concluded, mistakenly, that she was trying to outmaneuver the three factions and strengthen her own in the struggle for the throne. But in a brain steeped with misogyny, this thought wouldn’t have occurred to him even in his dreams.
Grinahae wanted to believe the letter. If it was all true, Princess Lowellmina would fall right into his hands without any need to send his army. It was a divine blessing that seemed to confirm his fated return as king.
At the same time, it did cross his mind that this was too good to be true. Oh, what to do?
He’d hemmed and hawed for a few days.
But then his problems resolved in an unexpected way, thanks to the coincidental return of his son Geralt from the Imperial capital.
Geralt Antgadull was the Imperial poster child for wayward sons. He displayed no interest in politics, of course, nor in martial arts or academics. He did nothing all day except escape reality through romance. He’d gotten in trouble for it more than once, and he was the type of person who used his status to get out of it.
Even Grinahae found it shameful. It seriously concerned him that such a lousy son could have come from his loins. But well, a son is a son. Even if he had a bad reputation, Geralt was still his precious successor, and Grinahae was optimistic he would change his ways sooner or later.
He’d heard this son had grown infatuated with Princess Lowellmina. When Geralt had gotten violent with another aristocrat at a soiree, she’d been the one to mediate. He had sent her gifts and letters ever since.
When Geralt found out about the letter to his father, he’d exclaimed, “My feelings have reached the princess at last! She obviously wants to see me!”
Geralt had gone on to claim that her previous unfavorable replies to his advances were no doubt because the princes would see his advances toward the princess as a political threat.
“I must go meet my future wife as soon as possible!” he’d declared before he rushed off without delay.
Even Grinahae was dumbfounded by his son’s recklessness. At the same time, he was filled with a sense of What if?
If Geralt and Lowellmina were united in marriage, the Antgadulls would become one with the Imperial family. Plus, a future Emperor could be born from their line.
Grinahae had faith in his own ability. But if the rebellion succeeded and the current Empire fell to ruin, a period of warring states was liable to come about. Could he really expand his territory as far as Imperial domain? Thinking about that made his ego deflate.
There’s value in waiting until Geralt confirms whether his suspicions are true.
Would they steal Princess Lowellmina from Natra and follow through with their revolt against the Empire?
Or get Princess Lowellmina to marry Geralt and have the Antgadull line become part of the Imperial family?
The scales swayed in Grinahae’s heart.
He never realized the scales themselves had been fabricated by two tacticians.
Grinahae’s mansion stood in the center of the large port city of Salude in the Gairan State. It had originally been a villa for the royal family of Antgadull, but they’d surrendered their palace upon declaring vassalage to the Empire and made this mansion their stronghold as new marquis.
Salude was normally a lively place with a prospering fishing industry, but the town was currently packed with Grinahae’s soldiers, who caused a ruckus wherever they went. Even when the people appealed to their feudal lord, he didn’t particularly care or pay attention to their complaints. The soldiers were effectively under no leadership, and the residents, fearing they would run amuck, held their collective breaths as they locked themselves away in their homes.
Owl had left the mansion, observing the state of the town with side glances and occasionally peeking over his shoulder as he walked down an alley. He finally stopped in front of the door to a small house. He knocked twice, paused for a beat, then rapped on the door three times. It opened soundlessly, and he slipped inside.
There were a few men dressed in civilian attire, but their demeanor carried a dangerous tension.
“How’d it go, Captain? Any news of Grinahae?”
“The word ‘fool’ was made for him.” Owl tsked as he looked around at the men.
As his title implied, Owl led the people here. Their goal was the destruction of the Empire. Grinahae didn’t know that hostile forces were secretly gathering under his very nose.
What Owl had told Grinahae was no lie. But he hadn’t exactly told him the full truth, either. Like about his homeland.
“And what about Geralt?”
“According to my men hidden among the servants, he’ll arrive in Natra soon.”
“Guess we won’t be able to stop him… And the investigations into the crown prince and the Imperial Princess?”
One subordinate shook his head. “No good. It’s been tricky getting closer to them…”
“The complete opposite to a certain idiot we know,” Owl spat out with no attempt to hide his scorn, and he looked at all present. “In any case, keep watch over Geralt, the crown prince, and the Imperial Princess. To overthrow the Empire, we can’t even overlook a loose thread.”
““Yes, sir!””
With their new orders, the subordinates began to move. Owl looked west as he watched them go—toward Natra.
Geez, to think the impossible would happen…
The princess’s visit to Natra had ruined their plans, which had gone off without a hitch until that point. Now even Geralt was trying to jump into the maelstrom.
What’s going on in Natra anyway? Owl couldn’t help but wonder.
“So, you’re the crown prince, huh,” Wein heard the moment he walked into the entrance hall.
There was a man in his late twenties with an entourage of a dozen and a rotund body that looked like he’d never missed a meal in his life. His weak profile hadn’t been chiseled by hardship. His clothes were made of the finest quality fabric and packed with gorgeous ornamentation.
One could say he dripped extravagance—or that he was drowning in it.
“It’s the first time we get to meet face-to-face, Prince Wein. I’m the son of Grinahae Antgadull, Geralt.”
“…Well, well, well, a warm welcome to you, Lord Geralt,” Wein answered monotonously. “I’ve thought for some time that I’d like to strike up a friendship with you—an important imperial vassal. A pleasure to meet you. But I must admit I’m startled by your visit. What can I help you with?”
Geralt put his enthusiasm on full display as he proclaimed, “I’ve come for my one and only beloved flower, Princess Lowellmina, of course.”
YO, IS THIS GUY SEEEEERIOUS?! Wein involuntarily screeched inside his head.
It went without saying that this was the palace in the Kingdom of Natra. It was the backbone of the national government, run by a conglomerate of important people with Wein at its head. The compound was heavily guarded, of course, and it wasn’t a place for unsolicited guests to wander in without notice. On occasion, dignitaries from foreign nations were invited to the palace but not without meticulous arrangements beforehand.
In short, an aristocrat waltzing into the palace with his entourage wasn’t just rude. It made people question his sanity.
And to say you’re here for Lowa…!
He’d heard from Ninym that Geralt was in love with Lowellmina. There was no question that he’d happened to be home to read Wein’s letter to the marquis. That appeared to spark a flame in Geralt that spurred him to arrive at the palace. Which brings us here.
Well, Lowellmina had invited herself, too, on the surface. But her visit had been planned ahead of time. It was nothing compared to this madness.
Dude, I couldn’t care less if you snub me, but, like, the least you could do is pretend to respect me!
Since his arrival, Geralt hadn’t bothered to put on an air of reverence for Wein. He probably saw himself as equal to Wein or above him. If the Kingdom of Antgadull had retained its independence, he would have been a crown prince, too. It’s not hard to imagine why he’d feel this way.
That said, this put Wein in a tough spot, since it set a bad example to those in the room who respected him as their lord.
“I understand.”
Wein decided they needed to take this conversation elsewhere, pronto. He took this opportunity to reassure those around him by putting Geralt in his place, giving him a taste of his own medicine.
“We get blinded by love, according to ancient proverbs…and it seems you couldn’t escape its clutches, Lord Geralt.”
“Yeah, you’re right.”
I was being saaaaarcastic! Taaaaake notice! Wein begged.
Geralt went on, dashing his prayers. “And? Where does my princess await, pining for me?”
She’s not pining for anyone. Wein held back his thoughts.
“There is no need to hurry, Lord Geralt. You know it takes a while for ladies to get ready. And to meet a man of your caliber? She can’t even have a single strand of hair out of place. Be generous with your time. Isn’t that what makes or breaks a man?”
“…You’re right. Guess I lost my composure for a little there.”
Well, more than a little, but there was no reason to point that out.
“I’ve prepared a room for you to rest for the time being, and we’ll have a banquet for the two of you in the evening.”
“Don’t mind if I do.”
As he was escorted away, Geralt strutted around like he owned the place with his attendants in tow. As soon as he watched them disappear, Wein murmured with exhaustion.
“Well then—Ninym.”
“Yes. Right this way.” She guided him to a nearby room.
No one was there, save the two of them. Wein let a teeny sigh escape his lips.
“WHY THE HELL WOULD YOU COME HERE, GEEEEEEERALT?!” he roared. “Seriously, dude? Who in their right mind would come here?! To the palace?! Of a neighboring kingdom?! When no one invited you?!” Wein wailed.
He shot Ninym a look. “Hey, don’t you agree with…?”
He trailed off because Ninym was in the worst mood ever.
“U-um, Ninym…?” Wein asked timidly. His frustrations evaporated in an instant.
She spat back. “…Geralt was looking down on you the entire time.”
“Y-yeah, well, he is the heir of an Imperial marquis. It’s fine.”
“No, it’s not,” she asserted. There was no room for argument. “There’s nothing fine about it.”
“……”
If he had a slip of the tongue here, he’d be her next target.
Wein chose his words carefully. “Yeah, you’re right. But you shouldn’t be angry with him on my behalf, Ninym.”
“You’ve got no right to tell me whom I can be angry with and why.”
“But I do. You’re my heart. And I won’t forgive him for monopolizing you.”
This made even Ninym look startled. And Wein wasn’t just going to let this opportunity slide away.
“Besides, being mad will only make you slip up. Better to think of something that makes you happy.”
“…Like what?”
Wein thought for a few seconds. “Like me,” he joked.
Ninym adopted a serious expression and spoke quietly. “…Okay.”
“R-right on.”
Wein could feel her rage subside. She seemed to agree with his point.
As he was overcome with relief, he rested on a nearby chair, and Ninym hopped on his lap like it was perfectly normal.
“…Ninym?”
“Don’t mind me.”
Which was an unreasonable request, but Ninym was hell-bent on getting her way.
“It was a stroke of luck that their soldiers weren’t the ones who arrived. I honestly thought we’d be done for this time,” she admitted.
Around the time the two tribes had reconciled, Wein had figured out Lowellmina’s objective and sent the letter to the marquis. If Antgadull had set off with his soldiers before it arrived, Wein wouldn’t have been able to stop them.
“We were lucky he didn’t make the call to mobilize them until the very last minute,” she continued as though nothing about this situation was abnormal.
Wein gave up trying to shove her off his lap. “…I imagined he’d be indecisive until the last possible moment. Even so, I knew we could have been in a tough spot.”
“Based on your findings on the King of Antgadull?”
“Right.” Wein nodded. “Grinahae Antgadull is a man who runs from decisions, hides from responsibility, and hopes the right answer will drop from the sky to save him. He can’t confidently make a judgment call in the face of something that could change the fate of an entire continent… Well, the king sold his nation out to the Empire to save his son, so he’s plenty reckless, too.”
What a comedic tale. To think the prince of a neighboring nation would understand a father’s intentions better than his own son.
But even Wein couldn’t grasp what Geralt was thinking.
“What are you going to do? I want to get that jerk out of here as soon as possible,” Ninym added.
“If we did that, their army would actually come pay us a visit… One thing on my to-do list is to stop Lowa. I bet she’s in a crazed panic in her room right about now.”
After Ninym had informed them of Geralt’s arrival, Lowellmina and Fyshe returned to her room. With her plan in shreds, she’d been forced to make revisions.
“Well, Lowa wants us to go against Antgadull. Do you think she’ll try to crash the banquet tonight?”
“No way. She doesn’t have any supporters in the Imperial government. She’d need a reason to accuse Antgadull—like that they’re traitors who tried to kidnap her or something. It won’t suffice for us to engage in our usual squabble with Antgadull.”
“Well, what do you think she’ll do?”
Wein gave a dry smile. “I’m guessing she’ll—”
“I’m going to wrap Geralt Antgadull around my little finger,” Lowellmina declared quietly, facing Fyshe in her room.
“And then, I’m going to bait him with marriage. I’ll get him to provide evidence and testify about the rebellion.”
“I see… Are you sure you want to go through with it?”
“I absolutely don’t,” Lowellmina continued with a sigh. “I knew Geralt was infatuated with me, but I never imagined he’d force his way into this palace. We’ve lost that one. We can’t stick to our original plan, or we’ll incur further losses.”
“I believe the prince’s letter led to this reckless behavior. Are you going to press him on that?”
“I despise that this is going Wein’s way, but I’m sure he has an excuse ready. I’ll leave it be for now. I won’t get anything out of making Natra out to be a villain.”
After all, her top priority was to stop a rebellion set to wreak havoc across the entire Eastern continent. And that wouldn’t change, no matter what.
“I imagine Wein is going to try to get Geralt and me to make contact at the banquet.”
“Are you saying you’ll cooperate with the prince?”
“Well, yes. Our interests intersect on that point. But,” Lowellmina continued, “anything that happens afterward is a separate matter. I’ll win Geralt over and spur him on. And then—”
“There’s more to Lowa’s plan,” Wein stated.
Ninym tilted her head quizzically. “More…after she stops the revolt?”
“That’s right. The thing she’s actually after… The throne.”
Ninym appeared more confused than surprised. She knew Lowellmina was a true patriot, and she could understand why the princess would go to such great lengths, using herself as bait to save the Empire.
But becoming Empress was a different story.
“It’ll be tough to make that happen.”
“That’s why we’re in this situation. Listen,” Wein went on. “Lowa planned to bait Antgadull into attacking Natra. That way, she could make Antgadull out to be the bad guys and beat them, forcing the marquis to cough up the details of the revolt. They would be back to square one… But consider it from an outsider’s point of view. Wouldn’t it look like Natra was siding with Lowa?”
Surprise flashed across Ninym’s face. They might just be fending off oncoming danger, but it would look like they were joining forces with the Imperial Princess.
“But even if we were her allies, her bid for the throne…”
“…won’t change. We don’t have the power to meddle with their internal affairs. But we’d show the Empire she has backers. Plus, she could display her undaunted resourcefulness in outmaneuvering the princes and saving the Empire. Any of these things on their own wouldn’t make much of a splash. But together, it’s a whole different story. Don’t you agree?”
“……” She did.
Those who hadn’t taken any notice of her would start to pay attention. That wasn’t hard to imagine. And if Lowellmina showed the makings of an Empress, there would be some who would abandon the three princes and align themselves with her.
“…But her plan failed. If she wins over Geralt, Antgadull would have no reason to fight.”
“Right… That’s why I’m guessing she’s going the opposite route.”
“What do you mean…?”
Wein grinned.
“—And with Geralt’s own hand, I’ll bring Grinahae Antgadull to heel.”
Fyshe’s eyes widened in fear. “Your Imperial Highness. What in the world are you…?”
“It’ll be possible to stop the rebellion with Antgadull as our ally. But let’s say I want to include them as a force behind my bid for the throne. Their past involvement in the scheme to revolt wouldn’t do me any favors. I need their slate to be wiped clean.”
“And you’ll have Geralt attack his own father?” Fyshe trembled.
Lowellmina nodded casually.
“Here’s the setup. Geralt has known about his father’s scheme the entire time, and he just so happens to receive an invite from the Imperial Princess, beckoning him to visit her in a neighboring nation. There, he confides in her about the terrible plot. When this is brought to her attention, the two overpower the traitor together. That’s basically it.”
Fyshe moaned as multiple thoughts raced through her mind.
This was Lowellmina they were talking about. She could probably pull it off and win over Geralt to have things go according to plan.
But there was one problem.
“Your Highness, our numbers are scant, and their entourage is small. To subjugate Antgadull…”
“It’s insufficient.” Lowellmina flashed a brilliant smile. “So, let’s borrow some soldiers from Natra.”
“Which is what she’s scheming, and IT AIN’T FUNNY!” Wein screamed.
“Yeah, it would be a huge pain for the West to boss me around after the fall of the Empire. Let’s say I wouldn’t mind helping if it meant avoiding that outcome for argument’s sake. I still wouldn’t sign up to fight for the throne. I’ve got zero interest in mobilizing my forces.”
“More like we’re coming up short on cash.”
The expenses from the recent war with Marden weighed heavily on them. If this turned into a battle with Antgadull, they’d burn through their treasury until there was nothing left but ash.
“All right. Our plan is to support her scheme to deceive Geralt without letting her corner me into sending soldiers to get Antgadull.”
“Sounds like a tough conversation.”
“Well, it’ll work out somehow. You follow up with the vassals. I bet they’re confused by Geralt’s arrival, especially when I was supposed to be discussing marriage with Lowa. And get his entourage drunk enough to reveal any useful information. Like about his personality.”
“Understood. I’ll take care of it.”
Wein nodded and looked up above with nonchalance.
“Which is what Wein is thinking. But that won’t do. I must have his army at all costs.”
“Should we take advantage of Lord Geralt?”
“Yes. I think it’s paramount I establish relations with him. Especially if he is to inherit Antgadull—or become my husband. I know Wein will try to exploit him by any means possible. And I’ll catch him off guard.”
Lowellmina looked at Fyshe. “I’ll take care of this. I’m certain my brothers’ vassals in my delegation are in a panic right now, and I’d like you to silence them.”
“Leave it to me.”
Lowellmina nodded and quietly closed her eyes.
Damn, that sneaky chick got me wrapped up in her humongous mess.
I thought I had him perfectly cornered, but he managed to evade me. As I’d expect of Wein.
But—
And yet—
* * *
—I’ll be the last one laughing!
Two tacticians headed toward the banquet assured of victory.
Soon, it would become clear which of the two was sorely mistaken—
“—Marvelous, Lord Geralt. What insight.”
“It’s to our great loss that you haven’t taken center stage at the Empire, Sir Geralt.”
“Come on now, bwa-ha-ha.”
The moon rose high in the night. Among the guests at the banquet, Geralt was living the high life sandwiched between Wein, the crown prince of Natra, and Lowellmina, the Imperial Princess of the Empire.
“To hear that from a prince and a princess. Stop it. I’m blushing.”
Right now, they were carrying out Phase One of their respective strategies: Wein and Lowellmina would work together to butter up Geralt and get him all loose.
“That’s all you’ve got to say?” Wein chuckled in an easygoing way. “I’m just voicing the truth. I don’t shower others with false flattery and florid speech when they have nothing to show for it. I’m a man of my word and proud of it.”
Oh, how insincere. Lowellmina’s glare pierced through Wein, but he ignored it, of course.
“He’s right.” This time, Lowellmina flashed a fleeting smile. “Though you’ve become one of the great pillars that uphold the Empire, you carry the blood of the royal family of Antgadull. With your lineage, we’ll always come up short with our words.”
Who do you think you are? Wein’s eyes darted around, but Lowellmina paid him no mind.
“Ha-ha-ha. Okay, you got me there.”
Everything was going according to plan.
Geralt was all smiles upon being praised by those of Wein and Lowellmina’s caliber.
And of course, he didn’t feel an ounce of distrust. Compare his ego to a container: Right now, their golden words were filling it to the brim, flowing as freely as alcohol.
On the other hand, those in attendance assumed complicated expressions. There were Geralt’s servants and a few from the Imperial delegation, along with the vassals of the Kingdom of Natra who were hosting them. While his servants were pleased to see Geralt in a fine mood, they were confused by the way the two extolled him.
The Imperial delegation was more than a little concerned and oozed discomfort.
Though Fyshe had spoken with them beforehand, she couldn’t reveal all of Lowellmina’s schemes since the envoys were loyal to the Imperial Princes. She could only say that with Geralt’s arrival, it had been decided that princess and prince would receive him together.
That made it seem as though he’d had interrupted official business. And even though the Imperial Princess had graciously received him in the face of his insolence, they couldn’t believe that he’d be this disrespectful to her. They were about to explode in fury.
Of course, they couldn’t say anything since he was the son of a marquis, but they all thought him to be a terrible blight on the reputation of Imperial nobility.
The vassals of Natra hadn’t been told the truth, either. Wein figured it would be a big nuisance if they found out Lowellmina was trying to throw them into war. But they weren’t as lost as the Imperial delegation. They all trusted Wein, and their goal was to follow his orders and act as hospitable as possible.
Which is why as the banquet progressed, their surroundings began to fill with whispers: “What’s going on?” or “I have no idea…”
But this was white noise to Geralt, because a pair of masterminds were keeping him busy. This was the obvious outcome; though, this dream team was only cooperating to dupe Geralt, and once they reached Phase Two of their plans, all bets were off. Wein and Lowellmina started to snap at each other’s heels in their fight to take the lead.
“Our Kingdom of Natra is delighted to aid in your meeting. I’m certain your father, Marquis Antgadull, will be pleased to hear the news,” Wein would say.
“Well,” Lowellmina would respond. “Then he’d ask us to hurry home. But this is a fated encounter, Sir Geralt. Wouldn’t you want to keep this between us, to enjoy our company alone?” She whispered in his ear.
To translate this to layman’s terms:
“Tell Grinahae and get him to call off his army, pronto.”
“I can’t let you do that. I’ll keep stalling until Grinahae loses it.”
Of course, Geralt didn’t catch that at all. With a brain soaked in alcohol and hardly ever exercised, he took their words literally.
And since they both understood this, a war of wits commenced.
“Princess Lowellmina, if you’re to be married, this would be a serious affair in Antgadull—much less the Empire. I would imagine this news would assure your subjects during their time of need. Isn’t it the duty of the royal family to release an official statement as soon as possible?”
(Translation: Just team up with Antgadull and crush the revolt already.)
“But it would pain me to leave Natra without repaying you for your kindness. Would you care to join us in the Empire, Prince Wein? We would welcome you with open arms as the one who brought us together.”
(Translation: I’ll think about it if you announce that Natra is backing us?)
“Thank you. But I must remain to protect this nation in my father’s stead. I understand your position as a member of the Imperial family, but I cannot abandon my own.”
(Translation: I ain’t going nowhere. Figure out how to be Empress yourself.)
“I see… Well, we can announce it via letter as early as today. I can just picture the surprised look on the faces of my brothers and Marquis Grinahae.”
(Translation: You want me to expose your letter?)
“In that case, I’ll put in a good word as well. If it’s for the future marquis and his wife, I will gladly be of help.”
(Translation: Whaaat? I have no idea what you’re talking about!)
The conversation between the two continued for some time, but it changed course without notice.
“Your Highness, please forgive my interruption.” Ninym quietly handed Wein documents from behind. “These require your confirmation.”
Wein scanned the papers. On the surface, they appeared to be your average business reports. It’d be no problem if others laid eyes on these documents.
On the pages were a code that only Wein and Ninym could decipher.
“Excuse me for a moment. Please enjoy each other’s company in the meantime.”
Lowellmina took the opportunity to launch her attack on Geralt. Wein deciphered the pages as he listened to her, reading the reports on Geralt that he’d asked from Ninym.
Hmm, let’s see. “I’ve confirmed that Geralt’s return to Antgadull was no coincidence…” Holy shit. Seriously?
Wein instinctively looked at Ninym for confirmation as he processed this unexpected development. She nodded to indicate that it was no joke.
Okay, but what does it mean if it’s not an accident…?
He was befuddled but continued to read, and Geralt’s life story unfolded before his eyes.
Geralt Antgadull was born the eldest son of an Imperial marquis and grew up lacking nothing. While in his family’s territory, he experienced no agony or conflict or frustrations or regret. Like a carriage on a paved road, his life was one smooth journey from point A to point B.
But that all changed when he reached the capital. He’d been sheltered by privilege all his life until he became the target of merciless scorn—as Antgadull the Traitor.
For someone who’d been coddled since the day he was born, this stressed Geralt out beyond belief. And as a result, he’d turned to alcohol and love affairs, dripping gold and jewels, and surrounding himself with yes men. He’d gained a notorious reputation as a prodigal son, even in the Empire.
And then he had a chance encounter with Lowellmina at a certain soiree. He’d tried to get her attention many times thereafter.
If this was love at first sight, the situation could have been salvaged. But the truth was way different. Geralt had known she was popular and thought he’d be accepted if he could win her affections. He’d desired Lowellmina out of a subconscious inferiority complex.
But his unwholesome advances would never capture her heart, and she’d continued to coldly evade him. Soon, he became furious. How dare she dismiss the eldest son of a marquis—Imperial Princess or not? Did she think he’d let this nonsense slide?
Upon hearing the news of her visit to Natra, Geralt couldn’t keep his rage in check, exploding in a fit of anger. On the surface, she was enjoying a trip abroad, but Geralt had heard it was to discuss marriage with their prince. He whipped every one of his servants bloody and cursed Lowellmina to the extent that he would have been arrested for insulting the Imperial family had he not been the son of a marquis.
And then he had returned to Antgadull from the Imperial capital.
Why?
To attack Lowellmina’s entourage on their way home from Natra.
BWAH?! Wein spurted internally as soon as he read this. Is this for real…?
He immediately turned to Ninym, who calmly nodded. Her cheek twitched slightly, which must have been because she hadn’t expected Geralt would take things to the extreme.
Even Wein never expected the son of a marquis to plan an attack on the Imperial Princess over petty personal resentment. Based on what he read, it made complete sense for Geralt to act this way. He believed Lowellmina had betrayed him, and he wouldn’t be at ease until he made her understand by his own hand—until justice was served.
But that had changed with the letter in question.
After Geralt had read it, he’d bawled his eyes out without care of being seen by others.
“Ohhhhhhh, I knew I could trust her. She’s finally understood my feelings.”
The fact that he’d once cursed her was wiped from his mind. Taking its place was the image of his wife, Lowellmina, by his side as he was blessed by the citizens of the Empire.
Which is why he told his father he was going to Natra and rushed off to collect her.
……I see. Wein gave a small sigh as he finished reading the documents. He’s seriously bonkers…
He recoiled in disgust.
He’d thought Geralt was a bit odd, but this. This was something else. If there’d been anyone else Wein could have used otherwise, he would have done so without question.
What a cruel trick of fate. To think that he had to work out a way to tie the knot between this guy and his friend, Lowellmina—
Well, whatever.
Without a second of hesitation, Wein found his solution. My needs come first. Plus, Lowa put half of this on herself! She brought this on herself!
If the person in question could hear his thoughts, her face would twitch, no doubt.
Wein stared at Lowellmina as if to provoke her. Besides, if you can’t even control this guy, you can kiss your dreams of becoming Empress goodbye, Lowa.
She must have felt his gaze, because she cracked a small smile.
Unlike Wein, Lowellmina had no pawns to investigate Geralt for her, but she must have grasped his temperament from their time at the Imperial capital. She knew she couldn’t deal with him using normal methods.
And even then, she knew she could get him to do as she wished. She’d show them all. Her smile was one of confidence and pride.
But that was when the subject of their war of wills spoke up, upon noticing Wein and Lowellmina communicating with each other in silence.
“…Oh yeah, the two of you sent me that letter. Are you two old acquaintances?” Geralt asked, a dark jealousy brewing in his voice.
The duo picked up on this. In fact, they expected him to harbor resentment, meaning they weren’t fazed in the least.
“Yeah, from when I was studying abroad in the Empire. But wow. What a shame. If I’d known you at the time, Lord Geralt, I would have struck up a friendship with you.” Wein weaved in the truth with lies.
Geralt gave a small nod. “…Huh. I spent a long time in the capital, but I hadn’t heard any rumors of you, Prince Wein. How did you spend your days there?”
If he’d been stupid honest and said that he’d faked his identity to attend the military academy and ranked top of his class, Geralt would have twisted his face past its limits.
Wein spoke in half-truths. “I wanted to immerse myself in the arts, but there was so much for me to learn in the Empire. I spent much of my time in a mansion there. The only form of entertainment I had came from swinging my sword.”
If that were true, it wouldn’t be unnatural for Geralt not to have heard of him. But in an unexpected turn of events, Geralt latched on to something.
“Huh… You’re good with a sword?”
“…Well, I have a modicum of familiarity.”
Wein felt that this might take a turn for the worse but had no time to stop Geralt from pressing on.
“What a coincidence. I’m quite confident in my swordsmanship.”
You’ve gotta be kidding. It only took a moment for Wein and Lowellmina to come to the same conclusion.
Well, everyone in the room would have the same realization. Based on his body, muscle mass, footwork, and everything else, he had to be far from a swordsman.
Then why would he fib?
He’s pissed about me and Lowa being buddy-buddy. He’s probably plotting to beat me in a sword fight and put me in my place, Wein guessed.
If that was the goal, anyone would say he should have picked a different challenge. But Geralt hadn’t chosen sword fighting at random.
They had no idea that Geralt glowed with satisfaction when he won against his own servants on a regular basis. Well, it was more like he was unaware that his servants struggled on the daily to think of the best ways to be defeated—all to avoid invoking his wrath.
In any case, Geralt wasn’t lying when he said he was skilled with the sword. At least, he didn’t think he was.
Geez. What do I do? Wein’s eyes latched onto Lowellmina.
She responded with her own look of shock. You’ve no choice but to give him a decent fight. Appease him.
Um, I’m sorry. A “decent” battle? That’s the hard paaaaaaart.
I’ll cheer you on. Woo-hoo. You can do it. Let’s go. Lowellmina was looking rather composed, since she was just going to spectate.
Damn you, Wein cursed.
“So? What do you say? Let’s demonstrate our swordsmanship before Princess Lowellmina,” Geralt proclaimed.
His declaration riled the room. Of course, it did. Both Geralt and Wein were important figures. If either of them got hurt, it’d be a humongous problem.
“Your Highness…” Ninym took a step forward from behind him.
Wein held her back with a hand. “Not to worry. This will be a good show. The wooden swords,” he commanded, shedding his coat and taking one.
He stood in the center of the hall. The vassals and servants nearby scurried away to make room.
Geralt faced him with a sword of his own. “And the rules of the game?”
“Whoever drops their sword first, loses.”
They faced each other as they both adopted a stance.
This was when everyone was certain of Wein’s victory.
It wasn’t because of nepotism. His opponent was unstable on his feet, trembling in place. Compared to that, Wein’s breaths, gaze, and sword were steady, making the difference between their abilities crystal clear.
But the two fighters were thinking about other things entirely.
I’ll have the prince act as my foil. Geralt was certain of his own victory.
All right, gonna wrap this up with minimal damage. Wein was busy plugging away, thinking about their reputations and what might follow afterward. I need to let Geralt have all the glory if I want my plan to work, but I have a name to live up to, too. I can’t let myself lose without a scuffle.
Which meant his best target was—the wooden sword in Geralt’s hands. His grip was weak, and it’d be easy to knock away. Wein would let go of his sword at the same time as Geralt. It’d be a tie.
That’s why he had established those rules as the condition for victory.
If I’m being honest, he’s so sloshed he can’t swing that sword around. I bet he’ll get pooped. I’ll get him out of breath in a few strikes and then make my move.
With his plan in stone, things were set into motion.
“HYAAAAH!” Geralt hollered as he kicked off the ground, as though he was no longer able to stand the silence, springing toward Wein.
There was nothing deliberate about his swings as he rushed in. It’d be easy to counter, but it wasn’t the victory that he needed.
“Heh—”
The wooden swords clashed, and a dry thud echoed through the hall.
Then twice. Three times in succession.
Wein analyzed Geralt’s movements and sword position as he pretended to be pushed back.
In time, his opponent’s breaths became labored and his charge weakened, just as Wein had expected. The moment had come. Wein took a breath, calculated his timing and—
Now!
He charged.
Geralt tripped up over his legs.
“Whaaaaat?”
Was it because he was drunk or was he pushed down by the force of his opponent?
The answer was unclear.
Geralt lost his balance as if in perfect synchrony with Wein’s charge.
He pitched forward, his head drooped, and oddly enough, it propelled toward the sword that Wein had swung with the intent of knocking out Geralt’s weapon from his hands.
HEY NOOOOOOOOOOW! Wein screamed internally. At this rate, Geralt’s head would become a ghastly work of art that no one would dare to look upon twice.
NOOOOOOOOOOO! TUUUUUUUUUUURN! Wein focused all his strength in his arms.
And responding to his muscles and prayers, the wooden sword miraculously shifted its trajectory, skimmed past Geralt’s face, and smashed into the sword in his loose fist.
A dull sound and a sharp shrill overlapped each other. One thud when Geralt fell over, and the other when his sword clattered to the ground. Wein stood frozen in place after he followed through with his swing. He slowly broke from his stance and dropped his sword.
Cheers erupted around him.
From an outside perspective, it seemed like a perfect victory for Wein.
Since Geralt’s rep was shot from the beginning, even the Imperial delegation was clapping—joining the vassals of Natra, who’d been rooting for him from the get-go.
Wein was being showered with applause, and Lowellmina was spectating. Both were thinking to themselves:
HOLY CRAAAAAAP! I FRIGGIN’ WOOOOOOOOON!
WHY THE HELL WOULD YOU DO THAAAAAT?!
Their silent screams were in unison.
Because he’d been using all his strength to change the trajectory of the sword, he hadn’t been able to let go as planned when they clashed against each other.
Which meant he didn’t have the chance to make it a tie.
M-maybe I can trick them by dropping the sword now…? Wein tried this petty trick, but the public wasn’t buying it.
All the gears in his head turned as he scrambled to find something else to do.
“Your Highness!” Ninym called out.
Wein whipped around, and there, face full of shame and rage, was Geralt. He’d picked up his fallen sword, attempting to rush Wein.
—Oh, crap.
In that moment, Wein panicked over the surprise attack—well, he might have, if he was someone else. Wein could defend himself with his own sword, easy. But it’d do more damage to Geralt, who was acting like a coward for hounding Wein despite his indisputable defeat. It’d be incredibly difficult for Geralt to save face.
I could defend. But that won’t change the fact that he attacked me. Parrying would do the same. In any case, I’ve got no choice but to avoid him. And naturally, to make it appear as though I’m not dodging—!
Could he do it?
He had no other option.
Wein waited until just before Geralt closed in, calculated the attack with all his heart and soul—
And he dodged it, spinning to face him as though they’d just passed by each other.
It’s perfect !
He could insist that Geralt had just tripped and eaten dirt as he went to pick up his sword. Wein made eye contact with Geralt directly across from him.
Apologies for disclosing this information this late in the game, but it’s integral to mention that the banquet was being held on the second floor.
And while they were fighting, the two had moved precariously close to the walls.
And of course, the walls had windows, as they often do.
And Geralt plunged right into one.
“Ah,” Wein said.
The windowpane shattered into pieces in an ear-splitting collision.
“Oh,” Lowellmina said in surprise.
Geralt didn’t just break the window with his momentum. His upper half went right through the frame.
““Wai—”” the duo raised their voices, watching his bottom half slowly rise—
And he slid out of the window.
They heard a weighty thump against the ground.
“ ”
Everyone in the room stood frozen in shock upon witnessing this scene.
Ninym was the first one to instantly respond and recover enough to move. She’d been hanging out in the back and pushed her way through the crowd, gripping onto the window frame and leaping down. Jumping from the second floor was nothing to her.
And then in order, Wein, Lowellmina, and the servants clambered to the window in a fluster and peered over its ledge.
“S-Sir Geralt?!”
“Ninym! Is he okay?!”
With everyone watching, Ninym fell to her knees beside Geralt, who was stretched out on the ground, and checked his condition. A few moments passed before she gave a grim look.
“Well. I don’t know what to say.” She looked up at the two and spoke nervously. “I’m terribly sorry—but he has passed on.”
Wein and Lowellmina turned to stare at each other in perfect sync.
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