Wortenia Senki (LN) - Volume 16 - Chapter 1

Chapter 1: Invisible Malice

That day, a force of three hundred soldiers clad in black armor stood before the gates of Pireas, the capital of Rhoadseria. All three hundred of them waited at the ready, filed in a perfect, unified formation. It was already afternoon, and the sun was beginning to tip west.

The soldiers only stood there, unmoving, but that demonstrated their skill as a unit. Simply standing might look easy enough, but standing at attention in an orderly formation was very different. The armor the soldiers wore weighed them down, and they weren’t allowed to rest their legs or shift their weight, nor were they allowed to move their heads and look around at their surroundings.

Imagine, if you will, the Buckingham Palace guards in England. They constantly stand at attention, closely following their regulations, and never leave their stations, except for times of crisis or during shift changes. It’s an impressive show of organization, dexterity, and skill.

The black-clad soldiers carried a banner of a two-headed snake with gold and silver scales and gleaming red eyes coiled around a sword. By now, everyone in Rhoadseria knew what this banner meant, and the sentinels guarding the capital’s gate were no exception. They eyed the soldiers with stiff expressions, proof that they knew who they were facing, but given their duty as gatekeepers, they couldn’t let Ryoma and his men cross without inspection. They needed proper approval from the palace to allow him to pass, especially considering Ryoma was leading a force of fully armed soldiers—albeit a relatively small one. If they did let them through, their heads would certainly—literally—be on the chopping block.

Of course, any other noble of Rearth would care little for these guards and try to force their way through. The sentinels served the kingdom, so their social standing was higher than that of a regular commoner living in the capital, but it was still nowhere near that of a noble. Most of the sentinels were high-ranking commoners, and if any of them belonged to the nobility, they were only low-ranking knights. Ryoma, however, knew of their predicament and chose not to act oppressively.

A group of carriages that had arrived after Ryoma and his forces was just finishing the entrance procedures and passing through the gates, while Ryoma’s retinue still remained outside the city.

Ryoma sighed. After waiting half the day, they were still waiting quietly outside the gates. He’d seen carriages pass ahead of them ten times since this morning. He didn’t know who ordered this, but whoever it was, they must have hated him with a passion. He’d sent a runner ahead of time, informing the capital of his arrival date and the number of soldiers he would be bringing, and despite that, he was being treated...like this. This had to have been done out of ill will—not unlike power harassment in modern society.

I’d love to let them take a break, but...

The soldiers behind Ryoma were his chosen elites, and their gear was as excellent as their combat skills. At first glance, nothing about their appearance stood out, save the pitch-black color of their armor. But then again, there were other armies on the continent that wore uniform armor in unique colors, such as red or white. It wasn’t unusual for noble houses to spend a small fortune on their uniforms, but in the end, it was nothing more than an ostentatious show of vanity.

But if one were to examine Ryoma’s soldiers more closely, they’d be taken aback. They wore quality elven armor, supplied by Nelcius and reinforced with endowed thaumaturgy—comparable in monetary value to armor made of pure gold. But cost and value aside, their equipment was very effective, up to the same standards as bespoke armor that artisans made for nobles.

With everything combined, the gear of Ryoma’s soldiers was ten times more valuable than another country’s soldier’s gear. These armaments weren’t the kind protection one could buy with just money either.

Products made by professional craftsmen were certainly of a higher quality than ones produced by machine. Even in modern society, where mass production was the standard, there were still fields that required a craftsman’s expertise. But the fact remained that handcrafted work had a slower production rate than machine-produced items.

Conversely, that was what set Ryoma’s forces apart. Most nobles could manage one or two sets of high-quality equipment, and high-ranking nobles could gather a few dozen. But hundreds? Few countries could manage that. Even the O’ltormean Empire would need years to gather three hundred sets. It explained Signus and Robert’s shock at how Ryoma’s army was equipped during Ryoma’s war with Count Salzberg.

Maintaining such a high standard of equipment was a Herculean task, and the grim reality was that the more economical option was to treat one’s soldiers as expendable rather than go to so much trouble to equip them. Furthermore, this time, Ryoma’s soldiers were even better equipped than they were during the war with Count Salzberg. Ryoma had spent a great deal of money to gather their gear, which just went to show how much his soldiers meant to him. And since he cared for them that much, he didn’t want to needlessly burden them.

I did have temperature control added, alongside hardening and weight reduction.

The soldiers might have looked like they were burdened by the weight of all their equipment, but that wasn’t actually the case. The armor was made from the hides and fangs of monsters living in Wortenia, and while some of the armor incorporated steel or other metals, they were still much lighter than traditional plate armor.

On top of that, their equipment was endowed with several types of thaumaturgical enchantments, chief among them hardening, weight reduction, and temperature control. Hardening increased the armor’s durability, which was important in combat. In addition, weight reduction and temperature control might have seemed like trivial enchantments, but they were actually wonderful additions that were extremely flexible in their usefulness.

Weight reduction, as its name implied, manipulated the weight of one’s armor. When activated to its full extent, armor felt like nothing more than a slightly heavy bag. Needless to say, fighting while shouldering dozens of kilograms of weight versus a mere several kilograms made a world of difference and helped preserve stamina.

Likewise, temperature control also helped with stamina, making it a crucial feature for armor. By activating the thaumaturgical seal, it reduced the temperature of the air around one’s body. Simply put, it was akin to walking around with a portable air conditioner.

This world’s climate was relatively warm, but it did snow on occasion, and natural disasters like ruthless typhoons weren’t unheard of. But disregarding such threats, a full suit of armor, be it plate or otherwise, was taxing on soldiers. Just moving around required an extraordinary degree of strength, and fighting when fatigued and overencumbered was out of the question. Trying to force soldiers to fight like that would inevitably end in death.

Of course, no one could predict when battle might break out, so to compensate for that, soldiers had their armor equipped with endowed thaumaturgy. True, most nobles didn’t care that much for their soldiers’ well-being. To them, soldiers were mere tools, and the prospect of giving expensive gear to expendable men was laughable.

Ryoma, however, thought differently. He wasn’t going to deny that soldiers were, in a way, expendable, but he believed that justified the cost to maintain and keep his soldiers in perfect shape. His way of thinking starkly contrasted with that of a noble in this world.

I guess we’ll see soon enough who’s right, but either way, I think we’re almost at our limit here.

Most of his men were infantry who traveled by foot all the way here from the Wortenia Peninsula. Even with thaumaturgy lightening their equipment, his soldiers’ stamina was still bound to run out eventually. They took breaks, where they were supplied with water and sweets, and when they stopped for camp, Ryoma thoughtfully planned their meals and ensured their sleeping accommodations were as convenient as possible. Nonetheless, given the distance between Epirus and the capital, the soldiers’ stamina was dropping. Having to stand here for no apparent purpose must have been mentally taxing as well.

Honestly, I’m not faring much better. My butt’s starting to hurt here.

Ryoma occasionally experienced blunt pain in his lower back and buttocks. It’d been over two years since he’d been summoned to this world, and he was much more used to riding a horse now, but there was no comparing a horse’s back to the comfort of a car’s seat. After sitting on his horse for so long, Ryoma wanted nothing more than to get out of his travel clothes already.

But honestly, there’s nothing else we can do.

Blaming the sentinels guarding the gates wouldn’t get them anywhere. They were just doing their job. If Ryoma was the kind of noble common in this world, he could’ve used his social station to have his way. Nobles were a privileged class, after all. In that regard, Ryoma’s title of baron meant he could demand different treatment, and if his noble title wasn’t enough, his glory as a national hero was, so he could’ve forced things to go the way he wanted.

If he really wanted to, Ryoma could have made his demands known, but it would come with a cost. His social status could force these people to do as he pleased, but their displeasure would build up like sludge in the back of their minds. Besides, hiding behind social status to bend things to his liking didn’t sit well with Ryoma in the first place. He found it shameful. What others might think didn’t bother him as much as his own views. Perhaps it was the concept of shame that seemed to hold most Japanese people in its shackles.

Besides, I’m a mercenary who came from nowhere and rose to power. Being condescending to the soldiers here wouldn’t be wise.

Most of the nobles in Rhoadseria regarded him with hostility already, so earning the soldiers’ ire as well would be unwise. They were mostly commoners, so it would tarnish his reputation among the lower classes too. Ryoma had no choice but to wait as time went by.

Another thirty minutes passed. A lone soldier jogged over, gasping for air. Superiors in the royal castle had likely ordered him to come here. Based on his expression, it seemed Ryoma’s group would finally get permission to enter the capital.

The soldier hurried over to the company commander standing by the gate and whispered in his ear. The commander nodded, then approached Ryoma and his entourage.

“My apologies for the wait, Baron Mikoshiba,” he said, his expression stiff and his voice strained from suppressed emotion. “The castle just sent word that you have permission to enter the city. Please, pass right through.”

Despite the commander’s attempt to mask his emotions, he couldn’t hide the way he shivered in terror. Anyone in his position would want to run away. He’d only done so because his job required him to, but he’d still left a national hero who also held the largest armed faction in the country out to dry for hours. And with Rhoadseria’s strict class system, he certainly expected consequences. Not just him, but his entire family could be on the chopping block.

The poor sap. He’s just doing his job, Ryoma thought to himself, feeling a twinge of mercy for the cowering guard commander. He’s old enough to be my father, yet he’s groveling like this.

The commander was a middle-aged man with an impressive mustache. He was well-built, with a decent physique, though he did have a small gut jutting out. And he, a grown man, was cowering before a boy young enough to be his son. It made Ryoma sick to his stomach.

Ryoma had no desire to exact any kind of retribution on this poor man. All he felt was pity for this sentinel who’d pulled the short straw. If someone had a stone thrown at them, they’d have to be a madman to lash out at the stone instead of the person who threw it. Sadly, even Ryoma’s sensible way of thinking seemed to be a foreign idea in this world.

“Really? Thank you,” Ryoma said.

The commander went very pale. Ryoma hadn’t intended to blame him, but his unassuming tone struck the commander, who knew what Ryoma had been put through, as terrifying.

“H-Hm,” the commander mumbled, like he was torn over whether he should say anything more, but Ryoma shook his head.

“Don’t worry about it. You were just doing your job,” Ryoma said as he spurred his horse forward. As he did, he took out a leather pouch full of gold coins from his pocket and threw it at the middle-aged commander’s chest.

♱

That day, a heavy, oppressive air permeated the queen’s office. The reason went without saying; the party sent to deliver the subpoena to the Mikoshiba barony had returned.

It was just past seven in the evening. The curtain of night hung somberly over the city of Pireas.

“I see,” Queen Lupis said. “He answered our summons quite readily, didn’t he? I thought he’d be more difficult than this.”

After completing her daily duties, Queen Lupis was sitting in her office and reading through the documents Meltina handed her. She heaved a deep sigh, then looked up at Meltina, who stood before her desk, with eyes glazed by confusion.

Seeing this filled Meltina with guilt. She felt like she’d made her beloved sovereign worry needlessly. However, when it came to Ryoma Mikoshiba, not even Meltina, Queen Lupis’s most trusted retainer, could afford to act on her own. The House of Lords had completed its groundwork, and preparations were in place to dispose of Ryoma. But even so, she couldn’t neglect to report this to Queen Lupis.

“Yes,” Meltina replied. “We did expect him to eventually answer the subpoena, but not this quickly. Apparently, he made some bold statements to the messenger about proving his innocence before you. Judging by his words, he almost looks admirable, but...”

Queen Lupis nodded gravely. Not much time had passed since Ryoma Mikoshiba took over northern Rhoadseria. Usually, newly gained territory was extremely difficult to rule during the first few months. Typically, one would focus on consolidating their rule—assuming they intended to rule over it. Perhaps a ruler only wanted to squeeze all the riches they could from the land, or they were simply too much of a fool and didn’t understand what ruling territory truly meant.

Nevertheless, despite such a trying period, Ryoma answered Queen Lupis’s summons with indifferent ease. Normally, this wouldn’t be unusual. A letter issued by the House of Lords carried much authority and influence, enough so that at times it even matched the monarch’s edict. Moreover, the pretense for his summons was that he was to testify as a witness, which was much different from being called as a defendant.

That in mind, it wasn’t that strange that Ryoma had reacted to the House of Lords’ subpoena in a timely manner. But Neither Queen Lupis nor Meltina were naive enough to assume that everything was going well. Ryoma had given them too much grief already for them to be optimistic when it came to him.

“What do you think he’s planning?” Queen Lupis asked.

Meltina frowned. Her beloved queen had asked her a question, and had this been a year or two ago, Meltina would have answered immediately, no matter how forced it might be. But right now, Meltina couldn’t rouse herself to do so. She knew that pretending to know the answer to something she didn’t have the first clue about could be as disastrous as feigning ignorance.

“Truth be told, I haven’t the foggiest. It’s possible he took the subpoena at face value and arrived to serve as a witness. Based on the sentinels’ reports, he was stalled a long time at the city gates. It was probably under the orders of some noble or another who bears a grudge against him. The problem is...”

“Mikoshiba himself didn’t say anything about the matter?”

“Nothing. He did receive a summons from the House of Lords, and the letter didn’t mention any charges against him, but unless he’s a fool, he must realize the position he’s in. And since he does, he also knows that going after whoever ordered for such harassment would look incriminating.”

Any person, no matter how kindhearted and trusting they were, would realize that they were being harassed after being stalled at the gates for half a day. Based on what the sentinels said, other nobles had arrived after him and entered after a brief delay, and even then, Ryoma didn’t complain. This alone was very suspicious. If nothing else, Meltina didn’t think Ryoma was the kind of man who would stand for that kind of treatment.

“You seriously think Mikoshiba would make such a naive decision?” Queen Lupis asked with a sardonic smile.

Meltina sighed and shook her head. She realized how absurd her words were. “No, I think the chances of that are slim. And what’s more...” Meltina spread a map she’d prepared ahead of time over the table.

When the civil war ended, they gave Ryoma the title of baron and the Wortenia Peninsula to keep him occupied until the day he died. With Rhoadseria’s strict class system, elevating a no-name mercenary who wasn’t even a citizen of the kingdom to a noble rank was impossible, but as a rule, Queen Lupis hesitated to reward him as promised and then drive him out of the country. Breaking their agreement would have called Queen Lupis’s credibility into question. It would be tantamount to her discarding one of the few virtues she had to her name. But considering the skill and decisiveness Ryoma displayed during the civil war, the choice was unavoidable.

In the name of protecting her kingdom’s safety, Queen Lupis couldn’t let Ryoma’s talents and wisdom go to another country. Conversely, elevating a commoner to a significant noble position would make the other nobles turn against her. Given how weak her regime’s foundation was at the time, Queen Lupis couldn’t have carried such a weight. Helena seemed to be ignoring her subordinates’ calls to dispose of Ryoma, even while Lupis herself was receiving similar advice. The nobles’ aversion to this upstart foreigner was that intense.

On the other hand, Queen Lupis didn’t trust Ryoma. An old proverb said that when the enemy was defeated, the victorious soldiers were to be slain. That was no exaggeration. In all parts of the world, nothing threatened a powerful ruler more than their own capable vassals. But Lupis didn’t want to kill Ryoma, or perhaps she was too scared of the unfathomable eeriness Ryoma gave off to do so. Maybe it was both. Either way, the outcome was that the Mikoshiba barony’s domain had expanded to include all of northern Rhoadseria.

Queen Lupis knew Ryoma was smart, but seeing him mature so much over such a short period of time was still a surprise.

Queen Lupis sighed in despair. “Still, looking at the map is appalling. We can’t let him claim the north for himself.”

“Quite right,” Meltina agreed, nodding. “Negotiations might have been possible if the dispute had ended with the heads of all ten houses of the north placing themselves under his command, but the way things are now, it would be difficult. Our spies say Ryoma disposed of most of the heads of the ten houses during the war, demanding most of them die as part of his postwar arrangements. I assume he set it up to make its seem like each of the heads chose suicide to preserve their family honor, but...”

There was no need to say anything else.

“Yes, that sounds like something he’d do,” Queen Lupis replied.

Meltina nodded bitterly. “Deciding the fate of the defeated is the victor’s privilege, but what he’s done gives us a glimpse of his intentions.”

The biggest issue brought up by Ryoma’s war wasn’t the war itself. Nobles starting wars on their own accord was a major issue, yes, but within the scope of Rhoadseria’s legal system, it wouldn’t cause that big of a problem. There were plenty of reasons a war could break out between two nobles—anything from the ownership of a village’s well, disputes over borders, and criminals who escaped from one noble’s county to another’s. A territorial dispute could break out over something as trivial as ownership of a small forest used for collecting lumber. It wasn’t uncommon for nobles to clash, and the reason could be as major or minor as one could imagine.

Normally, clashes like that would be punishable by Rhoadserian law, but with this world’s limited communication and poorly maintained roads, the kingdom didn’t have the time or resources to address each and every conflict that broke out. The law’s foundation was too brittle, not just in Rhoadseria, but in every country in this world. Therefore, wars between governors were merely problems between the participants, so long as they didn’t reach a certain scale. Officially, the House of Lords investigated such cases and the monarch arbitrated the dispute, but there was a tacit understanding that the victor took precedence in such judgments.

Until now, such conflicts were essentially overlooked, but the current situation was different.

The loss of the family heads is an issue, but the matter of their succession is an even bigger problem.

The bloodlines of some noble houses of the north were under threat of being completely terminated. As mentioned, wars between nobles weren’t unheard of, but they were rarely this gruesome. The aristocracy’s bloodlines were deeply mixed together due to marriages between different houses, meaning that many of the noble houses were distantly related.

That wasn’t to say that wiping out a noble house was unprecedented, but one could count on two hands the number of times it had happened on such a large scale in all of Rhoadseria’s history. What made it worse was that an upstart noble who was already abhorred by many had done it. It only made sense nobles with blood ties to the ten houses of the north would be outraged by it.

“The nobles’ feelings aside, when we consider national defense, we can’t leave Mikoshiba in control of the north,” Queen Lupis appended.

Meltina nodded gravely. The situation was a legal gray zone. Ryoma did violate the law, but how severely should they judge him for it? Typically, they’d take away some of his domain, but merely “some” would still be the same as tacitly permitting Ryoma to control most of the north.

Northern Rhoadseria was a vast strip of land that made up a fifth of Rhoadseria’s total territory. If Ryoma were to add it to the Wortenia Peninsula, he would have a domain larger than the southern kingdom of Brittantia and Tarja. His realm would be even larger than a duchy. With a domain that size, it was doubtful Ryoma would peacefully serve Rhoadseria.

“Just looking at the size of his territory, the Mikoshiba barony will have nearly a third of Rhoadseria,” Meltina explained. “A mere vassal of the royal family can’t be allowed to hold such a large fiefdom. It would make him an even bigger threat than Duke Gelhart was, when he still had Heraklion. Plus, when you add Ryoma’s character to the mix...”

Meltina trailed off again. Finishing her sentence would be disrespectful to Queen Lupis. However, Meltina’s attempt to be considerate was inconsequential to the queen now.

“Yes. It’s hard to tell when he’ll do it, but if I know him, and I do, sooner or later he will seek to declare his independence,” Queen Lupis said bitterly. Her expression was that of someone forced to acknowledge a truth they wished to ignore.

Queen Lupis’s displeasure was understandable; Ryoma was her vassal—on paper anyway—and a vassal seeking independence from their liege meant they believed they were serving an unfit ruler. Lupis Rhoadserians had no aptitude or skill as a ruler, a truth that even she herself was aware of, but having that fact thrust before her was still insulting and aggravating.

“Your Majesty...”

Meltina knew how much Queen Lupis sacrificed since the day she took Rhoadseria’s throne, and she could see that her liege’s heart was breaking, so she swore, from the bottom of heart, to serve her queen to her last breath.

Ryoma Mikoshiba. I won’t deny that you’re a hero blessed with martial talent. Defeating Count Salzberg was an impressive feat, and your skill as a statesman is astounding. The spies have told me that despite so little time, Epirus is already alive again with activity. And you even personally answered the House of Lords’ summons. You are probably the most politically skilled of all of Rhoadseria’s nobles.

Meltina didn’t want to admit these facts, and a few years ago, she would have swiftly rejected them. But right now, Meltina knew better than to let her emotions get the better of her. Doing so would be a deathtrap. It’d driven her former colleague to ruin.

But I won’t let things go your way. No matter what means I must stoop to...

A dark flame flickered in Meltina’s eyes.

“We have but one recourse,” Queen Lupis whispered, resting her elbows on the table and steepling her hands in front of her mouth.

Despite how faint the queen’s whisper was, Meltina did hear it, and she knew perfectly well what recourse her queen meant. The House of Lords had already arranged for it to be done.

That was why we sent the spies from the Chronicle barony, knowing they’d be sacrificial pawns.

Meltina’s answer was decided. “Very well, Your Majesty. I will see to it that things proceed as scheduled.”

Remaining as cool and collected as possible, Meltina bowed her head to her liege. She knew that what her queen needed right now was the final push that would grant her the courage and decisiveness to take the next step.

With this, Meltina turned around and left the room, granting her ruler the time needed to mentally prepare. But as she left the office, Meltina’s expression was full of anxiety and urgency. She couldn’t let Queen Lupis know, but Meltina was upset that she couldn’t tell what Ryoma’s true goal was. She was simply prudent enough to hide this fact from her mistress’s eyes. Saying anything that would spur Queen Lupis’s anxiety further would do no good and make her err in her choices.

We are well prepared. Everything should end as long as we bring him to the hearing.

They’d made enough preparations, so Meltina would accept any shame or indignity if it would help their scheme succeed. She had long since discarded her knightly pride.

But maybe I should consult Sir Mikhail first...

She was wary of becoming overconfident. Her own bitter experiences taught her how easy it was to fall prey to your own pride.

There was only one person she could rely on at a time like this, so Meltina quickly strode through the palace’s corridor to meet her comrade, who bemoaned the fate of this kingdom as much as she did.

It was late, and the clock had already struck midnight, but a light still burned in an estate in Pireas.

Having heard the details from Meltina, Mikhail Vanash heaved a deep, heavy sigh. “I see. So that’s why you came to me so late at night.”

“I apologize for the sudden visit, but—”

“Don’t let it bother you.” Mikhail held up a hand, cutting her off, but there was no unpleasantness or annoyance in his gesture. “The time of day doesn’t matter when it’s about loyalty to our country.” Still seated on the sofa, he rested his chin atop his interlocked hands.

Meltina awkwardly continued. “For the time being, I advised Her Majesty to give the plan the go-ahead. I just still have some doubts...”

Mikhail nodded gravely.

Her judgment is sound. We cannot make the queen any more anxious than she already is. But the fact that we can’t anticipate his movements is worrying.

Had this been a few years prior, Mikhail would’ve chided Meltina for withholding her misgivings from Queen Lupis. He’d once believed it was a retainer’s role to relay everything accurately to their lord, without any embellishments or omissions. But he’d experienced many hardships since the end of the civil war, and they’d changed him from that reckless man who had nothing but blind loyalty to the royal house.

“I think you gave Her Majesty the right advice. Based on what you told me the other day, that woman handled the House of Lords’ preparations. It was Marquis Halcyon’s daughter, wasn’t it? I believe her name was...Charlotte?”

Honestly speaking, Mikhail wasn’t that familiar with Charlotte Halcyon. Charlotte picked and managed Queen Lupis’s court ladies and, on a more personal level, was a friend to the queen. She helped organize tea parties and balls, but she mostly acted as an assistant the queen could consult about jewelry and attire.

Mikhail, on the other hand, dealt strictly with military affairs. There was a time he’d been in charge of guarding Queen Lupis, so he’d always been near her then, but now he mostly managed the knight orders and internal patrols. They were both nobles in service to the royal house, but their duties did not intersect, so Mikhail had to confirm he was referring to the right person.

Meltina’s eyes widened in surprise.

I didn’t think he knew her name.

Mikhail and Charlotte were by no means close, but they’d met a few times in the palace and were both acquainted with Queen Lupis, so they weren’t strangers either. Given Charlotte’s abilities and her father’s position as marquis, Mikhail would at least know her name and face.

If Mikhail was to be of help to Queen Lupis, it was within his duties to know who was close to the queen. The problem was that while interacting with others was the key to success in life, Mikhail had rejected that reasoning during his time in the palace. In the past, he’d adhered to the chivalrous ideal of living in honorable poverty, and that had conflicted with the more Machiavellian methods of gaining success that others used. He’d even renounced those methods as vile. Now, however, he’d all but let go of his old obstinance.

“You know her?” Meltina asked.

“I’ve heard rumors of her in the palace. They say she’s quite shrewd and Her Majesty trusts her considerably. She’s successfully suppressed the nobles’ unrest. Even with Marquis Halcyon backing her, it’s impressive how much she’s achieved at her age.”

Meltina couldn’t mask her surprise at how Mikhail had gained such accurate intelligence.

He really has changed. He had to. It’s a welcome change, though.

Meltina had seen signs of it before, but it seemed the stubborn man she knew, the knight who clung to chivalrous ideals, was a thing of the past now. In his place stood a reliable comrade, a man who balanced both the good and the bad and did so with effort and resolve. If nothing else, she felt confident that she was right to come to him for advice.

“We must keep Lady Charlotte’s position in mind too,” Meltina added. “If we order her to stop the preparations at this point, the House of Lords might not cooperate with us a second time.”

“Right, and we can’t risk losing their cooperation right now. It would jeopardize Charlotte’s position, after all the effort she went to for us. And if that happened, her father could react unfavorably.”

The nobility prioritized honor and appearances, and no noble would forgo retribution if their honor was tarnished. If they didn’t seek revenge for humiliation, they would be judged too weak to exact their rightful vengeance, and the weak were always oppressed. As the ruling class, the nobility couldn’t escape this truth. Maintaining one’s honor wasn’t simply a psychological or emotional endeavor; if lost, it would greatly affect one’s life.

“Yes,” Meltina agreed. “All the effort Charlotte put into channeling the nobles’ hostility toward Ryoma would go to waste. We can’t change the plan now, but...”

“You can’t read his intentions?” Mikhail asked, pinpointing her doubts.

“That’s right. Ignoring the House of Lords’ subpoena would be unwise, and it could cost him his family line.”

“He’s still aware of his place as a noble in our kingdom, then.”

Both Meltina and Mikhail fell silent. Ryoma’s response to the summons wasn’t abnormal, at least on the surface. As a Rhoadserian noble, he was right to answer the subpoena.

But is that really why he did this?

Rhoadserian law dictated that a noble must answer a call from the House of Lords, and their current plan hinged on that. From that perspective, Ryoma’s cooperation worked in their favor. The scenario they envisioned was coming to fruition.

But it doesn’t make sense for him to blindly obey the House of Lords without taking precautions.

Consumed with that thought, Meltina abruptly asked, “Am I overthinking this?”

Mikhail shook his head. “No, I think your doubts are justified. There’s no overthinking when the fate of the country hangs in the balance. And when it comes to him, there’s no such thing as being overly cautious either.”

“You feel the same way, then, Sir Mikhail?”

“Considering everything he’s done so far, yes...”

Meltina sighed. “But even though we’re suspicious of him, there’s not much we can do.”

Technically, Ryoma hadn’t done anything wrong yet.

If only he’d beat the guards at the gate for their rudeness, Meltina thought coldly.

If he’d done so, public opinion would have convicted him of damaging the dignity of the nobility as a whole. It would also reflect positively on Queen Lupis; bringing an arrogant, upstart nobleman to justice was much preferable to condemning a national hero. Meltina had no idea who’d conspired to taunt Ryoma at the gate, but she found it unfortunate that Ryoma had restrained himself.

Mikhail looked at Meltina and, with some hesitation, said, “Actually, there’s something that’s been troubling me.”

“Something besides what I’ve mentioned?” Meltina asked.

Mikhail nodded, then produced a map from a bookcase set along the room’s wall.

“Meltina, did you know that House Salzberg has two estates in the capital?”

“In the capital?” Meltina echoed, taken aback.

Meltina’s family, House Lecter, made it a point to be sincere and honest. Though they had long served as knights, they lived more modestly than most influential nobles, and since they’d served in the royal guard or the monarch’s guard for generations, they didn’t often visit their own domain. She’d been raised to be frugal, and the idea of having not just one but two estates in the capital seemed wasteful to her.

“Most nobles have two estates. One in their domain, and one in the capital, so they have somewhere to stay when they visit,” Mikhail continued. “These second estates are within the quarter of Pireas full of noble mansions. I assume you’re familiar with that?”

Meltina nodded. Rhoadserian nobles usually resided in their domains, where they handled their matters of government, but they were required to appear in the capital at times for various reasons. Disputes between nobles called for the House of Lords to mediate, and capable nobles were called to serve their kingdom as bureaucrats in the palace.

It wasn’t unlike the daimyos in Japan’s Edo period, who were forced to reside in the capital for a time every year. Such a system didn’t exist in Rhoadseria, but the way the daimyos had to travel from their homes to Edo and stay in residences in the capital was similar to how Rhoadserian nobles came to Pireas and stayed in secondary estates.

“But some nobles have a third estate somewhere in the capital’s outskirts,” Mikhail explained. “They usually use it as a home for their mistresses or a space for evening parties when their main estate inside the capital can’t accommodate them. There’s other reasons too, but, well, why some nobles have such mansions is immaterial to our interests. The problem is...”

Mikhail trailed off, then leaned forward and whispered, “A certain connection I have has told me that there have been movements in Count Salzberg’s estate on the city outskirts. The House of Lords summoned Lady Yulia Salzberg this time. Because Count Salzberg’s succession isn’t finalized and she’s not officially recognized as the family head yet, it makes sense she’d occupy the secondary estate during her stay in the capital. There are also all sorts of rumors about her too, so I can understand why she’d choose the one on the outskirts. I believed it was natural the lady would stay there, but...”

“Was there anything suspicious about this?” Meltina asked.

Mikhail nodded and replied, “Up until now, the estate only had the bare minimum of staff required for its upkeep. But over the last two weeks, they hired twice that number of employees. On top of that, I’ve gotten reports that they bought new furniture and fixtures in bulk.”

“So they got new employees and changed the furniture... I see. They wouldn’t normally do that, and now with Count Salzberg dead, it’s even more unusual.”

These were clear indications that the estate was going to be used, but there weren’t many reasons one would suddenly start updating a residence they’d neglected for years.

“What do you think they’re doing?” Meltina asked, leveling a questioning gaze at Mikhail.

Mikhail shook his head. “I’m afraid I don’t have any more information on that. The person who shared it with me didn’t know that much either.”

Meltina paused. Something about his words felt off.

The person who shared this information with him... Who is he talking about?

Meltina didn’t know of any friends or retainers of Mikhail’s who would be privy to that kind of information. Of course, he probably had acquaintances she didn’t know, but she was still curious.

Mikhail carried on, ignoring her doubts. “I did have my subordinates look into it, though. It seems they’re preparing for an evening party.”

“An evening party? At a time like this?” Meltina asked, baffled.

Since it would be held at Count Salzberg’s estate, Lady Yulia must be hosting it. She hadn’t yet officially become head of the Salzberg family, but there were no other possible successors to the late count. One couldn’t fault her for hosting a party there. Also, it was customary for provincial governors to hold an evening party and present themselves publicly. However, hosting a party now, with a summons from the House of Lords fast approaching, was exceedingly strange.

Not to mention, Lady Yulia just lost her husband. That means...

According to Rhoadserian customs, widowed women either spent a year in mourning, or they retired to a Church of Meneos nunnery. It was only an aristocratic custom and not punishable by law, but the aristocracy valued traditions and customs. Ignoring them would mark one as a heretic. Merely attending a royal event would be wildly inappropriate, to say nothing of hosting an event themselves.

Lady Yulia’s actions weren’t unnatural, per se, but they were certainly strange.

There is one thing that could explain all this...

Unfortunately, that one thing was the worst-case scenario.

Unable to ignore that possibility, Meltina asked, “You don’t think he put her up to it, do you?”

Her words echoed loudly in the room, and in that instant, a bolt of lighting streaked outside the window, followed by rumbling thunder. When the thunder gave way to silence once more, Mikhail nodded slowly.

“Then Lady Yulia Salzberg... She...!” Meltina cried out, rising to her feet.

“There’s no real proof,” Mikhail noted, “but the only other survivors of the ten houses of the north are the Twin Blades, Robert Bertrand and Signus Galveria, and a handful of other heirs. And honestly, I don’t see Ryoma sparing the wife of the man who opposed him. But it all makes sense if Lady Yulia turned to his side.”

“But he killed Thomas Salzberg. How could she join her husband’s killer?” Normally, the very prospect would be unthinkable. Meltina couldn’t fathom a widow doing that.

Mikhail sighed and shook his head. “Normally, it would be hard to believe, but surely you’ve heard rumors of Count Salzberg’s debauchery? And I hear that Lady Yulia is a strong-minded woman who married into his family despite coming from a line of merchants and single-handedly managed his household. I could imagine her choosing to cut out her husband when she realized the situation was worsening. She could also be pretending to join forces with Ryoma so she can find a chance to kill him for revenge. But if that was her reason, don’t you think she’d contact us?”

“Well, yes, I guess she would,” Meltina muttered. As much as she wanted to deny the possibility, she couldn’t refute it altogether.

Everything he just said is conjecture. None of it is fact.

But it all pointed to one conclusion.

“So you’re saying the evening party that’s to be held in the Salzberg estate...”

“I’m not sure how they’ll go about it,” Mikhail said gravely, “but it’s probably to show off the Mikoshiba barony’s power.”

Meltina’s expression contorted with bitterness. There was only one reason the Mikoshiba barony would make a show of its power.

Unlike Meltina, Mikhail remained calm and composed as he said, “But looking at it another way, this could be our chance.”

“What do you mean?” Meltina mumbled impatiently.

“Our country has no need of nobles who would actually answer Ryoma’s invitation. Don’t you agree?”

Meltina was momentarily speechless. “You can’t mean...?” she whispered.

Mikhail answered her with only a cold smile, hiding his efficient scheme in his heart.

That night, the light in the room burned on until the sun rose on the horizon.