Chapter 239

               

Colorful flags fluttered above the barracks, riding the night breeze. Among the hundreds of tents spread across the field, only one bore a massive banner embroidered with a golden sun. Seated at the center of that tent, Ralph delivered his final instructions to the soldiers assembled before him.

“Understood? Make as much noise as possible and push deep. If Squad 1 succeeds in hitting the lord’s castle, they’ll send up red smoke. If something goes wrong, they’ll send up green smoke. Then, as trained, you enter the grand duchy.”

A dozen soldiers dressed like serfs answered with disciplined “Yes!” Ralph grinned, baring his teeth.

“Don’t worry about being caught and killed. Those northern barbarians won’t even see you. The first city after the Illopium Mountains—Dreichum—is already devastated.”

Marquis Tipian seemed to think—or hope—the Imperial Knights would waste time lingering here, but Abelus had no intention of acting so lukewarmly. The Grand Duke and his wife had dared to scorn the Imperial Family.

The Imperial Family couldn’t attack a vassal without a pretext. And the story of stolen money couldn’t be revealed without harming the Imperial Family’s dignity.

But if it wasn’t an attack, then it didn’t matter, did it? Especially if there was a plausible reason.

For example… a riot broke out in the Tipian Marquessate, where the atmosphere had been steadily worsening, and the instigators fled to nearby Maindulante—so they had to be pursued.

Then what could the Grand Duke say, even if the Imperial Knights trampled all over southern Maindulante? The Emperor was simply helping his vassal by hunting rebels, wasn’t he?

‘This time, I’ll hit the Grand Duke hard.’

Ralph had lived a life of winning over others, but even he had failures. The most bitter of them was years ago, at the Noble Academy, when he’d tried to kill Cledwyn Maindulante—before Cledwyn had ascended the grand ducal throne.

It had been a perfect opportunity. The late Marquis Tipian had trapped the Grand Duke with poison, and Ralph—along with Joseph Karen, now dead—had pursued him. If Ralph had succeeded then, he would probably be the Empire’s youngest captain of the royal guard by now, riding that achievement.

But the Grand Duke had escaped.

At the time it had been only suspicion, but looking back now, it seemed that little Nerys Truydd had hidden him that day. A mere twelve-year-old freshman from a lower noble house—how had she been so cunning?

He had to erase that failure now. And with the Imperial Family’s situation as urgent as it was, it mattered more than ever to stand out above everyone else. That was why Ralph hadn’t stopped Abelus, even though he disliked sending troops without sufficient reconnaissance.

‘The whole continent is on our side. So what if those barbarian lands are good? Better to please His Highness.’

From Ralph’s perspective, there was no real risk. The Grand Duke couldn’t touch the Imperial Knights. If he did, wouldn’t that be rebellion?

And even without the matter of justification, the grand ducal army would struggle to resist. If war broke out, there were reasons the Imperial Family would win naturally.

First, geography. If the Imperial Family seized the road Ralph was looking at now—almost the only corridor connecting Maindulante to the rest of the Empire—the opponent would be suffocated. Even with allies, calling for help would be difficult. And if the Imperial Knights blocked this Tipian field thickly, starting from that narrow passage, breaking through would be nearly impossible.

Second, information meant little in the face of overwhelming power. The number of Imperial Knights Ralph had brought was small, but Abelus could demand troops from other nobles whenever he wished.

And if—unlikely as it was—those reinforcements proved insufficient, he could request aid from other countries. In theory, every nation on the continent was rooted in the Empire, which meant they couldn’t refuse a call for support.

A special unit, also dressed like serfs, was already waiting to strike the lord’s castle of the local lord under Marquis Tipian—the nearest castle to this field. To make it look like a riot had erupted in the Tipian Marquessate, they were prepared to shout, rampage, and slaughter as loudly as possible.

‘Breaking the Grand Duke’s pride will be the signal flare announcing the great reign of our Abelus, the Crown Prince.’

Ralph was already satisfied. He puffed out his chest as he watched his subordinates—who had saluted him—leave. Outside was as bright as his future…

‘Hm?’

It was the middle of the night. The perfect time for a riot to “break out,” for “failed rebels” to flee and hide in someone else’s territory. To be safe, the lights near the barracks had been kept to a minimum.

So why was it so bright outside?

Ralph frowned and stepped out.

Now that he noticed, it was noisy, too. If something had happened, his adjutant should have reported immediately. Since no one had, it had to be nothing.

And what unfolded before his eyes was hell.

His subordinates—those who had just left dressed as serfs—lay scattered across the field like broken timber. Every tent in sight was ablaze and slick with blood. Knights in black cloaks, mounted on fine horses, tore through the encampment without hesitation.

It was a nightmare. An ambush. And the Imperial Knights were too weak against them.

Imperial Knights fell without even being able to lift a hand. The enemy was only a few hundred, and this camp held thousands—

(T/N : Damn… why is this so satisfyinggggggg )

Ralph, young and high-ranking, had never known a battle like this. He had experience killing helpless minorities, yes. But nothing like this. He couldn’t understand what was happening, and he screamed.

“Who are you! Can’t you see the Imperial Family’s sun flag!”

How could there be rebels so brazen? The enemy bore no markings, no standards—but they didn’t answer. They only kept swinging sword and spear.

Soon, there were no living allies around Ralph. Fire climbed higher and higher, smoke billowing thick enough to be seen from far away.

As the area was roughly cleared, the black-cloaked knights gathered around Ralph’s barracks. With all their attention on him, Ralph’s palms went slick with cold sweat.

Then the man who appeared—black-haired—made Ralph’s face flush red with rage.

“Your Grace! What is the meaning of this! Are you starting a rebellion now?”

“Ah, Sir Ralph.”

Surrounded by the black-cloaked knights—now known to Ralph as the Platinum Knights—Cledwyn smiled as if he were out for a stroll.

“Rebellion? What a presumptuous thing to say. I don’t understand.”

“You attacked the Imperial Knights, as a vassal!”

“What are you talking about? I did nothing of the sort.”

“It’s no use denying it! Everyone in the Tipian Marquessate knows the Imperial Knights I command are stationed right here! The marquess will naturally report that Your Grace attacked us, and His Highness the Crown Prince will never stand still!”

Ralph shouted as if he were unshaken, but inside he was drenched in fear. He didn’t think he would survive this.

Cledwyn, still smiling, tilted his chin.

“So I don’t know what you mean. I merely came to catch those who dared to cause a riot in our uncle’s land.”

Ralph stiffly turned his head in the direction Cledwyn indicated.

Red smoke rose from the nearby lord’s castle—the very place meant to be attacked tonight.

Barely forcing himself to look back at Cledwyn, Ralph met his eyes.

Cledwyn spoke with a strange softness.

“Ah, yes. Sir Ralph. I remember. You and I have faced each other like this before. The sky was full of stars that day—just like tonight.”

The black knights laughed.

Ralph understood at once. Despair crushed down on him. He’d believed they wouldn’t remember—because that night, they had been out of their minds.

“You were a loyal dog, weren’t you?” Cledwyn said mildly. “Why blame a dog for biting when its owner told it to?”

What—was he going to spare him?

Hope flickered across Ralph’s face.

Cledwyn smiled at that expression—kindly.

“But it was your choice to bully my wife, wasn’t it? It’s unfortunate, but I have to protest now.”

Clatter, clatter.

Cledwyn’s horse moved closer.

A question rose, slow and terrifying, in Ralph’s mind.

‘If Maindulante moves first… what happens?’

If they took the justification. If they filled that narrow road with troops first—

Before he could think further, his vision went dark.

❖ ❖ ❖

Arthur Pendalant had never imagined the Imperial Palace could become as brutal as it was now.

He was born into House Pendalant, a family that had produced excellent diplomats for generations. He graduated from the Noble Academy with outstanding grades and entered government service as an Imperial official as naturally as breathing, aided by his standing as the son of the Minister of Foreign Affairs.

In a noble society that prized bloodlines, he was pushed around by those above him. Still, for a young man, it was a stable life he couldn’t complain about—especially given that Imperial Bistor held diplomatic superiority over any country on the continent.

But lately, everything around him had been violently unsettled.

After His Imperial Majesty collapsed, Abelus—now handling state affairs—began interfering in personnel matters. New figures loyal to him rose, and they flooded into the foreign affairs department. Unsurprisingly, those new faces busied themselves finding fault with work that had already been done, despite not understanding anything.

If Duke Ganielo had stepped in and anchored the department, things might have been different. His house had deep ties to foreign affairs, with roots in a foreign royal family. But, coincidentally, Duke Ganielo hadn’t appeared at court for some time, claiming illness.

It was the same across the court. The great nobles at the top—those needed to stabilize Imperial rule—had retreated due to personal or family troubles. More than half of the capable superiors beneath them had been replaced overnight. So young officials like Arthur—who hadn’t been removed—were left managing newcomers entering the field for the first time, and new superiors who were also entering their roles for the first time.

‘School was better.’

The Noble Academy’s strict instructors made him tense, but they didn’t… intimidate him like this.

Yes. Arthur was intimidated.

The brilliant tradition of Imperial diplomacy—something he’d been raised on, something his father had drilled into him since childhood—was now being torn apart by non-experts who simply had the Crown Prince’s favor. His father insisted this couldn’t last long, but what, exactly, was going to happen?

The court was bustling every day, but today was worse than usual. Seeing attendants sprinting down the halls with pale faces, Arthur poked an Academy classmate as he passed.

“What’s going on? Aren’t those all attendants from the Crown Prince’s Palace?”

Diplomacy was, in the end, about people. Arthur, an excellent diplomat, knew the faces and affiliations of the court’s major figures. And since Abelus rose to power, everyone in the Crown Prince’s Palace had become a “major figure.”

Arthur’s classmate—now working in the information department—leaned in, eyes bright with excitement.

“Something big happened. You know Sir Ralph, right? The Crown Prince’s playmate.”

Of course he knew. The Crown Prince and Arthur had attended the Academy around the same time.

At Arthur’s puzzled look, his friend spoke as if he could barely contain himself.

“Sir Ralph, who went out to support the Tipian Marquessate, was carried back in terrible condition. And it was the marquessate’s knights who brought him! He was injured suppressing a riot that broke out in the marquessate—but that’s not all!”

“Then what?”

Abelus sending troops to “support” the Tipian Marquessate was already common knowledge at court. The Crown Prince himself—and his mistress, who acted like the Crown Princess these days—had been talking for some time about how “necessary” it was.

To anyone with eyes, Abelus sending troops without even receiving a request from the local lord was awkward. Those who didn’t understand assumed, ‘Surely there must have been a request,’ but the high-ranking nobles roughly knew the Crown Prince’s true intent.

Arthur’s friend whispered a few more words into his ear.

Arthur went pale—and ran.

The same scene repeated throughout the court. Then in noble houses. Then, at last, on the streets.

People rushed to those who needed to know. The fearful word “war” rode the wind.

❖ ❖ ❖

To the spark, fire was lit.