Chapter 240
Dora watched in admiration as slender white fingers moved in silence, swift as wind. Even the smallest gesture looked like a painting when done by the Grand Duke. And it filled her with pride.
The navy-blue horse holding a sword was placed in the northeast of the Tipian Marquessate, where the marquess’s castle stood.
“Originally, the Imperial Family intended to harm the marquessate and pin it on us. That would have set the two against each other, and both sides would have wasted their strength drowning in tedious rhetoric. So I saved them the trouble.”
Hilbrin grinned, clearly pleased. This time, Nerys lifted the navy-blue horse and set it south of the Illopium Mountains.
The surprise attack—carefully prepared, no doubt—had failed before it could even begin. Even Abelus would have considered the chance that information might leak.
“If they believe Marquis Tipian and we are colluding, they’ll be furious. They’ll try to show off by mobilizing every troop they can scrape together, even if it’s unreasonable.”
Abelus couldn’t stand the idea of anyone not fearing him, not even a little. Was that why he was so antagonistic toward Camille?
Daring not to revere him, a descendant of the Imperial Family. Daring to try to use him. Daring to force him into a choice he didn’t want.
‘But he isn’t deciding anything for himself.’
Wanting to bring down Maindulante—and sending troops immediately—might be the only things he decided on his own.
His blind hatred for Cledwyn probably grew from that childish nature. Cledwyn wasn’t the type to pretend fear.
“He’s probably preparing a formal declaration of war by now. You all likely know this already, but I’ll say it anyway, just to be certain. With everyone’s eyes on the marquessate…”
Nerys pointed toward the Imperial Palace.
“We will take one step forward and discuss a plan to strike the Imperial Palace. Please understand: I, a non-expert, am explaining this only because His Grand Ducal Highness is currently in the middle of a military operation.”
Tension snapped through the conference room.
They had expected it. Their lord and lady—the bold couple opposing the Imperial Family—had already made their stance clear.
Attacking the Imperial Army was already crossing the line.
But since the beginning of human history, the Empire had been the ruler of the world. Since the Age of the Evil Dragon, no one had imagined the House of Bistor could disappear—let alone be attacked directly.
So “strike the Imperial Palace” landed differently. Even the bellicose Hilbrin’s face stiffened.
Nerys looked at them.
Everyone else seemed frozen, at a loss. Only she remained calm.
As always.
When she first came to Maindulante, most in this room had welcomed her, with a few exceptions. But that welcome hadn’t been trust in her—it had been faith in their lord, Cledwyn.
How much time had passed since then?
Now, her laughter was their laughter, and her goals were their goals. They not only believed she never spoke wrongly—they had a deep, instinctive resolve to make her words right even if she did.
Watching her composed expression, their hearts began to settle again. A strange conviction spread among them: in the end, everything would turn out for the best.
“There’s no need to hesitate. You all know it, don’t you? That this world being entrusted to ‘Bistor’ was built on a lie. Just as the moon wanes after it is full, the flower song that has been sung for so long must end.”
The people of Maindulante all knew the truth about the Evil Dragon and the Three Heroes. The novel Betrayal had only been banned in the Imperial Capital. Here, it had been written to completion. Nerys’s eyes burned.
“Your lord has been preparing for this day far longer than you think.”
Long ago, when he was a powerless student, he fought to survive—and gathered talent at the same time.
In a way, Cledwyn’s life resembled Nerys’s.
A long path of revenge and survival.
‘Surviving to avenge those who stole the peace he should have had in childhood, and avenging those who are now trying to steal his peace—so he can survive again.’
Nerys remembered the first time she saw Maindulante’s military deployment after becoming its strategist.
The troops stationed across the land looked scattered, arranged to emphasize balance of power within Maindulante. But as she moved people for relief efforts and learned the roads for that purpose, she realized—
All of those troops could reveal themselves to the rest of the Empire within days, if only the order was given.
From the beginning, this was never only her fight.
‘Then I should do what I’m good at.’
Persuade people. Bring them to our side.
So the people’s blood was shed as little as possible, and only the guilty paid the price.
“I stand before you as Nerys Truydd, the rightful heir of the Hero Elandria Gonestrude. The one who leads you is Cledwyn Maindulante, heir of the Hero Pheros Maindulus. Go and tell the lackeys of the betrayer—tell them we will now reclaim the rights and honor stolen from us!”
❖ ❖ ❖
“Lykeandros Marquessate, reporting personnel.”
“Bertha County, reporting personnel.”
The names of prominent nobles continued, one after another.
Flags rippled beneath the ornate ceiling mural—dozens of them, with shapes and colors worthy of each house’s history. Aristocrats in noble dress filled the hall.
It was a spectacle.
But Abelus’s face, as he watched, was twisted.
Even as he sat still and did nothing but receive reports, it was obvious.
There were too few.
“Marquis.”
Marquis Lykeandros—the one who had brought the largest force—answered Abelus’s call with a stiff, anxious look.
“Yes, Your Highness.”
“Didn’t I make myself clear? This is a major event involving the Empire’s honor, pride, and future. Every family must send troops without exception to show respect to the Imperial Family. Didn’t you hear me?”
He heard. Wasn’t that why he was now listing every soldier he could scrape together?
Because the ridiculous declaration—full-scale war against the North, declared without warning—didn’t feel like a joke at all.
He had rushed to summon troops as Abelus ordered, had documented the numbers, offered them up as proof of reverence for the Imperial Family… and yet the Marquis felt sick with unease.
Why?
Was war a game?
He had agreed to provide troops because he wanted his daughter to be loved even a little more. Now that he was being ostracized for concealing her birth, the only way his family could survive was to remain on good terms with the Crown Prince.
But the other nobles…
‘Too few, indeed.’
It wasn’t only the troops. The nobles themselves were missing.
Among the great nobles—the eight houses excluding the Grand Duke—Duke Ganielo’s absence stood out. Duke Grunehals had no reason to feel friendly toward Abelus, so he watched from the sidelines and provided only the bare minimum. Nellusion Elandria sat in his seat, but everyone knew his house could not field many soldiers right now.
Three ducal families, weakened at once.
And the marquess houses? Marquis Kendall was nearly broken after his beloved daughter died. Marquis Odroy was openly displeased with Abelus’s actions. Marquis Tipian was—
‘A cunning one.’
Wasn’t he the one who betrayed them? If he hadn’t sided with the Grand Duke first, how could Maindulante have known and struck first? So Marquis Tipian was an enemy as well.
The Wells family sent troops diligently, clearly trying to please the Imperial Family, but their contribution was pathetic—the house’s condition was poor. So among the great nobles, only Marquis Lykeandros was truly moving with enthusiasm.
As for the lower nobles, whether they could or could not provide soldiers, they were all passive. They did not understand what was happening.
His Highness the Crown Prince has declared war on Maindulante, they say. Why? Because Maindulante attacked Sir Ralph. Why was Sir Ralph attacked? He was suppressing a rebellion in the northern Tipian Marquessate when Maindulante suddenly attacked. Why was Sir Ralph suppressing a rebellion in the northern Tipian Marquessate?
No. We know His Highness sent troops. But we still don’t understand. Why would the marquess ask His Highness for reinforcements for his nephew? Isn’t Maindulante closer?
Anyone could see the circumstances were strange. Worse, a rumor that sounded even more plausible began to spread:
‘In truth, Maindulante didn’t attack Sir Ralph. They helped suppress the rebellion.’
What noble would be happy to hand over money and soldiers to the Imperial Family? Most of them, judging that Abelus was simply venting his anger because his confidant had been injured, maintained the most passive posture they could—hoping the tantrum would end soon.
Thump.
Abelus threw the next noble’s thick troop list onto the desk and glared.
“It’s wartime. Lack of cooperation is disloyalty to the Empire. And disloyalty to the Empire is refusing to recognize the authority of the Three Heroes. And refusing to recognize the authority of the Three Heroes is treason against all mankind, isn’t it? Hm? What do you think, Marquis?”
The marquis—being scolded while doing exactly what Abelus demanded—felt wronged. But who could refute that logic?
Wasn’t that the very justification noble society had used for six hundred years to maintain loyalty to the Imperial Family?
“Tsk.”
Seeing the marquis hesitate, Abelus clicked his tongue. Unlike the clever and bold Megara, her father had too much to weigh.
‘I can’t help it.’
Among the ideas Megara had whispered to him, there was a plan he had delayed because he feared it would provoke backlash from the nobles. If things had gone his way, he wouldn’t have needed it.
But they hadn’t.
Abelus lamented his bad luck—that his mistress was the only one he could truly trust—and spoke with deliberate calm.
“In times of uncertainty, Imperial Bistor honors the Three Heroes who laid its foundation by having the noblest come forward first. Since most of this year’s graduates of the Noble Academy are in the Imperial Capital, wouldn’t it be good to give them a chance to relive that glory?”
It was phrased indirectly, but the nobles could already hear what would follow.
Surely not…
“All of this year’s graduates of the Academy, excluding the Theology Department, will be incorporated into the Imperial Army by order of the Crown Prince. The Eine Circle and Kartak Circle will not be distinguished. Those from the Swordsmanship Department and Magic Department will serve as soldiers, and those from other majors will serve as administrators. Also, since it is suspected that spies may have harbored malicious intentions toward our precious Imperial citizens, the Imperial Army will protect the Noble Academy starting next semester, and this protection will remain until the situation stabilizes!”
Mouths fell open.
The excuse sounded noble. But no one missed what it truly was:
A threat.
‘Let’s see how much you cooperate after your children are taken hostage.’
“Y-Your Highness. That is…”
Marquis Lykeandros tried to dissuade him, but Abelus shut him down with a fierce glare.
“Ahem! Is this situation normal? Two great noble families have rebelled against the Imperial Family. And yet you’re all far too relaxed!”
Abelus glared at the silent nobles.
He knew this kind of hard line could provoke backlash. But if he won quickly, wouldn’t that prove his ability?
What did it matter if he used a slightly unreasonable method?
“Don’t you know the truth? The one who strikes first wins. Do you understand? We enter the strategy meeting in three hours. The sooner we depart, the better. Until then, check the troop lists again—one last time. Make sure there are no issues with what each family will send!”
Abelus had dreamed of this moment his whole life.
The day he would escape the eyes of his authoritative father, his viper-like sister, and his black-hearted vassals—those who observed, evaluated, and criticized him—and finally prove his own worth.
The day he would show everyone he was better than the monstrous Cledwyn Maindulante.
The start wasn’t perfect. But what the Empire had built over the years wasn’t so shallow that it couldn’t punish one grand duchy and one marquessate and make them learn their place.
At least, Abelus believed so.