Chapter 255

News that the young noblemen who had just graduated from the Noble Academy had been defeated dealt a fatal blow to an Imperial Capital that was already on edge.

Arthur Pendalant, an official in the Foreign Affairs Department, walked the Imperial Palace corridors with tangled thoughts. Ideas rose and fell in his mind until, at last, one word floated up among the fragments like a moon, growing clearer and heavier with every step.

‘Grand Duchess.’

Nerys Truydd. No—Nerys Maindulante now.

Arthur had taken classes with her when they were young. A girl who, even as a freshman, seemed to know more than the upperclassmen.

She had been strange from the first time they met. Even clever children still craved recognition from their peers and were easily swayed by simple desires. She wasn’t. She didn’t care about her peers—nor even the upperclassmen.

At the time, she had been only a small child, and not someone Arthur needed to pay attention to. But now? She was the Empire’s only Grand Duchess, and the owner of Ja’an.

‘Grand Duke.’

When Arthur first heard that Maindulante had occupied the Tipian Marquesate, and when the Imperial Family declared war, he had assumed the matter would be resolved quickly. Yet what should have been a dispute between the Imperial Family and a mere noble house had turned into a full war, and today, orders had finally landed on his department’s desk.

They were to inform “friendly countries”—in other words, every country on the continent—of this disgraceful situation, stripped of diplomatic niceties, and request reinforcements. Each royal family was to fulfill the oaths of allegiance they had sworn to the Bistor Empire.

The Maindulante Grand Duke and Grand Duchess had pushed the Imperial Family that far.

‘How long will this continue?’

That couple had clear goals. They weren’t the type to act recklessly on impulse. Arthur, who had learned a great deal about reading people through diplomacy, assessed them that way.

It was then.

“Lord Pendalant.”

Someone called his name. Arthur turned—and froze at the unfamiliar face.

No, not entirely unfamiliar. He’d seen him somewhere before…

Ah.

Arthur’s mouth fell open.

“Grand Duke Ganielo?”

Edward Ganielo—who rarely left his home due to poor health—smiled. His complexion looked healthier than Arthur had ever seen, even from afar.

“You recognize me. May I speak with you for a moment?”

“Ah, yes. Of course.”

They had never properly spoken before. Still flustered, Arthur approached.

“Have you heard? The situation is changing rapidly.”

“Yes.”

“And yet you look… calm.”

Cold sweat trickled down Arthur’s back. Duke Ganielo was a sly old fox who kept his tail hidden, while his second son, Colin Ganielo, was a fool. Arthur had always thought that no matter how brilliant a man was, he couldn’t fully control what his children became.

‘I can’t read him at all. There was another heir.’

It had been a long time since Duke Ganielo stopped appearing at court, citing illness. As far as Arthur knew, the Grand Duke was not officially active either.

But judging by the way things were unfolding, that family had already chosen a side.

Edward smiled as he studied Arthur’s face.

“You don’t need to worry too much about what I’m thinking. I was told about you. They said you’re cautious, so I’m inclined to like you—but I’ll decide for myself what kind of person you are.”

“Someone… told you about me?”

“Yes. A very noble lady. She said she took the same classes as you at the Noble Academy.”

Arthur hadn’t taken classes with many women who would be described as “very noble” by Edward Ganielo.

For some reason, a young girl with violet eyes came to mind.

Edward continued in a gentle tone.

“You must be busy these days. You’ll be writing letters to other countries asking for aid. But will they really be willing to help Bistor?”

“Shouldn’t they? Whatever the real balance of power is, formally the kings and nobles on this continent received their authority under the Empire’s approval.”

“Yes, that’s true. Even my people are demanding we help the Three Heroes. But what if that premise changes?”

“Yes?”

Edward’s eyes glinted.

“What do you think happens if the Empire never had the right to divide thrones or grant titles in the first place?”

Arthur parted his lips, not understanding. Edward glanced around, then lowered his voice and whispered a handful of words.

Betrayal. The Betrayal of Bistor. Fake Heroes.

The condensed exposé was as dramatic as a storybook. Arthur had, of course, read the serialized chapters of the novel Betrayal.

He had never once imagined it might be true.

Still dazed, he asked,

“Can that… be proven? It happened 600 years ago…”

“I’ve received confirmation from someone I trust. This isn’t about stripping House Elandria because of something from 600 years ago. The important point is that the Imperial Family is no longer the only one with justification.”

That was true.

Arthur swallowed hard.

Now that he thought about it, the Imperial Family had never treated the Foreign Affairs Department fairly. Since they believed they held an advantage over every other country, they didn’t bother investing resources to strengthen relationships. Even when the department worked tirelessly and produced results, the Imperial Family maintained an arrogant stance—acting as though those who had sworn allegiance should naturally offer this much.

Even the phrasing of this request for reinforcements—as “the fulfillment of an oath of allegiance”—was part of the same arrogance. It was only the officials of the Foreign Affairs Department who broke their backs pleading, bargaining, and offering sweeteners, insisting they would show “sincerity” at the family level.

Abelus’s clueless superior—the one brought in and placed above him—flashed through Arthur’s mind. As if reading it, Edward spoke.

“We are not betraying the Emperor we swore allegiance to. We must request reinforcements. The country is at war. Isn’t that the job of a Foreign Affairs Department official?”

“It is.”

“However, your family doesn’t need to carry too much of the burden in the process.”

The Empire’s diplomats were often drawn from children born of unions between foreign royalty or nobles and Imperial nobility—or their descendants. The Ganielo family, descended from foreign royalty, had always kept a foot in diplomacy, using those roots as leverage whenever needed.

Arthur and Edward—both skilled enough to speak in indirect, diplomatic turns—understood each other through little more than tone and gaze. They smiled, then parted without saying anything else.

Unlike before, Arthur continued down the corridor at a slower pace.

He knew exactly what reward effort earned in this court.

He had watched House Lykeandros—who had gambled everything on pleasing the Crown Prince—collapse into ruin.

Now, suppose what happened 600 years ago truly was the truth. That scandal would leave scars on everyone at court.

Edward was right.

If the enemy already had intelligence, and now had justification to match—and if even House Ganielo had been drawn in—then this war would not end as simply as they had once believed.

In that case…

‘I should tip off a few people as well.’

There was no need for every family to shoulder resentment later simply because they had been too eager in begging their foreign relatives.

❖ ❖ ❖

“Fewer than expected—and slow to assemble.”

Abelus spoke indifferently as he read the report on reinforcements sent by other countries. Nellusion replied softly.

“Yes. I think so as well. It seems the Foreign Affairs Department isn’t working properly.”

“Why aren’t they doing their job properly?”

“I’m investigating.”

“Can you even investigate? You must be too busy fighting the Duke.”

Abelus wasn’t wrong.

The former—no, the current—Duke Elandria, now that he had reappeared, had branded his son Nellusion a patricide and risen with the subordinate lords who followed him. With justification entirely against him, Nellusion had lost most of the authority he had wielded under the name of Duke Elandria.

What little power remained was being poured into the struggle against Duke Elandria, and even those Nellusion had personally cultivated were now difficult to use. For a moment, he couldn’t answer.

Abelus took petty satisfaction in the fatigue that flickered across Nellusion’s normally untroubled face. Still, he didn’t point it out. A clever vassal with nowhere else to turn was the ideal kind.

“It would’ve been different if Duke Ganielo had stepped in. That damn sly old fox is still lying around, shamelessly claiming he’s sick, so the Foreign Affairs Department is dragging its feet too. And Cledwyn—that monster—is closing in on the Imperial Capital by the hour.”

Bang.

Abelus slammed his fist onto the desk and hissed, his eyes dangerous.

“The vassals are all scarecrows! Thieves! They swagger around with their heads held high, but they can’t stop a mere brat, and they retreat every time! They throw away valuable talents! They waste the country’s money!”

Abelus hurled insults at everything that wasn’t going his way.

He spoke as if it were all someone else’s fault, but the blame should have been his. He was the one who had rashly started a fight with Maindulante. He was the one commanding a war they kept losing. He was the one who had squandered money on gambling and created an opening for the other side to intervene.

But what was the point of saying it?

Nellusion, fully aware that he stood here only by Abelus’s mercy, listened in silence and nodded when appropriate. When Abelus finally ran out of breath, Nellusion suggested an alternative in a calm voice.

“Your Highness, the enemy’s scale is already large—and only growing. Wouldn’t it be increasingly difficult to simply stop them?”

“Do you think I want to just stop them? Who wouldn’t want to counterattack?”

Sparks flew in Abelus’s eyes. If he could have counterattacked, he would have done so long ago. If he’d had that option, would he really be losing like this?

Nellusion bowed deeply—deep enough for his thorough humility to soothe Abelus’s flaring temper and let him savor a private sense of triumph.

When Abelus’s expression finally softened, Nellusion spoke as if wronged.

“Your Highness, please don’t misunderstand my loyalty. Would I dare say this to criticize you?”

“Then what?”

“An army that advances quickly leaves a weak rear. Shouldn’t we strike where they least expect it?”

“I’ve tried hitting their rear. Do you think I haven’t?”

Because they were being driven back so badly, every military expert in court had been gathered daily, heads bent together over maps. Terrain. Weather. Fortifications. Ambushes. Surprise attacks. They had tried everything.

Even the strategy involving secret bases—predicted to have a “high chance of victory”—had become useless because Cledwyn avoided every such base. Some bases had been deliberately spared so they could hide and stab at the rear later, without directly confronting the Maindulante army, but after a time, contact with those places was lost. They must have been taken.

The thought made Abelus’s anger surge again. He bared his teeth.

Nellusion watched him, smiling faintly.

“I’m not suggesting we strike the actual rear of the army currently advancing. Given the Grand Duke’s record so far, it wouldn’t be effective.”

“Then where?”

“If we strike at the empty Maindulante—the land the main force has left behind—what will the Grand Duke do? The morale of their main force, the Platinum, will plummet immediately.”

“What are you talking about? Illopium Gorge is guarded by a unit the Grand Duke left behind. A road hemmed in by cliffs—how are we supposed to strike it? That place, from the moment it was taken—”

“What if there were another way?”

Nellusion’s eyes gleamed.

“I have obtained information that there is a secret passage leading into the Grand Duchy.”

❖ ❖ ❖

“Well done.”

Cledwyn smiled, satisfied, upon hearing that Nellusion had been successfully fed the existence of the secret passage Nerys had used when she graduated from the Noble Academy and entered Maindulante.

“If you want to scratch an itch, you have to give them an itch first. Make them more confident.”

So they would throw in everything they had left.