Chapter 65
Märchen stood before his own portrait, lost in thought.
His mind kept returning to a deal he had once made with a young nobleman from some remote countryside village.
The deal was simple—he would forgive a small portion of the man’s debt, and in return, receive a small stone.
It was a dull gray pebble, no larger than a thumb joint, yet the power hidden within it was beyond imagination.
A relic of Oberon—the sorcerer who had once challenged the domain of the gods.
Märchen knew better than anyone that if he succeeded in deciphering its power, the resulting influence would be monumental.
It had seemed a simple transaction at the time, but in hindsight, far too many things didn’t make sense.
Why did that backwater delinquent possess Oberon’s legacy?
And how did he even know its value?
The deal hadn’t been bad, but even so, Märchen couldn’t shake the chill crawling up his spine.
Years of handling money had trained him to sense danger, and now an unease he couldn’t explain lingered deep in his chest.
Rudis, standing nearby, noticed the elder’s troubled expression.
“Are you certain this is wise, Elder?”
“Yes. Even if it means drawing the ire of Aisother itself. It makes no sense to turn a blind eye to the hero who saved Doras.”
“…If you say so, Elder, I won’t argue further.”
“Thank you for understanding.”
“Then I’ll step out until you call for me again.”
“Ah, yes, yes. I almost forgot—you must be busy helping with the reconstruction efforts. Go on, tend to your duties.”
“Yes, Elder.”
When Rudis shut the door behind him, a glowing rune appeared upon the heavy wood.
Circular, with the pattern of a turtle’s shell—one of the highest-grade seals that completely blocked all external intrusion.
This particular barrier had been erected by a Rank 7 Grand Magus dispatched by the Mage’s Union.
Thanks to that, even after the attack on the Golden Bank, the elders’ chambers had remained completely untouched.
Additional Rank 6 magi had been sent for reinforcement as well, making the elders’ private quarters second only to the vault of the Golden Bank in security.
“Phew…”
Märchen sank into his soft chair.
The plush comfort pressed gently against his body, but his unease refused to fade.
He stared at Oberon’s relic resting on his desk.
His mind spun with plans—
Which magic tower to ally with, what moves to make, and how to leverage the power he now possessed.
Tak.
He set the relic down for a moment.
“…Huh?”
And froze.
Something—or someone—was sitting where no one should be.
No one but Märchen himself was supposed to be here.
Yet across from him, a stranger sat calmly, staring right back at him.
“What are you planning to do with that?”
“…Hurk!”
The intruder’s voice chilled his spine. Märchen gasped, clutching at his chest.
“Wh–who are… you—kaahk…”
A searing pain tore through his lungs. He tried to think, to recall who this person was, but his mind simply refused to work.
It was as if he were staring directly into the blazing sun—his consciousness began to melt the longer he tried to look.
An interference spell?
A magic that hindered cognition—but none this powerful had ever been recorded.
Whoever this was had pierced a top-tier magical barrier without a sound. Their level was beyond comprehension.
“Apologies. But that relic must not exist in this world—at least, not yet.”
“Ugh…”
“I’m sorry to make you experience something so unpleasant.”
Fsssh.
Märchen’s body dissolved like heat haze, leaving not even a speck of dust behind—
as if water had simply evaporated into thin air.
The intruder stood silently before the empty chair where Märchen had just been.
Clack.
“Elder?”
“What is it?”
“The council meeting has been scheduled for this evening.”
“I see… Very well. I’ll be there on time.”
“Yes, Elder. I’ll make preparations.”
The guard showed not a hint of suspicion.
After all, standing before him was Märchen—
his appearance, voice, even the wrinkles near his eyes were identical.
Even Märchen’s late mother wouldn’t have known the difference.
The intruder, now wearing Märchen’s form, whispered softly—
“My apologies.”
The next morning, before dawn had even broken—
news of the Golden Bank assault had already spread across the continent like wildfire.
Even Aisother, neighboring kingdom and a key member of the Alliance, was no exception.
In a grand marble hall lined with golden banners,
a man knelt upon a long crimson carpet.
Before him stood a magnificent throne, adorned with gold and jewels.
A seat reserved for one—and one alone—within Aisother.
Before long, its owner appeared.
“Your loyal servant greets Your Majesty.”
“…”
A man with a thick black beard and eyes deep and sharp enough to cut.
That gaze alone proved he had not reached his throne through bloodline alone.
This was Erengold II, ruler of Aisother—one of the seven sovereigns of the Continental Alliance.
He looked down at his kneeling servant, Chancellor Duatris, with a cold, unreadable expression.
For a long moment, silence reigned. Then, at last, Erengold spoke.
“…Something amusing happened, I hear.”
Amusing.
Though the Golden Bank—the Alliance’s financial heart—had nearly been destroyed,
he treated it as if it were nothing more than a curious incident.
It wasn’t arrogance.
He had anticipated this.
The Golden Bank had always been a tempting target, and he had prepared countermeasures for such an eventuality.
But the bank hadn’t fallen.
The nobles’ losses were minimal.
To him, that alone made it a mere curiosity—an amusing event.
“Yes, Your Majesty. I only wished to ensure this does not interfere with our future plans.”
“Nothing changes. In fact, thanks to those rampaging imperial remnants, we no longer need to conceal our strength.”
“As you command, Your Majesty.”
The Golden Bank attack hadn’t altered his plans at all.
The internal wars between nobles would continue as intended—
until their strength was drained dry,
and the royal authority of Aisother would shine brighter than ever before.
As long as Erengold himself remained alive.
“And one more thing.”
His lips curled upward ever so slightly.
Duatris blinked. A smile? From him?
The man whose heart was said to be colder than steel?
But the smile vanished as quickly as it came, replaced by the usual, glacial stare.
“A loyal servant deserves a proper reward.”
Thick beads of sweat dripped onto the white marble floor, darkening it to a gray sheen.
“Haah!”
The tiles within a meter of me were practically gray from sweat.
As I caught my breath, Priana approached with a towel.
I wiped myself roughly and took up my sword again.
“You should rest a while, my lord,” she urged.
“Why?”
“You’ve been training since morning—half a day straight. I worry your wounds might reopen, especially after the Golden Bank incident.”
“Hmm. Fair point.”
After the Golden Bank raid, my financial troubles were mostly solved.
The contract with Märchen was sealed with his own handprint; no backstabbing would happen now.
But just because the money issue was gone didn’t mean I could relax.
The king was stirring up a war among nobles, and if I let my guard down, I’d be a corpse before the week was out.
If only I could live somewhere peaceful for once…
That’d be the dream—but completely impossible.
The continent was crawling with war, monsters, and bandits.
A tranquil paradise didn’t exist anymore.
And even if you did find one, you’d need a mountain of gold to live comfortably.
Travel alone with that much money, and you’d be robbed or killed before long.
Honestly, this might be as good as it gets.
Most of my debts were gone, and shabby as I looked, I was still heir to a count’s house.
The real protagonist—Dia—could handle all the grand adventures.
All I needed was to stay put in the countryside and manage my little territory.
“Let’s rest thirty minutes before continuing.”
“Yes, my lord. I’ll bring you something warm to drink.”
“Warm? I’m roasting here.”
“It’s bad for your body to drink cold water mid-training. Warm tea balances your inner and outer energy.”
“Who told you that?”
“It’s an old tradition from my family’s training method.”
“…Then I guess I’ll do as you say.”
I accepted the thermos and took a sip. Sweet, slightly bitter—whatever she’d added, it wasn’t bad.
“Lord!”
“Ah, Islin.”
As I was sipping the tea, Islin came running, looking unusually flustered.
A sinking feeling hit me.
“What’s wrong?”
“A letter—just arrived.”
“A letter?”
Indeed, she held a glossy yellowish envelope in one hand.
The paper shimmered faintly—definitely not ordinary stationery.
I felt a chill even before opening it.
And when I finally took it from her, the chill turned into certainty.
“Ah.”
A crimson seal, stamped with the black sigil of a snarling wolf.
The emblem of Aisother’s royal house—the Black Hound.
But this wasn’t from the king himself.
It bore the royal family’s crest, not the royal seal.
Meaning—it came from House Feredor, the royal bloodline itself.
With uneasy fingers, I broke the seal.
“Hmm…”
I read the contents slowly, line by line, while Priana and Islin glanced between me and the letter with anxious curiosity.
At last, I reached the end. Priana couldn’t hold back anymore.
“What does it say?”
“…An invitation.”
“An invitation?”
“They’re holding a grand banquet to celebrate the thwarting of the Golden Bank attack. Apparently, a noble loyal to Aisother played a great role in stopping it.”
“Oh…”
“And they’ve even prepared a gift. There’ll be a title ceremony before the banquet.”
Anyone else would’ve been moved to tears by the honor.
But me? I just felt uneasy.
A title ceremony, huh…
As the sole heir of the Impera family, I was already set to inherit my father Eamon’s position and the title of Count.
Still, it wasn’t uncommon for nobles who achieved great deeds to receive a personal title beforehand.
By that logic, I might at least be granted the title of Viscount.
“That’s wonderful news!” Priana exclaimed, her voice trembling with joy.
Islin, however, frowned. “Don’t you think this is… suspicious?”
“Suspicious? How can it be? They’re throwing a party in his honor!”
Normally, there’d be nothing odd about it.
In fact, social banquets were typically hosted under the royal name rather than by direct royal decree—it was etiquette.
But the sender was Erengold II.
And if there was one thing I knew about that scheming snake, it was that he never did anything without a hidden motive.
“Hmm…”
I thought about it, but couldn’t quite read his intentions.
His shadow seemed to slither behind every word on the page.
“…What can I do? Refusing a royal family’s invitation would be considered treason.”
“That’s true,” Priana admitted.
“Then you plan to attend?” Islin asked.
“I have to.”
There was no other choice. For now, I’d have to play along with the king’s game.
“Prepare to depart for the capital.”
“…Yes, my lord.”
“Yes, my lord!”
Just thinking about the preparations gave me a headache.
This wasn’t just a quick trip to the capital—it was a noble social gathering.
Officially, it was to celebrate the defeat of the monsters, but nobles from across Aisother—and perhaps even neighboring kingdoms—would be there.
In that world, a single wrong gesture could ruin a reputation.
Even the servants accompanying me had to be perfect.
If even one thing appeared lacking, the gossip would never end.
Still… I suppose I have it easier than most.
When expectations are low, people don’t bother criticizing.
I’d improved a bit lately, but once a ruffian, always a ruffian.
As long as I didn’t look too shabby, I’d be fine.
