Chapter 68
A few hours before the banquet.
Inside the royal audience chamber — a place so restricted that only a handful of people in the entire Terrarium were allowed to enter.
But the approaching footsteps hardly suited such a solemn place.
Bang!
“…Your Majesty!”
With a loud, disrespectful noise, the doors slammed open.
Only two kinds of people could do such a thing and still keep their heads — the king himself, or the king’s child.
“Is it true!? That you’re granting him the title of Count!?”
It was none other than Prince Gallen, the only son of Eurongold II.
The chancellor’s brows furrowed at the prince’s sudden intrusion. The king, too, did not look pleased.
“……”
Even a hedgehog finds its own child adorable — but the look Eurongold gave his son was closer to disgust than affection.
Without a word, he fixed his son with a piercing glare. The prince’s shoulders shrank involuntarily under that gaze.
“B-but… to bestow the title of Count without even a word to me…”
“…Who is the ruler of this nation?”
“……”
“Answer me.”
“…It is you, Your Majesty.”
“Then who has the authority to grant titles? Those old fools in the Papal Court?”
“N-no! That authority also lies with you, Your Majesty!”
“Then why am I having this conversation with you at all?”
“……”
Prince Gallen of the Kingdom of Aisother fell silent, his lips pressed tight like a mute. His cheeks trembled, but that was all.
“Your Majesty…”
At this point, the most uncomfortable person in the room was Chancellor Duatris, caught between the two.
He tried to say something, but Eurongold’s icy, blade-like gaze silenced him instantly.
“Leave.”
“…Yes, Your Majesty.”
Gallen fled the audience chamber with reddened eyes. The humiliation was suffocating.
The chancellor pursed his lips, watching cautiously.
Having served the king for years, he knew better than anyone how strained the relationship between father and son was.
‘His Majesty doesn’t always have to be so harsh…’
“Do not concern yourself,” Eurongold said coldly. “The investiture will proceed tomorrow as planned.”
“Yes, Your Majesty. But perhaps it would be wise to give the prince some forewarning of your intentions…”
“That won’t be necessary. If he cannot read something so simple, then ignorance will serve him better.”
“My apologies, Your Majesty. I spoke out of turn…”
Eurongold turned his head with a blank expression.
His voice leaked through the door, and though Prince Gallen heard every word clearly, the king didn’t care in the least.
“……”
Why must my father always be so cold?
Gallen had asked himself that question for twenty years.
But there was never an answer.
He wasn’t stupid — dull, perhaps, but not a fool. He had decent magical aptitude and might have been a gem in the rough with the right training.
Yet no matter how hard he worked, Eurongold never once looked upon him with warmth.
Only with eyes full of disappointment — as though staring at an insect.
“Haa…! Haa…!”
Gallen trembled with rage.
He wanted to tear someone apart, to kill something with his bare hands. It wouldn’t be the first time a servant ended up dead outside the palace walls, and it wouldn’t be the last.
But even that couldn’t ease his anger — because the one he truly wanted to kill was Eurongold II, his father, and the ruler of the kingdom.
And that was impossible.
So instead, he vented his fury elsewhere — his only way of surviving the pressure.
Pathetic fool.
Whether those words came from Eurongold’s lips, or from the voice of inferiority that haunted him for years, he couldn’t tell.
But one thing was certain — Gallen heard them.
“Damn it…!”
That cold, contemptuous gaze — as if he were less than dirt — tormented him endlessly.
Clutching his head, he groaned in pain, then slowly, a wicked idea crossed his mind.
The “hero” who stopped the Golden Bank robbery.
That bastard — Ian Impera.
The anger that should have been directed at Eurongold turned, instead, toward Ian.
What?
When Eurongold spoke, I thought for a moment he’d misspoken.
But the calm, unwavering look in his eyes told me otherwise.
“Th-thank you, Your Majesty.”
I slipped the ring he handed me onto my finger. It fit perfectly, as if made for me. Probably enchanted to do so.
Then I kissed the back of his hand — while half-wondering if he’d coated it with poison.
“I, Ian Impera, swear from this day forth to devote myself as your loyal servant, for the glory of Aisother.”
“For Aisother!”
“For Aisother!”
The banquet hall erupted with cheers.
The stiff, self-important nobles chanted the kingdom’s prosperity in unison.
To most men, it would’ve been a stirring sight — but not to me.
Their mouths shouted “Aisother,” yet their eyes told a different story.
Predators watching their prey.
Those hungry eyes were all aimed at the newly minted count — me.
So that’s what this is.
I started to see Eurongold’s real intent.
He’d thrown a small pebble into a pond of entrenched nobility. That ripple was enough to stir their long-dormant ambitions.
Now they’d be scheming — whether to lure this “upstart” Count Impera to their side, or to tear me apart and feast on my remains.
My back’s going to have holes by morning.
When the investiture ended, Eurongold left the hall immediately, as if he’d already seen enough.
The nobles, who’d been holding their breath under his gaze, finally exhaled once the king departed.
And then, their tongues began to wag.
“His Majesty has made quite the bold decision!”
“Haha! Indeed — to grant a countship, no less!”
Some shouted loudly for all to hear, while others began sidling up to me.
“Lord—no, Count Ian! Congratulations on your new title!”
“And I must say, your carriage was truly magnificent!”
They were tripping over themselves to flatter me.
The carriage this, the Golden Bank that — calling me a hero who saved the kingdom.
Same story, different day.
When Count Venner had nearly crushed me to ruin, none of these people said a word.
Now that I’d inherited his lands and received a title, I was nothing more than a fat, juicy prize to them.
To them, I was easy prey — a young, notorious troublemaker who’d gotten lucky.
They likely thought the whole “bank hero” thing was all thanks to Freana beside me.
What a joke.
As much as I wanted to ignore them, I couldn’t afford to make open enemies just yet.
Politics among nobles didn’t work that way.
Still, I had no desire to cozy up to just anyone.
“Hmm…”
While I was weighing my options, a man stumbled toward me, clutching an empty bottle of liquor.
“You’re the one?”
“The one what? Who are—”
The noble who’d been trying to flatter me turned, ready to snap at the intruder—
—but froze instantly, his face turning pale.
“G-Gah!”
“What’d you just sayyy?”
“N-nothing! Prince Gallen, sir!”
Prince Gallen?
So that’s who it was.
If he were sober, he’d have looked perfectly fine, but drenched in alcohol, he looked deranged.
Those wild eyes burned with a madness that made my skin crawl.
His red nose and disheveled uniform made it hard to believe this was Eurongold’s own son.
Even for a prince, this was no way to appear at a royal banquet.
Great.
Prince Gallen. Worst timing possible.
The nearby nobles quietly slipped away.
Which was fine — except I’d just traded one problem for a much bigger one.
Because Gallen was not someone I wanted to deal with.
In the novel, this guy made Ian look tame.
Coming from me — a self-proclaimed former scoundrel — that says something.
There are levels to being a bastard.
A commoner thug? Low class.
A rich fool who flaunts his money? Mid-tier.
A noble who abuses his title? High class.
Ian had been in the “high class” category — enough to ruin his own house.
But a royal? Someone above even nobles? There’s no one to stop them except the king.
And if that royal has a natural-born temperament of a madman?
That’s an apex-tier bastard — the kind only legends warn you about.
That’s Prince Gallen.
He hadn’t always been like this. The pressure from Eurongold had driven him insane.
But regardless of the cause, the result was the same — a lunatic.
A powerful lunatic. He was an aura user and a trained mage.
He’d literally killed servants before. Not a figure of speech — actually killed them.
And this man was heir to the Kingdom of Aisother.
Eurongold had only one son and one daughter. Under the laws of the Alliance, Gallen was the undisputed successor.
In the story, once Eurongold died, Gallen took the throne — and the kingdom crumbled faster than any other.
So why the hell is this psycho coming for me?
From the look of him, it wasn’t some political scheme.
Showing up to a banquet like this meant he was acting purely out of rage.
Probably after getting chewed out by his father.
“You… you’re the new count, aren’t you…?”
“…I am, Your Highness.”
“Heh… heheheh…”
His laugh was unpleasantly low and greasy.
On his chest, embroidered in gold, a black wolf bared its fangs.
Fantastic.
Of all the people to bump into, it had to be the biggest mad dog on the continent.
If I’d known, I’d have slipped out quietly.
Too late now — the water’s already spilled. I just had to make sure my legs didn’t get soaked.
“Your Highness.”
I immediately dropped to one knee and bowed my head.
“May I ask what business Your Highness has with your humble servant?”
I racked my memory for the proper royal etiquette.
Even as a newly minted count, I had no right to defy a prince.
One wrong move, and I’d be executed on the spot. Better to grovel a little than to die for pride.
Seeing me kneel, a smirk curled Gallen’s lips.
Freana and Islyn followed my lead, bowing low beside me.
“F-Freana Arnan, paying respects to Your Highness the Prince.”
“……”
“Oh?”
Gallen’s eyes flicked to Freana.
He seemed to recognize her — she had once served directly under Eurongold’s personal command.
“You look… familiar.”
“…It is an honor, Your Highness!”
“But you’re not the one I came to see tonight.”
He tipped back his bottle, draining the last few drops.
“……”
I kept my head bowed and said nothing.
“The one I came to see…”
Gallen’s voice slurred with venom.
“…is you, Ian Impera.”
