Chapter 82……………………………………..
Given his rank, Feradil’s words had never once been dismissed at a State Council meeting. If anything, his influence was so great that it was a problem in itself.
That didn’t mean he enjoyed speaking, however. He only opened his mouth when the emperor asked him to, or when it was absolutely necessary.
Exchanging opinions over trivial matters with dull-witted officials was emotionally draining, and there was no need to grow close to them. Keeping his distance was more advantageous, so he always maintained his guard.
He never spoke hastily out of fear of saying something that could be seized upon, and only after careful consideration did he pinpoint the essentials.
For someone like him, even allowing for the fact that fatigue had made him slightly less restrained, snapping and rising to his feet was exceedingly rare. That alone showed just how hard the marquis’s words were to accept.
“Hasn’t His Highness once before abandoned everything and left the imperial palace of his own accord?”
Unlike the young nobles who were flustered by Feradil’s reaction, the marquis continued calmly, his tone laced with cold sarcasm.
“The first time is always the hardest, so there’s no guarantee it won’t happen again. If Your Highness, who once left the palace and later returned, wishes to earn trust, shouldn’t you demonstrate that much resolve? Only then will the people of the Empire be able to swear loyalty. And that includes us as well.”
“Prince Theodore is already a legitimate heir to the throne. Wouldn’t sending the prince—soon to be emperor, with his coronation approaching—on a subjugation campaign only sow confusion among the people? If something were to happen to His Highness while he’s away, who would lead the Empire then?”
“Well… it’s not as if there’s only one prince.”
The moment Feradil finished pressing the marquis hard, Count Spencer, still young, muttered under his breath. Every word reached Noah’s ears.
Noah glared at Count Spencer with eyes that looked ready to devour him.
“Count Spencer! What did you just say?”
“Me? What could someone as insignificant as I possibly have said?”
Noah was just about to lash out at the shameless denial when Count Woodville spoke, clearly intending to calm him.
“It is true that His Highness the prince has had a period of absence, but leaving the palace again to make up for it would be foolish. Above all else, isn’t the prince’s safety what matters most? I can’t help but wonder whether the marquis is presenting a minority opinion as though it were the majority.”
With practiced ease, he jabbed at the internal rift among the nobles.
Worse than the divide between the imperial faction and the noble faction was the hostility between the old-guard nobles and the upstart nobles. Count Woodville’s words were an indirect attempt to encourage the old-guard nobles—who kept the upstarts in check—to side with the imperial faction, hinting at the latter’s internal collapse.
“I, for one, agree with Marquis Boleyn.”
It was Marquis Graham, the leader of the old guard. At the words of the white-haired marquis, seated upright with impeccable posture, the imperial faction could not hide their shock. Their undisguised expressions of surprise contrasted sharply with the smug faces of the noble faction.
“Well, well. Looks like it wasn’t just a personal opinion after all?”
Count Spencer, emboldened beyond measure, snickered and stole a sideways glance at Noah. Catching it, Noah let out a hollow laugh and ground his teeth as he muttered,
“Hah. Looks like they’ve already pulled themselves together.”
His brother had remained seated in silence this whole time. Fearing that he might actually agree to the subjugation, Noah prepared to stand and voice his opposition forcefully.
“Report the details of the subjugation.”
A satisfied smile crept onto Marquis Boleyn’s face.
“Brother! Making such a move before the coronation is dangerous!”
“But as the marquis says, aren’t they also my people? If it is the voice of the people of the Empire, then as their ruler I should, in principle, respond.”
“It is said that illegal migrants are crossing over from the Kingdom of Caska, which borders the northernmost region, Rayon.”
The Rayon region had originally been territory of the Kingdom of Caska. Dreaming of becoming an empire, Caska had invaded Coventin boldly in pursuit of territorial expansion. Believing that the Coventin Empire had grown not through military might but through diplomatic finesse, Caska regarded the Empire as easy prey.
But just as Feradil’s father, Richard Seymour, had intended, Coventin’s army—its strength long concealed—was formidable. The Kingdom of Caska was utterly defeated and forced to surrender. As a consequence of that defeat, Rayon was incorporated into Coventin.
Even as he ceded Rayon, the king of Caska begged Coventin for a single mercy: that the northern upper district of Rayon, the city of Skara—where his mother had been born—be allowed to remain part of Caska.
“Forgetting the benevolence shown by His Late Majesty the Emperor, whose tolerance allowed Skara to remain with Caska, Caskan bandits are now harming the imperial citizens of Rayon. As a warning to the Kingdom of Caska, which repays kindness with enmity, would it not be fitting for Your Highness to unify the divided Rayon region?”
“I’ve heard that the current king of Caska still hasn’t abandoned his ambition to proclaim himself emperor. They say he’s constantly watching for an opportunity to strike neighboring states. It seems the marquis’s talk of subjugation isn’t entirely unfounded.”
“Do you think we are unaware of how precious Your Highness’s command is? These illegal migrants are merely impoverished folk who fled south because they had nothing to eat—there’s no way they possess real strength. It will be a very light campaign.”
Marquis Boleyn, who would undoubtedly do anything to keep his own children from being conscripted, spoke as though a subjugation that put Theo’s life at risk were a trivial matter. Yet since the future emperor raised no objection, the State Council seemed on the verge of concluding.
“Command.”
The nobles who had been about to pack up briskly froze and focused on Feradil’s voice. Count Spencer, who had already finished preparing to leave and was standing alone, read the room and sat back down.
“Let it be command only. His Highness should remain at headquarters and issue orders, and not take part in combat where blades are crossed.”
“But—”
“Isn’t the mere fact that His Highness participates in the subjugation enough in itself? Or are you insisting that His Highness must see blood with his own eyes?”
At Feradil’s sharp gaze, Marquis Boleyn shrank back. In the past, Feradil had been the father—and father-in-law—of the woman who held the marquis’s weakness, but now there was no reason for Feradil to mind him at all.
Unable to come up with a convincing reason to insist that Theo personally take up a sword, the noble faction fell silent.
“Then we’ll proceed with a small, elite force, and I will take command. Count Woodville, a war hero with extensive experience leading troops, will oversee the subjugation with me. While I am away, Prince Noah will act as regent in handling state affairs.”
Accepting Feradil’s support, Theo declared the meeting adjourned.
Shadows fell over the faces of the imperial faction nobles, while reactions among the noble faction split cleanly in two—half wore satisfied smiles at having achieved what they wanted, and half looked slightly regretful at the compromised conclusion.
At Theo’s request, Prince Noah, Count Woodville, and Feradil remained behind, each letting out a silent sigh.
“Damn it! If I’d known it would turn out like this, I should’ve joined forces with the elders sooner!”
Theo calmed Noah, who slammed his fist onto the desk in anger.
“It couldn’t be helped. Fundamentally, their enemy is the imperial family. When presented with a chance to bring down a common enemy, of course they’d happily join hands.”
“No—their enemy isn’t the imperial family. It’s justice. Those dog-like bastards who only care about protecting their own rice bowls.”
Theo understood his brother’s reaction all too well, so he didn’t try to stop him. Instead, he turned to Count Philip Woodville.
“I’ll be relying heavily on your keen judgment, Count. Even if I’m nominally in command, won’t you be handling the overall operation?”
“It has been a long time since I left the battlefield for administrative duties. I fear I may burden Your Highness—would it not be better to appoint a young knight commander?”
“Didn’t you leave the battlefield too early for someone of your caliber?”
As Theo said, Philip—who had once become a war hero through his fearsome presence and brilliant strategy—had been forced to leave the battlefield unwillingly, after being falsely accused of treason against Woodville.
Guessing why Theo had entrusted him with this task, the count quietly bowed his head. A mix of responsibility, faint gratitude, and a creeping sense of burden welled up within him.
“Haha. Besides, I don’t have many people I can truly rely on. With Woodville, I can entrust things without worry, so don’t feel pressured.”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
This time, the count bowed deeply in genuine submission.
The ruler’s gaze shifted to the Empire’s diplomatic envoy.
“Duke Seymour, help Noah. While I’m gone, the pressure from the noble faction will intensify—make sure Noah doesn’t waver and keeps his footing.”
From the earnest look directed at him, Feradil sensed something amiss. This was not merely an older brother entrusting his younger sibling to someone.
“With all due respect, Your Highness… are you asking this of me while keeping in mind the possibility that you may not be able to return promptly?”
For a long while, there was no answer. It seemed to be something Theo needed to steel himself to say, and he deliberately drew out the silence. At last, perhaps unwilling to keep such important figures waiting any longer, he spoke in a low voice.
“Perhaps… for a long time.”
