"Kraa, to think you'd be this violent. Creatures incapable of resolving their emotions with words are truly pitiful."
Scott, rubbing his nose after getting hit by Ishmael, grumbled.
"Shut up, unless you want to get hit again. And I hit you because you were making improper advances toward Midiam."
"What? Advances? How could you possibly interpret that conversation as an advance? Don't tell me your comprehension skills are that low. The stupidity of dull-witted fools never ceases to exceed my imagination."
"...."
"I'll explain it properly. I was merely warning you not to develop any sexual fantasies about me due to my intellectual charm and superior appearance. Among orcs, engaging in physical relations with lowly species like you is an unspeakable crime."
—Clank…
Ishmael, unable to bear it any longer, placed his hand on the hilt of his sword.
"Wait, hold on. What part of what I said is cause for outrage? Shouldn't you be grateful when you're taught something you didn't know? Ah, I see. Is this what they call an inferiority complex? Hmm, interesting. I've never experienced such emotions myself, so I wouldn't know."
Scott, taken aback by Ishmael's anger, stepped back.
"Enough. Let's move. We don't have time to waste."
Azadin began leading them southward, avoiding the Count Lantarik's forces.
"If the mercenaries from the Cell Sword Guild don't return, they'll realize something is wrong. Fortunately…."
Azadin refrained from saying the thought lingering in his throat—Guillaumevalt was so incompetent that no one would believe the guild members had failed to kill him.
'No matter how bad he is, it would be rude to say it outright.'
Thankfully, Guillaumevalt wasn't entirely oblivious.
"If all those mercenaries were actually trying to kill me, I wouldn't doubt their success. If they've lost contact with the soldiers, they'll assume there was some misunderstanding or that I was lucky enough to escape."
"…Sorry."
"Hmm? About what?"
"No, it's nothing."
"Rather, I find it peculiar that you, and not Sir Zebeck the Holy Knight, seem to be the leader of this group. Just who are you people?"
"Oh, you could say we're treasure hunters."
"Treasure hunters?"
"We're looking for the Count's memoirs."
"My father's memoirs? And why is that?"
"Because within those memoirs, we expect to find clues leading to the treasure we're searching for."
"So you're saying you'll help me?"
"Yes. After all, if we want to enter Count Lantarik's mansion or castle, we'll need a legitimate reason. It's much better to enter through the front gate with the rightful heir than to sneak over the walls and evade the guards while searching for the documents. And searching the study thoroughly would take quite some time—how else would we retrieve information under the cover of night?"
Extracting useful information from the Count's memoirs or letters would be an arduous task. They desperately needed the assistance of Brand, the scribe who had previously accomplished that very task—but now, he had succumbed to madness once again and become the Brass Knight.
"How long will it take to reach Lantarik from here?"
Midiam asked.
"If we hurry, four days. However…."
Zebeck trailed off, furrowing his brows.
"I doubt we'll make it there peacefully."
"It's fine. That's what the letter was for, wasn't it?"
Azadin shrugged.
"Now that you mention it, you left a letter where the bodies were, didn't you? What did it say?"
"Let's save that as a surprise for later. For now, let's move."
***
Count Lantarik's vassals were in a predicament.
It was common knowledge that the Count favored his youngest son, Young Master Adler, over his eldest. He had even arranged for Guillaumevalt to be trained by holy knights so that he could be sent away at any time, securing the line of succession.
However, the holy knights responsible for Guillaumevalt's training found themselves in an awkward position.
"He has no talent whatsoever."
"He lacks the ability to carry out any mission within the Holy Knights."
Nobles who inherited the blood of the Yaegas Divine Clan were, at the very least, superior to common farmers. While peasants toiled in the fields, nobles had the privilege of training and receiving an education without worrying about their meals. It was only natural that they were stronger.
Moreover, not all holy knights were exceptional swordsmen. The minimum requirement for swordsmanship and combat ability was low, and many spent their entire lives as clergy or holy knights without ever being assigned to field missions.
And yet…
Despite all this, the holy knights had outright refused to take Guillaumevalt in as a trainee, deeming him unworthy.
"Could he be doing this on purpose?"
The vassals began to suspect that Guillaumevalt was feigning incompetence to delay being sent away.
However, such doubts soon faded.
Guillaumevalt was simply too pitiful in appearance. His elongated face, resembling that of a horse, coupled with slightly crossed eyes, made it impossible to call him handsome even out of courtesy.
Moreover, his actions only reinforced the perception that he was truly an imbecile, not someone cunningly faking his incompetence.
"But… why haven't we heard anything yet?"
The vassals had tasked the Cell Sword Guild with handling Guillaumevalt.
The plan was to report that he had been killed by monsters.
But despite sending out guild members for scouting that morning, they had yet to return by nightfall.
"Let's send out an investigation team at daybreak."
Thus, they remained in the fortress, losing an entire day.
***
The next morning, the scouting party discovered the corpses of the Cell Sword Guild members lying in the reeds.
"W-what is this?!"
"What happened here?!"
The vassals examined the surroundings. From the looks of it, the mercenaries had been ambushed—archers had rained arrows down on them, followed by an assault with swords and blunt weapons, utterly annihilating them.
The fact that there were no other corpses besides those of the mercenaries suggested a one-sided massacre.
"An ambush, an assassination…? But who could have done this?"
"Could it be the monsters that attacked the Count?"
"Or perhaps the herald clan that approached the Count?"
"Since it was arrows…."
As the vassals speculated, one of them discovered something.
"Wait! This corpse… it's holding a letter!"
"A letter?"
"Let me see. Huh?"
They noticed that a lump of mud had been gathered and pressed with a signet ring on the letter. Though it wasn't wax, the imprint was unmistakably Guillaumevalt's.
The letter read as follows:
[A capable hawk hides its talons. Since I deceived you first, I fully understand your disloyalty. However, I am destined to rule both Lantarik and Adirof, and if I do not uphold strict rewards and punishments, how can I master governance? Therefore, I urge you—do not taint your honor with an overt rebellion. A slight act of disloyalty may be forgiven, depending on your future conduct.]
"!!!!"
The vassals were shocked as they read the letter.
"N-no way!"
"Sir Guillaumevalt?"
"My god."
Passing the letter among themselves, they were thrown into confusion.
So, had Guillaumevalt been hiding his true abilities all this time, deliberately acting like a fool?
Now that Count Lantarik was missing, had he finally discarded his mask of incompetence and begun to reveal his true strength? Was this all part of a grand scheme for the succession battle?
"Impossible. How could that have been an act?"
"He has no money, no subordinates, no support!"
"But wasn't hiding those things precisely the point? He might have secretly gathered manpower and resources without us knowing!"
"What should we do? Should we send a signal fire or raise flag signals to inform Young Master Adler?"
"But if we do that, won't Sir Guillaumevalt realize we're alerting Young Master Adler?"
The signal fires and flag signals were part of a relay system, transmitted through fortresses stationed along the Imperial Road. That meant anyone could see them.
If they lit a beacon or raised a flag, Guillaumevalt would know immediately. Wouldn't that make it seem like the vassals were committing open rebellion?
"If Sir Guillaumevalt really was hiding his abilities and ends up becoming Count Lantarik, wouldn't he punish those of us who sent the signals?"
"We're already traitors as it is. The only way we survive is if Young Master Adler becomes the Count!"
"But the letter says he will forgive us."
"Of course, he says that now! But what if he wipes us out once he becomes the Count? Then what? We'd have already handed him the sword, and all we could do is beg for mercy!"
"But we don't even know his true capabilities. If we try to kill him now and fail, we'll be the ones thrown into hell for betraying someone who promised us amnesty."
The vassals argued fiercely, each trying to figure out the best course of action to ensure their survival.
In the end, they decided not to use the beacon or flag signals, as that would alert Guillaumevalt. Instead, they agreed to send a courier to warn Adler in secret.
"To think we'd be too scared of that horse-faced fool to even use the flag signals and have to resort to couriers."
For years, Count Lantarik had prepared for war against Salasma, establishing fortresses and a flag relay system between Lantarik and Salasma.
It was frustrating not to be able to use the costly and labor-intensive signal system at such a critical moment.
***
"Good, it's working well."
Azadin observed the lack of beacon or flag signals and knew that the letter he had made Guillaumevalt leave behind was having the desired effect.
"Maybe they just haven't found the bodies yet?"
"No way. The mercenaries didn't return, so they must have sent scouts. There's no way they could miss a site where twenty people were killed."
Azadin's group had considered erasing their tracks completely and escaping, but disposing of twenty corpses was no simple task. Instead, Azadin opted to buy time by planting the letter on the bodies.
"As long as they hesitate, our goal is achieved. The problem is…."
Azadin glanced at Brand's condition. Brand was enthusiastically conversing with Guillaumevalt.
"Sir Guillaumevalt, when you become Count, will you accept me as one of your vassals?"
"Ah, yes. If that happens, I suppose."
"Wow. Then I'll become a knight at this age! Even if it's just an honorary knighthood, to think I'd finally achieve the dream I had as a child. I am deeply moved."
"Ahaha…."
Guillaumevalt looked troubled.
If what Brand was saying was true, he viewed Count Lantarik as his mortal enemy, his hatred and resentment so deep that even knowing Guillaumevalt was a neglected son did not stop him from succumbing to madness again.
Moreover, Brand was no longer young. Receiving a non-hereditary knighthood wouldn't bring him much practical benefit, yet he was thrilled simply at the idea of becoming a knight.
This wasn't the scribe Brand he had once known. Before him stood Sir Brand, the Brass Knight.
'So, my father and his agents did something so terrible that it turned this man into this….'