Chapter 23

Chapter 23

The northern wastes, a region too harsh to sustain life, were locked in a perpetual, soul-numbing deep freeze.

In this desolate, forsaken territory, forever colored in monochrome by the endless snowstorm, a man lay fallen.

A vivid crimson patch soaked the fur where his right arm had been torn away, and his left eye socket was a hollow, vacant pit.

This man was Khlkan, one of the eight great chieftains of the barbarians, now lying in wait for death after being bested by the treacherous knights of Caliban.

But even as his life faded, his gaze burned with pure, unadulterated fury.

“Those honorless curs…!” he spat, though his wrath was not born from his defeat.

For the barbarians, to fall in combat was a glorious end, a worthy destiny.

Khlkan’s rage was reserved for the cowardly manner of his fall—trapped in an ambush, deceived by a knight’s false offer of an honest duel.

“Cough!” A gush of blood escaped Khlkan’s lips as the world around him grew dark.

The gray scenery smeared into obscurity, and the biting wind’s howl faded from his hearing.

Despite his anger, his consciousness was steadily being pulled into a void.

Just as everything was about to vanish into silence, Khlkan breathed the name of his deity, “Ulthultus…?”

In that exact instant, time itself appeared to halt.

His dimming sight sharpened; the savage northern gale roared in his ears once more, and his mind, which had been slipping away, began to resurface.

[Child of blood,] a voice resonated.

[Speak my name. Invoke the great name you have revered. Call to me, and I shall bestow what you seek.]

As if compelled by a celestial force, Khlkan, in a trance, whispered, “Ulthultus…”

And in that moment, the god smiled.

***

[Somehow, I Became the Hidden Mastermind of Asteria After Waking Up,] After hearing something that seemed to suit such a title, Alon shut his agape mouth and muttered under his breath. However, the pleasant feeling he had experienced just before had entirely vanished.

“What is this ridiculous talk?”

A storm of confusion whirled in Alon’s head as he tried to make sense of the gossip he had just overheard.

It was completely illogical to him.

Had he been regularly meeting with Duke Altia or Count Zenonia, both of whom were currently establishing new political groups, he might have seen where the rumor originated.

The problem was that Alon had never once had an audience with either noble.

He had only glimpsed Duke Altia from a distance once when she was a young lady at a dance, and regarding Lady Zenonia, he had seen her but never encountered the Count himself.

In short, the rumor was so implausible it was utterly without foundation.

Alon, who had been quietly moving his lips while lost in thought, soon decided that the idea of him holding secret discussions with other nobles was nothing but a ridiculous, unfounded story.

Suspicions could only form if there was some prior connection. Since Alon had zero association with those individuals, he didn’t even feel the need to consider the possibility.

So, just as Alon reached for a biscuit beside the egg tart, a voice addressed him.

“Count Palatio.”

“…?”

Alon turned his head toward the sound and looked to his side.

There stood a man clad in costly attire, his face etched with scorn.

‘Who is this person?’

Alon gave the man a quick once-over.

His long, curled hair was swept to one side, a style that suggested a personality warped differently from the Palatio line, but Alon couldn’t deduce anything more.

At the very least, Alon had no recollection of him.

“Ah, I haven’t introduced myself. I am Carmine, the third son of Duke Komalon of the Ashtalon Kingdom.”

Noticing Alon’s lack of recognition, Carmine’s expression briefly flickered before he presented himself. Alon paused, confused, then nodded in acknowledgment.

He had been aware that foreign nobles sometimes visited the Grand Church, a common gathering place for Asteria’s aristocracy.

“Count Palatio,” Alon answered with a courteous nod.

“I’ve heard about you. You were lucky enough to be elevated to a count, is that not so?”

“…?”

Alon blinked in astonishment at Carmine’s immediate insulting tone.

He had sensed from the man’s bearing that this wasn’t a friendly approach, but he hadn’t anticipated such a direct and tactless provocation, as if the man possessed no wit or discretion.

Just as Alon was digesting this, another voice interjected from a different direction.

“Pardon me, but what exactly are you saying?”

Turning toward the new voice, Alon saw a face he knew, unlike with Carmine.

‘…Marquis Mardinyo?’

Alon identified him not by his features but by the insignia on his chest and his clear appearance as a middle-aged man.

“Are you currently insulting a noble of the Asteria Kingdom?”

“…?”

Alon’s face showed pure bewilderment at this sudden and unexpected defense.

***

Carmine, the third son of Duke Komalon of the Ashtalon Kingdom, was in a particularly foul mood that day.

There were numerous reasons for his displeasure, but the primary one was that the marriage proposal with the fifth daughter of Duke Lotegre, which he had painstakingly pursued, was falling through.

Naturally, the proposal collapsed due to Carmine’s own juvenile conduct and foolish antics that made him seem immature.

He had committed the idiotic error of openly appraising the looks of other noblewomen in the presence of the fifth daughter herself.

True to a spoiled child raised without correction, instead of admitting his fault, Carmine grew even more irritated when the lady suggested they rethink the proposal.

Had this not been the Kingdom of Asteria, a close ally, or had it not been Duke Lotegre, with whom his family had numerous clandestine arrangements, Carmine would have already caused a major scene.

Of course, conversely, Carmine had no clue that the only reason Duke Lotegre was tolerating his behavior was precisely because of those secret dealings with Duke Komalon.

In any case, with his mood ruined, Carmine had come to the ball hoping to improve his spirits when he noticed Count Palatio and decided to target him.

There was a single reason he started the conflict—to vent his already rotten mood.

Naturally, there were many servants and knights around him whom he could have belittled or mocked, but Carmine found no enjoyment in tormenting them.

It wasn’t that his nature was principled, but rather that bullying toys he could break effortlessly offered him no amusement.

For nobles of his sort, those not of noble blood were considered beneath notice. In that regard, Count Palatio was an ideal outlet for Carmine’s stress.

From Carmine’s intelligence, Count Palatio was merely a clueless youth who had chanced into a title, with no strong allies among the aristocracy.

Even a scoundrel like him knew this wasn’t his own domain, so he had cautiously(?) considered who he could target without facing repercussions.

And so, the moment he saw Palatio, he began his confrontation.

***

“Do you understand how offensive it is to insult a noble of the Asteria Kingdom?”
“That isn’t what I—”
“The Ashtalon Kingdom has long been our ally, but that alliance was founded on mutual respect. Have the people of Ashtalon forgotten the meaning of respect?”
“No, that’s not it—”
“Then are you implying that Duke Komalon of Ashtalon holds Asteria in such low regard?”
“Of course not…!”
“Then why would you address a noble with such disrespect, when you haven’t even properly inherited your own title?”
“I—”

Carmine’s face contorted in confusion.

Contrary to the rumors he’d heard, the moment he confronted Count Palatio, other nobles began to circle him, reprimanding Carmine.

As his bewilderment grew, Carmine looked toward Alon, hoping for some support, but Alon was just staring at the scene with a mix of confusion and puzzlement on his usually blank face.

‘…What is going on?’

Carmine then looked at the three nobles defending Alon.

One was Marquis Mardinyo, another was Duke Lotegre, and the last was Count Palan.

Alon could easily identify them, not just by their crests, but because they were highly powerful figures within Asteria.

Marquis Mardinyo was a leading member of the royalist faction.

Duke Lotegre, meanwhile, was a major player within the aristocratic faction.

As for Count Palan, he maintained political neutrality, but that very stance had enabled him to amass significant influence.

Even if Alon took no interest in politics or noble matters, it was impossible for any noble in Asteria to be unaware of who they were.

“Is Duke Komalon truly looking down on us?”
“T-That’s not true.”
“Then why did you speak to Count Palatio with such contempt?”
“I-I was… disrespectful.”
“The disrespect isn’t the core issue. The question is, why did you make such condescending remarks to Count Palatio?”

Watching the nobles corner Carmine with their skilled political pressure, Alon, who had never dabbled in politics, suddenly recognized the dynamic.

‘I’m sorry.’
‘Does saying sorry end your military service?’
“I’m sorry.”
‘I asked, does saying sorry end your military service?’

Ah, this is it.

As this vivid memory from over a decade ago flashed in Alon’s mind, he began to sweat involuntarily.

“I-I… I apologize for my disrespect…!”

Unable to withstand the pressure from the nobles any longer, Carmine fled the ballroom as if in full retreat. The moment he was gone, the nobles swiftly approached Alon and began speaking to him.

“Count Palatio, are you unharmed?”
“I’m fine, but…”

Alon looked at the three nobles, wondering why they were being so gracious to him.

However…

“Look at that. It seems they’ve already caught wind of the rumors.”
“It must be true if figures of that stature are getting involved.”
“If Duke Altia and Count Zenonia enter the political fray, they’ll be unstoppable. But look at the other nobles—they seem lost. It’s still a secret, so watch what you say.”
“…Where do you even hear things like that?”
“There are channels.”

Thanks to his sharp hearing, Alon caught the hushed conversation of the noble who had been whispering earlier. Only then did he start to understand what was happening and grasp the sheer absurdity of the situation.

“Now that I think of it, I haven’t had the opportunity to speak with you, Count. I understand, as you are likely very occupied.”

Marquis Mardinyo, speaking as if he knew everything, gave a light laugh and continued the discussion. Alon started seriously considering whether he should clarify that the rumors were complete nonsense.

Not doing so could lead to unwanted complications down the line.

But then again, speaking up now might make the whole affair even more awkward. As Alon weighed his options…

“By the way, I heard you are studying magic, Count. Is that correct?”
“It is.”
“Then I thought I might offer you a small present. Among the artifacts I obtained from clearing out some orc infestations, there is one that stores magical power for later use. What do you think?”
“Now that you mention it, I also brought a little gift.”

Silence fell as Alon listened to the nobles.

That day, Alon ultimately received two magical artifacts and five mana restoration potions from the three nobles.

Meanwhile, as these influential figures congregated around Alon, leaving the rest of the nobility perplexed, Count Crylde and Count Edolon shut their eyes in sheer despair, thinking:

‘Did we pick a fight with the wrong person…?’
‘This is truly a disaster…!!’

***

Four days after the banquet commenced, as Alon’s accumulation of gifts continued to grow…

“…An outer god manifested in the north?”
“Yes, that is the intelligence I received. It seems the purple crystal is also linked to the outer god, but… they say it’s not certain, as the information comes from ancient records.”
“Regardless, it has thrown Caliban into turmoil.”

With only two days remaining in the banquet, Alon, having acquired this intelligence through an information guild, began to ponder something.

And then, without a second thought, he reached a decision.

“Evan.”
“Yes.”
“Once the banquet concludes, finish our necessary tasks, and then we are departing directly for Caliban.”

He had resolved himself without a trace of doubt.