Chapter 25

Chapter 25

Chapter 25

For the past seven days, Carmine, the third son of Duke Komalon, had been stewing in a deeply irritable state.

His recent broken engagement contributed to his mood, but the true source of his agitation was Count Palatio.

At the last social gathering, he had sought to vent his frustrations by needling Count Palatio, only to find himself publicly shamed.

Naturally, the entire debacle was Carmine’s own doing.

Had he not made offensive remarks about another noblewoman’s looks, the engagement discussions would have proceeded without a hitch.

And had he not deliberately provoked Count Palatio, he would never have suffered such an indignity.

Yet, Carmine had entirely erased his role as the instigator from his memory.

He could only fixate on the shame he had endured, mentally revisiting the scene repeatedly.

It was an unprecedented humiliation in his life.

As a scion of Duke Komalon, a pillar of the kingdom, he had never been subjected to such treatment before, and the moment was now seared into his mind.

For nearly ten days, Carmine would often clench his jaw, the memory surfacing with a bitter taste.

The moment he arrived at the Komalon estate, he spoke as if confirming a resolution.

“You.”

“Yes, young master?”

“Where did that wretch say he was headed?”

“The last report indicated Count Palatio had matters to attend to in Caliban—”

Not letting the knight finish, Carmine strode into his chamber and yanked open a desk drawer.

It was filled with numerous crystal orbs.

He selected the one on the far right and immediately produced a magic stone from his pocket, holding it near the crystal.

The crystal began to shine intensely, and as time passed, the glow started to fade.

[Well, look who it is! My friend Carmine!]

A voice emanated from the orb.

“I’ll be direct. I require your assistance.”

Carmine spoke while gripping the magic crystal.

[Oh? My help? With what?]

“Count Palatio. He’s likely traveling right now. I want you to handle him.”

[Handle him? You mean Count Palatio?]

The man on the other end, perplexed by the request, asked for confirmation.

“You don’t need to kill him. Just leave him broken and barely alive.”

A short silence came from the man in the crystal before he responded.

[Even so, that’s a rather—]

“I’ll give you five.”

[…What?]

“Succeed, and I’ll give you five more. You need them, don’t you? To grow stronger.”

[Hah…]

The man let out a hollow laugh at Carmine’s proposition.

[Are you being serious? You can acquire five of those?]

“If the task is completed satisfactorily, it’s easily done.”

The man in the crystal was quiet for a beat.

“You’re capable of this, aren’t you?”

[Hah…]

Then, as if amused, the man gave a soft chuckle.

[My friend, you understand me perfectly. You always know the precise lever to pull!]

“Will you do it or not?”

[My only task is to take care of him, correct?]

“Yes. Make it as vicious as possible.”

[Wow, he must have truly enraged you for you to ask this. Very well. I’ll handle it and reach out once it’s finished.]

With that, the connection severed.

The room returned to silence, as if the exchange had never occurred.

But one thing had changed.

A cunning, satisfied smile had crept onto Carmine’s face.

‘Did he genuinely believe I would let him go after shaming me in front of everyone?’

That single thought now completely occupied his mind.

***

“Are we finally here?”
“It appears so.”

Roughly two weeks had passed since Alon first encountered Eliban, the hero of this world.

Gazing out at the distant capital city of Kirdam, Alon turned his eyes to the rear of the carriage.

An assortment of gifts was stored there, all intended for Deus, the man they were about to meet.

“Ugh, I’m worn out,” Evan yawned beside him, his weariness evident as he also looked at the presents.

Alon, too, felt the exhaustion, just as Evan implied.

“Long trips are always draining.”
“…It would have been far more restful if we hadn’t detoured to that maze-like place.”

Their fatigue stemmed not just from the journey’s length, but from the multiple stops Alon had insisted on over the past week.

“It was necessary.”

That was Alon’s sole response to Evan’s comment.

In reality, the reason for those stops en route to Caliban was to prepare for the impending conflict with the Outer God.

The lotus-shaped pendant now resting against Alon’s neck, which hadn’t been there a fortnight ago, was one result of those preparations.

Disregarding Evan’s look, Alon shifted the topic.

“Deus has returned from his campaign, correct?”
“Yes, he should be present.”

Alon was quiet for a moment before posing another question. “…He will agree to meet with me, won’t he?”
“…I am certain he will,” Evan replied, though a trace of doubt remained in Alon’s mind.

‘The meeting itself is only the first step… the true difficulty will be persuading him to grant my request…’

Over the years, Alon had provided Deus with substantial financial backing and had even rescued him from a potentially catastrophic scenario.

In terms of pure obligation, Alon was unmistakably the benefactor.

But realistically, from Deus’s point of view, Alon was likely just an anonymous patron who had supported him generously from a distance.

After all, the two had never met face to face.

Without any personal interaction, it was difficult to anticipate genuine familiarity, so now, standing at the gates of Kirdam, Alon felt a thread of anxiety.

‘I can only hope these gifts will help sway him.’

As Alon turned these thoughts over, their carriage finally reached Kirdam’s northern gate, merging into the inspection line like all other travelers entering the capital.

Even as a noble of the Asteria Kingdom, inspections were an unavoidable requirement when traveling abroad.

After stating his identity to the inspecting soldier, Alon waited as the line of carriages crept forward, watching Evan complete the formalities.

“Pardon me, Count?”
“Yes?”

“There appears to be a minor issue.”

Evan leaned into the carriage, speaking quietly, which prompted a confused tilt of Alon’s head. Giving a slight nod, Alon stepped down from the carriage and was met by a knight wearing an expression of supreme confidence.

The knight had red hair and a lion emblem on his chest, radiating arrogance. As Alon studied him curiously, the knight spoke.

“You are Count Palatio?”
“I am.”

Though they were strangers, the knight used informal speech, as if the default expressions in this fantasy world were enough to betray a person’s character.

As Alon confirmed his identity, Evan leaned close to whisper in his ear.
“That knight seems to be a disciple of Fiola.”
“…Fiola?”
“Yes, you know, the Fourth Sword.”

At Evan’s words, Alon released a low murmur of recognition.
The master knight known as the Fourth Sword, Fiola, came to Alon’s mind. He nodded, though his expression remained puzzled.

“So, why is a disciple of the Fourth Sword here? …And with an entire squad of knights?”

Alon’s glance swept over the other knights bearing the same lion crest as Fiola.
“…What is your business with me?”

Turning back to Fiola’s disciple, Alon asked. The knight, who had been sauntering toward him with a smirk, finally gave his introduction.

“To begin, I am Vilan, a direct disciple of Sir Fiola.”
“And?”
“I’ve been informed that a friend of mine owes you a minor debt.”
“A friend?”

When Alon questioned him, Vilan smiled and continued.
“Indeed, a friend.”
“I don’t recall having any notable connections here in Caliban.”
“My friend isn’t particularly tied to Caliban either. He hails from the Kingdom of Ashtalon.”

At those words, Alon instinctively muttered, “The Ashtalon Kingdom…? What?”
But then, recollection dawned, and he let out a low, comprehending sigh.
“…Carmine?”
“Correct, you remember. He reached out to me.”

Hearing Vilan’s words, Alon couldn’t mask his astonishment.
‘Wait, I didn’t even do anything to that man! …How long has it been? A few weeks?’

For a moment, Alon was almost impressed by the petty thug Carmine’s efficiency in running to his friends to whine within a mere fortnight.
“I, too, owe him a small favor, so I felt I should at least make my presence known.”
“So, you’ve been waiting here all this time just for that ‘presence’?”
“To be precise, I was waiting for the alert. All carriages from the Asteria Kingdom pass through this gate.”

Alon felt a wave of lightheadedness at Vilan’s casual words, delivered with a faux apology that held no real remorse.
Even though a noble’s influence wanes significantly on foreign soil, it wasn’t to the degree that one should be treated this way at a city gate.

“So, what is your plan?”
“I’ll offer you two choices. Those expensive-looking items in your carriage—how about you donate them all to us?”
“And the other option?”
“Spend approximately three weeks in the subterranean prison.”
“…You are fully aware that I am a noble from another nation, are you not?”

Alon asked, knowing that detaining a foreign noble without justification would inevitably cause a diplomatic incident.
“I am the only direct disciple of Sir Fiola.”

Vilan’s following statement left Alon speechless.
What Vilan was essentially declaring was, “I can make a scene, and my status will shield me from any repercussions.”

The absurd part was that Vilan’s claim held a degree of truth. Here, Alon was just a foreign noble, while Vilan was the sole direct disciple of a master knight.

‘Incredible. It’s true that troublemakers find each other.’

Alon sighed, realizing this gang of ruffians was perfectly matched. Just as he exhaled, Vilan offered a malevolent grin.
“But to be perfectly honest, no matter which option you select, the outcome will be identical.”

Vilan lightly tapped Alon’s stomach with the pommel of his sword.
“After all, my friend only requested one thing.”

Vilan delivered his threat with casual ease.
Evan, who had remained quiet until now, slowly began to frown. His hand moved instinctively toward the sword at his hip when—

“Huh, huh~!”

A voice called out from behind, causing both Alon and Vilan to turn.
There, Alon saw him.
‘Deus Macallian…?’

Clad in black iron armor, his expression icy, Deus was approaching them.
The moment he appeared, the atmosphere at the gate grew dense, as if the air itself had become heavy.

Despite it being just one man’s arrival, the soldiers snapped to attention, their eyes wide with shock. The knights, who had worn relaxed expressions moments before, now stood rigid, their faces taut with tension.
“Attention!”

The soldiers, who had been idly observing the situation, immediately raised their swords in a formal salute upon seeing Deus, but he paid them no mind.
“We greet the Great Sword!”

The knights of Vilan’s group, ‘Yuzon,’ shouted with reverence, but Deus ignored them, too.
Instead, he walked directly toward Alon.

Seeing this, Vilan hastily withdrew the sword he had brandished near Alon and tried to speak, but—

*Crash!*
“Gah!”

Deus’s hand shot out and seized Vilan by the throat.
“W-What—!”

Vilan’s hands flew up to claw at Deus’s grip in protest, but—
“What do you think you are doing?”

At those frigid words, Vilan’s face went pale as he fought for air, his eyes wide with terror.
“How dare you lay a hand on my benefactor.”