Chapter 150

Chapter 150: Valdemar Golt

“Did you intend to hand over Baron Walcher’s territory to that man?”

The one asking was Ruri.
Ferda returned from the Town Hall and arrived back at the castle.

“Yes.”
“And what did he say?”
“He said he would think about it.”

And so the conversation had concluded.
Being a free spirit, he could not be bound easily.
Ferda did not attempt to press him further either.

“Isn’t that practically a rejection?”
“It won’t be.”

A wandering knight without ties.
Even before Ferda made his offer, countless nobles had surely attempted to grant him land and titles.
Each time, he had refused steadfastly.
If someone beat around the bush, he would interpret it as he pleased.
Had he truly intended to reject Ferda’s offer, he would have stated his refusal flatly.
Saying he would think about it meant there was room for choice, and a genuine possibility of him establishing roots here.
Precisely because he did not trust Ferda, the possibility of accepting the title arose.
It was a contradictory situation, but Ferda did not mind.

‘A person who is truly loyal to me is…’

A man capable of standing in my way whenever I stray onto the wrong path.
That caliber of person was precisely the loyalty he required.

Alberto left the Town Hall and sought a place to sleep under the open sky.
Since his armor was excessively heavy, lodging on the second floor of an inn was out of the question.
As if accustomed to this, Alberto found a stable and settled inside.
The temporary stable, expanded in preparation for the Spring Festival, had become quiet, providing Alberto with a resting spot outdoors.
He inspected his equipment before the sun fully set.
He might skip sleep, but maintenance was never skipped for a single day; that was Alberto.

“……Hm?”

While polishing his mace, Alberto made a sound.
Countless demons had attacked him, and even foes with considerable strength had used every trick to try and shatter this weapon.
Yet all of them experienced failure, ending up as crushed meat.
It was only natural.
The weapon he wielded was crafted from Great Dragon Stone, a legendary material said to be as hard as a dragon’s molar.
In terms of durability, ordinary force could never break it.
Yet such a mace now bore an impression he had never seen before.
A thick indentation, and beside it, four relatively smaller marks.
No matter how one looked at it, it was shaped like fingers.

“Hmm…….”

Alberto looked at that mark and recalled the Armored Knight who had parried his attack.
When two forces clashed and canceled each other out, the side with comparatively lesser strength absorbed the heavier recoil.
When she blocked his strike, Alberto felt it clearly:
He could not overpower that armor with raw physical strength alone.
She was a noble being who stood even higher than himself—someone who had slain colossal monsters in single combat.

“Hmm…….”

Alberto did not dwell on such thoughts for long.
In a death match, the survivor is the victor, and the dead is the loser.
Shaking off wandering thoughts, he finished polishing his weapon.

On a clear morning,
Crown Prince Alexander Arken waited for someone in front of the Imperial Gate.

“Is he truly arriving today?”
“Y-Yes, he is. He will definitely arrive today, so please wait just a little longer…”

A sub-commander fidgeted nervously.
That was inevitable, as another sub-commander had been executed just yesterday.
The reason had been that the guest failed to arrive on that day.
It was purely an outlet for frustration, yet no one dared point it out or protest.
Such was the authority of the Crown Prince.
The sub-commander felt a knot in his throat knowing he could die just as meaninglessly.
Fortunately, that did not happen.

A splendid carriage accompanied by an army emerged from the forest onto the plains.

“He’s here!”

The Crown Prince, who had been muttering arrogantly, leaped to his feet.
It was a carriage whose dimensions were forbidden under Imperial law for anyone other than the Emperor.
The dissolute rogue Alexander broke into a cold sweat upon seeing it.
A man who inspired dread even in the arrogant, haughty Crown Prince who looked down on everyone else.
The familial banner of that man approached and stopped right before Crown Prince Alexander.

An elderly man marked with age spots stepped down from the carriage.
It was Grand Duke Valdemar Golt.

“Thank you for visiting us in person, Grand Duke Golt.”

Unlike Alexander, who greeted him with a polite smile, Valdemar’s face showed zero emotion.
His eyes looked as though he were gazing upon a pathetic novice.

“I never thought I would live long enough to hear the word ‘thank you’ leave that mouth of yours.”
“Since you are the great pillar of this Arken Empire, I must naturally show you respect, must I not?”
“For someone who claims that, I heard you were singing yesterday about how unpleasant it was to bow your head to this old dog.”
“Oh heavens, c-could that possibly be true?”

In reality, he had indeed said it.
It was impossible to guess who had leaked it, but he had literally chanted it aloud, so it was hardly surprising the words had spread; he could not even attempt an excuse.

“What, do you think I would be fazed by insults from someone like you?”

Valdemar maintained a nonchalant expression.
Alexander would normally fly into a rage against anyone who belittled him, but with this man, sheer fear took precedence.
Grand Duke Valdemar Golt.
His other title: Member of the Supreme Committee of the Arken Emergency Countermeasures Headquarters.
From this moment forward, this man held his life in his hands.

Alexander bowed politely and pleaded:
“In this public hearing… please deliver a fair and rational judgment.”
“A fair and rational judgment, is it…?”

Instead of answering, the Grand Duke straightened his posture and walked forward.
Alexander followed behind him like a valet.

“The carriage?”
“It is prepared at the entrance; you need only board, and we shall depart immediately.”
“Understood. You may step back.”

Watching his back, Alexander cursed inwardly.
‘Despite all those years, he is nothing more than a lecherous old fiend obsessed with women…’

Alexander knew Valdemar had pursued his older sister, Stella, for a long time.
Around the time her figure began to mature, inheriting the realm-toppling beauty of their mother, Valdemar sent countless petitions and gifts to the Emperor requesting to marry Stella.
Eventually, when her engagement to another man was finalized, he stubbornly fabricated treason charges to have her fiancé executed by hanging.
After Stella died, he immediately shifted targets and set his sights on Olivia.
Alexander knew intimately the corruption and wicked deeds Valdemar had committed to covet the Imperial Princesses.
Yet he dared not touch him.

“Brat.”

That was how Valdemar addressed Alexander.
Alexander tensed up nervously, wondering if his inner thoughts had been exposed.

“What is the matter?”
“Let us carry out this entry ceremony together.”

Alexander’s eyes widened.
“M-Me? Together with you?”
“Do you have a problem with that?”
“N-No. Not at all.”

Knowing Valdemar had detested Alexander since childhood, this was the first time the two stood side by side in the same public space.
Alexander, barely reaching middle age, finally stood next to Valdemar.
Yet that sense of pride did not last long.
It was because of the deafening cheers that erupted the moment they entered.

“Grand Duke Golt!!”
“Althea! Bless the Grand Duke!”

That thunderous roar was pure veneration.
They offered prayers to the gods, each praising him in their own manner.
Valdemar smiled and raised a hand.
Wherever his gaze drifted, cheers erupted loudly enough to burst lungs.

“Brat. Smile.”
“Eh?”
“Do not make me repeat myself.”
“Ah, yes!”

Realizing he was overwhelmed by the atmosphere, Alexander forced a smile and waved his hand.
He could see lukewarm reactions whenever the crowd looked his way.
Even in a situation that would make anyone scowl, he stubbornly held his smile.

“You understand your position clearly now, don’t you?”

Valdemar asked abruptly, but Alexander understood his meaning.
Grand Duke Golt, whom everyone cheered for.
Alexander, whom everyone received with palpable awkwardness.
This made him painfully conscious of his standing.

“If I were to draw a dagger right now and stab you, what kind of reaction do you think would follow?”
“…….”
“Naturally, everyone would be horrified. Because I stabbed the Emperor’s son. But how long do you think that outrage would last?”

It would not last long.
The nobles who tried to expose this man, and those who actually did, all failed and disappeared without a trace.
It was unavoidable.
No matter how much of a lecherous fiend he was regarding his own sisters, he was a war hero who fought for the prosperity of the Empire, its prestige, and the late Emperor.
He was the ultimate pillar of this Empire, an absolute power that could not be overturned.
That was the man named Valdemar Golt.

“Do you think a fellow like you is in any position to demand a fair and rational judgment from me?”

Only then did the Crown Prince truly realize what he needed to say.

“I beg of you.”
Alexander smiled and waved to the crowd while lowering his tone.
“This Alexander Arken… desperately requires the mercy of the Great Grand Duke…”

His head remained held high for the crowd, but his pride had hit rock bottom.
Only then did Valdemar inquire with a satisfied demeanor:
“What do you desire?”

The hideout of the Black Bandana had once been the refuge of moonshiners brewing illicit alcohol.
Befitting a hideout, the exterior looked like a simple hunter’s cabin or a den occupied by wild beasts.
Yet contrary to appearances, as one ventured deeper inside, the scale and structure were vast and complex enough to rival a proper fortress.
Due to this characteristic, the Black Bandana headquarters was commonly called the ‘Ant Nest.’

Key executives scattered across the continent were all gathered there.
The moment the blockade on the Far East was lifted, the Black Bandana summoned every operative leader.
The head of the organization, Garnet Swallow, spoke:

“The Empire is in a state of emergency.”
“Naturally. A monster of that magnitude emerged within the Empire…”
“The greater issue is not the monster; an entire Imperial corps was annihilated.”

An unprecedented breach and casualties on a scale that could not be swept under the rug.
It could not be covered up, and the blame, mistakes, and responsibilities had to be decisively allocated.
This meant information was paramount right now.
It was a matter significant enough to capture the full attention of the covert intelligence organization, the Black Bandana.

“Starting two weeks from now, the Post-Mortem organized by the Crisis Countermeasures Headquarters will commence.”

A tribunal examining everything from the origin and cause of the incident to its conclusion.
Through this process, the party responsible for the catastrophe would be designated and disciplinary action carried out.

“Won’t it just be the same old routine? They will point fingers at the Crown Prince.”

The ultimate authority responsible for the corps’ destruction was Alexander Arken.
Even if named as a suspect in this hearing, Alexander could not lash out recklessly.
The members of the supreme committee wielded such immense influence that not even the Crown Prince could challenge them lightly.

“Obviously, it will end with the Crown Prince offering empty apologies and severing the tails of his subordinates.”

In the end, they were all in league with one another.
It was obvious they would exploit the Crown Prince’s vulnerability for their own political gain and let the matter slide.

“If it were that simple, I would not have summoned you all here like this.”

If the matter were to unfold normally, that is.

“The problem is that this agenda will not flow in that direction. The scapegoating will not point to the deputy operations officer, but somewhere else entirely.”
“What does the Boss think?”

She stated:
“It will be the Far East.”

The Far East.
That was the territory now fully consolidated under the name of the Grand Duchy of Valdrova.

“Currently, public opinion has formed among Imperial citizens claiming that the Far East might be the true culprit behind this catastrophe.”
“That is strange. As far as I know, there wasn’t a single whisper for a whole week following the annihilation of the 1st Corps.”
“It was spread intentionally.”

The Empire’s intelligence bureau had begun moving even before the subjugation concluded.
They planted false narratives across taverns frequented by commoners, church congregations, and public washhouses.
In information warfare, seizing the first-mover advantage is priority.

“The reason the Imperial Army fell like that was because the Far East refused to respond, right?”
“Damned scoundrels. People who would have perished long ago without the Empire’s grace, ungrateful wretches.”

Those who knew nothing had no choice but to believe those rumors, and that resentment turned uncontrollably against the Grand Duchy.

“With public sentiment shifting unfavorably like this, even the Regent will be rendered helpless.”
“They must be eyeing the Far East’s assets quite hungrily.”

Merely two years ago, the Far East had been virtually barren.
Several Far East lords used to beg for transfers to other provinces.
Yet those desperate cries had ceased completely.
Surprisingly, this shift began with the emergence of Ferda Rosnova.
From then on, regional development accelerated rapidly.
He secured both the Empire’s premier merchant company, the Pascal Company, and the second-ranked Dandolo Company.
By securing both, he took control of half the commoner economic flow across the Empire.
Beyond economic power, backed by unique magic engineering technology, the territory’s latent potential was immeasurable.
All of this had significantly bolstered the morale of the local nobility.
Through this recent siege battle utilizing the hammer and anvil strategy, their resolve had been forged even further.
With the Far East rising as an independent powerhouse, it could only be an eyesore to the Empire.

“It seems difficult for the Regent to handle all this alone, so he will need us, right?”
“Heh, the first real sum of money we’ll handle in a long time.”

The executives joked among themselves, debating how much they should charge.
Instead of joining the lighthearted atmosphere, Garnet threw cold water over the room.

“We will not sell information.”
“What? If we don’t sell information for profit, what are we supposed to do?”
“Are you saying we should just sit back and watch the Far East fall into ruin, Boss?”

Garnet kept a stern expression and remained silent.
Slowly, the joking executives began to realize the gravity one by one.

“Don’t tell me… are you proposing the Breaking of the Egg?”

An atmosphere of disbelief filled the room.
Garnet answered:

“Yes.”
“Are you serious?”
“If that stage is declared, won’t our entire standing become perilous?”

An air of apprehension settled over the gathering.
Garnet had anticipated this resistance.
That was why, even before bringing up these words and before this gathering began, she had asked herself repeatedly:
Is this the right path?
A single mistake, and there would be no turning back.
Not only would she be ruined, but everyone else would fall with her—including the legacy of their ancestors who had preserved this secret organization; it would be an insult to their memory.

“I have agonized over this again and again, and this is the conclusion I have reached.”

Even so, the same answer returned to her mind repeatedly.

“To inherit my father’s will, and beyond that, the will of our ancestors, we initiate the Breaking of the Egg starting today.”

The die was cast.