Chapter 154

Chapter 154: Procession of Silence

Ferda listened to her words.
“If you wish to express regret over this situation, the Crisis Countermeasures Headquarters only needs to put forward someone they wouldn’t dare touch.”
At first he wondered if she meant Consillus, but soon realized that was not the case.
Ferda frowned by reflex.
“Are you saying we should put forward Her Highness the Grand Duchess? Is that what you mean?”
“It is shameless, but it is the easiest and fastest way.”
Ferda would become the consort of the Red Dragon and be the Secretary of State, but he was nothing more than a representative.
He was not limited to being a mere plaything for the Grand Duchess’s entertainment.
That was the world’s perception.
If the dragon herself appeared and spoke with authority on this matter, no one would dare make a single sound.
But that could not happen.
Ferda knew her from the ball.
She could not go to crowded places.
She feared that remembering her past misdeeds would make her make a mistake.
She feared causing trouble for Ferda.
Ferda had thought she was simply struggling psychologically.
But it was not a matter of psychology.
‘It is something real.’
If not for Malcolm, he would not have realized there was an impure seed trying to destroy her.
It was like that even at the Spring Festival, so what would happen at a public hearing?
If those who treated her like a watchdog of the house lost their fear and tried to tame her, Ferda did not know what he would do then.
“Garnet.”
Ferda directed his gaze toward Garnet.
Garnet, meeting his eyes, startled.
“Do not bring up that topic again.”
“…I apologize.”
That suggestion itself was equivalent to Ferda’s reverse scale.
“We will resolve this with our own hands. That will not change.”
“Understood.”
Leaving behind the easy path, Ferda devised his strategy.
Disinformation spread through Baron Giyot.
Internal intelligence obtained through Helus, who pretends to be a sage.
Through them, taking the advantageous position.
To give her a bright future, Ferda had to endure that darkness.
Even if it meant carrying a terrible stigma.

“Lord Ferda.”
While working, Ruri called him.
“I have brought the item Master promised before.”
Finally!
Ferda set his work aside and stood up.
She brought a portrait as large as her own body and placed it before Ferda.
The item he had promised to give her when she returned safely.
It was the portrait of Valdrova.
“Did you really request this painting?”
Ruri asked with an expression of disbelief.
Ferda nodded.
“I wanted this painting.”
“There are many other items, so why this one specifically?”
“I just had a feeling.”
Ferda deflected without giving detailed explanations.
Ruri looked at him with a disgusted expression, then spoke.
“Do you know what kind of portrait this is?”
“I know it is an item to show her first fiancé.”
“Yes. The first time she showed her face to another, and asked to be drawn exactly with her expression.”
“Does it mean it is an unretouched painting, true to reality?”
“Yes.”
Normally, paintings to hang in the family undergo several retouches.
For example, if someone is too fat, they would slim the waist.
If bald and unsightly, they would make the hair lush.
“I see, so that’s why you wanted it so much…”
“What is that?”
“There is such a thing.”
It must be some trivial reason.
Ruri did not insist further.
“Anyway, I will get a restorer.”
“A restorer?”
“It is torn, so it needs restoration, doesn’t it?”
She asked back as if stating the obvious.
But Ferda had no intention of calling a restorer.
“No, it’s fine like this.”
Ruri looked at Ferda with eyes full of deep disgust.
“If you intend to hang a torn painting, I will object even if you beat me to death.”
“No need to worry. I won’t hang it in public.”
“…”
“Take it away.”
Ruri watched Ferda’s figure walking away with the painting.
If not in a public place, she knew where he would put it.
That deep, dark place that is bothersome to pass through; he intends to put it there.

Ferda went to the place he used as his training room.
Dark and gloomy, barely large enough to sit, the room was narrow like a prison.
The training consisted solely of manipulating shadows in a dark room where no light entered, for his mana cultivation method.
So, instead of flashy equipment like other mages, only a chair and a box of candles.
The third object brought into that dark room was Valdrova’s portrait.
Ferda hung the large painting in its designated place.
Ferda stepped back slightly to examine the condition.
“…Good.”
The angle, the height, everything was perfect.
The portrait occupied half the wall, filling one side completely.
Ferda, having checked meticulously as if consecrating an ancestral shrine, examined the painting closely.
‘Incredible…’
Up close only paint marks are seen, but stepping back a bit, Valdrova appears vividly.
It feels as if she would jump out at any moment saying “Lord Ferda” and come trotting over.
She must have summoned the most outstanding painter of that era.
Right.
Because he is a master capable of capturing everything, it feels this vivid.
To know that, he desperately wanted this painting of hers.
Valdrova finally granted that request.
Receiving the painting and observing it so closely, he understood.
‘Desire.’
This painting contained a fragment of Valdrova’s desire.
Her life, which she would never reveal even after dozens of conversations, was embedded in it.
Because it was raw, her feelings manifested clearly.
Contained in those small smiling lips.
Fear of the first experience.
Excitement of companionship.
Hope.
But the desire she anticipated was not fulfilled.
The first fiancé, the Third Prince, only thought of using Valdrova as a tool.
Pure heart trampled.
Betrayal of expectation.
Despair.
So Valdrova killed the Third Prince.
Toying with a dragon was truly worthy of death.
But if Valdrova had been in her right mind, she would never have committed such murder.
She was consumed by blood qi that made her unstable, and thus killed the Third Prince.
That is why that ghost persists by Valdrova’s side.
Just like after the Dragon-Demon War.
“As expected…”
She said this.
«Someone like me shouldn’t be happy».
After killing so many people, and having survived that.
To think she could discard it all and marry a human in such an unsightly manner.
Valdrova resented her naive self.
She loathed herself.
She was angry.
Ferda placed his index finger on the edge.
As she did, he drew a diagonal line.
He erased her naive eyes that took sin lightly.
Ugh…
Ferda’s body staggered.
As if someone were suffocating him, breathing blocked, and simultaneously Ferda’s eyes welled up.
Tears welled up.
His expression did not change in the slightest, yet those tears fell hot.
The Shadow Circle in Ferda’s chest stirred wildly.
«I…»
The emotion that moved the Shadow Circle was only one.
«I killed a woman like that».
He regretted it.
He loathed himself for killing such a naive and pure woman, drowned in misguided hatred.
Ferda feared that regret.
If you regret, you cannot move forward.
«But if I don’t regret, I lose my way».
That is why the First Witch, Lucy Philias, called it a blessing.
This painting, because he regretted, will become a lantern for the man she loved.
A single strand of darkness that allows him to see beyond that light when trapped in a deep polar night.

The day of the post-war conference at the Golden Congress.
“Soon the nobles will proceed with the admission ceremony.”
Alexander’s sub-commander reported.
“I know. I’m seeing it with my own eyes right now, am I not?”
Alexander had entered the Golden Congress early and observed everything from the balcony.
Countless people lined the path to the Golden Congress, and he watched the admission of the nobles.
The five supreme councilors of the Crisis Countermeasures Headquarters.
The four exerted influence inside and outside the empire, but only one could gather a crowd of this size.
Valdemar Golt.
Hero of the people, the unshakeable great pillar of the Arken Empire.
He captivated the hearts of nobles and commoners with intense charisma, and even drew his rivals to his side.
‘If only I could have that old man’s greenhouse…’
Alexander believed his power lay in the greenhouse.
No matter how long one lorded over others, before death all are equal.
Even Alexander now trembled before tomorrow, losing sleep at night.
He tilted the scales of death that not even high priests could touch.
That was why his eyes overflowed with vitality even in old age.
“…Are the preparations ready?”
“Yes, we have stationed instigators in the middle of the procession.”
“Good.”
Alexander gripped the cup he held tightly.
He had shaped public opinion for this day.
He created one-sided hatred, and inflated that hatred.
“When Regent Ferda enters, we will begin the incitement.”
Once madness begins, it becomes uncontrollable.
Criticism and resentment gushing like a flood.
Whether they felt guilt or anger there.
Making them emotional before entering the Golden Congress was the priority.
For Ferda, there would be no way to handle it.
“Regent Ferda will arrive soon.”
Alexander opened his eyes wider than ever.
He only hoped to see them swept away by the criticism they would receive.
But the moment they revealed themselves, Alexander’s smile froze.
It was too different from the direction they had anticipated.

The royal capital.
The nobles make a fuss saying the path there smells like flowers.
Ferda also had a time when he was a boy who blindly believed in the rhythm of such frivolous things.
He wanted to go to the royal capital following his father.
He wondered what kind of aroma that floral fragrance would have.
Would it be a warm scent like his mother’s?
But what reached the nose of the man who had killed an angel and been consumed was far from flowers.
If that is called flowers, it is without a doubt a flower that attracts flies hovering in a sewer.
Back then he didn’t know what that smell was, and didn’t care much, but now he could distinguish it.
Garnet said the empire is a jar where stagnant water rots.
Yes, that is the smell.
Smelling it now, he was sure.
The procession of nobles gathering at the Golden Congress continued.
Given that it is where those who exert influence inside and outside the empire gather, showing off was natural.
‘For what?’
Ferda could not understand.
Why they had to dress like that to enter.
Citizens cheering as they watched the nobles enter the Golden Congress.
It was all something that did not happen by common sense.
“Count.”
“Yes, Regent-nim.”
“Do those people over there know what is happening inside?”
“The only thing they know is a single thing.”
“What is that?”
“What they know is that today someone dies and justice is served. That is sweet rain on their arid lives.”
“And they only hope that the one who dies is me.”
“That would be everyone’s wish.”
Everyone’s wish…
Feeling a sense of déjà vu, nothing changes then or now.
“Get ready. We will enter now too.”
“Yes.”
Ferda had prepared for this situation.
Consillus lent his knights to back Ferda.
Ferda’s turn came, and he entered.
The splendid admission procession of the nobles was suitably splendid.
Dressing in ceremonial armor to show off before everyone was basic.
Riding in a carriage with a leisurely smile was natural.
Ferda, atop the carriage, did not smile.
Consillus, accompanying him at his side, did not either.
And not even the knights following behind him.
Ferda’s procession was a gloomy gray light.
A somber light never seen before in the empire.
Over the colored stone pavement, gray and stains seemed to walk.
They felt like returning defeated soldiers.
But they were not defeated soldiers.
They were, without a doubt, those who had charged to kill colossal monsters, who had traversed battlefields and reported victories.
They brazenly displayed the appearance of soldiers who had suffered atrocities never seen before in the empire.
All of them had nearly lost their lives, and all had watched someone get lost.
Someone’s close friend, someone’s subordinate, someone’s family.
Their common point was that they moved forward even in such situations.
To protect what was behind them, they entrusted their bodies to the fear of death and the wave of madness that the battlefield spat out.
That was why someone lost half their helmet, someone’s breastplate was deeply dented near the heart.
The only intact thing was the flag held by the standard-bearer.
Even so, the only thing shining with more splendor was merely the flag of the empire.
The watching crowd did not cheer.
Nor did they criticize.
Those who had shouted to kill the Far East closed their mouths, and the instigators also kept silent.
They knew moving in this atmosphere was madness.
They had all been on battlefields where death lurked,
And they were patriots who had fought for the empire,
So everyone simply paid a silent tribute to the fallen and wounded with bowed heads.