Chapter 25

Chapter 25: Fragrance and Odor

Inside the great hall of Valdrova Castle.

Ferda stood beside the railing of the elevated terrace, observing the gathering of armed wanderers below.

“What detestable beings,” Ruri commented from his side, her eyes narrowing as she looked down into the chamber.

“You really harbor a deep hatred for humanity, don’t you?”

“This isn’t mere disdain; those creatures are genuinely repulsive.”

Ruri covered her face with a piece of cloth, struggling to endure the surrounding atmosphere.

“I expected vagabond warriors to resemble simple field vermin, but this… how manage to be far more offensive?”

The assembled men were drenched in heavy aromatic oils.

Yet that superficial cover was only sufficient to deceive frail mortal senses. To a being born of draconic blood like Ruri, the stench was unbearable. A surge of nausea hit her.

“Do mortals truly wander about exuding such a wretched reek? Are they attempting to call this an aroma? It smells like seasoned refuse.”

Ferda responded with a calm, understanding nod. “Such conduct is customary when one seeks an audience with high nobility.”

“You mean neglecting basic hygiene?” Ruri asked, her face showing pure disbelief.

Ferda gave another slow nod. “It is regarded as an honorable trait among martial men. To cleanse away one’s natural essence is treated as a betrayal of their order. Even if one arrives in a desperate rush, what counts is presenting oneself with an undeniable ‘presence.'”

“You are surprisingly well-versed in such savage habits.”

“I was raised in a lineage of martial nobility, after all.”

Ferda had always viewed such customs as utterly backward. Most fighters likely agreed in secret, yet they clung to the practice purely out of blind devotion to ancient heritage. The warriors of the realm were the sort who would strike down their own kin if ancient rites demanded it.

“Do you intend to adopt such practices as well, Lord Ferda?”

“I hold no martial vows, so why should I bother?”

Ferda prioritized pristine order. Even during the days he was forced to dwell in the latrines, he ensured they remained immaculate. A demand for absolute purity was woven into his very character.

“It looks as though everyone has arrived. What do you intend to do?”

“Let’s see…” Ferda swept his gaze across the gathering once more.

Just as I thought, he isn’t present.

Ferda had attracted these wandering fighters by offering lordship over an estate in exchange for thirty slain beasts. While it served to rapidly amass beast remnants, it was primarily designed to filter out potential talents.

Is Alberdo, the Walking Fortress, truly absent from this crowd?

He had been searching for an itinerant fighter clad in defense as dense and heavy as a turtle’s shell, gripping a massive blade in one grasp and a massive barricade shield in the other. A solitary figure who traveled purely on foot without a steed or attendant—destitute in appearance, yet possessing an unyielding spirit.

I was well aware he held no lust for titles or land, but I suspected the Far East might tempt his curiosity.

That warrior had bound himself by an oath to eradicate every horror threatening the mortal realm. Given that the Far East was besieged by endless hazards, Ferda believed the Walking Fortress would naturally migrate here.

“Are you searching for a specific individual?” Ruri asked in a hushed tone, noting his searching eyes.

“Perhaps I am, perhaps I am not.”

“What kind of answer is that?”

“It is like strolling down a path and hoping to spot a fallen coin. We have wasted enough time talking. Let us go down.”

“Understood.”

Ruri twirled her finger beneath Ferda’s stance. A pale cyclone began to spiral soundlessly under his boots, causing his frame to feel weightless.

Heaven Stair.

A third-circle incantation that permitted an individual to float downward with complete poise and safety. Though a simple and somewhat decorative enchantment, high-ranking nobles frequently relied on it to preserve their grandeur.

Ferda stepped forward into open space, descending on an angle toward the raised platform.

“What is that?” A voice in the crowd gasped.

“Someone is drifting down from above.”

“Could that be… the ruler of this fortress?”

The bewildered wanderers gaped dumbly as he glided down. Ferda settled upon the dais with his arms resting behind his back, turning to cast a cool gaze over the gathered fighters.

He emanated the commanding serenity of a supreme caster, a demeanor exquisitely suited to such refined sorcery. Even the most uncouth mercenaries found themselves struck dumb with awe.

“Welcome,” he spoke, his voice carrying heavy authority.

Watching Ferda from below, Stephan stood completely mesmerized by the youth’s imposing aura.

Is that truly the consort of Valdrova? The arrogant youth who seized power?

It defied belief. Rumors had claimed the Archduchess’s betrothed was barely an adult, and his youthful features confirmed it. Not a single wanderer in the hall was younger than him; even the most novice mercenary present was at least half a decade his senior.

And yet, he radiates absolute dominance… His commanding presence rivals that of venerable leaders who have ruled for generations.

Despite Ferda’s obvious youth, none of the rough men dared to display defiance.

This is no time to daydream! Stephan snapped back to reality. He was standing stiffly upright before an absolute ruler! Several sharp-witted mercenaries were already lowering themselves onto one knee.

Stephan drove an elbow into Robellus’s side. “Sir Knight.”

“Eh? What? Ah!”

“Lower yourself to the floor!”

“What?… Oh!”

Robellus dropped to one knee in a frantic, undignified scramble, but proper form was irrelevant now. Seeing this, the remaining warriors quickly regained their wits and knelt in unison.

Ferda addressed the hall, “I am Ferda Valdrova, betrothed to the Archduchess of Valdrova and the acting Regent of this territory.”

“Glory to the Regent!” a thunderous voice shouted out. The remaining men snapped out of their stupor and echoed the acclaim an instant later.

A greasy warrior standing at the very front brushed his locks backward, eager to distinguish himself before his peers. “It is an immense privilege to step within the realm of such a distinguished master. As for my humble self—”

“Save your breath.”

Ferda cut the slick fighter off without hesitation. Denying a martial warrior his formal introduction was an outright insult to protocol.

Why would he shut him down so abruptly? Stephan mused.

The answer was painfully obvious: Ferda had never intended to abide by standard courtesies from the start.

“The decorative exterior you have prepared is completely meaningless. When the inner substance is utter garbage, why cultivate expectations of worth?”

“…Excuse me?”

“W-what are you implying…?”

Murmurs of outrage and bewilderment rippled through the gathering, accompanied by the metallic clatter of armor.

Good heavens, this is suffocating! Stephan felt lightheaded from the mixture of heavy perfume and sweat, and now the room had turned utterly volatile. Yet Ferda, having cast out such an open insult, remained as motionless and steady as deep water.

“Must I make it plainer for you? I am stating that you are completely empty. Hollow shells—rattling carts carrying no real weight.”

Bang!

A heavy metal gauntlet struck the stone tiles. “Your accusations go too far, Regent! We demand you retract that claim!”

A battle-scarred warrior raised his voice. His armor was marked with numerous deep gashes, projecting the image of a seasoned frontline veteran. He was the very individual who had purchased thirty monster carcasses from Stephan earlier.

Look at the sheer audacity of this man, Stephan thought, shaking his head in disgust.

Ferda looked down upon the scarred fighter with a steady gaze. “You consider it excessive, do you?” He inclined his head slightly, as if entertaining the grievance. “Very well. Should my assessment prove false, I shall offer a formal apology to every man here.”

Ferda paced slowly across the dais, his hands clasped behind his back, sweeping his eyes over the entire assembly. “Is there anyone among you who felled all thirty beasts entirely by his own blade?”

“Ugh…”

“Ahem…”

Several warriors who had just been fuming in anger cleared their throats and cast their gazes downward. Meanwhile, those who maintained their composure watched their peers with subtle, mocking smirks.

The scarred warrior kept his chin raised high. Ferda turned his attention directly toward the few who still possessed the nerve to maintain eye contact. “Is there a single person among you who hunted thirty monsters completely alone?”

“Well, that is…”

“All alone? Who could possibly manage…”

They muttered uncertainly before falling quiet beneath Ferda’s piercing gaze. A few more hung their heads, muttering complaints under their breath.

Yet the handful who remained upright were actively claiming they had conquered all the beasts through sheer personal might, without purchasing a single carcass or receiving outside aid.

There is no way a man like that exists here, Stephan calculated. If an unpledged fighter had the martial strength to butcher thirty beasts unaided, he would already be serving as a high-ranking champion for a great lord. The fact that they held their heads up simply meant they were lying shamelessly. They were bluffing because they assumed the Regent possessed no means to verify the kills.

No sensible ruler would ever buy into such a blatant lie.

Stephan watched Ferda intently. The Regent locked eyes with the proud claimants and gave a slight nod. “I understand.”

Ferda accepted their word without hesitation.

“In that case, I shall honor my promise of an apology.”

Ferda stepped toward the maiden standing nearby and held out his hand. She withdrew a parchment bound with a crimson seal from her attire and handed it over.

“Do you recognize this document?” Ferda asked, raising it high for the room to see. Even the dullest mercenary understood its meaning. “Before you lies the territorial deed and title of succession formerly held by Thesalos Wolcher. The second your signature is inscribed upon it, total authority is yours.”

The ultimate prize every warrior in the room coveted.

“Regardless of the methods employed, thirty beast carcasses have been presented, so I must uphold my end of the bargain, must I not?” He set the document upon the table atop the dais. “If you desire it… step forward and claim it.”

It was a declaration of open conflict. Greed ignited within the eyes of every fighter present. Stephan instinctively pulled himself into a protective crouch. He had witnessed this kind of raw frenzy far too many times before.

This is identical to bargain hunters stampeding the moment a massive sale is announced!

Getting caught in the middle of a crazed mob meant risking broken bones. And these were heavily armored warriors; their struggle would be exponentially more brutal. Deciding it was safest to stay uninvolved, he kept his forehead pressed low.

Yet not a single soul moved. Even Robellus, right beside him, remained glued to the floor. Stephan stole a glance upward and whispered, “Sir Knight, aren’t you going to make a move?”

“Ngh… uuuurgh…”

He was not holding back—he was physically incapacitated. Robellus was trembling in sheer agony. His eyes were stretched wide as if ready to burst from their sockets, locked onto a single point on the platform. Confused by what held him in such terror, Stephan turned his own head toward the dais.

Gasp! Stephan choked on his own breath.

A… A dragon?

Where the young maid had stood moments before, a colossal Silver Dragon lay coiled, casting a lethal, predatory glare over the hall. Every living creature was nailed to the stone beneath that crushing gaze.

What is happening? When did that beast appear? Have we been cast into an illusion, or shifted to another realm?

Stephan began to question his own sanity. The overwhelming dread paralyzed his capacity to reason. Yet, while most remained utterly petrified, a few figures dragged themselves upward.

“Glory…” A ragged, dying gasp slipped from cracked lips. “The land…”

“A noble title… my salvation…!”

They crawled toward the empty deed like mindless corpses. But as the desperate scramble toward the platform began—

Grrrrr…

The draconic silhouette shifted. As the men crawled nearer, the beast issued a low, furious rumble. The mercenaries who had forced their limbs to move seized up in terror once more. The massive coiled body of the Silver Dragon began to unfurl.

ROAAARR!!

A deafening roar shattered the air, as though its most sacred scale had been struck.

—What occurs when mortals face Dragon Fear? Ferda had asked Ruri prior to the assembly.

—The majority flee in blind terror, convinced a beast is tearing at their heels.

—And if you suppress the intensity?

—Their senses will still perceive the immediate presence of a supreme predator, locking their limbs in paralysis.

—That serves our purpose. Unleash a controlled burst of Dragon Fear upon my signal.

—Against these warriors?

—Indeed. If we are to grant a domain to a new lord, he must at least possess enough resolve to avoid being an outright coward.

Ferda had reasoned thus, and Ruri had agreed to the scheme.

I believed any candidate would suffice…

Yet Ruri’s patience was eroding rapidly. A single unbearable factor was driving her over the edge.

That horrific odor.

Under the suffocating weight of Dragon Fear, the mercenaries were pouring cold sweat, their body heat surging violently. As a consequence, thick waves of warmth rose from the floor, amplifying the cheap perfumes and rancid body odors to an intolerable degree.

A repulsive fog of perspiration was visibly collecting near the vaulted ceiling. Even Ferda could catch the sharp, foul tang in the air. For Ruri, whose draconic senses were infinitely sharper, it was pure torment.

The sweating men were likely oblivious to their own filth, completely consumed by the dread radiating from the dragon. Some shook violently, while others, blinded by pure avarice, dragged their feet across the stones.

“I… I am finally… claiming my prize…!”

“A-A mere d-dragon… I feel n-no fear!”

They were even groaning their pathetic thoughts out loud. It was an assault on Ruri’s patience from every conceivable angle.

I should cast every single one of them out this instant.

Still, Ruri attempted to hold her ground and see the trial through. But then, her sharp silver eyes caught sight of a grotesque detail.

The foremost mercenary hauling himself toward the dais had clearly gone unwashed for weeks. An overpowering reek drifted from his armor. Layers of old sweat had caked and dried against his skin repeatedly. A heavy droplet of perspiration rolled down his cheek, gathering the accumulated filth on his face before dangling from the edge of his chin like a drop of liquid sludge.

Drip—

The foul, contaminated drop struck the polished floor of the ancestral Valdrova estate.

Snap.

Something fractured within Ruri’s mind. In that single instant, all restraint dissolved. Her Dragon Fear detonated at its absolute maximum capacity, engulfing the entire banquet hall. The surge lasted only a fraction of a second, but its sheer violence shattered the room’s resolve.

“Aaaaargh! Spare me! I don’t want to die!”

The fighters who had been stubbornly fighting through their panic were the very first to break and run. The terror spread like an uncontrolled blaze.

“Out of my way! Let me leave!”

“Mother! Save me, Mother!!”

The men bolted in utter disgrace, their armor clattering in chaotic discord. They trampled over one another in a frantic rush for the threshold, leaving the banquet hall completely deserted in seconds.

“Well now…” Ferda remarked, looking toward the battered entrance. “I had hoped to observe them a little longer. What a pity.”

“…I offer my apologies.”

“It does not matter. Such worthless rabble are common; we can simply find others. And besides…” Ferda directed his attention toward a quiet corner of the room. “It appears the trial was not an absolute loss.”

Amidst the hall that looked as if a tempest had torn through it, a lone figure remained. He was no warrior. His legs were quivering uncontrollably, yet he anchored himself in place to prevent his feet from retreating. Tears leaked down his cheeks alongside a runny nose, gasping for air as if the terror were choking the life out of him.

Even so, his gaze remained firmly locked onto Ferda. Whoever he was, he had earned an audience.

Within a private reception room of Valdrova Castle.

“Your identity?”

“S-S-Stephan Pascal.”

“Is your name S-Stephan?”

“M-my apologies! I lost control of my tongue. It is Stephan! Just Stephan!”

“Calm yourself. I understand. Take your time; there is no need to rush.”

“Y-yes, my Lord! Haaa, haaa!“

Stephan had yet to fully shake off the lingering trauma of the Dragon Fear. He pulled in deep breaths, though simple breathing could not instantly steady his frayed nerves.

His inner resolve is remarkable, Ferda noted internally. Maintaining a coherent dialogue while his lips trembled so violently was a testament to his willpower. Concealing his approval, Ferda inquired, “Carrying the Pascal name, are you affiliated with the Pascal Merchant Enterprise?”

“T-that is correct. I am the second-born son of Herman Pascal! Currently serving as the head of the imperial branch—no, Branch Director!”

“I see. What brought you to my halls?”

“I was trading monster remnants to the fighters, and I believed the Regent might have a need for bulk supplies, so I sought an audience…”

He was a merchant driven by an unwavering objective. He had conquered the instinct to flee purely because he refused to abandon his commercial goal.

Yet what truly piques my interest…

Is the name Stephan Pascal.

A name that never crossed my ears in the past.

Herman Pascal was the most celebrated merchant lord across the land, a figure Ferda knew well. Following his passing, a vicious war of succession had erupted, but the central contenders in that feud had been Murchit and Tilda.

Is this Stephan merely an abandoned vessel?

A forgotten ship destined to drift across stagnant waters until sinking into obscurity. A legitimate successor who possessed the necessary rights, yet would perish empty-handed due to a complete lack of political backing. There were countless reasons to dismiss him as an irrelevant piece.

Yet if his downfall is solely due to an absence of influence… what would happen if I became that influence?

Murchit and Tilda had already solidified their respective camps. Even if Ferda threw his support behind either of them, there would be little leverage left to claim.

I shall introduce an entirely new contender into the inheritance war: Stephan.

If this gamble succeeded, he could secure the vast logistics network and intelligence channels of the Pascal Merchant Enterprise, the grandest commercial entity in the empire. It would serve as an immense foundation for the industrial modernization and expansion of the untamed Far East.

“You.” Having finalized his strategy, Ferda broke the silence. “While you regain your composure, care to listen to a rather preposterous tale?”