Chapter 308

Chapter 308

A chilling quietness swept through the banquet hall.

What in the world…?

What did he just utter?

The aristocrats blinked in sheer disbelief, utterly failing to comprehend the crude vulgarity that had just reached their ears.

The shock ran so deep that Count Erzin’s prior breach of etiquette was instantly forgotten, and even Count Erzin himself let out a blank chuckle, thoroughly stunned.

“My, what an audacious fellow!”

Right then, Aster chuckled softly.

“Your Highness.”

“…Go on.”

“This old man is lecturing us on poor manners. What should we do about it?”

What utter nonsense. This implied that the person who committed the initial blunder was now pointing fingers at others’ flaws—pure hypocrisy.

Bellrose, catching the drift, steadied her spinning thoughts and addressed Count Erzin.

“Count, are you truly in a position to be lecturing anyone on proper etiquette?”

“Heh, Your Highness. I shall not make excuses for my own lack of courtesy. Nonetheless, before you pass judgment on my transgression, would you grant me an audience?”

To rephrase it the way Aster filtered the count’s speech, it essentially boiled down to this:

“This old man might be guarding the frontier, but some strange rumors have reached me from old acquaintances… however…”

Out of boredom, while digging for gossip, I stumbled upon a piece of news I simply could not ignore.

And what was this news?

That Your Highness has recruited a magnificent archmage into your inner circle?

And that you have also formed an alliance with his faction? Naturally, that would be something to celebrate…

…except for the part about joining hands with obscure nobodies.

So, what was the real issue?

“I am merely anxious that Your Highness might be manipulated by unsavory figures, and my concerns are far from minor…”

Did he grease his tongue before speaking?

Ah, that wasn’t a translation of his meaning; it was just Aster’s exhausted impression as he listened.

Regardless, stripping away the flowery language and his eloquent phrasing, the core message was simple:

Are these individuals you’ve aligned with truly trustworthy?

And…

• Is that guy actually a grand archmage?

These would be legitimate concerns, certainly—if he were a devoted servant.

However, the Count Erzin before Aster’s eyes could never be a faithful vassal.

The giveaway lay in his subtle phrasing.

Expressions like “given my connections to the late emperor…” or “the little princess from my memories flashing before my eyes…” slipped out, consistently patronizing the princess as though she were a mere child or a granddaughter.

At this stage, the count’s underlying motives, what he truly hoped to achieve with this spectacle, were irrelevant.

Bellrose seemed to grasp this as well.

Confronted with this repulsive response, Bellrose unfurled her fan to hide her mouth, barely managing to conceal her trembling lips.

Meanwhile, the nobles gathered in the hall wore expressions of deep sentimentality.

And with good reason—the performance was flawless.

Ties passed down through generations and unwavering devotion!

A beautiful narrative straight out of a fairy tale.

Naturally, not everyone fell for the count’s hidden agenda.

Those who saw right through it watched the third princess’s reaction with sharp, glinting eyes.

This was the moment of truth to test her capabilities.

Bellrose understood this perfectly, which was why she hesitated to respond.

However, silence behaves in such a way.

Sometimes it serves as a sharp blade to threaten an adversary, but other times, it acts as a noose tightening around one’s own neck.

In this situation, it was definitely the latter, and Bellrose lacked the luxury of time to ponder.

There wasn’t much time…

[Speak.]

“…?”

Bellrose tilted her head at Aster’s telepathic message.

Speak about what?

[Inform them that you are leaving everything in the hands of Sir Wyvar.]

Entrusting all of this to him…?

[Or just place your faith in me and go with the flow.]

What exactly was he plotting?

The count’s rhetoric was so clever that it left no room for a counterargument.

He had acknowledged his own insolence, yet even that confession was wrapped in a cloak of loyalty.

She lacked the prestige and raw power to crush him outright, and he was far too shrewd to be defeated by mere words alone.

Though she couldn’t see his face through the perception-blocking spell, Aster exuded total confidence.

Making up her mind…

“How amusing.”

Bellrose feigned a look of disdain as she glared down at Count Erzin.

“You have woven your words beautifully with that clever tongue of yours, but stripped down, aren’t you simply saying you doubt my judgment? Tell me, Count. Do I still appear to be a clueless child in your eyes?”

“Your Highness, that is not…”

Count Erzin faltered slightly against Bellrose’s unexpectedly firm tone, but another voice cut in.

“Your Highness, is this man interrupting you yet again?”

“If it is not that, then what is it? Speak plainly.”

“This old servant speaks out of nothing but absolute loyalty…”

“Your Highness, is this man making excuses for himself once more?”

Count Erzin’s eyelids twitched. His gaze locked onto Aster, though only for a fleeting second.

Swallowing his pride, Count Erzin bowed his head.

“Please… forgive this old man’s insolence.”

“Forgive…”

Bellrose sneered at the count’s sudden shift in demeanor. Yet Aster had no intention of letting it rest.

“Your Highness, is that scoundrel commanding you to forgive him? Did I hear that correctly?”

Count Erzin remained silent.

This time, Bellrose kept quiet too.

And understandably so; the phrasing was far too casual for addressing an imperial princess. No, it wasn’t just the phrasing—it was that blatantly shameless attitude.

However, Bellrose, possessing a certain tolerance for such behavior, regained her composure and fixed the count with a piercing gaze.

“Count.”

“Then what exactly are you suggesting? That the 72nd Council cannot be trusted? That Sir Wyvar is not a grand archmage? Do you possess some method to verify these claims?”

Count Erzin’s eyes flashed with light at that exact moment.

“I have no means to verify the 72nd Council, however…”

“Ah, what is the difference between speaking gibberish and spouting absolute nonsense?”

Crunch.

“Ah, my apologies. Just muttering to myself… Did I say that a bit too loudly? Do go on.”

Count Erzin glared at Aster with burning eyes before regaining his composure and continuing smoothly.

“While I cannot verify the 72nd Council, I believe there is a way to test that man, Wyvar.”

“Test him? In what manner?”

Count Erzin flashed a triumphant smirk.

“Though my domain is modest, I too have brushed against the threshold of transcendence. If this Wyvar is truly a grand archmage who has achieved transcendence… he should easily be able to contend with someone of my caliber.”

The procedure was tedious, but it would finish him off regardless.

From the very start, that had been Count Erzin’s true objective.

While Count Erzin suppressed a grin, Aster stared back at him, his mouth slightly open in utter bewilderment.

“Frightened, are we?”

Aster shot back.

“No… your delusions are just genuinely pathetic.”

Count Erzin fell silent.

Bellrose was silent as well.

Only one individual among those present, Mysern, stared at Aster with a contorted expression, genuinely and deeply fascinated.

How on earth had he held back?

All this time?

An open space was prepared in the garden behind the banquet hall.

Naturally, the elder was Count Erzin.

The youth was Aster.

“Mehod, bring me my blade.”

“…Yes.”

Count Erzin raised the sword handed over by his grandson Mehod to eye level, unsheathing it halfway.

It was so meticulously maintained that his own reflection stared back clearly from its polished surface; this was no ordinary blade.

Infused with unique minerals designed to disperse magic and enchanted with ‘anti-magic’, it was a weapon specifically forged to combat sorcerers.

And that was merely the start.

Clink, clink.

After inspecting the sword, Count Erzin checked the bracers around his wrists—artifacts imbued with defensive spells.

Necklaces, cloaks, and even magical scrolls stitched into the linings of his garments…

Despite his unassuming appearance, Count Erzin was armed to the teeth with anti-magic gear, proving just how thoroughly prepared he was.

By contrast…

“Ha, you stubborn old fossil. Pathetic, and ridiculously meticulous to boot.”

Aster, who was casually scratching his ear while observing Count Erzin, was completely defenseless.

His attire consisted of standard formal wear, devoid of any special enhancements, save for the mask covering his face.

“Such impudence!”

Count Erzin remained unperturbed by Aster’s mocking as he finished examining his equipment.

No matter how pathetic he might look according to Aster’s remarks, not a single trace of shame crossed his features.

Ultimately, in battle, only the victor is remembered.

If they lost, being ridiculed would be inevitable, but Count Erzin was entirely confident in his triumph.

‘Transcendence? Ridiculous.’

Transcendence wasn’t handed out like cheap candy.

According to the intelligence provided by the second prince, he was a competent mage, but certainly not transcendent.

It was impressive how he had intimidated the nobility at the grand opening through mere presence alone, but that did not equate to transcendence.

He could achieve the exact same effect himself.

And even if the man were transcendent, what of it?

Preparation, resolve, and even the choice of the battlefield itself—everything worked in his favor.

The lawn was wide enough to swing a sword comfortably, yet too confined to safely cast large-scale spells, which put even an archmage at a disadvantage.

Above all else…

‘No, I won’t be needing that.’

With his preparations complete, Count Erzin assumed his stance and looked toward Aster.

“Are you prepared?”

“Are you seriously asking me that?”

“It seems so.”

Ignoring the retort, Count Erzin glanced at Mehod.

Mehod stepped forward, executed the traditional dueling formalities, and flipped a coin off his thumb.

“Very well…”

Ting!

The coin soared into the air, spinning rapidly until it peaked at its highest point.

Count Erzin calculated the precise trajectory of its descent, ready to draw his weapon.

There was no room for carelessness.

Regardless of his thorough preparations, he was dealing with a potential archmage. He would pour everything into his opening move the instant the match began.

The coin reached its apex and started to fall.

The old count’s aging frame tensed like an oiled cord.

His muscles contracted and expanded in perfect harmony exactly where needed.

But as the coin neared the ground…

…Huh?

Because… just a hair’s breadth before touching the earth, the coin had frozen dead in mid-air.

An imperceptible fraction-of-a-second pause to ordinary eyes, but to the count—whose senses were honed razor-sharp, primed for the strike—it felt like a grueling eternity that stole his breath away.

That fleeting moment passed.

A dull thud echoed.

The coin settled onto the grass.

“Hup…!”

The count controlled his breathing and moved to draw—or attempted to.

“…Gah!”

A brutal impact slammed directly into his face.

Aster smirked as the count clutched his visage, stumbling backward.

“The margin of respect is paper-thin.”

This was merely the strike of an old man.

But… if one infused it with respectful intent, couldn’t it become a respectful strike? It all came down to mindset.

“I am going to deliver a respectful slap with both hands.”

Aster pinned his own right wrist with his left hand and delivered a second, full-force blow right across the count’s face.

…Mysern’s thoughts wandered.

Should I… begin training again?

At any rate, the clash had officially begun.