Chapter : 08
Don’t Laugh, This Is Your Story.
“Up to there.”
At the same time Heinkel, the guarantor, leveled his sword at Randel’s neck, he declared the duel over.
“Aaah…! Aaaahhh—!”
At Randel’s scream, the healers of the Count Cornwell family rushed in.
“Hurry and stop the bleeding!”
“Aaagh! Aaagh! Let go! I’ll kill you! Aaaahhh—!”
“Grab his arm! Cast Sleep! Hurry!”
At the veteran healer’s shouted orders, a calming spell was placed on Randel’s frenzied body.
“Ghhhhh….”
Randel, having lost consciousness, sagged limply and let out a sound like air leaking.
Only then, reassured, the healers immediately began tending to his wrist.
“Can that be reattached?”
I asked while looking at Randel’s hand being wrapped in cloth.
“Ah, n-no. We’ll have to make a prosthetic, so it’s to take a mold….”
“Oh, what, so that’s what it was?”
I said that with a hint of disappointment.
Even after 200 years, they couldn’t even do reattachment.
The healers’ techniques really hadn’t advanced at all.
“…You feel nothing even after seeing severed flesh?”
“Ah.”
At Heinkel’s muttered words, I realized my slip.
Come to think of it, Klein Leinrant was a sheltered young master who had never seen a corpse even once.
‘I saw corpses every single day in my previous life, so now I can’t exactly pretend to be scared.’
I was pondering how to brush it off when—
“T-tha… that can’t be!”
At the hollow voice, I turned my head.
The Count of Cornwell, wearing a dazed expression, was blankly staring at the scene.
“H-huh, how much money did I spend to hire that knight…! H-how could this happen…!”
“Count Cornwell. This doesn’t seem like the time to be thinking about such things.”
Duke Heinkel, shaking his head as if he couldn’t believe it, pulled Cornwell back to reality.
Seeing his stiffened expression, the Count of Cornwell finally seemed to grasp the situation.
“Y-Your Grace. That is…!”
“The victor of the Duel Trial is Klein. The defeated, according to northern tradition, shall fulfill the victor’s demand.”
At Heinkel’s words, the Count of Cornwell ground his teeth.
Not only had he lost Dalton, the greatest prospect of his family, but also Randel, his direct subordinate knight.
And to make matters worse, he now had to lower himself and beg forgiveness from the ducal house.
That would be quite humiliating.
Probably the greatest humiliation of his life.
‘But so what? I almost died because of you.’
With a short scoff, I shrugged my shoulders.
Cornwell had already accepted the duel.
If it became known that he refused its outcome, it was obvious what kind of treatment he’d receive in noble society.
“I… understand….”
The Count of Cornwell forced his mouth open as he said that.
“Soon, along with appropriate compensation, I will offer an apology. The letter will be delivered personally by the heir of the family, Dain Cornwell, and….”
Ha, this bastard really was a rat.
Even after things had come to this, he was still trying to wriggle out.
“What kind of nonsense is that?”
I said it to the Count of Cornwell’s back as he tried to evade the situation.
Startled by my voice, Cornwell kept glancing at me.
‘Up until just a moment ago he was so smug, and now, seriously….’
Look at that figure, strong before the weak and weak before the strong.
To think that something like that, claiming to be of a hero’s bloodline, had been lurking through the north—it made my skin crawl.
“Klein, Young Lord. Right now, that is…!”
“‘The defeated must unconditionally carry out the victor’s demand.’ That is the basic principle of a Duel Trial.”
As I said that, I pointed my finger toward the ground at my feet.
“Kneel, and loudly proclaim your sins.”
“W-what…?!”
The Count of Cornwell glared at me with bulging eyes.
‘Wow, just look at those eyes.’
At his murderous look, as if he’d kill me on the spot, a laugh escaped me.
What, now that you have to do it yourself instead of ordering me around, your temper’s twisted that badly?
“Did you not hear me? Shall I say it once more?”
“Klein, Young Lord. No matter that it is a Duel Trial, such dishonor…!”
A voice of protest came from the side.
A minor-branch noble who had been attached to Cornwell.
A parasite flattering another flatterer.
“This is Leinrant land. Whose permission did you receive to speak to me just now?”
“Th-that is…!”
When I said it while glaring, the startled noble immediately stepped back.
“Delcan Cornwell.”
“……!”
I called his name without honorifics.
A worthless burden, the shame of the family.
To the second son who had been thought of that way, such disdain coming from me would strike as quite a shock.
‘I originally planned to end it here, but I’ve changed my mind.’
Watching Cornwell tremble, I clenched my fist and opened my mouth.
As the Guardian of the North and master of Leinrant, and as the victor of the duel, I demand this.
I mixed the demonic energy rising from my heart into my voice.
My low, pressed-down voice weighed even more heavily on his body.
Confess your sins yourself, kneel, and beg for forgiveness.
This voice was one meant not to call the living, but the dead.
Upon hearing it, Cornwell’s pupils shook incessantly.
“A, aaaah…!”
‘Originally it’s used to call the souls of the dead, but it can be applied like this too.’
Life seeks to live, and fears death.
A dead man’s voice, etched deep into the soul of the living, shakes not the mind, but the spirit.
“U-uuuugh…!”
Bow your head and beg for mercy. Feel the weight of your sins and repent.
I whispered into Delcan’s ear.
The demonic energy and commands pouring in at point-blank range.
Anyone else would have collapsed long ago, but Cornwell, even while staggering as if about to fall at any moment, was resisting my words.
‘When authority goes this far, it turns into willpower. Should I call it impressive, or just hopeless.’
As I lamented inwardly, Cornwell finally collapsed completely and knelt at my feet.
The pupils that had been filled with rage and a sense of authority were now completely empty.
A Necromancer’s interference technique that used demonic energy, ‘Voice of the Dead’.
Unable to withstand the shock, his mind had collapsed.
“I, I and my family… harbored irreverent dark intentions and tried to harm the Young Lord, and in order to cover that up, we insulted Duchess Claire, the Second…!”
“So?”
When I looked down at him and asked again, he soaked his face with tears and smashed his forehead against the floor.
‘I thought he was holding out for quite a while, but he’s broken down pretty badly.’
The Voice of the Dead was a technique that induced extreme terror in humans.
Having it recited right in front of him, it was only natural for his mind to snap.
‘At the very least, he’ll be like that for over a dozen years. The Cornwell family is going to have a hard time.’
“I, I confess the sins, the sins of myself and my family…! Please, I beg for the Young Lord’s forgiveness…!”
After confirming his kneeling figure, I scanned the surroundings.
“A-am I seeing things right now…?”
“T-the Count of Cornwell really…?”
“Now that there’s a confession, that family is finished.”
“Hah, to think a wing of the collateral faction would collapse like that?”
Some let out sighs, others cries of astonishment.
Having roughly identified friend from foe with that, I raised my voice and -shouted toward them.
“Those standing here, listen carefully-!”
Unlike Cornwell’s, it was a pure voice without demonic energy mixed in.
Their murmuring stopped at once, and their gazes turned toward me.
“My name is Klein Leinrant!”
The nobles who alternated their gazes between Cornwell prostrated on the ground and me carved my name into their minds.
“I am the second son of the Duke of Leinrant, and the son of Duchess Claire la Dailasis!”
To me, this shout was like a declaration of departure.
A declaration that I would no longer hide in the shadow of the ducal house.
And a vow that because of me, the Duke of Leinrant would change.
***
Creeeak—!
The massive iron doors split apart to either side with a metallic screech.
A ray of sunlight shone into the dark castle, and then a shadow that blocked that sunlight thrust its body inside.
Thud—! Thud—!
The footsteps produced by the massive bulk were like those of a giant god that ruled the mountains.
Trampling over the old marble floor, he advanced and soon reached his destination, where he lowered his body.
“So, you’ve come. Priest Garrison.”
“Cardinal Murok.”
The voice of an old man echoed through the empty castle.
The sun-cross patterns and holy statues lined up throughout.
And within the dark space, the only vividly glowing stained glass hinted at what kind of place this was.
“The surveillance target was attacked. It was a Necromancer’s zombie.”
“I am well aware. It was an arrangement to achieve our objective.”
At the cardinal’s calm voice, Garrison swallowed his breath.
“An arrangement, you say?”
When Garrison asked that, the face hidden in shadow turned to look at him.
“The northern region is heretical land where the Holy Order has yet to take root. In order to bestow grace upon that place, borrowing the Empire’s power was the wisest method.”
“The wisest method.”
A low voice with no discernible rise or fall repeated the cardinal’s words.
“Then, was that Necromancer planted by the Empire?”
“That’s right.”
“And you permitted it, calling it the wisest method.”
“It was for the sake of the Order. If we can save more people by sacrificing a few heretics, what could be better—!”
Cardinal Murok’s words, spoken with fervor, stopped midway.
Because Priest Garrison’s hand had clamped over his face.
“You, what are you doing right now! Mmph…! Mmmph…!”
“The guardian of doctrine and holy war went mad over petty political games and compromised with heresy.”
Crunch! Creak!
With one hand gripping the cardinal’s face, he lifted him straight up.
The cardinal, his face seized, kicked and punched at the hand in an attempt to escape the grip.
But his arm, like a pillar of the temple itself, did not budge in the slightest, only increasing the pressure.
“Mmph! Mmmph! Mmmmmmph—!”
His body, gradually flushing red, convulsed and thrashed like mad.
“Ga, Garrison! Mmmph—!”
Like a frog thrown into a boiling pot, his frantic struggle lasted only a moment.
Thud—!
Priest Garrison’s hand crushed the cardinal’s face outright.
Splatter!
The headless body and shattered pieces of the head fell to the ground and scattered.
“Khhhh….”
Even so, Priest Garrison seemed unable to calm his anger, merely clenching his teeth as his body trembled.
“Feeling a bit better now?”
At the voice from behind, Garrison turned around.
“Archbishop Palliman.”
“Don’t you ever get tired of it? At this rate, you’ve killed more clergy than the Necromancers have.”
Even after seeing the cardinal’s corpse burst open and strewn about like a popped balloon, the young black-haired man showed no reaction. With the same smiling face, he approached Priest Garrison.
“Was this your scheme?”
“I didn’t scheme it. I merely permitted it.”
As he spoke with that same smile, Garrison approached him with blood-soaked hands clenched.
“You’re always like this. Palliman El. A cowardly archbishop who doesn’t even have the courage to step in himself and only watches.”
“And aren’t you a madman bound to the past, chasing only specters? Priest Garrison Bierkman.”
Booom—!
The instant Palliman finished speaking, a fist slammed down right beside his face.
A mighty blow that could pulverize marble with just the pressure wave.
Yet Palliman, who saw it right before his eyes, did not have his smiling face so much as twitch.
“What do you want.”
“Information. About your ‘surveillance target’.”
Answering Garrison’s question, Palliman held out a small cross made of glass.
“This is?”
Inside the glass-like cross were a red liquid, and black smoke mixed together.
“It’s a cross containing ectoplasm. An item carried by the Empire’s Necromancer you killed.”
“Ridiculous. You probably slipped it in yourself.”
Garrison glared at him as he said that, but Palliman merely shrugged without comment.
“The red is blood. A trace of anti-soul sorcery the Empire is intensively researching. A technique that raises corpses.”
“And the other one?”
“The black is the soul. A technique that handles souls rather than corpses…. It’s practically the prototype of necromancy.”
At those words, Garrison fell silent.
“Two different traces remained on a single cross. Which means….”
“There were two necromancers at the scene.”
When he said that and looked at Garrison’s face, Palliman’s eyes curved into a crescent moon.
“The second young master of the Duke of Leinrant, Klein Leinrant, is…. a necromancer.”
