115 — 12 (6)

The procession led by Pope Urbani Benedict III advanced at a leisurely pace. Even if an actual war broke out, the forces Benedict III had brought along were such elite that even thousands of troops would not have been able to stop this column. Considering the pope’s advanced age, the marching speed was truly snail-slow—yet the men forming a diamond formation around the papal carriage were all Sword Masters.

They were armed men who mixed mana and holy power, so it was hard to call them “pure” Sword Masters, but each name was as lofty as it was widely known across the world. Even the core elite alone was a force the Duchy of Eron could not hope to stop. And so it was obvious how they normally viewed a small state like Eron.

“Sir Kael. What do you think of His Holiness’s journey this time?”

“I can hear the dissatisfaction in your voice, Lady Evantes. Since you agreed, I merely obey my duty—I have no particular thoughts… though if I am honest, I have spent a long time in Lorencia, so I will treat it as a kind of trip. Ha-ha.”

“That may be so, but I do not even know whether this is something worth His Holiness’s visit. Even if they came to us a hundred times, it would not equal the value of us moving once. If it fails to match even half the rumors, I will hold that lord accountable.”

“His Holiness said he had a deeply impressive dream, so it will not be false. This is the first time he has insisted this strongly.”

The one who joined the conversation was a high-ranking priestess with an old-fashioned, dignified appearance. She was only sixteen—barely old enough to be called an adult—but she was known as the Prophet of Lorencia, possessing the ability to glimpse the future, if only slightly.

“There is no particularly exceptional figure in the duchy itself. However, the lord who devised the structure His Holiness wishes to see is said to be only around the age of coming-of-age.”

“The lord devised it? How peculiar. If he is that young, he must have outstanding talent in that field.”

“The rumors are even more grandiose. They say the god of war, Mars, personally bestowed his blessing.”

“…That is a rumor that does not seem to fit this matter.”

“Yes. He is a man known not for administration, but for war.”

At Aban Kael’s remark, the attention of all the knights nearby focused at once.

Aban Kael asked Sandra politely.

“Lady Sandra, did you by any chance see his fate?”

Sandra’s face hardened.

“Yes. At Your Excellency’s request, I attempted it. But… I could see nothing at all. It is the first time I have encountered such a person. Usually, at least some clue appears. The moment Your Excellency heard my answer, you decided we would visit that place.”

Not only Aban Kael, who had asked the question, but the entire knightly order was shocked anew. Sandra was a treasure of the Papal Court who had once perfectly predicted several disasters. Even the pope did not doubt the girl’s ability. The fact that she could see nothing about Louis caused pieces of information that people had been keeping to themselves to begin circulating.

Louis’s city was developing at an astonishing pace by the day. For one thing, after experiencing war, the most serious problem—food shortages—did not exist for Louis. Moreover, because of the population influx caused by tourists and the pope’s visit, enormous money was pouring in. Louis boldly reinvested that vast money back into his territory. The judgment was correct.

Huge quantities of materials flowed in, and the architects and laborers he hired accordingly produced housing and infrastructure in the blink of an eye. As jobs increased, not only tourists but many drifters gathered in Louis’s territory to seek work. The downside of forcing production this aggressively was that excessive fatigue drove citizens’ satisfaction ever downward. However, Babylonia’s Hanging Gardens supported the workers’ fatigue, and above all, the “satisfaction support” effect of the pope’s visit kept the city constantly in a happy state.

With these two factors combined, Pontina territory was achieving a pace of development so unprecedented it would be hard to find again in history. The rumors spread through nobles and then throughout the entire Duchy of Eron: that Louis’s city management and administrative ability exceeded everyone’s expectations.

In front of the city gate, people were murmuring. The newcomers bore the banner of House Boarne. Anyone with even a little sense realized the head of House Boarne had come in person.

“That is Marquis Boarne Gregor!”

“What on earth is going on?”

“Perhaps he came to demand an apology for losing Sword Expert Dain Mark.”

Marquis Boarne Gregor repeatedly looked around the city. He had visited Pontina territory once ten years ago. This was development beyond comparison. People crowded endlessly, construction sites sprawled everywhere, and wagons hauling materials stretched without end.

‘It is hard to believe. If they misstep, they could go bankrupt at this scale.’

Unlike Marquis Gregor, lost in thought, the eight warriors exchanged opinions among themselves.

“When we came in, the wheat was no joke. A bumper harvest of bumper harvests. Honestly, I have never seen a region where it grows that abundantly.”

“Even if we start a war, there is no advantage at all. If there is that much food, even dragging things out will tilt the overall trend toward House Pontina. And for a long war, we do not have that kind of stockpile…”

“There are more people here than in our territory. Was this place always so developed?”

“Not as far as I know. It began after Duke Louis took his seat as its master.”

Every one of the eight was a Sword Expert, and all were well-traveled with broad experience, yet the moment they entered Louis’s territory, they could not help but marvel. A city this lively and large was comparable only to Beiherobo, ruled by House Batenberg. It had the feel of something constantly turning and moving. The flow of people was even greater than in the capital, Lebledna.

Guided by a soldier, they soon met Louis.

Louis was inspecting a newly developing district. Marquis Boarne Gregor had arrived earlier than expected, but there was nothing in particular Louis needed to do for that. Louis knew better than anyone that the initiative was in his hands. The mere meeting of Louis and Boarne Gregor drew people’s attention. This street was relatively quiet, yet spectators gathered before long, and even the laborers stopped working to stare at Gregor and the eight Sword Experts who had come with him. Their physiques were imposing, and the mana they radiated swallowed the surroundings in an instant. Citizens and onlookers alike were stunned by that presence, admiring that House Boarne truly possessed the greatest military might in the Duchy of Eron. Yet Louis—and his two escorts—remained calm.

Boarne Gregor saw Louis for the first time. He had indeed carried many questions until now. But they were all being answered in this moment—why his son had been doomed to suffer, why so many events kept converging on Louis.

‘This is not coincidence.’

His intuition said so. Louis should have been young, yet Gregor felt as if he were looking at a predator. Administration? Administration was not this man’s true strength. House Pontina—no, Pontina Louis—had always possessed war-making ability sufficient to contend with Boarne, just as in ages past. Louis greeted Gregor with an even, steady manner, and that alone made Gregor judge Louis as the finest talent in the Duchy of Eron. No—the distilled essence of House Pontina might have gathered within him. For a long time, their internal feuds had perhaps dulled even those with talent, grinding themselves down.

War… would be difficult. Even if he chose it, Gregor understood there were serious dangers lying in wait. For a territory that had just finished a war, it possessed far too many resources—and more than that, Gregor felt he must not collide head-on with Louis. It wounded his pride, but he could not help thinking so.

“It is good to meet you, Duke Pontina Louis.”

“I am sorry, but I would like to ask why you have traveled all this way.”

Louis was cold. Gregor had anticipated it to some extent, so he remained composed.

“I came to confirm various things with my own eyes, and to speak a little about what has happened.”

“There is only one answer I can give you. I demand a formal apology—for the disrespect your son showed me.”

The eight warriors bristled with killing intent at Louis’s audacious words. Tension filled the air in an instant. Even the spectators could not look away, unsure what would happen. Yet Boarne Gregor’s reply was unexpectedly cool.

“I will apologize formally. I, Boarne Gregor, hereby offer a sincere apology to House Pontina for my son’s conduct, and as compensation for this, I promise to pay a certain sum in reparations.”

“My lord…! What is this—”

“That makes no sense.”

“To apologize so easily…”

But Gregor’s voice was firm.

“Silence!”

At a single word, the beasts that had been riled up fell quiet. That alone proved Gregor possessed no ordinary charisma.

People whispered.

“Rather than demanding an apology, Marquis Gregor is apologizing to Duke Louis…”

“Then of course he should. Is now the time to fight? If they miss this timing, House Boarne will lose an honor that might come once in a lifetime.”

Louis had intended to be quite strict with House Boarne, but he had not expected such a clean, straightforward apology. The compensation, too, would surely be a respectable amount. If so, the next step would be to invite the other two houses as well for the pope’s visit. Having gone this far, if Louis did not invite him, once this ended, a real war would break out.

“I accept. Then, since you have come all this way, please look around as you like before you depart.”

“When His Holiness visits, will you invite House Boarne as well?”

“I will consider it.”

Louis’s villa. The two female slaves who had succeeded in sharing Louis’s bed yesterday held their noses so high they might as well have pierced the sky. The women there bombarded them with questions—needless to say, about the bedchamber. Even if they had been taught “technique,” what did virgins truly know about men? In truth, after sleeping with Louis several times, it was a fact that they could barely move properly in the morning, limping. But compared to the attention they would receive, and the sense of superiority from having outdone the others, that pain was nothing. Yet their happiness was brief. Soon, the two women began to worry—there was no guarantee Louis would choose them again today. Still, how much had they boasted, provoked by jealous women? Thinking back now, their shameless pride was embarrassing… and most of it had been lies.

Louis returned that evening, and in order to maintain relations with the other nobles who had given him gifts, he burned with a workmanlike zeal to “use” all the gifted female slaves fairly. As soon as he finished eating, he told the female slave at his side to come in tonight. The woman was utterly stunned by the sudden luck.

She was a woman with emerald-colored hair, and a slightly high nose as her only flaw—but since the gift had been offered for the bedchamber in the first place, her looks were still closer to beautiful. Because the woman for the night had already been decided, the administrator took no special measures. When Louis finished all his work and entered the bedroom, a naked virgin stood there holding a single candle.

The moment Louis saw her, perhaps because of the “seal” he had released recently, desire flared up again at once, and he laid her down and buried his face in a mound of breasts. Before Louis even spent long on foreplay, the woman was already prepared—moist below. Women of this sort were trained in many things before being offered up. Soon the room filled with rough moans. When it was done, Louis let out a small sigh—Only three so far… still a long way to go.