Too Many Corrupt Nobles (3)

“Grah, how violent. Creatures with intelligence that can’t resolve their emotions through words are truly pitiful.”

Scott, who had just been punched by Ismail, rubbed his nose and grumbled.

“Shut up. Unless you want to get hit again. And I hit you because you were making improper advances toward Mediam.”

“Improper advances? How could you possibly interpret that conversation as me making advances? Don’t tell me your comprehension skills are that low? Honestly, the stupidity of dull-witted creatures always exceeds my expectations.”

“……”

“I’ll explain it properly. I was merely warning you not to develop any sexual fantasies about me due to my intellectual charm and superior appearance. Among orcs, forming physical relationships with lowly species like yours is an unbearable, heinous crime.”

-Clank…

Ismail, unable to hold back, reached for his sword hilt.

“Wait a moment. What exactly in my words just now would make you so angry? Instead of being grateful for learning something new, you get upset? Oh, I see. Is this what they call an inferiority complex? I see. I wouldn’t know—I’ve never experienced such emotions before.”

Scott looked flustered when he saw Ismail’s growing anger.

“Enough. Let’s move. We don’t have time.”

Azadine began leading the group south to avoid Count Lantarique’s forces.

“If the mercenaries from the Cell Sword Guild don’t return, they’ll start suspecting something happened. Luckily….”

Since Guillaumevalt was such a terrible fighter, they wouldn’t assume the mercenaries had failed to kill him. The words hovered in Azadine’s throat.

‘Saying it out loud would just be rude.’

Fortunately, Guillaumevalt wasn’t entirely clueless.

“If that many mercenaries had all come after me, they’d have succeeded without a doubt. If communication with the soldiers has been cut off, they’ll probably assume it was either a mistake or that I managed to escape by sheer luck.”

“…Sorry.”

“Hm? What for?”

“No, it’s nothing.”

“More importantly, you seem to be the leader of this group. That’s odd. Shouldn’t it be Sir Zebec, the Holy Knight? Who exactly are you people?”

“Oh, you could call us treasure hunters.”

“Treasure hunters?”

“We’re searching for the Count’s memoirs.”

“My father’s memoirs? Why?”

“Because they contain clues about the treasure we’re looking for.”

“So, you want to help me?”

“That’s right. If we want to enter Count Lantarique’s estate or castle, we’ll need a legitimate reason. Sneaking in over the walls, evading the guards, and searching for the item is far more difficult than simply walking in through the front door with the rightful heir’s help. Besides, properly searching a library will take time. How could we slip in under the cover of night and hope to find the information we need?”

Extracting useful information from the Count’s memoirs or letters would be extremely difficult. They desperately needed the help of a scribe—Brand. However, Brand had succumbed to madness once more, becoming the Brass Knight.

“How long will it take to get from here to Lantarique?”

Mediam asked.

“If we hurry, four days. However….”

Zebec trailed off, frowning.

“It doesn’t seem like we’ll have a smooth journey.”

“That’s fine. That’s why we left a letter behind.”

Azadine shrugged.

“Oh, right. You left a letter where the corpses were, didn’t you? What did it say?”

“Well, let’s save that little treat for later. Let’s get moving.”

The retainers of Count Lantarique were in a difficult position.

Everyone knew that the Count favored his youngest son, Lord Adler, over his eldest. That’s why Guillaumevalt had been trained by Holy Knights and prepared for ordination, to formally settle the matter of succession.

However, the Holy Knights training him found themselves in a quandary.

‘He has no talent.’

‘Even if he joins the Holy Knights, he lacks the ability to fulfill any duties.’

Nobles who inherited the blood of the Yaegas God Tribe were, at the very least, stronger than common farmers. While farmers toiled in the fields, nobles had the privilege of eating prepared meals while focusing on training and education. It was only natural.

That said, not all Holy Knights were great swordsmen. Swordsmanship and combat skills were only minimally required. Many knights and priests lived their entire lives without ever taking on an outdoor mission.

And yet…

Despite all this, the Holy Knights still refused to accept Guillaumevalt as a squire, declaring him utterly incompetent.

‘Is he doing this on purpose?’

The retainers began to suspect that Guillaumevalt was feigning incompetence to delay his ordination, knowing what awaited him. However, those suspicions faded quickly.

It was because Guillaumevalt was simply too ugly. His long, horse-like face and slightly cross-eyed gaze made it impossible to call him handsome, even as a polite lie.

On top of that, his actions were so consistently foolish that everyone became convinced—he wasn’t faking it. He was genuinely useless.

“But… why haven’t we heard back yet?”

The retainers had tasked the Cell Sword Guild with dealing with Guillaumevalt.

They had planned to report, “Sir Guillaumevalt was killed by monsters.”

Yet, the mercenaries who had gone on the morning scouting mission had not returned by nightfall.

“For now, let’s send out an investigation team at dawn.”

And so, they wasted another day guarding the fortress.

The next morning, the reconnaissance team discovered the bodies of the Cell Sword Guild mercenaries lying in the reeds.

“W-what is this?!”

“What the hell happened?!”

The retainers surveyed their surroundings. From what they could see, ambushing archers had rained arrows down on the Cell Sword Guild members, then finished them off completely with swords and blunt weapons.

Since there were no other bodies apart from those of the Cell Sword mercenaries, it must have been a one-sided battle.

“An ambush, an assassination? Who in the world would do this?”

“Could it be the monsters that attacked the Count?”

“Or perhaps the Messenger Clan that approached the Count?”

“But since they used arrows….”

As the retainers speculated, one of them discovered something.

“Wait! There’s a letter in this corpse’s hand!”

“A letter?”

“Let’s see. Ah?”

They found that the letter had been sealed using a signet ring pressed into gathered mud rather than wax. Even so, they could recognize the signet ring as belonging to Guillaumevalt.

The letter read as follows:

“A capable hawk hides its talons. I deceived you first, so I fully understand your disloyalty. However, as the rightful ruler of Lantarique and Adirov, how could I manage affairs without strictly enforcing reward and punishment? Thus, I advise you: do not bring disgrace upon your honor by openly rebelling. A minor act of disloyalty may still be forgiven depending on your future conduct.”

“!!!!”

The retainers were shocked after reading the letter.

“T-this can’t be real!”

“Sir Guillaumevalt?”

“My god.”

They passed the letter around in disbelief.

Did this mean Guillaumevalt had been hiding his true abilities all along, deliberately pretending to be incompetent?

Now that Count Lantarique was missing, had he finally cast aside his mask and started revealing his true skills? Was this all part of a calculated strategy for the succession battle?

“No way. How could he have been acting all this time?”

“He has no money, no subordinates—no one!”

“But wasn’t that the whole point of hiding it? He might have secretly gathered resources and manpower without us knowing!”

“What should we do? Should we send a signal flare or flag to Lord Adler?”

“But if we do that, wouldn’t Guillaumevalt realize we’re alerting Adler?”

Signal flares and flag signals were relayed through fortresses stationed along the Imperial Highway, meaning they were visible to anyone.

If they lit a signal fire or raised a flag here, Guillaumevalt would immediately be aware of it. Wouldn’t that make it clear that the retainers were openly rebelling against him?

“If Sir Guillaumevalt has truly been hiding his abilities and he becomes Count Lantarique, won’t he punish those of us who sent the signal?”

“We’re already traitors anyway. The only way we survive is if Lord Adler becomes the Count!”

“But the letter says he’ll forgive us.”

“He says that now! But once he becomes the Count, what’s stopping him from eliminating us? If we hand over the sword’s hilt to him, we’ll be left begging for mercy!”

“But if we don’t even know his actual strength and we fail to take him down now, what happens then? If we betray the one who offered forgiveness and lose, we’ll all be damned to hell.”

The retainers began fiercely debating how best to ensure their survival.

In the end, they agreed that using signal flares or flag signals would be too risky since Guillaumevalt might notice. Instead, they decided to send a courier to secretly warn Adler.

“To think we’re so scared of that horse-faced man that we can’t even use the flag signals and have to rely on a courier.”

Count Lantarique had always considered the County of Salasma an enemy and had long been preparing for war. As part of this effort, he had set up fortresses and flag stations to establish a signaling system between Lantarique and Salasma.

Now, after investing a fortune and vast manpower into constructing this grand system, they were unable to use it. The irony was bitter.

“Good. It’s working as planned.”

Azadine, seeing that no signal fires or flag signals had been raised, realized that the letter he had made Guillaumevalt leave behind was yielding the desired results.

“Maybe they just haven’t discovered the bodies yet?”

“No way. The mercenaries never returned, so they must have sent a reconnaissance team. There’s no way they could have missed a battlefield with twenty dead men.”

Azadine’s group had considered erasing all traces and fleeing, but dealing with twenty corpses was no small task. Instead, Azadine had crafted a letter and left it with the bodies to buy time.

“As long as they hesitate, we have achieved our goal. The problem is….”

Azadine glanced at Brand, checking on his condition. The former scribe was enthusiastically speaking to Guillaumevalt.

“If Sir Guillaumevalt becomes the Count, will you take me in as one of your retainers?”

“Oh, uh, yes. If it comes to that, I suppose.”

“Haha! That means I’ll finally become a knight at my age! Even if it’s just a baronetcy, to truly become a knight… It’s like a childhood dream come true. I’m overwhelmed with emotion.”

“Ahaha….”

Guillaumevalt looked troubled. If what Brand was saying was true, then he truly saw Count Lantarique as his greatest enemy. His hatred and resentment were so intense that they even extended toward Guillaumevalt.

Even though Guillaumevalt was a discarded child who had never been favored by his father, Brand’s fury and hostility had driven him into madness, transforming him into the Brass Knight.

Moreover, Brand was already well into his years. A baronetcy that couldn’t be passed down wouldn’t benefit him in any way, yet he still seemed overjoyed. It was clear—what mattered to Brand wasn’t any material reward. It was simply being knighted.

Seeing this man before him, Guillaumevalt could no longer see him as the scribe he once knew.

He now fully realized that Brand was truly Sir Brand, the Brass Knight.

‘So my father and his agents did that to this man….’