Chapter 46: Omen

“Hey, with an injury like that, how long do you think it’ll take to recover?”

Since the arrow shaft was cut off so close, it’ll probably take a bit longer.

“So, how long?”

It looks like it was lodged pretty deep. It won’t heal in less than a month, I reckon. And if we consider the aftereffects…

“I see…”

He stroked his scratchy chin.

Only two years have passed since the end of the Eight-Year War. Even for the Empire, another war would be a burden.

Moreover, Deon Hart was injured. Considering how often they deployed him during the war, sending him all over the place, the chances of waging war without him are slim.

Could they perhaps use this to their advantage?

“Doesn’t this look like a show of force to you?”

“Huh?”

“Doesn’t it look like a show of force directed at our kingdom?”

“No matter how I look at it, it seems more like a one-sided attack than a show of force… Ugh!”

Fortunately, there was one quick-witted fellow among them.

He swiftly stomped on his colleague’s foot to shut him up, then eagerly nodded.

“Yes! It looks like a show of force!”

“Right? Contact the royal palace. No, I’ll contact them myself.”

He needed to explain the situation in detail. If things went well, they might even get a hefty reward from the Empire.

Judging by the looks of it, they came under the guise of monster subjugation to scout things out. They deserved at least this much.

A sinister smile crept onto the commander’s lips.

***

Deon Hart’s words pierced the truth they had been desperately trying to ignore.

He didn’t seem to expect an answer, and the members were too overwhelmed to respond. A chilling silence settled over the small battlefield.

It wasn’t just fear. Well, fear was definitely a part of it, but there was a bigger reason.

‘Has he always been such a good talker?’

‘He was good, but I don’t think he was this sharp.’

‘Did the butler teach him?’

‘Butler, why, just why?’

The members clutched at their aching hearts.

His words didn’t even contain a single curse, yet they stung.

While the members were reeling from the attack that hit their sore spots, a different kind of silence hung in the air among their enemies.

‘The first one to move dies.’

Now was the perfect opportunity, with their opponents frozen in place mid-battle. However, their instincts, honed by countless requests, screamed of impending death.

And when their eyes met Deon Hart’s, it became a certainty.

Red eyes the color of blood, a slyly curving gaze, and the subtle upturn of his lips as if waiting for someone to make a move.

‘Shit.’

They had picked the wrong opponent.

In fact, their instincts had been screaming warnings since they first accepted the request. But the reward was too tempting to ignore.

They didn’t have to kill him; inflicting an injury was enough. Who could refuse such an offer?

Even if they hadn’t refused the request, this situation could have been avoided if they had retreated without pressing the attack after the first arrow hit.

‘Damn it, I got too greedy.’

Driven by greed and the assessment that they had a chance after confirming the extent of his injuries, they pressed their attack.

Judging by his demeanor and actions, the rumors seemed exaggerated.

But who would have thought he’d suddenly change like this?

There was only one way to turn this situation around without any casualties.

Everyone knew it without having to say it out loud.

The problem was trust.

‘We attack at the same time on three.’

‘One… two, three!’

‘…….’

‘…….’

‘You dirty bastards.’

‘Look who’s talking.’

This was the third time they had tried this.

Incredibly, not a single one moved. Not even a flinch.

As they were all sizing each other up, a voice broke the silence.

“We’ve already got one to squeeze information out of—stop playing coy and kill them.”

“…!”

“What are you doing, acting all high and mighty when you can barely ride a horse straight?”

The members’ eyes changed.

Just moments ago, they were simply ‘madmen’ who enjoyed blood. Now, their eyes didn’t even see the enemies as human.

They grinned in their direction.

Their expressions were so ominous that the moment the horses were reined back, the ones who had braced themselves in their saddles leaped forward without hesitation.

They acted with such audacity, seemingly without a thought for the risk of falling.

“Crazy bastards!”

A cry of shock morphed into a curse.

Thud! Thump!

Dull thuds and low groans echoed from all directions.

The air was thick with madness and the stench of blood, far beyond anything from moments before. A proper brawl had begun.

It was chaos.

The man who had fearlessly charged in first was now impaled on the ground, staring blankly at the scene before him, oblivious to his own pain.

Curses and screams filled the air, along with all sorts of dirty tricks.

And above all, it was brutal.

Throwing dirt in someone’s eyes was understandable. Biting too.

But did they really have to tear apart someone who was clearly already dead? He couldn’t comprehend it.

His body trembled involuntarily.

‘Murderous fiends.’

They had official names, but people still referred to this knight order as the ‘Murderous Fiends’.

He had wondered why they still used such an unflattering name despite the Emperor’s decree, but now he understood.

Their eyes were bloodshot as they gleefully ripped their enemies apart. They truly looked like ghosts driven mad by killing.

They said these were the guys at the forefront during the Eight-Year War. No wonder they won.

How could anyone maintain their sanity facing them? Whoever their opponents were, they must have been terrified.

And the words they were muttering only amplified the horror.

[Everything is for survival.]

It was a phrase that seemed utterly out of place coming from those who were hacking their enemies to pieces with joyous abandon.

It was a truly chillingly perfect rationalization.

They would use that to ease their guilt. It would make them even more ruthless.

‘Demonic bastards.’

He watched the scene with revulsion before averting his gaze.

His subordinates were like this; what about the one who commanded them?

‘As expected.’

He was even crazier.

Deon Hart. Ironically, the one who held the title of ‘Hero of the Empire’.

‘Hero’? This was beyond absurd. What was the Emperor thinking, declaring a man like this a ‘hero’?

He moved freely through the suffocating carnage, a bright smile plastered on his face, as if he were truly enjoying himself.

Despite the smile, everyone he touched ended up a bloody mess.

The trail of mangled corpses he left behind was unrecognizable.

Once he joined the fray, the situation quickly resolved itself.

“……”

“……”

In the sudden silence, ragged breaths echoed through the surreal space, the sounds of excitement yet to subside.

Unable to meet the bloodshot eyes of the still-agitated knights, the man fixed his gaze on Deon Hart.

He was breathing slowly, heavily.

“Looks like things have mostly calmed down.”

As if sensing his gaze, the red eyes turned towards him.

The moment their eyes met, he grinned and strode over, stomping down on the dagger lodged in his shoulder.

The dagger was pushed further in, and the sudden surge of pain forced a low groan from his lips.

“Whether you’re blinded by money, simply stupid, or perhaps both…”

“……”

“Even if you brought a lot of men, what kind of ridiculous move is it to attack head-on when we’re with the knights?”

The foot pressing on the dagger slowly wiggled, making the blade shift and widen the wound.

“Does it hurt?”

“……”

“I don’t really like torture. So, I’d appreciate it if you would just tell me who’s behind this—”

–But it seems like that’s not going to happen.

Sir Lien, go see to the members.

The demon, drenched in blood, indirectly signaled his desire to be left alone with the captive.

***

“A protest has arrived from the Ireon Kingdom.”

The Emperor, languidly reading through documents, looked up.

His golden eyes, like those of a predator, held a hint of disbelief at what he had just heard.

A protest? Who dared to protest to the ‘Empire’?

“It seems Honorary Count Deon Hart was subduing monsters near their border. He was then attacked, leaving him with no choice but to engage in combat…”

“Wait, you said he was attacked?”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“Is Count Hart unharmed?”

“He was struck by an arrow in his left shoulder and will likely have difficulty using his arm for a month.”

“A month, you say…”

He placed the documents on the desk and rested his chin on his steepled fingers.

A frown creased his smooth brow.

“Continue.”

“Yes, the Ireon Kingdom is claiming the battle was a show of force and is demanding compensation. They seem to believe we will avoid war, especially since Count Hart is injured. Such commanders are rare.”

“War isn’t something to be started lightly, and with Count Hart injured, they must think we’ll avoid it. Such commanders are rare, after all.”

How short-sighted.

If they lacked strength, they should at least have some sense. The Ireon Kingdom seemed to lack even the instinct for self-preservation.

Did they think the ‘Empire’ was just a name?

The Emperor had earned the title of ‘Empire’ through force. They were an Empire because they possessed the necessary power.

The absence of an irreplaceable vanguard commander? Of course, it was regrettable.

But that didn’t mean they would lose the war. Deon Hart was just one of the many cards that increased their chances of victory. His absence wouldn’t cripple their forces.

“It seems their leadership is as incompetent as the rumors suggest. From our perspective, we could easily blame the attack on Honorary Count Deon Hart on them and launch a counter-offensive.”

The truth didn’t matter. What mattered was a plausible justification and national power.

The Empire, still in its prime, and the precarious Ireon Kingdom. It was obvious which side other kingdoms would support.

“Then shall we respond according to Your Majesty’s proposed plan…”

“No.”

His lips, hidden beneath his hand, curled upwards.

Emperor Eudoard bared his teeth in a predatory grin and declared,

“It seems I’ve been too docile lately.”

“…….”

“Nemesius.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“Prepare for war.”

“Your Majesty!”

The response came not from Nemesius but from the Chancellor.

The Chancellor, his face pale, urgently tried to dissuade the Emperor.

“It has only been two years since the end of the last war!”

“Two years is plenty of rest.”

“War is expensive!”

“With these at our disposal, there’s no need to worry about money.”

Thump. The Emperor’s hand landed on the map.

Yes, money and resources were to be obtained through conquest.

They had done so during the Eight-Year War, and there was no reason to do otherwise this time.

The Chancellor could only stare blankly at the Emperor, unable to utter a word.

A typical kingdom would negotiate or, if absolutely necessary, punish those responsible for the incident as a mere formality and offer financial compensation to the other kingdom. War was a devastating measure for both sides.

Especially when the Empire had ample means to retaliate without resorting to military force.

The Emperor wasn’t even considering such options.

“Will there be no reprimand for Count Hart, who instigated this situation…?”

Of course not. If he had the authority, he would reprimand him himself.

He had rekindled the Emperor’s war instincts, which had only just begun to subside.

“What has he done wrong? I have no intention of reprimanding him, officially or unofficially. He was simply diligently tending to his territory. I hear he only led a single knight order for the subjugation, was that not to avoid provoking the other kingdom? He did what was expected of him.”

“However…”

“Chancellor.”

The Emperor’s smile was like a blade.

“I am a tyrant.”

“……”

“I was planning to resume the continental conquest anyway. This is opportune.”

Continental conquest was the goal set the moment he ascended the throne.

After all, he had killed his siblings to become the ruler. Regardless of the reasons or the truth, he had no intention of being irresponsible.

Hence, the goal he had set.

The Chancellor fell silent and bowed his head at the sharp smile that seemed capable of even cutting himself.

The Emperor was too fixated on responsibility, and that responsibility had become a shackle, and that shackle was about to bring disaster.

‘If you claim to be a tyrant, then you should discard such responsibilities, Your Majesty.’

A sense of responsibility wasn’t bad, but it had to be kept within limits.

In the first place, his priorities were wrong. He prioritized his responsibility to his dead siblings over his responsibility to the people of the Empire.

He knew guilt was the cause. He also knew that this was why the Emperor was calling himself a tyrant. But he couldn’t help but disapprove.

‘If disaster does strike, I pray it does not befall the Empire.’

“Even if he goes mad, I dare to hope his madness is directed solely at the Emperor,” Chancellor Ardal said slowly, opening his mouth.

“…I will secretly draft the budget proposal.”