April 22, 2021
"If it were the past, perhaps. But the current Duke Melta is no longer someone His Majesty needs to concern himself with."
"There are still far too many nobles who follow him. Keeping an eye on him is no mistake."
"Which is precisely why he’s no longer worth watching. Old men like him are too preoccupied with clinging to what they have left."
The Marquis of Mandarin chuckled, swirling the wine in his glass. The liquid sloshed inside, producing a crisp sound. The deep crimson hue of the wine closely resembled blood.
"Rather than discussing a toothless tiger, wouldn’t it be better to focus on other matters? Something more beneficial, perhaps?"
"Other matters?"
"Like His Majesty’s marriage."
"That again?"
"Marriage is a matter of great importance."
More like a matter of your power.
Jerpeneus glanced at the eager gleam in the marquis’s eyes and scoffed inwardly. The man’s support wasn’t out of loyalty—it was calculated self-interest. He knew full well that the emperor would not be able to refuse his offer. After all, who else could he sell off his defective sister to for the highest price?
"If I don’t hold onto my position, that ‘important’ marriage won’t mean a thing."
"Rest assured, Your Majesty. No matter what happens, I will protect you."
The marquis thumped his chest in an exaggerated display of loyalty. Jerpeneus smirked.
The Marquis of Mandarin was no different from the other foolish nobles that filled the capital—transparent in his greed, licking at his feet while looking down on him.
Yes... they’ll need to be dealt with as well.
Jerpeneus let his gaze sweep across the banquet hall, observing the nobles who filled the space. Ever since he had ascended to the throne, he had searched for anyone of true worth. But they were all the same. Just like the Marquis of Mandarin, they were nothing more than power-hungry dogs.
Useful tools, for now. But disposable, all the same.
***
"Creating this kind of thing... That bastard emperor must be insane!"
Fenril growled, swinging his sword in a vicious arc.
Even with one arm severed and blood gushing from their wounds, the experiments continued to charge mindlessly, their only instinct to attack. These weren’t people. They merely wore human skin—rabid beasts disguised as men.
"Enough useless talk! Focus!"
Berbe, standing back-to-back with Fenril, blocked another incoming strike.
Their numbers weren’t overwhelming, but their sheer tenacity made them a nightmare to fight.
"You think I can’t handle this?"
With a sharp crack, another creature’s head rolled across the ground. Fenril adjusted his stance, stepping back to avoid the collapsing corpse.
"You have to take them out with a single blow—head or heart. Otherwise—ugh!"
"And you have the nerve to lecture me?"
Berbe clicked her tongue, cutting down the one that had nearly struck Fenril.
"How am I supposed to predict an enemy that doesn’t even hesitate to stab through its own allies?"
Even after death, these creatures continued attacking, indiscriminately tearing into anything in their path.
Fenril grimaced as he glanced at the bodies scattered across the battlefield.
If only they had felt nothing—if only they were truly empty husks. But their twisted faces, frozen in agony, suggested otherwise.
"A gruesome sight."
"A new observation, how insightful."
Berbe wiped her blade clean and sheathed it. Blood soaked her entire frame from the prolonged battle.
"You’re too cold."
"And you, Young Lord, are too reckless."
"Calling me reckless?"
"If you don’t want to hear it, become the Lord yourself. That would make you someone worth following."
Berbe knelt beside one of the fallen bodies, carefully inspecting its wounds.
"This one’s physique is... different from before."
"Yeah. These aren’t trained fighters. Their bodies are too unrefined."
"Laborers, then?"
Her hands paused as she examined the corpse.
Among the twisted bodies lay an old man.
"That’s what makes this so terrifying. They took people who should have been wielding farming tools and turned them into this."
"And if they can do it on a mass scale..."
"They’ll have an army of monsters."
"...Just how far along is this experiment?"
Berbe’s expression darkened.
The thought of these creatures swarming the battlefield in droves was enough to make her stomach turn.
"If they’re letting us see them, then it’s already complete."
"Can the Grand Duke of Schwarhan win against them?"
"He has to. If not, we’re finished too. Schwarhan is the only force in the empire capable of standing against this. And there’s no way the emperor, who despises Roakin, would ever accept us into his ranks."
Fenril shrugged, but his expression was grim.
The deeper they uncovered the empire’s secrets, the clearer it became—this land was more twisted than they had ever imagined.
"Maybe we would have been better off lying low in Roakin."
Berbe stood, rolling her shoulders as if shaking off the unease.
For someone speaking so cynically, her eyes gleamed like a predator preparing for a hunt.
"At least we got some fresh air out of this."
"Thanks to your personal interests."
"My personal interests?"
Fenril frowned.
"This wasn’t part of the original plan."
"Plans change. And no matter how much of a bastard I am, I wasn’t about to personally cut down the man who raised me."
"You were the one who suggested taking care of him in Schwarhan. You even said it would be cleaner to handle it in a foreign land."
Berbe merely tilted her head indifferently.
"It is what it is. I may care for him, but as the leader, I can’t afford to."
"That’s why I follow you."
"Because of that?"
"You may have emotions, but logic always wins out in the end."
Fenril smirked.
"That almost sounds like you’re telling me to keep my emotions in check."
"Not telling you to suppress them—just that if you’re going to act, do it properly. That is your specialty, isn’t it?"
"And what exactly is my specialty?"
This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.
"Making others smile while ordering them to stab someone in the back—that is your specialty."
"Isn’t that a bit too harsh of an assessment?"
Fenril pouted slightly, but Berbe continued without a shift in expression.
"That’s precisely why I follow you. The Fenril I know doesn’t wield the blade himself—he makes others do it for him."
"......."
"If you want something, come up with a plan to get it. I’ll follow that plan and bring you exactly what you desire."
"That’s the complete opposite of what that old man says."
"Cher? That old bastard always thought he was the true Lord. He clouded the Lord’s judgment under the guise of acting ‘for Roakin’—even went as far as trying to seize the bloodline for himself. Isn’t that why you were raised under his control in the first place?"
For the first time, Berbe’s otherwise indifferent face showed a hint of distaste.
Cher had always pretended to be a loyal retainer. But in reality, he had been just another vassal who posed a threat to the ruling house. No one dared to speak out against him, but they all knew why he had demanded to take in the young heir of the clan.
"I don’t follow you blindly. But I do respect your intentions. If you give me a reason I can accept, I’ll stand by it—no matter what it is."
"That sounds like you’re saying if I come up with a good enough reason, you’ll even humor my madness."
"It would have to be a very convincing reason. But I suppose I could turn a blind eye to a passionate love affair—just once."
"What a tempting offer."
"If your first love succeeds, perhaps you’ll finally stop drinking yourself into oblivion."
Fenril’s first love was something every one of his close subordinates had heard about at least once.
He thought he had hidden it well, but the moment alcohol touched his lips, he would latch onto any unlucky soul and sob about his past.
Given everything he had endured, Berbe figured that, just this once, she could overlook his duties as a Lord and let him act like an ordinary man.
"So? When will you finally act on it?"
"Sorry to disappoint you, but I don’t intend to make a move."
"Because of your position as the Lord?"
"More like... because she doesn’t like me."
"That just means you lack charm."
"Lack charm?! Do you have any idea what a fine husband I’d make?!"
Fenril shouted indignantly.
"And yet, here you are, unable to win over the woman you want."
"She already loves someone else. What do you expect me to do?"
"If you were more charming, you would’ve stolen her away."
"I couldn’t."
"Hm. So you really do lack—"
"It’s not that—I just couldn’t make her stop looking at him like that."
Fenril lowered his head.
He had tried not to expect anything.
He wasn’t a weak child anymore. He was a grown man, capable of expressing himself. And old affections had a way of swaying hearts.
If he confessed how long he had cared for her, he was certain her gaze toward him would change.
But the moment he saw her looking at someone else... he knew.
He had no place there.
"If you were going to give up, why get involved in # Nоvеlight # all this? You don’t seem like the type to be tempted by whatever the Grand Duke of Schwarhan has to offer."
"It’s nothing grand. I just... wanted to do something."
"...What?"
"I ran away back then."
Fenril exhaled, a bitter smile forming on his lips.
"I saw the Princess of Neuschwein being bullied, and I ran. I pitied her... but I was scared."
Even as a child, he had been quick to grasp the situation.
The title of ‘Lord’s son’ meant nothing—he had always been nothing more than a glorified hostage.
So he had run.
He didn’t want to risk being dragged down with her.
"But then, I saw her holding a kitten. She was being tormented just as much as it was... but she never let go. She held on and endured. It was admirable... and it made me feel ashamed."
"......."
"After that, I wanted to become stronger. I wanted enough power to protect her next time."
Fenril laughed dryly.
"But that was never how it worked, was it? Next time never comes if you don’t take action before it’s too late."
"......."
"I kept putting it off... and in the end, I was too late."
He had spent his life waiting for the right moment, and every time, the opportunity had passed him by.
Not this time.
"So no, this isn’t about love. It’s about repaying a debt. That girl made me who I am today—this is my way of returning the favor."
"That does sound more reasonable."
"Can’t you at least try to be less rude?"
"It wasn’t me who said that."
Berbe nodded toward the towering cliffs above them.
Fenril followed her gaze.
A familiar figure stood at the top, his long coat fluttering in the wind.
"...Grand Duke of Schwarhan?"
"It’s been a while."
Cabelenus casually brushed aside his windblown cloak.
Berbe leaned in close to Fenril, lowering her voice.
"I have to admit, the difference is... noticeable."
"Berbe."
"The truth is often unpleasant."
Ignoring his protest, Berbe nodded sagely, as if it were the most serious statement in the world.
