Chapter 76

Long ago, there had been times when people had no choice but to unite their strength: invasions by the Salaman people and the orcs, and incursions by the Nords.

Tribes divided into scores, even hundreds of separate groups had joined forces to fight, to endure, and sometimes to accept the invaders, overcoming each crisis.

Thus they had survived to the very end and formed the Empire.

Of those many tribes, the Nibelung tribe had played the central role. The name of the present imperial house, Nibelinger, meant descendants of Nibelung.

The Empire had no official capital. Wherever the Emperor resided simply served that purpose.

Nibelungen, the Emperor's city, stood where the Nibelung clan had once lived and boasted a long and distinguished history.

Yet throughout the Empire, many cities were just as old, or older still.

That was why the Emperor's city was neither the largest nor the most populous nor the grandest in the Empire. It was merely one of many well-developed cities.

Still, as the residence of the king of kings, it served as an administrative center to some extent, enjoyed better public order than other cities, and abounded in goods.

One distinctive feature was its lack of defensive walls. The belief was that the surrounding personal domains and the lands governed by the Emperor's relatives would serve as its walls.

Nibelungen was an impressive place, with hunting grounds as extensive as a fair-sized small or medium domain, the Main winding around the city, broad farmlands, and neatly built buildings.

Like any other city, even the Emperor's city had a pleasure district that was livelier by night than by day.

It was still midday, well before the night's business would begin in earnest, when a carriage drawn by two horses entered the district.

It traveled along the paved road, passing large, lavish buildings before stopping outside a shabby brothel.

When the coachman announced their arrival, the carriage door opened and an old man stepped out.

His complexion was clear for his age, his posture upright, and his eyes full of life. The sword at his waist suited him well.

He was none other than Helauman, Count Palatine of Kelbron and champion of the Emperor.

With familiar steps, he entered the brothel called the Old Maid's Secret. Furnishings, curtains, and carpets strove to adorn the interior, but could not disguise its cheapness.

Several prostitutes with caked makeup and disheveled hair wandered about. Rather than showing Helauman any respect, they barely acknowledged him. Their expressions suggested that they had seen him more than once or twice.

He likewise treated them as though they did not exist and strode straight to the innermost room.

A man wearing a sword outside the closed door turned an indifferent look on Helauman. He, too, was one of the Emperor's champions and served as his personal bodyguard.

"His Majesty?"

"Inside."

"Has he still not risen?"

The bodyguard shrugged. Only then did Helauman let out a quiet sigh. Even a Sword Master of his considerable self-discipline seemed to find this difficult to bear.

He opened the door without knocking. The Emperor lay naked on the bed, sleeping facedown like a corpse. This was Claudis, the ninth Emperor of the Empire, known as the Virile, or the Debauched Emperor.

Three women shared the enormous bed with him. All three, however, were far too vulgar and unattractive to grace an emperor's bed.

Emperor Claudis was not particular about women. He had once said that he was tired of pretty women with fine figures.

Helauman's own great-great-granddaughter was among the countless women he had bedded. The Emperor took them regardless of status, looks, or age.

Emperor Claudis did not even know that his daughter Martellia existed. Her entry into the imperial family register had been a purely administrative matter, not his own decision.

In a sense, it was impressive. No one knew how many bastards he had fathered. God alone could know.

Helauman nudged the prostitutes awake with his foot. A Count Palatine personally waking prostitutes—what an absurd state of affairs. More outrageous still, they did not get up at once.

They squirmed and tossed for some time before finally dragging themselves up, and even on seeing Helauman, they openly showed their displeasure.

The prostitutes gathered up their clothes haphazardly and left the room, but one dared to slap the Emperor's backside. Startled, Claudis jolted without lifting himself from the bed and grumbled.

"You crazy bitch. I haven't got my strength back yet."

Helauman looked down at him in silence for a moment before speaking.

"Your Majesty, it is the Count Palatine of Kelbron."

Claudis lay still for a moment, then scowled in irritation.

"Oh, for fuck's... Why must you always barge in and embarrass me?"

"The sun is high in the sky."

"Then come at night."

"... The Empress Dowager requests your presence."

The Empress Dowager was the Emperor's mother. With the Emperor in this sorry state, she was running the affairs of state.

"Why? Mother will do as she pleases anyway."

The Emperor covered his lower half with the blankets and sat back against the bed, making his displeasure plain. With his hair sticking out every which way, he possessed not a shred of imperial dignity.

"Being present to receive envoys is also one of Your Majesty's important duties."

"You mean playing the figurehead?"

"No one would dare treat Your Majesty as a figurehead."

"I don't think that's true. Is Mother the exception?"

The words, Because you are incompetent and do nothing but cause trouble, rose to Helauman's throat. He barely managed to swallow them.

"An envoy has arrived from the Kingdom of Adelorn. A rebellion laying claim to the throne has broken out, and they request Your Majesty's protection under the sacred vassalage agreement and marriage alliance. Even the Empress Dowager cannot handle this matter without Your Majesty's presence."

"Adelorn? Where was that again?"

There were only five kingdoms in the Empire, yet the Emperor did not even know where the Kingdom of Adelorn was.

"Riding hard to the southwest from here and changing horses along the way, one could arrive within three days."

"Then isn't that rather far away? What does it have to do with us? What are vassals for? Aren't they there to govern their own regions properly?"

Helauman was so dumbfounded that he could think of nothing to say.

"Maintaining lasting peace in the Empire is the Emperor's most important responsibility, Your Majesty."

"Yes, yes, that again. Responsibilities. Duties. I'm sick of it. You just said no one treats me as a figurehead, but those damned duties I can't even see certainly do. Fine, then. Let us do this. You fine and mighty Swooورد Masters can go and wipe out the rebels. Will that not settle it?"

"..."

"I have given my command as Emperor. Stop bothering me and see to it yourselves."

"... Rebellion spreads like a plague, Your Majesty. However distant it may be, if it is not suppressed early, malcontents throughout the Empire may rise in support. Furthermore, the impious cultists calling themselves the Church of Judgment have recently been expanding their influence. Unless we stop this properly, your vassals may dare to question Your Majesty's power. What took so long to build can collapse in an instant. Should that day come, could Your Majesty don armor and live in an army encampment, exposed to wind and rain?"

"So what do you want me to do? Are you sure you're not just making excuses because you don't want to go yourself, Count Palatine?"

"Receive the envoy and formally declare that you will muster an army. At the very least, say that much."

"I refuse."

"..."

Even a Sword Master more than a hundred years old had limits to his patience. Helauman no longer wished to exchange another word with him.

He had served five emperors before this one. One had commanded the princes with overwhelming charisma and conquered unknown lands. Another had used his keen intellect to establish a stable foundation for his rule. A third, though inferior to those two, had at least safeguarded the imperial household.

The remaining two had at least understood an emperor's basic responsibilities and made an effort.

But Claudis knew how to do nothing. No, he knew nothing. He had no enthusiasm. No will.

"... I shall take my leave."

Helauman bowed and left the room with its sordid, unpleasant smell.

As he shut the door with a sharp click, the Emperor's bodyguard and fellow champion outside spoke.

"You have a hard task, sir."

In truth, Helauman had been all but retired. Recently, however, the Empress Dowager had summoned him back to the imperial household, only for him to find matters unfolding beyond his ability to manage.

A Sword Master was neither a politician nor a soldier. As a strategic and tactical weapon, he was closer to an instrument of diplomacy: something to threaten vassals with, or to coax and placate them.

But however powerful a weapon might be, it was useless if the person wielding it was in such a sorry state.

Moreover, there was an even greater reason why the Emperor's champions could not move about freely: they could not trust one another.

If one of them threw caution to the wind and harmed the Emperor, who could stop him? Only another champion. Thus, if even one of them left his post, the balance of power would crumble.

It was a dilemma of sorts. The champions were both the Emperor's formidable weapons and a formidable danger to him.

In truth, things only appeared trouble-free because Helauman had guarded the imperial household for so many years.

Commanding Sword Masters, keeping them content, inspiring their loyalty, and employing them appropriately were ultimately the Emperor's responsibility.

"Take good care of His Majesty."

Helauman patted the shoulder of the champion he could trust most, at least. The man nodded.

Helauman left the cheap brothel and climbed back into his carriage. The coachman swung his whip, and the horses set off.

Inside the somewhat rattling carriage, Helauman sank into thought. In truth, he had little loyalty to the imperial household himself.

Outwardly, he professed devotion, but his relationship with the imperial household was strictly a matter of mutual interests. What mattered most to him were himself, his house, and the sword.

A Count Palatine administered the Emperor's personal domains. The title was hereditary, but if something happened to the Emperor, Helauman and his house would also suffer.

And now he could hear the imperial household beginning to totter. With an emperor like that, it took little thought to understand why.

But he was not an ambitious man. He had no intention of doing anything to the Emperor or the imperial household. He merely thought he ought to begin deciding his own course, however gradually, against the possibility of the worst.

His carriage crossed the drawbridge and entered the imperial palace. He stepped down once more and headed to his office. A scroll secured with a seal lay on his desk.

He broke the wax and unrolled it. It had come from the Beringen Adventurers' Guild. The message stated that Ricard and Ice had slain a High Vampire and completed a Special-Grade Commission.

"Hmm..."

Helauman's gaze lingered on Ricard's name.

Ever since killing Clan Master Lorenzo, the boy had been building an absurdly impressive record as an adventurer. He had distinguished himself in the guild war, and now he had even killed a High Vampire. Those cunning monstrosities were troublesome opponents even for Helauman.

Remarkable. Utterly, utterly remarkable—his innate combat instincts and his courage. Yet that made it all the more regrettable. The boy had no mana.

For the moment, Helauman rolled the scroll back up, then took another from among the documents stacked on his shelves and opened it. It was a list.

It listed the Sword Masters concealed by the various kingdoms and great nobles, along with the special-grade adventurers belonging to the many adventurers' guilds within the Empire.

There were more than he had expected. It was as though they were deliberately keeping themselves hidden from the world. What were they after?

Every name on that list was both a threat and a tool for the Emperor and the imperial household. Handled well, they became tools; handled poorly, they were sharp swords that cut the wielder's own hand.

In truth, restraining them all with the Emperor's four champions was impossible. Yet increasing the number of champions too much was not an option either. It was dangerous.

Their power could not be weighed on a scale. Striking the proper balance was a difficult task indeed.

And yet, among all those names, Helauman found Ricard a particularly attractive prospect.

Regrettable though it was, his lack of mana set clear limits on him. At the same time, he lacked neither skill nor nerve, which seemed to make him ideal to handle. Useful enough, without posing a threat.

"It is about time for some new blood."

Lost in thought, Helauman muttered to himself. To begin with, he decided he should dispatch two of the Emperor's champions to the Kingdom of Adelorn.

If they fought well there, all the better. If they died, he could simply choose new champions.

They would not die the moment they arrived, so he intended to cultivate new talent while they were away. Naturally, Ricard was his first choice.

Thinking of Ricard made Helauman feel as though he had found a way to untangle the problem that had frustrated him.

One knot loosened, then another, and one thought led to the next. In the process, he conceived a plan.

He would hold a swordsmanship tournament. Under its pretext, he could eliminate those who needed eliminating, cultivate those worth cultivating, and keep an eye on those who merited attention.

And for the victor's prize, he thought a betrothal to Marie, his fifth-generation granddaughter, would suffice.

What else was one to do with so many bastards? This was what they were for.