Chapter 35 - The Leader...? Me...? (3)

Two men sat in the basement of a vast mansion at the heart of Malteon, a sprawling territory in the southern Kingdom of Ashtalon.

One was Carmine, the third son of Duke Comalon, the mansion’s owner. The man standing before him wore an easy expression, even in the presence of Carmine, who was known as both a tyrant and a wastrel.

“You’re a Proxy. Is that right?” Carmine asked, seeking confirmation.

The narrow-eyed man smiled quietly, then drew a quill from inside his coat without a word.

At first glance, the quill seemed to possess no particular power. But soon, with a humming sound, an aura blade appeared at its tip.

With his aura unleashed, the man smiled faintly, raised his arm above his head, and drew a line through the air. Though there was clearly nothing there, a distinct black line remained in the quill’s wake.

Watching it, Carmine realized that the line was seeping into the empty air like ink spreading through liquid. Then, the moment that black ink vanished...

SPLASH!

Blood erupted in the basement, where there had seemingly been only two people. Bodies that had been invisible until a moment ago fell to the floor, blooming with flowers of blood.

There were nine in all.

Having casually filled the clean, tidy room with the metallic reek of blood, the man tucked his quill back into his coat and spoke.

“I believe that answers your question. What do you think?”

At the man’s mischievous smile, Carmine looked momentarily stunned, then broke into a sinister grin.

“That settles it. A Swordmaster with a unique ability, no less. Just what I’d expect from one of the ‘Proxies.’ You’re in a different league...!”

Though his own subordinates had been killed in a single blow, Carmine showed not the slightest concern. Instead, he marveled at the feat.

“Thank you for the compliment.”

Watching the Proxy smile, Carmine nodded in satisfaction.

'I knew this was the right choice.'

The Proxies.

They were assassins who operated out of the allied kingdoms. Carmine did not know their numbers, but he knew for certain that every individual among them possessed skills fully equal to those of a Swordmaster.

Their fees were outrageously high, and they were selective about their targets. Yet Carmine also knew that once they accepted a commission, they had never failed to complete it.

“Now, let’s get straight to business.”

As soon as the Proxy broached the subject, Carmine answered as though he had been waiting for it.

“I’d like you to kill a noble.”

“And this noble’s name?”

“Count Pallatio of the Kingdom of Asteria.”

The Proxy fell silent at Carmine’s answer. After seeming to consider something carefully, he spoke.

“I’m afraid that commission would be rather difficult to accept.”

An outright refusal. But Carmine had already anticipated one to some extent, so he replied.

“... Is this a matter of the fee?”

“Yes. As I’m sure you know, our services are rather expensive. And Count Pallatio would require quite a few additional charges.”

“Then you’re saying you can kill Count Pallatio as long as I pay your fee?”

“We have never failed a single commission accepted at an agreeable price. Whether that means taking a noble’s head...”

He smirked.

“...or a royal’s.”

Faced with the Proxy’s unmistakably overwhelming confidence, Carmine replied.

“I’ll pay.”

“... I’m afraid you would find it difficult to afford our asking price.”

“Certainly, if I were paying in money. But—”

With a confident smile, Carmine took something from inside his coat and held it out.

“What about this?”

“...”

In Carmine’s hand was a black cube.

Interest began to kindle in the Proxy’s eyes as he gazed at the cube, its darkness so abyssal that it seemed capable of absorbing even light.

“Oh? Not merely an Abyssal Gem, but an Abyssal Core...?”

“Indeed.”

Carmine nodded.

The Proxy silently studied the object for a moment. Greed flickered in his barely visible eyes, but after considering it for some time, he shook his head as though it still would not suffice.

“Hmm. It’s certainly tempting. But a single Abyssal Core is hardly—”

He sounded genuinely regretful. However...

“What about three Abyssal Cores?”

Carmine’s next words silenced him. Then he asked,

“... Are you certain?”

“Of course.”

“Ha.”

The Proxy gave a disbelieving laugh.

“... I’ll complete the commission and return as quickly as possible.”

With those final words, he vanished as though he had simply blinked out of existence.

Left alone with nothing but the metallic stench of blood, Carmine finally broke into a broad smile.

'At last—!'

Ever since his attempt to exact revenge through Biran had failed five months earlier, Carmine had worked tirelessly to get his revenge, only to fail again and again.

Rumors had spread that Deus Makalian, one of Callivan’s Master Knights, had close ties to Count Pallatio.

And the longer his revenge was delayed, the more Carmine’s hatred for Alon grew into something like an obsession. It was not a rational emotion, but a profoundly irrational hatred.

That needless hatred had led him to expend far more Abyssal Cores than necessary. Even now, with no telling what his father might do to him for it, he continued to grin.

'Did you think you could slight me and go on living comfortably? ... No. Absolutely not.'

Hatred born of twisted inferiority and petty spite turned toward Alon.

####

For Some Reason, I’ve Become the Leader of the Sword Faction Founded by an Alliance of Masterminds—a sentence that sounded like it belonged in the title of a web novel from his former world flashed through Alon’s mind.

[“Do you have anything to say?”]

Whether or not the moderator understood his turmoil, he repeated his question. Looking at him, Alon wanted to ask one in return.

What? Me? You’re saying I’m the leader of this Sword Faction the mastermind alliance created?

[“Ahem. As you appear to have nothing in particular to say, we shall move on.”]

But before the bewildered Alon could ask, the moderator smoothly proceeded to the next item, leaving the words caught in Alon’s throat unspoken.

Trying his hardest to make sense of the situation, Alon turned his gaze toward Duchess Altia.

She gave a confident nod.

As he had noticed earlier, Duchess Altia no longer resembled the young girl he remembered. She now looked every inch a mastermind.

Beside her, Lady Xenonia—no, Countess Xenonia, who had officially announced Count Xenonia’s death several months earlier and inherited his title through a formal succession ceremony—was smiling as well.

'... Is this a hidden-camera prank?'

The thought crossed his mind, though Alon knew perfectly well this was no mere prank. As he struggled to sort through his confusion...

'Oh.'

At last, he understood what had happened earlier: why the nobles’ faces had briefly filled with puzzlement when he tried to sit toward the back, and why the two men facing him were watching him with such deep wariness in their battle-seasoned eyes.

'Oh.'

And because understanding the situation made it painfully clear once again that he had become the leader of the masterminds’ faction...

'...'

Alon instinctively clutched his head as it began to reel and squeezed his eyes shut.

####

About two hours later, the Grand Council Session ended.

A great many subjects had been discussed, but Alon could not remember a single thing that had been said. To him, the question of why he had become the Sword Faction’s leader mattered far more than the contradictory arguments the nobles so vigorously advanced as they fought among themselves.

After spending roughly two hours pondering it like an insoluble puzzle, Alon finally arrived at one hypothesis just as the meeting was drawing to a close.

'... Am I supposed to be a figurehead?'

It was the worst possibility he could imagine, but a plausible enough theory that he could hardly dismiss it.

After the Grand Council Session ended, however, he was swept along as though in a trance to the banquet celebrating the Sword Faction’s founding. As the banquet began and he naturally found himself face-to-face with Countess Xenonia and Duchess Altia, he immediately realized his hypothesis was wrong.

The trouble was...

“What do you think? I’d say this is perfect.”

...from Alon’s perspective, the situation was becoming even more incomprehensible.

At the words of Lady Xenonia—now Countess Xenonia—Alon did not readily speak. More precisely, he could not. He had no idea what she meant by any of it.

“I believe we’ve built it just as you wanted, Count Pallatio.”

Duchess Altia’s words almost drew a bewildered What? Me? from his lips. Alon thought he could have conjured dozens of question marks above his head.

Of course, his outward expression remained utterly blank.

“...”

Alon turned his gaze to Duchess Altia and Countess Xenonia. Their eyes held a faint expectancy, as though they were waiting for his response.

Seeing those looks, he began to seriously wonder whether he had a split personality.

Alon was not particularly close to either Duchess Altia or Countess Xenonia.

In fact, his entire acquaintance with Duchess Altia amounted to exchanging a few words several years ago. Even that brief exchange had hardly been pleasant. If anything, it had been a negative conversation, since he had refused Loria’s plea for help.

Likewise, he had little familiarity with Countess Xenonia. He had only met her twice in the first place, and on their second meeting, he had even ordered her to leave when she visited his estate.

As he pondered this, Alon realized he had delayed his response far too long and finally spoke.

“I see.”

In truth, he wanted to ask what on earth was going on, but Alon had enough sense to read the room.

Both women clearly seemed to believe they had founded the faction at his instruction. Asking them What in the world is this? was unlikely to end well.

So he had answered that way in the hope of first learning at least a little about how this situation had come about, and exactly where their understandings had diverged. Once he had gathered some information and discovered how the misunderstanding began, he ought to be able to resolve it.

But...

“I’m glad I could repay you for saving my life.”

At the words Duchess Altia offered immediately after his acknowledgment...

“...”

Alon involuntarily squeezed his eyes shut.

'What the hell are you talking about!?'

He screamed inwardly.