Chapter 36 - Coloni, the City in the Desert (1)

As the conversation unfolded naturally amid a situation so bewildering it made his head spin, Alon learned three things.

First, he had supposedly ordered the alliance between Countess Xenonia and Duchess Altia.

Second, this faction called the Sword Faction had been formed because of the letter he sent Countess Xenonia.

Third, all the gifts he had received so far had been part of a process: nobles hoping to join the faction were seeking its leader’s permission.

"..."

After painstakingly piecing those facts together from the torrent of words pouring out of Duchess Altia and Countess Xenonia, Alon looked at them, hiding his incredulity behind an expressionless face.

Even after managing to work out what had happened, there was still much he did not understand.

... No, more than that, there was a whole lot he wanted to object to.

Unless Alon had a split personality like Jekyll and Hyde, he had never issued any orders through Countess Xenonia in the first place.

In other words, he had never told the two of them to form an alliance... He could swear to that...!

'No, all I did was send a letter saying I disliked the other nobles. How did things get that far?'

His head spun as he stared at the two women, utterly unable to understand.

'Is this that realm of genius ordinary people can’t understand, or whatever it’s called...?'

Alon recalled a video he had once watched in his previous world. It had said that ordinary people took words at face value, while geniuses packed multiple meanings into a single remark and interpreted them accordingly. He regarded the two women with a somewhat complicated look.

'... So Deus wasn’t being a devoted son after all....'

He thought back to the gifts that had kept arriving for months.

To be fair, Alon had found it strange himself. However influential Deus might be, he had thought, in all honesty, that his fame was not enough to make nobles everywhere send expensive gifts just to establish a connection.

Only now did Alon remember that most of those letters had contained more praise for him than for Deus.

'... This isn’t easy.'

Realizing that a chain of coincidences had led him to unwittingly help create a faction, Alon fell silent. Instinctively, he had known from the moment he grasped a few of the facts.

He could no longer jump off this locomotive called the Sword Faction.

He had already accepted far too much for that.

Of course, if he truly wanted to get out, it was not as though there were no way. But it was hardly a good choice. Now that the royalist and aristocratic factions clearly regarded him as an enemy, leaving this faction would cost him more than staying.

... Though, to be honest, if the losses had been bearable, he would have dearly loved to hit the escape button without a moment’s hesitation.

'... And I don’t know how those two would react if I told them this was all a misunderstanding....'

Alon looked at Duchess Altia and Countess Xenonia. Apparently finished with their conversation, they were now looking at Deus. At the moment, they looked like nothing more than beautiful noblewomen, but Alon knew.

He knew just how frightening Countess Xenonia was.

Duchess Altia, of course, was not someone he had encountered in the game. Someone who should originally have disappeared was sitting there instead. Still, Alon did not underestimate her either.

He knew perfectly well that masterminds were called that for a reason, and that they also possessed sensibilities ordinary people could not comprehend.

In other words, even if Alon explained everything thoroughly, there was a good chance those two had minds that naturally arrived at, 'Oh, how fucking embarrassing. I’ll just kill him.'

Of course, Alon did not know them well. But most of the people labeled “masterminds” in this game had seriously broken personalities.

That was why he had to remain the Sword Faction’s leader, whether he liked it or not.

Yes, whether he liked it or not.

'... Until I come up with some excuse and step down later, that is.'

But Alon had no intention of staying in the position for long. He knew that leading a faction brought many benefits, but just as many duties.

In short, leadership did not suit Alon, whose motto was to spend his entire life living comfortably as a noble without working. So he set himself a goal.

Serve as leader for a while, then retire when the opportunity arose.

"So, what do you intend to do now?"

"Hmm."

Just as he reached that conclusion, Duchess Altia’s voice prompted a brief groan from Alon.

Their conversation suggested that Duchess Altia and Countess Xenonia thought he had created the faction with some plan in mind. Naturally, he had no such plan.

No, how could he possibly have one?

He had only learned today that he was the Sword Faction’s leader.

But he could not tell them the truth either. Letting his gaze wander as he thought, Alon decided to buy himself some time.

"Let’s start by cleaning up the underworld."

"... Cleaning it up?"

"Yes. That will make it easier for us to operate."

Of course, Alon had no idea what would become easier, or how.

But given that he could not even remember which topics had come up at today’s Grand Council Session, suddenly bringing up politics would clearly make him look pathetic. This was his attempt to use his head.

... Clumsy though it was, it was the best he could do.

"Well, I have business to attend to, so I’ll be leaving now."

Alon rose, immediately turned around, and walked away. If either of them asked a question, he would be hard-pressed to answer.

"..."

That was why Alon left at a somewhat brisk pace. Once he reached the empty corridor, he ran toward his carriage as fast as he could, afraid someone would stop him.

"... My lord?"

"Let’s head straight to Coloni."

He decided to leave for Coloni that very day.

'The letter has probably arrived by now. It would be nice to get some help like I did with Deus.'

With that thought, Alon’s carriage set off.

... It was an early summer night.

####

Meanwhile...

"Cleaning up the underworld..."

Countess Xenonia murmured as she recalled Count Pallatio rising as though he had nothing more to say and vanishing like the wind. After a moment’s consideration, Duchess Altia spoke.

"... If he means cleaning up the underworld, there can only be one thing, surely?"

"Mm, we established complete control of our own territory long ago. If he’s telling us to clean things up despite that—"

"Then it must be the remaining territories."

"In other words."

Countess Xenonia and Duchess Altia fell silent, then smiled at almost exactly the same time.

What came next would have been an impossible dream when they were acting alone.

But now, with an alliance and a faction, it was possible.

"... Unifying the underworld."

"That should be fun."

Countess Xenonia and Duchess Altia’s smiles deepened.

"I’m more and more curious about what he has in mind."

"Indeed. Just what is he trying to show us?"

CLINK

With those words, the wineglasses in their hands met with an elegant chime.

"I’m looking forward to it. Truly."

Their praise for Alon spread with the fragrance of wine.

####

A week later.

Alon had left Teria and was traveling south, heading straight for the desert city.

"Hmm..."

A man, a Proxy, was watching a carriage in the distance.

The carriage carrying Count Pallatio, the target of his commission.

Watching the carriage make its steady way south, the Proxy took a quill from inside his clothes and thought,

'The Abyssal Cores tempted me, but there are still a few things bothering me.'

Of course, he could approach Count Pallatio right now and kill him simply by drawing his quill through the air.

Yet he hesitated because of the rules shared by those who bore the name Proxy.

'We’re supposed to avoid making troublesome enemies whenever possible....'

Count Pallatio himself did not actually fall into the category of a “troublesome enemy.”

Rather, the one they regarded that way was Deus, a Master Knight in Callivan who appeared to owe Alon an immense debt.

'He’ll definitely make a move.'

Of course, the Proxies were not afraid of Deus taking action. Every one of them possessed skills at least equal to a Swordmaster’s. They were confident that, if they set their minds to it, they could kill even a Sword of Callivan.

But regardless of skill, they had to avoid creating unnecessary bad blood with people who wielded considerable power in the public world. It became troublesome in all sorts of ways.

That held true even when a commission paid quite handsomely.

Nevertheless, the Proxy had accepted Carmine’s request because the offered payment was simply too enticing.

'Three Abyssal Cores....'

Abyssal Cores.

Duke Comalon had begun secretly distributing them in the underworld at some point. When absorbed through a special process, they granted their users special powers, and they were something money alone could not buy.

That was because, unlike the Abyssal Gems that enhanced physical abilities, Duke Comalon rarely distributed Abyssal Cores.

As a result, Abyssal Cores currently sold on the black market for exorbitant prices—whatever the seller asked. But he had not accepted the commission to sell them.

'How much stronger will I become if I use them...?'

The Proxy’s characteristic, vicious smile curled his lips, as though the mere thought delighted him. Then he banished his distracting thoughts.

As the carriage rapidly drew nearer, he raised his quill.

Then...

"Nothing personal, but a job’s a job."

With that quiet mutter, the Proxy was just about to draw the hand holding his quill in a long horizontal stroke—

"?"

The Proxy saw it.

His right hand, which had been imbuing the empty air with black ink only a moment before, had been severed.

For an instant, he wore an expression of incomprehension. Then he tried to scream at the horrific pain surging through him, but—

"Ghk—!?"

An even greater pain struck, and his body, which had been floating in midair moments earlier, was hurled into the forest in an instant.

The next moment, clutching his severed right arm, the Proxy slammed into a tree with a bang. What he saw was...

"!?"

A boy with black hair and blue eyes.

A youthful-looking boy who did not appear to have reached adulthood yet.

The Proxy quickly and easily deduced that the boy before him was the one who had cut off his hand. He tried to speak, but...

"!"

He realized his mouth would not open, as though something were forcibly holding it shut.

"What a shame."

A voice emerged from the boy’s brightly smiling lips.

A cheerful voice utterly at odds with the situation.

Then, the moment the Proxy looked into the boy’s face...

CRACK-CRACK-CRACK!

His neck twisted through two full turns, and he died.

The Proxy’s breath had stopped, his expression still bewildered, as though he had not even realized how he had died.

Watching him, the boy turned away.

"If your target hadn’t been the S—... No, the count, you wouldn’t have had to die at my hands."

He turned and disappeared.

Only the Proxy’s corpse remained in the forest.

A corpse with its neck twisted through two full turns.