Chapter 64 - It Was There, Though (5)

The nobles' faces filled with questions. Those who had followed Alon looked just as bewildered, while those who had expected the queen to curb the Sword Faction's growth were flustered and aghast.

But they were not the only ones wearing such expressions.

"...??"

Alon, the very person Critenia Siyan had addressed, was also wondering what on earth had just happened.

'A marquis?'

To a noble, rank carried a great deal of meaning. It was akin to a social grade, and the rank of marquis granted considerably more power than Alon's current rank of count—in everything from territory to the number of private soldiers he could maintain.

It also made leading a faction in aristocratic society perfectly natural.

Alon already headed the Sword Faction despite being a count, but that was an anomaly. By the usual rules of aristocratic society, a mere count could not occupy a faction's highest seat. Its structure was, in effect, bizarre.

But if Critenia Siyan elevated him to marquis now, that irregularity would immediately disappear. In other words, she was helping the Sword Faction rather than keeping it in check.

'What is going on...?'

Alon could only stare up at her blankly, but Siyan spoke with perfect composure, her chin resting on her hand.

"I have heard the news. You executed all the underworld vermin eating away at Asteria. This is your reward."

Her calm voice carried through the hall.

Her statement certainly made sense, but that did nothing to dispel his questions. She had no reason to reward him simply because doing so was reasonable.

'It feels as though she's just using this as an excuse to make me a marquis.'

Alon looked at the queen.

'... Is she confident she can crush the Sword Faction whenever she chooses, no matter how large it grows?'

It was a reasonable hypothesis that suddenly occurred to him.

He studied her face, hoping he might glean her thoughts, but found only profound indifference, without the slightest trace of emotion.

Then she asked, "Why? Are you displeased?"

Only upon hearing Siyan's words did Alon belatedly collect himself.

"Not at all, Your Majesty."

Alon bowed his head as he answered. In response, Siyan gave a faint smile, one she had never shown until now, and rose from her throne. With light, steady footsteps, she came to stand before him.

Then she bent down, meeting Alon's eyes after he had raised his head, and pressed her index finger against the right corner of his mouth, stretching it sideways.

"...?"

Her finger left only one corner of his mouth raised. Anyone would have found the expression strange, but the woman responsible smiled smoothly.

"Smile. You look rather better that way."

With that, she withdrew the finger poking his cheek. Looking utterly satisfied, the queen gazed at the dumbfounded Alon, her distinctive Golden History Eye gleaming.

"I shall retire now. Enjoy the banquet, all of you."

With those final words, she turned away as though she had no further business at the ball.

CREEEAK! BANG!

The great doors opened and closed, leaving the ballroom silent.

Alon stared blankly at the place where she had disappeared.

'... What is going on?'

He was only growing more bewildered.

####

After the queen departed, the ballroom gradually regained its liveliness following a lengthy silence.

The only difference from before was that the nobles now smiling were the exact opposite group. Every noble of the royalist and aristocratic factions, who had expected the Sword Faction to be firmly reined in today, looked as though the world had ended.

Meanwhile, the nobles who had followed Alon into the ballroom beamed, lavishly congratulating themselves on having chosen the right side.

And Alon, who had effectively become the star of the ball, was surrounded by nobles eagerly fawning over him whether he responded or not.

"My sincerest congratulations, Count!"

"Now, now, Count? He will soon be a marquis!"

"Ah, of course. A slip of the tongue—"

"You truly are remarkable, Count Pallatio—no, Marquis."

"Indeed. Just when did you manage to win over the queen—"

Under the weight of the Duchess of Altia's and the Count of Xenonia's mistaken assumptions and uncomfortable stares, their faces filled with renewed admiration, Alon thought:

'Never mind when... I honestly have no idea either.'

Looking confused, Alon turned toward the doors through which Siyan had left.

'What is going on...?'

He went over everything he knew about Critenia Siyan, Asteria's eighth monarch, one detail at a time. Yet no matter how often he recalled it, she was not someone who would behave like that.

'... She isn't especially interested in governing, but she would ruthlessly cut down anything she judged a threat to royal authority. And what on earth was that smile?'

Alon thought back to the smile she had given earlier. As far as he knew, Siyan had never been depicted smiling in any illustration or narrative in Psychedelia. In terms of personality, she was the quintessential deeply indifferent character.

'... Something is wrong here.'

As Alon tilted his head, realizing something strange was unfolding...

"..."

Marquis Philvoid, stationed in a corner, watched him surrounded by nobles.

'Count Pallatio...'

Philvoid clenched his teeth involuntarily. Half a year ago, even after going so far as to kneel before the count, he had been summoned to the Holy Kingdom. Although his ordeal had not been as bad as Duke Limgrave's, he had been confined in a strange solitary room and subjected to something tantamount to torture for nearly a month.

That was why he had been so eagerly awaiting today's events. He, too, had thought Alon would pay for his tactless expansion of his faction.

Instead, contrary to his expectations, the queen had bestowed the rank of marquis on Alon, seemingly acknowledging his faction.

'How in the world...!'

Philvoid, who had been gritting his teeth as he watched Alon, heaved a deep sigh. With matters already settled, there was nothing he could do now.

But having already suffered retaliation, he had no intention of doing nothing.

'If this is how things stand... I have no choice but to meet those people!'

His face hardened as though he had reached a decision. He turned and began walking away.

####

Five days later.

While Alon sampled every snack offered at the weeklong ball and began thinking it was about time to leave for Coloni, Marquis Philvoid, who had departed on the first day, was making his way to Pakason, a territory in the Kingdom of Ashtalon near the Kingdom of Asteria.

Normally, he would have been cautious, since such a move was bound to attract attention. Now, however, he had nothing to worry about.

From the moment he had been dragged off to the Holy Kingdom, he had lost most of his political power and ceased to be the head of a faction. No noble paid any attention to Marquis Philvoid, now a toothless tiger, so he reached his destination without having to concern himself with anyone's gaze.

Upon arriving in Pakason, he headed for an entrance leading beneath a slum on the outskirts of the territory.

"Whew..."

He sighed as he surveyed the openly gloomy underground entrance, then pressed his lips firmly together and approached it. He had heard that the Proxy he intended to meet was here—someone who would kill any noble or royal without fail, provided the appropriate price was paid.

Descending underground, he clicked his tongue.

"Tsk."

He frowned at the gambling den, where loud voices mingled with acrid smoke, but kept walking. The person he sought would be farther inside.

Making his way deeper into the den, he recited the password to a man barring his path, then opened the firmly shut door at the end of the passage without hesitation.

And then—

"...?"

"Hm?"

Inside the open doorway, Marquis Philvoid saw a girl.

Or, more precisely, a girl with radiant golden hair and an innocent expression—and beside her...

"..."

A mangled, headless corpse lying facedown on the floor.

Philvoid frowned slightly, but he did not recoil in horror and flee. Before coming here, he had heard about the Proxy's bizarre traits from the person who had referred him.

'... I heard it was a ferocious beastfolk who enjoyed desecrating corpses, but this is more revolting than I expected.'

He quickly smoothed his furrowed brow. He needed to commission the Proxy before him.

"Who are you?"

The Proxy's voice rang out as Philvoid was steeling himself. Its innocent, unfeigned curiosity brought him back to his senses, and for a moment he looked intrigued.

There was indeed a corpse, but on closer inspection, the Proxy's appearance was very different from what he had expected. The moment passed, and he spoke.

"I have come to commission a job."

"A job?"

"Yes. I have come to commission Count Pallatio's assassination."

Remembering his contact's warning that the Proxy disliked beating around the bush, the marquis immediately stated the nature of his request.

Then a chill ran through him.

"Heh..."

Philvoid knew beyond a doubt that the beastfolk before him was a Proxy. As soon as he brought up the subject of his commission, the face that had worn an innocent smile moments earlier changed.

"So..."

The corners of her mouth twisted upward in amusement.

"You're saying you've come to commission Count Pallatio's assassination?"

Yet her eyes had turned utterly cold.

Faced with those chillingly cold golden eyes, which made him hold his breath, the marquis felt his knees weaken and unconsciously swallowed.

"That is correct..."

At his confirmation, Seollang nodded several times, her golden hair swaying softly.

"Right, I see. But what should we do?"

"What—?"

"The person who would take your job... is right here, you know?"

She shrugged breezily.

Unable to make sense of her words, Philvoid followed Seollang's gauntleted finger downward. When he saw that she was pointing at the corpse with its head smashed apart...

"Ah."

Only then did he realize something had gone wrong, and a quiet gasp escaped him.