Chapter 148

Chapter 148

The grand reality of the Palace Royal was engulfed in chaos. No, it was more like a comical play where enemies put on a ridiculous performance.

Various factions of the royal court and the factions of each count were rampant, continuing their hollow acts.

Your Majesty!! Theres urgent news that Count Granmarteau has crossed the border of Saint Mathilde!

We must open the gates! Count Granmarteau is merely with righteous individuals seeking to protect the monarchy, opposing them would be folly!

Innominate! Cant that mouth be shut?! Look at what these so-called righteous individuals are doing! All the crops in Narbong are withering! Your Majesty, please punish them!

Its reported that Count Vermontpor has begun organizing his forces. Your Majesty, you must head to Pervignon! Saint Mathilde cannot withstand the forces of rebels!

The king looked at his advisors with dry eyes. More than half of them intended to remove him from the throne.

Since the moment the Homeland Guardian vacated his position, the conspiracy had begun like clockwork. No one in the court was on his side. Not even his ugly sons.

Your Majesty, as your son has observed all along, Count Granmarteau is a loyal servant of long standing. His troops are only here to endure the chaos of this kingdom

What nonsense is this! Your Majesty! If you command it, I will personally head to Pervignon with Count Vermontpors forces to protect Saint Mathilde!

Open the gates to welcome the rebels.

No, gather rebels from other regions.

No. We must wait for the Homeland Guardian.

Perhaps its better to seek refuge in a foreign land and march again with foreign forces.

The shouts of many, all desiring to kill this kingdom, filled the court long ago.

The king pressed his temples. In the noisy court, he was alone, quietly lonely.

The weight of the royal hall was so light. It was a monarchy built on killing the righteous, sacrificing the loyal, and executing the faithful.

I sold my brothers and nephews. Only to maintain the sovereignty of this kingdom.

Without it, this country would have been finished. The kings power alone does not symbolize the nation. However, if even the authority of the royal family falls among these snake-like nobles, this country could never function as one nation.

So, its an inescapable trap.

Ober III, the aging king of Tylesse, raised his wrinkled hands worn by time. Finally, his advisors fell silent. This was his only remaining authority.

The eyes of his courtiers sting. They are not concerned about the kings welfare, but greedy for the inheritance to be passed on to the next generation of rulers.

His loyalists are now completely gone from this place.

And the old king, who endured long wars to maintain the throne. Once called the Lion King of Tylesse, this old man now had no will left to fight.

If we stand together, can we hold out?

Your Majesty!! Count Granmarteau is not a rebel

Enough. Speak. If you ask for support, who will extend a hand? Krasilov has only just escaped my control, and Kalion is beyond the distant sea, while Drovian is even further away.

All the powerful nations of the Alliance Kingdoms are like that.

The alliance cannot save Tylesse right now. Let alone the forces within Tylesse itself.

Half are in the grip of Count Granmarteau, and the remaining half are scattered everywhere. Even if a summons were issued, they could not arrive in the capital faster than the rebels.

So, what should be done? How can one fend off the daggers coming right under their chin?

The old king sighed. This country is truly at its end.

Was it a country destined to crumble in the absence of the Homeland Guardian? Did none of his courtiers realize this first? Or did they realize it and still raise their hands in support?

What did he strive for all his life? Was it for the hollow monarchy?

Your Majesty, Etariques eldest son has requested an audience.

How dare he!!

Does he think he can be his father himself?

The words from the court were rude to come out. Excited nobles stood up to criticize the absence of the duke.

Before the kings sigh could prolong, clang. The thick doors of the court swung open abruptly.

How dare you!!

Are you daring to rebel now? This is the court!

I know.

Thud, thud.

Oscar stepped onto the long carpet of the court. The nobles shrunk back at the slow pace of his approach.

It was an unmistakable momentum of reaching the realm of a giant. One who could strangle a persons throat with just his presence.

There were not lacking those who reached that status in this place. However, there was no one daring enough to step forward before Oscar. The subdued nobles grumbled as they took their seats.

Your Majesty, Knight-Initiate of the Eastern Order. Oscar de Etarique is present here.

Swish.

The sword was slowly drawn, a blade gleaming white under the enchantment of the courts torches. Everyone in this place knew what that sword was.

It was the sword of Duke Etarique, a symbol of military authority and the pride of the Eastern Order. And the fact that it was here

The Homeland Guardian has fallen in battle.

With the kings lament, chaos erupted among the nobles. The cries of despair from the royalists mixed with the jubilation of the nobility echoed.

In the midst of chaos, Oscar bowed his head silently.

Grant me command. It is not the son of Jil Bear who sits here, but Etarique who wields the sword.

Can the Guardian handle it?

If its a task beyond anyone elses capability, yet someone must undertake it.

If we start defending within the inner defenses, they will undoubtedly try to dominate all of Saint Mathilde. Not to destroy, but to capture.

Granmarteau didnt seek to destroy this country like the demon army did. If he desired the throne, he would prefer a moderate prize over a throne in ruins.

So they waged a siege.

Do you think theyll just come in willingly? Without suspecting its a trap?

Do you think they have the resources to set a trap? Theyll likely see it as a last-ditch effort. And

He had sent a gift. A letter sealed with the insignia of Etarique, accompanied by the severed heads of the dukes who supported the grand dukes of the nobility.

It was unthinkable for a member of the Hero Party to directly confront and conquer the throne without sacrificing their honor.

Fine Well defend and buy as much time as we can. At most a day. Somehow, within that time Somehow, well figure something out.

If you dont want to, you can wait here.

Wait here after coming all this way?

Isabel may not know, but for the others, its not just a matter of hometowns. Theres no reason for them to risk their lives needlessly.

But there is a reason.

Ascidis chuckled, twirling her hair.

Were all in the same party.

Saint Mathilde

tienne de Granmarteau sat atop the back of a white horse, overlooking the sprawling metropolis below the hill, even in the late night.

Despite the late hour, the stream of refugees fleeing the city was gradually dispersing beyond the meadow.

Is this the will of the Tylesse royal family?

A squire standing before tienne opened a large chest and bowed his head before stepping back.

The chest was filled with the severed heads of nobles. Each one was recognizable. Nobles who had been planted in the nobility for years, who would become talents for the future of the country. tienne felt a slight pang of regret and smirked.

[Victory Without Surrender]

[Etarique, Duke]

The note attached to the chest was simple. Just one line written in powerful strokes, along with the insignia of Duke Etarique.

Jilber likely died in the Bernini Mountains, so this must be the doing of his son. Quite audacious.

My Lord, please order the march.

No, that cannot be.

tienne crumpled Oscars note and looked up. Now, facing the metropolitan area spread out before him, he smirked.

Can victory be snatched in the dead of night? Comfort the soldiers and feed them well. Not for battle, but for improvement. March at daybreak; we must secure the crown from the old king.

Yes, My Lord.

tienne turned away from the retreating chamberlain and ascended the hill once more.

Tylesse was now within his grasp.

At that moment,

To whom does your allegiance lie?

Count Guillaume gazed up at the figure towering over him, his blue eyes filled with fear.

As he began to plead for mercy, a finger pressed against his lips.

No, I will not listen. Your loyalty has been proven through actions.

W-what do you mean

-Click!

The sound of a bullet casing hitting the ground echoed.

Ivan turned with a smoking pistol holstered at his hip. Amidst the noisy military camp, he clenched and lifted Guillaumes lifeless head.

At least rest your eyes for a moment. Its been how many days now?

Approaching quietly, Baron Noar spoke, and Ivan responded briefly.

Eight days, 19 hours, 23 minutes.

A trained agent must always be able to gauge time accurately. Noar hesitated at Ivans answer before turning away.

You might not know, but the condition of the soldiers is not good. The casualties are too severe.

Tend to them, and only follow those who can move.

Not even 60 will gather. Even if we pick only knights.

Those among the remaining forces who cannot continue the fight should be sent back home.

Ivan placed Guillaumes head on the saddle and mounted his horse.

Gazing at the sky with a blank expression, he determined their direction. It felt like a hot poker supporting a corner of his brain. But at the same time, a dull ache surged, constricting his breath. Eleven days had already passed without a moments rest, only constant fighting.

His fingertips trembled. Sniping was out of the question. Ivan nodded as he looked at the arm that kept misaligning the aiming line.

Lets go.

At Ivans words, Noar grumbled deeply with eyes sunken, then leaped onto the horse.

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