348 - Regressor of the Fallen Family

Chapter 348 "Welcome. His Majesty Cran III of the homeland is awaiting your arrival." Jordan Marlins, the Marquis and Chancellor of the Kingdom of Liberty, bowed respectfully. However, the cold-faced man who received the greeting merely gave a slight nod in response. Despite the man's disrespectful demeanor, Jordan showed no sign of displeasure. In fact, his bald head was slick with sweat, and he glanced nervously at the group accompanying the man. ‘No matter what, to think an Imperial powerhouse has come in person! What on earth did that scoundrel do?’ It was impossible not to focus on the face of the Imperial secret envoy, led by the man at the forefront. His alabaster skin and expressionless visage, paired with snow-white hair slicked back neatly, contributed to a chilling impression. His sharp eyes accentuated that frigid aura, making anyone meeting his gaze feel as if their very bones had turned to ice. At 63 years of age, he was Grit Einzhein, commander of the Empire's 1st Eastern Legion. One of the Empire's paragons had arrived in Liberty as an unofficial envoy. Jordan discreetly wiped away his cold sweat and spoke again. "Heh, I've long heard of the fame of the Devil Spear. It is an honor to meet you." "Guide us." The answer, as chilly as his expression, was curt. In a bid to conceal his growing irritation, Jordan hurriedly bowed his head. "…Of course. I'll guide you. Please, follow me." Despite being an Imperial powerhouse, the man's utter lack of courtesy towards the nobility of a foreign land was infuriating. ‘Such arrogance! I hope he doesn’t display this insolence to His Majesty as well.’ It was fortunate that this visit was unofficial. Fortunately, not many would witness this appalling display. 'Blast it. What exactly did that wretch Gael do…’ Unable to voice his dissatisfaction to the envoy, Jordan's displeasure spiraled into resentment toward Gael Slayer. And it only worsened upon reaching the front of the king's office, where Grit's unchanging demeanor persisted. Given the secretive nature of the envoy's visit, he couldn't be received in the grand chamber surrounded by ministers. Yet, to uphold the dignity of the king, a knight was stationed outside the office where the meeting would occur. The moment the knight announced, "A distinguished guest has arrived," Grit gestured lightly. Bang. A burst of crimson force from his hand flung the office doors wide open. The expressions of all the Liberty officials observing this scene hardened, and even Cran III furrowed his brow as he glared at Grit from within. Unperturbed by any of it, Grit looked towards the five figures who had accompanied him. "You will wait outside." "…Understood, Your Excellency." Jordan couldn’t help but note the peculiar way Grit regarded his companions. Even within Liberty's royal palace, Grit paid no heed to the palace officials, yet he seemed wary of his robed companions. ‘It must be my imagination.’ He tried to distract himself with other thoughts to endure the tense atmosphere. Blaming himself, Jordan swiftly followed Grit as he strode into the king's office. "Count Grit Einzhein of the Empire has come to see the Sovereign of Liberty." Grit barely inclined his head and placed a fist to his chest, a gesture sparing in its brevity. This formality barely masked the visible irritation of those on the king's side, including Gunter Liberty and his escorting knights, but Cran III merely nodded with a calm demeanor. "…Thank you for coming such a long way, Count. It would have been better if we could meet under more pleasant circumstances, but I trust you understand why we've prepared for every eventuality.” His tone was unfailingly polite, despite the situation. Cran III's words were impeccably cordial, except for having Empire’s superhuman Gunter Liberty and an entourage of 20 knights present for a private meeting—perhaps an overextension of his courtesy. Grit’s expressionless face momentarily flickered with a faint smile. “No concern.” For a brief moment, a corner of his lip twitched upward before returning to a blank expression. The faces of Cran III and the Liberty officials tightened at this sight. The name of the famed Eastern Legion Commander was no mere boast even within the Empire. Yet, under the guise of an envoy, the weapon that earned him the moniker "Devil Spear" had already been stowed away outside the palace. Even the formidable Devil Spear couldn’t possibly handle Gunter Liberty, an intermediate aura user, alongside twenty elite knights barehanded. Acknowledging this power imbalance, Cran III bit his lip. ‘He must know the balance lies this way.’ Regardless of the improprieties, Liberty had no choice but to silently endure the offense given the disparity between Liberty and the Empire. With a short, dry cough, he pushed his discomfort aside. "Well then, let's proceed. Even though I have already received the message, I would like to hear the purpose of your visit directly from the envoy." "The head of Gael Slayer and the treasure he took from our territory... That is what we seek." The words matched his expectations. However, whether the subsequent overly formal honorific added in a cold voice was intentional or an oversight was unclear. Cran III’s expression hardened further, his brows knit together, though he had already mapped out his response. "…Duke Gael Slayer is a hero of our war, and within our kingdom, he enjoys unparalleled liberty. Thus, there is little I can do but arrange a meeting for you." Grit’s expression shifted upon hearing this. "…Are you saying the outcome is of no concern to you?" "As are the duties with authority; I trust that Duke Gael will handle matters responsibly." Grit’s brow furrowed slightly at Cran III’s response. The implications of his words were beyond understanding. "Your Majesty, are you certain you understand what I am asking?" "…I have already said what I intend." Despite Grit’s insolent interrogation, Cran III merely nodded with a heavy expression. Grit found himself momentarily at a loss for words. Was this not akin to knowingly sacrificing his own national hero? Such an unexpected, bold move. “Above all else, reclaim the treasure, but more importantly, secure Liberty’s submission.” The voice of the First Prince echoed in Grit's mind. The original plan was unravelling far too easily. The goal was simple: through hardline negotiations, secure a promise of vassalage from Liberty in exchange for sparing the life of that scoundrel, Gael, and take not only the treasure from the ruins but also a few national treasures of Liberty. Yet from the outset, things felt off. ‘Perhaps I pushed too hard.’ For a brief moment, doubt crept in, but Grit quickly steadied his resolve. ‘No, no. What’s more important is showcasing the Empire’s might, even if things go slightly awry.’ Despite the First Prince’s entreaties, Grit wasn’t truly pleased. The lives of his loyal subordinate, Yassel, and a hundred elite knights seemed too great a price for the submission of such a minor kingdom. Thus. “…I will see to the punishment of the perpetrator myself. Now, let us discuss the demands the Empire wishes to make of your nation.” If unforeseen answers were given, unforeseen demands would have to be made, too. Cran III’s expression grew increasingly rigid in response to Grit’s statement. “What do you mean by this?” “Although the perpetrator should bear the consequence of his deeds, the insolence shown to the Empire by Liberty’s duke must be compensated by the royal house of Liberty.” The arrogance on his face suggested he took it as a given. A retort erupted from behind the king. Bang! “Isn’t that excessive, Count Grit!” The marble beneath splintered, unleashing a powerful aura that charged at Grit. However, this intimidation tactic didn’t encroach upon Grit—gentle as a spring breeze, it slipped past him without issue. A smirk flickered across Grit’s lips, while Gunter Liberty’s face turned more tense. “...So, what more do you demand?” With a hardened expression, the king raised his hand to stay his younger brother. “I desire a pledge that Liberty will serve the Empire as their suzerain and wish to take hostages or proofs as witnesses to that vow, Your Majesty.” This was excessive. Far too excessive. This was tantamount to swallowing up an entire country under the pretext of mere excuses, no? Naturally, Cran III’s voice reflected his irritation. “What if we refuse?” “Then you will bear the wrath of the Emperor.” The expression suggested, do you think you could possibly bear such immense anger? To those present, his words seemed absurd. To the Kingdom of Liberty, which didn't even share a border with the Empire, the Emperor’s might was a distant tale whispered through layers of hearsay. Therefore, Grit’s claim seemed nothing more than absurdity, eliciting derisive chuckles from some of the escorting knights. Yet Cran III, who knew of the Empire's power, could not dismiss it so lightly. However, at that moment. "The Empire will seize this opportunity to fully subjugate the Kingdom of Liberty. Yes? While I apologize for Gael’s excessive actions, well…." "...Even if not for this incident, they would have found another excuse to attempt this. Evidence, you ask? You will quickly perceive it first-hand." The words conveyed from McLine, the one arguably at the root of all this, flashed through his mind, and simultaneously, the face of Grit before him took on a new clarity. The statement about entrusting Gael’s punishment was, on the surface, an indicator of complete submission when viewed separately from underlying intentions. ‘And still, they push this hard?’ McLine’s insights had proven accurate. ‘But…’ This was, in essence, a crossroads of choices. The Empire or McLine. Measured by national power alone, siding with the Empire seemed the logical choice, yet it might be akin to pulling a tiger's whiskers while fearing a distant dragon. And for Liberty, overcoming a tiger was an impossible task. Even without considering the hostages, including the successor already sent to Gran. ‘All of this because our kingdom lacks strength….’ Beneath the table, his clenched fist tightened in frustration. It was bitterly unfair. Yet despite these feelings, he had no choice. Unlike the Empire, who still believed Gael to be one of Liberty's own, McLine had anticipated this reaction from the Empire and even suggested a method to counter it. “…Perhaps, once matters with Duke Gael Slayer are resolved, we can discuss all of this further.” Perhaps this response was unexpected. “…I’ve heard he is a war hero, and it seems he holds more power than Your Majesty.” Grit deliberately goaded with an impassive tone, directly challenging the king. The reply that came next was astonishing. “That is indeed the case.” Not Gael, but McLine. Cran III’s unspoken truth. His concealed words were enough to stupefy not just Grit, but also the loyalists of Liberty. “Your Majesty!?” “How could you say such a thing…?” Watching his flustered retainers, Grit found his own expression faltering for the first time. ‘How can a king…’ There had been instances in history where ministers bore more power than their sovereign. But to admit such a reality before others, let alone in front of emissaries from another state? ‘…Does he not have any pride?’ It was incomprehensible. Surprisingly, the shocking statement didn't end there. “So, if matters with Duke Gael conclude to your desire, I shall adhere to the Empire’s demands. However, should you fail to subdue Duke Gael, I ask that you withdraw all demands and retreat.” Words that naturally caused his face to stiffen. ‘Is this not akin to using poison to destroy poison?’ According to rumors, Gael Slayer was an intermediate aura user. Even if his unique abilities were exceptional, he would not pose a challenge to someone superior like him. Yet if the king dared to speak thusly— ‘Perhaps the rumors are incorrect. Could it be he’s above intermediate level…? Ridiculous.’ Could an exceptional being suddenly arise in a minor kingdom to surpass his prowess? It was inconceivable, yet in this precarious situation, he couldn’t be overly assured. However, his concerns were fleeting, and Grit soon recalled the diplomats he had brought from the Eastern Palace. Despite whatever means they used to conceal their power, Grit had discerned some of the strength among them. At least two among his entourage were undoubtedly mages. He had been so astonished by this realization that he had discreetly reported it to the Imperial Court. Yet, an unexpected response silenced him. – They are individuals whom His Majesty the Emperor has tacitly permitted. If they had the Emperor’s approval, then suspicious as they may be, they were allies for the time being. ‘I’ll have them step forward first…’ By sending in the mages concealed among his entourage initially, he could step in afterwards. Even if Gael turned out to be unexpectedly formidable, there would be no significant risk. With that in mind. “Well, well, it seems I can be of great assistance to Your Majesty. Allow me to rid you of Liberty's cancerous growth.” Grit responded to the king with a sinister smile and a voice brimming with confidence.