Chapter 182 : The Marquis's Private Army (2)
What now?
I frowned at the men blocking the road. From their livery, they were private soldiers, sworn to some noble house.
And why are they here?
The Imperial Capital had fallen to the Demonkin. Every noble house, high or low, should have its soldiers at the front. Yet here was a squad of perfectly able-bodied men guarding an empty stretch of road.
Something was deeply wrong with this picture.
“Who are you lot supposed to be?” Lancelot asked, digging a finger in his ear with a look of profound boredom. “This is a waste of time. Step aside. We’re headed for the Empire.”
He chose words over his spear, but the soldiers seemed incapable of appreciating the mercy.
“Huh? What’s this ugly oaf rambling about?”
“Is he begging? Pathetic.”
“Pfft, looks that way.”
The soldiers snickered, their eyes glinting as their hands drifted to the hilts of their swords.
“Listen up, idiots,” one of them sneered. “You may not know who we are, but we are the sworn soldiers of His Lordship, the Marquis.”
Marquis?
I studied their leader. The slight tremor in his hand, the tension in his jaw—all signs of a liar.
But behind the bravado, his eyes held a flicker of genuine confidence, the kind that came from serving a powerful master.
They’re telling the truth.
I nodded to myself. I didn’t know why a marquis’s men were shaking down travelers, but they were who they claimed to be.
I pushed Lancelot aside and stepped forward. “And what business do the marquis’s soldiers have out here?”
“Oh, are you in charge?” the man asked, his voice dripping with false courtesy. “You see, it costs a great deal for His Lordship the Marquis to manage the realm’s affairs, especially with this unfortunate war. We’re simply asking patriotic travelers like yourselves to… contribute.”
A smirk twisted his lips as he held out a greedy hand. They were demanding a toll.
Are they insane?
A hollow laugh escaped me.
Even if they were the marquis’s men, they couldn’t be acting on his orders. A marquis of the Empire could live in opulence for three generations without resorting to roadside banditry.
This was nothing more than petty corruption, using their lord’s name as a shield.
“…You must have lives to spare,” I muttered, just loud enough to be heard.
One of the soldiers caught it, his face hardening. “Refuse, and we’ll simply take our contribution from your corpses.”
He drew his sword, its tip leveled at my chest.
Just then—Shnk!
A spray of crimson misted the air. In perfect unison, the soldiers’ throats bloomed open, slashed by something unseen and impossibly sharp.
As the bodies crumpled to the dirt, I spoke into the sudden silence.
“A rather dramatic greeting.”
With a soft thud, black-clad figures appeared from the shadows, kneeling before me on one knee.
“…It has been a long time,” one of them said, his voice muffled by his mask.
“Indeed,” I replied, my gaze sweeping over the assassins of Death Veil. “Not since the Empire fell, I believe.”
I hadn’t moved because I’d already known. My senses, honed to a Grand Master’s edge, had picked them up moments ago—the faint whispers of movement, the cold pinpricks of killing intent.
But that intent hadn’t been aimed at us. It was focused entirely on the marquis’s men. A quick scan of their hidden energies confirmed their identity.
Death Veil.
“So, what is it?” I asked, patting a startled Hans on the back to calm him.
The assassins exchanged glances.
Finally, their leader spoke.
“…Could you spare us a moment of your time?”
“A moment?”
“The Veilmaster has a message for you.”
A message from him.
I tapped my fingers against my thigh, considering. In a situation this volatile, what could he possibly want? Was it a trap?
My deliberation was brief. I nodded. “Very well.”
If the Veilmaster wanted to spring a trap, he wouldn’t be this direct. He was a creature of shadow and subtlety. And he certainly wasn’t foolish enough to lure our entire party into his den.
Four Grand Masters, two Masters, and a priestess with the power of a Saintess—the odds of victory were laughably slim.
“Thank you,” the assassin said, a collective sigh of relief rippling through his companions. “We will guide you at once.”
The path to Death Veil’s headquarters felt familiar, the journey smoother than the first time.
“You’ve come.”
The Veilmaster greeted us the moment we arrived. He dismissed the assassins with a nod, his gaze fixed on me.
A dry, incredulous laugh escaped him.
“…You’re a Grand Master? It hasn’t even been three years.”
“I was fortunate.”
“No one reaches the Grand Master level through fortune alone.”
He shook his head, a look of genuine disbelief on his face. “And the Expert is now a Grand Master as well… Did the two of you take a vacation in the deepest hells while I wasn’t looking?”
I didn’t respond.
“That’s the kind of growth you’d only see in a place where time itself bends… Heh. Astonishing.”
Shaking his head again, he seemed to pull himself together.
I shrugged. “I appreciate the praise, but let’s get to the point. Why did you summon us?”
“…This isn’t something you just brush aside… Fine. Arguing will only give me a headache.”
With a groan, the Veilmaster gestured to another assassin, who brought forward a scroll.
The Veilmaster scanned it once before handing it to me. “Read this.”
I took the scroll and unrolled it. The neat, precise script detailed a catastrophe.
After a long moment, I looked up. “Is this true?”
“Every word.”
“…Hell.”
I forced myself to look away from the scroll, its contents burning in my mind.
The Imperial Capital has fallen. The Emperor is dead. The Imperial Knights are scattered, retreating to the outer territories. The Emperor’s assassin is believed to be the ‘Marquis of Jealousy,’ one of the Twelve Nobles. And the marquis is none other than the Empire’s lost prince, Leo Fortia.
The Emperor was dead?
It was hard to fathom.
Even without a Grand Master at his side, the Emperor himself was a Master-level knight. Armed with his relics, he could wield power rivaling a Grand Master. For him to fall without inflicting any significant damage… something felt wrong.
And the Marquis of Jealousy is Leo Fortia.
The Third Prince. The one supposedly killed by the High Elder of House Praha. It was shocking enough that he was alive, let alone aligned with the Demonkin as one of their Twelve Nobles. It defied belief.
“…The Empire must be in chaos.”
“Utterly,” the Veilmaster confirmed. “We’ve also received reports that the Second Prince was killed by the Marquis of Jealousy.”
“…Then the line of succession is clear.”
“Heh heh… The First Prince is the sole beneficiary,” the Veilmaster sneered.
I sank into thought.
The First Prince. The man I remembered from before my regression was a just ruler. He had eliminated his siblings to secure the throne, yes, but at his core, he cared for his people.
He was also an exceptionally talented swordsman, possessing the qualities of both a warrior and a king. He was the perfect heir.
The problem was that Duke Artezia had stolen the throne, and now the Empire was at war.
Normally, when an emperor died in wartime, the next in line would be crowned immediately. But with the succession in tatters?
A Grand Duke, or someone of equivalent standing, would take the throne.
But the Imperial Family had no other living relatives. The only ones with even a drop of imperial blood were the Grand Duke and House Artezia, and their claims were tenuous at best.
“This will be chaos,” I grimaced. As if the Demonkin weren’t enough, a civil war was about to erupt over the empty throne.
Was this Duke Artezia’s design?
The suspicion was unavoidable. The imperial heirs, disappearing one by one. Were their deaths accidents, or was the duke pulling the strings?
Of course it was him.
“Tch.” I ran a hand through my hair. “This just turned into a three-way war.”
Duke Artezia, the Demonkin, and what was left of the continental alliance. A three-headed hydra tearing the world apart.
“The information is valuable,” I said, my voice sharp with impatience, “but did you bring us all the way here just for this? You could have sent a messenger.”
I had a feeling there was more. I was right.
The Veilmaster hesitated, then gave a wry smile. “It’s getting harder to fool you.”
“So? What else?” I pressed.
He sighed. “Fine. The truth is, the continent is changing too quickly. If the Demonkin win, we won’t be safe either. I’ve made a decision.”
His gaze shifted, settling on Kai. “I am choosing my successor.”
The Veilmaster’s gaze was intense.
“Kai. I will teach you every secret of Death Veil. I will entrust you with our sacred artifacts. I am asking you to succeed me. To become the next Veilmaster.”