Ch. 22
Chapter 22. Undercurrents in the Royal Capital
At this moment, in the study of the Black Marquis’s estate,
Kellers was carefully reviewing the family’s tax reports.
Old steward Sebastian slipped in soundlessly just then, carrying in his hands a specially made metal cylinder marked with a raven insignia.
He gently placed the cylinder on the broad mahogany desk before Kellers Black.
“Young Master Kellers,”
“Young Master Eli’s raven has delivered letters. Three in total.”
At those words, Kellers looked up, and a faint, nearly imperceptible glimmer passed through his deep-blue eyes.
“Three?” He set down the quill in his hand and leaned forward slightly.
“Yes. Leave mine here, and personally deliver the other two to Father and Royce.”
“Young Master. One is for Young Master Royce. One is for Marquis Black. And the last one...”
Sebastian bowed slightly.
“...was written by Captain Buck for Marquis Black.”
Kellers’s fingers stilled, and an indescribable trace of disappointment and self-mockery flashed through his heart.
He fell silent for two seconds. “Understood. As for Father’s letter, I’ll trouble you to make a personal trip to the royal capital and place it into his hands no matter what. As for Royce’s...”
“I will deliver it to him later myself.”
“As you command, Young Master Kellers.” Sebastian asked not a single extra question and silently withdrew.
The study was left with only Kellers alone. He looked out at the neatly trimmed shrubs in the courtyard beyond the window, his fingers unconsciously curling slightly before slowly relaxing again.
“Heh...”
In the end, he simply picked up that dull tax report once more.
...
Royal Capital Orlandia, Leon’s office.
Leon rubbed at his swollen temples. He had only just finished an utterly exhausting round of wrangling with the Royal Domain’s Minister of Finance over military appropriations.
Sebastian emerged from the shadows in the room and placed two letters in front of him.
“My lord marquis, a letter from Young Master Eli. And one from Captain Buck.”
Leon waved his hand tiredly, signaling that he understood.
His gaze fell first on Buck’s letter.
He broke the seal and unfolded the paper.
But as his eyes swept across line after line of text, his brows drew tighter and tighter together.
The entire letter was full of praise for Eli:
calm, decisive, possessed of leadership, beloved by the people of the territory, and already firmly established on the wasteland in such a short time.
He had even subdued a group of unruly wolfkin warriors... every line was filled with undisguised admiration.
“Hmph!” Leon could not help letting out a low snort.
“When did that little brat learn how to win people over?
Even Buck... could it be that he got hold of some sort of leverage over him?”
Yet when he carefully examined Buck’s distinctive, rhythmically forceful handwriting and confirmed that it was unquestionably Buck’s own hand,
the suspicion on Leon’s face was gradually replaced by a look of utter disbelief.
What sort of man was Buck?
A trusted personal guard who had followed him for years, crawling out of mountains of corpses and seas of blood at his side; the deputy commander of the Black Raven Knights; a man whose character was as upright and unyielding as iron itself.
To receive such high praise from Buck...
could it be that the wastrel third son who had done nothing but stir up trouble and wear him down had truly, out there on the wasteland... been reborn?
A faint, almost imperceptible thread of relief quietly sprouted in the depths of his heart.
Carrying that complicated mood with him, Leon opened Eli’s letter.
The opening of the letter was a flood of praise so excessive that it occupied nearly two-thirds of the entire page.
Leon forced himself to keep reading, but the corner of his mouth soon began twitching.
“...Father is wise and mighty...”
“...Father sees far and plans deeply...”
“...Father’s brilliance is like the sun and moon, illuminating the path forward for the Black Family...”
Leon felt such an intense wave of secondhand embarrassment surge straight into his skull that even the veins on his forehead began to throb.
That brat! At least his skill in flattery had improved.
He skimmed over those sickeningly excessive compliments ten lines at a time, until at last his eyes landed on the final few lines of the letter.
The instant the words “mithril mine” entered his sight,
he shot out of his wide-backed chair as if launched by a spring!
“M-Mithril mine?!”
Leon’s eyes locked onto those three words on the page as though he wanted to burn through the paper itself.
The hand holding the letter began trembling violently beyond his control.
“Mithril mine! It really is a mithril mine?! In the Western Realm? In that godforsaken place where even birds don’t shit?!”
Like a man possessed, he repeated the same words over and over.
“My lord marquis, please calm yourself.”
Sebastian raised a hand, and thick shadows gradually spread to cover the entire room.
Leon paid him no heed. His chest rose and fell violently, and his heavy breathing sounded especially sharp in the silent study.
“Seba! Did you see it? A mithril mine! He says he found a mithril mine.”
Mithril—the finest metal on the Continent of Ares—possessed supreme flexibility, conductivity, and hardness.
In ancient times, it had often been used in the crafting of magical artifacts.
In the Orlando of today, only the Western Realm and the Northern Realm had even sparse reports of mithril, and most of the kingdom’s supply flowed in from the Midsummer Isles overseas.
Even the Black Family had only managed to equip a portion of the knights in its elite Black Raven Knights with weapons containing relatively low amounts of mithril.
The Black Family’s ancestral weapon, Cold Crow, had itself been forged from mithril.
Sebastian took the letter from the marquis’s trembling hand and glanced over the key passages.
“My lord.”
The old steward set the paper down. His voice remained as calm as ever, but his speech was a shade quicker than usual.
“The Western Realm is vast, with complex geology. Mithril veins have indeed appeared there in the past, and the region is also rich in many kinds of rare mineral resources. The most famous example is the gold mine upon which the La Roche Family built its rise.
Mithril veins may be extraordinarily rare, but they are not entirely impossible, especially in certain areas of the Western Realm tied to ancient movements of the earth’s veins...”
“And Young Master Eli mentions in the letter that the vein is accompanied by an exceptionally hard layer of special rock containing chaotic energy.
That does indeed match the known characteristics of mithril veins. It does not sound like something fabricated out of thin air.
Combined with Captain Buck’s description of Young Master Eli’s recent performance... this matter has a considerable chance of being true.”
“A considerable chance? A considerable chance?!”
“That brat... that little bastard... this time... this time he...”
“It’s as if the God of Light personally planted a boot in his backside!”
After thinking for a moment, the old steward frowned slightly.
“My lord,” Sebastian said, lowering his voice.
“This matter is of enormous consequence, far beyond the ordinary.
The moment word of a mithril mine leaks out, whether it is real or not, it will be enough to stir up a bloody storm in the royal capital and even throughout the entire kingdom.
At that time, Young Master Eli and his territory will be the first to bear the brunt of it. They will become the target of all arrows and be crushed to pieces.”
The wild delight on Leon’s face receded somewhat, replaced by a deep and heavy gravity.
Sebastian’s words instantly jolted awake the mind that had been half-drowned by overwhelming surprise.
Mithril! This was not merely wealth. It was also a strategic resource that would draw the greed of countless wolves and tigers.
A man may be innocent, yet become guilty through the possession of a treasure.
If handled improperly, it would bring utter disaster not only upon Eli, but upon the entire Black Family.
Leon’s expression darkened completely.
He slowly sat back down, his fingers unconsciously tapping against the cold tabletop.
“You mean...” Leon’s gaze turned toward his old steward.
Sebastian bowed slightly. “At present, the only viable course is to reduce the circle of those who know to the absolute minimum.
This old servant advises that I personally make a secret journey to Obsidian Territory to confirm the state of the vein on site, and assist Young Master Eli...”
“No!” Leon rejected the suggestion at once, his tone absolute and decisive.
He rose and walked over to the enormous floor-to-ceiling window, looking out over the bustling streets of Royal Capital Orlandia.
“You go in person? That target would be far too large. You are the Black Family’s chief steward. Every move you make represents the family’s face and its direction.
If you suddenly leave the royal capital and your whereabouts become unknown, what will all those prying eyes think?
And what will that old fox from Montauban think?”
He turned around.
“Seba, listen carefully. As of now, not a third person must learn of this matter! Especially...”
“...my lady wife! Do you understand?”
There was not a ripple in Sebastian’s dark-gray eyes. He merely inclined his head slightly.
“This old servant understands. The moment my lady learns of it, the Montauban Family will learn of it as well.
And once Montauban knows, I fear the entire upper circle of the Royal Domain will hear of it soon enough.
For Young Master Eli and for the Black Family, that would be catastrophic.”
“Exactly!” Leon smashed a heavy fist against the window frame, producing a dull, solid thud.
“That pack of hyenas! They would use every means possible to tear Eli apart and seize the mithril mine!
They might even use it as the spark to launch another attack against our Black Family and force us down the same path my elder brother walked.”
After the immense shock of joy came an even heavier, colder reality, pressing itself upon the hearts of master and servant alike.
The gleam of mithril was like a seductive Pandora’s box.
The moment it was opened, anything could happen.
Leon drew in a deep breath, forcibly suppressing the turmoil inside him, and his gaze once more became sharp and profound.
“We wait! We wait for Buck to return! Only the intelligence confirmed by his own mouth will serve as the sole basis for our next move!
Before that, the mithril mine... is to be treated as though it does not exist!”
He sat back down behind the desk, picked up Eli’s letter, and let a thread of pure black aura flare at his fingertips.
With a soft hiss, the priceless intelligence about the mithril mine—along with the two-thirds of the letter filled with nauseating praise—instantly turned into a pinch of ash, drifting away into the stagnant air.
“Seba,” Leon said, his voice once more carrying its usual authority, though with a trace of fatigue that was difficult to detect.
“Go and make the necessary preparations. The moment Buck returns, bring him to me at once. Remember, it is to be done in secret.”
“Yes, my lord marquis.”