"My accursed kin," Conrad said through gritted teeth.
Ervin stiffened. Conrad's tone left no doubt as to whom he referred.
"You… you plan to propose an alliance with the other usurpers?"
"Do you see any other options? I can't fight this alone."
"But will they agree?"
Conrad smirked grimly.
"They won't have a choice."
At tis, Conrad had sent armies to directly confront his rivals, while at others, he had employed sches and subterfuge to eliminate them. These were longstanding enemies, and even with a common foe like Sylas, they wouldn't offer assistance so easily.
"Still, I have to try," Conrad muttered. "When they see what's happened to , they might reconsider."
Conrad, once a rival of comparable strength to his competitors, had been branded a traitor by Sylas and had already lost a critical city to his forces. The other contenders would surely feel a similar sense of impending doom.
"They're cunning, but not foolish. At least for now, they should understand the necessity of joining forces."
Conrad quickly drafted letters to his rivals and sent ssengers riding tirelessly through the night. It wasn't long before a single response returned, bearing the seals of all his competitors.
The letter began positively, affirming the urgency of the situation.
"We received your letter and agree with your assessnt. This self-proclaid count is causing far too much trouble. Until he is removed, we will stand united."
But the letter's tone shifted sharply in its final lines:
"Still, isn't seven too many? Six should be sufficient to deal with him. Thank you for the warning. We'll handle things among ourselves from here."
Conrad's hands trembled as he read the last words.
"You conniving bastards…!"
As he had predicted, his rivals saw the situation clearly and agreed to work together, but they had also decided to take the opportunity to eliminate him in the process.
Furious, Conrad tore the letter into pieces, his roar echoing through his study.
While Conrad vented his rage, Sylas was hosting a victory banquet in the recently conquered city of Berlione.
"To the health of His Majesty the Emperor and to our continued victories!"
"To victory!"
Sylas's toast was t with raised glasses, and the gathered nobles drank obediently. However, their expressions were far from jubilant.
"Everyone seems rather downcast," Sylas observed with a grin. "Are you not pleased with our victory?"
"Of course we are!" one noble stamred, sweat beading on his forehead.
"We're simply concerned for Your Excellency's safety. Surely, you won't continue to personally lead the charge against enemy gates?"
Sylas laughed heartily at the obsequious response.
"Your concern is appreciated, but as the leader of this coalition, I must do my part. Excessive worry, however, is unwarranted."
Though the noble bowed and murmured his agreent, the truth was clear to everyone present. The nobles weren't truly concerned for Sylas's safety—they were terrified by his newfound authority.
"The rumors about the Dragonslayer were impressive enough, but to see him in action…"
"Is he even human? They say he singlehandedly obliterated Anton's forces."
Before this battle, the nobles had seen Sylas as a convenient figurehead—soone who legitimized their claims to new territories. But after witnessing his power firsthand, they realized he was no re figurehead. He was a one-man army, capable of achieving what thousands could not.
"Talk of pressuring him for more land was utter madness."
"Forget about applying pressure. If he's displeased, my neck will be the first to go."
As the gravity of their situation settled in, murmurs spread among the nobles.
"What do we do now?"
"Don't look at like that! You think I'll stick my neck out for this?"
"I wasn't suggesting that! I just wanted to discuss our options."
"Well, if you have a plan, by all ans, share it. I'm all ears."
The whispers fell silent. No one wanted to make the first move and risk becoming a scapegoat if things went wrong.
"Still, there's no need to panic just yet," one noble finally ventured.
"No need? His Excellency could have our heads with a flick of his wrist!"
"True, but he hasn't done so. Have you noticed his temperant? He's lenient, jovial, even humble at tis."
The nobles reflected on Sylas's behavior. Apart from his terrifying power, he had shown himself to be approachable, prone to flattery, and eager to boast of his achievents.
"If we appeal to his sense of honor and pride, he'll reward us for our loyalty," the noble continued.
"Appeal to his pride…"
"Exactly. Emphasize the sacrifices we've made, and express how much we value his acknowledgnt. Stroke his ego a bit, and he'll respond favorably."
It wasn't a bad idea. By portraying themselves as loyal and selfless, they could secure their positions without provoking Sylas's ire. A few even considered forming a faction to present a united front.
But just as they began exchanging conspiratorial glances, a chilling voice cut through the music.
"What did you just say?"
The sound of tal being crushed followed, silencing the room.
Every head turned toward the source.
Sylas stood there, glaring coldly at one of the nobles. In his hand, a tal goblet had been twisted into an unrecognizable shape.
"Are you saying you can't drink the wine I've offered?"
"N-no, that's not what I ant…"
The strained sound of tal yielding under Sylas's grip filled the room, and the nobles collectively held their breath.
What had just happened?
"Here, take this."
"Thank you, Your Excellency."
The beginning was unremarkable. Sylas was simply going around, personally pouring wine into the glasses of the nobles. In a way, it was an honor.
After all, wasn't this wine being poured by a count, even if he hadn't officially taken his title yet? The issue arose when an unexpected situation unfolded midway.
"Why don't you have a drink as well?"
"I apologize, Your Excellency. I've already had too much and cannot take more."
A baronet respectfully declined Sylas's offer of wine. It wasn't an uncommon occurrence. The unspoken rule was to drink imdiately when a superior offered, but health concerns allowed for refusals.
Reviews
All reviews (0)