Chapter 90
“I regret summoning you here when your health is poor. However, I can assert without falsehood that my desire to et you is sincere.”
The man before him made the declaration with solemn gravity.
Yet despite those firm words, his impression inspired less trust than a faint sense of instability.
The skin beneath his eyes—sharp and tinged with a nervous temperant—was darkened from long-standing sleeplessness.
His lips were sowhat petty in shape, and although he did not entirely lack a certain bearing, there was sothing slightly fragile about him.
Especially when compared to his golden hair, which glead like spun honey.
In any case, what Tirgan had said differed little from what Aquila had predicted before entering the room.
As he returned the greeting, Aquila examined the man before him.
Tirgan Delvion. The Bat Prince.
DING!
[Information regarding the keyword ‘Tirgan Delvion’ has been unlocked!]
[Tirgan Delvion — Second Prince, Bat Prince, One Who Forsook the Honor of Delvion, One Who Knows No Sha.
Records prior to the 30th iteration:
A man of strong ambition and greed, harboring intense inferiority toward his elder brother, the First Prince. He seeks the throne and will accept any power that promises strength enough to secure it, thereby bringing tragedy upon the imperial family. He joins hands with the Guild of Darkness and, with the aid of Morel Friadel, brings about a curse…
…There is too much information to display at once!
Please press !
Notable detail: Regardless of the assistance he receives, if placed at a disadvantage, he severs ties without hesitation, earning the resentnt of noble houses. After the tragedy he causes cos to light, he is executed in the public square.]
Aquila barely spared the familiar window a glance before dismissing it.
The incident in which Lady Friadel had perished from the Curse of Deadly Poison.
The prince before him had been deeply entangled in that affair.
Tirgan Delvion was the embodint of how cruel a man could beco when consud by the desire for the throne.
A wretched creature. Had he not drawn in outside forces, the Delvion imperial family would not have fallen into such ruin.
Not a trace of emotion touched Aquila’s face, but inwardly he clicked his tongue several tis.
Raised in comparison to the First Prince since childhood, Tirgan’s desire to ascend the throne was matched only by his determination to see his brother destroyed.
There was nothing he would refuse.
In truth, it had been almost inevitable that a corrupted fanatic of the night would worm their way into the prince’s heart.
They were beings who infiltrated twisted minds, intent on bringing about tragedy by any ans.
“I greet Your Highness, the Second Prince.”
Astia bowed with crisp precision.
“Ah, Sir Astia. Have I not told you repeatedly there is no need for such formality between us?”
Soft eyes, like ripened crimson fruit, turned toward Astia.
He had feigned gentleness when looking at Aquila as well, yet this gaze was entirely different.
It was an expression too obvious to pretend not to see.
So the rumor that Tirgan admired Astia had not been false.
Aquila flexed the fingers clasped behind his back slightly.
“Such behavior is not befitting a re knight of the imperial household.”
Astia spoke stiffly.
“Moreover, I stand here today as a Reschenhardt. I ask that you understand why I cannot accept such familiarity.”
By tone alone, it might have been taken as insolent.
It was less a plea for understanding than a declaration.
Yet such confidence—such audacity—was characteristic of Reschenhardt.
“Ha ha. Your forthright manner delights …”
Tirgan’s eyes glistened as he looked at Astia.
He appeared faintly wounded in pride, yet pleased all the sa.
Her unyielding stance seed to irritate him, even as it appealed to him.
For now, only the seedlings are visible. He will bring about his own destruction regardless…
Aquila let his gaze sweep subtly around the opulent chamber.
There were not many present.
Attendants, guards, a scribe, and one who appeared to be an imperial mage.
Naturally, Morel Friadel—who stood in secret alliance with the Second Prince—was absent.
Their relationship was concealed; she would not reveal herself in such a setting. Still, among those standing behind Tirgan, it was likely that one of his trusted confidants lurked.
The imperial court, though it might seem orderly, was little more than a chessboard for the nobles.
What mattered was that Tirgan sat alone here, as though he were already the Crown Prince.
Though Aquila had been summoned in the na of the imperial family, Tirgan behaved as if he alone held the authority to hear Reschenhardt’s report.
Folding his thin, almost gaunt hands together, Tirgan spoke.
“The others claid they were unavailable, so I alone have co. It is by no ans that I take lightly the urgent matter you have reported—”
Just as Tirgan began explaining sothing Aquila had rely thought but not voiced—
Knock, knock.
A light rapping sounded at the door, and an attendant waiting outside cried out.
“Y-Your Highness, the Fourth Prince has arrived…!”
The attendant’s flustered tone carried clearly.
Without waiting for permission, the door opened at once, and soone entered.
“I apologize for my lateness.”
The voice was youthful yet firm.
Turning his head, the first thing one saw was a soft shade of brunette hair.
It was slightly disheveled rather than carefully styled, suggesting the boy had hurried here at speed.
Bright blue eyes, vibrant with life, surveyed everyone in the room.
Rancliff.
Aquila’s eyes widened slightly.
He had expected to cross paths with him at so point upon entering the Delvion Imperial Palace—but not this soon.
After all, Rancliff Delvion was a character who typically appeared only in the mid-to-late stages of the main scenario.
DING!
[Information regarding the keyword ‘Rancliff Delvion’ has been unlocked!]
[Rancliff Delvion — Fourth Prince, Prince of Misfortune, The Unbroken, Hope of Delvion.
Records prior to the 30th iteration:
Born to the mother of lowest status, he was raised amid disregard and oppression within the imperial family. Nevertheless, he is known for his upright and steadfast character, and when darkness descended, he was the first to take up arms and lead. Alongside Ark Batchel, he is one of the main central figures…
…There is too much information to display at once!
Please press !
Notable detail: ????
This information cannot yet be unlocked!]
Ah. As expected—question marks.
Aquila’s gaze shifted from the keyword window back to Rancliff.
Though he had remained in this world for thirty iterations, there were still a few individuals who remained enigmas to him.
One of them stood before him now.
Despite eting him not for the first ti, Rancliff’s “notable detail” had always appeared as question marks.
It was an exceedingly rare case.
To Aquila’s knowledge, only one other person shared that trait.
Ark Batchel.
It ant the character’s ending was not fixed—constantly shifting.
All characters in this world had predetermined endings.
Except those two.
Aquila had long suspected the reason.
If Ark Batchel was the protagonist of Ark Chronicle: The Unending Utopia, then Rancliff was likely the protagonist of a side-story ga.
Other characters had, at so point, beco Aquila’s allies or his enemies.
But since his first appearance, Rancliff had never once acted alongside him.
In other words, Rancliff had never betrayed him.
Though that standard had long since beco aningless.
“H-How did you co to be here…?”
“It does not appear you have begun yet. That is fortunate.”
Ignoring Tirgan’s startled question, Rancliff t Astia’s eyes and smiled briefly before turning to Aquila.
“I have long awaited the day we would et. I did not expect that day to be today.”
He offered a polite greeting, then directed his clear gaze toward Tirgan.
“I have heard that unsettling incidents have continued in both the western and eastern regions, and now I am told that abnormalities have been discovered in the northern Frost Forest as well. Though I may be presumptuous, I ca wishing to hear the details myself. May I listen as well?”
Tirgan attempted to conceal his irritation, but it was evident he was deeply displeased.
After staring at his uninvited half-brother for a long mont with a furrowed brow—and glancing at Astia—he ultimately had no choice but to nod.
Rancliff had requested permission with impeccable courtesy, and he was still a prince.
At least it is not Grancer, the Third Prince.
Even as that thought brought a sliver of relief, Tirgan felt a new kind of annoyance stir.
“Very well. Then…”
Rancliff took a vacant seat.
“Quil.”
Aquila’s gaze had been following the brunette boy until he heard his na.
Astia was looking at him.
She had rely called his na, yet the subtle urgency in her tone was unmistakable—finish this quickly so we may leave.
In any case, he needed to recount what had occurred in the Frost Forest.
If only Tirgan were present, I would have given a vague account. But with Rancliff here…
He had expected nothing from Tirgan.
Rancliff, however, was different.
He was the sort who reacted swiftly to danger, who deliberated and acted first when darkness lood.
Swallowing quietly, Aquila nodded to Shen.
The attendant opened the pouch he carried and poured its contents onto the table.
“What is this…?”
“Magic stones.”
Items that occasionally dropped when monsters were slain—magic stones.
They were akin to vessels for souls and typically shone with a clear light.
But the stones upon the table did not.
Tainted by corrupted divinity, a black aura writhed within them.
“I will explain not only what has occurred in the Frost Forest, but also what I have personally experienced.”
Aquila’s black eyes brushed past Rancliff before returning forward.
After all, soone who understood the dangers of this world better than anyone else stood in this room.
***
The mud of the Black Swamp. The surge of ferocious monsters overflowing from the Frost Forest.
Aquila recounted everything, along with Lexenbert’s firsthand observations and the ssage that he intended to conduct another investigation.
There were, of course, certain details he could not yet disclose.
He could not reveal that the legendary magical beast Fenrir lay at the core of the Frost Forest, nor that it was growing stronger by consuming the mud.
Nevertheless, they seed to grasp that the situation was graver than expected.
Especially after the imperial mage, having heard the entire explanation, requested Tirgan’s leave, seized one of the magic stones, and rushed out in haste.
Tirgan was flustered.
Rancliff grew solemn.
Yet what caught Aquila’s attention most was the darkened expression on Rancliff’s face as he murmured to himself.
“…As I thought.”
He could not have misheard.
Aquila cast him a questioning glance.
As I thought? As if he already knew…
His brow furrowed faintly.
But before he could ask anything, Rancliff rose from his seat.
He seed to judge the matter more urgent than anticipated and declared his intention to gather further information by any ans necessary.
After offering a polite farewell, just as when he had entered, he left the room in hurried strides.
Naturally, Tirgan did not stop the uninvited guest from departing.
Feigning concern for Aquila while keeping Astia in mind, Tirgan steered the conversation toward personal matters.
In the end, they were only released after receiving an invitation to a party to be held two days hence.
I cannot refuse. I will have to observe the currents at the party…
Aquila stuffed the invitation into his inner pocket and stepped toward the carriage.
Only after they had exited the Imperial Palace did Cahena—who had remained unusually silent—lean close and whisper.
“The Fourth Prince, who stepped out earlier, asked that this be delivered to our young master.”
With that, she handed Aquila a folded note, its contents concealed from view.
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