Chapter 311

We catch up with Kyle, three months after the events of the failed Coronation.

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CONTENT WARNING: This chapter includes descriptions of violence, blood, and gore

Chapter 311

Two Petals Fluttering Down the Road

January 9th.

Oceria's 2nd Battalion, stationed on the border of the Kingdom of Barron / Night.

The winter wind howled bitterly as Walter quietly watched his master training alone on the edge of camp.

Half a month had passed since they'd progressed through the various border regions and arrived at this post by the Kingdom of Barron.

Rather than saying they were “staying” here, it would be more accurate to say they were “stuck” here.

His Master was thoroughly entrenched. To Walter, it felt like he'd reverted to the same state he'd been in when they'd first met on the battlefield six years ago, during the First Skandoan invasion—tense, sharp, and on edge.

Nick appeared, crunching on a handful of peanuts, and tapped Walter on the shoulder.

“Have you heard the news, Walter?”

"Are you referring to what happened at the execution grounds?"

A week ago, the Duke of Toulouse and the Third Prince had been beheaded in the Capital's public square. Joseph had maintained the perfect bearing of an Imperial Prince even while he stepped onto the execution platform.

He'd been the picture of arrogance as he looked down at the crowd, but when the executioner forced him to his knees, he began cursing both the executioner and the crowd.

He demanded they show him the proper respect, screaming, "Don't you know who I am?", then ranted endlessly about how his execution would be recorded in the annals of history as a grave error that would be condemned by future generations.

“I’ve heard rumors that the executioner deliberately used a dull sword…”

Rumor had it that the first stroke of the executioner's sword had failed to cleanly sever his neck, and instead had merely gouged out a chunk of flesh. 

“Luckily, the situation was brought under control quickly at least. Is that actually what people are saying?”

Joseph had survived the initial cut and been left to writhe in agony on the platform as blood poured from his neck. Just then, a dozen men wearing black hoods surged from the crowd, shouting and storming the execution platform. They ruthlessly stabbed and slashed at both Joseph and the Duke of Toulouse, who stood nearby waiting for his turn to die.

It happened so quickly. By the time the guards—who had been frozen in shock like the rest of the crowd—finally moved to act, the hooded men had vanished back into the seething throng of spectators like ghosts. When the guards tried to pursue them, the crowd deliberately obstructed their path with their bodies, as if by some unspoken mutual agreement.

The execution had been both gruesome and disastrous.

Both Joseph and the Duke had been torn to pieces, their mangled body parts scattered all over the platform. Their faces were slashed beyond recognition.

“They say not a single one of the men was caught because the crowd conspired to shield them, right? The executioner claimed he simply hadn't realized his sword had been swapped out for a different one because the replacement looked exactly like his own... I suspect they were Black Crown members and former subordinates who lost their families or witnessed them get kidnapped after being toyed with by that bastard Hans Button for so long. What do you think?”

“...Well, I don’t know.”

“Hmm. True, nothing has been confirmed yet. Anyway, I thought those two would get off easy, but seeing them go out like that... It’s somewhat of a relief. Don't you agree?”

“Yes. I'm relieved vile wretches have been completely rooted out.”

Noticing Walter’s somewhat stiff tone, Nick examined his expression, then tapped him on the shoulder.

“Is something bothering you?”

Walter remained silent for a moment, simply watching their Lord train; Nick followed his gaze, staring intently at their master as well.

To Walter, it looked as though his Lord was determined to push his body to the absolute limit.

He would head into the forest with his sword at all hours. He did it all above and beyond his regular duties, which already involved leading troops to patrol the border and staying up for nights on end to keep watch. He personally oversaw everything in camp, from unit drills to individual training.

And then, whenever he finished these solitary evening training sessions, he would invariably turn to drink.

Walter was worried he might collapse. It was only thanks to the partial recovery of his Aurore that His Lord could repeat the exact same grueling routine the very next day.

Still, watching him was like observing an undeniably precarious balancing act—like a man walking a tightrope.

"I think he's caught in a trap."

"What kind of trap?"

"Hmm. You wouldn't understand even if I told you."

"Oh, come on... don't be like that. I’m the guy who threw himself into harm's way to save his life, you know! Don't dismiss me like that!"

"What does that have to do with understanding the situation? Every time you open your mouth, it's the same old story about your heroics. I'm sick of hearing it!"

Walter looked at Nick with a pitying expression as he continued crunching away on his supply of peanuts and grinning sheepishly.

"Heh heh. You just don't get it. His Highness used his own precious Aurore to save me from the brink of death... Huh? Hey, wait! Where are you going?"

"A messenger arrived from the palace earlier with a dispatch. Since His Highness just got back from the border outpost, I need to deliver it to him. It’s probably just another order to return to base, anyway..."

"Oh... I thought you were leaving because you didn't want to listen to me anymore."

"That’s true as well!"

As he watched Walter walk away, Nick clutched his chest, his voice earnestly distressed.

“Ugh! Like a dagger to my heart. But I’ll be fine! At least Dr. Matilda still cares... I’ll take some leave on my way back to the Capital and make sure to visit her. This time, I absolutely will not fall asleep before she does!”

After making this heartfelt vow, Nick left the area, and Kyle returned to his own tent after a few more swings of his sword.

After taking a quick shower, Kyle took out his last remaining bottle of cognac.

Every time he saw this particular liquor, he couldn't help but think of her. But there was nothing he could do about it. This was the strongest liquor he had.

He stared at the bottle, now half-empty on the shelf.

“It all disappears so quickly…” he muttered under his breath.

He shook his dripping wet hair a couple of times, then sat down on the edge of the bed and downed his glass of cognac in a single gulp.

He savoured the sharp, bitter heat as it shot down his throat and burned its way into his gut.

Before he left three months ago, Kyle had ordered Chris to remain at the Palace and had taken the opportunity to inquire about the matter of the spy one more time.

[What was found among his belongings?]

[Files related to Reese Castle. They were records written by Hans Button himself, only noting that the information originated from the Second Prince’s Palace. I conducted a re-investigation of everyone attached to Your Highness’s Palace. The result was the same as back then; none of their families had been taken hostage in a Black Crown Village.]

[...After I was reported dead, did Hans Button personally reassign staff from my Palace to serve the Third Prince and Main Palace?]

[Yes. That struck me as odd, so I looked into it. It turns out that everyone reassigned to the Third Prince’s Palace was mobilized for the Coronation ceremony; five of them lost their lives, and two fled the Palace to escape the chaos. Hans Button was particularly intent on finding one of the escapees. Since the Palace is currently in a joint mourning period for the Empress and Third Prince, I will conduct an intensive inquiry once the funerals conclude and send you a report.]

[Who was that rat bastard looking for?]

[Thomas, a lower-ranked Butler from the Second Palace. The Head Butler praised him quite highly and said he was exceptionally competent.]

[Understood. Organize a dedicated team at the Security Office aimed at tracking him down. Since Logan Elias is the only high-ranking survivor of the Ga'an incident, interrogate him as well.]

[Yes, Your Highness. I’ll assemble a team immediately. Also, on the day of the Coronation, Logan Elias left a brief note for his family saying he was leaving for the provinces to recuperate, and he hasn’t been seen since. We suspect he fled out of fear of being punished for his involvement with the club. We’ve located where he’s recuperating with the cooperation of the Elias family.]

[All right. Go there yourself and bring him back.]

[Yes, Your Highness.]

Chris had been about to leave when he suddenly seemed to remember something. 

He turned back, his tone cautious.

[Um, I also heard that Lady Tara Elias visited His Imperial Majesty just before the Coronation to negotiate with him, and signed a direct cooperation agreement with His Majesty.]

[I’m aware.]

[That implies she might be joining us in our future endeavors—do you truly think that’s acceptable?]

Kyle looked at Chris impassively. 

[I cannot exert pressure on the Elias Family based solely on my personal feelings when they are simply finding their own way to survive. Finding solid evidence must come first.]

The memory made Kyle pour himself another drink.

‘Perhaps tonight I'll allow myself to get a little drunk.’

Kyle slowly swirled the glass in his hand, lost in thought.

‘How much would I have to drink to completely banish her from my thoughts entirely?'

She'd been the first.

The first woman he'd ever loved.

She was also the first person he had trusted unconditionally—the first with whom he'd wanted to share his entire life.

That was why, at some point, he had let his guard down completely.

Yet, she had walked right into a trap of his own making, only to offer an absurd excuse and ask him to believe it.

Kyle’s position was one that demanded absolute certainty.

His position was such that countless rivals watched him at all times, their predatory gazes eager to pounce on the slightest flaw. He lived on the edge of a knife, his status so precarious that even a minor mistake could cost lives— both his own and those of the people who answered to him.

Kyle needed certainty.

He needed the assurance that he could trust her completely—that she, of all people, posed no danger to him whatsoever.

He tormented himself with the questions every day, agonizing over the credibility of her answers.

Yet, he never reached the positive conclusion he wanted to see from it.

He thought she understood him better than anyone else did, and yet she, of all people, had put him into this situation by acting the part of a spy.

And then, she'd asked him to trust her solely on the basis of his love for her.

That was something he simply could not accept.

And yet, he found himself wanting to believe her. Perhaps that was why he wanted concrete proof. Perhaps that would make it easier to sort out this tangled mess of emotions.

Deep down, he harbored a faint hope that the evidence he found might exonerate her.

[...I never wanted anything to do with you in the first place! You were the one who fell for me first while I was living my own peaceful life! You were the one who pursued me and insisted you could be the kind of man I wanted!... Believe whatever helps you sleep at night, because I’m sick of this damn story—fuck the Chronicles of Oceria and everything to do with it—I no longer want any part of it!]

The vivid memory of her words at the Coronation resurfaced once again.

She was still so dignified and beautiful that she no longer looked like a spy at all.

“Ugh... Damn it.”

Kyle muttered, raking his hand roughly through his hair.

"The Chronicles of Oceria... It can't be... but maybe it is. Is it possible something that far-fetched actually exists... Damn it. This is absurd. Enough.”

Kyle downed the remainder of his second drink with a large gulp as if trying to erase the words that had circled ceaselessly through his thoughts for the past three months. Walter rushed in just as he was about to open the next bottle.

"Your Highness, an urgent dispatch has arrived from the Palace."

“Is it another message from the Emperor?”

“No. It’s a message from Chris. But unlike usual, it’s marked as urgent, so I brought it immediately.”

There had been nothing particularly noteworthy in the intelligence reports he'd received so far, with the exception of one unusual detail.

They still hadn't located one of the two individuals who had fled following the massacre at the Palace—specifically, the Deputy Butler, Thomas.

Upon receiving that report, Kyle had immediately sent an order to double the size of the investigative team. Since that had only happened a fortnight ago, it was far too early to expect a report on the result.

“Give it to me.”

Kyle’s jaw clenched as he took the dispatch, and he glared at the message with more fury than Walter thought possible.

“What’s the matter, My Lord? Has something terrible happened?”

“It seems the Emperor has gone mad after surviving recent events.”

“Pardon?” ______________

Editor's Note -

We finally know how Kyle has been handling the aftermath of the betrayal and the confrontation at the Coronation (not well).

Also, Yikes... We also get the insanely gory details of what happens to Joseph and the Duke. That wasn't how I expected either of them to go out, but I'm curious what you all think and whether they or the Empress got the better ending (dying painfully in bed or ripped apart by a mob!)

Also, since this chapter took longer than planned to get to you and we had two chapters on deck, Chapter 312 will be posted right after this one!

Enjoyed the chapter? Buy us a ko-fi!

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