[V14C6] Like an Extension of Everyday Life

Albert grinded his teeth as he watched Margrave Valmbalk escort Bridget out of the venue.

He knew that Birendahl was not after Bridget. The real target was none other than Albert himself.

(This wouldn’t have happened if my brothers were here.)

If someone tried to mock a diplomatic secretary, Lionel would have handled it in a way that didn’t make anyone the villain.

The man calling himself Felix would have used the malice of his enemies to his advantage, and turned the tables on them.

But Albert simply fell for the cheap provocation and raised his voice.

(Now they all know that I harbor ill feelings toward Lord Birendahl. This will affect negotiations going forward…)

And when the negotiations inevitably fail, everyone will interpret it like this: The young and immature Prince Albert threw a tantrum because he doesn’t like Lord Birendahl.

Albert clenched his fists in frustration. Meanwhile, his attendant Patrick approached with his fluffy brown hair bouncing. He held a plate of light snacks in his hand.

“Albert-sama, would you like some cheese? The flavor is stronger than the kind from Ridill, but it’s really tasty with jam or honey~”

Before Albert could refuse, Patrick pressed the plate into his hands and continued in a whisper.

“Albert-sama, you’ve got your angry face on~”

“…”

“I’ll block you from sight, so eat something good and get your smile back~”

With that, Patrick positioned himself in just the right spot so that Albert’s face was not visible to the Imperial delegation. Then, he took a bite of bread topped with cheese.

Hiding in the shadow of the taller Patrick, Albert stuffed a piece of bread with cheese and apricot jam into his mouth.

While chewing the bread, he pushed his cheeks up into a smile.

It was necessary to express anger when being insulted. However, expressing anger at the wrong time or in the wrong manner was a mistake. This was what Albert had been taught as royalty.

(This is my opportunity to talk to people from the Empire. I need to evaluate their relationships. Find openings for a conversation.)

Just as he finished swallowing the bread, a man from the Imperial delegation approached him.

He had slicked-back black hair streaked with white, looking every bit the seasoned soldier he was. It was General Strauss, famed for his military achievements in the southern front.

The distinguished general of around fifty years old offered a courteous bow to Albert, who was young enough to be his grandson.

“I apologize for not stepping in sooner to calm the situation.”

He had no reason to apologize, but whether it was his serious nature or a desire to smooth things over with Albert, the gesture was made.

In either case, responding with visible displeasure would clearly be a poor move.

Albert responded with his smile restored thanks to the apricot jam.

“No, I am the one who should be apologizing. I let my emotions get the better of me. It was a shameful display.”

“Actually, I was quite impressed by how your secretary handled the situation. To think she would know phrases from the northern regions of the Empire.”

Albert was pleased by the compliment to Bridget.

He was proud to have Bridget as his secretary, and it seemed the Empire had people who could appreciate her too.

“Yes, I’m always grateful for her language skills.”

“Does she perhaps know other regional dialects as well?”

“I believe she can handle nearly all of the Empire’s dialects.”

General Strauss widened his eyes in admiration. “Very remarkable.”

Though the Empire established a common language, there were still regions that used unique phrasing or dialects that were practically a different language.

The Old Solyarg tongue, occasionally used in the southern and eastern regions, was particularly distinct, having an entire separate linguistic system from common Imperial. Few diplomats could handle it fluently.

(Come to think of it, General Strauss is from the southeast… and he once transferred to Hydelingen after rising through the ranks, didn’t he…? Ah, that explains it. He must have volunteered to handle security because of his relationship to Konitz, the governor of Hydelingen.)

The lead figure in the diplomatic exchange was originally meant to be Konitz, who was currently trying to smooth things over with Birendahl, and failing.

Konitz was around thirty-five and seemed like an incredibly timid man. But Albert had already noticed how Strauss would occasionally glance at Konitz with concern.

The arrogant Birendahl, the meek Konitz, and General Strauss were the three main figures in these talks.

There was also Margrave Valmbelk, who Birendahl apparently hated.

(Margrave Valmbelk… the grandson of the Sword Saint… He’s not what I expected. Not muscular at all.)

On the contrary, the margrave looked lanky, as though he didn’t have enough to eat. And he did nothing when Birendahl mocked him.

Birendahl distinguished himself in the war under the emperor from two generations ago. Perhaps he harbored a rivalry against the War Wolf of Valmbelk, who gained fame in the same war, and that resentment extended toward his grandson, Henrik.

As Albert pondered where to begin with the entangled nets of relationships, Strauss politely excused himself and stepped away.

Albert glanced sideways at Patrick.

“Patrick. Who do you think would be the best person to win over first?”

“I think you should start with the one who enjoys their meal the most~”

In that case, the toughest one might be General Strauss.

Likely due to being busy with security duties, Strauss had touched neither food nor drink since the banquet started.

＊　＊　＊

Konitz was a man of average build and around the same height as Birendahl, but his hunched posture made him seem a bit shorter.

He fidgeted for a while in front of Birendahl, unable to muster the courage to speak up.

Birendahl had always hated Konitz’s spineless attitude.

(The Empire has grown far too soft under the reign of the previous emperor.)

Birendahl served the emperor from two generations ago, who expanded the empire through military conquest. Thus, he was discontent with the previous emperor, who abhorred war and sold off lands for money. He expected great things from the Black Lion Emperor, hoping that he would make the Empire great again.

He once thought that Konitz had potential, considering he too had been disfavored by the previous emperor, but the coward turned out to be a complete disappointment.

As Birendahl drank wine to drown his rising irritation, Konitz cautiously took a few steps closer and murmured quietly.

“Lord Birendahl… um, it’s not like you to provoke foreign royalty like that…”

Birendahl scoffed and returned a cold glare.

“Don’t tell me you’ve yet to notice? Ridill is mocking us.”

“Er, I think that is, um… a bit overthinking it…”

“This agreement was originally proposed by Second Prince Felix. And yet they send the Third Prince instead? What is that if not a mockery of the Empire?”

Birendahl had once faced Prince Felix of Ridill in a separate negotiation.

Felix Arc Ridill. His handsome features and gentle smile masked a cunning man who could easily manipulate the web of human relationships.

During one banquet, the Second Prince approached individual members of the Imperial delegation opposed to Birendahl and won them over, turning the negotiations to his favor.

He had left no opening for Birendahl to interrupt the discussion. Though infuriating, it was a masterful display of skill.

When Birendahl heard that Prince Felix was involved in this treaty, he decided to intervene in the negotiations.

Clearly, Konitz would end up as a puppet to Prince Felix’s will. This time, he would put that pretty prince in his place!

But once the meeting began, it turned out the Second Prince had taken a step back from public duties and instead sent the inexperienced Third Prince in his place.

(How dare you! So I am not even worth facing in person!?)

It became clear the moment they sent the Third Prince to this meeting. Ridill was making a mockery of them.

As Birendahl twisted his mustache in irritation, Konitz stammered out an excuse.

“Um, but, well, you didn’t have to lash out at Blanquet-dono… um… Margrave Valmbelk guards the border, and he was embarrassed in front of foreigners…”

Henrik Blanquet, the Margrave of Valmbelk.

Birendahl only grew even more infuriated when he recalled that pathetic young man.

“How can a man as spineless as him run a castle? The Sword Saint must be ashamed… The grandson of the War Wolf? Hah! That is the cowardice of a defanged mutt.”

＊　＊　＊

“Ah, um, I’m terribly sorry… Lord Birendahl was incredibly rude to you…”

Having taken Bridget into the corridor, Henrik bowed apologetically after walking a short distance.

He was a tall, lanky young man with dull blond hair. His face, with its lowered brows and uncertain smile, gave the impression of a tired old dog.

(…Very different from what I expected.)

Bridget had imagined Valmbelk to be somewhat similar to the Kerbeck Domain in the Kingdom of Ridill. Both were located on the border and carried the risk of foreign invasion, and both frequently suffered from dragon disasters.

However, Kerbeck was blessed with fertile lands and excelled at trade, while Valmbelk’s land was barren, and its lord was said to be a poor governor.

The fact that he was hated by Birendahl, a powerful figure in the Empire, was proof enough.

Bridget examined Henrik’s jacket. The many signs of mending were visible, and the fabric was soaked with red wine from chest to shoulder.

He was the kind of man who would shield others and smile as if it were nothing, even at the cost of his own dignity. Bridget didn’t know whether she should say “thank you” or “I’m sorry”.

…When she was young, she wasn’t allowed to say either.

As a powerless little girl, all she could do was lower her head and accept that kindness in silence.

The frustration from those days welled up in her chest, and before she realized it, Bridget had opened her mouth.

“You shouldn’t have had to humiliate yourself in that situation.”

As a diplomat, she should have humbly expressed her gratitude.

And yet, she found herself speaking from personal emotion. Ashamed of her outburst, Bridget bit her lip, but Henrik responded with his gray eyes wide.

“Eh? If anything, I should be the one saying that to you… You shouldn’t have had to endure that humiliation, right?”

“That was nothing special. It’s quite common in diplomatic settings.”

At Bridget’s firm declaration, Henrik put on a troubled smile.

When seeing other people make that face, Bridget couldn’t help but feel like she was one being childish and stubborn.

(Now is not the time to wallow in sentiment.)

Bridget bowed her head to Henrik. This was the correct behavior for a diplomatic secretary.

“Thank you for your consideration, Blanquet-sama. I have work to do, so I will return to the hall shortly. Please change your clothes and return to the hall as well.”

In truth, Bridget wanted to return to the hall immediately, but doing so would undermine how Henrik stepped in to protect her.

She would need to pretend to return to her guest room and change into her spare uniform before coming back to the hall. How many minutes should she wait to make that scenario believable?

Henrik still wore the same troubled look on his face, but he said nothing more.

Meanwhile, three men in red uniforms, armed with swords, appeared from the corridor from the direction of the hall. They walked towards Henrik from behind, with two in the front, one in the back.

They seemed to be guards working under General Strauss rather than soldiers of Valmbelk Castle. Perhaps Strauss had sent them to bring Henrik back to the hall, Bridget thought to herself.

But for some reason, it felt like they were looking at her rather than Henrik.

Henrik noticed the three men approaching from behind and turned around. His gray eyes narrowed as he assessed them.

And then, several things happened in the blink of an eye.

The two soldiers in front suddenly rushed forward and drew their swords. One of them targeted Henrik. The other passed by him and aimed his raised blade at Bridget.

The sword that was about to strike down Bridget gleamed in the candlelight.

Henrik dodged the swung blade, then turned to grab the arm of the man targeting Bridget, while sweeping the man’s legs.

In the brief instant following the man’s stumble, Henrik pressed his hand against the man’s arm—pointing the sword he held towards his own throat.

“Gah.”

That was the last sound the soldier would ever make.

A warm spray of blood splashed across Bridget’s fair cheeks.

Henrik stole the sword from the soldier he killed and faced the remaining two.

Two left. One faced Henrik with a drawn blade. The other kept his sword sheathed and started chanting something from a short distance away.

Henrik held his bloodstained sword with an expressionless face and muttered in a low voice.

“…A mage, huh? How thorough of you.”

The chanting soldier pointed his hand toward them, sending a spear of lightning shooting from his fingertips.

Bridget gasped as she realized the target of the glowing golden spear.

(He’s aiming at me.)

Before the bolt of lightning could strike Bridget, Henrik hurled the stolen sword at the incoming spell.

“This way!”

The sword and lightning collided mid-air with a loud crackling sound, as Henrik grabbed Bridget’s hand and ran in the opposite direction of the soldiers—away from the hall.

Though still very confused, Bridget somehow managed to form one clear thought in a corner of her mind.

(This man…)

He had effortlessly slit a man’s throat with a casual sweep of his legs and a push of his arms. There was no trace of hesitation, nor any flicker of emotion on his face. As if doing so was merely an extension of his daily routine.

Someone so capable was forced to flee because of two reasons. The presence of an enemy mage, and because he had no means of protecting Bridget from magic.

(If I wasn’t here, he would have killed all three without a second thought.)

Henrik reeked of blood and wine. The red stains on his jacket were now indistinguishable; she could not tell which were wine and which were blood.

A chill ran down Bridget’s spine, and a cold sweat dampened her palms.

Henrik had just saved her life. She could not possibly condemn his actions.

And yet, she felt an indescribable fear at the man pulling her hand.

Rulers of the Empire

Emperor Before the Previous: Loved war. Believed land was for him to seize. Waged war with Ridill over fifty years ago.

Previous Emperor: Hated war. Sold off a lot of territory. A womanizer and a spendthrift.

Current Emperor: The Black Lion Emperor. Believes war should be waged if necessary.

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