TOWER 3

Unless he was pushed to an extreme, Seu always followed her will obediently, but his broken digestive system could not even accept medicine properly.

“…”

Meeting Erde’s eyes, Seu showed her the inside of the bowl he held with both hands. Even to her dim eyes, more than half remained. Erde shook her head sternly.

“Please drink a little more.”

Without a single hint of being sullen, Seu obediently lowered his head toward the cup.

In moments like these, she would suddenly realize: if she did not hold on to him stubbornly, Seu would secretly feel relieved and let go of life. Without causing harm to anyone or requiring any particular effort, his faint life would end simply by standing still. Erde thought that more than losing her master again, and more than having to leave the palace because of it, the saddest thing would be Seu bidding such a lonely farewell.

₊˚ ❆

Fragments of light fell gracefully over a silver-trimmed vase. The sky, where the snow had stopped, was bleak without a single breath of wind, but for winter weather, the sunlight was quite generous.

Hunting would be just right.

Looking at the elegant vase on the white marble shelf beneath the floor-to-ceiling window draped with silk curtains, the man thought of the scent of blood. And as the eyes of the man, who rested his chin on his hand as if bored, narrowed thinly, cold sweat ran down the spines of those surrounding him.

Should I send these things away and go hunting before it’s too late?

Lowering the hand that had been propping up his chin, the man cast his gaze far away. His eyes were fixed beyond the tall window facing the north of the palace, toward the Gisha Mountains, a natural fortress. He habitually let his gaze flow past the black pillar standing in the way of the forest.

With sturdy and clear-cut features, an arrogantly lifted chin, and emerald eyes that flashed coldly—those around him inwardly thought that he must be the only person in the world who could look so frigid despite having golden hair as beautiful as a wheat field growing in the southern plains or gold submerged in water. Of course, they did not show such signs. This was because the man who was explicitly creating an uncomfortable atmosphere and neglecting the tension of the gathering was one who bore the name of the country as his surname.

Ren Maro. Their young and arrogant leader and the guardian of the kingdom, a man with the nature of a lion with the blood of a tender beast on his claws. And the King of Maro, who had never once hidden that nature since the coronation ceremony held alongside his coming-of-age.

‘The peace of the kingdom must have lasted too long.’

Finance Minister Badon Lonrike thought bitterly. Thinking of the time when the young King was a boy, and how they had never once looked deeply into his nature, it truly had been a long and negligent peace. Why had they failed to notice the savagery of this young beast of prey? To think that the only bloodline of the late King—that boy who spoke little and was indifferent to everything—would cast such a cold gaze upon the power of the meritorious nobles who had supported the country for a thousand years.

He shook his head slightly. Though it was shameless of him as someone who had participated in the previous affair, he inwardly wondered if this was the curse of the deceased Queen. Otherwise, how could such iron blood come from between that gentle late King and the softest of Elven princesses?

Sitting in the seat of honor in the office where the state council was being held, the King had a face that openly said, ‘Must I do this useless and boring thing again?’ Receiving the arrogant man’s characteristic annoyed gaze toward worthless things, the ministers had no choice but to quietly hide their sour expressions.

‘Marquis Parion, I heard a major avalanche occurred early on the southern border. What is the scale of the damage?’

The coldly thrown question was directed at Badon Lonrike, and the Finance Minister, who hid the nature of a fox clever in self-interest beneath the face of a gentle old man, could not help but realize instinctively. Today it is me.

The conversation flowed in this manner.

‘Since that is not within the jurisdiction of the teller…’

‘Your children, wouldn’t they have gone down in high spirits at the thought of filling their pockets as soon as the autumn harvest ended? I heard they are even now leaving Behill and coming with heavy bodies, having eaten their fill. Was there not a single person who sent a letter saying they are deeply moved by being fed so well?’

From the King’s first words mentioning “your children,” a crack appeared on Badon Lonrike’s face. Although he was a grand elder among the meritorious nobles and an old veteran who had received the country’s stipend for many years, he could not get used to the King’s frivolous and blatant way of expressing himself.

What was so immoral about populating his subordinates in the Ministry of Finance with his own bloodline and relatives? The way they lined their pockets was a mere matter of keeping up appearances; it was certainly not enough to ruin the country. If it were a poor country, perhaps. Despite the barren environment compared to the warm southern countries, the kingdom had been strong for generations through clever diplomacy, transit trade, and the harvesting and distribution of specialty goods. No wonder it was called the Empire of the Northern Country. Had they set their minds to it, they would have easily subjugated the small and large principalities nearby and won the title of Empire. How could the leader of such a wealthy country be so stingy? It is a King’s magnanimity to tolerate the private privileges and customs of the nobility.

Badon Lonrike remained silent in an embarrassed and unpleasant mood, and the young King continued as if he hadn’t even expected a response.

‘According to what I confirmed with the Lord of Behill, the logistics warehouse touching the border with Mercers has collapsed significantly. Since it seems there will be an immediate problem with exports, I decided to have the nearby territories provide support as an emergency measure. We cannot recreate the grain and processed goods that were rendered useless in the avalanche. I have summarized the details of the support, so make sure to set aside an appropriate budget and send it. By the way, wouldn’t it be good for the Minister of Defense to also take an interest in the problems occurring near the border? If the situation worsens and leads to a rebellion, military power will have to move.’

The sword’s edge, which had flowed naturally, was aimed at Davenin Harn, the Minister of Defense, who was lost in his own thoughts with a bitter expression.

Davenin Harn, the Marquis of Morad, from a great noble family of the East, was a young man who had just passed forty and was a mere fledgling in the eyes of an old fox like Badon Lonrike. However, the great family could not be ignored, and above all, he had held a bit of hope in the fact that he was young blood in the leadership who had not participated in the incident four years ago—

“I, I am deeply sorry.”

What an obtuse face, feeling wronged because he didn’t know why he should care about the collapse of a logistics warehouse in Behill. Badon Lonrike swallowed a sigh.

If it were a conflict that would put the entire country in a state of tension, it was something from over twenty years ago. In particular, having settled long-standing hostilities and established themselves as a friendly nation with Mercers in the south, they had withdrawn the Marcher Lords installed on both borders ten years ago as proof of mutual trust. Unless a significant conflict broke out, matters of the southern border were now the duty of local lords or administrators.

However, even if it were only because his position lacked major tasks and was embarrassing, shouldn’t he at least pretend to be diligent by saying things like ‘the military cannot be indifferent to border matters’? Furthermore, especially for a young minister who has been appointed for less than three years. No matter how much the current King has caused a bloodbath since the beginning of his reign, it seems the lazy fellows of the East have completely let go of the work of the central office. Can they not even see that mass, which is too bloated to be called the Royal Guard and should rather be called the King’s private army?

Toward the Marquis of Morad, who was repeatedly wiping away sweat and muttering things like ‘I am sorry,’ the King gave a light snort and turned his head. It meant he was no longer worth testing. Then again, the reason he appointed such a person in the first place was likely because he was not of the caliber to interfere with his will.

And it was the same for the others, including Badon Lonrike. With the exception of the position of Chancellor, which had been vacant for four years, the King expected nothing from the ministers participating in the state council. The tone in which he spoke of national affairs was extremely superficial, one-sided, and devoid of question marks; the officials were becoming obtuse dogs who simply took down the King’s one-sided orders and implemented them.

True discussions were all taking place in the back room, a small conference room the King had prepared for individual interviews. That was its external function, but in reality, it was a secret room that was not open to any noble ministers.

Those who could enter were a few figures from the Palace Department and the Royal Department personally chosen by the King, and the King’s concubines who dared to involve themselves in state affairs under absurd titles such as protocol officers or secretaries.

‘How impious.’

Looking at the marble door draped with a crimson velvet curtain embroidered with gold thread behind the head seat of the office, Badon Lonrike frowned. To push away the meritorious nobles who had been loyal to the kingdom for many years, and the martial nobles produced during the most intense period of war in the kingdom’s history five hundred years ago, and to bring such low-class individuals into a secret room.

The noble ministers, who once discussed state affairs on equal footing with the King, were now crouching their backs under the lion’s claws and playing the role of puppets. Those who clumsily used their heads to seek profit often met a hideous sight due to the King’s venomous tongue and one-sided disposals that did not consider dignity, and eventually, the number of those who laid down their hollowed-out positions and returned to their local estates and mansions to wait for future generations increased.

What filled the positions of the court nobles who left in that way were those the King had raised personally from below—workers with short names and light clothing who were undignified and merely practical. Badon Lonrike did not even want to imagine how those low-class people were handling the kingdom’s household affairs.

And as Badon Lonrike turned his cold eyes away from the door of the secret room, his eyes met those of the King, who was looking at him with an interesting light.

“…”