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Winchester Castle might just be the most important building in the Kingdom of Seophone. And the castle’s defense status was significantly tougher and more rugged than usual.

Crystal Jubilee

Fifteen years had passed since Sir Inamark Yates ascended to the throne of the Seophone Kingdom, and he invited guests to celebrate this festival.

There were only six dukes in the entire kingdom.

They would all gather in unison to congratulate the king.

The castle was already fortified as is.

And now, with the dukes attending the Crystal Jubilee, it was only natural for the castle’s defenses and the knights’ attitudes to reflect that.

For the king’s honor, showing any weakness was not an option. No, rather, if they didn’t just show weakness but ended up making a mistake and left a hole in the defenses, there would be bloodshed.

Not just losing a position, but I mean literally losing one’s head.

As such, the nobles—only six in total—gathered in the castle for the last time beside Alfred.

That, of course, was the official reason shared with the outside world.

The Round Table room.

Originally a space for the committee to consult with the king regarding state affairs, Alfred entered last alongside Viktor.

“I’ve read the letter, and seen it from outside the castle, but—”

The vintage round table arranged in the room.

A round, rotund man with a crown sat at the head and murmured.

“Look at you; you’ve lost so much weight.”

“And you, Your Majesty, seem to have gained weight.”

“How dare you!!!!!!!”

The king’s furious roar echoed off the walls of the sealed Round Table room.

Inamark, with wild hair and a beard standing on end, turned red with fury, stood up, and strode over to Alfred.

The dukes watching this tried to calm their racing hearts, feigned disinterest, or observed calmly.

Thud!

“I told you every time to drop that damned honorific! You just refuse to listen!”

“Your Majesty, there are other dukes here.”

“Damn it, I’m the king. Let them watch.”

Inamark, with a grin that read as if he had never done such a thing, threw an arm around Alfred’s shoulders and pulled him to the only empty spot at the round table, his own right side.

“Seems you and the Felwinter Duke are closer than I heard.”

Duke Ritchgold, whose white robe billowed out, pulled his hand from underneath and stroked his smooth chin, which resembled his face.

The round table symbolizes that everyone seated will be heard.

But even such a round table had a shotgun seat.

It was the spot to the right of the king.

It meant the king trusted that individual most.

So, while he tried to drop a light jab—

“Hmm? Of course! It’s been over ten years since I last saw my dear friend!”

With such a straightforward response devoid of noble rhetoric, the dukes collectively sighed.

“You’re still as blunt as ever.”

Viktor, standing behind Alfred, who sat to Inamark’s right, stared straight ahead and blurted out his feelings.

The dukes nodded at that.

Political maneuvering requires a little bit of rhythm.

Instead of glorifying words and eloquent speech, one could simply take things as they were and whatever was unmentioned could be assumed hereafter. There was no need to sugarcoat for those who really did it.

The peak of power seeking wealth and honor.

That was the reality for those seated at the top of the blue bloods.

“Ah, just forget it. Let’s be straightforward. A major incident occurred in the region during late autumn and early winter!”

Duke Southcoast, Brian, who otherwise looked like a classic pirate, sighed heavily and raised his prosthetic left arm, causing his flashy garment adorned with jewels to crinkle.

At that, the three dukes, including Alfred, who had spoken until now, raised their hands.

“I heard Southcoast was attacked by Falkenstein, and Ritchgold was hit by Garfield.”

Alfred lowered his hand and asked the other three dukes. Inamark stroked his neatly trimmed beard while observing.

“Is everything else perfectly fine?”

“…Hmm. If we must count, there are some issues.”

The youngest duke at the round table, John, tapped his lips with uncertainty. His bloodshot eyes were fixed on the void.

“Livestock died in droves. At first, we thought it was just a plague, so we quarantined the afflicted villages.”

“That doesn’t seem to have sufficed.”

“The next outbreak occurred at the opposite end of the territory from the initial site; how was I supposed to prevent that?”

Torfenhau was a transportation hub adjoining all regions except Iceland and Southcoast, with many hills, knolls, and plains, primarily raising gentle monsters and common livestock.

Thanks to that, its transport and livestock sectors were the best in the kingdom.

Even the duke from such a place had no means to combat a livestock plague that sprang up randomly.

John’s bloodshot eyes indicated that he hadn’t had a moment’s rest as he dealt with the aftermath for over two seasons.

“No, originally, apart from Alfred Duke and surely His Highness, who prevented the incident, were there any?”

The other two elderly dukes, who had also thought merely that it was simply bad luck, swallowed their words and stroked their beards.

Though such occurrences in their territories were rare, they weren’t unheard of, but in hearing like this, they began to doubt again.

Both the dense primitive forest of Mirkwood and Ruinhenge, which were currently experiencing dungeon occurrences, had incidents arise around the same time.

“But you’re saying demons?”

“Yes. I found it utterly ridiculous, of course. While demons aren’t extinct and always cause headaches whenever they show up, could this really be the demons’ doing?”

Thud—

Inamark dropped a piece of tattered, translucent, gray leather on the table. The leather of a shapeshifter. The dukes sent glances of suspicion, curiosity, and questions about the reality of it.

Brian leaned on the round table with his prosthetic arm and glints of interest in his eyes.

“This… is the proof.”

“Feel free to examine it.”

“Then let’s take a look.”

“Viktor.”

In accordance with his master’s intentions, Viktor revealed the other shapeshifter skin he’d carried with him, and Brian snatched both up with a greedy look and gestures to admire the leather.

Southcoast, being the closest to the continent and boasting the largest port, had all the kingdom’s wealth concentrated and flowing there.

That meant a flood of fraud and counterfeits.

The duke of Southcoast, whose lies are a staple, was, therefore, known for having the sharpest observation skills in the kingdom.

“When did you discover this?”

“Last winter, at the northernmost tip of Iceland. Rumor has it they even infiltrated Afterglow Fortress.”

“When was the replacement of victims by shapeshifters estimated to have occurred?”

“About three years ago, I would say.”

“With a grand wizard’s guarantee, it can’t be false, plus the texture and color are clear. This is definitely shapeshifter leather.”

Having quelled the dukes’ doubts and suspicions, Brian threw the leather back on the table and turned to Alfred.

“Then tell me, how did you prevent the damage?”

Brian’s pirate-like eyes glimmered like gold coins.

“…Let me make it clear that everything I say from here is the truth.”

At that, the dukes, who had been sitting comfortably, straightened their postures. Inamark did the same.

“From what you can see, indeed, there were two incidents in Iceland. One was in a small village called Fungusbee.”

“But really, wasn’t Akusare Mushroom in production?”

“Regrettably, no. We have golemified mushrooms, but they only emit diluted scents.”

“How tragic.”

The collective sigh of disappointment could be heard from the king and the dukes, knowing one of the kingdom’s treasures had permanently vanished.

After all, they loved enjoying the Akusare Mushroom as well.

And as Alfred’s statements continued, the faces of the king, dukes, and the attendants standing behind them twisted with discomfort, save for the speaker and Viktor.

Having heard once, and with their no-lying guarantees, they couldn’t deny it, but both had indeed been far from ordinary.

The necromancer legend, the mythological material of the dragon Naglfar, and while it was a fungus, it yielded endless hordes of golems.

Commanding an army of thousands and tens of thousands of undead, the massive grizzly beaver akin to a swordmaster could easily devastate a small kingdom, all led by a sage-level black magic grizzly beaver and a grizzly beaver swordmaster.

There was hardly any common ground besides being undead in the two incidents, yet the fragment of the dragon Naglfar was personally retrieved by the gods—what a lament.

“Wait a minute. Alfred Duke.”

John interjected, uncertainty marking his bloodshot eyes.

“From what I’ve heard till now, wasn’t the grand wizard we brought in a couple of years back involved every time an incident occurred?”

“…Now that you mention it, it seems so.”

“That means, he might be actively causing everything…”

Ah, never mind. John mumbled his trailing thought, but the other dukes shared the same sentiments.

Getting envious about someone who managed to stop incidents over two seasons, it was definitely not something to be coveted or aspired to.

“Regardless, how can he be perfectly fine?”

Brian, unable to hide his incredulity, had his gapped-toothed mouth snap shut as he gaped.

“The mythical dragon’s avatar? A swordmaster leading the undead army?”

“…The former was suppressed in its infancy, and the latter is at Afterglow Fortress, right? Makes sense, doesn’t it?”

“No, I know an insane old man was assigned there. Ah, Alfred Duke. There was no malice there.”

Answering Reid’s question, Brian waved his prosthetic arm. Alfred understood. Even with Richard as his father, he was unpredictable and beyond comprehension.

“Then, my lord. The purpose of gathering here is officially to deal with those that have caused us trouble, I assume?”

Duke of Mirkwood and eternally the grand wizard, the oldest duke, Beregrin, squinted one eye and fixed his gaze on Inamark.

“And soon, we’ll have the Crystal Jubilee. During that period, any disturbances from Bendleig can get buried under the festival’s heat. Am I correct?”

“Correct.”

“Then, for now, we have no immediate tasks.”

Clang! The only duke clad in armor, Duke of Ruinhenge, Hans, clapped his hands.

“So, shall we just enjoy ourselves and gather for casual chats every few days?”

“…We will conduct investigations for the signs, but generally, yes.”

“Then—”

Crash!

Just as Hans opened his mouth, everyone at the round table, led by Inamark at the head, naturally turned to the entrance of the Round Table room.

Hans attempted to speak, only to stop midway, curious about what caught everyone’s attention.

He soon understood the cause.

It couldn’t be helped.

“Wow, Your Highness!”

“Apppama—”

A baby clad in colorful attire, almost toppling over yet wiggling its short limbs, rushed in. The face of the maid watching the chubby little rear as it dashed into the room turned pale.

“Yikes!”

“That rascal! It should be nap time, yet it lingers in the maids’ chambers like a tyrant!”

Contrary to the reprimands, Inamark joyfully scooped up the child and set him on his lap, smiling happily as he looked around at the dukes.

“Well, in that case, let’s take a little break. You, go bring tea and refreshments. Lately, I’ve been feeling uncomfortable all day without tea time!”

The maid, instead of being scolded, followed the command and left.

Moments later, the door to the Round Table room opened again, and servants and attendants began setting up kettles, cups, and various snacks on the table.

A hot, fresh, and invigorating aroma began wafting up. Unanticipated, discomfort, indifference, subtlety, satisfaction. Four kinds of reactions silently overlapped on the round table.

Alfred’s thoughts, which he had felt a few times in Coldon prior, were that it certainly helped to wake one up.

However, that was as far as it went.

For purposes beyond that… not specifically?

‘Alraune’s Tear would be better.’

While calming his mouth on the dessert, which had a unique scent reminiscent of Mint’s Affair, Alfred noticed Beregrin, to his left, gesturing toward him.

“What is it, Duke?”

“Um, I apologize for being so obvious, but.”

“I’m fine. Please speak freely.”

“I’ve heard that your retainer, Sir Atanitas, has accompanied you. Could you arrange a meeting?”

Duke Beregrin Forester of Mirkwood, the once younger genius who broke Catherine’s record, now far closer to death than life, was desperate for instruction towards his next level just like a university student longing for freedom.

 

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