The Crown Prince Who Raises Alt Characters

#Chapter 381 Tyrant (8) - Command What is the most important requirement for successfully carrying out an assassination? The assassin's skill? A perfect plan? An inside collaborator? Of course, those matter. But they aren't the most important. The most important thing, the method that raises an assassination's success rate the most, is to prevent the target from being on guard in the first place. A dark night road. In the pitch-black field of vision, people stay on guard. A fierce battlefield. Even isolated with no allies nearby, people stay on guard. A person in power will be wary that the liquor they drink might be poisoned; a concubine in the bedroom will be wary that she might be an assassin come to cut their throat; and they will stay on guard while traveling by carriage, or when venturing out incognito. Because they're aware of the danger. Because such 'insidious' methods are hard to notice easily. Conversely speaking. In a court where hundreds of officials have gathered, surrounded by countless knights and soldiers, in broad daylight, no one stays on guard against a nephew who has no allies at all and is practically surrounded. With this many witnesses present, how could anyone harm the Emperor? With this much military force present, how could anyone swing a sword in front of them? Not only could it not succeed, but even if it did succeed, death would surely follow. If Alondre had openly rolled his eyes like a madman, they might have felt the ominous sense that 'this man might do something even at the cost of his own life,' but Alondre's words, conduct, and appearance were far too composed, far too dignified. The moment one felt the Emperor was merely starting to toy with words, to believe he would immediately swing a blade — it was simply too much to believe. That much alone was enough for the empire's Emperor to, absurdly, offer up his own neck. Gush, gush. The vassals stared blankly at the sight of the headless torso and the bodiless head each spewing out crimson blood. It was because it felt far too unreal. "I'll say it one more time." And as if urging them on, Alondre gave a light flick to the blade he held in his hand. Almost no one noticed that it was one of the weapons belonging to the guards who had moved to subdue Alondre not long ago, only to be stopped by Trisha. "If you intend to welcome the Emperor, bow. If you intend to welcome a traitor, come at me. Or, it isn't a bad idea to leave this place first and regroup. Either way works, for you, and for me." The reactions the vassals showed to Alondre's words in that moment were so varied that it was hard to describe them one by one. But at the very least, what Trisha could be certain of was that not a single person had bowed their head to welcome the Emperor. "...Well, bowing would make you a madman, I suppose." The instant after Trisha murmured that quietly, screams, wails, and furious shouts all erupted together like a bomb. "Hiiiiiiiiik!!" "Y-Your Majestyyyyy!!" "Treason, it's treason!!" Naturally, merely shrieking didn't change or solve anything. In that sense, the first to take meaningful action was the Imperial Guard. In particular, the knight captain's actions were swift. It was partly because his skill was the best among them, but also because he was the one who felt the greatest crisis in this situation. 'If I don't move now, it's over...!!' They were the Imperial Guard. The sword and shield that protected the Emperor. The strongest knight order of the Eizern Empire. Yet they had failed to stop the Emperor's head from being severed in broad daylight, in front of so many witnesses. They would unconditionally be held responsible, and if they were to have any room to make excuses, they needed to at the very least completely subdue the culprit. 'Cut off the arm.' He couldn't be killed outright, for now. It was unknown which of Mihail's own children would become the next Emperor, but whoever it was would, whether out of personal feeling or to secure legitimacy, surely want to personally avenge their father's killer. Even setting that aside, killing the culprit here would make the single target of resentment and hostility for this enormous disaster disappear, taking away the rallying point that could unite the others. Still, the reason he chose to sever the arm rather than a simple restraint — a method that could easily lead to death by blood loss — was that he hadn't been able to fully see the strike with which Alondre had just severed the Emperor's throat. From the fact that the distance between the culprit and the Emperor had been fairly far, and that the culprit's mana had spiked sharply for an instant before settling back down, he could guess that 'a swordsman below the 4th rank, normally unable to project sword aura outside his body, had momentarily burst his Energy to fire sword aura from the tip of his blade' — but there was no telling whether that guess was even true. Since an opponent who outwardly looked like 2nd rank, or at best around 3rd rank, had deceived the eyes of a knight captain at upper 5th rank, he couldn't feel at ease with mere restraint unless he cut off at least the arm beforehand. The moment the knight captain swung a blade loaded with aura at Alondre. Someone abruptly cut in between the knight captain and Alondre, catching his blade. "What?" The knight captain let out a dumbfounded sound for a moment. There were two reasons. One was that the person who had cut in was Derek, captain of the Golden Cloud Knights; the other was that, seeing he wouldn't be able to block the blade, Derek had gone so far as to attempt a mutual kill. Shhk! The knight captain, retreating with part of his robe sliced clean off, was so dumbfounded that he spoke up even in the middle of combat. "Derek. Have you truly gone mad?" The knight captain knew Derek's character well. An embodiment of political scheming. A man driven mad by greed and profit. His skill was barely worth calling a knight captain of the imperial household, but he was so adept at tightrope-walking and backroom dealings like bribery that he'd secured himself a position. And a man like that had protected, of all people, the one who had severed the Emperor's head? And on top of that, knowing full well he couldn't block it by skill alone, by resorting to a mutual stab? It was no wonder the knight captain found it absurd. They say people do things before death they'd never otherwise do, but wasn't this going too far? Having already opened his mouth, the knight captain kept talking, aiming at the very least to stir up some unease. "I don't know what calculation you're running or how, but step back right now. If it's now, this can still pass as a misunderstanding." Of course, it couldn't pass as that. To begin with, wasn't it none other than the Crown Princess who had forced the Emperor himself to step in and cause this disaster, when it should have simply ended with the soldiers subduing him at the vassals' level? Mihail's children, who held — no, were now about to hold — real power, would brand the Crown Princess a criminal, and in that case the Golden Cloud Knights would naturally become criminals along with her. "No, if you cooperate in capturing that traitor even now—" But if it could muddle the opponent's thoughts, there was no limit to how many empty words one could throw out. Derek was already someone who schemed a great deal, so by now, an opening should slowly be— An opening. '...should be showing by now, shouldn't it?' The Imperial Guard captain looked at the Golden Cloud Knights' captain. He looked into his eyes. A pale, murky pair of eyes like a rotten fish's stared back at him. "—Everyone!! Kill the traitor and everyone helping the traitor, all of them!!" The knight captain shouted as if in a fit. The idea that it would be better to capture the culprit alive, or any political considerations for afterward — none of that remained in his head any longer. He had to kill him. He had to kill him! No matter what means it took, he absolutely had to kill him! That wasn't a logical judgment, but the instinct of a warrior. That thing must not be allowed to live. Or rather, the 'something' capable of producing a thing like that must not be allowed to live. Upper 5th rank. The senses of a knight just one step short to beginning the journey to transcendence screamed exactly that. Was it that the desperation held in that voice had been sensed? The knights of the Imperial Guard rushed into the battlefield one after another, swords in hand. The Golden Cloud Knights also stepped forward as if to oppose them, but to begin with, the Golden Cloud Knights were a group inferior in skill to the Imperial Guard. There was no way a group clash could even be called a contest. "A3, G42, E6." Right after the traitor said something whose meaning couldn't be understood. Slash!! The heads of five among the Imperial Guard who had clashed with the other side flew into the air. "C17, F24, H5." The flank of a knight trying to pursue an enemy was pierced. "B19, K88, D4" The ankle of a knight retreating to regroup was severed. "M73, P12, J91" The body of a knight scattering aura was torn to pieces. "S35, X50, R8, L67" And before he knew it, only the knight captain himself remained. The knight captain thought. What is this? What is this, exactly? Group had clashed with group. His own side was stronger — whether individually or as a group, even down to the quality of their equipment. And yet his own side had been slaughtered one-sidedly, while the enemy had trampled them one-sidedly. His side had all died except for him, while the enemy had wounded, perhaps, but not a single death. It wasn't that they'd fought carelessly. It wasn't that they'd let their guard down. It wasn't even that they'd failed to think of a way to counter that damned spell, or code, or whatever it was. They'd done everything, and still been simply massacred. The knight captain looked at Derek. He looked at the other knights of the Golden Cloud Knights. He looked at their eyes — full of sheen, yet showing nothing within, as if they'd been stuffed and mounted like specimens. "What in the world are you—" Slash. His head flew off. His head, rolling across the floor like a liege he had failed to protect, looked up at the face of the Crown Princess looking down at him. The knight captain felt at ease. Ah, yes. Still, fortunately, in the end he was going having seen something beautiful rather than something frightening. Going while watching something like that moving stuffed specimen — that, he hated far too much. Flicker. *** Let's be honest. When Alondre had severed the Emperor's head just like that, Trisha had thought, for an instant, 'Ah, we're ruined.' Right. Assassination. It might succeed. But if it succeeds, what comes next? No matter how much legitimacy Alondre had, no matter how much the Emperor had gone around saying he'd pass the throne to his elder brother's children, the Emperor was still the Emperor. He had occupied the throne for fourteen years, and the current vassals were people who had grown accustomed to his reign. Would people like that simply obey if a 'legitimate' successor suddenly showed up, cut off the Emperor's head, and told them to follow him? Not a chance. Countless knight orders and soldiers stationed in the imperial palace would move, the court mages would step forward, and the surviving Imperial Princes and Princesses, along with all the civil and military officials, would all come to deal with these 'traitors.' No matter how outstanding Trisha's skill was, that wasn't something she could win against. Even with the Golden Cloud Knights under their command, it was no more than a sandcastle before a wave. If Alondre at least possessed specs on the level of an original 'Crown Prince,' they might be able to attempt guerrilla tactics, striking and retreating, but to Trisha's eyes, this Alondre was at best somewhere around 3rd rank — and even that was a body that could barely fight properly, as the aftereffect of forcibly manifesting sword aura, a power of the 4th rank, to attempt the assassination. There was no way to handle the aftermath. They were going to die. That was what she'd thought. "...What an idiot I am." Trisha let out a hollow laugh. What kind of person was her brother, Alondre Arcandel Eizern? A genius. But specifically, 'what kind' of genius was he? Swordsmanship? Magic? Literature? Art? Politics? The art of handling people? The correct answer was 'all of them.' "There's no way my brother's ability would become a big problem just because he's a bit lacking in swordsmanship or magic." The reason Alondre's personal combat strength stood out was simply because that was the most common path to reaching transcendence. But was the sword and magic truly all a monarch needed to learn? Was the education a Crown Prince received focused solely on those two things? Not at all. Of course, there were subjects like music or poetry where he'd only picked up a relatively 'light level of cultural refinement' and moved on. Even with boundless talent, the time one could invest wasn't boundless as well. But military strategy was one of the core fields a Crown Prince had to learn. So he studied it for a long time. And Alondre, without fail, was called a genius in military strategy as well. Decisively, while sword and magic were difficult to reproduce even with knowledge if one's body wasn't equipped to use them, strategy posed no particular problem as long as body and mind were sound — mana or the like wasn't even strictly necessary. Alondre wasn't particularly insane, nor had he acted recklessly. —He'd simply judged that if he could just secure the Golden Cloud Knights, he could take on the entire imperial household, and had rationally gone ahead with the plan. "Even analyzing it step by step, you still seem like a lunatic. Are you even human?" "Trisha. Your brother is human too, you know. If you keep insulting me like this, won't I get hurt?" "What? The fact that I'm not trembling and screaming, 'Eek! Monster! Go away!!' already puts me in the category of a good and proper little sister, I think." "Hm." Alondre fell silent. It seemed that even he found it hard to deny, now that he thought about it himself. When Trisha looked around, the imperial household had been cleaned up to some extent. Those who had called Alondre a traitor and come at him were all dead; those who had submitted or lost their wits lay prostrate on the floor, and some had fled. "The escapees — you let them go on purpose, didn't you?" "It's not as though blocking them would have properly stopped them anyway. Given that, I judged it more advantageous to let word spread quickly and accelerate the course of events." "Well, I suppose if speed is all that matters, it's faster to go ahead and smash through those who come prepared to deal with you, rather than dithering around without even grasping what's happening. But you're aware there's a huge problem with that plan too, aren't you?" To Trisha's question, Alondre answered. "—Yes. Now, a 6th Rank will come." (E/N: First batch for this arc. This arc seems to be relatively long, so maybe there will be three batch total)