“Hey, Count.”
The threatening green eyes scanned the terrace’s interior. A pig trembling instinctively in fear.
Riclang’s lips curled into a split smile, as if drooling.
“W-what do you think you’re doing!”
“Why? I haven’t even done anything yet.”
“I-I’m just trying to scare me right now—”
His rambling was cut off; Count Oswald’s unease was reaching its peak.
The green glare from before still sent chills down the spine.
Was the rumor about the green-eyed demon really true?
“Stop making such a ruckus. If the rightful owner wakes up, you’ll be in big trouble, got it?”
Riclang was in high spirits.
Glenn had been pushing his limits with both potions and blood magic, so Riclang had hoped his chance to strike would come someday—
He never imagined it would come so perfectly timed.
Daring to secretly threaten Princess Isabelle at the Arian Grand Ball? Unlike the foolish count’s thinking, this was a strong justification for immediate execution.
Yes, this was the perfect legal opportunity to crush this pig thoroughly.
“This bastard hasn’t slept properly lately. Yet he’s been gulping potions nonstop—do you think his body can hold up? Huh?”
“What nonsense are you babbling on about alone! Stop right now—ugh!”
Thwap!
Before he could finish, Riclang forcefully covered the count’s mouth. The count couldn’t resist such brutal strength.
“The clicking sounds are annoying. You’ve always been like this. You know what? Back then, your cries were… hmm, quite melodious. I wonder how this time will be?”
With unsettling casualness, Riclang bent one of Oswald’s fingers back.
Crack!
“Aaaah!”
“Hm, just as I thought. This kind of scream suits a pig like you.”
“Y-you still think you’ll survive this?! I am a respected noble of the Empire—cough!”
Overreaction!
This time Riclang punched him in the face so fast that Oswald’s nose bone caved in. Riclang held the count’s face, locking eyes with him.
“Such a tired excuse. Hey, think about it—do you really think you’ll survive? Hmm?”
“I-I—ugh.”
“There are people who hesitate out of fear of the consequences. But there are also those who don’t. Which kind do you think I am? Hmm?”
Even without asking, those green eyes made it clear. This reckless demon doesn’t care whether the opponent is a count or even an emperor.
The typical look of someone who has nothing to lose and no one to answer to.
No, he was much more vicious and savage than that.
The count sensed he had gotten himself into serious trouble.
His instincts were sending out danger signals.
He had to get out of this situation somehow.
He just needed to get outside the terrace!
“W-wait!”
“You’re saying—drunk and brazen, you dared to threaten Princess Isabelle. And I was about to stop you. But by accident, you slipped and fell off the terrace.”
“T-that’s nonsense!”
“Playing innocent now? Doesn’t matter anymore. If I say so, that’s how it is. What are you going to do about it, hmm?”
A smile that seemed to say this was the most fun he’s had in a while.
The count’s unease now began to bleed into outright terror.
“I-I’ll pay! How much do you want? Fifty, a hundred gold? Two hundred? Lepent is rich, so surely it would help—agh!”
Crack!
Another finger snapped like paper.
Already the third time.
“Your words are irritating. Still not in your right mind, huh? Good, very good. That’s what makes breaking you so satisfying!”
This wasn’t sane behavior.
He’d heard rumors that Prince Glenn had gone mad—but never expected it to be this bad.
Desperation filled the count’s eyes.
“P-please, spare me!”
There was no room left for pride.
The absurd plan mentioned earlier—this madman in front of him would definitely go through with it.
A certainty beyond mere instinct.
Yes, the certainty one feels when life stands at death’s door.
“Ha ha ha! Beg me for your life? You think I’m going to kill you? Nah, that’s not it. I sincerely want you to live as long as possible. Truly.”
Riclang’s palm was stained with dark red blood.
Darker and thicker than the blood Glenn usually manipulates. Unclean, unsettling—the only fitting way to describe it.
“Spare me—ugh!”
Thwap!
Once again, the brutal hand covered the count’s mouth. Slowly, the dark blood spread into the count’s body.
“Don’t worry. I’m in charge here. Soon enough, you won’t be begging to live anymore. Really. It happened before, too. You were crying out, ‘Please spare me, please spare me,’ but—”
Wooosh!
‘Burning Bloodstream.’
A blood magic technique that regulates the temperature of the opponent’s blood vessels. Not suitable for combat.
Yes, it is purely meant to torment the victim.
In other words, it was Riclang’s own invention of a torture blood magic.
Its effectiveness was certain, already proven through countless victims.
“Kyaa!”
Oswald’s body began to heat up gradually.
At first, it was just a rumbling sensation gathered around his temples and neck, but soon his skin turned red as if aflame. Gasping for breath, his heart pounded wildly.
“Kuh-huh! Gurgle….”
His muscles tensed little by little, his whole body began to tremble. His vision blurred, and his mind grew foggy. He wished to lose consciousness to escape the pain—but instead, the agony sharpened with clarity.
He was in hell.
Watching the count’s eyes fade in color, Riclang felt delight.
“- Later on, you begged me to kill you. Begged, ‘Please end my life.’ Won’t it be the same this time? Heh heh, anyway, please, I hope you last as long as possible. Endure with all your might, I mean it, friend.”
The count writhed in agony, locking eyes with the green glare.
There was no escape.
Like prey staring into the mouth of a snake.
“P-please… gurgle….”
A cold laugh echoed.
For a very long time.
***
Isabelle immediately approached Contrat and explained what had just happened. Though busy with other matters, his expression gradually darkened as he listened.
“What? Is that really true? That some insignificant imperial count dared to harass my daughter?!”
“Please calm down, Father. It was an attempted offense—”
“Do you think I’m calm?! Where is that filthy bastard right now?”
Slamming his armrest in genuine fury, Contrat’s rage boiled over.
No matter how much he normally judged people based on ability and was cold, this was different because it involved his own blood.
And to think a petty imperial count would dare touch his daughter?
That was a direct challenge to him personally.
Contrat’s unusually enraged demeanor left Isabelle slightly taken aback.
“H-he’s being held on the terrace by Prince Glenn right now.”
“Release the knights at once—”
“And he said to bring the guards as late as possible.”
“Late? What do you mean by that?”
Suddenly, Contrat recalled something.
Glenn’s maddened, obsessive rage against the Empire he had shown in front of him—the sickeningly sticky emotion.
The imperial executioner held captive by such a man?
A chill ran down Contrat’s spine.
“… You mean he’s going to kill him himself?”
“… Well, I told him not to kill him, at least.”
“What did he say in response?”
“That he sincerely hopes this guy won’t die easily.”
Contrat frowned deeply.
Trying to make sense of the current situation.
The Red Sword, the physical dismantler, the demon of death called ‘Niran’—these were no empty titles. From countless reports, he vaguely knew just how ruthless Glenn was.
“… Have the knights depart in ten minutes. Capture that count alive. Understood?”
“Shouldn’t we send them immediately?”
Isabelle asked anxiously.
It was obvious who she worried about—not the count.
“No, ten minutes. When a mad dog is biting, you don’t interfere.”
Right now, Count Oswald was probably tasting hell.
***
“Did you hear? Count Oswald had an accident falling off the terrace.”
“Really? How did he get into such a mess? Is he okay?”
“… No, it seems worse than expected. I heard he seriously injured his head. He can barely speak and his mind is muddled.”
“Oh dear, how did that happen?”
Unnoticed, the rumors about Count Oswald quickly spread throughout the Grand Ball.
The count, held captive by Glenn for a long time, was fortunately still alive. Yes, alive.
But not fully intact.
“… Hegh.”
His eyes were unfocused, drooling from his mouth, occasionally letting out strange cries.
Definitely not normal.
Typical reaction of someone turned into a vegetable.
Glenn’s words on the matter were straightforward.
“During a struggle with the resisting Count Oswald, he stumbled and fell off the terrace.”
Even so, there were many parts that felt suspicious.
First, the burn marks scattered across Oswald’s skin. It was better described as being ‘seared’ rather than merely burned.
Next, the count’s repeated startled reactions whenever he saw Glenn, triggering more panic—but since Oswald couldn’t speak properly, the truth remained unknown.
And then—
“As an ally of Arian and a close friend of Prince Glenn, anyone who slanders them will be charged with treason!”
Contrat’s order rang clearly.
And further rumors spread.
“… By the way, the terrace he fell from is the very place Princess Isabelle and Prince Glenn often used.”
“… What? What does that mean?”
“You know the young lady—Count Oswald is rather rude and ill-mannered.”
“I know. That disgusting attitude—I mean, wait, are you saying—”
“I heard he tried to do something to Princess Isabelle but got caught by Prince Glenn.”
“Good grief, what kind of madman is that?”
“Shh! Keep your voice down.”
These were rumors spread by Isabelle herself.
To defend Glenn, who had stood up for her.
Fortunately, when Isabelle saw Glenn again, he had returned to his normal state.
“… I don’t know how many times I’ve asked this, but are you really okay?”
“… Yes, I was a bit strange back then. But I’m fine now.”
“You should refrain from potions and blood magic for a while.”
“I agree.”
Glenn inwardly shuddered.
His consciousness had clearly been cut off once. And when he regained it, memories of what happened with Riclang flooded back.
As Isabelle said, it was caused by pushing his blood magic limits too far. He planned to follow her advice for the time being.
And so,
The eventful Arian Grand Ball came to an end.