Edmund and Isabelle meet again.
“Very well, then please invite him to tomorrow’s luncheon.”
“…Understood. Will the other nobles be arranged by the Marquis’ side?”
“Yes, I’ll handle it myself. So there’s no need for you to worry.”
Though the tone seemed considerate, Edmond’s eyes were sharp. It was a clear message not to interfere with the nobles attending the banquet.
Isabelle couldn’t help but click her tongue inwardly.
“…Jeez.”
Could he still be suspicious? Or was it a warning?
She mulled over various thoughts but said nothing, simply nodding.
“Fine, then I’ll inform Prince Glenn.”
“You certainly should. By the way—judging by the duel, you seemed quite upset afterward, is that right?”
A rather uncomfortable question.
Isabelle involuntarily blinked.
“…Yes, he said he didn’t like the way the duel was conducted. As you know, it was by Lepent custom.”
“Duel style, huh… If it’s by Lepent custom, it probably ended with a beheading. No doubt about it. Truly barbaric scoundrels.”
“From what the princess says, his personality is usually a mess too, so I’m sure it must have been hard on those around him.”
…Who exactly does she think she knows?
Isabelle felt a flash of irritation but once again held her tongue.
“Well, I suppose that’s to be expected.”
“Hmm, in any case, I will consider our alliance sealed with this. Cooking that troublemaker tomorrow will be our first task.”
The purpose of this alliance was clear. To sever the bond between Glenn and Arian by exploiting his resentment.
“Then, I look forward to working with you, Princess.”
Edmund extended his hand. At that moment, Isabelle recalled the first day when she had rejected his handshake.
Is this a special permission because it’s necessary now?
…He really is a frustrating man in every way.
Contrary to expectations, she smiled faintly and grasped his hand without hesitation.
“Yes, I look forward to working with you.”
Edmund must think he’s controlling the entire situation right now. Using both her and Glenn, sketching out this grand scheme.
He’s probably feeling excited and triumphant inside—like he’s the hunter controlling the prey.
“Haha, it feels good, doesn’t it?”
But it was an illusion.
This man had already been caught in the spider’s web.
Yes, the ‘hunter dancing on the spider’s web.’
“I feel the same way, hehe.”
Though the enemy’s eyes glowed with a chilling light, the other party didn’t notice it at all.
Another wyvern had finally been caught in the trap.
***
After the second meeting with Edmund, Isabelle returned along the planned route. The alliance with him had been established, but her expression was far from bright.
The reason was clear.
It was because of the terse conversation with Glenn that morning. The dialogue had ended with emotions left unsaid. Neither expected kind words right away, so they agreed to meet later.
Perhaps that was why Isabelle’s mood wasn’t particularly good—even if only in empty words. No, it was rather bad.
Step, step.
Her slightly annoying footsteps echoed through the corridor. A familiar figure quietly followed behind.
“Sasha, how is the prince?”
“He’s interacting with the others.”
“…Did he look okay?”
“…He didn’t seem particularly happy.”
Could he still be angry?
Had she acted too rashly?
…Did that person feel some slight regret as well?
“Sigh, I’m not a teenager going through mood swings.”
“Huh?”
“Just saying.”
Isabelle shook off her worries with a sigh.
Now was not the time for this.
“Princess, I’ve been informed that the Empire’s envoy will be arriving shortly.”
“I see. The Brownstein family’s Count Oswald, was it? Any news on him?”
Sasha wore a slightly uneasy expression.
“Nothing major, but he has a rather poor reputation.”
“Why? Is he also a troublemaker, or why is he called the ‘Devil’?”
Isabelle asked with a bitter smile, but Sasha’s face remained stiff.
“Not exactly, but he seems to be a typical troublemaker.”
“Really?”
Isabelle’s expression naturally darkened.
As a princess of the kingdom, she couldn’t just ignore an imperial envoy.
Moreover, her father was away for a while now, likely dealing with Count Raoul’s incident behind the scenes. Britani also occasionally showed up at parties but didn’t seem well.
This meant that hosting the guest this time was inevitably her responsibility.
“Sigh—why is it always these kinds of people I have to deal with?”
A sigh escaped naturally.
***
“The arrival of Count Oswald of the Brownstein family—what? Why is that?”
The usual announcement of the guest’s entrance was abruptly cut off by the herald’s voice. It was an uncommon event. The herald was never careless.
From the unopened door, someone seemed to be talking to the herald.
“Ha, but that’s a procedure allowed only for royalty…”
“What? What’s going on?”
“Looks like someone from the Empire is giving the herald a hard time.”
The prolonged entrance sparked murmurs among the waiting nobles. At the same time, a frown crept onto Isabelle’s forehead.
Her partner quietly asked beside her.
“…What is it?”
Fortunately, Glenn quickly apologized to Isabelle the moment he saw her. He said he had spoken rashly earlier in his emotional turmoil and admitted he was more sensitive than usual now.
Isabelle had also apologized to him for her own recklessness.
“Indeed. But why does this feel so ominous?”
She answered calmly, but the two were awkward around each other. Although apologies were exchanged, the resentment had not entirely disappeared.
But neither Glenn nor Isabelle was foolish enough to let emotions interfere with their duties. Resentment was one thing; what mattered was what had to be done now.
“Excuse me? The Empire’s way of entry? That is—”
The doubtful herald’s gaze flitted here and there before meeting Isabelle’s eyes. At that moment, Sasha quietly approached and whispered.
“They are requesting the entrance protocol to be according to the Empire’s style.”
“What? What does that mean?”
Isabelle asked, bewildered.
Sasha’s expression was somewhat uneasy.
“I think they want to draw attention…”
Did they want to be treated like royalty at a foreign martial arts assembly under the pretext of being an imperial count?
Though irritated, Isabelle nodded toward the herald. They couldn’t simply expel the envoy for such a reason.
“His Imperial Majesty’s gracious guest, Count Oswald Brownstein of the Brownstein family, is entering!”
Finally, the door opened.
Appearing was a man with a scowl etched deep on his face.
***
Count Oswald entered slowly, unable to hide his displeasure. The entrance protocol was far more inadequate than he expected.
Shouldn’t these things have been prepared in advance before he even spoke?
Such poor treatment for a noble of the great empire?
“Arrogant merchant scum.”
Arian was practically a vassal state of the Empire, wasn’t it?
If so, then Oswald, a noble and envoy of the Empire, was arguably on the same level—or perhaps even higher—than Arian’s royalty.
Clap, clap, clap—
Formal applause followed his entrance, but the atmosphere was far from welcoming.
Maybe because many nobles were from humble merchant backgrounds and lacked proper etiquette.
With a nasty expression, Oswald walked forward and locked eyes with someone.
“Welcome, Count Oswald. I am Isabelle Stauffen—the princess of Arian—welcoming you on behalf of my father, who is currently indisposed, so I must stand in his place…”
Isabelle greeted him radiantly. Count Oswald momentarily zoned out, admiring her appearance.
“Hmph.”
Black hair like blades, piercing red eyes, and pure white skin.
As expected—or rather, beyond expectations—she was a beauty. It was a shame she was stuck in the small state of Arian.
“Well then… not bad. Certainly enjoyable.”
Oswald curled one corner of his mouth. His gaze roamed here and there, traveling down from her face along her neck and chest—and then paused for a moment.
“…Count?”
The blatant stare made Isabelle frown slightly. His lingering gaze at her chest was too long.
“…Hmm? Ah, it’s a pleasure. I am Oswald Brownstein, a count of the Empire and envoy.”
“Yes, I look forward to working with you as well.”
Isabelle naturally extended her hand for a handshake, but Oswald merely bowed his head. His expression twitched slightly.
“And this is Glenn, the Grand Prince of the Republic of Lepent?”
She tried to introduce her partner but stopped mid-sentence when her eyes fell on Glenn’s face.
Oswald’s gaze on him was—
Thud.
Terrifying.
His eyes wide, veins visibly bulging around them as he glared at the count. His mouth was tightly clenched and trembling slightly.
A harsh breath, his face flushed.
It was like meeting an enemy—an archenemy.
“Prince? Are you alright?”
Isabelle asked with concern, but he didn’t hear a word.
No, he heard one voice.
[That bastard, that bastard! That son of a bitch!]
[Rip him apart! Kill him, kill him, kill him!]
Inside Glenn, Riclang was rampaging madly.
This was not his first time seeing Count Oswald in this life. Though it was his first time in this incarnation, he had met him in a previous one.
How could he forget?
This was the man who had a hand in the destruction of the Republic of Lepent.
***
“The Empire will never abandon the Republic of Lepent!”
“…Is that true, Count Oswald?”
“Of course, Duke. The republics are the guardians of the Empire’s border. How could the Empire abandon them?”
“If that’s what you think, then we are fortunate.”
“Please trust us and hold the defensive line. The Northern Legion will never retreat. Together, we shall repel those filthy orcs! This is the will of His Imperial Majesty.”
“His Majesty?”
“Yes. He even sent me a personal letter. His Majesty hopes the republic will guard the borders alongside us. This is truly for the continent’s sake. In the face of such a catastrophe, we must put aside previous personal grudges and cooperate.”
“…Very well. I shall trust both your words and the Emperor’s will.”
This was the final conversation between the Lepent Duke and Count Oswald Brownstein, the imperial envoy. Soon after, the orcs launched a full-scale invasion of Lepent.
The Empire immediately withdrew its forces.
Betrayal.
It was merely a stratagem to fully withdraw the remaining Northern Legion stationed there. As a result, the Republic of Lepent was surrounded with no place to retreat, leading to its destruction.
***
This was the story of the previous life.
Was the republic’s fall entirely the count’s fault?
No, not entirely. He was just a pawn.
But was he entirely innocent?
No, he was not. The count had come to deceive the Republic of Lepent.
How was this certain? Because she had confirmed it herself. Yes. In the Riclang era, she personally hunted him down and killed him.
[After all, he’s already dead once! Kill him now, right now!]
Riclang shouted inside her mind, echoing loudly.
Her vision naturally narrowed.
Isabelle seemed to be speaking, but no sound came out.
“…Sir?”
Memories of the past crept onto Count Oswald’s face. Veins twitched, popping out.
Unconsciously, Glenn placed his hand on his waist.
The dagger he had been carrying was gripped tightly, and he naturally imagined plunging it deep into that pig’s neck.
Bang.
The impulse grew even stronger.