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Chapter 154
Procession of Silence
Ferda listened to her words.
"If you want to express regret over this situation, the Crisis Countermeasure Headquarters just needs to put forward someone they wouldn't dare touch."
At first he wondered if she meant Consillus, but soon realized that wasn't it.
Ferda reflexively frowned.
"Are you saying we should put His Highness the Gongwang forward? Is that what you want to say?"
W е́ b̊ňŏvеl̊ Ѐ n̊ u m ǎ
"It's shameless, but that's the easiest and fastest way."
Ferda was to become the Red Dragon's consort, and would become the State Secretary, but he was nothing more than a representative.
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He didn't stop at being a mere toy for the Gongwang's amusement.
That was the world's perception.
If the dragon herself stepped forward and spoke with authority on this matter, no one would dare utter a peep.
But that couldn't happen.
Ѐñ ů m̈ a . і̊ d
Ferda knew her from the ball.
She couldn't go to places with many people.
Afraid that recalling her past wrongdoings would make her slip up.
Afraid she'd cause trouble for Ferda.
Dilarang mengopy novel dari Enuma.id.
Ferda had thought she was simply struggling psychologically.
But it wasn't a matter of psychology.
Е̃n ümа . і_d̃
'It's an actual thing.'
If not for Malcolm, he wouldn't have realized there was an impure seed actually trying to destroy her.
It was like that even at the Spring Festival, so what about a public hearing?
If those who treated her like a house guard dog lost their fear and tried to tame her, Ferda didn't know what he'd do then.
"Garnet."
Ferda cast his gaze toward Garnet.
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Garnet, meeting his eyes, flinched in surprise.
"Don't bring up that talk again."
"...I apologize."
That suggestion itself was tantamount to Ferda's reverse scale.
"We'll resolve this with our own hands. That won't change."
"Understood."
Е̌ n.u.m̌ а .i_d̊
Leaving the easy path behind, Ferda built his strategy.
Misinformation spread through Baron Giyot.
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Internal intelligence gained through Helus, who pretends to be a sage.
Through those, seize the advantageous high ground.
To give her a bright future, Ferda had to endure that darkness.
Even if it meant taking on a terrible stigma.
Ӗ n̈ ū m̄ ӑ._і d́
* * *
"Lord Ferda."
While working, Ruri called him.
"I've brought the item Master promised before."
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Finally!
Ferda threw aside his work and stood up.
Ŵеb̊ nоv е̊ľ Е n ů mа̊
She brought a portrait as big as her own body and set it before Ferda.
The item he'd promised to give when she returned safely.
It was Valdrova's portrait.
"Did you really request this painting?"
Ruri asked with a disbelieving expression.
Ferda nodded.
Dilarang mengopy novel dari Enuma.id.
"I wanted this painting."
"There are many other items, so why this one specifically?"
"Just had a feeling."
Ferda evaded without explaining in detail.
Ruri glared with a displeased expression, then spoke.
"Do you know what kind of portrait this is?"
Ẃ е b ňӧ vе̌ l̃ Е̂ n̄ um̄ а̄
"I know it's an item to show to her first fiancé."
"Yes. The first time she showed her face to another, and asked it be drawn exactly as her expression."
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"Meaning it's an unretouched true-to-life painting?"
"Yes."
Usually, paintings to hang in the family undergo various retouches.
For instance, if someone's too fat, they'd make the waist thinner.
Е n úm̄â
If bald and unsightly, they'd make the hair lush.
"I see, so that's why you wanted it this badly..."
"What's that?"
"There's such a thing."
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Must be some trivial reason.
Ruri didn't press further.
Еńuma . і d
"Anyway, I'll arrange a restorer."
"Restorer?"
"It's torn, so it needs restoration, doesn't it?"
She asks back as if stating the obvious.
But Ferda had no intention of calling a restorer.
"No, this is enough."
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Ruri stared at Ferda with eyes full of deep disgust.
"If you intend to hang a torn painting, I'll oppose it even if you beat me to death."
"No need to worry. I won't hang it in public."
"..."
"Take it with you."
Ruri watched Ferda's figure receding with the painting.
W̆ e̊bn̊ ӧ v̊ ěľ Е̊ńǔ ṁа
If not in a public place, she knew where he'd put it.
That deep, dark place that's annoying to pass by—he intends to put it there.
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* * *
Ferda went to the place he used as his training room.
Dark and gloomy, just big enough to sit in—the room was narrow like a prison.
Training consisted only of manipulating shadows in a darkroom where no light entered, for his mana cultivation method.
W еb̂ n о̄ v eĺ Е n̊ um̊.а̂
So instead of flashy equipment like other mages, just a chair and a candle box.
The third item brought into that darkroom was Valdrova's portrait.
Ferda hung the large painting in its designated spot.
Ferda stepped back slightly to examine the condition.
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"...Good."
The angle, height, everything was perfect.
Ẁе̌b́n о́ vеl̀ Е̊n̊ůma
The portrait occupied half the wall, filling one side completely.
Ferda, having checked meticulously like enshrining an ancestral shrine, examined the painting closely.
'Amazing...'
Up close you only see paint marks, but step back a little and Valdrova appears vividly.
It feels like she'll jump out any moment saying 'Mr. Ferda' and come trotting over.
She must have summoned the most outstanding painter of that era.
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Right.
Because it's a master capable of capturing everything, it feels this vivid.
To know that, he desperately wanted this painting from her.
Valdrova ultimately listened to that request.
Receiving the painting and watching it this closely, he understood.
'Desire.'
Е n̂ùm а
This painting contained a fragment of Valdrova's desire.
Her life that she'd never reveal even after dozens of conversations was embedded in it.
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Because it was raw, her feelings came through clearly.
Contained in those small smiling lips.
Fear of first experience.
Thrill of companionship.
Е nům а̇
Hope.
But the wish she anticipated wasn't fulfilled.
The first fiancé, the Third Prince, only thought of using Valdrova as a tool.
Trampled pure heart.
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Betrayal of expectation.
Despair.
E.ñ u mа . і̆d̀
So Valdrova killed the Third Prince.
To toy with a dragon was truly deserving of death.
But if Valdrova had been in her right mind, she never would have committed such murder.
She was consumed by the blood qi that made her unstable, and thus killed the Third Prince.
That's why that ghost lingers by Valdrova's side.
Like after the Dragon-Demon War.
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"As expected..."
She said this.
"Someone like me shouldn't be happy."
After killing so many people, and surviving at that.
To think she could throw everything away and marry a human in such an unsightly way.
Valdrova resented her naive self.
Е n u ṁ_ã.í d
Loathed herself.
Was angry.
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Ferda placed his index finger at the edge.
Like she did, he drew a diagonal line across.
Erased her naive eyes that took sin lightly.
"Ugh..."
W̌ е̂b̀ n о̃ v ēl̄ Ӗ n̊ ǔm̃ӑ
Ferda's body swayed.
As if someone was choking him, breath blocked, and simultaneously Ferda's eyes grew moist.
Tears flowed down.
Expression didn't change a bit, yet those tears fell hot.
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The Shadow Circle in Ferda's chest thrashed wildly.
'I...'
Е̇_n̂ u m̊ а́. i̇d́
The emotion moving the Shadow Circle is only one.
'I killed such a woman.'
Regretted.
Loathed himself for killing such a naive, pure woman drowned in misguided hatred.
Ferda feared that regret.
If you regret, you can't move forward.
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'But if I don't regret, I lose my way.'
That was why the First Witch, Lucy Philiaz, called it a blessing.
This painting, because he regretted, will become a lantern for the man she loved.
A single strand of darkness that lets him see beyond that light when trapped in deep polar night.
* * *
The day of the post-war conference at the Golden Congress.
È ňǔm̀à
"Soon the nobles will proceed with the admission ceremony."
Alexander's deputy commander reported.
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"I know. I'm watching with my own two eyes right now, aren't I?"
Alexander had entered the Golden Congress early and was watching everything from the balcony.
Countless people lined the path into the Golden Congress, and he watched the nobles' admission.
The five supreme councilors of the Crisis Countermeasure Headquarters.
Ŵ еbn ō v ē l Èn̊ u̇ m̈а
All four wielded influence inside and outside the empire, but only one could gather a crowd this size.
Valdemar Golt.
Hero of the people, the unshakeable great pillar of the Arken Empire.
He captivated the hearts of nobles and commoners with intense charisma, and even pulled his rivals to his side.
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'If only I could have that old man's greenhouse...'
Alexander believed his power lay in the greenhouse.
Е̄n ù m̀ ӑ. і̊ ď
No matter how long he lorded it over others, before death all is equal.
Even Alexander now trembled at tomorrow, losing sleep at night.
He tilted the scales of death that even high priests couldn't touch.
That's why his eyes overflowed with vitality even in old age.
"...Are preparations done?"
"Yes, we've stationed instigators in the middle of the procession."
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"Good."
Alexander gripped the cup he held tightly.
He'd shaped public opinion for this day.
Created one-sided hatred, and inflated that hatred.
"When Regent Ferda enters, we'll start the incitement."
Once madness starts, it becomes uncontrollable.
W̌ ёḃ nо̀ vѐ l _Е n̊ ùṁ ӓ
Criticism and resentment pouring in like a flood.
Whether they feel guilt or anger there.
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Making them emotional before entering the Golden Congress was the priority.
For Ferda, there'd be no way to handle it.
"Regent Ferda will arrive soon."
Alexander opened his eyes wider than ever.
Е̃ ǹū m̄ а́
He only hoped to see them swept up in the criticism they'd receive.
But the moment they revealed themselves, Alexander's smile froze.
It was too different from the direction they'd anticipated.
* * *
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The royal capital.
Nobles make a fuss saying the road there smells of flowers.
Е̄ n̆ u m̊ а̃.
Ferda too had a time when he was a child who blindly believed the rhythm of those frivolous things.
He wanted to go to the royal capital following his father.
Wondered what kind of scent that flower fragrance would be.
Would it be a warm scent like his mother's?
But what reached the nose of the man who'd killed an angel and wasted away was far from flowers.
If you call that flowers, it's undoubtedly a flower that lures flies loitering in a sewer.
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Back then he didn't know what that smell was, and didn't care much, but now he could tell.
Garnet said the empire is a jar where stagnant water rots.
Yeah, that's the smell.
Smelling it now, he was certain.
The nobles' procession gathering at the Golden Congress continued.
Since it's where those wielding influence inside and outside the empire gather, showing off was natural.
Ẅ е b nо v̄ е_l̈ Е̊ ńů m̄ȧ
'For what?'
Ferda couldn't understand.
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Why they had to dress up like this to enter.
Citizens cheering while watching nobles enter the Golden Congress.
Everything was something that didn't happen by common sense.
"Count."
Ẃе̄ b n̈ov̀el Еnum.а̊
"Yes, Regent-nim."
"Do those people there know what's happening inside?"
"The only thing they know is one."
"What is that?"
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"What they know is that today someone dies, and justice is realized. That's sweet rain in their parched lives."
"And they just hope the one dying becomes me."
Wе̌ b̂ ň o.v̌ е̂ l Ё.n̊ um̂ а̇
"That would be everyone's wish."
Everyone's wish...
Feeling déjà vu, nothing changes then or now.
"Prepare. We're entering now too."
"Yes."
Ferda had prepared for this situation.
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Consillus lent his knights to put strength behind Ferda's back.
Ferda's turn came, and he entered.
The splendid nobles' admission procession was suitably splendid.
Dressing up in ceremonial armor to show off to everyone was basic.
Riding a carriage with a leisurely smile was natural.
Ferda, atop the carriage, didn't smile.
Ěn̆ um̌а
Consillus accompanying beside him didn't either.
And not even the knights following behind.
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Ferda's procession was a dreary gray light.
A gloomy light never before seen in the empire.
On the colored stone pavement, gray and blotches seemed to walk.
They felt like defeated soldiers returning.
Е̌ n u m̈ a
But they weren't defeated soldiers.
They were unmistakably those who'd charged to kill colossal monsters, who'd roamed battlefields and reported victories.
They blatantly showed the appearance of soldiers who'd suffered atrocities never before shown in the empire.
They'd all nearly lost their lives, and all watched someone being lost.
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Someone's close friend, someone's subordinate, someone's family.
Their commonality was that they advanced even in such situations.
Е ň ú ḿ ã . і d
To protect what was behind them, they entrusted their bodies to the fear of death and the wave of madness the battlefield spewed.
That's why someone lost half their helmet, someone's breastplate was deeply dented near the heart.
The only intact thing was the flag the standard-bearer held.
Even that, the only thing shining most brilliantly was the empire's flag alone.
The watching crowd didn't cheer.
And didn't criticize either.
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Those who'd screamed to kill the Far East shut their mouths, and the instigators fell silent too.
They know moving in this atmosphere is madness.
They'd all been to battlefields where death lurked,
And were patriots who'd fought for the empire,
So everyone just paid silent tribute to the fallen and wounded with bowed heads.
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