2
—Yes!
Internally Subaru shouted, certain of their victory.
The sword in Abel’s hand was positioned to easily slit Zikr’s throat.
They had captured him perfectly. The operation was a success—achieved even faster than planned.
The original plan was to build up a reputation as performers in the city, get close to Zikr Osman, and ideally be summoned to his room or another secluded place where they could catch him off guard. Once he was captured, they would force him to order the soldiers in Guaral to surrender.
But that plan had been upended during the banquet.
“Subdue every officer in the city at the banquet.”
Abel had announced this change in plan right after they were summoned.
It was a high-risk, high-reward maneuver that would pay off immensely if successful. Subaru had agreed to it on the condition that they could revert to the original plan depending on how things played out.
I agreed, but I never thought it would go this smoothly.
“I will say it again, Zikr Osman. This is your loss. Surrender now and order your subordinates to lay down their arms. If you refuse, your glass will overflow with your own blood.”
Abel demanded surrender, but Zikr remained frozen—not with fear, as one might expect of someone facing death. Nor did he bear the resolute eyes of a soldier prepared to die. Instead, his expression swirled with confusion and doubt.
“Dancing girl, you… No, you are…”
The confusion surfaced in his eyes, as if he were witnessing something incredible. It was not the reaction of a man simply faced with a dancer.
At least, that was how it seemed.
“…gh! You damned traitors! Don’t you—”
One of the stunned officers snapped out of his daze and reached toward Abel. But before his hand could make contact, throwing knives struck his arm and leg—blades thrown by Kuna.
“Sorry, but the chief said to protect Abel’s face.”
The blades were mere table knives that Kuna had picked up during the dance.
Seeing her precise preemptive strike, the other officers hesitated. However—
“Don’t make me laugh! This isn’t enough to stop an imperial officer!”
The large man who had been hit yanked the knife from his arm and lunged forward.
Drawing his greatsword, he charged straight at Abel’s back, completely heedless of any wounds he might suffer.
“Abel!”
Subaru shouted in panic, seeing Abel standing there with his back exposed, still focused on stopping Zikr.
The greatsword swung down toward Abel’s back—
“…kh.”
In that moment, Talitta took aim with a bow she had seized from one of the men. She had already nocked an arrow, her green eyes glinting with lethal intent.
To stop him, she would—
“Don’t kill him!”
Just before she released the arrow, Flop shouted.
Her eyes wavered for an instant, throwing off her aim. Instead of striking where she had intended, the arrow pierced the man’s right shoulder. He collapsed with a cry of pain, but his sword slipped from his grasp and spun toward Abel.
It looked like it would split his head open—but it barely grazed the back of his head before embedding itself in the floor with a loud crash.
“…Ah.”
Abel’s braided hair came undone and spread out.
The blade had sliced through the hairband, causing the knot to unravel. No—more than that. The wig frayed and lost its shape, and the false black hair scattered to the ground, revealing Abel’s natural black hair.
With that, the soft, alluring impression of the performer vanished.
Standing in its place was the unvarnished, cold emperor.
“General! Get away—”
“Stop! Don’t resist!”
Zikr silenced the officer who was still thinking of resisting, even as the wounded man groaned on the floor.
With Zikr’s apparent cooperation, the most feared scenario—suicidal charges, soldiers ignoring all costs—was now off the table.
“Do I have your assurance that my subordinates will be spared if I do as you say?”
“That depends on your behavior, coward.”
“Gh…”
Zikr clenched his teeth, his face reddening at Abel’s merciless insult.
This humiliation cut even deeper than being outmaneuvered and captured.
“I’ve heard of you, Zikr Osman. Before they called you the skirt chaser, they called you the coward.”
“…A demeaning title unworthy of an imperial soldier. Is that why you chose this plan? Did you expect that I, who am scorned as a skirt chaser and a coward, would surrender to protect myself when threatened by a woman…?
If so, then there could be no greater humiliation.
If that were the case, Zikr might very well die from the shame alone.
But that was not the reason Abel had believed this operation would succeed.
“Though you do not get particularly remarkable results from your skilled, steady tactics, you are a strategist who limits the casualties your forces take. A skilled commander but lacking in aggression. And thus you were called a coward.”
“That’s right. That is it exactly. But…”
“You seem to be misunderstanding something.”
Abel’s eyes narrowed.
Zikr’s eyes widened, confusion plain on his face as Abel continued, still holding the sword to the general’s neck.
“Those who censured you as a coward were either bluffing in the face of your results or fools who could not comprehend them. Your nature is why I considered this operation likely to succeed.”
“…”
“You despise pointless losses. I judged that you, a strategist labeled a coward, would not resist in this situation… Will you disappoint me?”
Abel’s sharp gaze bored into Zikr as he questioned him.
To someone unaware of Abel’s identity, his reasoning might have sounded like nonsense. Trusting in an opponent’s supposed cowardice and using it as a basis for victory was absurd.
However, Zikr Osman was left breathless by Abel’s words.
A complex emotion flickered in his eyes. If one were forced to describe it, it was something close to surprise—almost verging on inspiration.
It was akin to the feeling of a maiden receiving a treasured gift from someone she has fallen for, a pure and almost innocent reaction…
“…I will put down all weapons. My subordinates, too. No exceptions.”
“A wise decision.”
Zikr obediently lowered his head, and Abel gave a quiet nod.
Even when he was dressed as a dancing girl, his presence was so solemn and dignified that no one could resist.
Their commanding officer having surrendered, the soldiers in the room followed suit, placing their weapons on the ground one after another.
And then—
“What are you dawdling about? Quickly go and burn the flag atop the roof.”
“Ugh? M-me?”
“You. Just you. You’re the only one who has done nothing since this started.”
Subaru blinked and pointed at himself as Abel glared coldly at him.
Subaru glanced around the room.
Kuna had subdued an attacker with her knives. Talitta had shot the man who drew his sword. Flop had kept the bloodless victory plan on track by preventing the man’s death. And Abel had forced the surrender.
Subaru, who had just sat on his butt while the chaos unfolded, was the only one who had done nothing.
“Quickly. Without Mizelda and the others, disarming everyone will be difficult.”
“U-understood! Eh, um, pardon me!”
Subaru hurried to the balcony and climbed swiftly up to the roof.
From there, he could see Guaral spread out beneath him in the night—a majestic sight.
In the cold wind, Subaru took a torch from the wall, raised it to the empire’s flag—the swordwolf flag—and set it ablaze.
This signaled that the fortress city of Guaral had been captured.
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