Re:Zero Kara Hajimeru Isekai Seikatsu (LN) - Volume EX5 - Chapter 2.20

20

“I believe the real aim of this disturbance is the emperor’s head,” Priscilla said, picking up the hem of her dress as she stepped over the body of the sword slave who had been standing sentry in the hallway.

“Damn, that’s some guess,” Balleroy replied, eyes wide. Just a second ago, he had been thrusting his spear through the sword slave’s heart.

The young man had to rush to clear a path for Priscilla, who proceeded ever more fearlessly, but he never voiced a word of complaint. With the tip of his spear dripping blood, he looked around and said, “It’s one thing to start a rebellion on the sword-slave island and demand their freedom in the face of the empire. They’ve actually done it, so I guess you can trust them on that. But how does he go after the emperor himself? You don’t think he’d demand the emperor’s head in exchange for releasing the hostages, do you?”

“No, I most assuredly don’t. Nor do I believe the emperor would make any decision that would put his own life in danger, unless perhaps it was the only way to take his opponent’s head…”

“Gosh, I dunno. I think maybe even that’s going a little far,” Balleroy said, scratching his cheek and smiling a little at Priscilla’s pronouncement. The bold girl’s words had force in them; if one listened to her without thinking very hard, it would have been all too easy to just start nodding along, to find oneself helplessly agreeing with her.

Still, the way she talked as if she knew the emperor personally really seemed like a bridge too far.

“Don’t you think that’s a bit of a leap of logic, Ms. Wife? The best they can hope for is to draw out the Nine Divine Generals—military representatives of the empire. I guess to be fair, it sounds like they may really be over there on that shore…”

“I see you’re at least able to put what semblance of intelligence you do have to work. Try this one, then: If the Divine Generals do show up, what happens to the island?”

“Well…I guess the rebellion fails, and the sword slaves are beaten into submission.”

Balleroy’s companion, the sword slave Gajeet, looked pained by how readily he said this—but it was a fact. The Nine Divine Generals, who stood at the zenith of the Volakian military, were not chosen like military commanders in other nations. Neither family background nor personality entered into the equation—in true Volakian fashion, only strength mattered.

As such, the sword slaves would be annihilated, every last one of them. That much was obvious.

“Yes, that’s a foregone conclusion,” Priscilla said. “Why, then, did their leader plan a rebellion he knew would be crushed?”

“Well, uh…he knew the Divine Generals would come out, and they would definitely destroy him…”

“Most definitely. However, that means that at that same moment, the generals will not be by the emperor’s side.”

“ ” Balleroy’s eyes widened again at what Priscilla was saying. He swallowed in spite of himself, chewed over the meaning of her words. Then he shook his head and said, “Naw, naw. I mean, I follow the logic, but one or two generals stepping out for a few minutes wouldn’t be enough to compromise the emperor’s safety. There’s nine of them—that’s why they call them the Nine Divine Generals! So why…?”

“Very well. Then suppose an upheaval were to occur that required the dispatch of all nine. Suppose something were to happen beyond what’s occurring on the sword-slave island.”

“You’re not sayin’…?” Was this a joint operation, meticulously planned in conjunction with something or someone else? “But that’s ridiculous,” Balleroy said, but once the possibility had been shown to him, he couldn’t get it out of his head.

The fact was that he and everyone else on this island was cut off from any information about what was going on in the outside world. Maybe there were insurrections like this one occurring elsewhere; they would have no way of knowing.

The emperor, though, would. If there were other outbreaks of rebellion, he would commit the forces necessary to subdue them. He would dispatch the nine generals who served him personally.

“The emperor is not a careless man, nor are his bodyguards. I doubt he would send all nine generals away at once. But nonetheless, they would be fewer in number than usual, and thereby, an opportunity might arise.”

“So all the sword slaves on this island are just a big sacrifice play?” Balleroy asked, licking his dry lips with a shudder.

A plan that took no account of the harm inflicted on those involved was more than worthy of praise. Someone had conceived a masterstroke, one that would require a tremendous number of sacrificial lambs to achieve its goal. But if Balleroy couldn’t hide the shiver that went down his spine, it was inspired not by the plan in motion, but Priscilla’s perspicacity in spotting it. How, he wondered, did the world look to those crimson eyes?

He was sure of at least one thing: that this young girl was condescending if she consented to be the wife of Count Jorah Pendleton.

“Hey! This is no freakin’ joke!” If Balleroy found Priscilla’s logic irrefutable, the same could not be said of one of the very pawns involved, Gajeet. His lips trembled, and his eyes blazed with anger. “The emperor’s head?! Who gives a shit about that? We just want—”

“To escape from the dead end you find yourselves in? Your prosaic motivations made it a simple matter to manipulate you. You should have tried using your heads first,” Priscilla said mercilessly.

“Hrn! Why, you little…!”

Gajeet turned his unsheathed saber on Priscilla’s neck. It was a powder-keg moment, but Balleroy just shrugged and said, “C’mon, now, that’s enough, Brother. Ms. Wife isn’t the one you should be angry at. Won’t get you nothing doing that.”

“Shaddap! So it won’t get me anything, will it? If you’re right about all this, then nothing will get me anything! Trying to free the island, that was one thing, but kill the emperor? We’re accomplices to that?!”

“Naw, the lady’s just guessin’. She doesn’t know for sure.”

“I told you to shut up, spearman. I know you’re just trying to talk me down. But I…I believed the runt earlier!”

This time, Balleroy didn’t answer the increasingly panicked Gajeet. The truth was, privately, he agreed with the sword slave: Priscilla’s perspective was likely the correct one. The enemy was probably out for the emperor’s head. And that meant that, whether they had known it or not, Gajeet and his companions had aided and abetted a conspiracy to assassinate the emperor. This wasn’t going to end well for them. The death penalty was almost a certainty.

“ ”

As much as he sympathized with Gajeet’s position, though, Balleroy closed an eye as he sank into thought. If he really tried, he could reach Gajeet with his spear from where he was standing. If he hit something vital—Gajeet’s neck or his chest, say—Balleroy could end his life with a minimum of suffering. But considering Gajeet’s skill level, there was a chance that he would escape a critical injury and have the opportunity to harm Priscilla in response. And Balleroy wanted to avoid any harm to Priscilla. Partly because those were his master Serena’s orders—but partly because of his own judgment.

He absolutely did not want anything to happen that would cause him to lose Priscilla.

His thoughts were interrupted by a sharp “What are you dawdling about for? What are you mulling over, Balleroy Temeglyph?” It was none other than Priscilla who spoke his name. She showed nothing less than total composure despite the blade at her neck. In fact, the flames still burned in her eyes as she said to Balleroy, “This world bends itself to suit me.”

“ ”

“As such, your own choices cannot harm me. I urge you to remember that.”

She was saying she was the very center of the world—and she said it so easily. Balleroy and Gajeet both swallowed, struck by the pronouncement. And the next instant—

“Hrrrahhh!”

“Gagh!”

—there was a husky shout, and a piece of rubble came flying in, striking Gajeet in the side of the head. He exclaimed with the impact, which was swiftly followed by a leaping figure holding another chunk of debris that slammed mercilessly into the sword slave’s head. Gajeet went down hard, his saber clattering as it skipped across the floor of the passageway.

“Huh! Turning a weapon on the high countess. I’ve never heard of such insolence!”

“M-Miles? Brother?” Balleroy said in shock. And it was indeed Miles who had just triumphed over Gajeet.

It was startling to see him there when he had been guarding Serena in the spectator seats. But Miles only glared at his astonished younger brother and said, “Fine work you did, standing around like an idiot! What if Count Pendleton’s wife had been hurt while you were dithering? What then, ya great bozo?”

“I’m not an idiot or a bozo, Brother…,” Balleroy said, his shoulders slumping. His older brother might have been shouting so angrily that spit was flying from his mouth, but at the same time, his presence started to relieve the sense of isolation that had been gripping Balleroy. The thought banished the clouds that had made it so hard to decide how to deal with Gajeet.

“They say even the biggest containers have lids that will close them,” Priscilla remarked when she saw how relieved Balleroy was. “Although I must say, your lid is a rather unpleasant-looking one.” There was a smile on her lips as she spoke.

Miles, joining them in what amounted to the middle of the conversation, didn’t understand what she meant, but Balleroy did. And she was right. His “older brother” had always made up for his own shortcomings.

“Never been much of a thinker. I’ve always let Miles be the brains,” Balleroy said.

“Hmm? What are you talking about? Bah, who cares! Young mistress, are you all right? The high countess has been worried!” Miles, mostly ignoring Balleroy, hefted Gajeet up off the ground and tried to see if Priscilla was unhurt. Gajeet was evidently still alive, for he groaned quietly, but his conviction had fled him.

“She sure is,” Balleroy said, grateful to Miles for intervening. “Not a scratch on her. Just like the high countess wanted!”

“Shut yer hole! I wasn’t asking you! Why should I trust you anyway? You were just standing there watching the enemy! The one who saved the young mistress from danger was me! Miles!”

“You are as bad as he is. This is no time to be squalling like a cat in heat,” Priscilla said, ending the debate. “I am not hurt. Now let’s go.” She promptly turned around.

Miles and Balleroy were about to follow her, but then Balleroy realized she wasn’t going in the direction of the island master’s chamber—the room where Jorah was being kept.

“Er, Ms. Wife? You won’t find Count Pendleton over there…”

“Don’t be ridiculous. My beloved husband can wait. Our enemies’ true aim might be the death of the emperor, but our most salient crisis is here on this very island. First, we must end this rebellion.”

“What’s that? They want to kill the emperor? W-wait— They want to what?! What are you talking about?!” exclaimed Miles, who was just catching up.

Balleroy ignored him. “All right, so what, then?” he asked Priscilla. If she was acting not to free Jorah, but to quell the uprising among the sword slaves, how did she plan to do that? Where was she going?

The answer was simple.

“That sword slave earlier gave us a fine demonstration. All we need to do is alert them to their situation.”