5
Al frowned at the smell wafting into his helmet. This was his second time in the library, and the last time he was there, he’d had a similar reaction.
The air was stuffy and ripe with the distinctive odor of old books. Al might have been able to tolerate that combination, if not for the stench of perfume that had been heavily applied in an attempt to mask more offensive smells, and the person responsible, whose stench had seeped into the room beyond repair.
The resulting stink made others hesitant to ever enter the library.
“You’re late.”
His motivation already sapped by the fumes that greeted him, Al grew even wearier when the brusque voice barked at him. His zero motivation had dipped into the negatives. If this was a person he could afford to be rude to, he would have already escaped out the door long ago.
But the man before him was not magnanimous enough to laugh off such an action.
“You’re late.”
He repeated the rebuke without changing a word. Filled with contempt, the gravelly voice was seeking some response from the annoyed Al. Dissatisfied with a simple rebuke, he wouldn’t be satisfied until he had broken the man’s spirit. He was a very small man.
“You’re—”
“Do forgive me, my lord. Your house is so big, it took me a lot of door-opening before I could respond to your sudden summons. Oh—did you say something just now?”
In forcing a third rebuke out of the old man, Al earned an unabashedly ill-humored click of the tongue. Finding relief in that reaction, Al took another good look at the man in the library. The old man was surrounded by bookshelves on either side, and he sat at an ebony desk. Al heard the man was not quite seventy, but his energetic physique suggested a man of fifty. His eyes, brimming with vigor, played a big part in this, and his straight spine and muscled body made him look rather distinguished.
Though, the vulgar and selfishly materialistic personality contrasting with his appearance was lethal.
The old man’s name was Baron Lyp Bariel. He was the head of the House of Bariel and the husband of the red woman, Priscilla. Since to Al, he was formally the partner of the woman he pledged his sword to, it could be said that he was a man to whom Al owed his respect.
(Though, Al never considered him someone deserving of that respect.)
“I hear you’ve been indulging in the carefreeness of that girl, wandering about the lands daily.”
“And who do you mean by that girl, my lord?”
“Damn fool, who else would I mean—? My wife, Priscilla, of course!”
“Yes, of course. I mean, now it’s clear to me. You see, my mother told me that when a husband no longer calls his wife by her name, that means his affections for her have gone cold.”
In his mind, Al laughed at the fuming old man while he gave a random answer.
“I heard you’re a sword slave. Do you even remember your parents?”
“Contrary to popular belief, not all of Volakia’s sword slaves are born in the fighting arenas. Most of them became sword slaves as adults because they were in debt or they committed crimes. But if they’re the same age, they claw their way to the top by beating one another to a pulp. That’s the punch line.”
“Humph. Sounds like a scene a savage empire brute would like. I can imagine how awful their tastes are.”
To Al’s surprise, he found himself agreeing with Lyp’s scathing opinion. In all honesty, he did not want to remember his sword slave days. Al wasn’t suited to the daily grind of competing for power and glory in constant fights to the death. He had managed to miraculously survive, and now he savored his peaceful days.
“Well, I couldn’t care less about you right now,” Lyp grumbled. “Now, about Priscilla. That girl wanders the lands every day and does as she pleases—what do you think of this?”
“I think she has odd taste. It doesn’t exactly seem on-brand… That is, it’s not the way I’d imagine a dominion lord’s wife to behave. Then again, your subjects seemed to really get a kick out of it.”
“They get a kick out of it, you say… Humph, just morbid curiosity, that’s all. Well, that girl’s random idea brought one of the fields back to life. That’s enough to make my subjects worship her like a god. I already knew this, but there’s only so much stupidity a man can take!”
Lyp pounded his fist on the desk and ground his teeth in anger. Her popularity with his subjects had hit a nerve. That was easy enough for Al to imagine, since he accompanied her every day to tour Lyp’s lands. Priscilla aside, the people who inhabited Lyp’s baronry had a very low opinion of him. To say he had lost their trust and respect would be an understatement.
Al was annoyed at the idea that the old man had called him into his library just to gripe at him.
“Not to defend the Princess, but you may be wrong about her idea of bringing one of the fields back to life. She has produced results in every village of yours that she has visited—even in villages with different soil conditions. Though, if you’re skeptical about her keen eye, I would agree with you.”
“Keen eye? A bunch of rubbish! What that girl possesses is much more repulsive. How else would rumors of her being the Bloody Bride be born?”
When Lyp voiced the name out loud, Al’s shoulders froze midshrug. Seeing Al’s reaction, Lyp gave a sinister smile as if to say, At last, I’ve hit the nail on the head.
Bloody Bride was a label Priscilla had earned before she took on the name of Bariel. Though she was a young maiden of only twenty years, Lyp was not her first husband. He was her eighth.
All seven prior marriages had been broken. The reason being the deaths of her husbands. In other words, Priscilla had a history of seven marriages ending in her husband’s death.
None of her husbands’ deaths had the same cause—death in battle, death by illness, death by accident—and while Priscilla was suspected of having a hand in every death, she had escaped the consequences of that suspicion and made it to where she was today.
Because of this, to those who knew of her history, she was called by the ominous name of the Bloody Bride. And yet men would still line up for a chance at her hand…because Priscilla’s beauty made them forget about those ominous rumors. Ironic, really.
But Al thought that Lyp was the exception. This was in part due to his diminished sex drive as an older man, but more than anything, it was due to his sanity in the face of Priscilla’s magnetism. From the way he griped about her now, this was quite clear.
In other words, this old man had a different reason for marrying her. And his reason could only be one thing—
“Without the upcoming royal selection, I wouldn’t have dared put such a cunning vixen under my roof. She’ll smile sweetly at you one minute, then sass you the next without any limitation. The contest she held to appoint you her knight was an example of that.”
“Wow…you sure don’t mince words, do you? Aren’t you worried I’ll tell her what you said and sour your marriage?”
Lyp’s resentment was on full display in both his words and in his malicious gaze. The royal selection was a big to-do that shook Lugunica. It was a period of trials before the ritual with the Holy Dragon that selected a new monarch to replace the royal family, who had been wiped out by disease. As Lyp oversaw the prophecy that foretold the kingdom’s future, he had acquired information about the royal selection before the royal family fell ill.
So as a preemptive measure, he’d taken Priscilla—who qualified as a candidate—as his wife in an attempt to gain supreme executive power over the kingdom through her.
His intentions were clear as day, and it was a conclusion anyone who knew Lyp could easily draw. But Al still didn’t expect to hear everything so bluntly from the horse’s mouth. Lyp had somehow known Al would not draw his sword and strike him down on the spot out of loyalty to Priscilla.
Lyp smirked deviously at Al, who was obviously frustrated. “Would you really do something so foolish? A mercenary shrewdly chases after what will benefit him. I doubt a former sword slave like you would risk throwing his life away over a trivial thing like loyalty.”
“Well…that’s very astute of you,” Al said, lowering his hand from his sword hilt to accentuate his lack of adversarial intent to Lyp. “But what exactly do you want with me, then? I assume you’ve got big plans in mind, but I doubt it’s anything I can help ya with.”
“Not at all true. You wouldn’t be standing where you are now without my approval, after all. In that chaotic contest full of barbarians, the other four who’d been at the top with you were my pawns.”
“Phew, talk about a rigged match.”
“And that girl’s whims practically ruined it. I need to make sure as many people as possible in that girl’s circle agree with me. I think you know why that is.”
If Priscilla’s reckless abandon could not be calculated, he had to control those around her if there was any hope in correcting her course when the need arose. It was an inevitable chain of events. But then that begged the question…
“What about her servant Schult? The princess picked him up off the street herself, remember?”
“I’ve had the same conversation with him as I’m having with you now. As a recent orphan, luxury is entirely out of his reach… All I had to do was promise him some wealth, and he flew to my side before I could count to two. Just goes to show what that girl’s judge of character amounts to.”
“Oooh.”
Al remembered how Schult had waxed poetic about doing anything for Priscilla. Still, it didn’t surprise him one bit. Putting one’s own needs first was human nature. If someone’s loyalty was born only out of kind treatment, it was only natural that their heart would be swayed by someone who treated them with more kindness. And Al was no exception to this rule.
“All right, Master, I think I know now what you want from me. So I’d like for you to tell me what benefits I’ll receive and what you want me to do for you, moving forward.”
“Heh-heh… Good, that’s what I wanted to hear. I’ll do no harm to you or to Priscilla. For my plan to succeed, it’s vital that she remain in good health. That girl…and the boy…and you… I want for you all to be happy and content under my care, you see!”
Lyp cheerfully chuckled, pleased by Al’s answer. And as he chuckled, Al murmured quietly under his breath, “Sorry, Princess,” to the mistress he was about to betray.
But even in his mind, the image of Priscilla that appeared in the back of his mind smirked proudly, as if she had won.
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