Hearing the words from Peshe's mouth confirming Rei's participation in the Fighting Tournament, Daskar let out a silent sigh of relief.
Of course, he had mostly expected Rei's entry to be approved from the start. The alias of 'Crimson' was, for better or worse, extremely famous within the Bestia Empire. Having an Alias Holder of that caliber compete would undoubtedly bring prestige to the event.
Given the nature of the Fighting Tournament, such a high-profile entry was a guaranteed boon for the Empire’s interests. In truth, Daskar suspected Peshe might have been willing to beg for Rei’s participation if necessary. The sheer name value of 'Crimson' would draw unprecedented attention, fueling the gambling markets and ultimately lining the Imperial coffers.
"Now then, regarding the finals..."
Daskar spoke up, cutting off Peshe just as the Chancellor began his explanation. "Actually, it is Rei’s wish to enter from the qualifying rounds. Is that possible?"
"...From the qualifying rounds?" Peshe blinked, momentarily caught off guard.
As the Chancellor, his priority was to unveil Rei at the finals, where the spectacle would be at its peak. However, a request to start from the qualifiers was difficult to answer immediately. This wasn't just about maximizing Crimson's visibility; the very format of the qualifiers was the issue.
The qualifying block was a battle royal. Dozens of combatants were thrown into the arena at once, and only the final three survivors earned a place in the finals. In such a chaotic environment, a one-versus-many situation was almost a certainty.
If it became known that the infamous 'Crimson' was in the ring, Rei’s block would undoubtedly descend into madness. He had inflicted far too much damage on the Bestia Empire for the other contestants to ignore him.
Strictly speaking, the arena utilized a legacy of the Ancient Magic Civilization to prevent actual fatalities. However, that protection was only "basic." If a combatant suffered an injury that caused instantaneous death, not even an ancient relic could reverse it. And against 'Crimson,' there would undoubtedly be those who would swing for the neck. Naturally, Rei would be forced to respond in kind.
(How to handle this? The risk is undoubtedly significant, but the potential profit is equally great.)
Peshe’s mind raced through a series of cold calculations. Eventually, a small nod rippled through his fleshy, corpulent face.
"Very well. I shall permit his entry from the qualifying rounds."
In the end, the potential gains outweighed the dangers. Even if things went south, this was a Fighting Tournament; there were plenty of powerful figures on hand to intervene. Furthermore, there were the Empire's own experts, and above all...
(If it comes to it, even if someone targets Crimson—or if the boy himself goes on a rampage—that man could handle it. He could probably suppress the Axe of the Thunder God along with him. He is a difficult man to manage, but he is useful in a crisis.)
The image of a man in his thirties flashed through Peshe’s mind. He was one of only three men in the entire world—the Empire included—who possessed that level of power.
A mixture of bitterness and reliability swirled in the Chancellor’s thoughts until Daskar’s voice pulled him back to the present.
"I appreciate it. That is a great help. ...Rei."
Daskar turned to the young man with a relieved expression. Understanding the prompt, Rei bowed his head toward Peshe.
"Thank you. It is an honor to participate in a tournament that stands at the very pinnacle of the Bestia Empire. I intend to repay this favor with my performance in the ring. ...And one more thing."
"Hmm?"
Peshe looked at him, wondering what else there could be, but it was Daskar who spoke up again.
"Yes. I apologize for asking so much at once, but the son of Elk from the Axe of the Thunder God also wishes to participate, much like Rei."
As Rei stepped back, Rhodos moved forward and bowed.
"I see. I do not mind."
Peshe’s nod was much swifter this time. Rhodos faintly gritted his teeth, feeling the clear disparity in the Chancellor's attitude. He understood that the difference was a direct reflection of their respective fame and the impact they would have on the crowds. However, he was not so tactless as to voice his resentment. Satisfied with the permission, he returned to his place.
"Even so, 'Crimson' and the son of the Axe of the Thunder God... an intriguing combination. But tell me, Margrave—why stop there? Why not have the full Axe of the Thunder God enter the tournament? Their name has been known in the Empire for years. There are many who would pay dearly to see them in action."
Daskar gave a hollow chuckle. "Haha, that would be a sight to behold, I’m sure. However, if I did that, I would be left entirely without my personal guard."
"Oh? That shouldn't be an issue. If necessary, the Empire would be more than happy to dispatch an escort for you."
"No, no, I couldn't possibly rely on your hospitality for something as critical as my own security."
"But you have your knights as well, do you not?"
"True, but they are no match for Elk and the others."
They exchanged pleasantries with smiles, but Daskar knew that removing Elk or Min from his side was out of the question. To dismiss his own guards and accept Imperial escorts would be equivalent to handing Peshe Gat his life on a silver platter.
An Imperial "guard" could easily turn assassin—or, more likely, they could simply "fail" to notice a real assassin while accidentally blocking Daskar’s own knights from intervening. If Daskar died here, the Neutral Faction, one of the Three Great Factions of the Kingdom of Mireana, would be crippled.
Of course, the Empire would face a diplomatic scandal if a foreign noble died on their soil. But Peshe would simply claim that Daskar had been caught in some illicit act and that the guards were forced to stop him. Without evidence to the contrary, the Kingdom would have no choice but to retreat. In the heart of the Empire, evidence could be fabricated with ease.
The long-standing enmity between the two nations meant that tensions were already at a boiling point; another incident wouldn't change much. Daskar could only travel safely because an Alias Holder like Elk was by his side. He had no intention of signing his own death warrant.
"Hmph. A pity. I personally wanted to see the strength of the legendary Axe of the Thunder God, and I’m sure the audience would have been thrilled."
"Regrettable, but perhaps another time. Should there be a next tournament, Elk might be persuaded. For now, his son’s debut should provide plenty of excitement."
"...I suppose so. It is a pity, but it cannot be helped. Regardless, having 'Crimson' in the brackets is a welcome surprise."
Peshe likely hadn't expected to succeed in separating Elk from Daskar anyway. Once rebuffed, he shifted the topic without further pressure.
"That reminds me. It seems you encountered a few miscreants on your way to the capital."
"Miscreants?" Daskar was momentarily confused by the sudden shift, but the realization hit him a second later. "Ah, yes. On the highway..."
He trailed off, casting a quick glance toward Rei. After all, Rei had been the direct target of that particular incident.
Peshe followed Daskar’s gaze, his eyes settling on the young man. "My apologies for the trouble my countrymen caused. The individual responsible for such idiocy is currently undergoing a severe interrogation. Given the number of other crimes coming to light, he will never see the outside world again. He will be sold as a criminal slave at best—or more likely, a mine slave."
Almost everyone in the room winced slightly at those words. It wasn't because they felt pity for Peshe, but because they understood the fate awaiting the man named Dune.
In the Bestia Empire, which was rich in mineral resources, there was a vast difference between a criminal slave and a mine slave. A mine slave was a death sentence. They were forced into brutal physical labor all day, every day, under the constant threat of the whip. The food was barely edible, and the supply of new slaves from the Empire’s vast territories was so steady that they were simply worked until they dropped and were replaced. Death was their only release—a system designed to squeeze every last drop of utility from a traitor before discarding the husk. Often, those who held state secrets had their throats crushed before being sent to the darkness of the mines.
A criminal slave’s life was also wretched, but compared to the mines, it was a mercy. Usually, they were sent to the front lines during wars to serve as disposable fodder.
As Rei ran through these details in his mind, he remembered the "backing" Dune had boasted about. "Is that all? The man claimed the Second Prince was his patron..."
"Rei!"
Daskar’s sharp bark of reprimand cut Rei off before he could finish the sentence.
Silence fell over the room for a heartbeat, only to be broken by Peshe’s booming laughter.
"Hahaha! Yes, he did seem to be claiming as much. However, our internal investigation found absolutely no truth to his words. It was merely the desperate lies of a cornered dog."
"...I see. I spoke out of turn." Rei bowed his head and fell silent.
But for an instant—just a fleeting second—Peshe Gat had directed a gaze at him that Rei would never forget.
(What was with that look? If Dune’s claims about the Second Prince were truly just a lie, there would be no reason for him to glare at me like that. Unless...)
A cold premonition took hold. What if Dune hadn't been lying? What if the man sitting right in front of him was the true power behind the bandit? If so, sending Dune to the mines wasn't a punishment for his crimes, but a way to ensure he could never speak again.
(But if that's the case, is the Chancellor working with the Second Prince? Or are they enemies?)
Given that Dune had used the Prince's name, it was a logical line of inquiry. As Rei mulled it over, Peshe turned a soft, oily smile toward him.
"Is something wrong? If you have any concerns, please, speak your mind. Adventurers such as yourself often have a perspective quite different from those of us who live in the halls of power."
Rei shook his head almost instinctively. He didn't know why, but every survival instinct he possessed told him to back off.
"No, nothing in particular..." He realized a flat denial wouldn't satisfy a shark like the Chancellor. He forced himself to continue. "It's just... the mention of the Second Prince caught me by surprise."
"...I see. Indeed, considering what that man said, it is natural to be curious."
Peshe seemed satisfied with that answer. The chilling intensity in his eyes faded, replaced by his usual unctuous mask. Rei let out a mental breath of relief.
(I don't sense any direct combat ability from this man. But he has this... this suffocating pressure that makes his physical strength irrelevant. I guess you don't become the Chancellor of the Bestia Empire by being a pushover.)
It was the difference between a warrior and a grand strategist. Rei could kill the man in a second if they fought, but Peshe Gat was the kind of person who would ensure the fight never happened in the first place.
"Forgive him, Chancellor," Daskar intervened, breaking the strange tension. "He is still young. Despite his incredible talents, he lacks a certain grasp of political nuance."
Daskar knew exactly who he was dealing with. Peshe Gat was not someone to be trifled with. Fortunately, the Chancellor wiped away the last of his ominous aura and chuckled, waving a hand dismissively.
"No, no, youth is synonymous with energy. It is a fine trait. As for that miscreant, I assure you there is nothing for you to concern yourselves with."
The statement was a clear declaration that the matter was closed. With the subject of Dune effectively buried, the rest of the meeting consisted of Daskar and Peshe feeling each other out with diplomatic barbs until the audience finally reached its conclusion.