The sound of a glass cup shattering rang through the chamber, followed by the roar of the man who had held it.
"Impossible... Is that the truth!?"
His voice vibrated with raw disbelief and a flat refusal to accept the truth. Yet, lurking beneath those feelings was something darker: a seething, visceral hatred that bordered on obsession.
The other nobles surrounding the speaker—Count Schwindel—involuntarily recoiled several steps.
"To think the Subjugation Army organized by His Highness Cabajid... suffered such devastating losses at his hands..."
It was true. The rumor he had just received from a fellow noble claimed that the Subjugation Army had been nearly annihilated.
The men gathered here shared a singular, burning grudge against Rei. Ever since he had vanished from the Imperial Capital, they had been desperately hunting for any trace of him. Some had voiced their anxieties, fearing he might have already returned to the Kingdom of Mireana, leaving their revenge unfulfilled. Nevertheless, Count Schwindel had refused to give up. He had pursued the youth’s trail with a tenacity that could only be described as obsessive.
Whenever they contacted the Requiem Bell, they were told the matter was still under investigation. They had continued their search regardless, only for the man’s location to be revealed today in the form of a rumor—and a catastrophic one at that.
Count Schwindel and his associates were well aware that a Subjugation Army, formed primarily by the First Prince Faction, had been dispatched. However, as several days passed without a single report—not even a status update on the march—they had grown suspicious. They never dreamed that the cause of the silence was their sworn enemy.
"How could a single man decimate the Subjugation Army... and eliminate His Highness Cabajid's operatives as well?"
"The rumors say it was Crimson alone, but surely that cannot be true. He may wield powerful magic, but I cannot believe it's possible for six thousand men to be slaughtered in a single stroke."
"But the fact remains that the Subjugation Army was wiped out, does it not?"
"Wait. If the army was truly destroyed, why is this rumor even circulating? If they were wiped out to a man, how could anyone in the Imperial Capital know their fate?"
"Saying there is 'no way of knowing' is an exaggeration. Merchants, adventurers, or travelers passing through the area could have discovered the remains and brought word of the massacre."
"In any case, the idea of the Subjugation Army falling to Crimson alone is absurd. I am no military expert, but even I can tell this is an impossible event."
"Could it be that he used the Flame Tornado again? The one seen at the Seremuse Plain?"
"Even then, that only crippled the Lead Unit. There should have been survivors from the rest of the force."
"That's..."
"Then is it not more likely that Crimson's actions caused the devastation, but he had help? He struck the main blow, his allies mopped up the survivors, and someone escaped back to the Imperial Capital to report the defeat."
The noble’s logic seemed to calm the room, and those who had been shouting in confusion nodded in reluctant agreement.
"However..."
Just as another noble prepared to speak, a thunderous shout cut him off.
"Don't you dare mock me!"
The roar came from Count Schwindel, the leader and central pillar of the gathered nobles.
Usually, the count embodied the word solemn, but today his face was a mask of unadulterated malice. With his eyes narrowed and his hatred laid bare, he looked like a completely different man. In the past, his face would grow grim at the mere mention of Crimson, but he had never allowed his emotions to explode so violently in public.
Granted, the count had flown into fits of rage many times before, but he had always ensured those outbursts happened away from the eyes of his peers. The maids and butlers who cleaned up the aftermath were well aware of his instability, but they attributed it to the grief of his only daughter, Wia, who remained confined to her room following the death of her fiancé.
Now, however, the count had dropped his mask in front of the very people he had worked so hard to impress. To those who only knew his public persona, he appeared to have lost his mind.
Oblivious to the stunned gazes of his associates, the count slammed his fist onto the table. Fortunately, the room was located deep within the castle and furnished with top-quality, sturdy items. The table held firm, but the impact produced a crack as loud as a gunshot—enough to have shattered a commoner's table into splinters.
The furniture survived, but the count's hand did not. The skin split, exposing raw flesh, and blood began to pool on the polished wood.
"C-Count Schwindel?" one of the nobles asked timidly.
The man tilted his head, struggling to reconcile the count's behavior with his memories, only to be met by a pair of bloodshot, manic eyes.
"Eek!"
The count seemed to snap back to reality at the noble's shriek. Realizing what he had done, he straightened up and cleared his throat.
"Forgive me. I have shown you an unseemly sight. More importantly, we must decide our next move. Does anyone have a suggestion?"
He spoke as if trying to gloss over his lapse in composure, but he was met with nothing but bewildered stares. Finally, one noble spoke up, choosing his words with extreme care.
"You ask what we should do, but since we have already entrusted the elimination of Crimson to the Requiem Bell, is there any need for us to act? If we interfere based on our own whims, we might only hinder their progress."
On the surface, it was a practical suggestion, but the noble’s true desire was simply to avoid further trouble. He had joined Count Schwindel’s faction because his younger brother had died in the Spring War. However, among the nobility, genuine familial affection was a rarity. In truth, his brother had been a rival for the position of the head of the house.
He had joined this circle only because he believed the association would be profitable for his family once he officially inherited his title. He saw the shared hatred of Crimson as a convenient tool to unify the group. But lately, things had spiraled out of control. The enemy they had chosen was simply too powerful. Even the Requiem Bell, with all their resources, had failed to produce a result.
Count Schwindel stared at him, prompting him to continue. His eyes were still tinged with a look bordering on madness, and the noble felt a chill run down his spine. He racked his brain for a way to pacify the count without putting himself at risk, and suddenly, the mention of the Rebel Army gave him an idea.
"Wait... how about we join the Subjugation Army? Part of the reason we relied on the Requiem Bell was that we couldn't act openly. But now, we have a clear just cause to be hostile toward Crimson."
"I have considered that," the count replied. "But we hired the Requiem Bell precisely because we knew our own forces could not defeat him."
"That would be true if we fought him alone. His combat ability is abnormal—anyone who saw the finals of the Fighting Tournament would agree."
The nobles in the room grew quiet as they remembered that day. They had watched the match to burn the face of their enemy into their minds, but the sight of Rei fighting on equal terms with Noise the Immovable, the S-Rank adventurer, had only served to terrify them.
Sensing their hesitation, the noble pushed his advantage.
"But this time is different. We won't just have our own men; we can rely on the forces of His Highness Cabajid and His Highness Schuls. Both princes have no way out now that they have lost to the Rebel Army. If they continue to be overshadowed by His Highness Mercurio, their political lives are over. They will be desperate for a decisive victory."
"You're suggesting we ride their coattails? But what of Her Highness Frizion?"
"I cannot say for certain, but the princess has always loathed conflict. She will likely avoid the Subjugation Army entirely, choosing instead to focus on the defenses of the Imperial Capital."
Agreement rippled through the room. Given Frizion's nature, the theory was perfectly sound.
"Hmm... I see. It is certainly an option worth exploring."
Count Schwindel nodded and turned his gaze toward the others. Even without words, they understood his intent. For men consumed by a grudge, the proposal was a godsend.
"Let's do it, Count Schwindel!"
"Exactly! The Requiem Bell has failed us. We shall take his life with our own hands!"
"They call themselves elite, but they are clearly incompetent. We have no need for them! We will take Crimson's head ourselves!"
"Wait, let us not be hasty. For now, it is better to leave the contract with the Requiem Bell active. Just in case."
"But they've achieved nothing! Why bother with them?"
"As I said, 'just in case.' If a novice adventurer can have the luck to stumble into slaying a dragon, then perhaps even the likes of the Requiem Bell might manage a lucky strike."
The room grew loud as the nobles worked themselves into a frenzy. Their belittling comments were fueled by the excitement of finally having a plan. It was a release for the months of frustration they had kept bottled up.
Amidst the noise, only the noble who had made the suggestion breathed a quiet sigh of relief.
Good. This should prevent any more suicidal outbursts. Even if we clash with Crimson, we'll have the Subjugation Army soldiers to act as our shields. At the very least, my chances of survival are much higher than if I were forced to act alone.
To him, the other nobles and the Imperial Army were nothing more than fodder to ensure his own safety. In truth, he felt a flicker of gratitude toward Crimson for removing his brother and securing his inheritance. Of course, that secret gratitude was secondary to the potential profit he could reap from this group. If the chance arose to capture Rei, he wouldn't hesitate for a second. Whether he delivered the boy to Count Schwindel or took his head himself, the rewards would be immense.
He’s rumored to have quite a few magic items. I should try to secure those for myself. As for the Gryphon... taming it is out of the question, so I'll have to settle for the materials. Though, perhaps it’s best not to touch the beast at all. Winning against the Grim Reaper of the Skies is nearly impossible.
Dreaming of the wealth and status he would soon acquire, the noble joined the others in their planning, a small, cold smile playing across his lips.