Chapter 129 - Are You a Heretic? (4)

About a month and two weeks after the artificial Outer God crisis instigated by Duke Comalon.

"Whew..."

In Tern, Shtalian V let out a sigh laden with meaning.

Now that Duke Comalon had been confirmed as the one behind the Outer God crisis, the Kingdom of Ashtalon had to compensate the other kingdoms in some form.

That, however, was not what was causing Shtalian V so much stress. He had anticipated this outcome from the moment he learned the truth behind the crisis and had made preparations of his own. At the second emergency summit, held a month after the first, he had even negotiated reasonably fair compensation terms after more than a week of meetings.

The reason his expression remained so grim was something else.

'I should never have gone after Marquis Pallatio that day—'

Shtalian V sighed and pressed his fingers to the space between his brows.

Of course, Marquis Pallatio had done nothing to him. He had not even seen the marquis since that day.

To be precise, the problem was Yuman.

He kept recalling what Yuman had said during this round of meetings.

["Hmm... Is that so? I consider it insufficient."]

["Hmm... I believe this matter requires a clear apology before we move on. Glossing over it so ambiguously does not strike me as appropriate. Ah... Come to think of it, you did the same thing last time, didn't you?"]

["You seem to be suggesting that the other nations share the blame. That does not sound particularly agreeable."]

One point after another. Whenever Shtalian V opened his mouth, Yuman found some fault to attack.

Recalling that relentless face, the king simply could not understand it. Ashtalon might not have been particularly close to Rosario, but their relations had been fairly good. The same had been true of his relationship with the saint.

Yet all of that had been shattered simply because he had challenged Marquis Pallatio once.

"Whew..."

His head began to ache. At the same time, questions filled his mind.

'Just what is his relationship with Marquis Pallatio?'

No matter how he thought about it, Saint Yuman's defense of Marquis Pallatio was strange.

The marquis was close to Cardinal Yutia. And although they did not show it openly, Cardinal Yutia and Yuman, Rosario's saint, kept each other in check.

Naturally, Yuman's apparent decision to side with the marquis was puzzling.

Thus, just as he decided he could not let the matter pass—

'There seems to be something about Marquis Pallatio... I'll have to look into it.'

"Your Majesty, it is time for you to attend the meeting."

"... Let us go."

At the voice that reached him, Shtalian V rose.

Unlike before, his face now showed a measure of ease. Starting today, Saint Yuman would no longer be attending the meetings.

With some of the weight lifted from his heart, he made his way to the conference room.

"..."

"..."

"..."

"..."

As soon as he entered, he discovered a golden-eyed beastfolk woman who had not been there yesterday, glaring at him as though she wanted to devour him.

"??"

He could not understand why Coloni's Baba Yaga was looking at him like that.

"Ah."

Before long, however, he remembered that she was extremely close to Marquis Pallatio and let out a quiet groan.

That day, thoroughly sick of it all inside, he made a firm resolution.

'... I'd best avoid antagonizing Marquis Pallatio if at all possible.'

... Of course, regardless of that resolution, Shtalian V suffered a suspicious number of misfortunes during the following week in Tern.

... It happened in the depths of winter.

####

About two months had passed since Alon returned to his marquisate.

He had spent most of that time resting, all because of his mana poisoning. His recovery was so rapid that it astonished the priest, and after some time, he was indeed able to move without difficulty.

But that only meant his body felt lighter. He still could not use mana. Unable to even dream of practical magical research, he spent day after day resting.

Of course, that did not mean he could simply lounge around. As the ruler of the territory, he still had duties to fulfill. He had to work through the tedious, utterly tedious paperwork that had piled up.

The process was not quite as dull as it might have been, however.

The reason was—

["Hahahaha! You fool—I am victorious!"]

"Whoa, wait. How did that happen?"

["Fool. Your very belief that you could defeat a god was arrogance."]

—Basiliora.

Alon looked at the two beings facing each other across a board game similar to chess: a stunned Evan and Basiliora, whose small, spectral upper body radiated triumph.

The contrast between their joy and dismay could not have been clearer.

"Hey, play me again."

["Hmph. Why should I? Do you think I would deign to spar with a weakling like you again?"]

"There's a limit to bullshit! You won one game out of thirty. What the fuck are you talking about?!"

His voice brimmed with indignation.

For once, Alon sympathized with Evan. Basiliora had lost to him more than thirty times, then gotten lucky once and started gloating like this.

It was like a novice getting a lucky win against an expert in a fighting game and saying, 'You're trash, lol.'

["Ah... You're so far beneath me that I cannot possibly play with you."]

"Wow... This snakehead is really making me crave snake liquor..."

["Hmph. And what can you do about it? What can you do besides tremble with rage like that?!"]

Basiliora opened his mouth wide and coiled himself up to raise his body higher.

... Though, as a spirit measuring less than thirty centimeters in total, he merely looked cute.

"My lord! Can't you summon this bastard?!"

"If I summoned him, this entire territory would be wrecked."

"No, I mean—not at his original size. A little smaller. About my size. Can't you do that?"

"No."

He genuinely could not. He would have liked to give physical form to Basiliora as he taunted Evan, but unfortunately, it was impossible.

'... Salvation of the Wanderer's cooldown was five years... Or was it ten?'

Alon glanced at his bracelet. The vivid red glow it had emitted when he summoned Basiliora had since faded to black.

According to the setting, that meant he would have to wait five to ten years before using the artifact again.

Still, he was not particularly concerned. There was another way to use the bracelet.

'Well, in the game, I used a reset rather than waiting out the cooldown, too. Probably... about six months after the original story begins?'

Alon shrugged as he recalled the person who could reset Salvation's cooldown.

["As expected, a foolish human cannot defeat me."]

"... My lord, this bastard flinches whenever the Central Tower comes up. There must be something there. Let's send him over."

["!? Wait, such a cowardly act—"]

In any case, Alon had lately been using Evan and Basiliora's antics as entertainment to keep the paperwork from becoming boring.

Time passed in that fashion until roughly four months had gone by. His mana poisoning gradually faded, allowing him to cast a spell or two, and the warmth of spring began to replace winter's chill.

"Evan."

"Yes, my lord?"

"... When did our territory get an auction house?"

Alon asked with a document in hand.

"Hmm, about four months ago, as I understand it. Wasn't a report already submitted to you?"

"... Yes, I remember that."

"...? Then why do you ask?"

Alon checked the figures on the document again.

"... Well, for something established only a few months ago, it has paid an enormous amount in taxes."

Taxes were the reason he had asked despite already knowing the auction house existed.

'... It's only been three months since the auction house opened. How can its taxes be this high...?'

Of course, the absolute sum was not enough to make his eyes pop. But it was far too large to seem like the proceeds of running an auction house for only a few months.

"Evan."

"Yes, my lord?"

"Can you bring me the owner of this auction house?"

"The owner?"

"Yes."

Alon wanted to meet the owner for the sake of developing the territory.

He hated to admit it, but he knew very little about managing a territory. Having handled all manner of paperwork, he did not find maintaining it particularly difficult, but growing it was another matter entirely.

As a result, the marquisate currently had virtually no surplus income apart from the money Alon brought in himself. Whatever it did earn went toward upkeep, leaving it effectively breaking even.

And so a plan began taking shape in his mind.

'... If the auction house is doing well, I could invest in it and expand the business... Then perhaps build something like a tourism industry around it.'

He needed to meet its owner and discuss business. However promising the plan seemed, he knew that business involved all sorts of variables, and that people with experience were better at it.

A little later, when Evan brought in the auction house's owner, Alon was momentarily lost for words.

"... Huh?"

The man summoned as its owner was all too familiar.

"... Alexion?"

"Greetings, my lord."

####

Identifier Alexion's life had gone off the rails.

If asked when it started, he could say with certainty that it was the moment he met Radan.

Radan, the Pirate King.

After enduring countless instances of unfair harassment at his hands, Alexion had finally been forced to move to the marquisate by Radan's threats(?). At the time, he had gloomily wondered what sin he could possibly have committed in a past life.

Of course, even without looking to a past life, he was committing plenty of sins in this one...

... Anyway, although he had spent some days wallowing in misery, Alexion had eventually made a comeback.

His innate business sense had astutely picked up on the surprisingly large number of merchant caravans passing through the Pallatio marquisate. With a few additional measures, he had managed to establish a thriving auction house in this otherwise empty marquisate in just a few months.

"... Why are you here?"

"Haha, things just worked out that way."

Alexion wanted to shout, 'That pirate little brother of yours dragged me here against my will!!!!' But he barely managed to hold it in.

Saying it would do him no good anyway. Besides, Radan had already silenced him with a warning to behave himself if he wanted to live.

He had come all the way to the marquisate because he did not want to die, so naturally, he watched his words.

In any case, although the circumstances could ordinarily have made him extremely uncomfortable, Alexion was currently in quite a good mood.

He had a rough idea of why the marquis had summoned him, and the very words he had expected were coming from the man's mouth.

"... I'm not an eloquent speaker, so I'll get straight to the point. I want to invest in developing the territory. May I hear your opinion?"

Normally, it would have been too early to celebrate. But Radan had already told him what the marquis intended, so those words sounded like nothing more than, 'I will give you money.'

Whatever the marquis had in mind, Alexion was confident he could use his skills to secure an investment from him.

Thus, he smiled inwardly, considering how to sweet-talk the marquis, who showed him no hostility.

'How should I go about this? First, test the waters under the pretext of tying it into tourism, then bring up expanding the auction house?'

Of course, he was not crazy enough to try to swindle someone connected to the Pirate King. But he could certainly get 'just a liiittle more' than he had originally intended.

"Ahem..."

The moment Alexion cleared his throat, his gaze happened to fall on the view outside the window.

"...?"

There was a woman perched in a tree outside.

With blond hair and ink-black clothes, she was staring straight at Alexion. As soon as she confirmed that their eyes had met, she took a magical orb from inside her clothes.

Then she smiled faintly. The orb shone and projected an image in front of Alexion.

His expression froze in an instant.

["..."]

There, in the projected image, was Radan, staring at Alexion with an exceedingly stern, solemn, serious expression.

"..."

A dark cloud settled over Alexion's face once more.