Chapter 51

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Translator: Harry Potta

Chapter: 51

Chapter Title: The Crown I'll Take From You

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Two people also attended today's banquet.

It was to chase down a new clue they'd obtained just a few days earlier through Shadayah's shrine maiden on Asilom Street.

"They say there's a book written by a sage in Baldina. We might learn something about that golden star."

They'd received invitations to the banquet anyway, making it the perfect chance to search the empty palace while everyone was distracted.

After sending out their subordinates Alpha and Zeta, the two perched in a tree outside the banquet hall, waiting for a signal.

Hiding their presence from ordinary folk was no great challenge for them.

"What're you staring at? The minister?"

From their tree, they had a clear view of both the banquet hall and the lounge off the corridor.

"Boss—"

"Hold on."

Those golden eyes remained fixed on Etienne.

The minister stormed into the lounge in a huff and hurled a glass.

Clearly boiling with rage, he took it out on his attendant for quite a while.

"Why's that bastard acting like he ate something rotten?"

The attendant rubbed his sore knee, bowed obsequiously, and scurried out of the room.

Even after the attendant left, the minister kept downing drinks before abruptly ripping off his jacket.

Smashing nearby objects didn't cool his temper; panting like a dog desperate to mate, he paced the room in circles.

Suddenly, an image flashed in Cezare's mind: the princess casually setting down her glass mid-conversation earlier, and the minister swigging from it.

Hadn't she been carrying that glass around from the banquet hall?

That one filled with red wine—she must have had a reason not to drink it.

"Khuk, kuhuk. Ahahaha."

As Cezare burst out laughing, Garo stared at him in bewilderment.

"Boss? You losing it?"

"Who the hell called Baldina's princess a fool?"

Cezare turned his head.

There she was, plunging back into the crowd with an innocently clueless look, utterly unaware of what had transpired.

Was there such a shameless nitwit in the world?

Cezare's eyes crinkled despite himself as he watched her.

"Let's head back."

"Already? Zeta hasn't reported in yet... Wait, Boss. Where're you... You're not going home?"

Cezare leaped lightly to the ground below.

He'd had no intention of entering the banquet hall—dealing with all the idiots who swarmed at the mention of Facade was too tedious—but now his mind was made up.

"What the? Why's he off again?"

Garo hurriedly trailed after Cezare as he headed for the banquet hall.

Banquet hall.

Medea returned to the banquet hall after wrapping up her chat with the minister.

'It'll take time for the drug to kick in.'

She'd watched him guzzle the glass she'd slyly left behind, so her steps were light.

An unexpected card, but one that would only solidify her plans.

'Should I thank Birna?'

Her dress rippled softly.

"What are you ladies discussing that's so entertaining?"

"Oh, Your Highness!"

Marchioness Aspasia welcomed Medea with delight.

She'd confirmed Medea's shifted standing at tonight's banquet, so her demeanor had changed accordingly.

She leaned in close and whispered conspiratorially.

"See the man by the eastern ice sculpture? That's Facade's ringleader."

Facade's leader? Medea turned. A cheerful young man with straw-blond hair caught her eye.

He looked far too approachable to be the infamous arms dealer.

His playful grin and boyish manner tore down barriers, making him seem like the friendly sort.

"I heard Facade was extremely insular, but he doesn't seem the type."

"Don't drop your guard. Know who that is lurking behind the leader?"

Someone chimed in that the real notoriety belonged to another.

"Akhares."

It was the even taller man beside the leader.

He barely moved—like an ancient tree trunk—yet commanded every gaze.

"That iron mask gives it away. He's Facade's infamous mercenary, right?"

"Burns from childhood charred over half his face. So gruesome even his own mother abandoned him."

The sharp jaw and elegant lips peeking from under the half-mask clashed sharply with the imagined horrors beneath.

The women especially couldn't look away.

"Lowly immigrant stock, they say. Doesn't even know his real father."

"He handles all Facade's filthiest, deadliest jobs. Ordinary lives? Worth less than dust in the wind."

"Everyone hushes up about him, yet you all know plenty."

The women exchanged awkward glances at the pointed remark.

One cheeky noblewoman quipped.

"True enough. Face might be ruined, but that body's sculpted perfection. Never seen a uniform fit a man like that. Ravishing at a banquet—imagine him unleashed outside?"

"Goodness, madam. Her Highness is right here!"

Medea eyed the blushing women, then stole her own glance at him.

Below the mask, a thick neck led to a stately chest where the crisp uniform clung with elegant precision.

His perfectly squared shoulders bore epaulettes that seemed poised to slip smoothly free.

"Don't fantasize—he's brutally vicious. Forgot how he slaughtered the Atchel clans after a deal soured?"

Another noblewoman shuddered in horror.

She'd meant to instill dread, but rosy flushes bloomed on the young ladies' cheeks instead.

Loathing and longing at odds, laced with forbidden peril—it only made the masked man more alluring.

The noblewoman thumped her chest in frustration.

"Burned whole tribes alive after they took weapons without paying up. Ashes blanketed the fields for over a week—like a snowy wasteland."

"Heavens..."

"He ordered every last woman and child torched. No one's dared break a Facade contract since."

The noblewoman thumped her chest in frustration.

The crowd shuddered.

"Hmph. Vicious as Kazen's First Prince? He poisoned every dissenting minister before he was even of age."

"Right. Just fifteen then. The news shocked me senseless."

"Name was Cezare, wasn't it?"

"Yes. Cezare Dwaisler Kazen."

Someone pursed her lips. The muttered name made everyone freeze.

"Haven't heard that in ages."

"No kidding. Three years back, we couldn't utter that black devil's name so casually."

"Ansi! Hush! Calling imperial blood a devil!"

A young lady chimed in, prompting her motherly noblewoman to clap a hand over her mouth in shock.

"Hmph, I'm not wrong. Everyone knows—he razed every conquered petty kingdom to prove himself heir to the emperor."

"Enough! Ansi, I told you to stop that nonsense. She's immature—reads empire tabloids and takes them for gospel."

"It's true! Really!"

"Ansi! Really now!"

The noblewoman clamped her daughter's mouth shut, stammered excuses, then dragged the girl away in a panic.

"Ah, right. Years without sight, slipped my mind. First Prince still alive? Heard he took a grievous wound in the borderlands..."

"Exotic poison no one's seen—zero chance of recovery. Just counting down to death."

"That's why the delegation to Baldina brings the Fourth Princess, not him. Blessing or curse, who knows..."

Dodging the continent's terror, the First Prince, was a relief.

But Kazen's Fourth Princess had a brutal reputation too.

"This delegation's aid is vital for us..."

"Empire knows it. How much tantrum will she throw? Already dreading it."

As they all chimed in with feigned concern for the realm, the Regent Duke's daughter Birna leisurely plucked a pastry.

'Drug should be hitting any moment.'

What moniker would Medea earn this time?

'Madwoman? Deranged princess? Nah—"Baldina's psycho bitch" fits perfect!'

Birna snuck jealous glares at Medea gliding through the hall.

Ideally, hallucinations would send the princess barreling toward Facade in panic.

Letting the startled mercenary snap her neck by "accident."

But... Huh? What are those brutes up to?

The ladies buzzed.

Facade's leader was marching straight toward Medea, mercenary in tow.