Chapter 25

-----------------------------------------------------------------

Translator: Harry Potta

Chapter Title: There Is No Mercy 25

-----------------------------------------------------------------

There Is No Mercy

Chapter 25

Chapter 03

Genoa's mornings were always unwelcome.

Genoa was a beautiful land nestled by the lake, but during the rainy season, it was more humid and sweltering than anywhere else.

No matter how thin her clothes were, her skin felt sticky, and sweat dripped endlessly.

Even inside the jostling carriage, the stifling heat drew a sigh from her lips.

How on earth had she ended up coming here?

In Genoa, a swordsmanship tournament was held every four years.

It wasn't one of the Empire's famed events hosted by the imperial family, but it was one of the rare opportunities where even commoners could rise to knighthood.

The Brilloxen family was one of the tournament's largest sponsors.

As far as she could recall, even up until her death, the family had always sent representatives to the Genoa tournament.

It was a stunning location, but the timing often clashed, landing the event smack in the middle of the rainy season—a far from ideal setting.

Invitations arrived every four years, yet neither her father nor she had ever participated.

But the reason she had made the trip this time was simple. Just one.

'Jin Wolfs Derikarter...'

To recruit the man who, from humble commoner roots, would unprecedentedly rise to become the captain of the Imperial Guard.

His appointment had stunned everyone, thrusting him into the spotlight as the most talked-about figure in the Empire overnight.

Right now, he was just a wandering ronin with a single sword at his side, but his future held so much more.

If she could win him over, she could shore up their sorely lacking knightly forces—or at the very least, gain a reliable ally.

He was a man of many uses, all around.

"You've had a long, arduous journey, Brilloxen Lady."

"It's been a while, Genoa Count. I've come as the representative of my father, the Brilloxen Count."

She flashed a smile at the castellan who greeted her upon stepping down from the carriage.

After a light handshake with the hand he offered, they headed inside.

Even in the cool castle surrounded by high walls, the air hung heavy with humidity.

Suppressing the sticky urge to plunge into cool water and wash it all away, she chatted with the castellan when a group of passing knights caught her eye.

"Speaking of which, it looks like quite a few knights are entering this tournament. The roster must have over two hundred names, easily."

"And that's after heavy culling. Word got out that the winner from four years ago was appointed to the Imperial Knights, so even some titled knights have joined in. Nobles, too."

A tournament drawing not just knights, but nobles as well.

The commoners were in for a rough time.

"Looks like the days of it being a gateway for aspiring commoner knights are over."

"Still, we've kept it fair. The commoner entrants went through preliminaries ahead of time to secure their slots. Far more of them will make the main event than nobles."

His urgent justification came tumbling out in response to her wry mutter.

A quick glance his way revealed the castellan's flustered expression.

"Our family, as hosts of this tournament, fully supports the Brilloxen family's intent to guarantee at least minimal rights to all imperial subjects. Given how much care your house puts into it, I'm pouring my heart into making it a success. Rest assured, we'll keep holding fair tournaments for the commoners going forward."

His overreaction to her offhand remark made her half-imagine the words 'money' and 'sponsorship' flashing in his eyes.

Genoa was a remote imperial fief, hardly a tourist draw outside of summer.

The bulk of its sustaining revenue came from the sponsorship funds for this once-every-four-years tournament.

It was why a poor place like Genoa shouldered the hassle.

"Both my father and I trust you, Genoa Count. We look forward to your continued support."

"Of course. Please pass that along to the Count as well."

She curved her lips into a smile at the castellan's desperate plea—he clearly couldn't afford to lose the Brilloxens, their biggest funders.

As she turned her gaze forward again, a cluster of familiar yet unwelcome faces approached from the opposite direction.

"Genoa Count."

The man at the front offered a casual bow.

His eyes, which had been on the count, shifted slowly... and locked onto her.

"...And Brilloxen Lady. It's been a while."

Rick Derind.

Second son of the Derind Viscount family and a fervent follower of Bellieta.

Trailing behind him: Hautman Eggrin and Altas Nesser.

All of them, Bellieta's devotees.

"Yes, it has."

In other words, they weren't on the best terms with her.

No need to play nice; she returned the greeting with cool professionalism.

Rick grinned as he eyed her up and down, his gaze lingering deliberately.

She narrowed her eyes at the brazen stare, and his mouth curved open leisurely.

"That's rather thin attire you're wearing."

Kukuku. A snickering voice echoed from behind him.

As her expression soured, Rick's lewd smile widened.

"Thanks to you, the tournament's atmosphere is bound to heat up."

"You'd best watch your tongue. Brilloxen Lady, pay it no mind."

The Genoa Count, having overheard, cut in with a flustered look and hurried to soothe her.

Rick shrugged, then twisted his face into a scowl of displeasure.

"Count. Why the difference in treatment between the Lady and me? Sure, the Brilloxens sponsor generously, but standing before you is just a lady—a noble's daughter, no different from me. I can't fathom why she's getting special handling."

The count let out a dry, incredulous laugh at Rick's words.

Even a rude, ignorant noble should know basic etiquette, but Rick's remarks strayed miles beyond common sense.

How the count treated her or Rick was entirely his prerogative.

Not even a duke could meddle in that.

The count's face stiffened, his irritation plain.

"You're here as contestants. The Lady is here as the Brilloxen Count's proxy. The difference stems from qualification, not sponsorship. It's a pity you need me to spell it out—such a lack of learning."

Rick's face flushed red at the count's pitying tsk of the tongue.

He shot glances between the count and her before turning on his heel and stalking off.

She gave a low tsk of her own as she watched the two trailing after him.

Three fools, all on their own.

"Ignore what they said."

She gave a short nod to the count's considerate words.

As she followed him toward her quarters, her eyes flicked about thoughtfully.

'Did Bellieta get to them first?'

Something told her this was going to be a hassle.

"My apologies. Unfortunately, we couldn't secure both seats."

Viscount Rodburn approached Bellieta, who was enjoying tea with the other ladies in the garden.

Bellieta glanced up at the viscount whispering in her ear, then let out a small snort.

The ladies gathered in the spring-warm garden—despite the overcast rainy-season sky—fell silent, all eyes on Bellieta.

Bellieta set down her teacup and offered a leisurely smile.

With her expression softening, the ladies resumed their cheerful chatter and nibbling on treats.

The once-quiet garden filled again with their laughter.

Among these carefree, giggling ladies was Richel Lady, her face brighter than anyone's.

She had thought herself cast aside after the last ball, but receiving an invitation to this tea party had filled her with unmatched joy.

In high society, falling out of Bellieta's favor meant the end.

For daughters of minor noble houses—barring the famed or powerful ones—life was tediously passive.

A political marriage to another middling family, or sold off as a remarriage bride to some much-older power broker.

Richel harbored her own Cinderella dreams, and high society was her only path to them.

So when Bellieta had summoned her back, she had reveled in the thrill of a second chance at life.

Never once suspecting Bellieta's true intentions.

"Viscount Rodburn."

"Yes, my Lady."

Her soft voice was all but swallowed by the ladies' laughter.

Bellieta kept her eyes fixed on them as she lifted her cup to her lips once more.

"I won't ask why you couldn't get both. But for the money invested, you'll deliver the results I specified."

"All preparations as you instructed are complete, my Lady. We can proceed without a hitch."

His small but forceful voice brimmed with confidence.

Bellieta regarded his unwavering gaze for a moment, then curved her lips into a faint smile and spoke lightly.

"Richel Lady."

At Bellieta's call, Richel—who had been chattering away in the center—poked her head out and scurried over.

"You called for me, my Lady?!"

The other ladies stifled inward laughs at Richel's near-maid-like demeanor, but Richel's eyes sparkled at having been summoned.

Bellieta offered a gentle smile as she set down her cup and neatly folded her hands.

"By any chance, do you have time next week?"

"Time? Of, of course I do! Just say the word!"

"Wonderful. There's something I'd like to ask of you."

Richel nodded vigorously, her eyes twinkling brighter than the evening star.

Bellieta's gaze shifted from Richel to Piolett Baylor, who sat quietly without joining the conversation.

"Piolett. Come here."

At her call, Piolett rose and approached.

Richel eyed the woman now beside her with puzzlement before turning back.

To Richel's cocked head, Bellieta spoke in warm tones.

"Our family is sponsoring a tournament. I'd like you to attend in my place, together with Piolett."

"M-me?!"

The ladies who had been smirking at Richel gaped in shock.

Never imagining Bellieta would grant her such favor, they perked up their ears, hanging on her every word.

Thrilled, Richel swallowed hard, her flushed face biting at her lip.