Chapter 54

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

Translator: Harry Potta

Chapter Title: There Is No Mercy Chapter 54

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

“Have you seen Bellieta by any chance? I have something urgent to tell her.”

The Bozbon Duke's letters inquiring about his daughter—who rarely kept in touch—would often fly my way.

Finding Bellieta, who always dodged me, was an utter chore every time.

If I approached anyone to ask about her, the kids would burst into tears, and the teachers would stonewall me with vague shrugs.

That day, Bellieta was especially hard to spot.

No matter how much I scoured the place, I couldn't track down her hiding spot.

Irritation finally settled on Aden's face.

He couldn't fathom why he had to put up with this nonsense.

Unable to take it anymore, just as Aden spat a curse and turned to quit, a familiar silhouette caught his eye.

In a flash, Aden's hand shot out and seized her shoulder.

Blonde hair like Bellieta's, but duller with a reddish hue, and brown eyes.

Even with her shoulder suddenly grabbed, she showed no hint of surprise—those brown eyes simply turned to meet mine with calm composure.

Most people's reactions to seeing me fell into one of two categories.

Shock, or tears.

But this lady appraised me coolly with her gaze before answering slowly.

“She's in the annex. I was just there meeting her and heading back, so you'll find her if you go now.”

A calm, subdued tone.

Her response—so unlike the young ladies'—left me frozen instead.

Her eyes flicked toward my hand on her shoulder, as if silently asking me to let go, and I flinched without thinking.

“...You don't know who I am?”

A reflexive question born of her dry demeanor.

The lady halted and turned back to face me fully.

“Should I?”

Not "I don't" or "I do."

A question that cut straight to the core, beyond simple binaries.

Aden had assumed the answer was obvious, and in that moment of fluster, she turned away.

All he could do was stare blankly at her retreating figure.

The memory had grown hazy in his mind by now, but it still surfaced now and then.

Those dry yet keen eyes gazing at him.

Baran Nemir, Aden's adjutant, clutched the towering stack of documents in his arms like sacred instruments of war.

The servants passing in the corridor shot him startled glances and whispered among themselves.

“...What's that about?”

“Same old thing. Reports start pouring in from across Harmonia around this time. Gotta be that.”

“Ah, so the season's here again?”

“Yep.”

Ignoring their chatter, he made for Aden's office.

The knights guarding the door gawked at the bundle—big enough to obscure Baran's upper body—and hurriedly rapped on the wood.

A prompt "Come in" sounded from within, and the knight swung the door open.

With the knight's aid, Baran averted the disaster of the pile tumbling down.

Aden's eyes flicked first to the stack looming higher than his head.

His serene expression hardened, eyebrows arching sharply.

Gripping his quill, Aden let out a hollow chuckle and set his hand down.

In the meantime, Baran deposited the documents on the empty desk.

“Phew...”

Aden eyed Baran wiping beads of sweat from his brow, then slumped crookedly into his chair with a face drained of all motivation.

Chin propped in dissatisfaction, he glowered at the papers before his lips parted slowly.

“I thought we'd get a quiet year for once, but here we go again.”

“It's the annual ritual, isn't it?”

“The one event in all the yearly rigmarole I never get used to. How many this time?”

Aden rose and approached Baran, resting a hand on the heap.

Even by eye, it looked well over a thousand sheets.

“Precisely 1,320 cases.”

Aden lifted the top document to read, then shook his head in dismay.

He set it down, crossed to the side table, picked up a glass of water, and handed it to Baran.

“Ah, thank you.”

“Year after year of processing these, and the pile never shrinks.”

“Still, the report count's down from last year—about twenty fewer.”

“Sure, a real drop. We'd finish in a day if we borrowed a cat's paw.”

Baran's face reddened at Aden's deadpan sarcasm.

Aden glared at the documents, heaved a deep sigh, and raked a hand through his hair.

That monstrous stack...

Aden clicked his tongue in disgust and perched sideways on the table's edge.

“Every summer, magical beasts raid our territories and villages, so we hold extermination tournaments to wipe them out—why don't their numbers ever drop, Baran Nemir Viscount?”

“Because far more lurk in this vast mountain range than we can cull. They're that numerous, making full eradication a nightmare. And it's all due to that shadow magic stone lodged somewhere in these peaks, drawing them in.”

Aden rubbed the bridge of his nose at Baran's steady report, gaze dropping.

Hands in his pockets, he stared quietly at the floor before his lips parted slowly.

“Dozens of years we've held these hunting tournaments—protecting folk from the influx and culling the surge as pretext. After decades, their numbers should've dwindled even a bit, but they're growing instead.”

“We hire knights and mercenaries periodically to clear the surrounds, but it's never enough. Thankfully, the Brilloxen Lady's aid let us push through the long-stalled sweeps. Reports that swelled by the hundreds yearly finally dipped for the first time this year. Without it, half a dozen villages vanishing within five years wouldn't have raised an eyebrow.”

Aden gave a curt nod at Baran's words.

Sierra had grasped it only in fragments—that Aden owed her a debt.

Unaware of Harmonia's plight, she'd struggled to pierce the full picture without his say-so.

Not wanting to burden her, Aden had glossed it over with the vague term "debt."

“She hasn't a clue, but she's saved thousands—tens of thousands at most. Gratitude falls short.”

“Those in the know call it a blessing.”

“A blessing?”

Aden murmured softly, then chuckled with a shrug.

“Can't argue there. It is a blessing—to all of Harmonia, and to me.”

“How shall we prepare?”

Baran, already privy to the orders, posed the question for form.

Aden quietly pictured Sierra's face, a pleasant smile tugging at his lips.

His gaze lifted from the floor to meet Baran's.

“Same as always. Get it ready. This year especially, with more prizes on offer, wipe the surrounding beasts clean off the map. Put out the call for the magical beast hunting tournament.”

“Understood.”

Baran replied to Aden's back as he returned to his seat, then turned and departed.

Settling in, Aden suddenly pondered inviting Sierra to the tournament—his mood lifting at the thought as he drew out a sheet of paper.

“A magical beast hunting tournament?”

A letter arrived before me mid-family dinner, and I tilted my head.

Butler Daytum nodded and elaborated.

“Yes. Rumors have been swirling that the Bozbon family plans to host one. I figured it'd fizzle out as gossip, but with an invitation in hand, it looks like they're serious.”

“Quite the out-of-the-blue event.”

“Indeed, my lord Count. The Bozbon Duke's house hosting a hunt is rare enough to count on one hand. And right after the rains end and the summer heat fades, no less.”

I unfolded the letter while listening to Father and Daytum converse.

Familiar script opened with Bellieta's signature flourish: "To my most beloved friend in the world, Sierra."

I skimmed the preamble harping on our "friendship" and zeroed in on the gist: a plea to attend the hunting tournament.

Closing the letter, I glanced at Father and the now-silent Daytum.

“You mentioned rumors, but hunting tournaments don't usually spark much buzz, do they? They're noble affairs—most folk wouldn't bat an eye.”

“It's the date that's the issue.”

“The date?”

I checked the date scrawled on the invitation at Daytum's words.

It rang a bell.

I pondered why, then recalled an event I'd noted before.

“It's the same as the Riplton magical beast extermination date?”

“The Bozbon tournament lags by a day, but yes—dates align closely.”

I wondered if this was even proper, mulling it over, when Mother spoke up from across the table.

“Riplton's extermination is an annual affair to cull the beast surge and secure safety. Bounties on their heads draw mercenaries, wandering knights, and nobles keen on Riplton alike.”

“I know—it's not some casual meet-and-greet or show of force. It's a vital yearly hunt for Riplton's survival. So I've heard...”

On a day with such stakes, the Bozbons launch their own extermination tournament.

Normally, no one schedules hunts to overlap like this.

Not law, but manners. Courtesy.

“A day's gap means Riplton attendees can't make Bozbon.”

“They'll have to pick one or the other.”

“Most'll head Bozbon over Riplton, then. A headache for them. They lean hard on nobles' knights and guards—numbers'll be half this time, if that. Tough matchup.”

Bozbon was a ducal house, Riplton archducal, but in fame and influence, Bozbon crushed them.

Every metric but raw force favored Bozbon.

Central politickers especially favored them.

Overlapping tournaments? Outcome was a foregone conclusion.

They set the date on purpose.

Bellieta's been too quiet lately—didn't peg her for this scheme.

No odd reports from my plants around her, either.

Wasn't Bellieta.

The Bozbon Duke himself was pulling strings.

“Speaking of, an invite to the hunt. What's your plan?”