Chapter 96

Acting Like a Scoundrel  (3)

“Isaac von Goethe—the rightful heir of the Goethe family—dared to arbitrarily execute a servant of the Viscount Botmer household and sent his head back to the family.”

“…!?”

At the chief attendant Gutrert’s words, murmurs rippled through the hall.

“Is that true?”

The count glared at Isaac.
Isaac’s name had surfaced from a completely unexpected direction.

“It’s true.”

Isaac replied nonchalantly.

The commotion in the hall grew louder.
It was shocking enough that the boy standing on the stage was actually Isaac—but what he had done was even more astonishing.

This went far beyond simple recklessness.
Yet the immature boy seemed completely unaware of the magnitude of his wrongdoing.

“Viscount Botmer considers this an insult to his entire house and has officially declared full-scale war against the Count Goethe family. This is Lord Klaus von Botmer’s final ultimatum.”

Gutrert handed a sealed scroll to a guard.

“My lord has made it clear that there will be no further negotiations or dialogue—what are you doing!?”

The guard was about to pass the scroll to the count, but Isaac snatched it first.

“This was sent to me.”

“What—”

“That Botmer servant, Emil—he said I was a cripple raised without a mother.”

“That’s a lie! Emil would never say such a thing—”

“Why not? When people drink, their tongues loosen. He just said what he always thought.”

“Emil’s head was delivered to me before the banquet had even begun.”

Gutrert’s face twisted viciously.

“Who knows? Maybe he was planning to do something he couldn’t handle without a drink during the competition.”

“…!?”

For a brief moment, Isaac’s eyes flashed—
and Gutrert felt his breath catch.

“How typical. Boring, even.”

Isaac glanced at Gutrert indifferently and unrolled the sealed scroll.

The guards exchanged uneasy looks between Isaac and the count.
Wrinkles deepened on the count’s face, but he did not stop Isaac.

“Well, whatever. It doesn’t matter now. What’s done is done. Goethe must prepare for war—”

Gutrert had just begun speaking again when—

Thud—

A fist flew into his face, and his vision went black.

“Ghk—!”

Clatter—

Gutrert couldn’t immediately comprehend what had happened.
Something hard rolled inside his mouth.

Only belatedly did he realize—it was his broken teeth.

“Wh-what are you—”

Before he could protest, Isaac’s fist struck his face again.

Isaac, who had inherited the strength of the Wolf King, possessed far greater power than an ordinary person.

“Urgh—!”

Gutrert collapsed, clutching his nose.
It felt as if a massive bell were ringing inside his head.
His vision turned red.

But he wasn’t given time to sink into the pain.

Isaac followed up by kicking his side.
The chief attendant of Botmer was sent rolling across the hall floor, crashing down with his head hitting the ground.

“Before starting a war, you should pay the price for interrupting my investiture ceremony.”

Isaac grinned viciously.

“Y-you insane bastard—!!!”

Gutrert tried to curse, but even that wasn’t allowed.

Isaac stomped repeatedly on his head with his boot.

“Let me borrow this.”

As if that weren’t enough, Isaac drew a sword from a guard’s waist.

The situation had unfolded so suddenly that even the guards were stunned.

“Stop him!”

The count shouted.

Isaac raised the sword high.
The guards, finally regaining their senses, rushed toward him.

“Let go! Let go of me! I can’t let the one who defiled my honor live!”

Isaac struggled as the guards grabbed both his arms.

“…What kind of insane spectacle is this…”

A hollow laugh escaped from among the crowd.

Some clicked their tongues, others cursed.
Many among them were vassals.

At this moment, Isaac was dragging them into a war against Botmer.
And not just any enemy—

One of the wealthiest powers in the North, with deep ties to the moderate faction.

If not for the count’s presence, some would have attacked Isaac on the spot.
For a mad dog like him, a beating might be the only cure.
Even if they couldn’t kill him, leaving him half-dead seemed entirely justifiable.

Helmut… what on earth is inside your son’s head?

Reich wasn’t much different in his thoughts.
He had sensed something off when Isaac mentioned long-distance communication devices the other day.

And now—

Isaac had caused an incident.
In a way Reich had never anticipated.

“If you’re Goethe men, then cut down the enemy! And you’re stopping me!? I’ll kill all of you too!”

Isaac snarled.

His voice had not yet fully deepened, but the murderous intent within it was chilling enough.

“…Haah.”

The count pressed his forehead and waved his hand.

It was an order to drag Isaac out.

“Tell the viscount this! I, Isaac von Goethe Vinfelt, will face him myself! Tell that syphilis-ridden old man who’s been playing both sides between the Empire and the Republic that I’ll show him the bitter taste of defeat!”

Even as he was dragged away, Isaac shouted, veins bulging in his neck.

***

The banquet was canceled.

Both Isaac and the count stood in the study, looking out the window.
All guests except the vassals were hurriedly leaving the estate.

The count sat at his desk, silently smoking his pipe.
Isaac scratched his cheek and eyebrow, enduring the awkward silence.

“Are you angry?”

Unable to bear it any longer, Isaac spoke first.

The count said nothing.

He didn’t appear angry.
His expression was so blank that it revealed nothing.

More time passed.

“My lord, the lords are waiting.”

Waller’s voice came from outside the study door.

The vassals were gathered in the conference room.

Already dissatisfied with the closure of the black market,
they were now being dragged into a war because of one reckless boy.

They expected an explanation—and a proper response—from the count.

If he failed to provide one,
it could even lead to a rebellion among the vassals.

“…Understood.”

The count replied and brought the pipe back to his lips.

Ash had piled up in the ashtray.

“There is a reason for what I did.”

Isaac finally said.

Isaac spoke again.
He had intended to answer only if the count asked, but the situation demanded otherwise.

“If I hadn’t done that…
Botmer would have waged war against Goethe while plotting a civil war.”
“So you already knew.”

The count closed his mouth again.

He had grasped the general picture of why Isaac had acted that way.

According to the intelligence network spread across the North, Botmer’s movements had been unusual.
They had intensified military training, increased meetings with branch family heads, gathered mercenaries, and stockpiled supplies under the pretext of preparing for winter.

Anyone could see it—it was preparation for war.

And it wasn’t hard to guess where the sharpened spear was aimed.

At Goethe.

The northern lords were generally indifferent to royal politics.
Whether royalist or parliamentary faction, the capital was a distant concern to them.
In this land beyond the reach of royal authority, the only house deeply tied to the royal family was Goethe.

Though stripped of rank for treason over a hundred years ago and exiled to the frontier, Goethe remained royalist.
Unlike the branch families aligned with the Empire, Goethe had maintained loyalty to the crown for generations.

The royal family both feared and needed them.
Thus, Goethe had been restricted from commerce and military expansion in exchange for receiving defensive subsidies.

“By now, Botmer and the branch families have likely already concluded their talks. If things go according to Botmer’s plan, Goethe will have to face thousands of troops gathered by the branch families. The royal family won’t be able to just sit and watch—the only royalist house in the North would disappear.”

Isaac spoke quietly.

With the closure of the Bern City black market, Goethe had already drawn the resentment of its vassals.
If they turned their backs, Goethe would be forced to face not only Botmer and the branch families, but even the magical beasts descending from the White Serpent Mountains in winter—alone.

With the king’s illness worsening, the royal family could ill afford to lose even one royalist house.

Especially Goethe.

Though pushed to the frontier due to ancestral crimes, they still nominally retained the authority of an Elector.
The royal family would support them, even by mobilizing other royalist factions.

And that would mark the beginning of a civil war—
not a clash between Goethe and Botmer, but between royalists and parliamentarians.

A civil war in a vassal state would give the Empire the perfect excuse to intervene.
Especially with the royal succession approaching.

From the Empire’s perspective, it would be the ideal opportunity to install a puppet ruler.

“So that’s why you wanted the title? You wanted independent land, not to remain a vassal.”

Isaac nodded.

“Killing Botmer’s servant… that was planned?”
“Yes.”

Isaac gave a vague answer.
He did not mention that the Spirit King might have gone berserk in the Great Hall—
that would only deepen the count’s worries.

“And beating the chief attendant?”

Isaac had deliberately provoked Botmer.
He wanted to shift the conflict—

From Count Goethe vs. Viscount Botmer
to Baron Vinfelt vs. Viscount Botmer.

“...Hoo.”

Smoke flowed from the count’s pipe.

He couldn’t tell whether to laugh or be angry.

Isaac was clever.

But reckless.

War between nobles was ultimately a battle of justification.
No matter how many interests and desires lay beneath, nothing could be gained without a proper cause.

Isaac had handed Botmer a cause he could not ignore.

A newly appointed baron—nothing more than a reckless brat—
had publicly smeared Botmer’s name before the gathered nobles of the Great Hall.

Worse, he had intercepted the declaration of war meant for Goethe.

If Isaac were still part of Goethe, then the declaration of war against Goethe would stand.

But Isaac had already been separated—he was now an outsider.

Botmer no longer had justification to declare war on Goethe.

No matter what excuse Botmer tried to create, Isaac intended to redirect it—
into a reason to fight Baron Vinfelt instead.

In other words, what could have escalated into civil war had been reduced to a personal vendetta.

“Your judgment was correct. But… you are no match for Viscount Botmer.”

The count bit down on his pipe, his expression troubled.

Vinfelt had, at most, fifty troops.

There was no way that could stand against Botmer.

“Well, you never know until you try.”

Isaac only smiled lightly.

***

Crash.

“No, not this one either.”

Crash—

“Not this one either.”

The descendant of the Lion King, with striking red hair, knocked glass spheres off the table one by one with the royal scepter in his hand.

The scepter, shaped like a staff, had a gold-plated lion’s head at its top.

Marquis Dietrich watched the Second Prince’s behavior with a familiar indifference.

As the glass spheres shattered, preserved heads of young boys rolled across the floor.

The Second Prince brushed back his red hair and irritably crushed the heads underfoot.
The skulls, hollowed out and soaked in preservative, crumbled easily.

“It seems that woman’s skill isn’t what it used to be, Marquis.”
“I will instruct her to improve.”
“You should.”

What exactly there was to improve in killing boys and preserving their heads—
neither the marquis nor the prince truly knew.

But the Second Prince seemed satisfied.

He was that kind of man.

Though already over thirty, he was still called a prince because the king remained alive.
His actions were so cruel and grotesque that he was known as a minor tyrant.

“So, I hear one of your retainers said you had something to tell me.”

The Second Prince spun the scepter idly as he stood before the marquis.

Up close, his face was heavily made up—almost like a noblewoman’s.
His pale, powdered skin and reddened cheeks and lips made him resemble a castrato singer rather than a dignified prince.

Yet no one in the royal palace would dare say such a thing—
except perhaps the king and the First Prince.

The marquis slightly bowed his head and spoke.

“It concerns Goethe.”