episode_0048

48. Scheme

Suddenly, she appeared.

Blackdorn barely managed to sit up from his sickbed and asked,

“What is your name?”

“…You may call me Gabriel.”

“So, you’re one of Oyoungje’s lackeys.”

Oyoungje.

They were the emperor’s right hand, managing the inner workings of the imperial household.

One of the many epithetical naming conventions given to subservient aides directly beneath Oyoungje himself.

Regardless of status, they erased historical records, replacing real names with these titles—an odd tradition.

Gabriel, called a lackey of Oyoungje, smiled faintly and nodded.

“Correct.”

“Then why are you here? Did Oyoungje send you?”

“No.”

Gabriel maintained her smile as she conveyed her message to Blackdorn.

“Though I am Oyoungje’s subordinate, I’d like to emphasize that I’m entirely ‘unaffiliated.’”

She grinned slyly, as if toying with Blackdorn.

Gabriel bowed her head slightly and continued,

“I have no desire for power. All I seek is a peaceful life.”

“Then why come to me? Why not Oyoungje, Erica Grace, or Cecilia Luxuria?”

Blackdorn couldn’t understand.

The current power balance was tilting toward Erica and Cecilia.

There was also the option of Liriana, though she was a mere fledgling commander who hadn’t even cemented her name.

Or he could have sided with Oyoungje and schemed within the imperial court.

Lost in thought, Blackdorn eyed the woman before him skeptically.

Gabriel spoke then—

In an impossibly sweet voice.

“Because you, Baltazar Blackdorn, will win.”

“Heh. Me?”

Blackdorn gestured to his beaten body.

Though the High Priest—almost like a father to him—had healed him at the cost of his own life, the scars still remained.

Moving caused droplets of blood to seep sluggishly through hastily sealed wounds.

He was already broken.

Yet Gabriel held up three fingers while gazing at him.

“One: Oyoungje abused the Imperial Guards, treating them like his private army. And now, what has become of them?”

The truth behind the emperor’s assassination attempt—something Blackdorn had learned while bedridden.

Oyoungje had wielded his influence to command the kingdom’s knights in an attempt to kill the emperor.

But they were stopped by the Liriana sisters, and to silence them, Oyoungje threw them into a blazing pit, where they perished.

Over 200 knights had died.

Though the emperor still commanded more soldiers, the loss of 200 elite knights must have been devastating.

Nobles of talent, trained for a lifetime in combat and martial arts—wiped out in an instant.

And unlike other nobles, the imperial family couldn’t just fill the ranks with commoners.

“Two: Knights guarding the imperial palace, inexperienced in real battle vs. soldiers of Blackdorn, seasoned from constant warfare against barbarians on the frontlines.”

The Imperial Guards were little more than watchdogs.

Even their scant combat experience amounted to little beyond quelling the occasional adventurer riot or bandit raid.

No matter how talented, without experience, even winnable wars would end in defeat.

But Blackdorn’s troops?

Perhaps a tad savage, but they had spent years risking their lives fighting barbarians on the frontlines.

“Three: The imperial court is fractured in the wake of Oyoungje’s failed regicide.”

With Oyoungje gone, chaos reigned in the palace.

Some sought to align with Erica or Cecilia, while others still clung to Oyoungje’s legacy.

Worse, those once holding military authority had been stripped of it due to the assassination plot.

There was no one left capable of commanding a proper war.

“Finally: Right now, the major warlords have returned to their territories, complacent and focused on rebuilding strength.

If the imperial palace called for aid, none would rush to answer.”

Gabriel smiled at Blackdorn as she spoke.

Her voice, sweet as a serpent’s tongue, lured him in.

“Doesn’t this seem worth trying?”

“But…”

If this rebellion failed, death was inevitable.

This time, he had been spared as a political scapegoat—merely tortured, not executed.

Even with a few capable generals under him, his forces were vastly outnumbered.

No matter how weakened, the imperial family was still the imperial family.

Hesitant, Blackdorn bowed his head in silence.

But as if reading his mind, Gabriel leaned in and whispered,

“You fear insufficient combat strength.”

“Did you already know?”

“Of course.”

Gabriel swayed the scant fabric of her revealing dress and spoke again.

“What if I told you I could solve that problem? Would you then right the wrongs of the imperial court?”

“‘Right the wrongs’?”

“Indeed. The imperial house, trampled under Oyoungje’s whims…

Ask any passing child, and they’d all agree—it’s broken beyond repair.”

An impeccable justification.

Blackdorn, still wounded, studied Gabriel.

Her cunning was evident in just this brief exchange, so he sought her guidance.

“Then what must I do?”

“You need extraordinary talent, don’t you?”

“I do. But exceptional individuals don’t just fall from the sky.”

“And yet, there happens to be one wandering aimlessly right now.”

Gabriel stepped closer and whispered into his ear—

The distinguished title of a figure any monarch would crave…

“Peerless Under Heaven.”

────

Bored. Disgusted.

All because of that fucking bastard who dares call himself my lord.

“Where’s Athena?”

I rested my halberd against my shoulder, perched on a solitary bed, and questioned my subordinate.

Despite constant maintenance, his armor had crumpled and torn under the wear of war.

With tattered leather straps serving as makeshift protection, he saluted and reported.

“She—she’s in the conference room… with Goldhelm.”

“Alone?!”

“Yes.”

The subordinate’s uneasy expression betrayed his worry.

Unlike me—who knew nothing beyond battle—Athena commanded deep respect among the troops.

Even the subordinate seemed anxious, fearing what might happen.

Unable to contain my boiling rage, I gripped my halberd—only for another subordinate to intervene.

“I doubt Reyna would allow what you’re imagining.”

“Oh? And how the fuck would a piss-ant like you know that?”

Already seething, I grabbed the 180cm-tall man by the collar and hoisted him into the air.

Choking, he weakly slapped my wrist as he gasped out an explanation.

A surprisingly convincing one.

“Because—because Lord Goldhelm has no reason to force himself on Lady Athena…!”

“Go on.”

“If he tried, wouldn’t she react? You know her temper!

Unless she committed some grave mistake that left her powerless to refuse, it’s impossible!”

True. If that filthy prick ever unsheathed himself, she’d snap his neck—and everything attached—without hesitation.

Satisfied, I released my grip and dropped him.

Athena was sharper than me; she’d handle it.

But still…

The fury surged again.

I punted a nearby bucket to vent.

**-BANG!**

“Haa… How far did that fly? Can’t even see it anymore.”

“Finding it’s gonna be a hassle.”

My long-suffering subordinates sighed.

But my rage still burned as I spat out my frustration.

“The fuck is this shit?!

Women worry about getting raped, men worry about being discarded…!!

And now I gotta fucking worry about my lord and general being in the same room?!”

Suddenly, I recalled those I’d met at the training grounds.

The crimson-haired Liriana sisters could at least give me a decent fight.

Despite sharing no blood, their loyalty was hell-bound—they’d follow that woman anywhere.

And what of Cain?

Though a commoner, his talent had him soaring under a lord who valued merit alone.

If I was unrivaled in might, he was unmatched in intellect.

And me?

Fuck, the more I think, the angrier I get.

Why the hell is my lord such a pathetic shitstain?!

“Look at this garbage armor and scrawny horses! All we get is shit gruel—half the men are skin and bones!”

I couldn’t even remember the last time we got proper supplies.

Ranting, I roared curses at the sky.

Then, a soldier rushed up, saluted, and delivered urgent news.

“Captain! A woman is here to see you!”

“A woman?”

She stood before me now.

Barbarians pissed themselves and fled at the mere mention of my name.

Just the title “Peerless Under Heaven” made even the proudest bow.

Yet this woman smirked, meeting my gaze without fear.

165cm? 170cm? Tall for a woman, but her mana felt negligible.

Her frame hardly imposing—even if the heavens flipped ten times, she’d never beat me.

Her skimpy outfit made me think she was some whore Goldhelm had hired, but…

“An honor to meet the Peerless.”

She bowed respectfully. Too dignified for a whore.

Locked in a battle of wills, I pressed my halberd against her slender throat.

“You come here seeking death?”

Unfazed, she laughed.

“Quite the opposite—I adore living.”

“Bark like a dog if I command it.”

“I’d even crawl on all fours.”

No pride whatsoever—just instant compliance.

First time meeting someone like this. Intrigued, I lowered my weapon.

“Then why seek me out, if you cling so dearly to life?”

Her humility contradicted that smug confidence, as if she still held the upper hand.

Maybe my instincts were right—because next came a temptation too sweet to ignore.

“I heard you seek a proper lord.”

“……”

How’d she know?

Did my endless bitching spread through the ranks?

Or was it just so obvious even stray dogs could tell?

Seeing my surprise, she grinned and continued.

“I know of an exceptional candidate!”

“…Explain. Make it compelling.”

I set the terms.

The name had to intrigue me instantly.

Only someone worthy of my and Athena’s strength.

If she spat out some cliché—wealthy, noble, politically savvy—I’d decapitate her on the spot.

But she must’ve anticipated my test, because her answer was flawless.

“The polar opposite of Lucian Goldhelm.”

“…Ha!”

Interesting.

Alright, this one’s sharp.

This time, I set my halberd aside and listened.

“Baltazar Blackdorn. How does he sound?”

“Erica Grace is nearby. Cecilia Luxuria too. Why shack up with some brutish muscle-head?”

Though hooked, I prodded further.

Effortlessly, she listed points I hadn’t even considered.

“One: Grace and Luxuria both lead stable factions.

Under them, you’d be sidelined—a mere chess piece.

The Peerless Reyna is unneeded; they already command vast armies.

Two: Unlike established warlords, Blackdorn is radical.

He’d overturn the imperial court and rebuild a just world—earning you the title ‘Imperial General.’

And with combat strength scarce, he’d value you immensely.

Three: As ‘Imperial General,’ even if Blackdorn falls later, offers would flood in.

Conquering the fractured empire’s knights would be child’s play for Rebecca.”

Each word dripped with flattery, yet rang true.

But the prospect of marching on the imperial capital still gave me pause—

Until she gestured for her subordinate to bring forth a towering warhorse.

“A gift from Lord Baltazar Blackdorn.”

A magnificent steed, its crimson coat and black mane mirroring my own red eyes and dark hair.

As I stroked its muzzle, it bowed as if recognizing me as master.

Just as the gift ensnared me, she delivered the final blow.

“Now, what will you do?

Continue serving a gluttonous fool who’ll gladly spend your limbs as currency?

Or join Blackdorn and restore the empire?”

Eloquent.

I studied her, then asked:

“What do you want from me?”

“Kill Goldhelm.”

My grip tightened on my halberd.