Chapter 129: Why Does Justification Matter?

‘I hit a retainer of the Count of Tread.’

‘Is this... even allowed?’

‘What was he thinking...?’

Inside the conference room.

Just as everyone sat in stunned silence, their faces full of disbelief—

Malion let out a heavy sigh, massaged his brow, and spoke.

“Brother... What on earth are you doing?”

“What did I do?”

When Hardin shrugged his shoulders, Malion raised his voice even further.

“Are you really asking because you don’t know? They're already looking for any excuse to bring down our house, and now you’ve given them another one!”

As Malion shouted in frustration, Hardin replied with another shrug.

“When they push like that, we have to draw a line. If we let them do whatever they want, they’ll never stop.”

“Nooo! That depends on the situation, you can’t just—”

Then Hardin’s face went blank as he coldly muttered,

“Besides, that bastard... is going to die anyway.”

“What? What are you talking about now?”

“Whether I lay a hand on him or not, he’s as good as dead.”

Malion began pounding his chest with his fist.

“What’s gotten into you today? First you were spouting nonsense about the knights’ cultivation, and now this? Was that not enough?”

“That wasn’t nonsense.”

“Brother!”

Just as the argument between Hardin and Malion was heating up—

“That’s enough, Malion.”

“But Father!”

When Malion snapped back, still unable to contain his anger, Cobalt let out a sigh and said,

“Hardin was certainly reckless, but a clash with the Count of Tread’s house was bound to happen eventually. Right now... we should focus on what needs to be done first.”

“...Understood.”

Malion clenched his fists in silence for a moment, then responded with a strained voice.

Cobalt swept his gaze across the room, raised his hand slightly, and said,

“There’s a high chance the Count of Tread’s forces will invade Mudside soon.”

“...Yes.”

Gulp.

Tension spread across the retainers’ faces.

Cobalt, now wearing a resolute expression, gave his orders.

“Mulgybson, gather all conscripts and bring them to Mudside... Arm them properly.”

“Yes, sir!”

“Retainers, proceed as originally planned. Keep an even closer watch on the movements of the Count of Tread’s house.”

“Understood.”

Just as the atmosphere swiftly shifted and the room settled into order—

Viscount Cobalt turned his eyes to Hardin and said,

“And Hardin, there’s something urgent I need you to do.”

“Should I summon the knights?”

“No, not that. Something else.”

“Something else?”

As Hardin tilted his head, Cobalt swallowed dryly and said,

“Deliver our message to Princess Medeia.”

“What?”

Deliver... a message?

Hardin’s eyes widened.

“From today onward, it’s certain that the Count of Tread’s house will launch an invasion. We must inform the Princess of this as well… If we want reinforcements to arrive within my expected timeframe. That’s why I need you to contact her using that magic device.”

“Ah… you mean this?”

As Cobalt pointed to his left wrist, Hardin raised his arm in response.

The magic device given by Princess Medeia.

Using it, they could relay the current situation to Medeia in an instant.

The only problem was…

‘Ughhh, the Princess… hasn’t been answering.’

If he tried contacting her now, things might get muddled, and all the “trouble” Hardin had caused could be exposed.

No way. That’s the one thing that absolutely couldn’t happen.

Hardin let out an awkward chuckle and scratched his head.

“Ah, well… I already told her.”

“Hm? Told her what?”

“That the Count of Tread’s forces were coming—I already informed Her Highness.”

“But didn’t the retainer group just return not long ago? When would you have had time to contact her...?”

Cobalt asked with a puzzled look, and Hardin scratched his head again as he replied.

“Ah, I told her right when those guys arrived.”

“Huh? But how could you have known something was going to happen...?”

“Oh, you know. You can just tell. I figured they were gonna invade soon, so I asked her to send reinforcements ahead of time. Don’t worry.”

“Huh… is that so?”

Though still unsure, Cobalt gave a reluctant nod. Malion, watching all this, narrowed his eyes and spoke.

“...Is that true, Brother? You’re not lying again, are you?”

There he goes again. This guy, seriously.

Hardin gave a slight shrug and waved his hands dramatically.

“Hey now, lying? I mean, come on... would I joke around about something this serious?”

“...”

Malion stared at him for a moment, then adjusted his glasses and let out a groan.

“Ughhh, fine.”

At that, Cobalt didn’t press further either. He took a deep breath, turned his head, and addressed the retainers.

“Everyone, proceed as planned! Even with the Princess’s support, we must still do everything we can to increase our chances of victory before the battle begins!”

“Yes, sir!”

“Understood!”

Everyone responded in unison, raising their voices with all their strength.

‘We can win.’

‘With the Princess’s support… it’s definitely doable.’

A blend of determination and tension swirled through the air of the conference room.

---

Clang! Clang! Claaang!

The giant forge of the Count of Tread’s house—Salamander’s Tongue.

A hundred blacksmiths, drenched in sweat, tirelessly hammered and carried molten metal.

Within that forge, Count Vernian of Tread walked slowly with his hands behind his back, followed by several knights escorting him.

Ahead of them, a middle-aged dwarf—the chief of the forge—was leading them deep into the foundry.

“Hmmm…”

Vurdian picked up a weapon currently in the process of being forged and inspected the condition of the metal.

As tension flickered across the workshop chief’s face—

“Not bad today. Maintain this level.”

“Th-thank you!”

The dwarf bowed deeply, exhaling in relief. After stealing a few cautious glances, he spoke again.

“My Lord. ‘It’ is nearly complete. May I ask you to take a look?”

“Oh? Lead the way then.”

“Right this way.”

The workshop chief turned and led Vernian to a corner of the forge.

After walking a bit further—

He stopped and pointed to an object.

“This is it.”

It was… a massive cannon painted in teal.

Compared to ordinary naval guns, it was easily 1.5 times larger.

“Hmmm.”

Vernian stroked the cannon with his palm, peered closely into its interior, and asked,

“Have you tested its performance?”

“Yes! Its range is approximately 20% longer than conventional naval cannons, and its destructive power has increased proportionally. If mounted on a warship… it will undoubtedly wield immense power in naval combat.”

“Twenty percent, huh. Not bad.”

A smirk tugged at the corner of Vernian’s lips.

‘And to think, there’s even a perfect opponent to test this thing on. All the better.’

As he tapped the side of the cannon with his palm, he asked,

“How many of these have you produced so far?”

“We’ve made about five so far, but...”

“Make twenty.”

“Pardon?”

“I’ll give you one more week. Mass-produce these until you have twenty. I want at least one mounted on each warship heading out this time.”

“...”

“What? Can’t manage it?”

As the workshop chief hesitated, unable to speak, Vernian pressed again.

The chief quickly bowed and replied,

“...N-no, my lord. I’ll get it done without fail.”

Just then—

“M-my lord...”

A voice as grating as scraping iron rang out from one side.

Everyone’s eyes naturally turned toward the source.

There stood a man with a horribly swollen face, his clothes in tatters—a grotesque sight.

“...Who are you?”

The Count furrowed his brow and asked, while his attendants stepped in front of him, drawing their swords.

The man frantically waved his arms and shouted,

“I’m Rohim, your administrator! I-I just returned and came to report!”

“Rohim?”

Vernian narrowed his eyes and raised his hand slightly, prompting the knights to lower their swords.

“What happened to you? Why do you look like that?”

“T-the thing is…”

Rohim’s face was riddled with fear and anxiety.

And no wonder—

‘I failed to complete the mission properly.’

Though he had managed to deliver the letter to Daphne, he had failed to carry out his Lord’s order to pressure them.

No—rather, having been beaten up by them, it was only fair to call it a complete failure.

“I... I’m truly sorry!”

Thud!

Rohim dropped to his knees and bowed deeply toward his Lord.

A desperate gesture, clinging to whatever chance he had for forgiveness.

“I did deliver the letter to those Daphne scum, but their Grand Young Master attacked me without warning...”

Clang! Clang!

A moment of silence fell, broken only by the clamor of the forge.

Then, a gentle smile spread across Vernian’s face.

“Stand up.”

“Pardon?”

“I said, stand up.”

Rohim, confused, rose to his feet.

Tap. Tap.

Count Vernian pulled him into an embrace and patted his back.

“You’ve done well. You... fulfilled your role, Rohim.”

“Uh... I-I did, sir?”

Rohim blinked in bewilderment.

‘What is going on?’

An inexplicable sense of unease wrapped around him like a cold mist.

Even by his own standards, the mission had been a failure.

In truth, it had been utterly pathetic.

He hadn’t secured Daphne’s surrender or even a call for negotiation—instead, he’d been thoroughly beaten by their Grand Young Master.

He had fully expected scolding, and even possible punishment.

But now, with the cold and calculating Count Vernian acting this way, he couldn’t help but be thrown off.

“Th-thank you, my lord. I truly don’t know what to say.”

“There, there.”

As Rohim bowed his head in gratitude, Count Vernian stepped back and turned to the others.

“You saw nothing here.”

The knights and the workshop chief flinched slightly but quickly nodded.

“...Yes, my lord.”

“Of course, my lord.”

Just then, as Rohim remained lost in confusion, Vernian spoke in a low voice.

“Rohim.”

“Yes, my lord?”

“This is your final mission.”

“Huh? What do you mean by ‘final’...?”

In that moment, a red line appeared across Rohim’s neck.

“Guh! Kuh-huk!”

Slice. Thud!

His head slipped to the side and dropped to the floor with a dull thud.

Blood pooled on the ground, and Rohim’s severed head froze in an expression of shock.

“...”

Neither the knights nor the workshop chief could bear to look—they turned away.

Vernian calmly squatted, lifted Rohim’s head, and met its lifeless gaze.

“What a pity, Rohim... To be so brutally murdered by those Daphne bastards.”

He extended his hand forward, and the head plunged into a brazier bursting with crimson flames.

Whoosh! Sizzle! Crackle!

Flames roared upward, and soon the stinging stench of burning flesh and acrid smoke assaulted their nostrils.

As sweat formed on everyone’s foreheads, Count Vernian put on a sorrowful expression and murmured,

“I will make sure your death is avenged.”

Everyone nearby trembled violently, their faces draining of color.

Count Vernian turned around and pointed at one of the knights.

“You there.”

“Yes, my lord!”

“Declare war on Daphne. With Rohim killed by Daphne’s reckless actions, this will be the justification for our war.”

“U-understood!”

The knight bowed deeply and rushed toward the opposite side of the forge.

Just as he disappeared from sight—

Vernian nudged Rohim’s corpse with the tip of his foot and said,

“Then, take care of the cleanup.”

“Ah... yes, my lord!”

Step, step.

Count Vernian walked calmly out of the forge, a smile forming on his face.

‘…That was close.’

‘Good heavens.’

Everyone who watched his departing figure wore expressions mixed with fear and relief.

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