Chapter 7: The calm before the storm

The Elder promised to consider my request to meet the Princess.

When he left with his entourage, Clea and I let out simultaneous sighs of relief.

“Phew…”

I collapsed halfway onto the sofa, exhausted.
Clea, ever diligent, tidied the scattered ledgers and asked, “Isn’t it too early to relax? He only said he’d consider it.”

“That’s just how politicians talk.”

I lightly shook my empty glass, the ice clinking merrily.

“That old lion clinking glasses with me was answer enough.”
“True. Judging by the IRS chief’s reaction, the Elder doesn’t drink lightly with just anyone.”

“Same here. I don’t even know why people enjoy this stuff.”
“…?”

Clea, sorting ledgers, gave me an odd look.
Under her blank stare, I answered with a flushed face.

“I’m serious. When I drink, my memory blacks out.”

It’s in my nature—when I’m drunk, I wouldn’t notice being kidnapped.
A trait unchanged from my past lives.

“Then I’ll pour you a drink when you’re being annoying. Thanks for the tip.”
“You’re joking, right?”

Clea stepped over my sprawled form to tidy the liquor bottles.
Glancing at my red face, she smirked like an older sister.

“Who knows?”
“Guess I need to build my tolerance. Time to train hard.”

I stood to shake off the buzz.

“Adjutant, got time to help me spar?”
“If I can legally beat my boss, I’m in.”

In the empire, even secretaries need martial prowess.
Clea looked like a lower-tier Sword Expert.

Stronger than average knights.
Perfect for practice.

“But can you really beat the three Paladins? Your skills don’t seem that good.”

She shed her uniform jacket, tightening her belt, and asked sharply.

“If I face them one-on-one, I’ve got a shot. Beating them will make the Elder back our prison fully.”

Thanks to my past life’s perks, I have a body suited for training.
With enough practice, I can match knights below Swordmaster level.

“With the spy dead, the Holy See’s targeting us. We need the Elder as a solid backer.”

With the Saintess’s watcher gone, they’ll be anxious.
They might send assassins to dispose of or abduct her.

If she goes berserk in the process, this life is over.

To block all those variables, I need the Elder’s massive influence.
Fighting a calamity with a calamity.

“That’ll require preparation. Training, and tournament-grade equipment.”

The urgency to get stronger hit me hard.
Fueled by that drive, we reached the small sparring ground behind the prison.

A cramped space with a single cabinet.
It screamed disappointment, but it’s typical for a backwater prison.

“Are all the prison’s weapons in there?”
“Yes. But… you’ll be disappointed.”

Clea opened it, and rusty swords spilled out.

“No way the tournament gear’s this bad?”
“Don’t most wardens carry personal swords?”

This is maddening.
I’ll need to visit the capital soon to buy swords I’d seen in my past life, on the cheap.

It’s a waste of time, but there’s no choice.
No matter how much I restore my swordsmanship, trash gear won’t win.

“Let’s practice with these for now. I’ll make a trip in a few days.”

As I picked up a rusty sword, something caught my eye.

Among the pile, a silk-wrapped hilt stood out.
Even Clea, standing afar, noticed it.

“Neglecting the sparring ground so long, I didn’t know this was here.”

Peeling back the fine wrapping revealed a masterwork sword.
The kind only noble patriarchs or imperial knight commanders wield.

‘What’s this doing here?’

I blinked, stunned.
This didn’t belong in a rundown prison. I scanned the surroundings.

Snow-capped mountains and dense forests.
Then, I locked eyes with a lone wolf watching me.

Oddly, it had red eyes.
Seeing me hold the sword, it calmly retreated into the hills.

“Well, lucky us. Must’ve been left by a previous warden.”

Clea didn’t sense anything strange.
This meant I didn’t need to leave the prison.
It was a rare masterpiece, even in my past life, so I grabbed it…
But finding such luck in this grim world felt eerie.

*

First-floor prison corridor.
Elder Dark, escorted by the IRS chief, returned to his cell.

The Elder asked his ally, who’d investigated countless nobles:

“What do you think of Derek Minster?”
“I’m not sure. Honestly, he seems like a smug snake full of bluster.”

“True. He’s more anaconda than viper. No venom like family or connections.”
“Exactly. I’m not sure he’s worth investing in.”

Dark sat silently in his chair.
His eyes fell on the chessboard the new warden had flipped.

“I once visited the East as an envoy. They made a spectacle of animals fighting.”

He recalled a creature from that day, etched vividly in memory.

“Probably a cobra and an anaconda. Both snakes faced a crocodile bigger than them.”
“A snake beating a crocodile? Unlikely.”
“Right. The cobra’s venom didn’t pierce the thick hide, and it died in despair.”

The empire’s top power’s purple eyes gleamed, the memory vivid.

“But the anaconda was different. No venom, yet it relentlessly coiled around the crocodile.”

The Elder, who always likened politics to chess, studied the flipped board with interest.

“By the end, that snake had grown massive. Enough to threaten humans.”
“You see Derek as that kind of man?”

At the IRS chief’s question, Dark looked out the window.
At a promising young man sparring with his adjutant in a distant clearing.

“Who knows? Let’s throw him a crocodile-sized prey and see.”

The Elder extended his hand.
The chief, understanding, handed him a sealed letter and quill.

“Let’s make the game bigger. He said he’s confident.”

Dark signed the letter with a flourish.

“Recommend this tournament as an official imperial event. Invite all nearby royals.”
“Nearby royals… including your niece, Princess Camillia?”

Camillia Andalusia, the White Tower Master.
A powerhouse currently clashing with the Holy See in the North.

If Derek proves his wit and strength, he’d be a great asset in that rivalry.

“Yes. Let’s see if he can handle it.”

The Elder, rarely entertained by spectacles, saw the anaconda and this man overlap.

“If he’s interesting enough for me, who knows if my niece will take notice?”

Given the palace’s intrigues, Camillia had a rough childhood.
Only twenty-three, she trusted no one and had no romantic notions of youth.

She rarely bonded with allies, often suffering emotional ailments alone.
The Elder, pitying her, hoped the man who amused him might help her too.

“He may seem charming to you, but I’m not sure his reckless tongue will sway the Princess.”

The IRS chief cautiously voiced his opinion.
Even he, an imperial envoy, yielded to her ruthlessness.

“Maybe. But he didn’t seem reckless to me. He looked pleased, like everything went to plan.”

The chief recalled the smug man from today.
Every move had been effortlessly prepared.

“You heard, right? One of the head guards was killed in the hills recently.”
“Yes. I investigated, but found no evidence of foul play.”

The chief’s eyes grew grave.
Every case he’d tackled surfaced easily—except this one.

No clues at all.

“Right. Even your hounds couldn’t sniff it out. Handled perfectly.”
“As expected of a family known for contract killings.”

Dark chuckled, teasing his ally for a rare failure.
Then, his expression turned envious.

“Not just family clout. I heard he’s an outcast even in his clan.”

The IRS chief smiled faintly, seeing Dark laugh for the first time in years.
Since his son’s crimes, the Elder’s face had been grim.

“Maybe I should’ve raised my kid tougher.”

Both watched the new warden’s sparring with solemn anticipation.

A white crow perched on the window did the same.
It preened its feathers and flew to its master.

Its elegant legs landed softly on a pale finger.
A white-haired woman gently scratched its chin.

“As expected, his swordsmanship talent holds true from my past life.”

Saintess Anje lay on her bed, silk-like hair spread out.
She wiggled her bare feet, delighted by news from her crow and wolf.

“Good call placing that sword.”

The sword of a corrupt lord she’d incited the masses to kill.
It had finally found a worthy owner.

“And he’s even roped in the Elder to protect me. How clever.”

His efforts for her in this life, too.
Her death had been his most painful memory.

Recalling that glimpsed memory, her red lips curved unwittingly.

“No, I don’t fully trust him yet.”

Anje placed a finger on her red lips, lightly biting.
Imagining the thrilling spectacle to come, she closed her eyes.

“If he’s truly the Prophet reborn, he’ll show the former Knight Commander’s skill. Then I’ll believe.”

She knew the Paladins’ cruelty and violence well.
The horrific basement memories chilled her beautiful, merciful face.

“Still… facing three Holy See knights alone will be tough.”

Blood dripped from her bitten finger.
The red magic spread far.

Into the deep forest, untouched by others.

Soon, eerie red eyes glinted in the darkness.
Beasts no ordinary knight could dream of subduing.

“Then one-on-one would be fair, right?”

Anje smirked decadently, raising her finger.
Toward the Northern Holy See.

An unprecedented act, never seen in her past life.