I'm getting drunk! (4)
“I don’t particularly have a talent for dragging stories on at length.”
For now, he decided to hold back once out of courtesy.
If he dangled bait and let out a clattering hook, some might take it gladly while others would only grow suspicious. To perfectly draw them into this play, he had to make them seat themselves willingly before the stage.
“Why hold back? Weren’t you always so good at talking when in front of the young ladies?”
The first to mutter in a sly, needling tone was Ludwig. It seemed he still hadn’t gotten over being toyed with at his own estate, and was itching to grab hold of Sion’s weakness to shake him.
Then Estia, of the Marquis household, warned Ludwig to keep proper manners, even if they were acquaintances.
Thanks to that, Ludwig, who secretly harbored feelings toward Estia, was forced to mutter resentfully and back down, hardly befitting a man who claimed to be the knight responsible for the kingdom’s future.
“This time, I must agree with Ludwig’s words. You, who so often boasted of your own feats, why do you fall silent here? In this place, your boasting would not be mere bragging, but praises that would raise our nation’s dignity.”
“Because it isn’t such a joyful tale.”
At Sion’s words, not only Berecric but also Estia’s expression stiffened slightly. Why would it not be joyful for one who had won the war, and achieved great merit, to recount his feats?
“…Lord Sion Clausen. What do you mean by that? That it isn’t joyful?”
“Exactly as I said, Lady Estia. It means I don’t want to tell such a tale because it isn’t a joyful one.”
As he said this, Sion did not forget to look deeply into Estia’s eyes. It wasn’t out of some thought of seduction or intent to win her over.
He was just doing it to piss off that bastard Ludwig.
“….”
Of course, the effect was tremendous! Even if only for a moment, Estia’s face flushed as she avoided Sion’s gaze.
And as a bonus, Ludwig’s face twisted miserably.
“Wait a moment, Lord Sion. You did achieve victory, didn’t you?”
“I did.”
“And you stood at the forefront, the very one who led that victory?”
“That too is correct.”
Then what exactly is not joyful about it?
Berecric’s look seemed to be asking that very question. For one who cries out for war, to win in war is no different than a merchant striking a profitable deal, or a farmer enjoying a bountiful harvest.
Estia and Ludwig, too, seemed to share the same thought, gazing intently at Sion.
Sion let out a soft sigh and slowly looked around the banquet hall.
“Those who watch war from behind the lines see nothing but the glory, honor, and benefits it brings. That becomes all they look toward.”
“Mm?”
“I too once thought the same. That if I won, if I triumphed in war, I would grasp glory that no other had ever held. That it would be worth risking all danger to obtain.”
And here is where it begins.
Sion gradually set his expression to work. If it were his original self, he would’ve cursed that it was impossible nonsense, but Sion Clausen’s looks were such that even the finest noble ladies found themselves shrinking back bashfully.
This body, whose only asset was its face, was made for moments like this.
“Ah.”
As soon as he cast his gaze with melancholy eyes, a sigh escaped Estia’s lips.
Of course, Berecric and Ludwig might think, “What ridiculous nonsense is this?” But at least toward women, those eyes were an irresistible appeal.
‘The point here is to recite the lines very slowly.’
The mood had been set. Now it was time to throw himself fully into it.
“But… but you see… standing before the war itself… and taking in its horrors with my own eyes…”
The two men didn’t matter. He only needed to appeal to that one woman. The other two, she would take care of them.
“I realized then that all of it… all of it was utterly meaningless…”
“Ahhh!”, Another sigh slipped from Estia’s lips.
And it didn’t stop there. Nearby noble ladies and gentlewomen, who had been eavesdropping and observing the situation, also covered their mouths with, “Oh my,” as sighs of admiration escaped them.
‘I’ve caught the spotlight. Now it’s time to bring in those still not on board with the mood.’
Though nobles watched each other warily, and feared that the royal house might grow too strong and strip them of their powers, they still fulfilled at least the minimum duty of working and fighting for their nation.
If the nation collapsed, their recognized privileges would vanish, replaced by a bloody death match of eat-or-be-eaten.
Thus, like it or not, they had to protect the country, and so from childhood they were all given the compulsory education of loving and maintaining Hispania.
That was the very point Sion intended to exploit.
“When I hurled myself back onto that horrific battlefield to save a soldier left behind, I saw one after another of our weary, wounded comrades. Men who perhaps had nothing to do with this war, yet the moment it broke out were the very first to be conscripted and thrown into the carnage.”
Enlarge the stage. Now he was no longer speaking to just three, but to the gathered nobles around him.
“His Majesty the King, in his grace, called me a hero. But when I think back… I was not the hero. I only fought alongside the true heroes.”
“Ah…”
“This banquet celebrates victory over Nudia. To that, I would add one thing more: my gratitude to all the heroes who burned brightly and perished, and to all of you gathered here tonight, who will devote yourselves henceforth for the sake of this nation.”
It was but a light play on words, yet there was a trap within. A hall full of nobles gathered in devotion to the nation. His words turned the atmosphere into one of swearing renewed loyalty to country and crown.
‘No Kim Yoo-hyun here, right?’
Before moving on, Sion subtly scanned the room. Even if Kim Yoo-hyun had been there, chances were high he wouldn’t have noticed, but caution was always needed.
Fortunately, Kim Yoo-hyun wasn’t at the banquet. Since Lucia herself hadn’t appeared, it meant he hadn’t moved either.
‘Okay, next.’
Sion paused briefly and looked around.
Victory. Hero. Glorious death. Gratitude.
All the key words to move them had been laid out. Now he only needed to tug lightly at their emotions and they would be swept along.
“This is a letter left by a soldier who fell in this war.”
“….”
“Incidentally, the very day that soldier died was the day his wife bore their child.”
Sion inserted a heartbreaking death flag into a nonexistent letter. A father who died the day his child was born, what a blatant cliché.
But clichés work precisely because they still strike home!
“When I am called forth, O Lord, grant me strength to face the enemy on any battlefield. To shield my neighbor’s little ones from their hands, and rescue the trembling elderly from their terror.”
Holding up a blank sheet of paper, as if it were a will inked with words too sorrowful to bear reading, Sion recited the final lines.
“And should I lose my life by God’s will, then by His grace, watch over my wife and family… please…”
Good. Even the breaking voice and trailing off at the end, as if overcome with tears, was perfect.
Though it felt a bit like he was pulling a filthy trick, Sion consoled himself that to survive, he could do far worse than this.
“….”
“….”
“….”
No one spoke.
The gathered nobles, Berecric, Ludwig, and Estia—all simply stared blankly at Sion, awaiting his next words.
“This is a nation safeguarded by the nameless, a victory won by them. To keep their will untainted, we must all ever strive.”
There was no thunderous applause.
Nor should there have been.
Had someone clapped, Sion might well have knocked them out on the spot.
Swoosh!
One noble slowly raised his glass very high, arm fully stretched.
Then another noble beside him copied the motion, and another beside him. One after another, until all in attendance followed suit.
And when at last everyone’s actions were unified, someone spoke again.
“Glory to our homeland. Loyalty to our royal house.”
“Glory to our homeland, loyalty to our royal house.”
Of course, less than half meant it sincerely.
Loyalty to the royal house only came from a desire to preserve their own power. Love for the nation was nothing more than a wish not to see their prestige diminished.
Still, in this mood, no one dared resist.
No, in fact, to resist here would see one branded a traitor.
With Sion Clausen, the night’s war hero, gazing at them with tear-brimmed eyes, who could possibly refuse?
Thus the nobles echoed the words and drained their cups in one motion.
Whether their vow was false or true, one thing was certain: Having declared such words in this assembly, in the royal palace no less, they were now bound to show greater effort than before.
Why?
The reason was simple.
‘You said all that at the banquet, but now you defy the royal family and aid the enemy? Then you’re committing treason.’
That would give other nobles all the ‘justification’ needed to tear them apart.
A vow of loyalty unfulfilled meant, “He can be struck down!”
‘It was nothing but a crude play, a word game little better than nonsense…’
But politics is just that. It is taking a single word to thoroughly mock and ultimately destroy your opponent. It is power that makes one turn against even parent or child, killing them in a frenzy.
Justification can become a noose around one’s neck, or a dagger piercing another’s heart.
Though politics may seem noble and exalted, in truth it is laughably petty.
No one knew that better than Sion or perhaps he had been taught to know it. After all, on television and in internet articles, politics often looked more comical than a gag show, more farcical than a comedy film.
‘I’ve done my part, Your Majesty. Now the rest is up to you, handle it well.’
As promised, Sion had provided the king with a splendid image and justification: “The nobles pledged loyalty to the nation and royal family.”
Did that mean Sion gained nothing? Not at all.
No longer just a man who succeeded because of his father’s name, he would be remembered as the one who swayed nobles with mere words. That was the greatest gain.
‘Most of all, the princess will no longer react with hostility to my words.’
From the looks of it, this body must have committed some rudeness in the past. Hardly welcome news to one burdened with advancing Kim Yoo-hyun’s relationship with the princess.
So Sion disguised himself as “though once a foolish brat, now a man grown,” to ease her wariness.
‘Yoo-hyun, trust your big brother. I’ll soon help you shed that eunuch stigma.’
Despite finding Yoo-hyun pitiable for all his struggles without even winning a heroine, Sion also thought it only proper to treat the protagonist of a novel with at least this much courtesy.
As he smiled, his eyes met Vanessa’s curious gaze. Sion thought things might go easier than expected.
Of course, that was nothing but deluded nonsense.
