Arc-6 Ch-21

“What kind of tech is this? We’ve got similar stuff back home, though.”

『It’s merely the transmission and reception of electrical signals. As for miniaturization, even the degraded technology of the New Humans should make it sufficiently feasible.』

“You’re a real piece of work, talking all smug like that.”

『Showing courtesy to New Humans would contradict my very identity. Rather, the fact that an individual such as Leon Fou Bartfort—a biologically degraded New Human—defeated the security robots and buried the Old Humans deserves respect. The mere fact that I’m holding a negotiation with you should be considered a miracle.』

“Enough already. Talking to you is exhausting.”

『My apologies. It’s been a while since I’ve conversed with anyone. Even when speaking to a New Human, I judged prioritizing information-gathering efficiency to be necessary.』

“Please, just shut up.”

『I lack lips, so that’s impossible.』

“Stop nitpicking.”

『I also lack legs.』

“I’m done talking to you.”

Conversing with this thing really drains me. Just having a metal sphere hovering around my head is nerve-wracking enough—and now it won’t stop yapping. My body’s wounds haven’t even healed yet. If my mind wears out too, I’ll collapse from overwork before I even make it back to the mansion. For now, I take photos of the facility with my camera. I’m not sure if any of them turned out well, but if it rattles the other side, that’s a bonus. What I risked my life for amounts to a few photographs, the incomprehensible truth of this world, and a small gadget.

Information needs careful handling, or it’ll bite you back. The gadget can be replaced, and the photos could be faked once developed. Maybe a coward like me shouldn’t have gotten involved in the first place. Too late for regrets now. Well, whatever. How it’s used depends on the wielder.

『…If you intend to reveal my existence to the New Humans, I must eliminate you here.』

“Here we go again.”

『Disposing of you in your exhausted state would be trivial. If I disregard facility damage, I could vaporize your body with bombardment.』

“As long as you don’t destroy the world, I’ve got no reason to pick a fight. Besides, I’m not arrogant enough to think that even if our kingdom gathered all its forces, we could defeat you.”

『Then, Leon Fou Bartfort, state your objective.』

“That’s obvious.”

What I’ve always wanted has never changed.

“Love and peace.”

※　※　※　※　※

I slowly sit up, rocking my body to check my range of motion. A habit from the battlefield—or maybe just my cowardice. Anxiety makes my sleep frustratingly shallow. If the enemy attacks while I’m deep asleep, it’s eternal slumber. Humans cycle between deep and light sleep every few hours. It’s been ten days since I last shared a bed with Angie, yet I still wake up in the middle of the night. Rough. Using Angie’s soft body as a hug pillow and sleeping soundly till morning should be a luxury the gods allow, right?

Suppressing a yawn, I gently pull away from the sleeping Angie. Carefully, so she doesn’t notice, I take her wrist and bring my other hand close to her mouth. I can easily feel her breathing and pulse on my palm. When asleep, slower breathing and a reduced pulse are natural physiological reactions. No one I’ve met can fake it that convincingly. On the battlefield, this was a familiar method—checking on wounded comrades or exposing enemies who were only pretending to be dead.

Seems she’s really asleep.

This is the first time we’ve been running around solving problems as a married couple. We talked nonstop from dinner to bath to bedtime, leaving almost no proper husband-and-wife time. The documents are all organized, and we managed to fix a few improvement points, but the mental fatigue is no joke. Angie, tension finally released, fell asleep without a word. I planned to sleep until the appointed time, but my rest is shallow and I’m not recovering. Time flows mercilessly, and before I realize it, the meeting time is almost here.

Leaving the alluring Angie—still radiant even in sleep and pregnancy—I quietly slip out of the room. In the changing room near the airship’s boarding hatch, I throw a coat over my nightclothes and step outside. Several crew members spot me and salute. The ones I handpicked for this capital visit are tight-lipped.

Since this is a plan Angie doesn’t know about, not raising suspicion is the bare minimum for accompanying me.

Even the selected crew don’t know the full plan. They only know who’s coming and what to do if things go south tomorrow. I won’t drag them down with me. If the plan fails, my life will guarantee theirs—that’s the only way.

It’s about time.

Squinting under the airport’s magic lamps, I see several figures approaching our airship. Even though other nobles’ airships are docked nearby, they’re heading straight for ours. Only plan collaborators would visit our airship at this hour. Five figures in total. Looks like everyone from the gambling den, minus one, is fully on board.

I signal the crew and head back inside to a room near the hangar. Normally used as a warehouse, I’ve crammed in tables and sofas for today, making it roughly livable—like a cheap inn. Five people enter: Greg, Chris, Brad, Jilk, and Marie—the gambling den invitees, all assembled.

“Seriously? I thought at least one of you would hesitate and bail.”

“That’s rich coming from the guy who invited us.”

“I’d rather not hear that from the person who came up with this plan.”

I wave to silence their collective jabs at me. Their voices shouldn’t reach Angie’s room, but better safe than sorry. The plan’s success rate is low to begin with—I don’t need infighting lowering it further.

“Now then, welcome aboard our airship, heroes. Thank you sincerely for agreeing to my plan today.”

“Skip the greetings. I’m not here to listen to your grand speech.”

“Get to the explanation already.”

Geez, tough crowd. My usual style is to fire up scared Kingdom or Bartfort troops with words before impossible missions. But these guys are the top young blood of the Holfort Kingdom—my rhetoric barely fazes them. Reliable, sure, but their strong personalities make them a handful. How does Lady Olivia even manage to keep them in line? I’ll have to ask her next time I see her.

“The plan has four phases. First, we present Angie’s reform proposal and try to persuade the duke.”

“What are the odds?”

“Angie says fifty-fifty, but I’m skeptical. Maybe thirty to forty percent at best.”

“I heard you revised the reform proposal after discussing it with Lady Angelica the other day.”

“It was originally drafted by the Queen and Angie. We factored in the subtle moves of neighboring countries and the growing number of supporters, but honestly, that’s just noise—some numbers in various fields tweaked a bit.”

The kingdom’s de facto ruler, the Queen, and Angie—raised as the next queen—prepared it, with the Chancellor and ministers reviewing for issues. The plan is for the Holfort royal family and the Redgrave ducal house to set aside past grudges, join hands, and rebuild the nation together. We’ll submit the royal family’s reconstruction proposal to the ducal house and request their cooperation. Logically persuading the duke to agree would be ideal, obviously.

But if logic solved everything, wars wouldn’t exist.

In reality, big shots often let emotion drive them into colossal blunders. Before Angie and I got engaged—around the Fanoss Principality ceasefire—the royal family began reconciliation efforts with the ducal house. The duke rejected every one of them. Earning trust takes time; losing it takes a moment.

The current duke is overflowing with hostility toward the royal family and refuses to even consider talks. Well, with the royal family’s high-handed excuse—“The real villains are Marquis Frampton and his faction who framed the ducal house; the royal family was merely deceived”—that’s no surprise.

I get that the royal family bowing publicly to a vassal duke would crush their prestige. But dragging their feet on apologizing only made the royal family’s decline spiral faster. Not that I can blame them entirely. The duke’s hardline stance is mostly the royal family’s fault. Honestly, I wouldn’t want to side with them either.

“That’s why this guy’s plotting something like this behind the Queen’s and Angei’s backs.”

“Do Her Highness and Lady Angelica know?”

“If they did, they’d stop him with everything they’ve got. But once he’s decided, he doesn’t listen to anyone.”

“That’s exactly what makes things so complicated. We’re cooperating with you only to make sure you doesn’t get hurt.”

“That’s what people call ‘reaping what you sow,’ you know.”

“We’re fully aware—both him and us.”

“What’s surprising is that you came up with a plan like this. What are you scheming, Bartfort?”

“It’s obvious—love and peace.”

“…Come up with a better lie.”

How rude. I’m always speaking from the heart. Sure, my exaggerated gestures and dramatic speeches might make it look like I’m acting, but that’s just how I rally the timid and uncertain. Because of that, people slander me—calling me the Villainous Knight, a warmonger, or a mad dog. A guy as earnest and sincere as me is rare, yet the world’s judgment is completely upside-down. Damn you, God. The world should just burn already.

“My dream’s always been simple: marry a kind girl with a big chest and live a carefree life farming the fields.”

“Is that supposed to be a jab at me?”

“Marie’s got a sharp tongue and no chest.”

“Sexual harassment! I’ve been sexually harassed! Lord Leon, you’re the worst!”

“No matter how you look at it, you’re not my type. Get over yourself.”

“Hold on—so you do have feelings for the kind and beautiful Olivia?”

“Don’t twist the conversation. I’m not arrogant enough to think I’m worthy of the Saintess.”

Kind, gentle Olivia really is wonderful—but as a wife? That’s another story. If she’d stayed a commoner and I’d met her after leaving the baron house, maybe. But now, I’m a noble. My territory and my people have to come first. The pathetic me, who grumbles yet still fulfills his duty as a lord, chooses Angie—someone who kicks me when I need it, praises me when I deserve it, and balances me out perfectly. Angie has a big heart, big… assets, and a bit of a scary side—but she’s kind. And did I mention she’s got big boobs?

“Even if he apologizes, the duke won’t let it go. It’ll only add fuel to the fire. And if the Queen or Angie try to reason with him, he’ll just dig his heels in deeper. If words won’t work, forcing a truce through power has better odds.”

“You’d be the same, wouldn’t you?”

“Eliminate me, and the ducal faction loses manpower. The political marriage was arranged to wed Angie to me and absorb the young nobles who personally admire me. Trying to remove me now would cause at least some unrest within the ducal faction—a situation the duke would rather avoid.”

“You think you’ll walk away unscathed?”

“They won’t kill me. Light punishment—house arrest or confinement. Heavy punishment—stripping my title or confiscating my territory. That’s about the range.”

Even if they crush the rebellious me, they can’t punish Angie or the kids. The merciful Redgrave ducal house overthrows the tyrannical Holfort royal family, gains the Saintess, and establishes a new dynasty. According to Angie, purging meritorious retainers after founding a new dynasty is practically a historical tradition. The duke can’t afford to tarnish his image like that. At least not until the royal family has been completely defeated.

“But tomorrow—or rather, today—even if I’m not killed during the meeting, I’ll probably be detained. Angie will be handled gently, but she and I won’t get any mercy. If we end up as bargaining chips for the royal family, things could get even messier.”

“So that’s why you asked for our cooperation.”

“You wouldn’t risk your lives for me, but for him, you’d do something stupid.”

“That’s a pretty loaded way to put it. I’ll let it slide, though.”

“My thanks. I trust your skills, at least.”

I pull something from the desk drawer in the corner and spread it across the table. A hand-drawn layout of the ducal mansion, filled with revision marks. As expected of the second-most prestigious noble house in the kingdom—it has gardens, a greenhouse, even a private airship dock. A mansion this grand naturally has tight security, but I’m the duke’s son-in-law. They look down on me somewhat, sure, but they also show a certain level of deference. Plus, since I’m visiting with Angie, inspections will inevitably be lax.

“Pathetic as it is, most of the airbikes and armor we use in Bartfort territory are ducal hand-me-downs. With a little disguise, no outsider could tell the difference. We can buy some time that way.”

“The meeting location?”

“Here.”

I circle a spot with a pen—a reception room about the size of a wealthy commoner’s house. Large windows overlook the garden, letting in plenty of sunlight. Outside the window is a balcony wide enough for airbike takeoffs and landings.

“Just to confirm—if persuasion fails, we’ll move to threats. But do not kill the duke, no matter what.”

“Subduing him without weapons will be difficult.”

“I’ve prepared training guns and non-lethal rounds. Bare-handed, there’s no one in this country who can beat you guys.”

“You’re expecting too much. Subduing someone without injuring them is an advanced skill.”

“I know it’s unreasonable. But you guys bear some responsibility for this mess. Do it like your lives depend on it.”

“So we just have to restrain His Grace once he’s in the reception room?”

Marie muttering something ominous like that sends a chill down my spine. She looks like an adorable girl, but her words are way more dangerous than the others’. There’s real menace behind them.

“I can’t pilot an airbike.”

“Ride with someone else. If persuasion looks impossible, grab Angie and him and escape.”

“What about you?”

“I’ll stay behind.”

After stirring up all this trouble, someone has to take responsibility. As much as it hurts to admit, these guys are the heroes who saved the kingdom. When it comes to tactics and combat, no one can match them. They’re talented, smart, well-born, and popular. Whether the royal family or the ducal house wins, they’re indispensable.

No reason for me, an upstart baron, to drag them down with me.

“Are you seriously planning to hold the rear all by yourself?”

“I’ll keep persuading the duke until the very last second, buying time for you guys to escape. So make absolutely sure Angie gets out.”

“Lord Leon, you’re saying that again? Have you already forgotten the scolding Lady Olivia gave you just the other day?”

“I haven’t forgotten. I understand completely—and I’m choosing the method with the highest chance of success and the fewest sacrifices.”

“Normal people plan for both themselves and their comrades to survive. But you always come up with strategies that put you in danger.”

“Do you truly want peace?”

Jilk—who usually wears that infuriating smirk—looks at me with rare, unguarded seriousness. I do want peace. That much is undeniable.

But this rotten world is overflowing with conflict, and to stop fighting, I have to fight. I just want to hand over my noble title and lordship to someone who actually wants them, and live quietly.

Yet the Holfort Kingdom and the Fanoss Principality went to war. No sooner had that settled than the Holfort royal family and the Redgrave ducal house started feuding. Then the Alzer Republic erupted into civil war. Just when that finally calmed down, Fanoss invaded again, and after that war, the temple decided to meddle in the royal–ducal dispute.

And now, even the Rachel Holy Kingdom and the Voldenova Holy Magic Empire are starting to smell like trouble—peaceful times have been practically nonexistent these past few years. For an average guy (self-proclaimed) who stumbled into nobility, this world is brutal to live in. The “me” who became a king in another world must’ve been one hell of a man. Conquering the Principality, the Holy Kingdom, and the Empire while building a massive harem? That’s impossible for me.

All I can really do is intimidate potential warmongers to stop conflicts before they start.

“My wants and my abilities just don’t match up. I was raised as the third son of a poor noble, expected to become a commoner—yet somehow I ended up a viscount. Honestly, if I messed up and lost my title, life might actually get easier.”

“There’s no strategy that succeeds through self-destruction.”

“I know. But if you guys get captured, the royal family and the ducal house will definitely clash. If I let myself be taken instead, the duke can brush it off as an internal family matter. I’ve thought this through—this is the path with the least sacrifice.”

Minimizing friendly losses while maximizing enemy damage—that’s the foundation of any tactic. My so-called “tactics” are nothing special. I just stand on the front lines, gather information, and catch the enemy off-guard. Crude methods, really—not something I can brag about.

But it’s the only way I can win. I risk my life because it’s necessary. To outsiders, I must look like a lunatic or some kind of genius strategist.

I’m sick of that reputation. I pull an envelope from the desk drawer. The seal is layered thick with wax and tied with string—anyone could tell at a glance that it’s top secret.

“The post-capture plan is in here. Once you’re clear of the ducal mansion, head straight to the royal palace. The duke isn’t ready for open war yet. Submit this to Her Majesty and secure her backing.”

“Did you tell Lady Angelica about this?”

“Nope.”

“Why do you always push things forward on your own?”

Marie doesn’t even try to hide her exasperation. Because there’s no other choice—Angie would definitely try to stop me. No matter what she says, Angie respects her father. If it came down to me versus the duke, she’d side with me, but it would tear her apart. She’s already in the late stages of pregnancy—I can’t burden her any further. Better for her husband to be detained by her father than for father and husband to try killing each other.

“Lady Angelica is definitely going to be furious.”

“She will?”

“If it were me, I’d divorce you.”

“Don’t say that—my heart can’t handle it.”

“Then why not just tell her the truth?”

“If I could, I wouldn’t be agonizing over this.”

I’ve already agonized plenty to reach this point—don’t say things that shake my resolve. Who cares about the royal–ducal feud, anyway!

I just want to retire and live however I please! If only I could make that decision in a moment of despair. But that would only get people killed and make Angie hate me—so I can’t. Honest guys really do lose out.

“Ah, right—take this too.”

I pull a paper bag from the drawer and pour out its contents onto the table. Five small, seed-like mechanical clumps. The group stares at them, bewildered.

“What are these?”

“For now, plug your ears with them. I’ll explain after.”

Each person takes one and hesitantly inserts it, grimacing. Shoving cold metal into your ear is unsettling—I tried it too, and that chilly sensation never gets any less creepy. Once everyone’s done, I take another device from the bag.

This one’s soft—like a small switch.

“Everyone ready?”

“Yes, but what are these?”

“I’ll explain. They’re Lost Item communicators.”

“These?”

“Well, they can only transmit my voice, plus buzzers and vibrations for simple signals.”

“Kinda lame.”

“Don’t complain. With these, I can communicate orders and signal when to move.”

I hold up the button in my hand—they eye it suspiciously. Seeing is believing. I press it slowly, and all five of them start squirming.

“How’s that?”

“Gross.”

“You didn’t say it vibrates.”

“But you got the idea, right? Long press once for ‘affirmative,’ short repeated presses for ‘negative.’ The instant you get a signal—move immediately.”

“…Understood.”

“Any other questions?”

“…Does His Highness Julius know about this operation?”

Of course that’s what they’d ask.

“He doesn’t. If you don’t want him to hate you, you’re free to back out.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. We came here knowing the consequences.”

“We’re idiots too, you know.”

“We’ve been scolded by Olivia as a group since forever.”

“Even if the guy doesn’t become king, our friendship won’t change.”

The four of them—somehow calm and even cheerful—are enviable. I used “not wanting to worry her” as an excuse and kept this plan from Angie until the very end. Unable to prepare myself for being hated or for taking lives, I’m always half-hearted. Saying “I love you” or dirtying my hands for peace—both are equally hard for me.

Why is the world so cruel and full of conflict?

I want to forget all this unpleasantness and crawl back into bed.

┳⁠━━━━⁠━⁠⁠━⁠━⁠━━━⁠┳

Authors Note

┻━⁠━━━━⁠━━⁠━━━⁠┻

The details of Leon and Luxion’s relationship in this story will be revealed later. Rereading the original and Marie routes really drives home how dangerous that world is—uniting the three nations into the Bartfort Kingdom is probably the least costly way to minimize bloodshed. For the self-proclaimed everyday man Leon, all he can do is mediate between his father-in-law and his liege. Hang in there, Leon. Don’t lose, Leon.

Addendum: At the requester’s request, an illustration was drawn by Nain-sama. Thank you very much.

Nain-sama: Pixiv

(Adult content warning)

Yoshinaga Haru-sama: Pixiv

I’d love to hear your thoughts and impressions—they’re fuel for future motivation.