Chapter 51

Damn It

The Grand Council chamber.

Representatives of every intelligent race spread across the continent of Cerdes had gathered there.

Despite the spacious chamber and the sheer number of attendees, there were no assigned seats.

Even so, people sat with members of their own factions or neighboring allies, using their groupings to display the scale of their power.

‘The balance was truly precarious at this point.’

To Ferda, the chamber resembled a living map of political influence.

The largest nation on the continent was the Arken Empire.

To stand against it, the kingdoms had formed alliances in an attempt to match its scale.

In other words, the balance of power across the continent was still being maintained.

As someone affiliated with the Arken Empire, Ferda took a seat among the Empire’s faction.

The Grand Council chamber lacked the extravagance of the banquet hall.

Its design was restrained as much as possible so that no one would become distracted by grandeur, making it resemble most other council chambers.

The seats were arranged in a semicircle, naturally drawing everyone’s attention toward the center.

And seated there was the master of the Grand Council.

‘The White Dragon, Blancaros.’

Pure-white hair, white eyes, and the youthful face of a man untouched by the passage of time.

His whiteness was so otherworldly that it created the illusion that he was radiating light.

That was the immortal beauty possessed by dragons.

‘So this is a dragon.’

As Ferda observed him, Blancaros’s previously still eyes shifted.

Ferda wondered whether he had imagined it, but that doubt did not last long.

Blancaros was staring directly at him.

His white eyes were cold and pure.

The instant their gazes met, Ferda felt the Circles within his body stir.

It was an instinctive warning one experienced in the presence of an overwhelmingly powerful being.

Strangely, the warning carried no sense of discomfort.

It was just like when Ferda had first entered Blancaros’s domain.

Behind Blancaros stood three men and women with similarly white hair.

They were the three Spawns Blancaros had created through the Ascension Rite.

The Tongue, the Scales, and the Hand.

Blancaros moved his hand.

At the slight curl of his finger, the woman standing rigidly behind him cleared her throat and began to speak.

She was Blancaros’s Tongue.

She represented the will of the White Dragon and served as the proxy responsible for conducting the proceedings of the council.

Her voice echoed loudly throughout the chamber.

“We sincerely thank all of you for coming here in the interest of peace across the continent.”

She began reading from the script in her hands.

After a small amount of ceremonial formality, she started listing the matters formally submitted for discussion.

“We shall begin the mediation of the dispute between King Hudret and Duke Yurei.”

The first matter was described as a simple dispute.

In reality, it was a war.

A man rose from his seat with a scowl.

“I sincerely thank the representative of the great Lord of Order for arranging this hearing. Before the proceedings begin, I request that the matter be correctly stated. This entire incident was a war—and a tragedy—caused by King Hudret’s invasion.”

Another man immediately stood.

It was King Hudret, the one who had been accused.

“My people were the first to die. What was I supposed to do when the villagers took action to avenge them?”

“You were the one who deployed an army, King Hudret!”

“Please remain silent. This is a place of mediation. Final compensation will be determined according to the evidence that has been submitted.”

Blancaros’s Tongue cut off the argument before it could drag on.

“Each side shall submit the evidence it has prepared.”

Both Hudret’s and Yurei’s sides submitted documents containing all the evidence they had gathered.

The purpose of the mediation was to determine compensation for the damage caused by the war.

The submitted documents rose into the air one by one and unfolded before Blancaros.

Ministers from the various kingdoms and territories had spent two months preparing them.

Blancaros read every document in a single minute.

He looked toward a boy and crooked a finger.

The boy was holding a set of scales.

He was Blancaros’s Scales.

The scales in the boy’s hands tilted to one side.

Blancaros’s Hand, who had been observing the result, began recording the decision, while the Tongue delivered the verdict.

“Judgment. Duke Yurei shall pay King Hudret sixty thousand gold in compensation.”

It was a moment of sharply contrasting emotions.

Duke Yurei, having lost the case, erupted in fury.

“This is absurd! They were the ones who invaded, so why am I the one being ordered to pay compensation?!”

“It has been determined that you violated the laws of war by taking no prisoners and by obstructing priests from carrying out their duty to treat the wounded. After weighing all circumstances, the council has determined that Duke Yurei bears the greater share of responsibility.”

Duke Yurei objected.

“Other nations do the same thing! King Hudret’s knights undoubtedly committed the same acts! How can you say that only we are forbidden from—”

“As previously stated, you need only present evidence.”

Blancaros’s Tongue explained once more in a purely administrative tone.

“This is an absolutely neutral territory governed by law and order. If you request mediation here, then the matter shall be handled according to the laws and order of the continent of Cerdes. Evidence takes precedence over common practice. If the opposing side committed the same acts, then submit evidence proving it.”

In other words, even if the other side had acted first and Yurei had merely retaliated, without evidence it would be treated as though Yurei alone had committed the offense.

Depending on how decisive the gathered evidence was, it was entirely possible for the perpetrator and victim to exchange places.

Yurei’s face twisted with rage.

Blancaros’s Tongue silently looked down at him before pointing toward the confirmation document placed before him.

“Duke Yurei, the mediation has concluded. Please sign the confirmation.”

Duke Yurei stared down at the document, consumed by anger and humiliation.

It was only natural.

The moment he signed it, he would cross a river from which there was no return.

Whether he believed the ruling unfair or not, he would be recognized as the aggressor from that moment onward.

‘Its authority is absolute.’

Once a decision was made, it could not be reversed.

‘And he cannot refuse to accept it either.’

Everyone seated here was both a witness and a judge.

At the same time, they could also become predators.

Defying a judgment issued by the Grand Council would merely give them an excuse to tear him apart.

Yesterday’s enemy remained an enemy, while yesterday’s ally could become today’s foe.

“I shall… abide by the judgment.”

Duke Yurei accepted the decision with apparent humility.

His handwriting trembled as though an earthquake were running through his hand.

‘Was this the moment the perpetrator and victim exchanged places?’

Lacking any further information, Ferda could do no more than speculate.

“If he felt wronged, he should have settled it himself.”

Someone muttered quietly.

Ferda found himself agreeing.

If Duke Yurei had wanted to ensure that he received compensation, he should never have sought mediation in the first place. He should have fought a war of annihilation until one side ceased to exist.

Ending things halfway would only invite retaliation.

Blancaros’s Tongue moved on to the next dispute.

Several more followed, but they were all comparatively minor.

Conflicts between dwarves and elves.

Internal disputes among dwarves over dynasties and bloodlines.

They continued fighting over arguments that would never be resolved and that neither side had any genuine desire to resolve, postponing one dispute after another.

After two hours, the seemingly endless quarrels finally came to an end.

“There are no further matters requiring mediation, so we shall proceed to the formal agenda. The first proposal was submitted by the Chancellor of Escholeia…”

The Tongue paused briefly to draw breath.

“The agenda concerns the proliferation of monsters and the possibility of the Demon Race’s return.”

As Escholeia was an enormous city of scholars, its leader was not called a mayor, but a chancellor.

The bald chancellor stepped onto the platform.

He looked like a man whose long years of academic fervor had burned away even the roots of his hair.

“It has been one hundred and thirty-eight years since Godwin, the Lord of the Deep Darkness who plunged the continent into chaos, was slain. However, if you look at this graph…”

Using magic, the chancellor projected an image into the air.

He pointed toward the graph.

“Despite his death, this graph shows that the monster population has continued to rise.”

It was an upward trend.

However, the increase itself was not particularly large.

The attendees began offering their opinions.

“It does not appear to have risen by very much.”

“The problem is not the size of the increase, but the fact that it is increasing at all.”

“Is that not merely a projected figure? The actual number could fall again. This seems like an overreaction.”

The opinions were almost evenly divided.

One side argued that making such a commotion over a slight increase was absurd.

The other insisted that the matter was serious enough to justify such concern.

They argued back and forth.

Yet if one listened closely, it was less about protecting the continent and more about finding excuses to advance their own interests.

‘An excuse to arm themselves.’

Those arguing that vigilance was necessary wanted justification to expand their military strength.

Those dismissing it as an overreaction wanted to prevent that military expansion and the unnecessary expenditure that came with it.

Whether the continent survived or collapsed did not matter to them.

Only what they themselves possessed was important.

Then—

“Watch your tongues!”

Someone slammed a hand against a desk and rose with overwhelming force.

Yet the voice itself was far too youthful to match that imposing presence.

When Ferda turned, he saw Erdes Roton.

“Lord Valdrova’s fiancé is sitting right here! Do you truly think you can run your mouths like that and bear the consequences?”

Everyone immediately began turning their heads in search of Ferda.

Those who found him fixed their gazes upon him.

Ferda cursed inwardly.

‘That damned woman.’

“The representative of Valdrova?”

“That silent evil dragon brought a representative with her?”

People began whispering, repeating every rumor they had heard about Ferda Valdrova.

The chancellor had already looked like a man walking barefoot through a thorn field.

Now he seemed as though his feet had suddenly caught fire.

He cast a sidelong glance at Erdes, the one responsible for putting him in this situation.

She looked delighted.

Like an arsonist enjoying a fire from the other side of a river.

Ferda had come because he knew there would be a moment when he had to speak, but he had hoped to observe the atmosphere for a little longer.

Since everyone’s attention was already on him, however, he decided to say what needed to be said.

“It is true that monsters continue to gather in the Far East. However, that appears to be a matter of a different nature from the subject currently under discussion, so I shall refrain from commenting further.”

“Thank you for clarifying, Regent. I am currently discussing the frequency of monster appearances across the continent, excluding the Far East.”

The chancellor looked as though Ferda had thrown him a lifeline.

It was clear that he possessed very little influence in the chamber.

“Therefore, our current theory is that someone may be deliberately summoning and creating monsters. In other words, we suspect that the number of Demon Race worshipers may be increasing.”

“Demon Race worshipers…”

“Madmen who cannot even be compared to demon worshipers, are they not?”

Both Demon Race worshipers and demon worshipers were despised by society, but there was a clear distinction between them.

Demons sought to rule the mortal world.

The Demon Race sought to destroy it.

Demon worshipers at least stood to gain something.

Demon Race worshipers had nothing to gain at all.

They were embodiments of pure malice.

“What could those people possibly hope to achieve?”

“If they seek to fulfill the wishes of the Demon Race, would their goal not be the return of the Dark Dragon Godwin?”

The return of the Dark Dragon Godwin.

This was a matter on an entirely different scale from a mere increase in the monster population.

Even those who had dismissed the report as an overreaction fell silent.

Everyone’s attention shifted toward the Dragon Spawns seated near the front.

“His return…”

Chairman Blancaros spoke for the first time.

The moment the Lord of Order opened his mouth, the atmosphere of the entire chamber fell into his grasp.

“What do you think?”

Blancaros directed the question toward the Dragon Spawns.

The first to answer was one of Silver Wind’s Spawns.

The silver-haired Spawns, regardless of age or gender, each bore scars somewhere on their bodies.

Those scars were honorable decorations earned while defending the North in Silver Wind’s name.

“Despite the rising number of monsters, we continue to eliminate the remaining forces even now. I swear that no one hates the Dark Dragon Godwin more than we do.”

“I have always held your loyalty to Silver Wind in high regard. What of Iorga?”

Iorga’s representative was a young and refined woman of noble bearing.

Her face possessed the vitality of someone in her early twenties, yet she carried the dignity forged by long years of experience.

“We have detected no unusual fluctuations of mana across the continent of Cerdes. We also receive regular reports from adventurers concerning areas where such activity might be concealed. Had there been an incident large enough to overturn the continent, we would have been the first to notice.”

A priest of Odograsado naturally continued after her.

“Our Order of the Golden Scales also keeps constant watch over the movements of the Demon Race. We have found nothing that warrants particular concern.”

All three representatives of the dragons attending the Grand Council agreed that there was no immediate reason for alarm.

They represented guardian dragons whose highest priority was the safety of the continent.

They stood far removed from petty human politics, and their words carried a different weight.

After hearing them, Blancaros closed his mouth once more.

His Tongue resumed speaking on his behalf.

“The conclusion regarding this agenda shall be that there is no need to treat it as an immediate crisis. However, continued vigilance is warranted due to the persistent upward trend. Do you object, Chancellor of Escholeia?”

“I do not.”

The chancellor, sweating profusely, shook his head and stepped down from the platform.

It would have been difficult to dismiss the entire matter as mere alarmism, so he appeared satisfied simply to have made the report.

“The next proposer is Ferda Valdrova…”

Blancaros’s Tongue stopped speaking.

This pause was different from the one she had taken before reading the chancellor’s proposal.

It was hesitation over whether the subject should even be announced.

That hesitation drew her gaze toward Blancaros.

Aware of her silent question, Blancaros answered with his eyes.

His Tongue received the instruction.

“The agenda is… the formal recognition of the Red Dragon Valdrova’s status as a guardian dragon.”

All sound vanished from the Grand Council.

Those seated there were figures of ducal rank or greater.

They ruled territories comparable to entire nations and possessed formidable military power.

Yet even they held their breath at the sensitivity of the proposal.

Ferda had already drawn everyone’s attention once, so there was no need for anyone to search for him this time.

The matter was so dangerous that an ordinary human would never have dared propose it, much less attend the discussion.

It was an act of suicide.

No one would attempt such a thing unless they were desperate to die.

Yet Ferda, the man who had submitted the proposal, rose from his seat as though to display himself before them all.

Watching him walk was like watching an acrobat cross a narrow rope.

The spectators felt dizzy with fear, while the man walking appeared entirely untroubled.

Ferda stepped onto the platform and looked up at the council seats.

What he had to do was obvious.

“I am Ferda Valdrova, Regent of Valdrova. Though this is my first time attending the council, I have presumptuously submitted a proposal.”

He slowly swept his gaze across them before speaking again.

“As the nature of this proposal makes clear, I came here prepared to make enemies.”

Having submitted the proposal, all that remained was to stand firmly behind his convictions.