#69 Phantom Dauphin (13) – Violence Without Pride

Originally, Count Sarnos had no intention of getting involved in the Levruk affair.

Not, of course, out of respect for the autonomy of the site; it was simply that the Count’s attention was focused elsewhere.

The political strife unfolding within the royal court.

The division within the Virka royal family was a major opportunity for the Marquisate and Countship, which boasted the kingdom’s largest power bases. The side that succeeded in elevating their supported candidate to the throne would be recognized for their contribution and rise to the position of second-in-command, in name and reality.

No, perhaps it would be possible to go even further, turning the royal family into puppets and effectively ruling the country.

You might say, *Is that all? Just another mediocre country amongst the many on the continent?*

*What’s the point of gaining the top position in a nation with such a ruined infrastructure?*

You don’t know what you’re talking about.

For those in power, coveting even greater power is akin to instinct.

Even within a minor noble family in the countryside, or a trivial business, power struggles erupt over the top spot. So, needless to say, it goes without saying that country matters too.

“No matter what, I will win, and I will bring that beastly Marquis to his knees!”

Moreover, Count Sarnos had ample personal motivation as well.

Count Sarnos and Marquis Redvel’s connection went back to their days as heirs, before inheriting their families, but even then, the difference in their standings was so vast as to make any comparison meaningless.

Unlike the Redbel Marquisate, burdened by a long history yet crumbling into ruin, the Sarnos Countship at the time still roared as the kingdom’s mightiest martial family.

Yet, the Marquis of Redbel, possessed by an almost divine cunning and audacity, seized his failing family by the scruff of its neck and dragged it back from the brink. The Marquisate, once destined to vanish into the annals of history, had somehow grown enough to stand as a rival to the Sarnos Countship.

Comrades in age. Influential figures within the kingdom.

But one a mere inheritor, passed down power by birthright, the other a self-made man who clawed his way to the top through sheer ability.

Throughout the kingdom, even the Count of Sarnos’ own parents compared the Count to the Marquis’ talents. The Count of Sarnos gnashed his teeth at the mention of the Marquis of Redbel.

After successfully landing a blow against the Marquis of Redbel through political machinations, he seemed to become addicted to the thrill. He neglected his family’s affairs, instead spending his days mingling with court nobles, plotting and scheming.

The Countship’s retainers felt a nagging unease at their master’s behavior.

In their eyes, their lord was a man quite removed from shadowy plots and meticulous political offensives.

He possessed the minimum aptitude expected of a noble family head, but by no means did he have the kind of cunning to outmaneuver a Marquis who seemed to harbor hundreds of snakes in his belly.

‘Wouldn’t it be more effective to pressure them with force, as is the Sarnos family’s tradition, rather than clumsily engaging in political battles?’

‘Isn’t it customary in gambling dens to let suckers win a few rounds, just enough to get them hooked on the taste of victory?’

‘Could it be that they are deliberately giving him an easy time to get our lord to focus on politics?’

There were suspicions, but none dared voice them to the Count.

After all, they had nothing but suspicion, no concrete evidence. Besides, the Count was not a lord known for readily accepting his vassals’ counsel.

Who would dare contradict the Count, so engrossed in political intrigue? What if his anger erupted in an unforeseen direction?

Losing their position in society would be fortunate, considering the Count’s volatile temper. They couldn’t exclude the possibility of physically losing their head.

Thanks to his retainers’ self-preservation, the Count of Sarnos was free to immerse himself in the political struggles of the court. With the highest authority showing no interest in his lands, the response to even a single bandit wreaking havoc within his territory was agonizingly slow.

However, even that has its limits.

“I hear you’ve been having trouble with some thief lately. I hope the situation calms down soon.”

“Huh? Ah, yes, well…”

When repeated complaints to the Countship in Levruk went unheeded, several powerful figures changed their approach. They leaked news of the bandit to court nobles who frequently associated with the Count. The Count, enjoying a pleasant game of polo, had his mood plummet the instant he heard ‘Isn’t your territory a mess these days?’

The Count’s retainers, welcoming their lord back to the family’s main residence after a long absence, were forced to shrink under the sudden roar.

“You can’t even handle one petty thief on your own, and I have to hear about it from others at court?! What in the world are you lot doing?!”

“S-Sorry! *Cough*!”

*Crash! Thwack!*

Only after smashing various objects and leaving one of his retainers bleeding from the head with an ashtray did the Count finally manage to calm his rage. With a nonchalant expression, he leaned back in his chair and spoke to his vassals.

“Dopang, Dopang… This is the second time I’ve heard that name. I distinctly told the guard to handle things carefully since I was paying attention. Did my instructions not get passed down properly?”

“Of course we delivered them, my lord! The guards were burning with the desire to catch him!”

“Then why is this gnat still buzzing around my territory? No, never mind. Listening to excuses will only dirty my ears.”

Whatever the cause, however it happened, none of it mattered.

The important thing wasn’t some mere thief, but the slight to the Count, one of the kingdom’s most powerful men.

“Summon the Knight Commander. I will command him to sever this Dopheng’s head and bring it before me.”

*

No subordinate department has ever favored inspection from above.

Especially not when they have something to hide.

Thus, as the Sarnos Knights’ visit drew closer, the garrison’s company commander drove his troops relentlessly.

Cleaning was the most basic of basics, armor and weapons had to gleam lest one hear inquiries about their parents, and whether it was holiday or patrol, without a single exception, everyone had to participate in the knight welcoming ceremony fully armed.

“Welcome, Knights. You must be weary from your long journey. Please, this way. I will be your guide.”

The garrison soldiers inwardly clicked their tongues at the sight of the company commander bowing repeatedly before the knights.

His intent to somehow gain the knights’ favor and minimize reprimands was all too obvious.

However, some understood the company commander.

Better to bow deeply when needed than to stiffen one’s neck and provoke anger, they reasoned.

But whether they viewed the company commander positively or negatively, all were struck dumb with shock by what transpired next.

*Thwack!*

The company commander, struck by a fist from one of the knights, fell backward, bleeding.

As the garrison and the citizens who had come to watch the knights all widened their eyes, the knight who had thrown the punch calmly approached the company commander, grabbed him by the collar, and rained down punches.

Each sickening thud of flesh gave the impression of a spasm in the company commander’s arms and legs, and something like white kernels of corn ejected from his mouth and fell to the ground.

“What…what are you doing?!”

Dahlia, realizing the situation a beat too late, stepped forward to protest, but the knight continued the assault without a word, and the other knights watching him made no response.

When Dahlia, unable to stand it any longer, tried to physically restrain the knight, from beside the knights…

An elderly man at the head of those dressed in similar uniforms to the garrison members spoke instead.

“Levruk’s squad leader, is it? Stand down.”

“But…!”

“Battalion Commander’s orders. Are you intending to disobey a superior’s command?”

The word “Battalion Commander” stirred a low murmur among the garrison.

The head of the garrison.

Those who didn’t know his face turned to those who did, their eyes asking if it was true, and those who knew nodded with a bitter expression.

An absurd situation: a knight beating a mid-ranking officer, and the head of the garrison ordering it to be allowed.

Lost in the chaos, Dahlia hesitated to move, while the figure clad in the most ornate armor among the knights finally spoke.

“Enough.”

“Aye.”

The knight, mid-assault upon the company commander, ceased his actions the moment the order was given. The commander’s body, finally freed, slumped to the ground like a discarded puppet.

He was barely breathing, but his face, pulverized by the gauntlet, was so mangled it was barely recognizable.

People were frozen solid by the sheer brutality, but the architect of this scene, the Knight Commander of the Sarnos Order, remained unconcerned.

Nay, he even seemed to relish the atmosphere. He swept his gaze across the onlookers, then spoke with an overbearing tone.

“From this moment forth, the company commander of the LeBruk guard is hereby relieved of his post and dismissed from the guard. Until a new commander is appointed, Battalion Commander Bobert here will take charge. Ordinarily, the entire guard would be punished for failing to capture a mere thief and disturbing the Count, but by the Count’s benevolent judgment, only the responsible party is being punished. Remember this and etch his grace upon your hearts.”

There was no reply.

But this was not out of defiance, but a silence born of fear, of the terror of drawing attention.

The Knight Commander, seemingly not expecting an answer, didn’t even glance at Dalia or the other guards before striding away.

The way he moved, naturally towards the upper-class district, gave the impression that he hadn’t even considered dwelling amongst the guards in the first place.

“Ugh… aaugh…”

The company commander.

No, a man who was no longer even a guard, sobbed through his mangled mouth, tears streaming from both eyes.

Even seeing him unable to even lift himself, the guards all averted their gaze, none daring to approach him.

Even the squad leaders, who used to fawn over the commander in hopes of currying favor, did the same.

In the end, it was Dalia who stepped forward and supported the former commander.

A sharp click.

Dalia gritted her teeth.

She held few fond memories of the commander herself, but even so, to beat him in public as if showing off, to leave him discarded in the streets like a rag, was something she could never accept.

An example, they called it.

It felt closer to vulgar venting.

They’d traveled all the way here because of some thief, so they were beating him under the guise of punishment.

Dalia watched the Sarnos Order depart in the distance.

Armor shimmering brilliantly, reflecting the sunlight.

Disciplined, yet deliberate gait.

Elite of the elite, created through years of the Count’s family pouring money, scraped from the estate, into their making, ensuring that all who beheld them would be awed by Sarnos’s majesty and martial might.

That seemingly perfect appearance felt like a hollow imitation to Dalia.

Strength without honor, pride, or compassion was nothing more than a weapon of violence, used to oppress people with fear.