CHAPTER 120: THE RETURN OF THE KING

"What nonsense!" Talcott barked. "There’s no royal family left—don’t speak to me of restoring something that no longer exists!"

Talcott let out a laugh through his nose. He had wiped out anyone with even a trace of claim to the throne precisely because of men like this. The royal bloodline was finished. It had been erased.

"It’s Lord Jircniv!" Duncan shouted. "He is the last child of the former king!"

"What?" Talcott barked. "That blind fool? Enough with your delusions. Even if he were of royal blood, how can a blind man become king? I’ve seen his eyes with my own."

"The blindness is an act—to hide his red eyes, the proof passed down from the king."

"Lies to fool fools! Enough of this nonsense. Knights! Seize these traitors at once!"

At Talcott’s command, the knights and guards who had been waiting nearby drew their swords.

The rebels protecting Duncan drew their swords as well. One of them, a tall man, stepped forward, shielding Duncan as he moved into position.

His blond hair swayed in the wind and shimmered under the sun. His face was sharp, his blue eyes cold and cutting like frozen steel. The pressure that radiated from his body was so intense that Talcott felt fear rise in his chest. His body shivered without his permission, and he instinctively stepped back, one pace, then another.

A roar exploded behind him.

"Ooooohhh!"

Talcott turned his eyes to see soldiers and knights among the assembled army raising their swords into the sky, shouting as one.

"Long live Lord Jircniv!"

"Long live Lord Jircniv!"

The sudden outcry left some in stunned silence, eyes wide and mouths open. Others drew their swords, taking defensive stances. The square erupted in chaos.

Talcott whipped his head back toward the viewing platform. Even here, the guards and knights were now turning on each other.

He stood in disbelief.

At what point had the royal restoration faction planted so many of their own among his knights and soldiers?

Cold sweat ran down Talcott’s back as the situation suddenly changed. A messenger knight suddenly rushed in and he looked panic.

"Lord Talcott! The High Priest from the church urgently requests to see you!"

"What?"

"He is furious, saying something about you breaking the sacred decree!"

Talcott frowned at the flustered messenger.

"I am occupied right now. Tell him to wait!"

Why now, of all times?

"But... he has already arrived here..."

Talcott turned his eyes and saw a commotion partway up the slope. The priests and knights were clashing. Among them, a large man in a silver robe—the High Priest—stood out clearly.

And then Talcott noticed another man among the priests, someone who caught the eye even more—a tall man with long silver hair. His clothes were flashy, the kind a wealthy merchant would wear. He was driving back the guards who tried to block him, kicking them aside as if they were nothing.

Talcott clicked his tongue.

What a troublesome.

At that moment, the soldiers came running up the stairs from the parade ground behind him. They were breathless as they shouted. "It’s terrible! Count Dunrossil has arrived, he lead a full company of knights!"

Even before the words sank in, Talcott could hear the rattling of cavalry bridles approaching. The troops were thrown into further confusion, their formations breaking apart.

"What were the gate guards doing?! Why were the cavalry allowed through?"

"T-The gate guards have already fallen into the hands of the Royal Restoration Faction!"

"...!!"

—So he had been tricked! The cavalry, the army, even the palace guards... all of them had already been turned into pieces of the enemy’s game board!

The realization hit Talcott like ice water poured over his head.

He thought of Lord Chelmsford, the son of Count Dunrossil, who had long acted as his ally. Until now, Talcott had believed Chelmsford was in conflict with his father and opposing him. But what if that had all been a lie? What if this entire time, it had been a carefully laid trap to betray him?

A deep chill spread through Talcott’s chest.

How many knights and soldiers had been placed here by the Dunrossil family? How many had been quietly slipped into his ranks and blended in over the course of twenty years so that nothing seemed unnatural?

It felt as though his throat was being slowly strangled by a silken rope, each breath harder than the last. His legs threatened to give out beneath him.

Then, a smooth, noble-sounding voice called out from behind the knights who were locked in a standoff with Talcott’s forces.

"My Lord, we are very grateful. For you yourself have slain the traitor Weksham with your own hand."

Talcott spun toward the voice, eyes narrowing.

"Chelmsford! You snake...!"

The man who spoke stepped forward with elegance. His hair was cut to his shoulders with a soft shade of pale purple, and he wore a white fox-fur cloak draped over his noble clothes. His movements carried the polished grace of an aristocrat.

"How were your twenty years of glory, I wonder?" Chelmsford asked smoothly, his lips curling into a faint smile. "Power beyond your station can only lead to ruin. And now, your ruin has come."

Chelmsford’s cold gray eyes and square jaw made Talcott realize—too late—that he looked very much like Count Dunrossil.

Then Chelmsford stepped back a pace and gestured for a figure in the shadows behind him to come forward.

It was a young man with the same pale purple hair as Chelmsford, his long purple hair flowing down his back. He wore a coat of silver fox fur over a noble’s outfit of blue wool. The young man lifted his downcast eyes and looked straight at Talcott.

Red eyes!

The unmistakable proof of royal blood.

"This is Jircniv Dunrossil Dalmasca, your rightful King!" Chelmsford declared in a voice that rang out across the space with commanding strength.

At Jircniv’s right stood a small boy, watching Talcott carefully, not letting down his guard for even a second.