Chapter Eighty-Five: The Death of the Count

By the time the clash in the garden finally came to an end, dawn had already broken on the following day. Ist raised his head, gazing at the sky as it gradually brightened. Only then, as the tension that had gripped him through the long, sleepless night suddenly released, did he become aware of the burning pain searing through his wounds. The agony forced a sharp breath through his teeth. Gritting his jaw, he roughly wiped away the blood at the corner of his mouth, then cast a cold glance at the heap of assassins’ corpses before him. In that moment, something on the bodies caught his eye.

Paying no heed to his bleeding wounds, Ist searched the nearest assassin, tugging at the black garment to reveal what lay beneath.

It was a kind of iron armor, but not the typical outer plate—this was an inner defensive vest. For most people, an ordinary inner vest was already considered an extravagance, but when Ist got a good look at what he’d stripped from the assassin, he was stunned. This was no ordinary vest, but the far pricier flexible armor.

Though both types served as defensive gear, the flexible armor was vastly superior to the cumbersome inner vests. Lightweight and supple, such protection was reserved for only the most elite soldiers in the army.

Ist rifled through both groups of assassins. The first wore these expensive flexible vests, while the second group bore more practical chainmail.

From their fighting styles, Ist had already noticed stark differences between the two groups, and their equipment only confirmed his suspicions. Brow furrowed, he hurriedly gathered the two distinct types of armor and made his way to the count’s chamber.

The moment he entered, a heavy, pungent medicinal scent assaulted his senses. Among the various odors, Ist detected a strong whiff of hemp-leaf herb.

His brow knit tighter. Hemp-leaf was known for its narcotic properties, numbing pain and soothing frayed nerves. But in excess, it could induce powerful hallucinations, madness, and, more perilously, accelerate the heartbeat to the point of fatal cardiac rupture.

Ist scowled, well aware that such a thing was far from benign.

“Who is it?” came Chelseberg’s voice from the bed.

“It’s me, Ist,” he replied, hurrying to the bedside. The count’s face was ghastly pale, his chest swathed in thick bandages. Upon seeing Ist, Chelseberg struggled to prop himself up.

“My lord, perhaps you should remain lying down…” Ist urged.

“It’s nothing—just a punctured lung… heh! I doubt anyone would guess my heart isn’t on the left, but rather on the right!” the stout man forced a smile, evidently proud of his anatomical anomaly.

He pressed on, “Well? Did you find anything?”

“Yes, my lord.” At Chelseberg’s prompt, Ist presented the two different vests and recounted everything he’d discovered.

“Oh?” A peculiar glint flashed in Chelseberg’s eyes. He motioned for Ist to bring the armor closer, scrutinizing each piece.

“Interesting… The flexible armor is forged from premium iron ore, which is found in only three places in the entire Vira Empire: twice in southern Birlane, once in northern Vorlan. The engravings and craftsmanship on this armor are distinctly northern—Vorlan’s iron and local artisanship. Now, let me think… In the whole empire, only the Standin family fits both criteria. And as far as I know, that family has recently become quite close to one of the royal princes…”

At this, Chelseberg’s narrow eyes shone with a sharp, calculating light. He bit out each word: “It’s Aurora’s men.”

“The second prince?!” Ist was momentarily stunned. Chelseberg referred to Pangudine Aurora, second prince of the Vira Empire.

“My lord, you mean the second prince sent those men?” Ist’s expression darkened. If that were true, this was far more than a simple assassination.

“That’s not all,” Chelseberg replied with a faint, cold smile. “Besides our dear prince, the Soul Temple is involved as well… You see, in the Vira Empire, only two groups commonly use chainmail: the army’s elite and the Soul Temple’s guardian soulmasters.”

So… it had come to this, then? Chelseberg thought to himself, a cunning grin slowly spreading across his plump face.

Well, so be it! Since that fool has already made a move, let chaos reign. With the empire’s fragile balance teetering on the edge, only by shattering it can the game truly be reset.

“Heh, then let’s plunge it all into chaos!” At the thought, Chelseberg chuckled darkly, beckoning Ist over in a low voice, “You must return to the imperial capital at once. Remember, travel as fast as you can! Spread the news that I am dead. Do you understand?”

“But, my lord, you’re not actually dead, are you?” Ist scratched his head in confusion, peering at the corpulent man before him.

“No, no!” Chelseberg put on a stern expression. “My dear Ist, have you ever seen anyone survive a crossbow bolt through the heart? Remember this: I, Chelseberg, was assassinated last night at Bichisas Castle—my heart pierced, dead!”

“Yes, my lord, I understand. I’ll do exactly as you command. You have my word,” Ist replied. He did not fully grasp Chelseberg’s intentions, but he knew his duty was simply to obey, whether right or wrong.

“Good, then go quickly… Oh, and Ist, when you see Weiling, tell her I won’t be able to return for some time. Just say that—she’ll understand,” Chelseberg added with a wink.

P.S.: I know the recent updates have been a bit sparse. Let’s make a deal: from today on, I’ll fix the release schedule—just like before, two updates per day, one at midday and one in the evening, and more if possible. I hope this satisfies everyone!