#135. The Trace of the Boy I Met Only Once, Four Years Ago
That winter, unrest began to stir among the barbarians.
The source of the commotion was the movement of the Lamore Kingdom’s army, which had been stationed along the Ralke Mountains.
“They think there’s no need for defenses now that the winter raids are over?”
Startled by this unprecedented event, the chiefs of the barbarian villages scattered across the mountains gathered together.
“I heard the king is dead. Isn’t that why?”
“If the sovereign is dead, shouldn’t they be even more on guard against invasion?”
“Wasn’t it the crown prince who died?”
“No, I heard it was the youngest princess.”
“What is this? Why are all the stories different?”
The extermination of every royal except the youngest princess was almost inconceivable. So no one realized the information they each held was only a fragment of the truth—like the blind men touching different parts of an elephant.
Though the details varied, the rumors all overlapped enough for them to conclude it was one and the same event.
“Either way, it’s clear that a member of the royal family is dead.”
Just one death had occurred, but as the rumor spread it had shifted—sometimes the king, sometimes the crown prince, sometimes the youngest princess.
That explanation seemed far more reasonable and natural.
“Perhaps the king died, a succession struggle broke out, and the crown prince summoned the army for his own safety… couldn’t that be the case?”
The suggestion came from the son of a tribal chief, the only one present who wasn’t himself a leader but had been permitted to attend.
“Hmm. Possible.”
“If that’s the case, then it’s no concern of ours.”
Just as the Kingdom of Lamore had abandoned any ambition to subjugate the barbarians, the barbarians themselves held no dreams of conquering Lamore.
They excelled in mountain defense and swift raiding, but had no confidence in drawn-out battles on the plains.
If they rashly seized villages while the army was absent, they’d only suffer for it later.
“Still, we can’t be careless. Strengthen defenses, and if the army’s movements look suspicious, we alert each other immediately.”
Royal squabbles in the capital mattered little to them—unless those armies suddenly marched toward the mountains.
So the tribes agreed to stay uninvolved, merely observing from afar.
Little did they realize how deeply the kingdom’s affairs would soon intertwine with their own fate.
Of course, it was impossible for me—being in a foreign land, without royal authority, without Tula, and with Langrisha lacking any political capability—to bribe every servant in the palace.
So after reviewing my plan countless times, I carefully chose only the positions I thought essential.
If an approach could be changed, I changed it.
As a result, I did not bribe the royal physician. After checking the kingdom’s medical standards, I simply used a poison that could not be detected by them.
Langrisha never drank poison. What she took was a fast-acting sleeping draught I had prepared.
Since neither the sleeping drug nor the poison mixed into the other royals’ meals could be detected, the physician failed to distinguish between Langrisha and the others who had died.
In the end, his official diagnosis was “suspicious death.” As for Langrisha, though he failed to administer proper treatment, that was preferable. If he had attempted antidotes at random, her condition might have worsened. Instead, nourishing foods were delivered to her bedside, which served just as well.
While Langrisha lay formally bedridden, I swiftly gathered the kingdom’s forces into the capital.
Then, once I judged Langrisha capable of holding the capital in my stead, I took only a few attendants and set out for the Ralke Mountains.
My destination was the village of the barbarian chief.
“An envoy from the Kingdom of Lamore requests an audience with Dagon Raman of the Nikal Tribe.”
In truth, I could have negotiated alone. But bringing attendants was necessary for the proper show of formality.
We needed the barbarians’ cooperation. Therefore, someone had to display due courtesy.
Yet as royalty, I could not bow too deeply myself. After all, I might soon be commanding the entire army.
So before the talks, I chose attendants who could perform the bows and formalities on my behalf.
The barbarians, caught off guard by Lamore’s sudden request for talks, were flustered at first. But when they saw our small retinue, they must have judged there was no harm in hearing us out, and allowed us into the village.
No doubt they also calculated that if things went awry, they could easily eliminate us here and now.
Of course, I had no intention of allowing that. With confidence, I walked into the grand hall where the barbarians held their councils.
Since attendants were unnecessary for the negotiations themselves, I entered alone.
Inside, around a massive table large enough to seat twenty, sat only two men:
A middle-aged man at the far head, and a young man standing to his right.
Instead of sitting, I strode forward to the center.
“Greetings. I am Blanche Roa Vandaluin, Seventh Princess of the Kingdom of Lamore.”
My words were formal, but I did not bow. I extended my hand for a handshake.
The older man eyed me with suspicion, but upon seeing my silver hair, accepted my words and clasped my hand.
“I am Dagon Raman, leader of the Nikal Tribe. This is my son, Sharchal Raman.”
“An honor,” said the young man, inclining his head lightly before taking the seat to his father’s right.
At a glance, I easily recognized in his face the trace of the boy I had met only once, four years ago.
“An honor,” I replied, without offering a handshake this time.
Then, circling halfway around the table, I sat across from Dagon.
It was time to begin the negotiations.
“I imagine my sudden visit has surprised you.”
“It was not expected. Our relations with the kingdom cannot exactly be called friendly, after all.”
Despite the words, his tone carried no hostility. Withdrawing the army beforehand had certainly helped.
“As you know, I am not here to provoke war.”
Even as I felt Sharchal Raman’s furtive glances toward me, I kept my eyes fixed firmly on Dagon.
There would be time to deal with the son later.
“On the contrary, I am here to propose an alliance.”
“An alliance?”
Dagon’s brow twitched.
“How much do you know of what has happened within the kingdom?”
“……Only that someone has died.”
Naturally. News that nearly the entire royal family, save one, had perished would sound too unbelievable.
I lowered my gaze, deliberately arranging my face into grief.
“Of the royal family, all but myself and one elder princess are dead.”
“What?”
The outburst came not from Dagon, but from Sharchal, who half-rose from his seat in shock.
“It is the truth. The king, the queen, the crown prince, and five other princes and princesses—seven in total—are dead. Apart from myself, spared only because I was away from the palace, one other alone has survived.”
“An attack?”
That was Dagon’s voice. I shook my head heavily.
“It is believed to be poison.”
“Believed?”
“No poison has been detected.”
I explained how the physician had failed to find evidence of toxins, but from the circumstances I had witnessed, it was undeniable that poison had been the cause.
Dagon’s face twisted in horror. For all their enmity with the kingdom, he still felt some attachment to Lamore over any foreign power.
“……A monstrous hand has reached into the kingdom. Yet the foe is one we cannot overcome with our strength alone.”
“So that is why you summoned the army. ─I understand. If you fear raids from us, then—”
“That is not the reason.”
I shook my head again. I already knew the barbarians had no intention of raiding. Their winter raids were over, and if they had wished to exploit the army’s absence, they would have done so already.
If that had been my concern, I would have sought talks before recalling the troops.
“No. I am here to request a union between the Kingdom of Lamore and the Nikal Tribe.”
My first goal is the conquest of the Kingdom of Kartian.
And in the long run, once we form an empire, we must clear the barbarians from the Ralke Mountains for the sake of national development.
Considering all this, I judged that absorbing the barbarians into our army was the most effective path.
And the best time to attempt it was now—when the kingdom stood weakest and most unstable.
Even with a history of bloodshed, a hand extended from Lamore to the Nikal Tribe now would not seem suspicious.
“We believe Kartian is behind the assassinations. But shamefully, Lamore lacks the strength to confront them alone. That is why I ask the Nikal Tribe to join hands with us—together to subdue Kartian, and share in the spoils.”
Live long enough, and you learn one thing: a proposal that sounds sweet in every way is the very one that must be treated with the greatest caution.
But the massacre of seven royals was a masterstroke—it would disarm suspicion perfectly.
They would not doubt the sincerity of my offer.
