He thought it was no big deal. It was one of those very common, trivial incidents where someone drank too much and got drunk, as was usually the case whenever there was a banquet.
Until his junior, who was very drunk and slurping, asked him in a strained voice if he was an enemy.
Mischievous curiosity reared its head. To be honest, if you were asked this question by a drunk person, wouldn't you feel like saying yes at least once? Stigma was simply excellen at execution.
So he answered.
'That's right.'
His junior's reaction was unexpected.
He laughed. He really laughed like crazy. He laughed so hard that Stigma was worried he might lose his breath, and attacked without warning.
He was a little confused at first, but in the end it was an attack by someone who didn't have the hero's fragment and a drunken rampage. No matter how much he was an official hero of the same Empire, it was close to impossible for Deon Hardt to kill Stigma as long as this gap existed.
'It would have been a different story if he hadn't gotten drunk.'
Anyway, things happened and it couldn't stay like this forever.
He tried to resolve the matter as peacefully as possible, but there was no sign of things calming down, so what could he do?
'Suppress.'
Seeing him running around like crazy with a dagger in both hands, he didn't have the confidence to subdue him with his bare hands, so he pulled out his sword.
He swung his sword with the intention of just knocking the daggers away... but Deon Hardt disappeared!
As he looked after the afterimage, he saw Cruel Hardt holding Deon Hardt in his arms a little distance away. It was almost at the same time that the Emperor's voice was heard.
"Do not kill Marquis Primero."
***
Crue's younger brother was born with his pigment taken away.
What was so urgent that he was born early? Even at a young age, he clearly remembered how the entire family breathed a sigh of relief at having barely escaped a premature birth, even before being surprised by the unique skin color and hair.
Of course, he was shocked by the colors the child saw when he opened his eyes. The sky took away his brother's color and, as if that wasn't enough, also took away his health. At the same time, as if he was pricked by his conscience, he left only one thing behind, and Cruel still remembers what the doctor said at that time.
'It seems like all the health that should be distributed evenly throughout the body is concentrated in the liver!'
Even though a lot of time had passed, how could he forget these words? It was the only thing that the sky that took everything away did not take away.
The only health left for his brother Deon Hardt.
'... However.'
Don't you dare try to ruin it.
'Swing your sword at my brother?'
This child was so precious that he could never hate him. To such a child. You.
'... Dare.'
His stomach was boiling with anger. As always, he tried to suppress it, but the emotions that he could not contain came out and the hand holding the child trembled.
Cruel quietly strengthened his arms holding Deon Hardt and glared at Stigma as if he were going to tear him to death. Of course, Stigma could not help but feel unfair.
However, before he could explain, Deon raised his head and saw the person holding him in his arms, and opened his mouth first.
"Are you..."
"..."
Was he planning on asking him if he was an enemy?
He prepared an answer of 'no' and waited for another comment to come out, but Deon, who made eye contact, seemed to be frightened and moved.
"You are the enemy!"
He didn't even ask.
Cruel quickly twisted his body to avoid the swung dagger.
Although he escaped fatal injury, he was unable to prevent a scratch on his neck due to his vital area being exposed and his carelessness.
Deon didn't stop there and continued swinging his weapon.
A persistent attack that seemed to never end unless the opponent died was poured out at different targets. Stigma had long been put aside.
In this position, it was difficult to evade or defend, so he quickly put down Deon and was about to retreat when the Emperor moved.
"Go."
Cruel left and the Emperor came in right away. Before he even realized that the opponent had changed, he pressed the side of the dagger aimed at Cruel with his hand blade and slid down to grab his wrist and subdue him.
Deon, who belatedly recognized the new person, tilted his head.
"Are you... the enemy?"
"Deon Hardt."
"Are you the enemy?"
"Come to your senses."
"Enemy?"
"..."
"... The enemy."
The moment he felt something eerie in the last sentence, the wrist he was holding suddenly became heavy and a popping sound was heard. The Emperor, feeling an unpleasant vibration beneath his grip, hastily let go.
As if waiting for the moment when his eyes landed on his wrist, his other hand grasped the dagger and rose it vertically. The Emperor, who barely avoided it by tilting his head, let out a laugh.
'...He separated the wrist bone by putting his weight on it.'
It was determined that it would be difficult to remove the captured wrist using pure force, so this was used as bait.
If he had the warrior's fragment, he could easily support the weight of a person, so no matter how much weight he put on, he was confident that his grip would not lose sight of Deon's wrist or come down with it, so he used this to separate the wrist bone.
Since the Emperor's goal was to subdue Deon Hardt without injuring him, he would naturally have expected him to let go of his wrist. He took advantage of the moment of panic and attacked.
Since it was an act done while drunk, it was safe to say it was an unconscious calculation.
'I can't believe he even calculated how the enemy would treat him when he judged me to be an enemy.'
Who can be sure that the enemy will not harm him? In the end, the unconscious was convinced that the opponent was not the enemy.
It's really outrageous. He used his conscious and unconscious mind as he saw fit.
'Anyway, even his wrists are in that shape, so I guess I shouldn't delay any longer.'
This time, thanks to his sincerity, he succeeded in subduing the rampaging Deon Hardt by pressing him down on the table without causing much damage.
The Emperor pressed his free hand and back together with his knees and grabbed his shaky wrist. Even though he was drunk, the body underneath him trembled as if he could clearly feel the pain.
It was natural to be sick. So who would have done something like that? Ignoring his reaction of pain, he gently turned the wrist he was holding to gauge its location and called his name again.
"Deon Hardt."
"...Ugh..."
"Now it's time to return to reality."
Pop. The bones were put in at once.
"!"
Deon's mouth opened as if he were about to scream. But no sound came out.
The Emperor, who was quietly watching the scene, removed the knee that was pressing down on his body and uttered a word.
"Breathe."
"—Huh!"
A gasp came out. He coughed intermittently and was out of breath, then slowly blinked and slowly got up. Red eyes, which seemed to be a little brighter than before, met the golden eyes that were watching silently.
"Are you awake?"
"Your Majesty..."
"Yes."
"I... I want to resign..."
"You're not completely broken yet."
It must have been time to sober up. If you look at the fact that he even made that calculation unconsciously, he was probably already waking up.
As Deon Hardt was a strong drinker, he sobered up quickly.
"Come to your senses. "This is not a battlefield."
"Ah..."
"Someone, please bring me some cold water."
The person who reacted the fastest to those words was Cruel.
Even if what has already happened could not be helped, there should be nothing more that could cause Deon Hardt to be shaken by Cruel Hardt's actions. The Emperor snatched the glass of water from Cruel's hand as he tried to approach Deon.
...Now that I think about it, Cruel Hart was the Duke's man.
When he came in, he made eye contact with the Duke, who was looking at him with an excited look on his face. The Emperor's face distorted.
"... Tsk."
Without passing the glass over, he took a sip and held it out to Deon. After watching him obediently take it and sip it, he called a man without even turning his head.
"Stigma Primero."
"...Yes, Your Majesty."
"In the first place, I did not place alcohol in the banquet hall that could intoxicate Honorary Count Hardt. Explain what this is about."
"There was alcohol confiscated from my men. Due to the location of my territory, I had to kill a lot of people, so sometimes there were weak people who resorted to alcohol and drugs."
"..."
Deon, who was drinking water for a moment, tightened his hand holding the glass. The only person who saw it was the Emperor.
It's a shame that he came to his senses, otherwise Stigma would have been the target of the attack a while ago again.
Stigma lowered his head, wondering how he could accept the Emperor who did not answer.
"I'm sorry."
"It is done."
There was no need to escalate something that had already occurred and been resolved. Especially if the cause of the incident was people the Emperor cared about.
Actually, that wasn't why he was silent.
It was up to the general how to handle the troops under his command. The Emperor had no intention of arguing about that, so he called Deon Hardt instead.
"Are you coming to your senses now?"
***
"Are you coming to your senses now?"[1]
Yes, a lot. From now on, I plan to erase all my memories from before, but I hope that other people will also forget about it.
"Count Hardt?"
"... Sorry."
Of course that won't happen.
I don't remember exactly what happened. My wrist was throbbing and I kept coughing, but I don't remember what happened.
'The banquet hall was destroyed, but it probably has nothing to do with me.'
Yes, I guess so.
There was a scene that came to mind in my hazy memory, but I didn't really focus on it because I had a strong feeling that I would regret it.
I took a sip of water, carefully observing the Emperor's gaze.
And then I made eye contact with Cruel.
"Cough, cough! Cough! Kek!"
"... Physician!"
It's just a cough, why bother... Ah.
I felt sick. My throat hurt like it was burning. But, as always, this kind of pain quickly slipped out of the realm of awareness.
I looked blankly at the blood on my palm and wiped it off by rubbing it on my clothes. I can't tell you how lucky I am that it's red and doesn't show up even when I wipe it. The clothes the Emperor gave me today are doing their job well.
Stigma, who had been standing still the entire time, cautiously opened his mouth.
"What... poison is this?"
"No, it's not poison. It's not a glass of water. I confirmed it myself."
Now they were excluding the assumption that it was poison.
Every time something happens, they shout 'Is it poison?!'
My guess is that this is just a combination of stress and various other things. Honestly, it was worth it. You worked hard today.
'Also, I don't remember, but I think I was shocked when I was throbbing all over my body.'
The physician came running from the other side, panting. This time I didn't say it was okay. It's not okay.
I suddenly held out my wrist to the palace doctor.
"My wrist hurts."
"Yes?"
"I want you to look at my wrist."
"Blood is flowing from your mouth..."
"It looks like you still have the aftereffects of being drunk. Ignore it and get treatment."
That's it if you're the Emperor?! My wrist hurts? But no matter how dissatisfied I looked, the Emperor's orders came first. The palace doctor ignored my outstretched wrist, collected the remaining blood in my mouth, dropped it on various sticks, and then began pressing various parts of my stomach.
"Please tell me if you feel any pain."
"..."
There is nothing. It wasn't like that in the first place...
"Ugh!"
"Is it here?"
"Wait a minute...!"
That's right! That's right, stop pressing! It hurts!
I quickly grabbed his wrist and gave him a desperate look begging him to stop. Fortunately, it must have worked, as he winced and slowly withdrew his hand.
Finally, as if he had finished checking the color change of the stick, he slowly walked away from me and bowed to the Emperor.
"Fortunately, it wasn't poison, but my abdomen was bruised because something was pressing hard on it. In normal cases, it wouldn't be at the level of vomiting blood, but..."
"If it's the Demon King's curse, it might be possible."
The Emperor's gaze fell on me. Not the face, but a little bit below. As I followed his gaze and traced the area around my neck, my hand reached the location of the location tracking brand that the Demon King would have engraved on me.
'No, wait a minute. Being able to see and touch this means...'
[1] This scene is really confusing. Did my best but I'm so tired from school and busy so I just kinda cleaned it up and called it a day.