The king was neither dead nor of direct royal blood.

Yet Syrkal had taken the throne so naturally that the conversation between them felt strangely awkward.

Then, suddenly, Alon remembered something Siyan had told him.

—They’re gathering soldiers….

Of course, Syrkal gathering troops and the founding of Divine Land was nothing more than a coincidence.

There was no connection between the two.

After all, Alon had not even met Syrkal at all since a few years ago.

That was why he hesitated over whether he should ask about it.

“Excuse me—would you mind if we moved somewhere more private for a moment?”

At Syrkal’s sudden suggestion, Alon looked around.

Nobles were gathered around her, clearly desperate for a chance to speak with her.

Are they nobles from other nations? he wondered, and nodded.

“Very well. Sorry to take up your time.”

“Oh no, please don’t say that. Right now, I’m only moving because I have no other choice.”

“…No other choice?”

At Alon’s question, Syrkal gave a faint smile and nodded.

“As the Saintess said, preparations are going well, so there’s no need to worry.”

Just as she walked past him, she whispered in a voice so small that no one else could hear.

“What?”

Alon reacted belatedly and turned his body, but she was already back with the nobles.

“??”

Still confused, Alon went over her words once more in his head.

“As the Saintess said, preparations are going well, so there’s no need to worry.”

Her voice had a hint of laughter in it.

“Hu—”

Alon calmed himself and thought.

‘It feels strange to think about this alone, but…’

Alon knew that the Duchy of Luxibl worshiped Kalannon, the One Who Receives Lightning.

And he also knew that Syrkal and her younger sister Jenira had been spreading statues that resembled him.

Which meant the “Saintess” Syrkal spoke of could be none other than the Saintess of Kalannon.

After all, the goddess Sironia currently had no saintess.

That left only one conclusion.

The saintess Syrkal mentioned was Sili.

Once he reached that point, the next question naturally arose in his mind—what did she mean by “preparations”?

Just what were they preparing?

…No, the truth was, Alon already knew.

The sudden change of rulers in the Duchy of Luxibl.

And when he added that to the secret information he’d heard from Siyan—

It wasn’t hard to figure out what those preparations were.

Troops.

Interpreting Syrkal’s words:

[As Sili said, the soldiers are being properly prepared, so you don’t have to worry.]

The moment he pieced it together, the implications were shocking.

Alon’s mouth fell open as he looked toward Syrkal again.

‘Sili, Sili… just what are you doing?’

***

Duke Pimalian smiled in satisfaction and instructed the servant.

“Make sure it’s prepared properly. It’s a gift for him.”

“Yes, I will manage it with care.”

He stroked his chin and gazed leisurely at Tern ahead of him.

Quite a number of soldiers and knights entered his view.

It was far too many for a mere party security detail.

On top of that, it seemed soldiers and knights had been summoned from various nations.

Their uniforms were all different.

Watching this scene, the duke soon began walking further inward.

“My lord.”

“Speak.”

“Then once today’s party ends, shall we deliver the prepared item immediately?”

“Yes.”

“But… is it really all right to hand over something like that so willingly?”

The duke gave a soundless laugh at the servant’s concern.

He knew exactly what the servant was worried about.

And it was reasonable, because what Duke Pimalian planned to present to Eliban as a gift—

Was none other than narcotics.

A drug currently circulating in the underworld at an extraordinarily high market price.

On the surface, Eliban and drugs seemed like a wildly incompatible combination.

Yes, on the surface.

“Simply do as you were told.”

At the duke’s quiet order, the servant bowed and walked away.

The duke entered the brilliantly decorated ballroom, and his thoughts stirred.

‘I wonder what everyone would say if they found out it was Eliban who first proposed the drug business.’

The smile at the corner of his lips deepened.

Even now, whenever he recalled that moment, a chuckle slipped out before he could stop it.

Naturally so.

The very hero who had seemed pure—who appeared utterly devoted to saving the world and indifferent to all else—had secretly come to him to propose a business deal.

Not once, but twice.

And each time, he brought an undeniable vision of the underworld’s future.

It was not some clumsy bait to lure him.

No, it was Eliban—someone who had seemed completely removed from such things—who possessed information on the underworld even faster than the duke himself.

He even knew what the duke had been doing in secret.

‘Who would have imagined that the hero hailed for saving the world would be like that…’

Duke Pimalian clicked his tongue silently as he scanned the room.

The ballroom was filled with nobles.

Some he recognized, others he did not.

One strange thing, however, caught his attention.

Among the nobles familiar to him—all of them, whether slightly or deeply—had their feet dipped into the underworld.

Creak—!

While he was quietly gathering information, the ballroom’s central doors opened.

And Eliban stepped out.

What was unusual was—

‘He’s alone?’

He was alone.

Normally, there were always companions at his side assisting him.

It had been the same at the ball held in Asteria.

As Duke Pimalian wondered to himself, Eliban stepped onto the ballroom stage and cleared his throat.

The moment the gathered nobles focused their attention on him—

Eliban began murmuring softly.

He let his gaze wander here and there, muttering continuously.

A wave of confusion spread over the nobles’ faces.

Duke Pimalian, puzzled, took a step forward.

“Two, thirty—”

Eliban’s words rang clearly.

He was—

“Thirty-eight, thirty-nine, forty—”

Counting.

Calmly.

Looking around the room.

And just as the duke began to wonder about this bizarre behavior—

“Forty-eight.”

Eliban’s gaze landed on Duke Pimalian.

Before the duke could even voice a question—

A bright smile spread across Eliban’s face.

“Ahem—”

Clearing his throat as if finally ready to speak, Eliban began.

“A total of forty-eight nobles have gathered here today. Thanks to you, I am now able to finally lay down the burden of being a ‘hero.’”

His words echoed through the hall.

As confusion clouded the nobles’ expressions—

CRUNCH—!

One of the nobles standing at the very front—his head twisted twice around—

SPLAT—!

Blood sprayed in every direction as the body collapsed to the floor.

A heavy scent of blood filled the air.

And then—

“Thank you, everyone.”

With blood across his face, Eliban smiled.

That smile was the signal.

“UAAAAAHHH!!!”

Pandemonium erupted.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep