Chapter 317: Raising the Height

Chapter 317: Raising the Stakes

“Kroll, tomorrow you’ll meet His Majesty the King—what are you going to do about it?”

Inside the chamber, the five who had clashed with Ronin gathered, deliberating their next move.

Cross, whose ribs had been broken, had seen his pain significantly eased after treatment by the royal physician, yet he still lay in bed, too weak to rise.

“What’s there to fear?”

He showed no concern. “The rumors we spread about Ronin weren’t fabricated out of thin air—he can’t accuse us of slander. Besides, I’m the King’s own nephew. All of us carry the blood of the Audoin dynasty. Do you really think His Majesty would side with some upstart from a fallen marquis family?”

Nearby, Faquindo rubbed his nose, smiling awkwardly. “My Fleming family carries no Audoin blood at all.”

“Oh, come now, what’s the worry?”

It was Sally who spoke—she had grown intimate with Faquindo of Screaming Isle. “The Flemings are a magical lineage. Your grandfather was a Grand Archmage—far superior to the Usan clan.”

A marquis is a high noble, yet rank alone doesn’t command fear.

Take the Screaming Isle Flemings: though merely earls, their power rivaled that of Usan Keep—why should they fear?

“You needn’t worry,” Cross said. “I’ve already sent my knight to contact my uncle Hamand outside the palace. He’ll join us tomorrow when we face the King. Ha! I’ve yet to demand compensation for being injured—and that Ronin dares demand fifty thousand gold coins? Is there such a thing as free fortune in this world?”

All assumed the King would summon them both the next day—but Bruno did not wait until tomorrow. Not even a few hours.

Over half an hour later, both parties assembled in the Audoin Hall.

Tom and David, carried in on soft chairs, trembled with excitement.

This journey with their lord had granted them not only a glimpse of the glittering capital, but entry into the Golden Feather Palace—and now, the Audoin Hall, a place no commoner was ever meant to tread.

It was the luminous pinnacle of their lives—even if they arrived as wounded men.

“Alright, young ones,” King Bruno said, seated regally upon his throne, smiling as he surveyed the group before him—all so young.

His gaze settled on Cross, who reclined in his own cushioned chair.

“Cross, you begin.”

Cross bowed with a knight’s solemn reverence. “Your Majesty, the matter is simple. My friends and I merely spoke a few words about Ronin—and his two servants rushed forward to insult and berate us. In defense of our family’s honor, we gave them a lesson. But we never expected Ronin himself would strike, injuring my knight—and even breaking two of my ribs!”

“L-Lies! Your Majesty, they’re lying!”

Tom and David burst out, their voices shaking with agitation. Facing the King, their nerves betrayed them.

Their reaction drew smirks from the noble youths and maidens—clearly, country bumpkins, unversed in courtly ways.

“Don’t rush. Take your time,” Ronin said calmly.

His voice steadied them like a tonic.

“Your Majesty, we overheard them calling Lord Ronin a worthless fool, a disgrace to nobility. We moved to stop them—and Cross and Faquindo each kicked us in the ribs, snapping them!”

“Yes, Your Majesty! We never had the chance to insult these nobles or their ladies! Cross, heir to the Duchy of Vera, dares to falsely accuse us? What a shame for the Vera name!”

“Do you even merit being lied about?”

It was Milanie, eldest daughter of the Duke of Ferensburg—Bruno’s niece, betrothed to Cross.

“We are noble. We carry the blood of the Audoin royal line. You? Lowborn peasants. Ordinarily, we’d scorn even to look at you—let alone fabricate lies against you.”

“Yes, Your Majesty, these people are clearly here to provoke.”

“And we never deliberately slandered Ronin. Everything we said was true—things he actually did.”

“He forced noble ladies into bed until one took her own life! Such a man has no right to call himself noble!”

They spoke over one another, launching another volley of accusations against Ronin.

Ronin smiled inwardly. Nobles, so polite and refined in daily life—once angered, they spat curses like common street rabble.

Poor Tom and David—boys from the deep mountains, unaccustomed to grandeur—now battered with insults and accusations, their faces flushed crimson, yet unable to utter a single word in defense.

The solemn Audoin Hall descended into chaos.

“Enough!”

After a long, raucous exchange, King Bruno finally raised his voice to halt the farce.

He turned to Ronin. “Everyone has spoken. What do you say, Ronin?”

Truthfully, if this were merely a petty brawl, his judgment would have been to punish both sides equally—neither favoring Cross nor shielding Ronin.

Ronin bowed to Bruno, then turned to Cross. “I have four questions for you, sir. First—who struck my servants first? Second—who delivered lethal blows when they could no longer defend themselves? Third—who attacked me directly? Fourth—who, realizing he couldn’t win, summoned a mob to beat me down?”

With each question, Cross’s mind conjured a vivid image.

In every image, the culprit was himself.

“So what if it was me?” Cross sneered. “If your servants hadn’t provoked us, none of this would’ve happened.”

Ronin knew such accusations were perilous—no cameras, no recorders.

He needed to elevate this conflict—to drag the King himself into its depths.

“Your Majesty,” Ronin said, “I demand a duel with Cross—not merely for myself or the Usan family, but for you, and for the late King Clinsman.”

Bruno froze. A minor brawl? Now it involved him?

And worse—now it dragged in his dead father? Clinsman had died when these brats were no older than four or five.

“Ronin, you don’t speak such things lightly.”

Ronin explained: “Cross claimed the Usan family rose to marquis rank only because Clinsman, wounded by my grandfather and shattered by the loss of his son, pitifully granted it. To utter such words is to question the justice of the Audoin crown—for every knight knows nobility is earned only through unwavering loyalty and glorious deeds.”

“Worse still—their tone betrayed contempt for Clinsman himself.”

“You lie!” Cross roared.

His companions panicked. They hadn’t expected Ronin to say this.

Heavens above—they’d never once disrespected King Clinsman!

“Cross, just answer: Did you say those words?”

Ronin spoke coolly. “Oh, by the way—I recall it was Faquindo of Screaming Isle who first spoke them. Though you later took up the mantle for him.”

Bruno frowned at Faquindo. “Did you truly say that?”

Faquindo jumped as if stung by a scorpion, dropping to one knee. “Your Majesty, I—”

He started to deny it—but he had said it. And he couldn’t be certain whether others had overheard.

If he now insisted he hadn’t, and someone later exposed him, it wouldn’t merely be slander against Ronin’s servants—it would be deceiving the King himself.

“Your Majesty, I did say those words—but never with disrespect toward King Clinsman! This is Ronin’s slander!”

Ronin pressed on: “Your Majesty, my past holds many ambiguities—such as Selina’s suicide. That night, I was so drunk I passed out. You know—as a man utterly intoxicated, such things are impossible.”

Bruno shot him a sharp glance, signaling he had no interest in the details.

Blanchet, sitting beside him, also understood. Though somewhat embarrassed, she cared deeply—after all, if this were true, it would leave a lingering ache and resentment in her heart.

“In my view,” he said, “it is far more likely that certain individuals seek to exploit her death to cement my reputation as a worthless fool, and through a series of maneuvers, strip me of my right as the eldest grandson and rightful heir.”

Blanchet tilted her head, considering. Such a possibility seemed plausible; the ache and resentment in her heart faded considerably.

Bruno nodded inwardly, yet aloud he said, “Ronin, we are speaking of the conflict—not your personal affairs.”

Not some honorable personal matter, after all. The more it’s dredged up, the worse it becomes.

“These two matters are connected,” Ronin explained. “The more rumors circulate about me, the more people come to believe I am exactly as described, and cease seeking the truth. Likewise, if Faquendo’s words spread and gain traction, the knights and nobles across the kingdom may begin to believe that merely playing the victim to win the king’s pity is enough to earn a title.”

“If such a mindset spreads, how many knights and nobles will lose their loyalty to His Majesty? If everyone believes this, the Kingdom of Auduin will lose a great many valiant warriors—and gain countless actors and beggars of sorrow. How then shall we face our formidable enemy, the Kingdom of Tricia?”

He turned to the king. “Do not mistake this as mere slander against the Wushan family—it strikes at the very foundation of your rule and the kingdom itself!”

Ronin drew a deep breath, his tone solemn. “Therefore, for your sake, for the Kingdom of Auduin, I must draw my sword and halt the spread of these lies!”

Crodo was speechless. Faquendo broke into a cold sweat.

Had their casual words truly carried such weight?

Ronin’s arguments sounded strained, their consequences exaggerated.

Yet upon closer reflection, there was a certain logic to them.

Bruno’s expression grew thoughtful.

His lifelong ambition had always been to crush Tricia and forge the Auduin Empire.

To do so, he needed countless knights to serve him, to fight for him.

Though Ronin’s words carried hints of exaggeration and manipulation, if even a sliver of truth remained, Bruno would take it seriously.

And he had already intended to favor Ronin in this conflict—only lacking a justifiable reason.

Now, that reason had arrived.

Bruno turned to the Minister of Justice. “Texas, how do you propose we handle this?”

The summoned minister hesitated. The dispute was still in its accusatory phase; though Ronin seemed to hold the upper hand, to pass judgment against the young nobles of several powerful families was a daunting task.

“Your Majesty, this conflict—”

“No,” Bruno cut him off. “I am not speaking of this brawl. I speak of their challenge to the legitimacy of the late king’s enfeoffment of the Wushan family as marquises—and their dissemination of false information.”

(End of Chapter)