CHAPTER 119: THE FALL OF TALCOTT

All fifteen divisions—thirty thousand soldiers—stood in formation. This was almost the entire army of Dalmasca. It was clear they were fully committed to going to war with Rosaria.

As Talcott stared at this grand military force, the fear and unease that had been scratching at his mind began to fade.

They would crush Rosaria. Once they took the rich lands of Nabradia, Dalmasca would become the largest and most powerful nation on the continent. And if they kept pushing the army forward, they could take the entire continent.

Once that was done, Talcott would rule it all as Emperor.

Around him, ministers and nobles stood respectfully, gathered for the formal send-off ceremony. This was a war at a national scale. Everyone’s face was stiff with tension, and they kept quiet, watching with anticipation.

Yes. Whether they were ministers or nobles, none of them could defy him. Talcott held command over this army. He, Talcott—not anyone else—was the true supreme power in Dalmasca.

He straightened his back and took a proud step forward.

That was when he heard the sound of running footsteps coming from the direction of the castle.

The footsteps were fast—direct, coming straight toward the viewing platform.

"Who is it now?" Talcott muttered irritably as he turned around.

What he saw was a knight running toward him in a panic.

As the man got closer, Talcott recognized him—the same knight he had sent earlier to check on Jircniv. His heart jumped violently in his chest.

The knight seemed to hesitate, unsure whether to speak up or wait. So Talcott spoke first, voice sharp.

"What is it?"

"Sir! J-Jircniv... Jircniv is missing!"

The knight’s words burst out like a scream.

Talcott forgot to breathe.

"What do you mean by that?"

Talcott finally managed to take a breath and let it out before shouting the question in a loud, demanding voice.

"He’s gone, sir. We searched every corner, but he’s nowhere to be found. Of course, the guards never left their post in front of the door. The servant who brought him breakfast confirmed that Jircniv was in the room. When the dishes were taken away, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. But when I went just now, he was gone from the room."

"No one went in or out?"

"No, sir. No one came to visit, and no one left. There was no cleaning scheduled today either."

"What were the guards doing then?! Didn’t they sense anything—any sign of something wrong?!"

Talcott couldn’t help but yell in anger. In this situation, no one could blame him for losing his temper.

"They swear there was truly nothing out of place. Even in the impossible case that someone used a teleportation spell circle, such magic would create a huge surge of power. But there was no sign of any magical energy being used at all. Besides, powerful magic isn’t even possible in that building."

To protect the castle and prevent intrusions from outside, a large barrier had been cast over the entire structure to block major magic spells. On top of that, the tower where Jircniv was being held had its own special barrier—one designed to tightly restrict magical energy.

Small, everyday magic could still be used—simple charms or minor spells—but teleportation or any kind of large-scale magic circles were supposed to be impossible.

In the first place, it should have been completely impossible to open a magic circle that precisely targeted a room deep inside a guarded area like that.

"In any case... there’s no trace of him. No body, no blood, not even a piece of clothing. It’s as if he vanished into thin air. I... I’m terribly sorry."

Half of the knight’s report didn’t even reach Talcott’s ears. Jircniv was gone. He had lost the strongest weapon he had—his hold over the House of Dunrossil!

His body suddenly swayed, and he snapped back to himself. He looked around and saw startled faces, and among them was Weskham, frowning suspiciously.

A sudden, violent anger rose inside Talcott.

—It was you! This was your scheme!

His mind was consumed with rage, leaving no room for thought. He drew his sword and brought it down on Weskham, who stood frozen in shock. The blood spilled from Weskham’s body and spread across the floor, turning it red.

"Talcott!"

Libertus’s horrified voice rang out. The crowd around them shouted in shock, panic rising like a wave.

"Weskham was a traitor!"

Talcott shouted toward them all and pointed his bloodstained sword at Libertus.

"Are you part of it too?"

Libertus turned pale, his body was shaking so badly his knees nearly gave out. He shook his head frantically, as if it might fall off his neck. Fear had taken his voice away completely.

Maybe it was better to kill him too—cut off every possible threat, no loose ends. Perhaps he should have done that from the beginning.

As Talcott raised his sword again, Libertus’s aide, Roaille, stepped forward to shield his master. He held up a staff in front of him. Talcott suddenly realized—Roaille was a mage.

"Have you gone mad, Talcott?! I’ll judge you for your crimes!"

A deep, commanding voice made Talcott turn around. A man he didn’t recognize was approaching with a drawn sword. He had green hair and looked to be in his middle years. Around him, several men stood alert, watching every movement in the crowd with sharp eyes.

They must have used the chaos to climb up onto the stage. Talcott felt a surge of anger at the knights who had let these intruders get so close.

—Cowards, the whole lot of them! Maybe a real war would finally whip them into shape.

"Who are you?" Talcott demanded, making no attempt to hide the fury in his voice.

"I am Tenby of the Royal Restoration Faction," the man said. "Your time ends here. For the crime of killing the king and the royal family, for the crime of throwing the government into chaos, and now for murdering one of your own in cold blood—Talcott, you will be judged! Everyone here is witness to your sins!"