Velvet
The soft sound of white feet padding across the velvet carpet could be heard.
Elfihera was pacing around her quarters, biting her lips anxiously. For hours, no matter how much she racked her brain, no solution came to mind.
"This... rutting beast... If he had just waited a little longer, I would have taken care of everything...!!"
This could only be attributed to the characteristic impatience of short-lived species.
Naturally, creatures with brief lifespans—rats, rabbits, humans and their ilk—start mating and sticking together the moment you turn your eyes away.
Meanwhile, look at dragons, phoenixes, and elves. They take one partner for life, spending long years together, nurturing each other's spirits before bearing the fruits of love!
"Till death do us part" is merely wordplay for humans. To elves, a mere hundred years of love is nothing but a fleeting fling.
So now, Ivan Petrovich is about to miss the opportunity to take an elf as his companion due to the impatience typical of short-lived species!
How foolish... Elfihera sighed with regret.
"Well... Lord Petrovich doesn't have much time left, so he must want to find a mate and see his descendants quickly. I lacked understanding...!"
If he waited just two and a half years, they could go to Kalion together, where there are many ways to fix humans' congenital defects.
Here, "congenital defects" refers to humans' short thoughts and lifespans. Since longer life typically leads to deeper thinking, fortunately only one thing needs fixing.
Elfihera slumped onto the sofa, lost in worry.
"He mustn't be allowed to win."
If he wins, he'll marry the princess!
Among ordinary humans, marriage to royalty would certainly represent tremendous social advancement, so Lord Petrovich is taking a bold challenge.
But no. He's choosing the wrong path. Marriage to an elf compared to human royalty is incomparably...
"This isn't the time for such thoughts."
Being a rational elf, Elfihera deliberately stopped her thoughts from being colored by anger and regret. Right now, a cold assessment of the situation and finding a solution were urgent.
If she made even the slightest mistake, she might not be able to save Ivan.
"How do I prevent him from winning?"
Should she sponsor another nobleman who could defeat Ivan?
But what if Ivan gets seriously injured? Horses with injured legs live shorter lives than their natural lifespan. Humans would be no different. Short-lived species can lose their lives from minor injuries!
"Should I request help from my homeland?"
Wait. That actually sounds like a good idea.
"The tournament is in five days... and these tournaments never end quickly."
Even ordinary jousting tournaments for knights typically last at least a week as they double as festivals.
Let alone a tournament hosted by the royal family where the prize is marriage to the princess—it couldn't possibly end in a day.
Then... there's enough time for reinforcements from Kalion. If they attempt rapid transit using an airship, they could arrive within a week!
"Assuming I request support and reinforcements arrive promptly... he needs to win the first two days of the tournament."
In tournaments like jousting or dueling, participants don't compete more than once a day. That's because the participants are nobles, not gladiators.
Besides managing individual conditions, these events also function as social gatherings. Tournament participants only need to fight once, or at most twice, per day.
"I can do this. I'm a genius. A genius mage, daughter of Beolgreen... Elfihera Grikenkos!"
Stating an undeniable fact calmly, Elfihera steeled her resolve.
She instantly arranged magical energy to activate an emergency communication crystal. A two-way remote channeling artifact with illusion-class spells. A miraculous product that humans who use telegrams couldn't even dream of.
Soon, the crystal rippled, and a low voice resonated.
-What is it?
"Father!!"
-Yes, my daughter. I'm listening.
Elfihera cried out as if she had forgotten all noble etiquette and rhetoric.
"Please dispatch Lord Coenwulf to Pritzenkaya immediately!"
-...?? Did you eat something bad this morning? Ah, is it evening there now? Was there a problem with dinner? Or is it magic poisoning?
"Ugh... no, that's not it...."
Ignoring her father's affectionate mockery, Elfihera tried to explain the situation. Not the whole truth, but with elvish rationality.
1. The princess is now hosting a noble duel with her marriage at stake.
2. Winning this duel enables a marriage alliance with the princess.
3. Therefore, we should use this situation to our advantage.
4. There are no nationality restrictions for this duel. (Naturally, this information was secretly shared only among Pritzenkaya's internal nobility, so there was no need to explicitly restrict foreign nationals.)
5. Therefore, if one of our privy councilors wins, we could establish a Kalion-Krasilov federation kingdom!
There were no flaws in the logic she had crafted in such a short time. Elfihera looked down at the crystal with a confident smile.
Of course, the crystal only transmitted sound. So Beolgreen, unable to see her smile, sighed deeply and said:
-Our daughter is more interested in international affairs than her studies, which makes this father truly proud.
"Father...!!"
-Yes, I understand. That's reasonable. But it seems there's something you're not telling me. What is it?
"Pardon?"
-You wouldn't ask me a favor, especially to dispatch 'Lord Coenwulf,' for such a simple reason. What is it? Who do you want to interfere with in this tournament?
It was an elvish insight. If his daughter suddenly made a request, he judged that something else lurking behind the request was her true objective.
Elves typically don't directly state what they truly want. This is Kalion-style noble etiquette.
"Um... Lord Ivan Petrovich is... participating."
-Ah, little Ivan. Hmm.... Hmm.... Well, Elizabeta did have interest in Ivan. Then this is... oh... that little one has used his head quite well.
"What? His head?"
-I mean this so-called 'marriage duel' is actually the princess's game. Enough. You don't need to worry about it.
Beolgreen muttered something with apparent pleasure, then spoke to Elfihera:
-Very well. It's not pleasing to see our Ivan still tied to one place. I'll send Lord Coenwulf. But it will take at least a week, and didn't you say the duel starts in five days?
"Ah, I can handle the first two days! I'll submit an entry in Lord Coenwulf's name for now!"
-Hmm. And you know that Edelplat Coenwulf is... a woman? Not exactly the most suitable gender to be the princess's consort.
"Love knows no gender, race, or borders!"
-There should be... but never mind. What does it matter? If Ivan is participating, Lord Coenwulf might be interested anyway.
The crystal communication ended. Elfihera clenched her fist and trembled.
Elves don't practice swordsmanship. This is due to the custom of considering it vulgar to engage in close combat while sweating.
And as recalled before, if an elf wields a sword, it means they've mastered swordsmanship despite such customs.
Elves are a long-lived race, and when they devote their entire lives to one art, they can reach a level superior to all known races. The sheer physical time available is on a different scale.
Lord Coenwulf is the strongest among such "sword-wielding elves." In other words, the mightiest swordsperson in Kalion.
Strong enough to teach swordsmanship to a hero.
The next day, Isabelle finished her morning lecture and headed to the campus square with Yu-ri as usual. The most enjoyable time of the day—lunchtime.
It wasn't that she was some factory worker who only looked forward to lunch breaks. During lunch, the mister would come with packed lunches.
Generally, men aren't good at cooking (no, most chefs in this era were men), so Ivan's lunches were usually just raw ingredients. That is, vegetables with some sauce poured over them that he claimed was "salad."
This was her time to teach him cuisine from her homeland. Isabelle was confident in her cooking, and that confidence had generally been proven through good results.
Although the mister's reactions were always limited to "delicious," "hmm," or "it's greasy"...
'After all, I told him to come right after being discharged from the hospital...!'
Since he was discharged, she had waited obediently at home, but he never came, and she ended up having to throw away all the stew she had made that day.
Adults who don't keep promises are bad adults, and bad adults should be punished.
Isabelle chuckled mischievously as she headed to the campus.
There she spotted Asidis kicking at the ground alone.
"Huh? Essie, where's the mister?"
"Uncle is... busy today? Wasn't he on your side either?"
"Um... he wasn't at the Knight Faculty."
Well, he must be busy. That's normal, I guess.
Isabelle understood. He must have something so urgent that he couldn't even come to see her.
It seems he has something so incredibly important that he could resist the temptation of "kimchi stew."
Fortunately, she hadn't been stood up. Isabelle giggled and took out her lunchbox.
"Good that we don't have to eat that weird salad today!"
"Oh, yeah, yeah."
Asidis nodded while fidgeting with her mouth.
The next day, and the day after that.
Ivan was nowhere to be found at St. Yansk University.
"How is this possible?!"
How could someone who was visible everywhere at school suddenly disappear so completely?
While Isabelle was fuming, Asidis was anxiously biting her thumbnail. It seemed she was suffering from nutritional deficiency since Ivan, who had been responsible for her balanced diet, had disappeared.
"Is he... is he off stalking someone again...?"
Though extremely curious about what that meant, Isabelle decided not to ask. She knew well that it was meaningless to seriously respond to the monologue of someone who was mentally compromised.
Isabelle wisely sought out someone who could resolve the situation—Mord, who had been expelled from the orphanage (reason: the King of Droan destroyed the orphanage).
"Do you know where Uncle Ivan went?"
"How would I know that?"
"Well, lately he's been rushing to the orphanage as soon as lectures end..."
"Ahem... hem."
Since it was quite embarrassing for a man of Droan to be doing "volunteer work," Mord cleared his throat and said:
"I've been wondering about that too. I should ask when that orphanage construction will ever be finished. Yes, I know someone who might know."
Mord walked confidently toward somewhere on campus.
To a corner of the campus, where a man was covering his face with a newspaper while occupying a bench.
"Get up."
"An agent of the Counterintelligence Command never sleeps. He merely rests."
"Cut the nonsense and get up. Isn't this negligence of duty?"
"Is that something a friendly nation's spy should be saying?"
Crumpling the newspaper covering his face, Pavel rubbed his eyes and got up.
He looked around at Mord, Asidis, and Isabelle who surrounded him, and sighed.
"How does our captain always manage to do this... It's really annoying."
Pavel, assigned to guard the Hero Party's children in Ivan's temporary absence, wiped the dried saliva from the corner of his mouth and stood up.
He is a spy who has personally orchestrated terrorism in central Pritzenkaya, and thus knows all the information vulnerabilities of Pritzenkaya inside out.
Therefore, with his return to the Counterintelligence Command, no human agent capable of mischief exists in this city. They would inevitably be caught in his information network.
So this job is merely a way to pass time. Something that can wait until an emergency arises.
Pavel scratched his forehead and asked:
"What is it? Make it quick. I'm working."
"Yeah, right... Ivan Petrovich. Where is that guy?"
"Our captain? Um... why?"
Isabelle stepped forward and exclaimed:
"Ever since you kicked me out last time claiming 'state secrets,' the mister has been missing!"
"Well, he's currently on official duty."
"What, for three days? Without going home? Isn't this exploitation! Doesn't this country have labor hour regulations?"
"What, Tilles has such things? I want to naturalize to Tilles."
"Wow, amazing."
For reference, Tilles does have statutory working hours. Sadly, they don't apply to serfs, tenant farmers, and other commoners.
But Krasilov doesn't even have that. Why let humans rest when they could be working? Wouldn't that be a waste of labor?
"Well, want to go see? I was curious too."
"What?! We can go see him? This isn't some state secret or anything, right?"
"Of course it's a secret. It's a secret, but... what does it matter? It won't change anything if you know."
"What? What is... what is the mister doing right now?"
Pavel smiled and said:
"Training."
"Next."
Ivan, blindfolded, bowed his head and whispered softly.
Even in the darkness-soaked interior, superhuman senses could detect even the smallest reflections of light. It was a means to maximize his senses.
Soon, he felt the next opponent entering his range.
The inevitable noise of a person moving, joint friction, muscle tension, heartbeat, sweat drops flowing down cheeks and falling to the floor—such noises.
He's tense. Height 187cm, judging by the sound of his stepping foot, weight between 80-100kg, a well-trained build.
The right foot step is heavier. Right-handed. And he's probably holding a heavy weapon.
The length of the weapon? The type?
Let's find out.
-Tsk.
Ivan clicked his tongue briefly.
Tsk, tsk, tsk.
In the darkness, toward an invisible opponent, to an opponent panting with tension.
They must have entered with a darkness vision spell. Even with sight, the opponent was hesitant to approach Ivan, who was as good as blind.
The small noise of flicking his tongue echoed in the indoor space, allowing him to gauge the shape and distance of surrounding objects.
The visualization of hearing through spatial sound. Slowly imagining the state of the indoor space in his mind.
Ignoring the dozen or so men lying on the floor gasping, being mindful of the weapons they dropped and those spaces, again, toward the opponent before him.
Tsk, tsk, tsk.
Like a snake coiled and whispering with hidden venom. Softly.