Elizabeta was in a good mood. In fact, she had been maintaining an unusually high level of energy these past few days.
She was even humming to herself occasionally.
"Today is the last day for registration, correct?"
"Yes, Your Highness."
"Hehe, huhuhuh... Well then, let's see how many magnificent nobles are coveting me. Bring it here."
Elizabeta unfolded the list handed to her by the guard officer and read it for a while.
Hmm, the House of Sheretif. Interesting.
Count Golovnye is even participating himself? Isn't he nearly 30 years older than me? How lecherous.
Count Yermokov too? I thought this fellow was firmly on our side, but he's such a bat-like opportunist.
And, um...
Um.
"What is this? There seems to be a printing error in the list."
"Pardon?"
"There's a strange name here."
Elizabeta opened the list and pointed to one corner.
"Edelplat Coenwulf. Isn't this person an elf?"
"Yes, Your Highness."
"No, not 'yes Your Highness.' Don't you find this strange?"
"After checking, I can confirm that Lord Coenwulf did indeed submit an application himself."
"...What?"
The attendant continued with a composed expression.
"He officially applied through proper channels with the endorsement of Lady Elfihera Grikenkos and Lord Beolgreen Grikenkos."
"An elf...? For my marriage...? How did they even know about this?"
"Well, they are elves, after all."
That was answer enough. Within the United Kingdom, elves would certainly be aware of even the romantic affairs of provincial noble houses.
All those sneaky pointed-ears ever did was collect gossip like crows. They lurked everywhere, listening to rumors, recording them, and using them however they pleased.
Therefore, it was extremely difficult to carry out any kind of conspiracy without the elves knowing about it.
Just as the Krasilov Counter-Intelligence Command specialized in domestic intelligence, or perhaps even more so, the elves of the Kalion Archipelago were experts in foreign intelligence.
"How stupid. They must not have known about the prohibition on foreign participants? Those thick-skinned creatures, how dare they interfere in our internal affairs so brazenly."
"Well... um. Your Highness, about that..."
"What is it?"
"There is... no clause prohibiting foreigners."
"What...?"
They never even considered that foreigners would know this information, let alone know and use it.
Strictly speaking, the distinction between foreign and domestic nobles was rather blurry in this era. Marriage between nobles of friendly nations was extremely common, unless they were hostile states.
Therefore, to suddenly prohibit foreigners would require determining exactly who counted as a foreigner in the first place.
If the regulation required having an estate within the country, then nobles of the robe or first-generation nobles without land couldn't participate.
If the regulation required having sworn allegiance to the monarch, then the scope would greatly expand to include those whose bloodlines were more than half foreign.
In these complex pre-modern blood relations, a clause prohibiting foreign participation would be quite meaningless.
"Ugh... grr... urgh... W-well, if we specifically prohibit elves...!"
"Then we'll have a diplomatic incident on our hands."
Allow all foreigners but specifically reject only elves? Those creatures who believe they can discriminate against humans but cannot tolerate humans discriminating against them would collectively faint.
Most magical engineering products and trade goods that cannot be produced domestically and have no substitutes would likely be cut off all at once.
Elizabeta sighed and muttered:
"Wait, isn't this person... a woman?"
"According to Lord Beolgreen, there is a precedent."
"A precedent."
"Yes, apparently there was a case where a female participant appointed a proxy for a duel..."
"In our country?"
"Yes. A legal decree from a trial by combat 136 years ago, he said."
"Should I not even ask why they have such clear knowledge of our country's history and legal clauses that even I am unaware of?"
"They are elves, Your Highness."
"Ah..."
Elizabeta covered her face and sobbed.
"Is there... any chance Vanka could defeat Lord Coenwulf...?"
"Lord Coenwulf has previously been deployed in the same theater as Ivan Petrovich. Therefore, it's highly likely that Coenwulf has already learned Petrovich's tactics."
"So, what are the chances?"
"...In an open field where surprise attacks and withdrawals can be freely utilized... I'd say more than fifty percent..."
Elizabeta gritted her teeth as she recalled Coenwulf's nicknames.
The Elf Punisher. The Queen's Champion. The Victorious. The Ascendant Knight. All the countless other nicknames were meaningless. What mattered was that this was the person the Elven Privy Council sent when they needed to defeat someone in a "duel."
In other words, by the standards of those arrogant elves, this was a reliable force to deploy when a duel absolutely could not be lost.
In formal ring fights where both parties' armaments were confirmed before combat, Coenwulf had never been defeated.
"Why, whyyyyy... You pointy-eared creatures! Why are you doing this to me...!"
Getting married is so damn difficult!
And my marriageable age is becoming dangerously late!!
Elizabeta threw her teacup to the floor and sobbed, regardless of the gazes around her.
The guard officers pretended not to hear the "royal voice they dared not listen to" and looked up at the ceiling.
There were about two days left until the tournament.
All she could do now was believe in Ivan's victory and wait.
Just like any noble daughter wishing for her admired knight to win in a joust.
Ivan took a deep breath and slowly observed the magical energy flowing through his body.
The sensation of magical energy flowing along the grain of his blood vessels and muscles became increasingly distinct. This was a kind of "meditation" that couldn't be used during combat.
The flow of magical energy was unobstructed. This meant that all bodily organs were functioning normally... or more precisely, "functionally."
Some foolish warriors waste time with nonsense about achieving sudden enlightenment through meditation or practicing Zen, but trained agents don't engage in such things.
Their meditation is essentially a functional check—confirming whether each part of the body is operating normally, similar to maintaining weapons and equipment.
A properly trained agent with the correct mindset will come to view their own body as a weapon.
"Colonel."
"Hmm."
As he was slowly preparing the next training schedule, an attendant opened the door and addressed him.
"You have visitors."
"...Visitors?"
"Yes, Miss Isabelle and Miss Asidis have come to see you. They wish to meet with you, Colonel. What should I do?"
"How did civilians get past the command post's main gate?"
"Well... um. Major Olov brought them personally."
"Guide them to the reception room. I'll be there shortly."
Ivan slowly stood up and removed his blindfold. With a tick, tick sound, the white magical lights turned on brightly.
He looked around once and sighed deeply.
"How long do you plan to lie there?"
"Urrrgh..."
"Ugh... urgh..."
"Your training condition is more pathetic than I expected. I'll have to tell Dmitri to resubmit the training plan."
He thought he heard someone say "This devil..." from somewhere, but he ignored it.
It's truly lamentable how this era, steeped in peace, lacks properly trained agents.
Not a single person could keep up properly after running just one cycle of basic indoor combat dark adaptation training.
At this rate, it would be better to gather children and teach them. Ivan clicked his tongue and left the room.
"Uncle!!"
Ivan tilted his head as he looked at Isabelle, who was shouting loudly. Isn't this too enthusiastic a welcome for someone he'd seen just three days ago?
"Why haven't you come to our house?!"
"Ah."
Come to think of it, he did make such a promise. Ivan could now understand Isabelle's anger. It was regrettable for him as well.
However, a soldier cannot prioritize hobbies over duty.
When he explained this, Isabelle's expression changed strangely.
"What duel are you talking about?"
"A tournament hosted by Her Highness the Princess."
"No, not that, what? The prize for winning is marriage?"
"Hmm."
Is it difficult for them to understand that Elizabeta is simply trying to suppress opposition forces among the nobility and demonstrate royal authority?
Perhaps these young children find it hard to grasp complex political matters at once.
Although they were foreign nobles, they weren't figures who could influence the major event happening in just two days, so Ivan decided to provide additional explanation.
Since the original target of this operation was the domestic high nobility, there was little risk of Asidis, a foreign royal, and Isabelle, a foreign noble, misusing this information.
"No, not that nonsense! You said marriage!"
"Hmm."
"The prize is!"
"Calling it a 'prize' lacks dignity."
"What dignity? Are you in your right mind? Uncle, get a grip. You're talking about marriage! Are you saying you're training so hard, gritting your teeth with effort, just to get married?"
What a remarkably abbreviated logical progression.
It's truly unfortunate that the Knight Faculty curriculum doesn't include essay writing.
As Ivan struggled to find a response, Pavel chimed in with a smirk:
"Boss, as your senior, let me tell you this. Marriage should be approached with caution."
"What nonsense."
"No, no. Don't be cautious either. Life's too short to not enjoy it."
"That's right! You should be careful! And get permission from both families!"
The last outburst came from Asidis.
She was extremely proud of being the only one among them who had received parental permission.
Ivan quietly nodded. Indeed, at their age, talk of marriage or tournaments might sound romantic.
Since the sensitive political situation and ruthless purging of political opponents were wrapped in such romantic packaging, the common people would surely view it as a beautiful event.
Here again, Elizabeta's delicate political skill shone through. Ivan felt proud once more.
"And why are you training anyway? It doesn't seem like you could possibly lose to anyone!"
"Nobles are strong, Isabelle."
Doesn't she know something so simple?
It's "common sense" that nobles are strong.
Ivan inwardly clicked his tongue. People in this pre-modern fantasy world sometimes show such a lack of common sense.
It's difficult to get used to.
Of course nobles are strong. After all, this is a world where magical power and superhumans exist.
The reason nobility could exist on Earth was not because they had God-given inherent right to rule.
They began as warlords who could exercise actual military power. On a smaller scale, they started as "the strongest person in the neighborhood."
A feudal society is one where these warlords "protected" people lacking military power and in return gained dominant rights.
On Earth, the collapse of feudalism could occur alongside the development of social systems due to the absence of magical power, but this world is different.
Possessing military power means being superhuman, and the rights of nobles who handle magical power and pass it down through generations inevitably cause a concentration of power through selective breeding.
Therefore, nobles are strong. The higher the nobility, the stronger they are—to a degree ordinary people can hardly imagine. Their bloodline history represents accumulated victories, and the assets accumulated through those victories further solidify their rights.
As he tried to explain this, omitting Earth's history, the expressions of those around him grew increasingly distorted.
"Are you in a position to say that?"
"What?"
"You're saying you need to be fully prepared to face those 'high nobles' who would forfeit if they knew you were competing, and for that reason you've been doing this... this..."
Isabelle gestured wildly toward the bandaged soldiers around them.
What an undignified action. Those soldiers were all brave agents dedicated to Krasilov and deserved respect.
Isabelle shouted regardless:
"You're smashing everyone here to pieces while preparing so diligently because, what, nobles are strong?"
"Hmm."
"And what you get for defeating these strong nobles is the position of husband to this country's princess?"
"That's the summary, yes."
"Aaaaargh!! Essie!! Tell your father!"
"I will! I'll write a letter right now!"
As Asidis and Isabelle stood up shouting angrily, Dmitri appeared from beyond the door and gently pushed their shoulders.
"Now, young ladies, don't worry about such things. Our colonel is in big trouble now."
"Dmitri."
"Yes, senior. Well, I've obtained some truly remarkable information!"
Dmitri took out a rolled piece of paper from inside his coat and handed it over.
As Ivan unfolded the paper, Isabelle and Asidis scurried over to check it alongside him.
It was a list. Probably of the participating nobles.
And at the end, there was a name with red underlines frantically drawn beneath it.
-Edelplat Coenwulf. Kalion, Privy Council.
"Oh."