Wardes replied in a unchanging tone:
“An arm in exchange for Wales' life, I think, is a rather cheap trade.”
“He must be something, that ‘Gandálfr’, to be able to so swiftly cut off the arm of a Square-Class Wind mage such as yourself.”
“Because he was a commoner, I just got careless.”
“Don’t put it like that. He even destroyed my golem. However, nothing within this castle could have survived.”
When Fouquet said so, Wardes smiled coldly.
“He is Gandálfr after all. The corps that attacked the castle didn’t report to have fought against such a person. Perhaps, during our fight, he had expended all his energy and was confused as a commoner. Probably, the soldier who killed Gandálfr didn’t even notice that he was the legendary familiar.”
Fouquet, not convinced, snorted. An image of Saito, a strange looking boy, floated in her mind. Could he really die so easily?
“And where is that letter?”
“Somewhere around here.”
Wardes pointed to the ground with the cane. That place, two days ago, had been the chapel, the place where Wardes and Louise tried to hold the wedding, the place where Wales lost his life.
However, now it was just a pile of rubble.
“Hmm, that La Vallière lass… your former fiancé, the letter was in her pocket?”
“Correct.”
“You let her die? You didn’t love her?”
“Loved, loved not, I’ve already forgotten such sentiments.” dismissed Wardes in a neutral voice.
He drew his cane and chanted a spell. A small tornado appeared and started scattering around the rubble.
Gradually, the floor of the chapel was unveiled.
Between a portrait of Founder Brimir and a chair lay the corpse of Wales. It looked surprisingly unharmed.
“Look, isn’t it the dear Prince Wales?”
Fouquet said in a surprised voice. Fouquet, who was once one of Albion’s nobles, remembered Wales' face.
Wardes didn’t cast even a single glance at the remains of the man he had personally murdered; instead, he searched intently for Louise and Saito’s corpses.
However… their corpses were nowhere to be seen.
“Are you sure they really died here?”
Muttering so, Wardes began to search the surroundings carefully.
“Hmm… Look, isn’t that George de la Tur’s ‘Founder Brimir's Visit’?”
Fouquet picked up the painting from the floor.
“I think it is a reproduction. Mmm, come to think of it, this castle’s chapel must have been built to worship him… Hmm?”
Fouquet, having picked up the painting from the floor, discovered a widely gaping hole underneath, and called Wardes.
“Hey, Wardes. What is this hole?”
Wardes, with raised brows, squatted down and looked into the hole that Fouquet indicated. He realized that the hole must have been dug by that huge mole, Guiche’s familiar. On his cheeks, Wardes could feel the cold breeze emanating from the hole.
“Could it be that both Vallière’s youngest daughter and Gandálfr escaped through this hole?” Fouquet remarked. It was the truth. Wardes' face contorted in rage.
“Should we pursue them?”
“It is useless. If there’s wind inside, it must mean it was dug clean through.” Wardes replied exasperatedly. Seeing him like that, Fouquet grinned.
“It seems like you are capable of such expressions. And here I thought that you were a man without emotions… like a gargoyle… Why, oh why do such emotions appear on your face?” she mocked.
Hearing this, Wardes stood up.
From the distance, a person appeared while they talked.
He said in a cheerful, limpid voice.
“Viscount! Wardes! Have you found the letter yet? That… what was it... ah, love letter that Henrietta gave to Wales, the saviour that would prevent the union of Germania and Tristain. Have you found it?”
Shaking his head, Wardes answered the man who had just appeared.
The man was in his mid-thirties. He was wearing a round hat and a green mantle. From the first sight, one could tell that he was a clergyman. However, he also slightly resembled a soldier with his long aquiline nose and intelligent blue eyes. From the edges of his hat, curly blond hair peeked out.
“Your Excellency, it seems the letter slipped through this hole. It is my mistake. I am deeply regretful for my error. Please, hand me whatever punishment you deem necessary.”
Wardes kneeled down, bowing his head.
The man addressed as ‘Excellency’, with a friendly smile on his face, approached Wardes and tapped his shoulder.
“What are you saying? Viscount! You did a remarkable job! You single-handedly defeated the enemy’s brave general! Ah, isn’t that over there our dear Crown Prince Wales? Be proud! You defeated him! Apparently he loathed me deeply… but seeing him like that, I feel a strange sort of kinship to him. Aah, that’s right. Once dead, everyone becomes a friend.”
Wardes’ cheeks flinched slightly, as he noticed the sarcasm at the end of the speech. He quickly regained his composure, and once again repeated his apology to his superior officer.
“However, the mission to obtain the Henrietta’s letter that Your Excellency so desires ended in failure. I’m sorry I was not able to meet Your Excellency’s expectations.”
“Do not fret yourself. Compared to obstructing the alliance, killing Wales was by far more important. A dream is something that has to be obtained steadily, step-by-step.”
Then, the man in the green robe turned to Fouquet.
“Viscount, please introduce this beautiful woman here. Being a priest, it is inconvenient for me to speak with a woman.”
Fouquet watched the man. Before her eyes, Wardes bowed deeply to the man. However, she didn’t like him. He had a strange atmosphere surrouding him. A sinister aura was radiating from the gaps of his robe.
Wardes stood back up and introduced Fouquet to the man.
“Your Excellency, this is Fouquet the Crumbling Dirt, before whom all Tristain nobles shudder.”
“Oh! I heard the rumors! I am honored to meet you, Miss Saxe-Gotha.”
Hearing him say her noble name that she had abandoned long ago, Fouquet smiled.
“Did Wardes tell you this name?”
“That's right. He knows everything about Albion nobles. Genealogy, coat of arms, property… it is hard for an aging bishop to remember everything. Oh, let's not delay my introduction.”
Opening his eyes widely, and placing his hand over his chest...
“'Reconquista' first general, Oliver Cromwell at your service. You see, originally, I was just a mere bishop. However, due to the votes of the baronial council, I was appointed as the first general, and I need to give my best. Though I am a clergyman who serves Founder Brimir, it is all right for me to ‘guide’ us through the dark times, right? If necessary, using faith and power for the better.”
“Your Excellency, you are not a freelance first general anymore, you are now Albion’s…”
“Emperor, Viscount.”
Cromwell laughed. However, his eyes didn’t change.
“Certainly, I really wished to prevent Tristain’s and Germania’s alliance, however, there are more important things. Do you understand me, Viscount?”
“Your Excellency's thoughts are so deep that an ordinary man like me cannot measure them.”
Cromwell opened his eyes wide. Then, he raised both hands and began talking with exaggerated gestures.
“Unity! Unity of steel! Halkeginia is us, a union of chosen nobles that will get back the Holy Land from those menacing elves! It is a mission given to us by Founder Brimir! ‘Unity’ is our number one duty. Therefore, Viscount, I trust you. There is no blame in such a trifling failure.”
Wardes bowed deeply.
“For this great mission, Founder Brimir blessed us with a special power.”