Grand Duke Comberlate stormed into the study, his face dark as thunderclouds. Clearly, the results of the just-concluded council meeting had left him thoroughly displeased. The fury simmering within him made every servant and maid who came to attend him tremble with fear, dreading that the Grand Duke might vent his temper on their heads.
But Comberlate was not as devoid of composure as those servants and maids imagined. His anger was certainly not directed at those underlings. For the Grand Duke, venting his temper on servants would accomplish nothing. He needed to think carefully about how to persuade the opposition faction in the Commercial Alliance Council. At a time like this, everyone should be united, pulling in the same direction, not dragging their feet from behind and stirring up panic...
"Those clueless fools who don't know the meaning of death have angered you again, have they?" A faint voice echoed through the study.
Comberlate froze. He looked up and saw a figure standing in the corner of the study, clad entirely in a black robe, with only a deathly pale face exposed. A faint scent of medicinal solution tinged with the smell of blood drifted from the figure.
"What are you doing here? Is your body not troubling you?" Comberlate asked with concern.
"Same as always — can't die, but living is torment. There have been many times I wanted to end it myself, but I absolutely refuse to let go of the person who did this to me. Even if I have to descend into the abyss of demons, I will drag that person down with me..." The deathly pale face twisted, revealing a ghastly expression, teeth clenched with a mix of resolve and venom.
"I'm sorry, Chrislos. It's my incompetence — I failed to fulfill my promise to you and couldn't deliver your enemy before you..." A look of helplessness and bitterness spread across Comberlate's face. "Given the current state of our Commercial Alliance, I fear fulfilling that promise is now far, far off. I don't even know if it can be done within my remaining lifetime..."
The pale-faced man in the black robe was Marquis Chrislos, who had once led the Storm Sword Saint on a diplomatic mission to the Andinak Kingdom's army. He was the Vice President of the Twin Dragon Trading Guild and also Comberlate's cousin. Back then, he had volunteered as the Alliance's special envoy to meet with the
Had it not been for the unexpected variable of
Unfortunately, no one had expected that Grand Duke Lorist of the Northland had actually advanced to the rank of Sword Saint. He fought the Storm Sword Saint to a mutual standstill, both suffering grievous injuries, and the Storm Sword Saint fled for his life. The elite escort force accompanying Marquis Chrislos—comprising four Sword Saints and several Gold-rank swordsmen—not a single one of them escaped. They were all cut to pieces by the enraged king and nobles of the Andinak Kingdom. As for the mastermind Marquis Chrislos himself, he had no choice but to surrender meekly. The man who was on the verge of becoming a legendary figure was instantly reduced to a despicable schemer, a disgrace to the nobility who trampled upon peace.
Because of this kidnapping attempt and the subsequent surprise attack by the Commercial Alliance's armed forces, the Andinak Kingdom's million-strong army was caught completely off guard and nearly suffered a total collapse. Had it not been for the
However, the Second Prince's methods were far more vicious than anything the common folk employed. When commoners punished swindlers, they would strip them naked, coat them in honey, and then stick feathers to them. Though insects and ants would bite, the person could at least wash it all off in water. The Second Prince, on the other hand, first broke all four of Marquis Chrislos's limbs, then crippled his Gold-rank combat qi, and only after coating his bare body in raw lacquer did he stick on the feathers. Never mind the rest—raw lacquer alone would cause severe allergic reactions, agonizing itching and pain, and scratching would lead to festering sores. One could only imagine how furious the Second Prince was at the Commercial Alliance for disregarding his genuine overtures of peace.
The torment the Second Prince inflicted upon Marquis Chrislos was the greatest humiliation of his life. Among all the merchant guild nobles of the Commercial Alliance, Chrislos had always been renowned for his refined elegance, his dashing bearing, and his striking appearance. He was the dream lover of countless noble ladies and young maidens. But this diplomatic mission became the worst nightmare of his existence—stripped naked, covered in feathers, and sent back on an old horse. He earned the nickname "the Feathered Man," a mark of shame that made it impossible for him to ever show his face in public again.
Leaving aside the psychological wounds, the physical injuries nearly drove Marquis Chrislos to take his own life on multiple occasions. Broken limbs were actually the mildest of his sufferings—a few bottles of healing potion and they would mend. But the feathers plastered all over his body had become the real nightmare. The mere process of removing them was a fate worse than death. Remember, what the Second Prince had smeared on him was not honey but raw lacquer. Once it hardened, pulling it off meant tearing away strips of skin along with it. No one could endure that kind of pain.
He was turned into a bloody mess—not a single patch of skin on his body remained intact. Even worse, the toxicity and allergenic properties of the raw lacquer began to manifest, that excruciating combination of pain and itching burrowing deep into his very bones. Marquis Chrislos went mad from it multiple times. Blisters filled with pus and blood kept erupting all over his body, and the slightest touch felt like being sliced open with a knife—an agony beyond endurance. Most devastating of all, the apothecaries were utterly helpless; they had no way to concoct an effective healing remedy. They even resorted to pressing red-hot irons against the blood blisters, but the treatment proved largely ineffective.
Marquis Chrislos's body suddenly shuddered, his black robes trembling uncontrollably, his lips bitten until they bled. A wave of sorrow washed over Grand Duke Comberlate. He knew that the itching and pain had flared up again on Chrislos's body, and that the man was now forcing himself to endure it through sheer willpower. Yet Comberlate could not go to his aid—he couldn't even touch him, for doing so would only bring Chrislos even greater agony.
"I... I don't blame you..." Marquis Chrislos finally spoke. The bout of itching and pain had passed, but his face was paler than ever.
"Back then, you tried to dissuade me from carrying out that scheme. You said we could defeat our enemies through honorable means. But I was greedy for an earth-shattering achievement, desperate to become a legend people would sing about. It was my own hubris that drove me to volunteer for the mission, and it led me to this end. I have no one to blame but myself. If I were to hate anyone, I would hate only that man—a king who stoops to such underhanded and vicious methods. He could have simply cut me down with a single stroke, and I would have died without a single word of complaint."
"But he had no right to humiliate me like this, to use such methods against me. I may have failed, but I am still a noble. He should have hanged me, not treated me like a common swindler. The only reason I'm still alive, enduring this shame and this agony, is because I intend to inflict the same retribution upon him—to make him taste every bit of what I have suffered."
"Your Highness, you have truly disappointed me. It's not the failure to fulfill your promises that disappoints me, but that even now, facing such a predicament, you remain indecisive, unable to act..."
Marquis Chrislos's voice was perfectly calm, but Grand Duke Combellete couldn't help but feel a chill run down his spine.
"Chrislos, what's wrong with you? Why are you suddenly saying all this today?" Grand Duke Combellete asked with a frown. Since his injuries had stabilized somewhat, Marquis Chrislos had largely kept to himself, unwilling to appear in public. Aside from frequently coming to the study to discuss and analyze the Alliance's situation with Grand Duke Combellete and offering strategic advice, he stayed in the Grand Duke's residence recuperating, refusing to see outsiders or attend noble gatherings.
For example, after the Commercial Alliance's forces suffered defeat in the Battle of Bruvia in the Mana Hill Plains, it was Marquis Chrislos's planning that enabled the swift assembly of ten defensive regiments to establish a temporary defensive line. The Grand Duke's decision to implement the territory merger policy was also the Marquis's recommendation. At Grand Duke Combellete's side, Marquis Chrislos served the role of a strategic advisor and military counselor.
"I came today to tell you that I am leaving this place, leaving the Merchant Guild's territory," Marquis Chrislos said, his tone utterly flat.
"What? Where are you going? To do what?" Grand Duke Combellete shot to his feet instantly, no longer able to remain seated.
"Heh heh, it's simple. I want to leave here to take my revenge in person, to carry out my retaliation with my own hands and my own mind. Do you believe the current Commercial Alliance still has the ability to help me fulfill my wish for vengeance?"
Grand Duke Combellete let out a long sigh and sat back down. "You cannot go, and I will not allow you to take such a risk. Your combat force hasn't recovered, and your body is constantly racked by pain. You should know your current state cannot support a journey to the Imperial Capital. Your enemy is a king, and there are rumors he will ascend to become Emperor next year. Even if you go to the Imperial Capital, you'd be powerless against him. He is a Sword Saint, surrounded by the most stringent guard detail whenever he moves about; you wouldn't be able to get close to him.
Furthermore, how do you plan to exact your revenge? Assassination? Becoming a king-slayer means your soul will plummet into the Abyss for eternity, your descendants will be cursed to die miserably, and you will never enter the Divine Kingdoms to achieve transcendence. No god would ever grant salvation to a king-slayer. Thus, throughout our history, only a king has the right to execute another king. And I promised you back then that if we were victorious, I could hand your enemy over to you. You could torture him, but you could not decide his life or death. You agreed to those terms as well..."
A cold smile appeared on Marquis Chrislos's ghastly pale face. "Yes, I agreed back then. I only wanted that man to experience a fraction of my agony, not to see him dead. But how long have I waited? Five years! And all I've received is news of defeat after defeat for our Commercial Alliance's forces. Look at the situation now—can my wish for vengeance ever be realized?"
"Why can't we? As long as we unite as one, we can overcome the current difficulties and usher in the revival of the Commercial Alliance. In another twenty or thirty years, we will restore our former glory and sweep across the central and southern parts of the continent once more, invincible in all our campaigns. Chrislos, be patient—we still have time. I will definitely fulfill my promise to you." Grand Duke Combellete answered firmly.
"Implement new economic policies?"
Grand Duke Combellete fell into a dark silence. After a long while, he spoke in a low, melancholic voice. "Sometimes I just don't understand. We're facing the most difficult period the Commercial Alliance has ever seen. We managed to stop the war and preserve some of our strength, but several neighboring countries have implemented a salt monopoly—plainly hoping to exploit our lack of salt and make a fortune off our backs. What's a little money? But this gives my opponents the perfect excuse. They claim it was my cowardly surrender and peace that brought such humiliation upon the Commercial Alliance. They demand I tear up the ceasefire and the understanding agreement, and declare war on the Peterson Kingdom and those five neighboring countries. They don't stop to think—do we still have the strength to wage war against twenty-two nations in the central and southern regions?"
"The salt monopoly, heh—no matter how high the price, can they sell salt for the price of gold? The most pressing issue we face right now is to reintegrate the economies of all the guild territories, carry out unified development, strengthen our economic and military power, knuckle down to open trade routes, and reclaim our markets. True, we've lost the Mana Hill Plains and Morant City, but we still have that enormous quartz mountain. The Trenlin Kingdom grew wealthy enough to rival the world by selling glass. Well, we can restore the strength of our Commercial Alliance by selling glass too."
"What truly infuriates me is that I've already pointed them toward a bright path, yet my opponents still dream of amassing wealth through war. Now they oppose every policy that benefits the Commercial Alliance simply because I proposed it. They scheme and backstab for their own interests, fighting over power and position—it's absolutely maddening."
The humiliating peace settlement with the Second Prince of the Andinak Kingdom had caused Grand Duke Combellete's reputation among the various guilds to plummet. To make matters worse, the Peterson Kingdom, the Chikto Kingdom, and three other neighboring nations had recently announced the implementation of a salt monopoly, pouring salt on the wound. The upper echelons of the Commercial Alliance's guilds were livid, threatening to reorganize their armed forces and declare war on Peterson and the other four neighboring countries. Grand Duke Combellete had struggled mightily to suppress the uproar. But this gave the guild nobles who opposed the peace a perfect pretext to accuse him. They formed an opposition faction against the Grand Duke, resolutely boycotting and opposing every order and policy he issued, leaving Grand Duke Combellete mentally and physically exhausted, plagued by splitting headaches.
"I warned you long ago that the Commercial Alliance has far too many guilds. Especially now that our territory is down to just four provinces. The guilds that lost their lands can hardly share in the commercial benefits, while the guilds that still hold territory firmly refuse to let others in. That's why I advised you to consolidate all guild territories. But that only turned the guilds holding land in the four provinces into your opposition."
"If I were you, I'd raise the butcher's blade and purge the leadership of every opposing guild. Extraordinary times demand extraordinary measures. You know full well the situation the Commercial Alliance faces. If we let things continue as they are, the entire Alliance could splinter and collapse. A hundred and eighty-six years ago, when Grand Duke Ford Morant established the Commercial Alliance on the Mana Hill Plains, there were only seven of us guilds. Look at it now—twenty or thirty guilds, squabbling all day long and doing nothing of substance."
"Regardless of whether you approve or not, I'm leaving for the Imperial Capital. Something interesting has happened there—perhaps my revenge won't even require me to lift a finger. Before I go, let me take the blame for you one more time. You're too good a man; you can't bring yourself to do what needs to be done. Leave the ugly work to me. Afterward, you can step in to clean up and declare me a traitor. That way, if I ever cause trouble down the road, no one can point fingers at the Commercial Alliance. Give me your command token—don't worry about this. Let me make the decisions for once."
And so Marquis Chrislos departed with Grand Duke Combellete's command token in hand. The Grand Duke watched his retreating figure in silence for a long time, and in the end, let out nothing more than a long, heavy sigh...
...