A head full of dense brown curls sat neatly under the glow of a chandelier, and beneath his black velvet cloak embroidered with plum blossoms, the man's figure looked particularly plump and prosperous.
The golden thread patterns on his snow-white vest shimmered faintly through the colored light streaming from the stained-glass windows. In his left hand, he held a short scepter, and with his right, he habitually reached for the armrest beside him—only to realize halfway that he was sitting on a stool, not a proper chair. Awkwardly, he withdrew his hand and waved at everyone in an attempt to cover up the moment.
"Everyone, there's no need for excessive formality. I believe you all already know that our city has just endured an unprecedented crisis!"
The fat man before them—an undeniably successful usurper—had his own special kind of charisma. That momentary embarrassment seemed to have never happened as he began speaking with an utterly calm expression.
"It pains me to announce such a regrettable piece of news. Our respected Young Count Anthony II… actually colluded with cultist in an attempt to destroy this entire city! If not for divine providence, the decades of hard work by the late Count would have gone up in flames overnight!"
As he spoke, Antoine's expression twisted into one of grief and indignation. Down below, the gathered nobles murmured among themselves in an uproar.
"Silence!" Antoine struck his stool leg with his short scepter, the crisp clack echoing across the hall as the crowd's attention returned to him.
"The plot between Young Anthony and the cultists was uncovered by my spies, but in his shame and fury, he and his heretic allies prematurely launched their vile plan! Had it not been for the timely arrival of the Witcher Lord Gonz and Reverend Richard of the War God Temple, I fear that I myself might have…"
He trailed off, taking out a handkerchief to dab at his eyes, then blew his nose with exaggerated drama.
The nobles whispered quietly among themselves while the church envoys merely sat with tranquil faces, gazes lowered, pretending not to notice the absurd theater before them.
Seeing that no one dared question his account, the murmurs gradually faded. Everyone knew what was really happening. Antoine had ruled Port Anthony for years, and his ambition had long been public knowledge. It wasn't hard to guess that this time he had probably struck some deal with the churches to get rid of the Anthony family altogether and declare himself a new ruler in all but name.
As for those few small noble families who had remained loyal to the Anthonys—most had already been exiled to frontier settlements in the Black Forest, or quietly "taken care of" by Antoine's men. The ones left were either bought off or simply indifferent to who wore the lord's ring.
When the hall finally quieted, Antoine gave a self-satisfied hum and resumed his performance.
"In the chaos of battle, the culprit Young Anthony and the cult's leader resisted stubbornly and were ultimately destroyed. For his death, I feel deep remorse. It was my failure to educate him properly that led him down this path of no return."
As he said this, he slowly rose to his feet. "To atone for my oversight, I will resign from my position as acting lord. Instead, all the noble houses of this city shall together elect a candidate of virtue and prestige to rule henceforth!"
The statement sent the nobles into an uproar once again—even the Witcher Gonz raised an eyebrow. Could it be that this fat man suddenly grew a conscience?
But beside him, his young apprentice Aldric merely sneered under his breath. Feign retreat to secure advance… classic tactic.
From behind, Vittoria had quietly moved closer, puzzled by Aldric's mocking expression. "You think he has some other motive?"
"Of course! It's too obvious," Aldric whispered back. "Look at those high-ranking priests—none of them even flinched. They must have already arranged everything with this fat bastard. The one they 'elect' in the end will definitely still be him!"
He gave Vittoria a look filled with the kind of pity reserved for slow children. Really? You can't see through something this simple?
Even his teacher, the Witcher Gonz, was looking at him in confusion, apparently not having caught on yet. Forget it, Aldric thought to himself, the locals here are hopelessly naïve. Vittoria too—so straightforward it hurts.
He leaned in closer and explained, "Think about it—he's been plotting this coup for years. Now the young count suddenly ends up dead. Even though he didn't actually do it, if he directly takes the seat, everyone will assume he did! The suspicion alone would ruin him."
"But if he pretends to resign and lets everyone 'vote,' the church will back him anyway. Who else would dare stand against their will? Once he gets 'elected,' the church will proclaim him the rightful ruler. Boom—he becomes a people's choice lord! It's just a fancy layer of legitimacy to whitewash his usurpation."
"Ahem!Ahem ahem!"
A series of forced coughs cut through his explanation. Aldric looked up to find the entire hall staring at him in dead silence, with Priest Richard clearing his throat so hard it looked painful.
On stage, Antoine froze mid-sentence, his chubby face tightening into an awkward grin as he pretended not to have heard anything. He pressed on loudly, "In this struggle against heresy, the assistance from all sides has been invaluable! On behalf of this city, I extend my highest gratitude to every one of you!"
Aldric could only smile sheepishly and scratch his head, silently cursing himself for not keeping his voice down. But oddly enough, he noticed several nobles exchanging looks of sudden realization—as if his unintentional outburst had just made them see the truth.
Wait… don't tell me you were really planning to campaign for the lordship? How have you people even survived this long?
Then Antoine's booming voice echoed once again across the hall:
"From the distant Eastern Continent—our brave warrior from Cerys, Aldric!"
At the mention of his name, Aldric's keen senses caught a faint twitch among several paladins standing guard nearby. Their bodies stiffened ever so slightly, betraying unease. He frowned. What's that supposed to mean? I know my reputation among the clergy isn't great, but come on—do I look like a walking plague or something?
His youthful face made it hard for most people to connect him with the man who had single-handedly saved the city and slain a Chaos champion. Yet the deed was real enough, and it earned him more than a few impressed glances from the church envoys. Only Antoine, perched awkwardly atop his stool, maintained a stiff, uneasy expression.
"Honorable Acting Lord…" Aldric deliberately emphasized the word acting. His teacher had already warned him on the way here: the Witchers' operation was officially classified. No one was to mention the Chaos Rift or what truly transpired there. To common folk, knowing too much about Chaos was far too dangerous.
The official version of events was simple: the young lord had colluded with cultists, secretly kidnapping citizens from the slums for blood sacrifices, attempting to use demonic power to restore the Anthony family's former glory—until the church exposed and eradicated them all.
Privately, however, a deal had already been struck between the church and the Witchers. Gonz's order would overlook the church's political meddling and allow Antoine to become the new lord.
In return, the new ruler must support the Witcher organization wholeheartedly—and, at today's grand reward assembly, he was to offer sufficient compensation to ensure their satisfaction.
Thus, the current scene: Aldric stood as the Witchers' silent pressure point, the reminder that without their approval, Antoine's dream of legitimate lordship would remain exactly that—a dream.
(End of Chapter)