Beneath the Surviving Princess's Joyful Facade - Chapter 157

“Your Majesty, the dowry is the most important part of a wedding. In fact, it’s more important than the dress itself.”

“Is that so…?”

In that case, I’ll have to prepare more. As Miesa pondered, Madam Manere’s words in mind, Duke Salachez offered his advice.

“First, you should give her a proper estate—one that guarantees a steady income.”

“An estate for Gella? Wait a moment. Can I just give her any unclaimed land?”

“That’s why I came prepared.” Duke Salachez spread out some documents. “If you look here, Your Majesty, you’ll see the personal properties left to you by your late father, which Vermel inherited.”

“Right. This is all mine now.”

Duke Salachez pointed to a few profitable estates. “For Gella—no, for Lady Raviate—give her this much.”

“For a dowry, isn’t that a bit too much?”

When Madam Manere tilted her head in confusion, Duke Salachez quietly glared at her. These were assets that could have gone entirely to Grand Duke Hagail, but they were now being distributed by the queen. His delicate balancing act was still in progress. Surely, Madam Manere, who knew this well, wasn’t about to question him.

“It’s not too much at all. You need to show those who might criticize her background that Lady Raviate is highly favored by the queen.”

“To think I’m sending her off to that old man with such a hefty dowry. I feel bitter.”

“Oh no, don’t say that.” Duke Salachez looked around cautiously before whispering in Miesa’s ear, “After all, once she has an heir, Lady Raviate can do as she pleases. Even past grand duchesses and queens kept lovers, you know.”

“What? Lovers?”

“You need money to enjoy life. And the dowry will be her personal property, not the grand duke’s.”

The word “lovers” left Miesa feeling a bit uncomfortable, but she quickly snapped back to her senses. That’s right. Even if Gella ran away, she’d need money.

“Exactly. Money is the only thing you can rely on.”

Remembering the advice of the Cladnier maids, Miesa nodded firmly. She wasn’t keen on extramarital affairs, but if Gella wanted to live that way, Miesa would make sure she could.

Thus, Lady Raviate, without even realizing it, was about to enter into a marriage with Grand Duke Hagail, accompanied by a dowry so large that it would go down in the history of Esquillir.

***

Upon arriving in the southern kingdom of Trea, Eirik immediately noticed the improved quality of the food. This could only mean one thing—he was about to be sold as a gladiator slave.

“It seems today will be the turning point.”

Even in Trea, the slave trade wasn’t considered a respectable business. As a result, after docking at the port, the slave traders discreetly met with their clients.

“…Anika must have been sold like this as well,” Count Semenov muttered absently. However, thanks to the meals Eirik had shared with him, the count’s complexion was gradually improving.

“No matter what happens, do not leave my side.”

“Don’t worry about that. After all, we’ve been doing this for months.”

Fortunately, Count Semenov was also a cautious man. In the dimly lit room, Eirik waited for dinner.

From what he had gathered, the slave traders were rather careless. It seemed they were more accustomed to dealing with young women and had no experience handling gladiator slaves. Thus, instead of several people delivering the meals, it was always just one person.

After a while, a slave trader entered with dinner. Waiting by the door, Eirik swiftly attacked, using the chain bound to his wrist to strangle the man.

“Grrk, ugh.”

The trader went limp almost immediately. Eirik quickly searched his pockets. There were no keys for the shackles, but he did find a small hatchet tucked in the man’s belt.

If he were to strike the chains on the stone floor, it would make too much noise. He needed something to muffle the sound.

After a moment of thought, Eirik stripped the trader of his clothes. Though it was winter, the fabric was thick enough for his purposes.

He placed the clothes on the floor and first broke the chain around his ankles. Though it made some noise, everything outside remained quiet. Eirik then called over Count Semenov and handed him the hatchet.

“You’ll need to break the chain on my wrists, Count.”

“What if I miss and chop off your hand?”

“I’m more worried you won’t have the strength to break the chain at all, Count.”

Count Semenov, though weak, didn’t appreciate being spoken to like that. He was, after all, still a grown man.

After taking a deep breath, the count swung the hatchet with all his might, but of course, the chain didn’t budge. He tried again, but this time, the blade veered off in the wrong direction due to the force of the swing.

“Just cut off my hand. At least I’ll be able to use one of them.”

As Count Semenov panted, glaring at the chain, Eirik joked lightly.

“I’m right-handed, so cut this one.”

But the count didn’t take it as a joke. Gripping the hatchet tightly, he muttered under his breath, “Shut up. I’ll make sure you can use both.”

Despite his determined words, it took two more attempts before the chain finally broke.

Once Eirik had freed Count Semenov, they quietly left the room. Though the repeated thuds must have been heard, the corridor was strangely empty.

He hesitated for a moment, wondering if it was a trap, when he spotted one of the traders. Without hesitation, Eirik swung the hatchet.

As he continued toward the exit, he struck down six of the eight slave traders. Then, from the corner of his eye, he noticed a young boy trembling in fear.

Eirik asked, “Biame, doie (Master, where).”

The boy was terrified, staring up at the tall man covered in blood, holding a blood-stained hatchet. Too scared to speak, the boy pointed shakily in one direction. Eirik pulled him to his feet and shoved him forward.

“Lead the way.”

Though the boy didn’t understand the words, he stumbled along, guiding them toward the master’s room.

As they made their way down the second-floor corridor, Eirik encountered another trader. He swung the hatchet at the man’s shoulder before finding Count Semenov and the boy hiding behind the stairs, terrified. He pulled them out and asked the boy again for the master’s location.

Trembling, the boy stopped in front of a door and gestured. Eirik kicked the wooden door open and calmly strode into the room.

The slave trader’s master, who had been in bed with a woman, nearly fainted from shock. Without a word, Eirik grabbed the man by the leg and slammed him to the floor.

“Ugh!”

The burly master of the slave traders collapsed helplessly.

As Eirik glanced around the room, he spotted a large mace, big enough for the man to wield. Without hesitation, Eirik grabbed the mace and shattered the man’s kneecaps.

The master let out a blood-curdling scream. As the man foamed at the mouth and convulsed, Eirik threw a set of clothes to the woman. But when she tried to flee after dressing, he grabbed her by the shoulder to stop her.

“I won’t hurt you. Just stay here.”

He said this to prevent her from fetching help. Eirik didn’t expect her to understand, but as it turned out, she was Sidatean.

“Please, just spare my life. That’s all I ask.”

“So you’re Sidatean. You were captured recently?”

Eirik picked up one of the cheap, harsh cigars the slave master had been smoking and sniffed it. It was exactly what he needed.

Using the candle flame, he lit the cigar and took a deep drag as he considered his next move.

Having finished his calculations, Eirik approached the master and slapped him across the face.

“Wake up.”

“Agh, ah…”

“Who is your master?”

The question was posed because Eirik doubted that a small group of no more than eight slavers could conduct business between Sidate and Trea. If more men showed up, he wouldn’t be able to handle them alone.

“I’m… I’m the master.”

After a moment of contemplation, Eirik nodded. Considering how careless these men were, it seemed plausible.

“Is there a Sidatean consulate or ambassador here?”

He asked about Sidate rather than Esquillir to be cautious.

“There is.”

“I need to send a message immediately. Can you arrange it?”

“Y-Yes, I can. That boy… he can deliver it.”

The young boy, still trembling in the corner, stood up. Eirik gestured to Count Semenov, “Write a letter, Count.”

For the first time, Count Semenov had witnessed the brutal side of Eirik Cladnier, and he couldn’t stop trembling. After spending months with Eirik’s composed demeanor, the count had begun to doubt the rumors. But now, he realized that perhaps the stories of Eirik’s bloody reputation were true.

“Write to the ruler of Sidate. Tell them that Eirik Cladnier has given Finime to you, and you need the antidote.”

“W-What is that?”

“Tell them that an assassin from Sidate once used it against Vermqlique II, and now you have been given the same poison. They’ll understand.”

“…R-Repeat that slowly.”

Count Semenov found a piece of paper on the desk and began writing. Eirik exhaled a cloud of smoke from his cigar and dictated slowly, word by word.

“It took us over a month to get here, so it will take about two months to bring the antidote. Tell them you’ll send someone to the consulate when it’s ready.”

“But won’t the land route take a long time?”

“I doubt it. I don’t believe that the ship they’ll send for Count Semenov will travel at the same sluggish pace as the one we arrived on.”

Eirik had decided to use the current situation to his advantage. If Eirik Cladnier of Esquillir were to request the antidote, he would be hit in the back of the head. But if Count Semenov, who had escaped to Trea, asked for it, they would surely send the real antidote.

Once the letter was finished, the slave trader gave instructions to the boy. After confirming that the message wasn’t nonsense, Eirik stubbed out his cigar against the wall and added one more thing.

“If anyone asks who sent you, just say it was some man you met on the road.”

***