Chapter 258: Royal Mediator

CH258 Royal Mediator

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"We can’t have you do that, Mad Earl."

Both Earl Drake and Count Justin turned toward the voice.

Far on the horizon, well beyond the reach of ordinary eyes yet clear to the sight of two Legends, a majestic flying carriage drawn by two magnificent Class 5 Pegasi glided toward Warlton City.

Earl Drake’s frown deepened, while Count Justin released a long sigh of relief.

On the side of the carriage gleamed a crest: a Griffon clutching a sword, bearing a golden sun upon its wings.

There was only one family in the entire Virellian Empire who bore a griffon on their crest—

the Royal House of Ludevicus.

Drake’s expression darkened further. He could not fathom why a member of the Imperial bloodline would appear here, at this very moment.

Count Justin, on the other hand, was inwardly relieved. If there was anyone who could temper the Mad Earl’s fury, it was one of the Royals.

Within moments, the flying carriage entered the Kellerman Palace’s airspace. The extravagant carriage circled the palace once, wings of the Pegasi flaring with radiant light, before descending gracefully into the garden. It landed right beside the long scar in the ground left behind by Drake’s earlier strike, neatly positioning itself between both parties.

The carriage door opened, and a man in his thirties stepped out.

"We see the light of Ludevicus," the three nobles intoned together.

Earl Jorg Kellerman bowed deeply toward the Royal crest, while Count Justin and Earl Fury, as Legends, didn’t have to do same.

"May the light of our civilisation shine far in time and the cosmos," the man replied solemnly.

His gaze then fixed upon Earl Drake. "Mad Earl, would you give me face... and let this matter rest?"

Drake’s crimson eyes narrowed sharply, his frown deepening as recognition struck.

The man was no ordinary noble. He was Prince Caesar Ludevicus.

Though not in direct line for the throne, Caesar was no insignificant prince. His repute within the Empire was formidable. Had he been born a son of the reigning Emperor instead of to throne’s cousin, by his merit alone, he would almost certainly be one of, if not, the prime candidate for succession.

Caesar’s strength was equally renowned. The disciple of the Blood-Crazed Demon -the Empire’s strongest Blood Berserker and one of its most feared individuals- Caesar himself had become a paragon of his generation, having reached the Half-Legend rank before his forties, he stood as one of the brightest stars of the new era.

Drake studied him carefully. The man’s aura was leagues apart from the Orc Chief’s, who in his eyes had barely surpassed the peak of Saint rank. Caesar, however, was already pressing against the threshold of Legendary.

’It is no wonder he is hailed as the Feet of the Imperial Sun,’ Drake mused inwardly.

Prince Caesar Ludevicus was a commander of one of the Empire’s Royal Guard Infantry Battalions, and more importantly, the Emperor’s most trusted messenger.

He was not someone to offend lightly.

Yet Drake still shook his head.

"I can take a step back and not retaliate against their land or their bloodline—for your sake. Their ludicrous attempt to invade my territory after all amounts to nothing more than sport for my troops, who, truth be told, were growing stiff from inactivity.

"However... Jorg Kellerman’s head is another matter. Not even you will stop me from claiming it."

His gaze swung towards Count Justin and Earl Jorg.

"You dared stretch your filthy hands toward my favourite, most interesting pup, and you did so with means far beyond what he could reasonably resist. What kind of father would I be if I didn’t reciprocate in kind?"

Shock flickered across Prince Caesar’s eyes.

Not because Drake had refused him, but rather the opposite –because he had even agreed to stand down at all.

The Mad Earl was infamous for being unpredictable. Caesar had only spoken up to give Count Justin a shred of face, as some ties still lingered between his father and the Count. He had never expected the Earl to actually relent.

And his mention of doing this for his "most interesting pup" sparked Caesar’s curiosity.

"Thank you for your favour, Your Excellency," the Prince said, his tone genuinely respectful.

He was about to withdraw from the matter when Count Justin’s pleading look caught his eye.

"There is nothing more I can do, Count," Caesar murmured, his voice so low it was nearly inaudible to even himself.

But he knew Justin would hear it. A Legend of Wind would find listening in on such whispers child’s play.

"There is," Count Justin transmitted back through the wind. "Please... present him with a proposal on my behalf. If it comes from you, he is far more likely to accept."

He quickly outlined the proposal.

Caesar’s eyes widened in shock.

"Are you certain? There will be no turning back from this. Do not forget—you burned your bridge with my father and many others just to secure this opportunity." His voice was no longer restrained as the Count’s proposal came as too much of a surprise.

"I am certain. He is the only one of value left in the family. There is no point in preserving the opportunity if someone like him is not here to properly wield it.

"It was meant to be my last gift to the family. A shame it must be used this way—because of sheer stupidity."

Count Justin’s words were cynical.

"Very well," Prince Caesar finally nodded.

He turned toward Earl Drake and produced a golden token. "Earl Drake Fury, by the rights vested in me by the Empire’s Sun, I urge you to settle this matter under Noblesse Oblige etiquette—a ransom for the life of a peerage."

Drake’s eyes went glacial.

Prince Caesar was pressing his bottom line. Yet because of the golden token—an emblem of the Emperor’s will—he restrained himself.

"I will hear the ransom offer." His tone was cold. He would listen first, then decide. The writ token only obliged him to consider, not to accept.

Caesar turned back into the carriage and retrieved two crystalline orbs.

Drake’s pupils narrowed. He knew all too well what exactly they were.

"Count Justin has spent every favour he held within the Royal Family and the powerhouse within the Royal Court to obtain these two orbs. Each contains the coordinates to a newly discovered plane. One has been confirmed as a Class Four plane. The other has yet to be confirmed, but is suspected to be at least Class Three.

"You may take them in ransom for Earl Kellerman’s life."

Drake’s face betrayed nothing.

Though the offer was staggering, he masked his surprise behind stoicism. His gaze shifted between Count Justin and Prince Caesar as he weighed his options. Both men were of weight and repute—unworthy of needless offense over someone as insignificant as Jorg Kellerman.

Besides... this was no mere ransom. A subtler game was unfolding.

"Very well. I acknowledge the sincerity of the offer. I accept—in accordance with peerage etiquette. However, I will only be taking one orb."

A spark of lightning leapt from his fingertip, snaring one of the orbs. It coiled around it and drew it into his hand.

Drake didn’t even glance at which orb he had claimed. His indifference was deliberate, as if the matter was beneath him. He accepted only to give Prince Caesar and Count Justin face –the former more so.

He turned to leave.

"Thank you, Earl Drake," Caesar said respectfully.

"Do not thank me. In my eyes, his life is worth no more than a single coordinate orb. Nothing more. My point has already been made."

His gaze cut to Jorg Kellerman, who was tearing at his hair in frustration—whether at losing a priceless Interplanar coordinate orb or at being valued so cheaply, none could say.

The man froze as Drake’s cold eyes pinned him.

"Remember this, Kellerman. Stay within your boundaries. Should you overstep again, no one—not even House Ludevicus—will save you if I decide to strike."

With those words, Earl Drake Fury turned and left.

Count Justin exhaled, his shoulders sagging with weary relief.

"Prince Caesar," he said, "if you will allow this old man to be so shameless, can I ask for one of your steeds to help heal him, just stabilising his injury will suffice."

Prince Caesar nodded. "Very well. After all, it would be unbecoming to let him die now, after the price you’ve already paid.

"Heal him." He ordered.

One of the Pegasi turned toward Earl Jorg Kellerman, its wings shimmering faintly as healing light gathered. Jorg looked bewildered.

"What are you talking about? I’m not—!"

His words ended in a strangled cry. His entire right arm dropped to the ground with a wet thud. Blood erupted from the stump in a grotesque spray as arcs of lightning flared along the wound.

"AAAAHHHH!" Jorg’s scream tore through the courtyard, echoing across the palace.

The sparks weren’t only in his flesh—inside his brain, faint threads of lightning flickered, stabbing at his pain centers again and again, ensuring that every heartbeat dragged out the agony to its utmost.

This was Earl Drake Fury’s parting gift.

"When? When did he—?!" Jorg rasped, teeth chattering as he fought the torment.

"From the very first moment his eyes landed on you," Count Justin revealed grimly. "He moved so fast, even I couldn’t stop him. That why I told you not to speak.

"I don’t know which shadow you’ve climbed into bed with, but take his words to heart. This was his warning: that even with me here... even with anyone here, he could cut you down before your so-called backers could even blink."

The old man shook his head with a sigh of bitter disappointment.

When Jorg’s wounds were finally stabilised, Count Justin turned toward Prince Caesar. "Let’s go. This old man can no longer bear to see what my family has become."

Prince Caesar inclined his head in silent agreement.

"Go? Uncle, where are you going?" Jorg shouted in panic.

"I am leaving for the Realm of Anarchy," Justin replied, his voice heavy yet resolute. "Take the coordinate orb and use it well. It is my final gift to this family. I have called in every favour I had over my lifetime to acquire them. None of my old friends will aid you again."

With that, Count Justin—Legend of Wind, pillar of the Kellerman Family—turned his back on them.

He departed for the infamous Realm of Anarchy: a plane of endless conflict, where the weak were slaughtered but boundless opportunity awaited those who could seize it. His lifespan had dwindled. Without a breakthrough, death loomed near. Better to gamble for ascension—or fall on his own terms—than to rot away as his house decayed.

The Pegasi carriage soared skyward, its brilliance dwindling into the horizon.

It left only silence, and a heavy air of doom that settled over Warlton City—the once-boisterous heart of Kellerman lands.

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