Let the Whales Fight, This Shrimp is Leaving! - Chapter 15

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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Chapter 15
Would anything have been different if he had noticed it back then and watched her a little more closely?
Deyan tried desperately to stop thinking, well aware that such regrets were utterly useless now.
Yet the more he tried, the more the superficial pieces of information he knew about Idir kept rushing to the surface.
“Is that her nature?”
“What is?”
To think he had even known about something like this.
‘Ah, right.’
A rumor surfaced in his mind—one he had dismissed at the time as the idle gossip of political busybodies.
It was a rumor that had once grown wildly around her, only to vanish as quickly as a bursting bubble.
“Idir Hubert crippled her younger brother to seize the succession rights.”
“Idir Hubert is the one behind the Grand Duchess’s death. She was the first to discover the body, too…”
“It was because the Grand Duchess fiercely supported the young master’s succession rights.”
Since Idir had not yet made her debut in High Society back then, she couldn’t have been more than fourteen.
The details were far too horrific to be attached to such a young girl.
Nevertheless, the rumor spread rapidly across the entire continent, backed by seemingly plausible evidence.
Of course, Deyan had been far too busy trying to save his own life and the lives of his comrades on the battlefield to care back then.
‘I’m certain I saw it in the newspaper.’
Even in the midst of that chaos, Holdin had always managed to procure newspapers to monitor the political climate.
Deyan, too, would pass the time on sleepless nights by skimming through the scraps of newspaper Holdin left behind, so he must have read it at some point.
He desperately racked his brain to recall those memories.
“Why was the Grand Duchess’s death shrouded in mystery?”
‘They concealed it because they couldn’t publicly announce that the young lady had strangled her own mother to death.’
Deyan froze in place as he recalled the absolute nonsense that had been printed in massive headlines.
“Idir Hubert crippled her rival brother for the succession rights.”
“In fact, since the Grand Duchess’s passing, the Hubert young master has not appeared in any public activities, and it remains unclear whether he is even alive.”
“Unless the young lady murdered the Grand Duchess, there is no reason for Grand Duke Hubert to remain silent about her death.”
As the thought struck him, Deyan anxiously picked at the skin around his thumbnail.
When exactly had those rumors—which occasionally reared their ugly heads like cockroaches just as they were about to be forgotten—finally been suppressed?
It was when Deyan, who had been tearing through battlefields, temporarily stayed at the Imperial Palace to deliver a report.
Coincidentally, it was also when Idir Hubert, having reached her fourteenth birthday, officially made her appearance to the world.
The innocent gaze of the young girl.
Her fragile figure as she failed to hide her distress over the cascading rumors and eventually shed tears completely disarmed the sharp blades of suspicion directed at her.
Was that all?
The newspaper companies that had slandered her were forced to close down, and public opinion shifted entirely in Idir’s favor.
Right on cue, Grand Duke Hubert seemed to resume his public duties, only to fall silent again for personal reasons.
And that vacant spot was filled by Idir, who wasn’t even an adult yet.
‘It’s already common knowledge that Grand Duke Hubert’s health is poor.’
Even so, to prove he was still alive, he had made an appearance from afar during last year’s Independence Day.
Thanks to that, he recalled, the support base for Idir became even more ironclad.
“The young lady who does her absolute best for her country despite suffering such an awful tragedy at a tender age.”
That was the public image of Idir.
A gentle, kind-hearted soul who cared deeply for her nation.
“I want revenge.”
But behind the scenes, she was a woman plotting a drama of vengeance.
“No way.”
His face contorted violently.
He had assumed the revenge Idir spoke of was simply finding and executing the culprit who murdered the Grand Duchess.
‘Is the young lady truly satisfied with just that?’
His rash assumptions about her grief, his interrogation, his mockery of Plene while threatening its security—everything.
Could the revenge Idir spoke of actually encompass all of those slights?
‘If that’s why she went so far as to crave the power of a Demon…’
Why on earth did Idir bother keeping him alive, binding him, and going through the trouble of drawing up a complicated contract?
“What could someone like you, who has always sided with the strong, possibly know to lecture me on why I must go this far?!”
The revenge she truly desired might actually be…
‘War.’
Enveloping every country on the continent in the devastating flames of war, and raising Plene high above the madness.
The downfall of the three nations that had cornered and pressured Plene until now.
A small, weak country, once despised as a mere shrimp, conquering the continent.
Could that be what Idir truly wanted…?
“Insane…!”
Deyan leaped up and stormed toward the exit.
Expecting the door to be locked as a matter of course, he reached for the handle, but it turned smoothly without the slightest resistance.
“…?”
Sensing something strange, Deyan pushed the door open anyway and scanned the corridor.
“Do you require something?”
A voice drifted over from right beside him, as if she had been standing there all along.
Deyan stiffened reflexively, turning his head as he readied himself to throw a punch at a moment’s notice.
Standing there was a woman in a neat dress.
It was Giselle, the female knight who usually served as Idir’s maid.
“I need to speak with the young lady.”
“The young lady is currently attending the State Council meeting, so an audience is difficult at the moment.”
Speaking matter-of-factly, she reached into the folds of her dress at her waist.
His muscles tensed, wondering if a weapon was about to appear, but what Giselle pulled out was a small pocket watch attached to a thin chain.
“There may be some variance, but the meeting usually concludes around two in the afternoon. If you do not mind waiting for about three hours, I shall convey your request.”
Her tone was entirely professional.
“Shall I tell her that Lord Nemanic requests a tea time?”
“I don’t want to drink tea. I want to talk to her.”
“Understood. I shall inform her that you request a tea time. Do you require anything else?”
“…”
When Deyan offered no response, Giselle’s gaze drifted subtly down to his feet.
“Shall I fetch some footwear for you to wear?”
Only at her words did Deyan realize he was barefoot.
“No, forget it.”
“Very well, then.”
Giselle bowed politely.
Unable to push the matter any further because of her courtesy, Deyan quietly retreated.
Stepping backward and closing the door as he returned to the room, a new dilemma began to occupy his mind.
‘Just like that?’
Moreover, she offered to give him shoes when he might try to escape?
“…Does she mean for me not to act rashly because she holds Holdin hostage?”
It seemed exactly like something Idir would do.
Arriving at a somewhat rational deduction, he walked back to the bed and sat on the edge.
As he sat in the enveloping silence for a moment, he suddenly sensed a presence.
“…?”
Making do with a pen from the desk in the corner instead of a proper weapon, Deyan crept over and cracked the door open.
There, sitting neatly on the floor, was a pair of men’s dress shoes that looked to be his exact size, boots for easier movement, and five pairs of socks.
They were arranged impeccably.
The fact that whoever left them could have completely hidden their presence but chose not to suggested they wanted Deyan to notice.
‘What is she playing at?’
Locking a man up and then playing pranks by treating him like a guest.
Even though he felt thoroughly toyed with by Idir, Deyan could not resist.
For now, he needed to stop being barefoot before he could do anything else, whether that meant shattering a window and jumping out or whatever.
Ultimately, he gathered the socks and shoes left so gracefully at the door and returned to the room.
When he shoved his feet into the boots, they fit perfectly, as if they had been custom-made for him.
‘Damn it. I’m completely dancing to her tune.’
* * *
“Young lady. You look terribly pale.”
“I heard you haven’t been sleeping well lately. Are you quite all right?”
Immediately after the State Council meeting ended.
Before leaving the room, the Foreign Minister handed over a tin of tea, mentioning it was meant to aid a deep sleep.
“Thank you.”
After expressing my sincere gratitude for his thoughtful gesture, I rose from my seat.
According to what Giselle had conveyed to me halfway through the meeting, Deyan had requested a private discussion.
“I have a guest waiting for me. I shall take my leave first.”
“Young lady, you must look after your health. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
Men who were practically old enough to be my parents or grandparents hovered anxiously, worrying over my well-being.
It was only natural.
Ever since that day, my father had begun to waste away, eventually losing his mind entirely.
If I collapse, this nation is finished as well.
‘I have to do well.’
I handed the gifted tea to Giselle and walked toward the Annex.

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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