Let the Whales Fight, This Shrimp is Leaving! - Chapter 41

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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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The identity of the metallic tang Deyan Boislav Nemanic had picked up in the library was finally laid bare.
I summoned the butler and instructed him to escort the maid back to the main building for her protection.
Weeping hysterically as if on the verge of total collapse, she stumbled along behind him.
I stared down at the crushed blades of grass, turning her words over in my mind one by one, when Deyan quietly stepped up to my side.
“I am told Joaquin Perez killed the one tracking us.”
“Yes. So I hear.”
“You have sharp ears.”
“Is that a compliment?”
“An observation of admiration.”
“Then I shall withhold my thanks. Lest the young lady treat me like a fool once more.”
“Suit yourself.”
I countered his remark without a shred of enthusiasm and sank back into silence.
Joaquin had never thrown such an unmitigated tantrum inside my castle before, leaving me feeling utterly bewildered and miserable.
‘How cheap must he hold me.’
It was humiliating.
It seemed Joaquin intended to signal that he no longer had any desire to even consider my feelings.
His relentless barrage of proposal letters to win my favor had been disgusting enough, but this attitude—invading my personal domain to unleash his vile temper without restraint—was the absolute worst.
Perhaps sensing the heavy cloud that had settled over me, Deyan, who had been keeping a silent vigil by my side, finally broke the quiet after a long pause.
“Has Joaquin Perez always behaved with such blatant disrespect toward you, Lady Hubert?”
“The man is constructed entirely out of arrogance and malice. Still, he was never quite this radical.”
This sudden escalation might very well tie back to his underlying reasons for wanting to ignite a war.
I only managed to steady my nerves after arriving at that exact conclusion.
‘If war is what he desires, and he has already resolved to absorb the collateral damage, he has absolutely no reason to stay in my good graces.’
It seemed my firm defiance had backfired, sharpening his malice instead.
Yet, I harbored no real regrets.
There would still be plenty of opportunities to test his limits, the Plene Grand Duchy remained a sweet, ripe fruit to Joaquin, and the absolute reality that I was the guardian protecting that fruit had not changed.
“We move tomorrow to make contact with the spy.”
Knowing full well that Deyan had nothing but time on his hands, I did not bother to ask for his consent.
Deyan likewise offered no counterargument, offering a simple nod of assent.
I walked back to the main building with him, and we parted ways in a secluded corridor.
Deyan headed off to his own quarters, while I directed my steps toward my office.
The moment I crossed the threshold, my very first order of business was to summon Giselle.
When questioned about the situation at the annex, she delivered an account that mirrored the maid’s precisely.
“Joaquin’s knights were transporting a massive bundle. They moved on horseback rather than by carriage, presumably to avoid drawing any unwanted attention.”
“What exactly was inside the cargo?”
“We suspect it was a corpse. In fact, one of the personal attendants Joaquin brought with him has vanished from sight.”
“Keep a direct, personal watch on every movement in the annex. Ensure no other servants are permitted to interact with Joaquin.”
“Understood.”
“I will be heading out tomorrow.”
“What are your instructions regarding an escort?”
“Assign four guards. Have two of them conceal themselves.”
I purposefully commanded the remaining two guards to move in a manner that Deyan would easily detect.
That way, their presence might blunt his razor-sharp instincts even slightly, allowing us to react to any unforeseen crisis—a calculated precaution I wanted firmly in place.
I meticulously mapped out everything for tomorrow’s excursion, from urgent paperwork to our exact travel route.
By the time every necessary task was thoroughly dispatched, the night had grown incredibly deep.
I sat blankly at my desk, my dry eyes blinking open and closed in a slow, rhythmic trance, before finally forcing my weary frame to stand.
As I extinguished the lights and pulled open the heavy office door, an odd sensation caught my attention.
“Oh?”
Sensing something amiss, I cast my gaze downward and spotted a silver tray wedged against the bottom edge of the frame.
Someone must have left it there in secret, only for it to be shoved aside when I swung the door open.
I gladly lifted the kindness resting on that tray with both hands.
A plate of cookies packed thick with chocolate chips, a glass of milk, and a tiny slip of paper tucked neatly beneath the dish caught my eye.
—To our small, precious little lady. May your dreams be sweet.
Though the note bore no signature, the elegant script gave the author away instantly.
It had to be the work of our butler, who had watched over me since my earliest childhood days.
‘I don’t even eat at this hour anymore.’
Recalling how he used to sneak me late-night treats behind my nanny’s back whenever I threw a tantrum about being unable to sleep, a gentle warmth bloomed in a corner of my chest.
How on earth had he read my sour mood so perfectly to prepare such a gift?
Swallowing a sudden prickle of tears along with a bite of a cookie, I steeled my resolve.
‘Fine. If Joaquin is begging for war, I simply have to stop him.’
Was it not my absolute duty to protect the very land these people lived upon?
If the destiny I was born with demanded I shield them, then I lived believing I had to fulfill that duty to the absolute best of my ability, even if I lacked the strength.
Therefore, I would gladly swallow whatever humiliation my enemy offered and return it tenfold.
‘The deeper the misery today, the sweeter the vengeance will taste tomorrow.’
Having finally quieted my sinking heart, I crawled into bed and closed my eyes.
* * * The wind began to howl fiercely at dawn, and by morning, the dark clouds finally unleashed a torrential downpour.
Though the heavy sheets of rain thinned out slightly past noon, it remained a miserable day to justify venturing outside.
‘Still, the noise will make it impossible for him to gauge our position by sound.’
Since Deyan was a knight cursed with absurdly sensitive ears and an equally sharp nose, shutting down as many of his senses as possible was highly advantageous.
The moment I climbed into the carriage—one intentionally chosen for its utterly mundane exterior—I drew the heavy curtains tight.
“Take this.”
Deyan silently accepted the thick strip of cloth I held out and tied it over his eyes himself.
Fearing he might try some sly trick, I reached out toward him, prompting him to instinctively flinch away.
“Hold still.”
“A force of habit.”
Offering that brief defense, he straightened his posture once more.
Only after checking multiple times that the cloth fit snugly against his skin and that the knot was tied securely did I signal the carriage to move.
“If it causes you that much anxiety, you are welcome to tie it again.”
“I gave it to you with an explicit purpose. I wanted to ensure you fully recognize that you have consented to travel blindfolded.”
You are on my side.
You have boarded my ship.
It was a silent, suffocating pressure warning him not to dare betray me.
Deyan remained quiet for a brief moment, his head tilting slightly to the side.
“Doesn’t revealing your ultimate motive to me defeat the entire purpose of the gesture?”
“Because you are a fool, Sir Nemanic. I was worried you wouldn’t grasp it unless I spelled it out in plain English.”
“Are you still mocking me over that incident?”
“I am not mocking you; I am merely pointing out an objective fact.”
He wouldn’t be able to see it anyway, but I flashed a practiced smile that had become second nature before parting the curtain slightly to peer outside.
‘How gloomy.’
A strange, earthy stench wafted up from the rain-soaked ground.
When I was a child, I absolutely despised that smell.
“This is a wonderful scent. It means the soil is growing rich and fertile. It will bring great blessings to the people. The crops will thrive, and the harvest will taste twice as sweet.”
Almost every shift in my perspective traced its roots back to the gentle wisdom of my mother.
I started to linger on that fond, nostalgic memory, but the heavy reality of Deyan’s presence snapped me out of my sentimentality.
Sitting there in total stillness, he looked precisely like a flawless marble statue.
“What do you think?”
“Regarding what, My Lady?”
“If Joaquin Perez truly has joined hands with the Temple, and the Temple’s vast influence coaxes even the Agavni United States to agree to this war.”
I paused, letting the sentence hang in the air.
I waited, watching intently to see if even a microscopic ripple of emotion would crack his stoic expression, but his face remained entirely unblemished by doubt.
“How do you think the theater of war will unfold then?”
“Regardless of whether the Temple is acting on its own authority, I am entirely certain the Agavni United States will not actively participate in the conflict.”
“And why is that?”
“The United States has failed to secure a sufficient supply of raw materials required to manufacture weaponry. Most notably, iron ore.”
A mere shortage of iron ore to forge weapons was his grand reason?
The absolute certainty ringing through his deep voice thoroughly piqued my curiosity.
“The central Temple commands the United States, and the vast majority of its citizens possess a profoundly deep devotion to their faith.”
‘What does religion have to do with the logistics of war?’
I offered that dismissive counterargument strictly in my head, but Deyan shattered my misconception in the very next breath.
“Furthermore, religious devotion inevitably demands an immense volume of metal.”
A temple requires a massive bell to signal the hours of prayer, and a sanctuary demands countless candlesticks and extravagant ornaments to decorate its altars.
Moreover, every individual household requires sacred chalices and holy icons to offer their gratitude to God.
To forge those artifacts, metal is mandatory, and to produce metal, iron ore is indispensable.
The Adorif Empire was the single greatest producer of iron ore across the entire continent.
Conversely, the supply within the Agavni United States was practically non-existent.
Naturally, they had no choice but to rely almost entirely on the Empire for the bulk of their imports.
“Within the scope of my knowledge, the volume of iron ore imported through the United States’ trade routes has never increased.”
Therefore, the secret alliance between the Temple and Joaquin did not carry the collective will of the Agavni United States.
The United States does not want a war.
For once, Deyan spoke with absolute, unwavering conviction.

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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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