The Imperial Supreme Commander Has Returned - Chapter 42

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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 Supreme Commander Returns Chapter 42

A Victory Banquet.
Truth be told, it was the main event rather than the Merit Ceremony.
The Merit Ceremony benefited only those who’d distinguished themselves, whereas the Victory Banquet welcomed any noble who wished to attend.

Banquets held particular importance for the nobility.
What was nobility, fundamentally?
A class that possessed Advanced Mana Technique and Magic.
Which meant they wielded real Physical Power, and it was the instinct of all living things to grow savage once power was obtained.

And if you appeared weak before them?
You got devoured.
Want to avoid being consumed?
Then you gathered together.
Under the banner of Factions.

A banquet was exactly such an occasion.
A place to foster camaraderie between Factions, to welcome new members.
Which is why attendance was mandatory whenever there was a major affair like the Merit Ceremony.

“Boy, do you not intend to attend the banquet?”
“I have to go. But the protagonist always shows up fashionably late.”

Delram answered Rubian’s question.
Factions mattered, certainly, but there was no immediate rush.
Right beside him stood one of the ultimate powerhouses among Factions.
The daughter of one of the Five Great Houses of the Kingdom herself was present, after all.
So now was the time to go replenish his equipment.

The Golden Heart.

That grandly named place was the Royal Treasury.
A repository where the monarchy had amassed all manner of treasures across the ages.
Of course, there were no legendary Artifacts to be found there.
Those the royal family either used themselves or kept in separate locations guarded with a hundred times more strictness than this place.

Yet the Golden Heart alone was formidable enough.
Everything stored there was fundamentally an Artifact.
Everyone wanted to get inside and was making a fuss about it.

‘I heard they took Tarbing from here too, didn’t they?’

Tarbing—the Supreme Commander’s former sword and Delram’s present one.
That alone was enough to gauge the caliber of the Golden Heart.
Which is why newcomers often harbored such fantasies.

—What if, if you searched carefully, there was an unremarkable-looking artifact gathering dust in some corner of the treasury that was actually thrilling beyond measure?

Like an ordinary-seeming bead that was actually a dragon’s heart.
Or something covered in rust that was actually an Ego Sword.

‘Of course, none of that exists.’

The royal administrators weren’t fools. There was no way.
At least, Delram had never heard rumors of such a thing.
If it had been found, the Royal Capital would’ve been turned upside down—and judging from the fact that nothing of the sort had surfaced in fifty years, he could only conclude that such treasure didn’t exist at all.

“Would you like me to make a recommendation if you’re uncertain?”
“What is it?”
“Armor, to be precise. I’ve heard that an ancient Frost Armor crafted by the dwarves lies dormant in this very place.”
“Ah… the one that looks like a blue crystal?”
“So you know of it!”
“Yes, there it is.”

Delram pointed to one corner of the vault.
True to its name, the Frost Armor emanated an icy chill that rippled through the air.
The craftsmanship was exceptional, carved as it was from crystalline material.

Being dwarven-made, its quality needed no elaboration.
The placard before it noted that it was a masterwork constructed from Frost Crystal Stone—a mineral no longer mined—carefully carved and fitted together piece by piece.
The inscription hung before the armor itself.

“I cannot help but marvel at your discerning eye, Rubian! The piece is also enchanted with magic that adjusts its size to fit the wearer’s frame.”

The one offering the explanation was the Royal Steward.
It wasn’t as though Delram and Rubian had entered alone, after all.
They had brought along the Steward and a custodian as well.
Rubian hung on the Steward’s every word.

“I’m well aware! Moreover, the chill it carries bears the Anti-demon Property, dampening the opponent’s aura to a degree, or so I’ve been told?”
“Precisely so.”
“And this is a masterwork from the hand of an ancient dwarf craftsman—one whose entire race has since perished! Merely analyzing this would reveal their techniques―”
“You are remarkably knowledgeable.”

Rubian rattled on for a full ten minutes after that.
The Steward, who had been nodding along, grew visibly fatigued halfway through.
She catalogued the armor’s successive owners and the battles in which they’d fought—a recitation that bordered on sheer obsession.

Rubian, usually so taciturn, showing such passion?
Delram felt both amazed and faintly sad.
But the object of her enthusiasm was not a person—it was armor.

‘Can she even marry someone?’

The future was written without needing to see it.
Rubian, dragged to some formal gathering by family pressure.
Squirming in her dress, finding it suffocating, until by chance someone mentioned swords—and there she’d go, holding forth for an hour on her own.

That was simply how the world worked.
Lose one thing, gain another.
The twisted romantic sensibilities she’d developed in exchange—did they not come as the price for attaining the rank of Intermediate Knight in her early twenties?

In any case, while Rubian burned with enthusiasm.
Delram’s choice fell upon an elegant bracelet.

“I’ll take this one.”
“A Subspace Artifact, sir. A wise selection indeed.”
“Wait… you’re choosing that over the armor……?”

Rubian spoke in a dejected tone.
After all her endorsement, just a Subspace piece?

Of course, Delram also needed defensive capability.
What was his fighting style, after all?
Regardless of how strong the enemy was, he’d simply engage and scramble their wits.
To put it charitably, he favored an aggressive, technique-forward approach.
To put it bluntly, he had a death wish.

It would’ve been perfect to have armor suitable for situations like this.
The injury grade after combat could drop a full tier.
Just looking at how well I used the Protecting Heart Armor—it was genuinely effective.

The Subspace, on the other hand, seemed a bit ambiguous.
It was certainly an expensive and rare Artifact, of course.

“Why go through the trouble of a Subspace? Boy, you’d be better off choosing a decent weapon. I can hire people to carry things.”
“That’s true enough. But look at this.”

Delram unwound the Tarbing and slipped it into the Subspace.
Retrieving it was simple enough.
Channel mana through your hand, and whatever you stored comes right out.

Delram did exactly that.
With mana-infused fingers, he brushed across the Bracelet in one smooth motion.
As if by magic, the Tarbing appeared in his grasp.

“You handle the Subspace remarkably well. Most people need several seconds of concentration just to store and retrieve items.”

The Royal Steward watching let out an impressed breath.
But Rubian’s reaction was markedly different.

……!

Her eyes had widened in astonishment.
As befits an Intermediate Knight, she’d grasped Delram’s intention at a glance.

Master of all weapons.
His true strength lay in swordsmanship refined to mastery’s edge in each individual weapon—exactly as the title suggested.
Close quarters, mid-range, long distance.
He dominated every conceivable spacing and striking range in combat, always pursuing the most extreme advantage.

But there was one problem.
Swords, spears, bows, axes, whips, lances……
More than ten weapons—how could he possibly carry them all?

Weapons were never light.
Just one longsword and one shortsword together weighed over three kilograms.
Add a longspear or several daggers and you’re already over ten kilograms.
A longbow alone weighed two kilograms, and then there were the arrows.
Altogether, weapons alone came to twenty kilograms—

‘And my bodyweight is only sixty kilograms.’

A third of my total weight?
I’d be exhausted before swinging a sword twice, dead on my feet.
And that’s not even counting the armor and everything else.

So for Delram, the Subspace Artifact was essential.
Just by touching his wrist, he could draw out daggers, longbows, axes, hammers, slings, shields, halberds—whatever he needed.
And with no delay whatsoever, as he’d just demonstrated.
He was essentially a walking arsenal.

‘That’s why my combat power swings so wildly depending on whether I have the Subspace.’

Roughly double.
In theory, with the Subspace, I could fight two versions of myself without it and come out on top.

“…You’ve grown stronger, boy.”
“Well, I’m getting stronger every single day.”
“After the banquet, would you mind sparring with me?”
“Just try not to cry—you’ll lose more than usual.”
“Haha!”

Rubian laughed heartily, her eyes bright with anticipation.
But the warning about tears was sincere.
No matter how formidable a knight, Delram’s seamless combination of close, mid, and long-range attacks would leave them completely overwhelmed—truly wringing tears from their eyes.
Delram hadn’t earned the title of Weapon Master for nothing.

And so Delram received the Bracelet.
Now it was time to head to the banquet hall.
Rubian extended her toned arm and asked.

“Do you know how to escort a lady?”
“A lady…?”
“What do you mean?”

Rubian’s eyes sharpened, and she forcibly linked her arm through his.
The reason they’d come to the treasury together in the first place was because of the banquet.
Rubian was Delram’s partner, after all.

It was a courtesy extended for Delram’s first attendance.
As if the eldest daughter of the prestigious Vistache house would struggle to find a man to accompany her.
The idea was absurd.

“You know how to, don’t you?”
“Stop mumbling and let’s go, already!”
“Of course…”

Rubian declared this with vigor and pulled him along.
Delram’s expression remained somewhat reluctant.

* * *

“The eldest daughter of the Vistache house, Lady Rubian, and Baron Delram, to whom the territory of Fleur has been granted, are entering!”

The herald announced the arrival of the guests with his formal title.
As he did, the eyes of everyone in the banquet hall turned toward them.

But there was little genuine interest to be seen.
So Rubian was the eldest of the Vistache house—so what?
Rumors ran thick that she was obsessed with swords and never thought of marriage.
In fact, hadn’t she outright broken her engagement?

And Delram?
He’d become a baron, yes, but he was commoner-born with no backing whatsoever.
There was nothing particularly striking about him.

‘He did advance quickly, but that was due to the exceptional circumstances of war. When you look at his actual skill level, it’s nothing extraordinary.’

Delram was fourteen years old now.
Becoming a Lower Knight at that age was remarkable, certainly.
But even so, it wasn’t unheard of.

Perhaps one in five years?
A prodigy, yes—but not an overwhelming one.

With such thoughts, he surveyed the banquet hall.
It wasn’t unfamiliar.
How many times had Delram attended a Victory Banquet now?
At the very least, dozens had been held.
This Separate Palace had become more familiar than home, exaggeration aside.

‘About a hundred people showed up, I’d say.’

Ordinarily, seating at such events was rigidly fixed.
It meant Factions clustered together.
But tonight’s attention belonged entirely to the merit honorees.
Nobles gathered in clusters around the participating knights and mages, eager to hear their tales of heroism.

Occasionally, a noble would catch Delram’s eye.
Their reaction, when it came, fell into one of two categories.

…….
Those who ignored him, or turned their faces away in disdain.

A nod.
Or those who lifted a champagne flute and offered a polite acknowledgment.

What surprised him was that the latter proportion was quite substantial.
Given how thoroughly the nobility disparaged commoners, he’d expected the former to overwhelmingly dominate.
Rubian murmured, sounding puzzled.

“Strange. They’re not usually so warm…….”
“Well, there’s reason for it.”
“Reason for it?”
“My court manners were flawless.”

The reason a commoner-born noble was looked down upon.
It stemmed from many sources—legitimacy, power, connections—but one of the chief ones was etiquette and propriety.
It meant “an uncultured wretch.”

But Delram had given them nothing to fault on that score.
From his entrance into the palace to his audience with the king, through the Merit Ceremony, to his exit and now his bearing in the banquet hall.
Far from appearing untutored, he seemed more at ease than they were—so polished that they found themselves unconsciously according him recognition.

“And the way I received the house name Fler, too.”

That’s what Delram had said at the time.
That an ancestor of his had been noble, and that ancestor’s house was Fler.

Of course, it was all lies.
Though he himself had fallen now, he’d woven a narrative that planted a subconscious seed: once, he too had been of their kind. It was a story designed to serve that purpose, nothing more.
And it seemed to have worked.

“…Your foresight really is remarkably wide-ranging.”
“My life has hardly been simple. Without thinking constantly, I’d never know when disaster would strike. Every moment is a calculation.”
“But at the same time, it could be said to be narrow.”
“In what way?”
“The fact that I stood right beside you, ready to teach you propriety! We could have learned together on the road back from the battlefield to the Royal Capital. Why didn’t you let me? Truth be told, I was disappointed when you said you’d go on ahead.”
…….

Delram simply stared at her without answering.
Judging by her nature, Rubian had almost certainly bounded through fields and forests like a wild colt since childhood. What would she know of etiquette?
She’d barely grasped the fundamentals.

And Rubian knew this better than anyone.
Eventually, the Rubian who’d been speaking so boldly looked away.

Delram let out a soft chuckle, surveying the banquet hall around him.
It sprawled vast and magnificent, occupying an entire Separate Palace.

The late summer evening offered perfect weather.
True to its name, Verdant Palace stood behind the Separate Palace with a garden as labyrinthine as any maze—ideal for young lovers to slip away and steal moments together.

But Delram’s eye was not on romance.
It was on the attendees themselves.

‘Three groups, as always.’

The first were the kingdom’s ordinary nobility.
Familiar with one another’s faces, they clustered around the honorees of the evening, their conversation blooming in animated clusters.

The second were emissaries from the two conquered kingdoms.
Soon enough, Sambala would send representatives to join them as well.
Successors dispatched by the chieftains would receive noble titles and attend each banquet like this, laughing and making merry.
Which left the third group to consider.

‘The mages remain true to form.’

They clustered apart, convinced of their own superiority.
A glance told you everything—that self-regard, that insufferable pride.

Yet Delram turned his steps toward them nonetheless.
After all, that was why he had come to this banquet.

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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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