It was a report that shouldn't have been faintly remembered, but what should be and what is real are often different. This is especially true when it comes to priorities, such as what the decision-maker wants to see.
“Your Majesty, bandits are running rampant in the northeastern part of the kingdom!”
“Originally, they were pirates who used to follow the coastline, but these days they are fearlessly coming inland.”
"Their plunder is expanding. They're now raiding deep inland."
It was a report he heard a long time ago.
That's right. There was a bandit horde roaming the northeast.
The Etruscan kingdom had long been plagued by the small, lanky raiders who would arrive in droves in small boats, usually from Aseretto. However, protests to the Grand Duke of Aseretto had little effect.
“We didn’t send them. The islanders are going out to sea on their own accord to commit piracy during a year of famine. What do you want us to do?”
Occasionally, the Etruscan kingdom would adopt a particularly aggressive stance. Threats like hiring condottieri to cross borders and subjugate all would be made, a threat usually reserved for times of financial surplus. In response, the Assereto side would retract its previous attempts and pledge to make every effort to manage its islands. However, even such promises rarely lasted more than two or three years.
'It's a headache, there's no solution, it's just a headache.'
It was difficult to blame the Grand Duke of Asereto for this. The Strait of Scylla, located southeast of the Etruscan Kingdom and northwest of the Principality of Asereto, contained dozens of scattered islands. Some were inhabited, others uninhabited.
But except for the largest islands, there were no proper records of which islands were inhabited and which were not. You can't collect taxes or maintain law and order without knowing who lives where.
There was a reason for this. These islands changed hands every few decades, or at most every century, through treaties or marriages between monarchs. For the islanders, this meant a change of nationality.
Well, it wasn't a big deal. The King was satisfied with the new land on paper, and the islanders continued to live as they always had.
The pirates of Asereto were both Etruscan pirates and refugees, not belonging to any nation. While it's tempting to criticize the Grand Duke of Asereto for failing to properly discipline his people, the Etruscan King was also responsible, and the pirates occasionally raided Asereto, a source of frustration.
'But why are these guys who always raided the southern coast suddenly showing up in the northeast?'
Did the Duchy of Taranto suddenly become wealthy? Did security in the southeast improve, leading to a move to the relatively impoverished north?
Leo III shook his head. Even when Bianca's father was alive and well and ruled the south, the Assereto bandits were rampant. Bianca of Taranto, still a young girl, couldn't possibly be more effective at maintaining public order than her father.
If that's the case, the only scenario left is that the pirates grew larger and advanced into the northeast. Leo III touched his forehead.
'Those damn bastards.'
Like bedbugs, blood-sucking pests, no matter how many times you catch them, they never seem to be eradicated. But for some incomprehensible reason, they've grown larger. It's a phenomenon he simply can't fathom.
'Surely... they won't advance to the capital, right?'
If the capital were to be emptied and then raided by bandits, it would be a serious problem.
Of course, most of the nobles, not to mention Leo himself, would follow the court to Taranto, so the country's key figures would be safe regardless of whether the capital was sacked. The property and lives of the commoners and merchants were Leo III's only concern.
But if San Carlo were sacked by bandits, it would be an international embarrassment. It would also severely damage public sentiment in the capital.
'It might not be such a bad idea to leave Alfonso here...'
He hasn't restored the Prince's Palace budget. So, until then, the Black Helmet Knights are a free capital defense force.
Leo III continued to worry.
Should I issue a decree to Alfonso allowing him to remain in San Carlo?
The nobles, who are currently vociferously complaining that the kingdom isn't directly paying the Black Helmet Knights' salaries, will likely quiet down once they move to Taranto. If the Black Helmet Knights remain in the capital, they will be physically separated from the Order and thus feel less threatened.
While Leo III was absorbed in his own calculations, Isabella chattered beside him.
“I want to go on vacation with Your Majesty as soon as possible.”
“Oh, really?”
“I really wanted to visit the Orte Forest Villa that Your Majesty mentioned, but... I didn’t have time to stop by and am going first to Taranto.”
It was a single word thrown with precision, calculated with care and skill.
Isabella desperately wanted her beauty back. Every second counted. Life with a large, red scar on her face was hell.
Leo III, who was struggling with what to do with Alfonso, answered roughly, insincerely, and perfunctorily.
“If I go down to Taranto, I won’t be able to go to the Orte Forest Villa until winter is over.”
The moment she heard those words, tears welled up in Isabella's pretty eyes.
“Until winter ends?”
Leo III was taken aback by the sudden outburst of tears. He hated seeing women cry.
“Oh my, why are you crying again?”
Although Leo III had no interest in understanding why his son did not go down to Taranto, he could at least understand why his government was crying because it could not go to the Villa in the Forest of Orte.
"What's the big deal about three months? The alchemists there are really skilled! Even if you go back in three months, if you just go there, your scars will be completely gone."
It was all a lie.
Three months was more than enough time to heal the scars left by sword and whip. Leo III knew that much.
The alchemists of the Orte Forest boasted loudly, but their efforts yielded little in the way of gunpowder or rejuvenation. Consequently, confidence in their skill was slowly fading.
Isabella's scar might never fade. The King thought so too. In fact, even if Isabella's scar never faded, he was still thinking about taking Isabella, returning to Rubina, or finding a new mistress.
But Leo III was trying to appease Isabella right now. This was the greatest sincerity he could show to anyone.
“Don’t be too sad.”
Isabella raised her face, tears welling in her eyes, and looked at Leo III. For a moment, Leo III flinched, fearful that she might lament and complain to him. However, Isabella's intentions were far from that.
If she wanted emotional comfort, it would have been quicker to hold onto Barbara and lament. If that wasn't enough, adopting a dog would have been far more cost-effective than seeking solace from Leo III. Rubina wasn't a dog lover for nothing.
“Your Majesty, may I bring someone with me?”
Isabella's whining to the King was nothing more than a ploy to get what she wanted.
But they were a perfect match, and Leo III was much more pleased with them.
Even if Isabella was not a human but a tiger, he would welcome it if she stopped crying immediately. After all, someone else would take care of feeding the tiger.
“Well, well, of course. What about your maid?”
Isabella's expression darkened once more. The King had specifically granted her permission to take a maid, but Isabella still hadn't found one. Sir Delpiano was reportedly running around, but the reason she couldn't find one was that there was a huge gap between Isabella's expectations and the pool of applicants.
A cold sweat ran down Leo III's back.
"No, don't frown. I hate whining women more than anything else in the world."
Truly, even though he was a King, life was anything but easy. Fortunately, Isabella wasn't the type to shut up and torture others with silence until they understood her intentions. Instead, she was kind and direct, telling them exactly what she wanted.
“No, a skin therapist.”
"Oh."
If that were the case, it wouldn't have been difficult. Twenty wouldn't have mattered. It wasn't like the royal ladies were waging a war of nerves over how many they could have, like maids of honor. It was simply a matter of space and money.
“Do as you wish!”
Leo III boasted loudly for the first time in a long while. Thanks to the slashing of the princely budget, he had some financial leeway.
"Let's set up rooms here and there in the castle and hire people through open recruitment. Facial therapists, body therapists, massage therapists, skin therapists, and so on."
“Your Majesty, actually, there is someone I would like to bring.”
Agosto.
Isabella now needed Agosto.
The reason she thought of him, whom she thought she never wanted to see again, was that there weren't many useful people around her.
The maid wasn't saved. The new maid, Barbara, was quite intelligent, but a maid was still a maid. Her status limited where she could be sent and the information she could gather. Even apart from tea and food, she was woefully lacking in insight and manners compared to a noblewoman.
And above all, the female maid could not physically protect Isabella.
'I will never again be intimidated by Prince Alfonso's knights.'
Isabella needed her own escort.
No one in Leo III's guard can be trusted. Moreover, finding anyone among the Etruscans who could oppose the Prince would be harder than finding a needle in a haystack.
Agosto was from the Moorish continent and had no reason to feel any loyalty to the Etruscan Prince.
'Besides...'
Those eyes. His eyes, as if possessed by something.
Agosto has no interest in worldly power. Isabella was certain of that. Agosto is connected to some other dimension, detached from reality.
That was one of the reasons Isabella wanted Agosto. He possessed mysterious powers. To Isabella, Leo III's boasts about the herbs and mercury of the Orte Forest weren't very credible.
'If they had been more skilled, His Majesty the King wouldn't have been so corrupt.'
It was a fairly accurate judgment.
An alchemist whose skills are incapable of bringing much vitality to a King in his sixties can cure Isabella, who has lost her beauty?
After the pus had subsided, the dark lash marks and white scars that covered her skin were beyond healing, even if Hippocrates himself had not returned alive. No medical treatment in existence could restore her skin to its former smooth, white, jade-like state.
'Actually, the most important thing is the scar on the face...'
Her body wasn't a big deal. She had no real desire to sleep with Leo III. The thought of mingling with the old King brought on the thought of syphilis. It was a good thing she never had to show her naked body to the King. If she had to, she could just turn off the lights.
But her face was different. Wasn't this her greatest weapon? The scars on her face, of all places, were far deeper and more hideous than those on her body.
The wound on Isabella's cheek was red and thick, like a crawling earthworm. As it healed, the scar would bulge outward, and if she tried to make a face, the surrounding skin would squirm in strange directions.
Since her injury, she's practiced smiling in the mirror: small, big, bright, shy, cheerful.
No matter how she smiled, the giant earthworm on her cheek writhed with her. The ugliness that surged before the beauty even entered her eyes was terrifying to anyone who saw it.
Isabella's face, unveiled, no longer had the magic of the past.
Even if Leo III's alchemist were truly capable of shaking the heavens, he wouldn't be able to remove this scar. Isabella had never heard of anyone recovering from such a scar.
Except for the stories of 'heresy' and 'witches' she heard as a child.
'If it's Agosto, there must be a way.'
“Your Majesty, bandits are running rampant in the northeastern part of the kingdom!”
“Originally, they were pirates who used to follow the coastline, but these days they are fearlessly coming inland.”
"Their plunder is expanding. They're now raiding deep inland."
It was a report he heard a long time ago.
That's right. There was a bandit horde roaming the northeast.
The Etruscan kingdom had long been plagued by the small, lanky raiders who would arrive in droves in small boats, usually from Aseretto. However, protests to the Grand Duke of Aseretto had little effect.
“We didn’t send them. The islanders are going out to sea on their own accord to commit piracy during a year of famine. What do you want us to do?”
Occasionally, the Etruscan kingdom would adopt a particularly aggressive stance. Threats like hiring condottieri to cross borders and subjugate all would be made, a threat usually reserved for times of financial surplus. In response, the Assereto side would retract its previous attempts and pledge to make every effort to manage its islands. However, even such promises rarely lasted more than two or three years.
'It's a headache, there's no solution, it's just a headache.'
It was difficult to blame the Grand Duke of Asereto for this. The Strait of Scylla, located southeast of the Etruscan Kingdom and northwest of the Principality of Asereto, contained dozens of scattered islands. Some were inhabited, others uninhabited.
But except for the largest islands, there were no proper records of which islands were inhabited and which were not. You can't collect taxes or maintain law and order without knowing who lives where.
There was a reason for this. These islands changed hands every few decades, or at most every century, through treaties or marriages between monarchs. For the islanders, this meant a change of nationality.
Well, it wasn't a big deal. The King was satisfied with the new land on paper, and the islanders continued to live as they always had.
The pirates of Asereto were both Etruscan pirates and refugees, not belonging to any nation. While it's tempting to criticize the Grand Duke of Asereto for failing to properly discipline his people, the Etruscan King was also responsible, and the pirates occasionally raided Asereto, a source of frustration.
'But why are these guys who always raided the southern coast suddenly showing up in the northeast?'
Did the Duchy of Taranto suddenly become wealthy? Did security in the southeast improve, leading to a move to the relatively impoverished north?
Leo III shook his head. Even when Bianca's father was alive and well and ruled the south, the Assereto bandits were rampant. Bianca of Taranto, still a young girl, couldn't possibly be more effective at maintaining public order than her father.
If that's the case, the only scenario left is that the pirates grew larger and advanced into the northeast. Leo III touched his forehead.
'Those damn bastards.'
Like bedbugs, blood-sucking pests, no matter how many times you catch them, they never seem to be eradicated. But for some incomprehensible reason, they've grown larger. It's a phenomenon he simply can't fathom.
'Surely... they won't advance to the capital, right?'
If the capital were to be emptied and then raided by bandits, it would be a serious problem.
Of course, most of the nobles, not to mention Leo himself, would follow the court to Taranto, so the country's key figures would be safe regardless of whether the capital was sacked. The property and lives of the commoners and merchants were Leo III's only concern.
But if San Carlo were sacked by bandits, it would be an international embarrassment. It would also severely damage public sentiment in the capital.
'It might not be such a bad idea to leave Alfonso here...'
He hasn't restored the Prince's Palace budget. So, until then, the Black Helmet Knights are a free capital defense force.
Leo III continued to worry.
Should I issue a decree to Alfonso allowing him to remain in San Carlo?
The nobles, who are currently vociferously complaining that the kingdom isn't directly paying the Black Helmet Knights' salaries, will likely quiet down once they move to Taranto. If the Black Helmet Knights remain in the capital, they will be physically separated from the Order and thus feel less threatened.
While Leo III was absorbed in his own calculations, Isabella chattered beside him.
“I want to go on vacation with Your Majesty as soon as possible.”
“Oh, really?”
“I really wanted to visit the Orte Forest Villa that Your Majesty mentioned, but... I didn’t have time to stop by and am going first to Taranto.”
It was a single word thrown with precision, calculated with care and skill.
Isabella desperately wanted her beauty back. Every second counted. Life with a large, red scar on her face was hell.
Leo III, who was struggling with what to do with Alfonso, answered roughly, insincerely, and perfunctorily.
“If I go down to Taranto, I won’t be able to go to the Orte Forest Villa until winter is over.”
The moment she heard those words, tears welled up in Isabella's pretty eyes.
“Until winter ends?”
Leo III was taken aback by the sudden outburst of tears. He hated seeing women cry.
“Oh my, why are you crying again?”
Although Leo III had no interest in understanding why his son did not go down to Taranto, he could at least understand why his government was crying because it could not go to the Villa in the Forest of Orte.
"What's the big deal about three months? The alchemists there are really skilled! Even if you go back in three months, if you just go there, your scars will be completely gone."
It was all a lie.
Three months was more than enough time to heal the scars left by sword and whip. Leo III knew that much.
The alchemists of the Orte Forest boasted loudly, but their efforts yielded little in the way of gunpowder or rejuvenation. Consequently, confidence in their skill was slowly fading.
Isabella's scar might never fade. The King thought so too. In fact, even if Isabella's scar never faded, he was still thinking about taking Isabella, returning to Rubina, or finding a new mistress.
But Leo III was trying to appease Isabella right now. This was the greatest sincerity he could show to anyone.
“Don’t be too sad.”
Isabella raised her face, tears welling in her eyes, and looked at Leo III. For a moment, Leo III flinched, fearful that she might lament and complain to him. However, Isabella's intentions were far from that.
If she wanted emotional comfort, it would have been quicker to hold onto Barbara and lament. If that wasn't enough, adopting a dog would have been far more cost-effective than seeking solace from Leo III. Rubina wasn't a dog lover for nothing.
“Your Majesty, may I bring someone with me?”
Isabella's whining to the King was nothing more than a ploy to get what she wanted.
But they were a perfect match, and Leo III was much more pleased with them.
Even if Isabella was not a human but a tiger, he would welcome it if she stopped crying immediately. After all, someone else would take care of feeding the tiger.
“Well, well, of course. What about your maid?”
Isabella's expression darkened once more. The King had specifically granted her permission to take a maid, but Isabella still hadn't found one. Sir Delpiano was reportedly running around, but the reason she couldn't find one was that there was a huge gap between Isabella's expectations and the pool of applicants.
A cold sweat ran down Leo III's back.
"No, don't frown. I hate whining women more than anything else in the world."
Truly, even though he was a King, life was anything but easy. Fortunately, Isabella wasn't the type to shut up and torture others with silence until they understood her intentions. Instead, she was kind and direct, telling them exactly what she wanted.
“No, a skin therapist.”
"Oh."
If that were the case, it wouldn't have been difficult. Twenty wouldn't have mattered. It wasn't like the royal ladies were waging a war of nerves over how many they could have, like maids of honor. It was simply a matter of space and money.
“Do as you wish!”
Leo III boasted loudly for the first time in a long while. Thanks to the slashing of the princely budget, he had some financial leeway.
"Let's set up rooms here and there in the castle and hire people through open recruitment. Facial therapists, body therapists, massage therapists, skin therapists, and so on."
“Your Majesty, actually, there is someone I would like to bring.”
Agosto.
Isabella now needed Agosto.
The reason she thought of him, whom she thought she never wanted to see again, was that there weren't many useful people around her.
The maid wasn't saved. The new maid, Barbara, was quite intelligent, but a maid was still a maid. Her status limited where she could be sent and the information she could gather. Even apart from tea and food, she was woefully lacking in insight and manners compared to a noblewoman.
And above all, the female maid could not physically protect Isabella.
'I will never again be intimidated by Prince Alfonso's knights.'
Isabella needed her own escort.
No one in Leo III's guard can be trusted. Moreover, finding anyone among the Etruscans who could oppose the Prince would be harder than finding a needle in a haystack.
Agosto was from the Moorish continent and had no reason to feel any loyalty to the Etruscan Prince.
'Besides...'
Those eyes. His eyes, as if possessed by something.
Agosto has no interest in worldly power. Isabella was certain of that. Agosto is connected to some other dimension, detached from reality.
That was one of the reasons Isabella wanted Agosto. He possessed mysterious powers. To Isabella, Leo III's boasts about the herbs and mercury of the Orte Forest weren't very credible.
'If they had been more skilled, His Majesty the King wouldn't have been so corrupt.'
It was a fairly accurate judgment.
An alchemist whose skills are incapable of bringing much vitality to a King in his sixties can cure Isabella, who has lost her beauty?
After the pus had subsided, the dark lash marks and white scars that covered her skin were beyond healing, even if Hippocrates himself had not returned alive. No medical treatment in existence could restore her skin to its former smooth, white, jade-like state.
'Actually, the most important thing is the scar on the face...'
Her body wasn't a big deal. She had no real desire to sleep with Leo III. The thought of mingling with the old King brought on the thought of syphilis. It was a good thing she never had to show her naked body to the King. If she had to, she could just turn off the lights.
But her face was different. Wasn't this her greatest weapon? The scars on her face, of all places, were far deeper and more hideous than those on her body.
The wound on Isabella's cheek was red and thick, like a crawling earthworm. As it healed, the scar would bulge outward, and if she tried to make a face, the surrounding skin would squirm in strange directions.
Since her injury, she's practiced smiling in the mirror: small, big, bright, shy, cheerful.
No matter how she smiled, the giant earthworm on her cheek writhed with her. The ugliness that surged before the beauty even entered her eyes was terrifying to anyone who saw it.
Isabella's face, unveiled, no longer had the magic of the past.
Even if Leo III's alchemist were truly capable of shaking the heavens, he wouldn't be able to remove this scar. Isabella had never heard of anyone recovering from such a scar.
Except for the stories of 'heresy' and 'witches' she heard as a child.
'If it's Agosto, there must be a way.'
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