Lord of Caldera - Chapter 172

Chapter 172: Chapter 172

“Ha, you misunderstand,” the Marquis Serge said, stroking his beard with a sly smile. “The qualifications for participating in the Platinum Council are Northern bloodline and holding land. Although he is from Corleone, his maternal lineage is Northern, so he has every right to be here.”

“Corleone!”

“The Red Dragon of the East!”

The nobles gaped at Sylas, astonished. The legend of the dragonslayer who had fought alongside the Empire’s founder was famous even in the North—perhaps more so there, where warriors and martial prowess were revered. To the people of the North, a dragonslayer was the pinnacle of all warriors.

“As the Marquis says, my maternal grandfather and mother are of Northern blood, and I reclaimed their homeland. So, I naturally hold the right to be here,” Sylas stated calmly.

“Preposterous! What kind of…!” Ragnar began, only to be cut off by Sylas.

“Are you afraid of me?” he asked. “So much so that you would deny my birthright just to bar me from participating?”

Ragnar clenched his mouth shut. The accusation of cowardice was petty, but in the North, where valor was paramount, it was a powerful taunt.

“Hmph! Very well. I acknowledge your bloodline.”

“Thank you.”

“But claiming the throne is a different matter. You, with your little barony, dare to challenge for the title of king? Do you believe you’re worthy?” Ragnar scoffed.

“That’s a flimsy argument,” said Bjorn, answering before Sylas could. Ragnar frowned, surprised by the response.

“A flimsy argument?”

“Indeed. Since when did rank matter in choosing a king in the North? Wasn’t it always about selecting the greatest warrior?”

Before becoming part of the Empire, Northern kings had always been the mightiest warriors, regardless of lineage or nobility. Tradition held that any recognized warrior in the Platinum Council could contest for the throne.

“Any warrior acknowledged by the Platinum Council has the right to vie for the throne! Remember our traditions, Great Chief!”

“Mm.” Ragnar let out a deep growl at the mention of tradition. This entire ordeal had been crafted to utilize Northern customs in his own bid for the throne. Yet, if his opponents invoked tradition, he was compelled to honor it.

“…Very well. But to qualify as a candidate, he needs the support of at least seven members. Does anyone support his participation?” Ragnar asked.

“Of course, I will support him,” said the Marquis.

Ragnar narrowed his eyes slightly, realizing the two had likely coordinated in advance.

‘So, you’ll agree, and then the others will just fall in line,’ Ragnar thought, predicting the next steps. Yet, to his surprise, the Marquis rested his chin thoughtfully.

“Hmm, this is a difficult decision.”

“…?”

“He may qualify for the Platinum Council, but his right to vie for the throne is a separate matter. It’s truly a difficult choice,” the Marquis said, making Bjorn’s eyes widen in shock.

Sylas’s brows furrowed. According to the plan, the Marquis was supposed to support him smoothly, but now he was stalling.

‘So that’s his play?’ Sylas thought, realizing the Marquis’s motive. Most of the nobles here were the Marquis’s supporters, so if he hesitated, they would hesitate too. It was clear the Marquis was sending a message.

‘He wants to assert his authority. Without my help, you won’t achieve your goals—so bow to me.’

And that was precisely what the Marquis intended, casting a glance at Sylas and Bjorn as he feigned indecision.

‘Youngster, no matter what tricks you pull, without my approval, you can do nothing. Do you understand your position?’

The Marquis wasn’t a fool. Though Sylas’s proposal seemed to open new possibilities, he knew it was designed to ultimately benefit Sylas’s goals. But he wasn’t going to make it easy.

“So, what does everyone think? I truly find this a hard decision,” the Marquis said, looking around at the other nobles.

“Ahem, I feel the same,” one of the nobles quickly agreed, picking up on the Marquis’s intentions.

“Indeed, a very difficult issue,” murmured another, watching the Marquis for cues.

The Marquis smiled as more nobles echoed his hesitance.

‘Well, what will you do now?’

If the motion was denied, Sylas would be humiliated. The only way for him to save face would be to acknowledge the Marquis’s authority.

‘Bow your head, young man.’

‘You conniving old fox!’ Sylas thought, locking eyes with the Marquis. Just then, one of the nobles abruptly rose to his feet.

“I recognize his eligibility!” declared an elderly nobleman.

‘Viscount Thorburn?’ The Marquis’s gaze wavered. Surely, Thorburn understood what was happening, yet he had thrown his support behind Sylas? His voice slipped out, colder than he had intended.

“Are you certain about this?”

“I am sincere, Marquis. How could I speak empty words in a council to elect our king?”

Despite the pressure, Viscount Thorburn’s expression didn’t waver. Instead, he looked around at the other nobles and raised his voice.

“A king of the North must command respect from all! That includes both the Marquis and the Great Chief! How could the descendant of the Red Dragon lack such authority?”

The atmosphere grew tense as Thorburn’s words implied one undeniable truth: if a king were chosen, even the Marquis would have to submit to the king’s rule. If his chosen candidate were to ascend as king, Thorburn and the other nobles would no longer need to heed the Marquis, and the tables would turn, forcing the Marquis to consider the views of other nobles.

‘This upstart!’ the Marquis thought furiously. Thorburn, catching the Marquis’s glare, only chuckled in response, as if savoring the long-awaited opportunity to break free from the Marquis’s dominance.

‘I’ll make the most of this chance,’ Thorburn resolved, and he wasn’t alone. Several other lords, emboldened by his defiance, rose from their seats, shouting their support.

“I also recognize him!”

“So do I!”

“He truly has the bearing of a hero!”

The Marquis’s face flushed red as his influence, which had once silenced these lords, crumbled. He hadn’t anticipated that they would openly rebel at this crucial moment.

“It seems I’ve been acknowledged,” Sylas said, drawing the Marquis’s attention with a cool gaze and a faint, mocking smile.

‘You’re finished, old man,’ Sylas’s expression seemed to say.

‘Damn it,’ thought the Marquis, gritting his teeth. His plan to assert dominance had backfired, allowing Sylas to slip out from under his influence. And it wasn’t just Sylas; younger nobles, long overshadowed by the titles of Marquis and Great Chief, began speaking up, each confident in their own prowess.

“Then I will also throw my hat in the ring,” declared Bjorn, stepping forward. Both the Marquis and Ragnar struggled to hold back sighs, realizing that this Platinum Council had truly turned into an ancient-style royal election.

“Seven candidates,” Sylas mused, scanning those who had stepped forward. Though the initial enthusiasm had waned, only a select few remained. It seemed that even the lords were cautious in lending their support.

‘They must have filtered out the weaklings,’ he thought. After all, their reputations were on the line if their endorsed candidate faltered. Among those chosen were Sylas, Bjorn, Ragnar and his loyal follower Loghain, the Marquis’s adopted nephew, and two men from respected families.

“…With this, the candidates have been chosen,” the Marquis murmured, visibly exhausted. He could no longer predict how things would unfold.

‘Damn it, it’s out of my hands now,’ he thought. Now, all he could do was hope that his nephew’s strength would carry the day.

“How do you intend to choose the king?” one noble asked.

“The method is obvious,” Ragnar replied confidently.

“Through trials.”

“Trials?”

“From ancient times, candidates have faced three trials to prove themselves as king. So, we must do the same,” Ragnar said, a smile forming on his lips, while the Marquis’s face hardened. The trials, now that he thought about them, were absurdly difficult.

“Are you really serious about this?” the Marquis asked.

“Of course,” Ragnar replied, dismissing the Marquis’s question with a sweeping gaze.

“The first trial is simple. Bring back the heart of a dragon.”

“…!?”

A stunned silence fell over the council as the nobles processed his words. Did he say… a dragon’s heart?

“Are you talking about a dragon heart?” one noble stammered.

“Indeed.”

“Ridiculous! A dragon’s heart isn’t some child’s plaything!” The noble who spoke seemed indignant, as if he felt mocked. Whatever ancient tradition might say, this was impossible.

“Besides, where would one even find a living dragon in this age? They’ve long been extinct!”

A dragon’s heart—or, more specifically, the heart of an ancient dragon—was a legendary treasure, prized not only for its power but for the profound magic it contained. However, dragons of that caliber had vanished from the world. Only lesser, beast-like dragons remained. Yet, here Ragnar was, demanding a dragon’s heart in the name of tradition.

“Are you mocking us?”

“No, I am serious.”

“Great Chief, listen!” one noble interjected, exasperated. “Ancient dragons no longer exist!”

The traditional trial might have required hunting an ancient dragon, but in a world where they were extinct, the trial had to be approached differently.

“However, a dragon’s heart still exists in this age,” Ragnar said.

“What!?”

“That’s impossible!”

A dragon’s heart was a legendary relic, one of the rarest of treasures, possessing a mystique that surpassed even the most powerful elixirs.

“And where would this heart be?” another noble pressed, his voice tense.

“In the Warrior’s Tomb.”

The air grew thick with apprehension. The Warrior’s Tomb was a place that had been designated forbidden territory since the Empire’s founding and the spread of the Goddess’s faith.

“There, lies the heart of a dragon.”

As the council absorbed the weight of Ragnar’s words, Sylas’s mouth quirked into a barely concealed smile, struggling to keep his expression neutral. Access to the Warrior’s Tomb was the true reason he had joined this trial.

‘Because the dragon’s heart really is there.’

The dragon’s heart—a dreamlike relic that, for the average person, would grant eternal vitality, perfect physical form, and immortality. But for those of Corleone lineage, it offered something even more profound.

‘It allows us to awaken the dragon’s blood.’

The dragon’s heart was the key to reviving the dormant ancient lineage within Sylas, and he had just gained the perfect excuse to claim it.