Lord of Caldera - Chapter 215

Chapter 215: Chapter 215

The nobles grew contemplative.

If we accuse him of treason, we could execute him here. It wouldn’t be hard to frame it that way…

But if we do, a new lord will be appointed from the capital. We’ve just chosen a king—if the empire tightens its control here, we’ll have undone everything.

And if we make a decision ourselves, it could be interpreted as rebellion. This is a delicate matter.

They needed a punishment that was beyond dispute, one that even the crown couldn’t question. As the nobles wrestled with this unexpected dilemma, Thorbern’s gaze turned to the elderly noble, a cunning smile spreading across his face.

“This is a simple matter.”

“S-Simple?”

“Indeed. We already have a king,” Thorbern replied confidently, letting his gaze settle on Sylas.

The nobles around him exchanged startled glances. The North was in the process of electing its king, and once crowned, that king could pass judgment on Marquis Serje with authority no one could challenge. Even the Empire would have no grounds to object. But there was one problem.

“A king? We don’t yet have a king,” one noble interjected.

“Who would deny that Lord Sylas is the only true candidate?” Thorbern countered, his tone sharp.

“B-But…”

Thorbern’s steely expression silenced them. “Let’s hear it, then. Explain why Lord Sylas should be disqualified, and who would be a better candidate than him.”

No one dared to speak. Any argument would seem like an attack on Sylas, which was bound to be unpopular given his recent feats.

Damn it! What does he want us to say?

One wrong word, and we’ll have everyone against us.

Satisfied with the uneasy silence, Thorbern turned toward Sylas and called out, “Well, Lord Sylas! Tell us—what punishment will you bestow upon Marquis Serje?”

Sylas scratched his cheek, glancing around as all eyes focused on him.

“Oh, about that…” he muttered. “I won’t be king.”

“…What?”

The hall froze. People exchanged glances, wondering if they’d misheard. But Sylas repeated himself, still calm and composed.

“I’m withdrawing. Let the North choose its king from the remaining candidates.”

A silent gasp spread across the hall as everyone grappled with the shock of his words.

“Lord Sylas, what on earth is this?”

After the meeting adjourned, Viscount Thorbern rushed to Sylas, his expression one of utter dismay.

“You’re refusing to become king? Now, of all times? Why?”

“Well, if I had to give a reason…”

“Yes?”

“I’m just not interested.”

“Not… interested?” Thorbern choked, clutching his chest as though trying to calm his pounding heart. Sylas patted his shoulder lightly.

“Take a deep breath, Viscount.”

“How am I supposed to calm down? You’re giving up the throne within reach!”

It amused Sylas how quickly Thorbern’s formality slipped, abandoning the deferential tone now that Sylas had declined the crown.

Thorbern paced back and forth, muttering. “Look at the other candidates. Karl Leininggen is out of the picture. That leaves Lord Bjorn, the chieftain, and his right hand, Rogain! If you withdraw…”

“Then Ragnar will become king. He’ll vote for himself, and with Rogain’s vote, he’ll have the majority.”

“You’re doing this knowingly?!”

“Why not? A barbarian king might be interesting,” Sylas replied with a sly grin, which only made Thorbern’s face flush deeper with frustration. After taking several deep breaths, Thorbern regained some composure and continued.

“Fine, let’s set aside the issue of his heritage. I don’t hold anything against the barbarians personally.”

“Oh, really?”

“Our ancestors came from beyond the snowy wastes too, after all. There’s little difference in our blood.”

“So, what’s the issue then?”

“The chieftain’s ideology!” Thorbern pounded his fist on the table, his display of anger prompting a frown from Rey.

“My lord, please show some respect…”

“Let it go,” Sylas said, waving him off as Thorbern launched into his argument.

“From the very beginning of the Platinum Council, the chieftain made no secret of his hatred for the Empire. Imagine what would happen if he were crowned king! What do you think that would lead to?”

“I don’t know,” Sylas said, shrugging.

“War! A war for independence from the Empire! A great war that we haven’t seen for hundreds of years!”

Sylas raised an eyebrow, but the reaction seemed to frustrate Thorbern further.

“‘Hmm’? Is that all you can say to a looming war? If you abandon the throne, rivers will run red with blood, and corpses will fill the land!”

Halfway through Thorbern’s fervent speech, Sylas chuckled softly.

“Please, Viscount, spare me. Your intentions are plain as day.”

“What do you mean?”

“Let’s be honest. You’re the reason I even became a candidate in the first place.”

“Well, that’s true, but what does that have to do with—”

“You thought if I became king, I’d repay the favor. You were my first supporter, after all.”

Thorbern fell silent. He could hardly deny it. Though he hadn’t given much support since then, the initial backing was often the most crucial.

If Sylas were someone who valued loyalty—or at least one who honored debts—Thorbern had expected ample rewards when Sylas took the throne.

“And now that I’m withdrawing my candidacy, it must sting a bit, doesn’t it?”

“…Are you mocking me?”

“Not at all. I’m trying to reassure you.”

“Reassure me?”

“Bjorn will become king. And I’ll make sure you receive the rewards you deserve. You have my word.”

Thorbern’s eyes widened in shock. What was Sylas saying?

While Sylas was deep in conversation with Viscount Thorbern, Bjorn was also receiving a guest in his quarters.

“…What brings the chieftain to my quarters?” Bjorn asked.

“I have something to discuss.”

After a brief pause, Bjorn opened the door. “Come in.”

“Thank you.”

“Would you like something to drink before we talk?” Bjorn offered.

“If you have mead, I’d appreciate it.”

“There’s wine,” Bjorn replied.

“That’ll do.”

Bjorn smirked at Ragnar’s answer, amused by how naturally Ragnar took to the role of a guest, as though Bjorn were his host. Bjorn poured two glasses of wine and sat down at the table.

“Here.”

“…Small glass,” Ragnar observed.

“Wine is meant to be drunk this way.”

“Hmm.”

Ragnar sipped the wine, a bit unused to the small glass, but his expression soon relaxed, apparently finding the taste agreeable.