Laurent had long since noticed: under this system, only the king's word truly mattered.
How did someone become king? Almost always by blood—heredity—or else replaced by a prince.
Yet there was another way.
Lately, Laurent had begun to consider its feasibility.
Kill the duke. Earn his trust, then assassinate him and take his place.
Honestly, Laurent almost wanted to laugh at himself for taking the idea seriously.
After all, the duke wasn't impressed by his character or principles; he only saw Laurent's strength and potential as tools.
Recently, the duke had summoned him often. To John Fastolf, that looked like favor. To Laurent, it was transparent. The marriage proposal was just a shackle to keep him conveniently loyal.
Laurent wasn't so dim that he couldn't see through something this obvious.
He didn't mind people like Fastolf, who admitted to mutual benefit, but he despised men like the duke—smiles on the surface, venom underneath.
He'd also learned plenty by now: invading France wasn't just the duke's ambition—it had the king's approval. Even if Laurent removed the duke, he still wouldn't have the authority to withdraw the troops.
At first, Laurent thought that once he became a general, he could stop the war or at least stage a few sham battles—but clearly he'd overestimated these people.
With his current status, even suggesting a retreat could brand him a traitor and end in his execution.
So he waited, patiently, for the right chance—the perfect moment to assassinate and replace the duke.
Standing nearby, John Fastolf saw Laurent's thoughtful look and assumed he was deep in strategy.
But Laurent's next words wiped the smile from his face.
"If I reached the duke's rank, could I call off the war?"
"Huh?"
John Fastolf stared, baffled.
Call off…the war?
Victory was within reach—why stop now?
"Haha, Évigi, your jokes are always amusing."
Fastolf tried to brush it off with forced laughter.
Words like that couldn't be spoken aloud. The war was commanded from above; any hint of disobedience was desertion—or treason—if overheard.
For now, Fastolf could pretend he misheard. If Laurent repeated it elsewhere, that would be true folly.
Feeling he had to warn him, Fastolf lowered his voice:
"Évigi, you must never say that again. If anyone hears and accuses you of treason, no one could save you."
"I understand."
And if someone really hears, I'll just kill you all.
Laurent wore a gentle smile while idly weighing the idea of slaughtering the entire upper echelon.
Hmm…not impossible.
He hadn't met the king or princes yet, but he knew most nobles below the duke. Killing them would be simple.
In Laurent's eyes, none of these nobles were any good.
In a system where nobles held absolute power, corruption was inevitable. Under those conditions, desire bloated unchecked; Laurent doubted any noble could claim clean hands.
Even Fastolf was merely pragmatic—sticking close because it paid. If Laurent ever stopped being useful, Fastolf's true colors would show.
Laurent suddenly found himself missing Jeanne.
Only with her did he feel at peace—free of intrigue and worry.
He longed for the old days, lazing on haystacks, holding Jeanne as they watched the sky and chatted about nothing.
His current life left him restless.
Sleepless at night, wary by day.
Sometimes Laurent truly considered killing them all just to be rid of it.
Each time, he set the thought aside.
...
"What? You're saying Évigi is a demon?"
Inside his castle, the duke stared at his subordinates' report, so shocked he nearly laughed in anger.
"You know the penalty for slandering a noble, yes?"
"We do…but Your Grace, we speak only out of fear that this man has hidden intentions—"
"Intentions? Be clear!"
"We're not certain, Your Grace. But recently, when you hinted at him inheriting your position, our consciences couldn't bear it. Even if we must die for saying this, it's better than letting our future fall into a demon's hands!"
"Speak plainly!"
Irritated by their vagueness, the duke snapped at them. Lately, he'd seen Laurent as a promising warrior worth grooming—even to the point of marrying him to his daughter and elevating his rank. And now these fools said it was impossible? No one would take that well.
"It's like this…"
The soldiers described in detail their first encounter with Laurent. At last, the lead soldier said solemnly:
"Your Grace, you must not give him more power. We don't know what he intends. If he becomes a duke and such authority falls into a demon's hands…"
He didn't finish, but everyone understood.
The duke was not so easily swayed.
"And why should I believe you? Évigi has undeniably brought us victories. Even if he were a demon—what does it matter, if I control him?"
"But…"
The soldiers glanced at one another, at a loss for words.
"Hmph. So what if he's a demon? As long as I keep him bound to me, do you think he could rebel against the entire kingdom alone? Save your worries. I'll watch him closely. In time, I'll order him to marry my daughter—if he refuses, he'll never rise higher. He thinks his battlefield merit will earn him status. I won't grant it so easily."
His decisiveness left the soldiers speechless; they traded uneasy looks.
As mere subordinates, their role ended at reporting. If the duke insisted, they had no standing to object.
They'd risked their lives to speak because Laurent's rapid rise truly frightened them.
May all be well.