I Became the Narrow-Eyed Villain in a Dropped Novel

Tulle still gripped his dangling wrist and cursed.

The deal with the Tirhan Distillery had been a bait.

While all attention had been drawn to Tirhan, Cesare’s dogs had been waiting at the port.

There was no sign of Lok, who had gone to Yurman Port, so Tulle had no choice but to find his own way out.

“Good thing I made myself an escape route… I’ll have to live quietly for a while.”

While the mercenaries and his subordinates bought time with their lives, he intended to escape through a pre-prepared emergency passage.

Lowering his posture to a crouch, Tulle headed toward the warehouse.

He passed by the wagon that hadn’t even had its goods unloaded, pushed aside some empty boxes in the corner of the warehouse, and after about ten minutes of grunting with one hand, a small hole was revealed.

“I’d better not come near the Federation for a while. I’ll have to change my name, maybe even alter my face….”

“Dreaming big, aren’t we?”

Someone grabbed Tulle’s shoulder tightly.

He instinctively reached for his blade, but before he could even get close, a dagger pierced through the back of his hand.

“You fucking—Argh!”

“Next is your neck.”

The dagger, dripping blood, touched his throat.

Are Cesare’s people already here?

Tulle barely managed to twist his neck to look back—and his eyes widened.

“A demon? When the hell did you get out?”

“Is that what matters right now?”

Diaboli gripped his shoulder even harder.

The pain felt like it would shatter his bones, and Tulle squirmed in agony.

Even then, the Dark Elf didn’t withdraw the blade aimed at Tulle’s neck.

“What do you want?! Money? Your kin? Whatever it is, I can give it to you!”

“We’ll handle our business on our own.”

Noah grinned.

Realizing what he was about to say, Tulle began struggling violently.

“…We’re here to take your head today.”

The blade dug into his neck.

Tulle flailed a few more times, then went still.

“One down. Karl, did you find the client list?”

“Yeah. Just as expected, the bastard had it. And with the humans fighting among themselves, it’s easy to slip away. Let’s leave before things get cleaned up.”

Karl wiped the blood from his blade and spoke calmly.

Noah nodded, falling into thought for a moment.

Did Falsh even foresee all of this? Everything’s going too smoothly.

When Til first mentioned Falsh's plan, he had doubted it—what kind of strategy looked this sloppy?

But in the end, even the seemingly leaky plan fit perfectly.

“Hurry up. Everyone’s waiting.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m coming.”

Though he replied casually, questions about Falsh kept stacking up in his mind.

Just who is that guy anyway?

***

“Are you all right, sir?”

“Of course I am.”

No, not at all.

My whole body ached so much I could barely hold up a newspaper scrap.

Most of the mana spears had been blocked by my reactive armor, but as far as defense spells go, it was a flimsy one, and hadn’t absorbed the full impact.

Even Valheit’s tough body wasn’t immune to damage after being hit like that.

Still, there was pride to maintain, so I forced myself to appear composed.

“Seems even the most promising mage from the Karabin family is nothing to Count Valheit, eh?”

Fortunately, that bluff seemed to work, and Cesare didn’t notice how wrecked I truly was.

“Have you found everyone who did business with Lok Karabin?”

“We’ve tracked down all the Barons involved. The worst cases have already been dealt with, and the rest will be handled gradually.”

“You made the right call.”

Even just moderating the pace was good enough—for now, that meant stability in the Northern Federation.

Eventually, I might cross paths with Noah and his group, but that was a problem for later.

“However, the clients of the slave trade… they’re beyond our reach. Most are nobles from the Dix Autonomous District, and many have ties to the Eslick Empire…”

Messing with Dix nobles would instantly spark diplomatic issues, especially with the Federation’s infamously lawless reputation.

The Barons’ Assembly was too dysfunctional to handle that properly, and it wouldn’t be appropriate for Cesare himself to get directly involved in foreign affairs.

“No need to worry. That part will be handled elsewhere.”

“Elsewhere, sir?”

“By people entirely unrelated to diplomacy. Til Chartra is in charge—they’ll take care of it.”

Cesare nodded at the mention of Til Chartra’s name.

“If Til-nim’s involved, I’ve no objections.”

“‘Nim,’ huh… Are you close?”

“…She’s helped me a few times.”

Cesare cleared his throat and poured two glasses of crimson liquor.

He placed one in front of himself and offered the other to me.

“Suddenly offering me a drink?”

“There’s a saying in the North: important talks must always be accompanied by alcohol.”

“What weighty topic are you trying to broach, haha.”

I chuckled lightly and grabbed the glass with an arm screaming in muscle pain.

Cesare downed his drink in one go and set his glass down with a sharp clink.

“You didn’t help out Count Cesare out of pure goodwill, did you?”

“Hm.”

It was about time I brought this up.

Helping him wasn’t just about saving his life.

“There’s a business I’m preparing, and I need a bit of help.”

“You mean the recent deals under the Borgia Liquor Guild?”

“That’s part of it.”

I paused for effect.

“I plan to replace the Emperor of the Empire.”

Pffft!!!

Cesare spat his drink.

Good thing it wasn’t in my face.

“Cough, cough—did I hear that right? You plan to replace the Emperor of the Eslick Empire?”

“You heard correctly.”

Cesare cleared his throat a few times, then looked serious.

“I’m not sure how I can help with something so internal to the Empire…”

He had a point.

The Empire was proud of its hegemony and wouldn’t welcome overt foreign interference.

“I’m not asking for direct help. Our current relationship—transactions between you and the Borgia Guild—is sufficient.”

“…Then you’re planning to smuggle something, aren’t you.”

“You catch on quick.”

The Emperor may be a fool, but not everyone around him is.

Even a foolish emperor is no joke.

Not to mention, the Imperial Capital has been fortified for centuries.

A siege would be disastrous—we need to strike swiftly and internally, just like in the wilderness.

“You’re aware that the Borgia Liquor Guild already delivers liquor to the palace as tribute?”

“Yes. It’s one of our few legal sources of revenue.”

“Then you also understand what I want to smuggle.”

He nodded.

Fighting inside the Imperial Palace unarmed wasn’t an option.

Preparation was key.

“I need weapons, armor, and oil—enough for fifty people.”

“Evading port inspectors is easy enough, but items headed for the palace go through strict security. That quantity will definitely get caught.”

“You don’t need to worry. We have someone helping on the inside. Besides… they won’t have the manpower to check everything.”

Cesare frowned, as if asking how I knew that.

I handed him the newspaper.

“…You want me to read this? ‘Lord Chartra enters the capital to meet His Majesty the Emperor.’ What about it?”

“Do you really think a Duke would make such a show just for an audience?”

“…Are you saying this is a coup? To assassinate the Emperor?”

“Quite the opposite. It’s a coup to protect the Emperor. Though he may not see it that way. Regardless of his feelings, a welcoming banquet will be held—it’s tradition.”

At that banquet, Werner Chartra and the rest of the Chartra Family would be arrested.

The charge would be treason, but it would merely be a cowardly stunt by a frightened Emperor.

Worse, the arbitrary executions would provoke the other Dukes to rebel.

Stopping the Emperor at the banquet was the only way to prevent an even greater fire.

“So you plan to use that as cover to smuggle in the weapons and armor.”

“Consider that the final piece of our transaction.”

After a moment of silence, Cesare filled his glass to the brim and drained it.

“Understood. I’ll help you.”

“Excellent. I’ll send you the details later.”

“This may not be crucial, but… do you have a candidate for the next Emperor?”

“Of course. I wouldn’t start all this without an alternative.”

I answered his cautious question with confidence.

“In fact, he’s already on his way to Novosibir.”

“Eh? Who?”

“Who do you think?”

***

Blaiher Kruber found himself staring up at the sky.

He had never seen so much snowfall in his life.

He’d heard the North could snow for months, but seeing it firsthand felt different.

“Your Highness. Let’s head inside.”

“Ah, yes, understood, Joseph.”

“You’re not Blaiher Strauss now. You’re Blaiher Kruber. Speak more naturally.”

“It doesn’t come easy to the tongue…”

Blaiher trailed off and scratched his head. Joseph Chartra sighed.

“Informality is fine, but don’t abandon your authority.”

“Yes, I’ll keep tha— I mean, I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Much better. Let’s go.”

The inn they entered was run-down.

Once elegant furniture was covered in dust, and once-polished candle holders were rusted.

“Um… Are you sure this is the right place?”

“Yes. I confirmed it several times.”

Joseph glanced to the corner.

Someone was standing in the shadows.

“It’s been a while, Til.”

“You’re as stiff as ever.”

The siblings exchanged short greetings and fell silent.

Blaiher felt a strange sense of déjà vu between the two.

“I heard Count Valheit was coming in person.”

“He’s on his way. I just came to tell you to wait, since this is the right spot.”

“You seem awfully relaxed.”

“Well, yeah.”

Til admitted it without hesitation.

Her recent task had just been keeping an eye on the Demon Tribe.

More of a social visit than surveillance, really.

“So Father ended up storming into the capital after all. Couldn’t you have stopped him?”

“…He’s not the type to listen if you try.”

Joseph answered flatly.

Til tilted her head at his unexpected lack of nagging.

“Don’t tell me…”

“I’m a bit late. Still, this counts as being on time, doesn’t it?”

The inn door burst open, letting in a gust of cold air—Valheit stepped in.

Brushing off snow, he smiled broadly at the group.

“Joseph Chartra, Prince Blaiher Kruber, and Til. It’s good to see you all again.”

“Would you kindly explain why you summoned His Highness to Novosibir? Depending on your answer, we may leave immediately.”

“So stiff.”

Valheit clicked his tongue.

Blaiher felt a strange sense of reassurance at how unchanged he was.

“I summoned His Highness for a simple reason. It’s time to replace the Emperor, everyone.”

No, not reassuring—he felt nauseated.

“And to begin with, we’ll rescue the Emperor’s uncle, Hendrick.”

He just wanted to go home and do more training.