He's in Love with the Devil.

Chapter 3 Prevented Executions

September 17, 1432, seven o'clock in the morning.

The sun hadn't quite risen yet, and the cold fog was whipped slightly by the wind, with the gray tower of Merne towering in colossal silence. Winter came early in Rogaland, with frost and snow in September.

The old Duke of Buckingham stepped out of the Tower of Mern, the breeze ruffling his pale temples.

This old man who had guarded the Rogaland Empire for decades was tall and thin, and he was shrouded in pitch-black clothes. The ones responsible for escorting him were two pitiful young soldiers, although the old man was not wearing fancy clothes, the might on his body was still there, they didn't dare to make a move to press on his shoulders at all.

The Duke of Buckingham straightened his spine in front of the tower, his pale blue eyes looking up at the sky with a hint of darkness.

Not many people witnessed this execution, excluding the guards who were fully clothed, there were only about two hundred people present. The Lord of Castle Mourne, Count Walter, stood at the front of the crowd, and to his left was the ambassador of the Kingdom of Pullen to Rogaland, the ambassador of the Holy Empire, and the ambassador of the Empire of Bolesi to Rogaland. The rest were the rest of the big and small nobles with status.

Earl Walter admired the great man's great misfortune. Except for a small number of people like the Count, the rest of the spectators turned their heads sideways, unable to bear watching this tragedy.

The Duke of Buckingham walked calmly to the high execution platform and stood in front of the black-tree cushioned log. As he stood, he condescendingly swept his gaze over all present, extended his shackled hand, and with a downward pressure, as he had done in his pre-march pronouncements, signaled the room to be silent.

As was customary, he began his deathbed speech.

After briefly committing his soul to the Creator, his voice trailed off.

"...... I ask all present to pray for our supreme king, may the Holy One bless him with good health and a long life ......"

His eyes gazed out over the crowd.

Some in the crowd pressed their belt knives into their sheaths a little under his sharp gaze.

All of them bowed their heads and murmured a prayer for King Pullan I of Rogaland.

Count Walter snorted in his mind.

This old thing was afraid that he wasn't senile, to the point of death he was actually still praying for his bastard nephew.

Regardless of whether it was sincere or false, the solemn prayer sounded low, and an inexplicable emotion spread out in the cold air.

The butler felt more and more restless as he stood behind the count, whispering a reminder that it would be best to get the execution started quickly.

"What could go wrong?"

The Count replied, full of concern.

After the saddening prayer, the execution began in earnest.

The executioner doused the huge sword with strong wine, and the surface of the sword was as cold as a mirror. The Duke of Buckingham waved away the guards who wanted to come forward, and knelt down in front of the hardwood, bent down expressionlessly, and rested his pale head on the cushion wood.

Earl Walter cleared his throat.

"I declare-"

He felt that he could be considered a formidable man.

"Stop--"

A sharp voice cut through the cold, heavy air.

The voice came from far away, followed by the clamor of men and horses. A stallion galloped in, and tall knights in armor held swords in their hands. The soldiers who had already been instructed to set up their shields and draw their swords in an attempt to stop him. The knight struck his horse and mercilessly kicked those soldiers to the ground, hacking over several of them.

"What kind of person dares to be so reckless!"

Count Walter's face changed as he drew his longsword with a "brush".

At the same time, he was horrified in his heart, what kind of person could make the castle guards let in without his consent?

The knight who cut a gash in the guard soldier did not answer, he threw his longsword out, the executioner on the platform fell down with a sound. And only then did the knight roll over and dismount from his horse, strangling the reins and standing to the side.

Count Walter angrily strides towards the knight.

Once more the clattering hoofs of horses sounded sharply, and there came not one, but two.

The war-horse that had lagged a little behind came galloping in, stamping up a cloud of flying snow. And this newly arrived warhorse was even more unrestrained, as it came barreling all the way across the field without any sign of stopping. The surrounding guards couldn't even make it to the front before the warhorse rushed in front of the earl, rising high in the air in a neigh, and kicking out heavily with its front hooves.

The iron hooves kicked the earl in the chest, sending him tumbling to the ground.

The crowd clamored.

"Me."

An icy voice.

The sun leapt out of the clouds in a single bound, and the light of day suddenly spread across all the flawless snow. In the blinding morning light reflected by the snow and ice, the man on the back of the first horse at the head of the pack looked down on the fallen Count Walter.

The Count's voice was cut in his throat as he fell limp to the ground.

The man on horseback had the same icy blue eyes as the Duke of Buckingham, the symbol of the Rosebud family of the Rogaland Empire. Silver-white hair hung down over the scarlet cloak, and the teenager's brow was shrouded in a compelling majesty, and a fearful bloom of anger. The Count recognized him and understood why the guards let him in without notification.

It was the King of Rogaland.

Pourland I.

...............

"Roger de Walter."

The red-cloaked teenage king pronounced the name of the owner of Castle Mourne slowly and methodically, and those who knew the king well knew that this was a prelude to an outburst of rage. He walked slowly around the prostrate earl, his moleskin-gloved hands curled around his riding crop.

"I gave the order forbidding the execution. I am pleased that you are so valiant, so fearless."

The boy king, who had poured out his country's efforts to raise him in prosperity, was graceful and honorable, every tone, every syllable, a model of high society.

The earl trembled at this elegant tone, and he couldn't care about the pain of being just kicked over by the horse's hooves, and crawled towards the hooves that stepped on the snow.

The teenage king kicked him out of the way, his brow shrouded in gloom, his tone suddenly shifted and became unbearably morose: "So valiant that you dare to disobey my orders!"

"Your Majesty, Your Majesty!"

The Earl jerked straight up, terrified to death.

"The Holy Lord is above! I would never dare to disobey your order! I absolutely did not receive a second command from you ......"

It was as if he suddenly saw a lifesaver and grabbed it with all his might.

"Your Majesty! The messenger from the Imperial Council did not arrive in the County of Merne! Your Majesty!"

The horsewhip flung out venomously, striking the Earl so hard that he stifled a grunt as the words were jerked back into his stomach.

"The messenger did not arrive?" The young king withdrew his horsewhip and paced nonchalantly, his thin lips pulling out a contemptuous sneer, "What is that? All I know is that my orders have been disobeyed. From this day forward, I will take back all the territory I once bestowed upon you-"

"Your Majesty!"

The two voices overlapped.

One was the pale Count Walter, and the other was another person in the crowd.

Blessed Late raised his eyes.

An archbishop came out across the crowd, holding a cross and bowing his head in front of him, "Your Majesty, the Holy Lord teaches us to be forgiving, Mr. Earl did not receive your second letter, may you be lenient and forgive his sins."

"You are pleading for him? My Monsieur le Bishop."

Zhu Chi narrowed his eyes slightly, his tone tinged with ill will.

Everyone within Rogaland knew that the conflict between the teenage king and the church was not a matter of a day or two, and at this moment, it was as if a fight was about to break out once again.

The chief steward of the inner court nervously held his hand on the side, last month his majesty had done something out of the ordinary, and the relationship with the church had already developed to the point where he was about to face excommunication from the holy church, it would undoubtedly be very irrational to have a conflict with a bishop at this time.

"My beloved Majesty, I believe that your uncle will also support you to always have a loving heart."

The bishop replied.

Everyone, including Zhu Chi, looked towards the high platform.

The Duke of Buckingham had been unshackled, and he stood on the high platform, looking down at his nephew who had arrived unexpectedly. With the Duke's back to the light, it was hard for people to see what kind of expression he was wearing, and they could only see the black robe on his body being blown by the wind. He slowly nodded towards Zhu Chi.

No one dared to speak.

Uncle and nephew were staring at each other in a scene that could be described as odd.

In the end, Zhu Chi averted his gaze without much expression.

"Since the messenger disappeared in your territory." Zhu Chi coldly surveyed the bishop, but his words were addressed to the earl, "You have three days to find out the intercepted messenger, or - get out of Mourne County."

The bishop opened his mouth, tried to say something and gave up.

In terms of reasoning, when a noble obtains a granted land from the king, then he needs to be responsible for all kinds of affairs within the territory. However, the messenger had traveled through at least three counties along the way from the royal palace, and it was clear to anyone who understood that the messenger had most likely been stopped shortly after leaving the palace.

Now the king directly ignored these, and forced the disappearance of the messenger to be located in the county of Merne, which was obviously a prelude to punishment in disguise.

But for a tyrant like the king, not stripping the earl of his title on the spot and throwing him in jail was already a concession.

The paralyzed earl was dragged off.

The crowd gradually dispersed.

Watching the Duke of Buckingham being invited down to the guillotine, the ambassador of the Kingdom of Blesi let out a faintly imperceptible sigh.

"What a brutal monarch."

The Pulen Kingdom's ambassador to Roglan let out an exclamation, this was the first time he had seen the rumored incapable of disobedience Pulen King. The ambassador of the Pullen Kingdom looked towards Ambassador Blesi.

"I really sympathize with the people of Rogaland."

Ambassador Blesi absentmindedly prevaricated.

He returned to the embassy and immediately spread out the letterhead.

"My dear lord, our plan has fizzled out, and we may need to make another careful consideration as to whether or not we should help the Archduke take the throne next ...... I think we may have miscalculated something. Holy Lord above, I hope this is just my delusion."

The secret letter was sent out of the County of Mourne the same day.

............

In the study in the castle.

Despite not having stripped Walter of his title in the first place, since Zhu Chi was here, the supreme master of this castle had changed. He stayed in the study, flipping through the collection of books.

The chief steward of the inner court carefully knocked on the door and gained permission to enter.

"Your Majesty, the Lord Duke wishes to see you."

He reported.

"Not to be seen."

The Head of the Inner Court's expression froze and he looked at him in dismay.