He's in Love with the Devil.

Chapter 5: Someone Else

Three knights stood before the king, and it was clear from their upright forms that they weren't drunken nobles who only wore fine armor and then went around bragging about themselves after a fight over a woman. They were real soldiers.

The Duke of Buckingham bade them kneel, and the king stopped him.

"If I remember correctly." The king's fingers, a few shades paler than normal, stroked the spine of the book, "You should have been among the morning crowd, with your swords."

Not only the knights, but even the Duke of Buckingham looked a little surprised when his words left his mouth.

There were over two hundred people witnessing the execution, and three knights mingled among them, stopped by the Duke before they could draw their swords. They were hidden in the crowd when the king arrived, and no one expected the king to remember them clearly.

"Yes."

The lead knight replied, briefly and coldly.

The Duke was angered by his obviously antagonistic attitude towards the King, who placed his own hand on his pale one.

"Be decent, sir."

"...... Yes, Your Majesty."

The knight added the honorific somewhat reluctantly.

"Go ahead, tell us what you intend to do."

It was impossible to discern the king's mood at the moment, either by look or tone. As much as he was able to praise Count Walter's courage and then wield a cold horsewhip, he was constantly clouded and inscrutable. One moment seemingly gentle and calm, the next he would erupt in horrific fury.

"We intend to assassinate you, in four days."

After the opening, the explanation of what was to follow was smooth.

The knight at the head was a woodland nobleman from the north, the Viscount of Moore. He had once been exiled because his eldest brother had offended the Holy Church, and it was the old Duke of Buckingham who had discovered his military prowess and helped him regain his title and name. He has been loyal to the Duke ever since.

The King was not surprised that they wanted to avenge the Duke's death by assassinating himself.

After the Duke of Buckingham was thrown into prison by the king, they originally wanted to rob the prison. But they had followed the Duke for many years and knew his loyalty to the King - he would have preferred to die in prison rather than let his nephew have another "look, even his uncle is plotting against him" disgrace.

They were determined, after the Duke's execution, to make the King pay for his callous cruelty.

The time was fixed for the 21st of September, the day on which the Bressy mission was to make representations to Rogaland in regard to the battle that had been fought a short time before. The king would leave his palace and arrive in person at the city of Theroux, close to the battle line.

They were likewise in the negotiating group as those who had personally witnessed the battle in defense of the Bolesi Expedition. At that point in time, they had the opportunity to get up close and personal with the king and complete the assassination.

To that end, they had even prepared their weapons.

"What weapons?"

Indifferent to the cause of the whole operation, the king inclined his head at the knights in front of him, seemingly more interested in how they planned to kill themselves.

Moore, who was able to fearlessly give an account of the treason in front of the king, however, suddenly jammed up, and somewhat sheepishly, he drifted his gaze toward the Duke of Buckingham, who was sitting off to the side.

"Speak."

The lines of the Duke's face became iron hard, as if he was wearing an iron mask. This was a prelude to his impending rage, back then on the battlefield, this was how he charged into the enemy's army and decimated them all.

Moore gritted his teeth, a look of shame swept across his face, and did not say a word.

The king patted his uncle's hand, "I would like to ask them a few questions alone."

After a pause, he sidled his head a little uncomfortably and added, "...... my dear uncle."

Ever since he was officially crowned, he had called his uncle less and less so intimately. Hearing this long-forgotten title, the Duke of Buckingham's anger was washed away, and although he still looked stern, his pale blue eyes clearly flashed with a little watery light, "If it is your will."

He stood up, gave the three knights a warning look, and left.

Only Zhu Chi and the three knights remained in the room.

"Speak."

The Duke's back disappeared into the doorway, and the King withdrew his gaze.

"You are not concerned that we are taking the opportunity to commit murder?"

"If you dare." The King replied coldly, leaning back in his burgundy velvet chair, the diamond pin on his shoulder gleaming, "I'll be right here."

Moore was silent for a moment, leading the way and slowly dropping to one knee. He took something out of his pocket and offered it with both hands. Seeing something like that, the king understood why he was reluctant to take it out in front of the duke.

It was a fine crossbow.

And the arrows that matched the machine crossbow were quenched with poison at the tip.

It is not difficult to imagine, as a knight loyal to the king with his soul and life, when the Duke of Buckingham saw his subordinate actually use this "cursed thing" against the king, how angry he would be. It meant that his subordinate had not only violated the spirit of chivalry that he believed in, but had also wickedly wished that the king's soul would go to hell after his death.

This is one of the reasons why the Holy Church banned the use of the crossbow.

The saints claimed that this cursed object was a weapon of the devil, and that the soul of the person killed by it would be taken by the devil and tormented by the red fire of hell for all eternity.

In this day and age, such consequences are undoubtedly daunting.

"Soul taken away by the devil? Go to hell?"

Moore bowed his head and heard the king give a low chuckle. He was almost baffled by the elusive monarch, wondering what the other man meant by this.

"What kind of poison?"

The king raised his crossbow and scowled into the firelight of the fireplace. The bow used for assassination was much more pocket-sized than the one he had found earlier in an emergency, and was indeed very suitable for assassination at very short range.

"Mandala."

"Revenge? Not bad, quite the romanticist." The king said.

Zhu Chi lowered his eyes and looked at the crossbow in his hand.

His words seemed like appreciation, but his face looked cold and stern in the light of the fireplace fire. The toxin of Romanta was able to take the life of a warhorse in a very short period of time, and since the Duke of Buckingham's subordinates were preparing such a thing to deal with themselves, if they got their hands on it, he would definitely only end up with death, not just losing his eyes.

In other words, they were not the assassins who actually made the king lose his eyes.

The clue was broken.

Zhu Chi raised his hand and snapped the ostrich handle.

Moore heard the slight rattle of a snapping crossbow. He subconsciously closed his eyes, preparing for his own death - when he stepped into this room, he had no hope that he would make it out alive.

The sound of a sharp arrow breaking through the air.

Moore could feel the cold wind almost passing against his scalp.

After a moment of silence, he opened his eyes.

The king was playing with his crossbow, the arrow on the bow was no longer there. Mor turned his head and with his superior eyesight saw an arrow pinned to the mural behind him. It was a picture of a dinner party, and the poisoned bow and arrow had missed the throat of one of the knights on the painting.

Mor's throat moved slightly, and he looked up to meet the king's eyes.

As he faced those icy blue eyes, Mor realized that the King was indeed the Lord Duke's nephew, and the sharpness of their gazes was almost identical.

"You are the last person in the world who should kill the Lord Duke." Moore couldn't help but say, "He has spent his life for you, for the Rogaland Empire, and he has made great achievements."

"Those are not your own words."

The king suddenly grasped something keenly, his gaze piercing like a dagger.

"Who said that to you?"

Author's Note: The Romanda is known as the "Devil's Flower", and its language includes "terror, death and vengeance".