Chapter 197 — The Creator of Dragons
When Count Calliger finally decided he could no longer sit idle while Elric’s power continued to grow, his proposal to Viscount Kuranshivil was simple.
“We’ll inform His Highness the Crown Prince. ‘The hero of Rascent, descendant of the Mage of the Stars—conspiring with barbarians.’ Tell me, has there ever been a scandal this grand?”
“The Crown Prince? Not the Fourth Prince?”
“The Fourth Prince wishes to keep Elric Melvinger close. How could we trust a man like that?”
Count Calliger had long supported the Fourth Prince, Cromhel, and built a major position within his faction. But at that moment, he acted as though none of that mattered.
Of course, Kuranshivil knew it was all posturing. Everyone in the capital knew that the Franz County was bound tightly under Cromhel’s thumb.
Still, the Calliger family’s influence was immense, and the Count’s prestige so high that few dared challenge him openly.
Now, however, Count Calliger intended to hand Elric’s scandal to Crown Prince Zeraiz.
Kuranshivil narrowed his eyes. “So that’s it. You’re not just removing an eyesore—you’re solidifying your own footing within the Fourth Prince’s faction as well.”
“Whatever you call it. Will you do it, or not?”
Calliger would likely contact Zeraiz anonymously. Then, when the scandal erupted, he’d claim he was forced into it by Elric’s orders—earning himself some measure of leniency in court.
Once Elric was branded a traitor and executed, Calliger could swoop in and claim the spoils—the remaining legacy of the Melvinger family.
Even if the house had fallen from grace, the name Melvinger still carried centuries of weight. Tracing the bloodlines back far enough, even the Franz family shared a drop of that blood. Claiming the Melvinger inheritance wouldn’t seem strange at all.
Kuranshivil thought the same. His own grandmother had been a Melvinger—he too had a claim to the bloodline.
And so, the two men waited for the “right time.” For word from their main forces, who had fled deep into Imperial territory.
No matter how often Elric angered them, they’d restrained themselves—until today, when contact was finally made.
Kuranshivil could barely contain his rage.
“Then why didn’t you share this sooner?”
“I was waiting until things were in order,” Calliger snorted. “Your impatience could have ruined everything.”
He then scoffed loudly. “And yet, before we’re even ready, you’ve already started making a mess. Elric Melvinger should’ve been struck when his guard was down. Tch!”
Kuranshivil’s face twisted. He’d always despised this side of Calliger—the arrogance, the smug sense that he alone was clever, and the faint condescension in every glance.
His hand clenched into a fist. He wanted to smash that face in. But doing so would end everything, so he restrained himself.
Calliger, sensing Kuranshivil’s anger, eased back a step.
“Anyway, just wait. For all your worry, Elric may rage, but he won’t dare touch you directly.”
“Do you even know that man’s temperament?”
“I do. All too well. He’s the one who cut off my son’s arm, remember? He’s just like my grandfather—once kind, now only cruelty remains.”
“Then why assume he’ll hold back?”
“Because if he doesn’t, his whole army will collapse!”
Calliger folded his arms, smirking.
“Elric Melvinger has finally built the foundation of his house. He’s turned followers into retainers. You think he’d risk that by clashing with us directly? He’d lose everything.”
They were deep in enemy territory—one reckless internal battle could destroy their entire army. Common sense dictated Elric wouldn’t make such a move.
That was why Calliger was so confident. He believed he could let Elric wither slowly, like a beast trapped without air.
But he didn’t know yet— that such reasoning only applied to ordinary men.
Elric was anything but ordinary.
Bang!
The door to the command tent burst open with a violent slam.
“F-Father!”
It was Rodeo, Calliger’s son.
Ever since Elric had taken his arm, he’d avoided confrontation, living quietly in fear. Now his face was deathly pale.
“What is it?”
“Y-you have to come outside—both of you!”
“Why? Have the barbarians drawn their blades?”
Calliger stroked his beard casually. He’d already accounted for the possibility of the villagers revolting—it wasn’t a threat. He’d investigated them thoroughly over the past month; they could be crushed easily, and the counterattack would grant him both justification and spoils.
But—
“It’s not the barbarians!”
“Then who?”
“It’s Elric! Elric himself!”
“What?”
Calliger’s relaxed expression shattered.
BOOM!
A thunderous explosion echoed outside. The air trembled with the heavy scent of magic—combat spells unleashed.
Calliger rushed out of the tent, with Kuranshivil and Rodeo following close behind.
“T-there!” Rodeo pointed frantically.
Their eyes followed his finger— and froze.
All around the camps of the Franz and Twork houses, the Star’s Legion had surrounded them in full battle formation.
Guards from both houses stumbled out in confusion—then horror—as they realized the army outside wasn’t an enemy invasion, but Elric’s own forces.
Dust clouds swirled. Within them—Elric stood amid collapsed tents, cold-eyed, one hand gripping a soldier by the throat and lifting him into the air.
“G-gah! S-sir, spare me—!”
The man’s feet dangled helplessly, kicking at the air. His face had turned ghostly white, his lungs crushed by Elric’s mana.
It was the very soldier who had started this entire incident.
Elric’s gaze toward him was as cold and lifeless as a blizzard across the tundra.
“Elric Melvinger! What is the meaning of this madness?!”
Kuranshivil’s voice thundered, his rage exploding. The man Elric held wasn’t a mere grunt—he was a veteran soldier, loyal to the viscount’s house for years.
Elric slowly turned to him. “Ate.”
“Yes, my lord.”
But Elric didn’t address Kuranshivil—he spoke to his aide instead.
“Remind me—what did I say would happen to anyone who caused trouble among the villagers while we were here?”
“You said they’d face the highest punishment.”
“And what’s the penalty under Imperial military law for ignoring a commander’s appointed inspector in the middle of enemy territory?”
“Interpretations vary, but in hostile zones, it’s treated as defying direct orders from the commanding officer—punishable by immediate execution.”
“I see.”
Elric and Ate spoke as calmly as if exchanging morning greetings, but every soldier nearby turned pale as they realized what it meant.
CRACK!
Elric tightened his grip.
A sickening snap echoed through the camp as the man’s neck twisted. The soldier’s tongue lolled out, his body going limp before dropping lifelessly to the ground.
Thud.
“You bastard!”
Kuranshivil’s furious roar split the air.
Elric looked him dead in the eye, expression cold and composed.
“If a noble participating as an officer openly defies his commander’s orders, what is the ruling?”
His tone was calm, but the power behind it made even veterans tremble.
“An appeal can be submitted to the Military Tribunal. They’d convene a review board for judgment.”
“And if that’s not possible?”
“Then the matter falls under customary law.”
“Under Imperial custom, a noble’s duty is loyalty—to the Empire and the crown, through service in the military. Isn’t that correct?”
“It is.”
“There you have it. What do you say, Viscount?”
Elric smirked faintly as Kuranshivil trembled, face flushed red with fury. A deliberate provocation. If you dare, strike me.
“When Inspector Brian lawfully attempted to bring this man to court-martial, you interfered by force. Why? Provide your reason and your legal basis. I’ll take mitigating factors into account.”
From start to finish, Elric showed no emotional outburst—only strict adherence to procedure, citing law after law so that every soldier watching could see he was justified.
To Count Calliger, that was the most terrifying thing of all.
He’s seized the moral high ground. None of our men can move.
If Elric had acted purely out of vengeance, the Count’s forces might have rallied. But this—this was checkmate.
“A lowborn dared touch my men, so I stopped him. My authority is all the justification I need! I am the head of House Twork! No one questions me!” Kuranshivil bellowed.
Calliger covered his face with a hand. You idiot…
To argue emotionally now was suicide.
Calliger realized he couldn’t stand idle. He despised Kuranshivil, but letting him fall here would doom them both.
He stepped forward, forcing calm. “If I may, Commander, I object to—”
“Count Calliger, be silent. This does not concern you. And you—will have your own reckoning soon enough.”
Elric’s gaze flicked toward him—and from his coat, he pulled out a letter.
Calliger’s eyes widened in horror. It was the very letter he’d written—to be sent to Crown Prince Zeraiz!
H-how…?
A chill ran down his spine. If Elric had this, then every move he’d made—all of it—had been under Elric’s watch.
Perhaps Elric even had more evidence still unseen.
Kuranshivil saw it too—and in that instant, realized he was caught completely. His justification gone, his ally paralyzed, his secret plans exposed.
Only one path remained.
Rebellion.
“Eeeelric Melvingerrrr!”
BOOM!
He stomped the ground with explosive force and charged straight at Elric.
The Talent-Swallowing Magician.