Episode 15: I Mistook the Genre and Ended up Becoming a War Hero

Episode 15: Empire (3)

Amid the clinking of glasses, cheers, and gasps, the banquet resumed. But the atmosphere had shifted entirely. Sharp gazes pierced me. Some nobles openly sneered, while others hesitated as they passed by.

“A duke… Isn’t that too hasty?”

“A pup sitting atop a tiger.”

“He won’t last long. A war hero doesn’t gain refinement just by becoming a noble.”

Their looks were hostile or mocking—natural for humans.

No matter how great the feat, if it’s not proven before their eyes, they won’t believe it.

To them, my achievements were likely just exaggerated rumors.

I wasn’t particularly interested in them.

Needing proof meant their information networks were lacking, which was tantamount to incompetence.

Useless nobles had no place. And the Red Star was the kind to purge such “worthless blood” first.

The Red Star, one of the player’s main antagonistic factions in the game, masqueraded as a high-society noble gathering, but that was a façade.

In truth, it was a network of spies and rebels sowing chaos across the empire.

They were a cult-like group, branding Aura and demonic energy as “original sin” to be transcended, believing these powers were the root of human corruption.

They might seem like prophets who uncovered the true nature of Aura and demonic energy. But if that were true, they wouldn’t be so kill-worthy.

Instead of abolishing Aura and demonic energy to seek new power, they concluded that these forces eroded humanity, and true restoration lay in transcending them—by fusing humans with demonic energy to create a third race.

They were the fools responsible for the continent’s collapse before anyone could react.

‘At least I’ve filtered out the trash.’

Another group of nobles approached me, this time older men rather than young ladies, unlike at the banquet’s start. They clung to me, sensing an opportunity.

“Your Grace, did you learn swordsmanship on your own?”

“An epic of your exploits is set to be published soon. May we send you the draft?”

“My youngest daughter wishes to learn the sword…”

Every word carried an ulterior motive, their eyes subtly probing.

Typical imperial noble behavior—eating and scheming.

I responded with a smile, while my eyes scanned the banquet hall.

Figures from the original story tied to the Red Star began to emerge.

Some looked similar, some uglier, others more refined.

I could recognize them because their appearances still faintly resembled the original.

The same reason made others harder to identify.

Why these changes occurred, I couldn’t fully grasp.

At that moment—

“Enough.”

“Ian is tired.”

Two familiar voices spoke in unison. Freya Nordelheim and Irena Krauze.

As if coordinated, they flanked me, silently pushing the nobles away.

“Your Grace, we’ll speak again later…”

“Oh, Duchess Nordelheim is here. Haha…”

The area around us quieted instantly.

Freya winked at me.

“They’re swarming you. I’m almost jealous.”

***

The day after the banquet, Freya, Irena, and I roamed the capital together.

Freya insisted that only wandering battlefields would turn us into wrecks.

I didn’t say I’d fought for nine years without becoming one. Irena seemed to agree but kept quiet.

The weather in the capital, Arsen, was splendid. Sunlight glided over red-tiled roofs, and the sky was clear of clouds.

“The weather’s amazing. So warm compared to the north,” Freya said.

The streets buzzed with people, the markets brimming with energy—unlike the north’s somber air. Freya, poised, adjusted her new hat.

“I came here a few times when I attended the academy,” Irena said.

“Oh, right, you’re an academy graduate? I forgot. What was it like?” Freya asked.

“I’m curious too, since I never attended,” I added.

“Really? I mostly studied, so I don’t remember much,” Irena replied.

She recounted her academy days, describing how she trained and studied relentlessly to graduate top of her class. The runner-up was formidable, making it quite a challenge, she said.

“Ian, you’re all about real combat. You should develop some cultural sophistication too.”” Freya said.

“I don’t see how that relates to a bookstore,” I replied.

“I’m quite scholarly. I even went to university. A local one, but still,” Freya added.

“University? Didn’t you say you never attended the academy?” I asked.

In a quiet, cool alley, the bookstore was serene.

Freya flipped through an ancient text filled with indecipherable runes, while Irena held a swordsmanship manual.

“The flow of divine power in sorcery… Lady Freya, you understand this?” Irena asked.

“The northern front needed change, so I studied,” Freya replied.

“Can you use sorcery, then?”

“…”

Next, we headed to the market to satisfy our hunger.

The streets were lined with stalls—fish cakes, roasted chicken legs, nut pies.

“Here, try this, Ian. Ah~”

Freya said, holding out a piece of cake on a fork.

“…‘Ah~’ to a duke feels a bit much.” Irena remarked.

“We’re both dukes, so friends, right? Oh, you’re a viscountess, Commander. My apologies,” Freya teased.

“…”

I hesitated but took the bite. Sweet strawberry jam and creamy richness spread across my palate.

“Mmm… delicious,” I said.

“Right?” Freya smiled.

“Here’s mine. Roasted jerky pie. They say men love it,” Irena offered.

It was more protein slab than pie. Irena chewed it nonchalantly.

“This is better than the cake. Try it.”

“It’s good too,” I said.

***

“Ian, I have to check on northern supply issues today, so I’ll be elsewhere,” Freya said.

“I need to visit the knights’ order today,” Irena added.

We couldn’t always stick together. I came to the capital to prevent a catastrophe, after all.

Before diving into action, I needed to address the most urgent issue: why the appearances of the emperor, the Sword Saint, and other key NPCs had changed. I had to understand why.

To do so, I visited the Baltazar count estate.

If this world followed the original story, it would have been a monster-infested ruin by now.

Yet, before me stood the same pristine mansion from when I’d run away eleven years ago, well-maintained and free of the sinister demonic energy.

‘Why?’

I asked myself again, as I had countless times. Why was the Baltazar estate still intact?

Alert for potential monsters, I raised my Wave energy.

Then, an old man emerged from the mansion’s front gate.

Despite the distance, I recognized him instantly—he was the attendant by my side when I first transmigrated.

It hit me: the Baltazar family hadn’t fallen.

Because the head hadn’t gone mad? Because I’d run away?

Possibilities flickered and faded. Then, my eyes met the old man’s as he began cleaning.

“…Pardon, but what’s your business here?” he asked.

“I’m here to see Count Baltazar.”

“What brings you to the count…?”

He didn’t recognize me.

“I heard he’s not in good health,” I said, probing.

If the story followed the original, Count Tirian would have gone mad, turning his family and servants into monsters.

“Well… the count’s health has worsened, and he’s stepped down as head. The current head of the Baltazar family is Lady Sylvia…”

The old man trailed off, staring at me with a shocked expression, as if seeing a ghost. His face paled as he stumbled back.

“Y-Young Master Ian… how…!?”

“Hmm, so they’re both still alive? In that case, may I see them?”

I asked out of courtesy, but I wasn’t seeking permission.

I entered the estate without resistance.

The gazes of the gardeners tending the grounds turned to me in unison.

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