Chapter 51: The Fall of the Old Guard

A massive pile of gold coins lay scattered across the audience hall.
They were the remnants of authority and pride that had fallen under Prince Alphonse’s faction.

King Edward IV remained seated on his throne, eyes closed for a long moment.
The enormity of his son’s mistake—and the terrifying power held by the boy before him—pressed heavily on the shoulders of the aging king.

Eventually, he opened his eyes slowly.
There was no longer any trace of hesitation in them.
Instead, the cold, decisive light of a king’s judgment shone within.

“…Guards.”

The king’s voice was low, yet filled with authority.

“Seize Viscount Mardoc, Count Lionel, and all those complicit in this. Strip them of their titles and confiscate all their wealth. For treason against the crown and embezzlement of state funds, they are to be sent for life to the remote mines.”

The verdict was merciless—harsh and unforgiving.
The nobles whose names were called crumbled to the floor, pitifully begging for mercy.

“Y-Your Majesty! Please, wait!”

“We were only acting for the prince’s sake…!”

But the king did not even glance at them.
The guards covered their mouths and dragged them away like criminals.
The audience hall was filled with their pitiful screams and despairing groans.

Finally, the king’s gaze fell upon his son, Alphonse, standing frozen in shock.

“Alphonse.”

The voice carried both the severity of a king and the deep, profound sorrow of a father.

“You were far too immature. While speaking of justice, you set a vile trap driven by your own jealousy and pride. Such actions are unacceptable for one destined to be the next king.”

“Father…”

“You shall remain under house arrest within the castle for one month. During that time, reflect on the gravity of your sins and contemplate the true path of a king… Understand?”

“…Yes.”

Alphonse could only nod weakly.
Escorted by guards, he left the audience hall, head bowed.
His once brilliant presence now diminished, he looked small and fragile.

Thus, the old guard faction led by Prince Alphonse, which had divided the royal capital, lost its key members in a single day and effectively collapsed.

It was the moment when a single rationalist, Zenon von Arkwright, overturned the entire power structure of the capital.

Left alone in the audience hall, the king once again turned to Zenon.

“…Zenon. That was an impressive counterattack. But do not forget—remember that you have cornered my son and the nobles of my kingdom to this extent.”

The words were both praise and warning.

“Your power is acknowledged—but it is far too dangerous.”

“I understand, Your Majesty.”

Zenon bowed quietly.

“However, I have only extinguished the sparks that threatened to ignite. I have no other intentions.”

“…Hmph. For now, perhaps that is true.”

The king said this meaningfully, then waved his hand wearily.

“Step back. I will issue further orders in due course.”

Zenon bowed once more and quietly left the audience hall.
It was a flawless victory.

Yet there was no trace of joy or excitement on his face.
In his mind, he had already begun calculating the new “troubles” that this victory would inevitably bring.

Prince Alphonse, ordered into house arrest, stood alone by the window, gazing outside.
His heart was as turbulent and barren as the aftermath of a storm.

His pride lay shattered.
The justice he had believed in had been tainted by his own vile schemes.
And above all, it was Zenon’s final words that struck him hardest:

“That such people exist at the core of this nation… is that not the greatest vulnerability of this country?”

Those words were correct.
Alphonse had no choice but to admit it.
He had not been trying to protect the nation.
He had merely sought to preserve the old, beautiful “order” he believed in.
He had been willing to turn a blind eye to reality for that cause.

Zenon was different.
He coldly and unflinchingly faced the reality of the nation:
Corrupt vested interests.
Outdated military doctrines.
And the foolishness of those clinging to them.
Zenon analyzed all of it with precision—and sought to destroy it.
His methods were extreme and merciless.
Yet leaving such “vulnerabilities” unaddressed would inevitably lead to the country’s downfall.

(…Was I wrong?)

For the first time, deep doubt took root in Alphonse’s heart.
What is true justice?
What does it mean to protect a nation?
Zenon von Arkwright—this man should have been his mortal enemy.
Yet now, Alphonse could not deny that perhaps Zenon was the one who truly saw the future of the country more clearly than anyone else.
The very thought, unwillingly acknowledged, tore at his heart.

Zenon’s brilliant counterattack sent shockwaves through the nobility of the royal capital.
The dramatic collapse of the old guard left no doubt in anyone’s mind what it meant to make an enemy of Zenon.

The evaluation of him was now reduced to just two things: fear and awe.
No one dared approach him carelessly.
Lineage and status meant nothing in his presence.
Only cold logic and facts reigned supreme.
The name Zenon von Arkwright became a forbidden word among the capital’s nobles.

Zenon himself found the shift in others’ attitudes highly satisfying.
(Finally, some peace and quiet.)
In his manor’s study, he perused the latest reports from the Arkwright territories.
The hostile factions had been eliminated.
The troubles in the capital were resolved.
He longed to return to his rational and comfortable lands.
Truly, he wished for nothing more.

Yet that small wish would be brutally shattered just days later by a new summons from the king.

“Grant Zenon von Arkwright a new position…?”

Gray read the king’s letter aloud, disbelief written across his face.

A deep furrow formed between Zenon’s brows.
The very scenario he feared most.
The outcome he least wanted.
As the price of victory, he was about to bear an enormous and exceedingly troublesome burden.
His quiet, peaceful days were far from returning anytime soon.