The Villainous Male Supporting Character Courts Death Every Day : Chapter 66

The slanted sunlight of early winter fell upon the forecourt of the ducal residence, bringing wisps of warmth amidst the vast and lingering chill. The heavy gates stood wide open as the guards lined up to clear the way.

A pitch black carriage rolled slowly inside.

Four fine steeds stepped at a slow pace, arranged in a straight line before and behind. Their coats were as dark as ink, their bridles like brocade, and the sides of their eyes were covered with black leather and gold patterned masks. On their foreheads were clusters of dark red velvet flower balls, and their harnesses were inlaid with gold buckles that swayed and caught the light with every step.

The lines of the carriage body were smooth, with ebony carvings winding along the cabin. The arched roof was slightly curved, and the four wheels were wide and steady. The wheel arches extended outward, glowing with a deep, subdued luster in the sunlight like coiled and blossoming vines.

This did not look like a carriage at all, but rather like a dramatic piece of art.

The carriage came to a steady halt upon the red carpet, and the door swung open. A gloved hand steadied the doorframe, and the next moment, a brilliantly polished black leather shoe stepped down. The toe of the shoe was slender and sharp, its surface gleaming with a keen light in the sunlight like carefully polished obsidian.

Following that, a tall and upright gentleman stepped down.

His dark, long overcoat was impeccably tailored with clean shoulder lines. The thick fabric featured faint, silvery hidden patterns, draping down over broad shoulders and a narrow waist, making his heroic posture appear even more steady and formidable.

A silk cravat was tied at his collar, its color resembling aged red wine, exuding a steady yet casual flair. A sterling silver badge was pinned to his chest, delicately encircled by laurel leaves to form a classical shield shaped pattern, which was the family crest of the Rodewalds.

The artistic titan and wealthy tycoon, Victor Rodewald.

Victor raised his gaze to survey the courtyard, the corners of his lips curling upward in a relaxed expression, as though he were admiring a scenic view or enjoying the applause and gazes of an invisible crowd.

Upon the stone steps, Benjamin had been waiting for some time. He stepped out from the shadows into the sunlight, walked onto the red carpet, and strode with steady steps toward Victor.

“Well, if it isn’t little Ben?” Victor broke into a broad smile upon seeing him, laughing with an excessive heartiness. “Chief Administrator Benjamin, long time no see!”

Before Benjamin could speak, Victor had already removed his glove and stepped forward to shake his hand with a firm and powerful grip. Suddenly, his gaze flashed, and his tone dropped. “No, I should probably call you… Consultant Benjamin now.”

The newly appointed special consultant to the Duke. Benjamin nodded slightly with a polite smile. “Lord Victor, please dispense with the formalities. Just call me Benjamin.”

Victor burst into hearty laughter, their clasped hands sinking downward with a thick, powerful force while his other hand patted Benjamin’s arm in a warm and enthusiastic greeting. His laughter echoed among the ornate, tidy flowerbeds and the fountain.

Another carriage drove in slowly. Its design and style were identical to Victor’s, but it was a whole size larger, even more exquisite and grandiose.

The carriage door opened, and four attendants stepped out wearing long coats and white gloves, impeccably dressed. Working together with focused expressions, they lifted a pitch black walnut wood box out from the cabin.

Their steps were extremely slow, their movements gentle and elegant.

The box was roughly the size of a coffin. The walnut wood body was polished to a warm, lustrous finish with deep grains. The corners were encased in gilt bronze fittings, with vine patterns entwining layer upon layer, and the lock was heavy and intricate.

That was no ordinary container, but rather a meticulously crafted collector’s item. Even the guards could not help but cast sideways glances at it.

Benjamin’s gaze shifted toward the wooden box as a flash of light reflected across his lenses.

Victor lifted his chin slightly, looking up at the magnificent and opulent ducal residence. His gloved fingers were slender, and his palm clenched shut abruptly, as if he were grasping the sunlight, the air, and the gazes of everyone present all at once.

“Watch closely,” Victor said in a leisurely tone. “Today will be much more interesting than you can imagine.”

Benjamin pushed up his glasses, stepped aside to make room, and made a gesture of invitation. Victor let out a scoff and strode boldly into the ducal residence.

—

The Duke looked in astonishment at the warrior statue before him.

It was a life sized character sculpture, carved with the deep and sharp facial features typical of the northern ethnic tribes. The statue wore a masked suit of armor, yet it was styled in standard Ausonian knightly heavy gear.

The black metal exuded a cold, grayish blue light with elegant curves and smooth lines. Fine ethnic totems were engraved across the surface of the armor, adding a layer of primitive and rugged tribal flavor to its cold and majestic presence.

It was a complete set of detachable and assembled heavy metal armor with delicately crafted movable joints, seamless connections, a tight structure, and thick protection.

Rather than a work of art, it looked more like a genuine set of battle armor.

“It is a work of art,” Victor said with a confident and composed smile. “As everyone knows, the northern raw minerals are of poor quality and have very little commercial value. But their color aesthetics and cultural connotations give them a unique and charming appeal. The tribal knight made from them represents a collision between the primitive and civilization, carrying extraordinary significance.”

The Duke frowned, his gaze sliding over the thin plates of the armor and the cold, hard metal sheen.

“Ordinary steel becomes brittle at low temperatures, but products made from these native ores are entirely different.” Victor turned slightly to the side to clear the view, speaking as if he were introducing a treasured piece in an art gallery. “Though it looks thin and light, its resilience not only grows stronger in the cold, but it is also far more resistant to impact than ordinary steel.”

Victor glanced at the Duke, the corners of his mouth lifting as his voice carried a melodious cadence. “This is… the portrayal of the unyielding spirit of the snowfield peoples.”

The Duke remained silent, merely reaching out to tap the breastplate. The metallic sound was deep and solid. It was a wonderful ringing resonance that any soldier could understand, causing even the personal guards standing at attention in the corner to cast sideways glances.

The Duke hesitated and asked, “You say this armor was made for the sake of art?”

“My Lord Duke, this is not armor.” Victor spread his hands slightly, a touch of dramatic innocence in his smile. “The Rodewald family are law abiding citizens, how could we possibly manufacture military goods in private?”

Victor turned to look at the armor with a look of smug pride. “What we are participating in is the cultural project of the Lucian Plan, whose tenet is deep roots in the locality and cultural integration.” Victor lifted the arm of the armor, toying with its fingers to showcase its fine joints and range of motion, and sighed with emotion:

“This exquisite creation is the artistic essence condensed by multiple master craftsmen utilizing local materials from the north. It is the blending of snowfield warriors and imperial knights, the aesthetic of wildness and taming. From the perspective of an art treasure, its creation process and significance are far more valuable than the finished product.”

Victor tilted his head, seeing that the Duke’s gaze remained fixed on the armor, and his smile grew bright. “That is speaking from an artistic standpoint.”

After a moment of silence, the Duke suddenly spoke. “What is the weight?”

Victor replied, “Thirty percent lighter than standard steel armor of the same specification.”

The Duke’s eyebrows twitched, and he asked again, “Resistant to axes?”

Without answering, Victor simply made a gesture toward the attendants.

One of the attendants immediately picked up a heavy battle axe. The personal guards tensed up, but the attendant simply presented the battle axe to the captain of the guards.

The Duke nodded and stepped aside slightly. The guard captain’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he took the battle axe, walked up to the armor, and swung the weapon down fiercely.

Clang!

The blade of the axe struck heavily against the breastplate. A dull metallic sound echoed through the hall. The armor merely vibrated slightly, leaving behind nothing more than a faint white mark on its surface.

For a moment, none of the guards made a sound. Someone unconsciously took a step forward, staring intently at the barely visible white mark.

Victor looked sideways, capturing the change in the Duke’s gaze, and his smile grew even richer. “Pretty good, isn’t it? The snowfield people always say that true metal is the child of snow and fire.”

His tone was as light as though he were discussing pigments on a canvas as he gently grasped the wrist of the armor. The movement was like taking the hand of a slumbering knight. “The black armor, the tenacity born from the dark earth, and a creation of the glorious craftsmanship of the Empire.”

The Duke scrutinized it closely, pacing around to examine it with slow and steady steps. The personal guards could no longer hold back, casting looks of deep admiration toward the black armor.

“What a pity,” Victor sighed with a trace of regret in his voice. “Now that the Lucian Plan has stalled, this project will likely end here. However, even if the plan hadn’t stalled, an item like this would probably just end up placed in an exhibition hall in the future for people to admire.”

With a final, gentle pat on the statue’s breastplate, the armor hummed, faintly emitting an aura of power. “Only those who truly understand its value can see through its strength.”

The Duke pressed his hand against the breastplate, his palm slowly sliding along the curve of the armor as if sensing the thickness and strength of the metal. His fingertips even probed into the seams of the armor’s joints to test the structure and appreciate it in fine detail.

As it turned out, with Benjamin’s assistance, the ducal residence had easily noticed that massive sums of funds were flowing through the Music Association, pointing in various forms and patterns toward a single destination: the Rodewald Collection Auction House.

The paperwork dividing the proceeds of the charity auction was flawless, but how could the Duke not know the tricks behind it? Too lazy to investigate those roundabout methods, he had simply sent out a formal notice having Benjamin invite Mr. Rodewald over for an explanation and to make a record.

He had also given explicit instructions to make it clear that this was not an investigation, but an invitation for assistance.

Victor was an internationally renowned art tycoon, and the Duke did not want to complicate matters at this critical juncture. However, Victor proved far more enthusiastic than the Duke had anticipated. Not only did he bring a massive stack of documents to cooperate with the inquiry, but he also brought the very instigator of all that spent money: the art collection known as the black armor.

After listening for a long while, the Duke gradually figured out Victor’s intentions. With the Lucian Plan halted and the cultural project interrupted, Victor wanted him to invest and keep it going. The Duke had to admit that this held tremendous appeal for both himself and the military faction, but…

The Duke’s gaze turned cold, and his tone grew serious. “The north actually produced something like this. Have they mastered the technology?”

Victor looked composed. “My Lord Duke worries too much. The northern miners only know how to dig stones; they cannot even smelt crude iron, let alone high quality ice iron.”

With that, Victor snapped his fingers, and an attendant stepped forward carrying a red cloth tray, presenting a piece of ice iron the size of a fist. Its appearance featured irregular sharp angles, and its cut surface was smooth, cold, and hard.

The Duke took it, and his palm sank slightly from the weight.

It was densely packed and solid, with an icy cool feel to the touch. It lacked the cumbersomeness of crude iron, possessing instead a solid and steady weight when compacted. Amidst the deep black, it exuded a grayish blue hue, flowing slowly like a glacier in the night.

The Duke unconsciously tightened his fingers.

“What can turn inferior ore into high quality ice iron is the Ausonian Empire’s latest technological breakthrough.” Victor’s tone was leisurely, his words as rich and sweet as fine wine. “Currently, across the entire realm, no, across the entire world, only a single steel mill exclusively holds the ice iron smelting technology. It was successfully developed through the cooperation of numerous scholars and metallurgists, but smelting is only the first step…”

Victor raised his arm slightly, his fingertips dancing gracefully and fluidly as he spoke. “The only company capable of perfectly controlling every detail, temperature, hammering rhythm, and cooling pace for precision forging, extreme processing, and manufacturing the black armor is…”

Victor bowed slightly. “Rodewald Craftsmanship Manufacturing.”

The Duke’s expression softened. He toyed with the piece of ice iron, raised his eyes to examine the armor once more, pondered for a moment, and said, “Mr. Rodewald, by saying that, do you mean that the supply of ice iron has been exclusively bought out by you?”

“Contracts are merely a formality,” Victor said, the corners of his mouth curving upward as a flash of sharpness crossed his eyes. “What matters most is technological leadership.”

The Duke reached out to fiddle with the arm and finger guards of the armor, as if estimating its structural craftsmanship compared to the armor manufacturers he routinely worked with, and confirmed once again, “This armor, only you can build it?”

“My Lord Duke, please forgive my boldness.” Victor spread his hands with a look of helpless yet smug ease, his tone turning brisk. “I will be blunt: a set of black armor costs 1,800 gold coins to produce, excluding wear and tear. Let alone the northern tribes, even the world’s top armor workshops could hardly afford it, let alone research and manufacture it.”

The expressions of several personal guards shifted. Some drew in a sharp breath while others sighed inwardly, their gazes clearing up as if they had been struck by the price and jolted awake from the grayish blue dream of the black armor.

Victor stepped closer to the armor, its grayish blue metallic luster reflecting his proud yet regretful face.

“This is not a soldier’s armor,” Victor said softly, his voice echoing through the hall. “This is for a knight. A true knight.”

—

In the setting sun, Victor’s pitch black carriage slowly pulled away.

On the vacant terrace, Kyle leaned against the white stone balustrade, allowing the golden radiance to wash over him. He did not look out at the view, instead looking down as he toyed with the matte gold pocket watch in his hand, its surface shimmering with floating golden light. “How did it go?”

“Very interested. He accepted the black armor sample and asked about quite a few details.” Benjamin stood quietly in the shadows, his tone level. “In the end, he declined the invitation to tour the exhibition hall, probably because he didn’t want to show his hand too quickly.”

Kyle hummed an acknowledgment without offering a reply.

“Out of eight associations, two have been sealed off, four restructured, and the rest heavily fined. Between the fines, atonement fees, recovered funds, auction liquidations, and the sealed assets converted at a discounted rate to offset penalties, minus the cut handed over to the royal family and the operational costs of the raid, plus lobbying expenses this time around, the Grand Duke’s earnings…” A flash of cold light crossed his lenses as Benjamin lowered his voice. “Conservatively estimated, 20,000 gold coins.”

Kyle smiled, the corners of his lips curving upward. He had originally only intended to feed on the assets of the Music Association, but he hadn’t expected the entire literary circle to get swept into it, which actually saved him quite a bit of planning.

“The Music Association’s warehouses and transit stations are also targets the Grand Duke intends to take over, and men have already been sent to scout them.” Benjamin turned his head slightly, watching Victor’s carriage vanish into the horizon. Pondering for a moment, he decided to add one more remark: “Even so, these are probably still not enough to constitute grounds for a military crusade.”

“A crusade doesn’t need grounds; a sufficient catalyst is enough.” Kyle smiled gently, his fingers rubbing against the patterns of the pocket watch. With a click, the golden casing sprang open, his dark eyes gazing intently at the ticking hands of the watch with a lingering look:

“Money, roads, troops, and armor are merely the pretexts. Next…” His dark eyes lifted slightly, reflecting the brilliant, colorful glow of the sunset. “A grand gift that is impossible to refuse will naturally be delivered right to our doorstep.”