I Became the Narrow-Eyed Villain in a Dropped Novel

“Ah, Count, you’re here. I was just wondering when you’d show up.”

The ambassador greeted me with a bright smile.

Helmut’s expression had softened a bit compared to when he first arrived.

I didn’t know how, but the ambassador must’ve worked his charm on him.

I forced a smile and sat down.

The bloody scene I’d just witnessed wouldn’t leave my mind.

‘The Emperor’s dead. Who? Why?’

Even as I exchanged pleasantries, my head was filled with those questions.

They didn’t seem to have any intention of hiding the fact he was killed.

“I’ve heard plenty about the goings-on in the Eslick Empire, so shall we go see His Majesty? He’s probably made a decision by now.”

“…Let’s do that.”

I replied as calmly as I could. The ambassador, oblivious, chattered away and led the way. But Helmut was different.

“Is something wrong?”

“Nothing. Why do you ask?”

Helmut stared at my face for a moment before shaking his head.

“It’s nothing. My mistake, I guess.”

Thinking about how he’d react to the state of the VIP room, I broke into a cold sweat.

Should I just say I won’t see the Emperor and leave?

No, that’d look too suspicious…

While wrestling with these thoughts, we were already at the VIP room.

Helmut was the first to notice something was off.

“Wait.”

“Hmm, is there a problem?”

“…I smell blood. Step back!”

Helmut kicked the door open.

The ambassador, seeing the scene, gaped, taking a moment to process.

Helmut’s face grew paler as he approached the Emperor.

“He’s already passed.”

“G-guards! Search the embassy perimeter immediately! Take action if anyone’s suspicious!”

Even pale with shock, the ambassador gave a reasonably rational order. Too late, though.

I approached Helmut, who sat dazed beside the Emperor.

“Any guesses who did it?”

“My former lord is dead, and that’s the first thing you say?”

“If we don’t act quickly, it’ll spiral out of control. Do you know who did it?”

“You’re the most suspicious, having just left the room.”

He wasn’t wrong, since I’d planned to kill him.

My prepared excuse was moot, but a better one had emerged.

“Cool your head and think. Would I do it this messily?”

Helmut, about to retort, closed his mouth and stared at the Emperor’s body. After a long moment of anguish, he finally spoke.

“You wouldn’t have flaunted it like this, at least.”

“Thank you for understanding.”

I said, scanning the Emperor’s corpse again.

The knife in his chest caught my eye first, but it didn’t seem to be the sole cause of death.

His body was covered in wounds.

“It doesn’t look like he was killed in one strike.”

“The wounds on his body look like they were made in a single attack. He was probably nearly dead from the first strike.”

He spoke calmly, but couldn’t hide the anger in his voice.

“The knife in his chest, judging by the blood, was stabbed before he died. Likely used to finish him off after the initial attack left him dying.”

“Any distinctive traits to identify the culprit?”

Helmut briefly checked outside.

Armed Vestol guards were moving busily.

They seemed to prioritize safety over securing the scene.

“This dagger in his chest is definitely Vestol-made. It’s got the mark of their national armory.”

I just nodded, not knowing much about that.

Someone using a Vestol weapon wasn’t surprising.

In this world, half the goods in circulation were from Vestol, the most industrially advanced nation.

“The problem is these wounds. They’re not something you see often. Some Vestol military weapons could leave this many wounds, but not this cleanly.”

“So someone deliberately made it look that way?”

“It’s hard to conclude from this alone, but I think so. They wanted it to look like Vestol’s doing.”

“It’s a bit too obvious for that, isn’t it?”

Helmut nodded.

If an experienced soldier could figure it out, it was a very sloppy frame job.

“Either they lacked skill, or it was intentional…”

“It’s definitely intentional.”

An amateur killing a nation’s Emperor—former or not—in a heavily guarded embassy was unthinkable.

Whoever killed him deliberately made it obvious.

“Someone killed the Emperor. At first, you’d think it was Vestol, but investigation shows it wasn’t. Who’s the most suspicious then?”

“Those who rebelled against the Emperor… that’s what people will think.”

When this got out, Blaiher would be in the most trouble. No matter how unpopular or unworthy the Emperor was, killing a former Emperor with your own hands wouldn’t sit well with the public.

“W-what about it? Did you figure out who did it?”

The ambassador, gagging as if nauseated by the body, asked in a trembling voice.

“The dagger in his chest is Vestol-made.”

“What? You’re not suspecting us…?”

“Calm down, no. It looks like someone set it up to frame Vestol.”

I left out that it was deliberately made obvious.

The flustered ambassador’s lips quivered as he looked between me and Helmut.

“We’re really not involved! It may look suspicious, but absolutely not!”

“I know, Ambassador. You’ve no reason to be. So, I have a proposal.”

Lowering my voice, the ambassador held his breath.

Helmut leaned forward, curious about what I’d say.

“The Emperor, rejected for asylum by Vestol, killed himself in despair. Let’s go with that story.”

“What’s that…!”

I stopped Helmut from raising his voice.

“Hear me out. The Empire’s in a fragile transition. If word spreads that the Emperor was assassinated, what do you think will happen?”

“…The Imperial Guard would rise up.”

“Not just the Guard—ordinary people would demand war with Vestol. No matter how unpopular, an Emperor killed by foreign hands can’t be overlooked.”

The ambassador’s face grew whiter. The Vestol embassy would be the first to burn.

Even if they escaped, they’d likely face punishment back in Vestol.

“It’s a stopgap, I know. The truth will come out eventually. But it’s better for us all if it’s revealed at a safer time.”

The ambassador nodded vigorously. After staring at the dead Emperor for a while, Helmut finally nodded too.

“Let’s put the body in a coffin first. If people see it like this, no one will buy the suicide story.”

“Understood. I’ll prepare immediately. Quietly.”

The ambassador hurried out.

My head throbbed.

‘Who the hell did this?’

* * *

The Emperor’s funeral was neither modest nor grand, held quietly.

The stigma of an Emperor who tried to flee abroad and killed himself kept the mourning brief.

With the Emperor’s death, the Imperial Guard effectively recognized Blaiher as the next Emperor, and the capital quickly regained stability.

The Imperial Army units Chartra brought also swiftly acknowledged Blaiher as Emperor once a victor emerged.

It should’ve been satisfying, but unease lingered.

Who killed the Emperor?

I discussed it with Blaiher and Joseph, but no suspects came to mind.

“It’s impossible to find out now. There’s no scene left, no clues turned up. I’m good, but I can’t do the impossible.”

“I figured.”

“Don’t say it like that—it feels gross.”

Til munched on snacks, pouting.

I should’ve returned to Headquarters, but Blaiher convened the Council of Dukes sooner than expected, so I stayed in the capital longer.

“Planning to laze around until the Council of Dukes?”

“You’re lazing too. In that fancy villa Blaiher gave you. I heard Chancellor Hendrick collapse, clutching his neck.”

Not entirely wrong.

Since Blaiher gifted me the villa, I've been resting with little to do.

But I wasn’t exactly relaxed.

While lounging, the chapters toward world destruction—or my death—were steadily ticking down.

Chapter 41…

I’d sent a raven to Cesare last time, so a reply should be due soon.

Right on cue, a loud caw rang out.

“A raven.”

Turning, I saw it stretching out a leg with a letter tube, as if saying take it already.

“No delivery for me. Yours?”

“Seems like it.”

Thinking of Cesare’s rough handwriting, I opened the letter.

[Meet me at the Schwaben Street tavern tonight.

- Your Commander]

I stared at the elegant handwriting.

Definitely not Cesare’s. Did the Commander really send it?

Using a raven meant it was from someone in the Eight Council.

“What is it?”

“A report from Cesare. About Noah’s group.”

“Are they doing alright?”

“Seems so.”

I brushed it off and tucked the letter into my coat pocket.

There’s only one tavern in Schwaben—the high-end one we visited before.

I think it was called Licor.

I didn’t know why a crowded tavern was chosen for a meeting, but at least I wouldn’t be ambushed alone.

‘Anat, was it?’

The name the Commander left before vanishing last time.

She’d asked to be called by her name.

I’d guessed she’d contact me eventually, being nearby.

I thought she’d reach out during the chaos, but to contact me now, after it’s over?

‘Why now?’

I mulled it over but found no answers.

How could I know the mind of a secretive figure barely mentioned in the original story?

In the end, I concluded I’d have to face her to find out.

“I’ve got an appointment tonight, so I’ll head out.”

“What appointment?”

Unexpectedly, Til pressed me.

I thought she’d just say, “Oh, okay.”

“Why do you ask?”

“’Cause I’m bored as hell?”

“Just a normal dinner appointment.”

“Hmm.”

Til narrowed her eyes briefly, then lost interest and went back to munching snacks.

I’d worried she’d tag along out of boredom, but thankfully not.

‘If she knew I was in contact with the Commander, she’d probably kill me.’

Even in the original story, where the Commander never appeared, Til flipped out at the mere mention of her.

If she found out I was meeting her, who knows what chaos she’d cause?

It wasn’t just Til. Most Eight Council members fiercely trusted the Commander.

If she were dead, fine, but why a living Commander hid and kept her actions secret from even the Council was beyond comprehension.

‘I’ll ask tonight.’

Nodding to myself, I left the terrace.

Just before leaving, I felt Til glaring at me… probably my imagination, right?