Replicator | Chapter 5 – A Branch in the Coffin, Mistilteinn (2)

The gathering convened at the House Miller’s mansion, situated in the heart of the Howold region at the continent’s center. 

The House Miller was chosen for three main reasons: they were low-ranking and unwilling to purchase Mistilteinn, their neutral relations with the other attending families, and they were located in the center among the attending noble families.

“Older Brother.”

As I climbed into the carriage, I glanced at Atzier, my older brother. “Does my brother also desire the Mistilteinn?”

Basically, Atzier never lied and since he was the most likely candidate for the Mistilteinn, I was curious about his feelings.

“Well…” Atzier mused, tilting his head slightly as if pondering the matter, “It would be nice to have it.”

──That’s what he said.

Satisfied with his candid response, I nodded.

After a short while, the carriage came to a halt in front of the House Miller mansion. I swallowed hard when I saw the figure standing in front of the mansion – Enfer de Roach, known as the Lord of the Iron Wall.

If Atzier embodied a sharpened sword, Enfer represented the formidable weapon in its completed form.

He had intense eyes and a mustache that nicely framed his mouth. His hair and beard were graying, as if to prove his age, but he didn’t look frail at all.

Upon seeing Frondier as Enfer’s son and Atzier’s brother, something felt amiss—it seemed incongruous.

“….Let’s go.”

Just two words.

I thought Atzier was very assertive with his words, but Enfer was even shorter. And he didn’t look at me once as he spoke.

“Everyone’s waiting. This way.”

The mansion’s butler led us.

Because it was the longest distance from Constell to here, it was only natural that our family would be the last to arrive.

…… Actually, it’s not that obvious. In truth, we could have arrived earlier, but Enfer’s display of power and pride demanded such theatrics—making the other nobles wait for him.

With a distinct click, the butler opened the door to the meeting room.

“Ah.”

I almost spit the word out of my mouth.

I could feel it already. What it means to have the greatest families of the Trest Empire gather in one place.

The divine blessings they received from the gods were overwhelming and overflowing out of the room.

“There you are.”

An elderly, gray-haired man offered a brief greeting.

‘Zodiac’ Heldre.

“It’s late, and no one has anything to say?”

The head of the family who protects the frontier was on the opposite side of the House Roach.

Lidwig von Urfa.

“Welcome.”

Enfer’s rival, and the most favorably regarded of all here.

Hortel de Rishae.

Elodie was standing behind him.

And the rest of the famous lords and ladies of the name, all in one place…….

‘Uh-huh.’

Then my gaze fell on a woman. None of the….. Named characters were as recognizable as her.

With her black hair, black eyes, and an all-black ensemble complete with a black fan, she exuded an air of mystery—Quinie. Quinie de Viet.

The only daughter of the Viet family, and a third-year student at Constell. The ‘little devil’ who brought the family back from the brink of collapse. Surprisingly, even with such accomplishments, she was only two years older than me.

For some reason, I couldn’t help but notice the coy smile looking at me from behind the fan.

Does she know me?

I didn’t think so, but it seemed worth paying attention to…

“Then let’s get started. Mr. Miller, do you have a sense of where ‘that thing’ is?”

“Yes.”

Lidwig looked at Miller with his trademark self-indulgent dialect and light tone.

At first glance, it might appear rude, but this was his way of addressing everyone, irrespective of their social status—rude, no doubt.

Gesturing to the butler, the patriarch set the wheels in motion, and soon, servants carefully brought in a coffin.

The coffin was placed on the center table of the conference room.

“Ho-ho, this.”

Heldre’s eyes lit up. Those eyes don’t seem to have softened at all, even compared to when they were in their heyday – sharp and intense, and just as dark and sinister.

Dark and intense, they gleamed with the same fervor as everyone else’s.

“It’s quite plausible, isn’t it?” someone commented, remarking on the dignified shape of the branch within the coffin—a shape precisely matching the legendary Mistilteinn as described in the tales.

“Now, the question arises—who shall claim it? I’ll go first. I offer the mining rights to the Idus Mine for five years,” someone swiftly proposed, eager and impromptu in their bid.

“You’re impatient, then I’ll-“

From there, it was a race for family heirlooms and rights.

Some gathered all sorts of riches and valued them beforehand, while others offered lands and buildings, even vowing to procure them if they lacked such property.

Naturally, the children present watched silently, knowing they had no say in the matter, relegated to mere spectators.

However, there were three families that did not make a move – Roach, Rishae, and Quinie.

Hortel, head of the Rishae family, had no intention of buying in the first place, and Quinie observed the unfolding events with interest.

Enfer, meanwhile, was merely biding his time—

─and that time drew near.

“The House Roach stakes their sword.”

“You can find one or two swords anywhere,” Lidwig paced at his usual tempo, but paused, “Did you say you would stake your sword?”

“Do I need to say it again?”

With a snap, Enfer removed the scabbard from his waist, the weight of soiled leather and steel was resting on the table.

“You wish to exchange ……divine artifact for a divine artifact?”

Hortel inquired, his curiosity piqued.

Of the three, it was Atzier who looked the most impressed.

“……Father.”

“I’ve been meaning to do this since I got here.”

Atzier was speechless, unable to say anything.

The expectations his father has placed on him were heavy, but not burdensome. While he was not overly fixated on obtaining the Mistilteinn, he couldn’t deny the appeal of possessing it for himself.

But, truly, was the coveted artifact worth putting up the ‘Gram’?

Gram, the sword of the Hero Sigurd.

Sigurd was arguably the most famous hero of Norse mythology and while he was not a god himself, the term ‘divine artifacts’ includes Hero’s weapons too.

And in the case of Gram, it surpassed even the weapons of the gods.

“Now, now, let’s calm down for a moment,” Miller urgently interjected, taking control of the situation. “There’s an important matter to settle first.”

Quinie stepped forward and added, “That’s right. Is this a real Mistilteinn in the first place?”

All eyes turned to Quinie. She had been watching the situation unfold, but now she stepped forward to calm things down.

“If this isn’t Mistilteinn, then this transaction takes on a whole new meaning.”

Indeed. It was too early to make a deal assuming that it was genuine. In the first place, its value stemmed from the uncertainty surrounding its true nature.

“Then, who’s going to verify it?”

Lidwig motioned towards the transparent coffin enclosing the Mistilteinn, signaling that breaking the casket was the only way to determine its authenticity.

At present, the Mistilteinn displayed no divine energy, but it could be due to the coffin ‘erasing’ such energy, making it a ‘new thing’ alongside the transparent casket.

If so, breaking the coffin was a risky endeavor and no one wanted to receive divine punishment.

“I’m not checking.”

“What?”

“I can’t confirm whether this branch is Mistilteinn or not. Maybe it is, maybe it isn’t. The value of this object is inherently that. We need to remember this and proceed with the deal.”

In other words, the artifact’s self-generated value should dictate the terms of exchange—a notion Quinie firmly believed in.

If they treated it as the authentic Mistilteinn, she couldn’t impose conditions that would be worth it, nor did she desire to.

However, if they assume that this is just a symbolic Mistilteinn that cannot be used in reality, the price would likely drop, attracting a different set of interested families—those seeking it as a precious heirloom rather than a weapon.

That was Quinie, and the families like hers.

‘Good. At this rate, we might be able to get it fairly cheaply…….’

“I don’t care,” Enfer stated resolutely, cutting off Quinie’s train of thought.

In a commanding tone, he asserted, “As long as you can prove it’s real, that’s all that matters.”

“……Yet you’re willing to stake your sword? What if that isn’t real?” Hortel questioned, displaying surprise.

“If it’s not real, then so be it,” replied Enfer dismissively.

“Sounds stupid. What does it mean to offer ‘Gram-“

“Hortel,” the voice mingled with a light breath, and the atmosphere became tense.

“My days are long past.”

The words weighed heavily. Everyone looked at Enfer in bewilderment.

“Atzier will surpass me. So what good is a sword to me?”

“……You, are you really going to throw away the Gram?”

“Do not make me repeat myself again and again,” Enfer’s eyes hardened. He had never shown such determination before, “Mistilteinn belongs to Atzier.”

Everyone present was taken aback by the resolute statement. The words were conclusive, clear, and definitive.

Quenie sighed. She hadn’t expected Roach to be so insistent. But she couldn’t help it, it was time to step back. He was offering the gram, but what could she do?

There were other things of value. Everyone seemed to agree with him.

Yet, in that very moment, a voice, as soft as a blade of grass, drifted from somewhere.

“There is no need, Father.”

A voice that was so different from Enfer’s, so relaxed, as if it were a casual conversation. 

However, the words concealed an unspoken weight, a gravity that belied the relaxed demeanor. The sudden chasm between the tone and content left everyone momentarily stunned, their reactions lagging a beat behind.

“Frondier, refrain from speaking.”

My brother, Atzier, cautioned. Enfer narrowed his eyes too.

A low, seething voice escaped Enfer’s lips. “Do you know what you are talking about?”

“Of course,” I replied in an unwaveringly flat tone, seemingly impervious to the charged atmosphere.

Lidwig leaned in, uncomfortably intrigued. “How old is he? The second son that Enfer has been hiding.”

For the first time, Lidwig focused on my face, which he had previously dismissed. My countenance exuded both languid carefreeness and the hues of indolence.

Would this peaceful face someday be the one heading into battle?

“Young one, you don’t understand the topic and you’re interrupting, huh?” Lidwig’s voice snarled.

I glanced at the snarling Lidwig for a moment.

Just for a moment.

Then I looked away and pointed at Mistilteinn.

“Father, there is no need to give up Gram on something that isn’t even real.”

Lidwig was momentarily stunned by my words.

Had he dared to ignore me? Perhaps that was his thoughts.

“Who are you to say such things without knowing?”

“How do I know, I have no way of proving it,” I calmly responded, stepping forward with the ease of flowing water, as if on a leisurely stroll.

At the end of that serene stride, everyone could sense that peace was not an assured outcome.

I stood before the coffin and placed my hand on it.

“It’s easy to check.”

When I said those words, everyone knew what I meant.

Since the moment I stepped up, a sense of unease permeated the air. Enfer, Atzier, Hortel, and Elodie all moved simultaneously, attempting to stop me.

They tried to stop me, but it was too late. No matter what they did, I was already ahead.

They might fear my hand being cut or me meeting an untimely demise.

“If you’re really fed up with that, aren’t you afraid of God?”

Flustered, Lidwig’s dialect became even more bizarre.

“Huh,” I chuckled—a laugh that didn’t quite match the gravity of the situation, leaving the atmosphere around me languid.

“I’ve never been afraid of anything.”

Kwachang───!

With a resounding sound, the coffin shattered.

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Translator’s Notes:-

I’ve heard this MC suffers a lot…

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