In A Fantasy World I Can Absorbs Abilities

Count Charles greeted the minor nobles storming into his tent with a smile, though inwardly he grumbled, comparing them to summer gnats.

"Come in, come in. Thank you all for coming," he said.

The unexpected hospitality caught the nobles off guard, their expressions stiffening. Despite repeated invitations, none of them sat down.

As the representative of the alliance, Baron Kensington stepped forward.

"Your Grace, forgive us, but we are still in our armor. Let us speak standing."

Count Charles nodded awkwardly, though his face showed no sign of actual regret.

The nobles didn't mind. As seasoned players of political games, they would have been suspicious if Count Charles had seemed genuinely apologetic.

Their unity was for one purpose: profit. Any pretense of seeking justice for the fallen was merely an excuse.

Clearing his throat, Count Charles began to speak.

"Very well, as you wish. Some of you may already have guessed, but the recent fanatic uprising is tied to the Bloodseal. We've found proof."

Baron Kensington couldn't suppress a gasp.

"That's impossible! Who could have broken the Holy Radiant Kingdom's seal and brought out that cursed artifact?"

"I didn't want to believe it either, but it's true. It's the same object that plunged the continent into chaos 1,500 years ago."

Both Count Charles and Baron Kensington came from ancient noble lineages.

Baron Kensington was a descendant of a prolific count's family whose traditions and knowledge far exceeded those of lesser nobles. His ancestors had participated in the war to seal the Bloodseal, losing over twenty direct descendants in the process. Had his ancestor not had so many children, the family line would have been extinguished like many others.

Michael, observing the conversation, felt out of place. Though he didn't fully understand the significance of the Bloodseal, the tense atmosphere indicated it was a grave matter. Seeing that others looked equally bewildered, he found some comfort in not being the only one.

He waited for Count Charles to elaborate.

"The Bloodseal is a cursed artifact of an otherworldly deity, taking the form of a brush. By sacrificing a thousand lives and using their blood, it carves runes that turn a thousand people into fanatics. It has reappeared after being sealed away in the Holy Radiant Kingdom, and we must act swiftly. Fortunately, we've already killed several commanders bearing its runes. We must continue targeting their leaders."

Michael raised a question.

"Will our soldiers be affected? Has the Holy Radiant Kingdom sent aid? Their failure to properly secure the seal has caused us to suffer these losses."

"You're correct," Count Charles replied. "The Holy Radiant Kingdom sent word via wyvern rider that reinforcements are on their way. They should arrive within a few days. As for the soldiers, all stationed here will receive blessings from the Holy Radiant priests in my domain. Once baptized, they will be safe for a month, though the process will need to be repeated monthly."

Michael pondered the situation.

The rebellion within the kingdom, coupled with the involvement of the Holy Radiant Kingdom, made the matter far from simple. The Bloodseal's exposure necessitated drastic measures, but something felt off.

He sensed deeper machinations at play.

For now, however, the immediate crisis took precedence. Failing to suppress the uprising would endanger not only Count Charles's domain but the entire northeastern planet. If it fell, the Kingdom of Rania, where Michael's territory was located, would also face peril.

The nobles began murmuring among themselves.

"In that case, wouldn't it be better to stay fortified in the fortress until the Holy Radiant Kingdom arrives? Engaging in more battles will only lead to further casualties," one noble suggested.

His words drew glares from the others, silencing him. Such sentiments were unacceptable for knights and nobles.

As a modern thinker, Michael privately agreed, but he knew better than to voice such thoughts. In a world where single-minded traditions ruled, pragmatic ideas were often dismissed.

Besides, staying in the fortress might give the fanatics more time to bolster their forces.

Baron Crassus, who had been quietly observing, spoke up. His seasoned wisdom cut to the heart of the matter.

"Let's not lose sight of our purpose here. The Bloodseal has already surfaced, so there's no point debating its existence. If we see the enemy, we strike them down. We've already killed several of their commanders, proving they're not invincible. For now, we must focus on what needs to be done. Count Charles, how do you intend to take responsibility for this situation? Your delay in acting has caused us great losses."

His pointed remark brought the group to their senses.

Yes, the damage was already done. It was time to secure compensation.

"Baron Crassus, your greed is excessive. This isn't the time to focus on personal gains," Count Charles retorted.

But his call for unity was met with sharp stares.

The nobles knew Count Charles had initially delayed his response for selfish reasons, so his argument held little weight.

Seizing the momentum, Baron Kensington added his voice.

"The situation seems dire, but it may not be as catastrophic as it appears. While the Bloodseal was once a powerful artifact, 1,500 years of the Great God of Light's blessings must have diminished its strength. If its power were at its peak, the fanatics would have spread beyond Crowley's domain by now. If we act quickly to disrupt the Bloodseal's influence, we can resolve this ourselves."

Murmurs of agreement arose from all sides.

Count Charles, now unable to oppose the consensus, reluctantly spoke.

"Very well... though this isn't the time for such discussions..."

His brazen attempt to deflect responsibility drew glares, prompting him to clear his throat and avert his eyes.

Sensing the tense mood, he sought to buy time.

"It's late. Let's take a break for dinner and reconvene afterward."

As the Korean proverb says, "Too many cooks spoil the broth," and the same held true in the Rubel Continent.

While dining in Baron Kensington's tent, dozens of nobles vied to boast of their contributions and claim rewards. At this rate, it might take a month to reach any conclusions.