The Protagonist's Party is Too Diligent

"There’s a tunnel under Gyeongbokgung Palace with hundreds of North Korean tanks waiting to attack!"

That’s the kind of statement no one would believe. Honestly, even the people making such claims probably don’t believe them. Most of the time, those spreading such rumors are just after money.

So, what would Charlotte think if I hit her with a claim that absurd?

The idea of North Korean forces digging tunnels to invade South Korea—typically, these theories are accompanied by hastily drawn maps and baseless claims about tank dimensions. If, by some chance, a politician or expert seriously believed it and brought in professional equipment to investigate, they’d likely find nothing. After all, investigating what isn’t there can only lead to the conclusion that nothing exists.

But, on the off chance—one in a billion—that the experts found something and said, “Actually, it’s real,” the narrative would shift entirely. If they really uncovered tunnels filled with North Korean tanks and explosives, what could anyone say against such evidence?

In that sense, I was definitely not an expert.

I lacked even a sliver of expertise. My knowledge of Belvur’s history was limited to what I’d gleaned from lore books and general education classes in this world. Naturally, these “external-use” histories didn’t delve into how their nation oppressed others.

In fact, modern historical research was still in its infancy here. Most historical accounts were grand tales of monumental events, filtered heavily through a nationalistic lens.

Given that, it was perfectly reasonable to ignore me when I claimed there were tunnels.

But—

"Can you take responsibility for your claims?"

—That night, I went straight to the Lutetia palace and convinced the King of Belvur to grant me an audience based on my wild assertions.

Yes, I wasn’t an expert. But I was skilled enough at sounding credible to qualify as a "pseudo-expert."

The hallmark of a pseudo-expert is being just knowledgeable enough to sound convincing, yet too far from true expertise to be trusted. They often wield their limited knowledge as authority, confidently challenging genuine experts.

In that sense, I was the perfect pseudo-expert.

"I swear on the name of Fangryphon."

A perfect pseudo-expert with the ultimate authority in this hierarchy.

"......"

When I puffed out my chest and declared my stance, the King of Belvur rubbed his forehead.

Of course.

Even if Belvur was seriously considering a military alliance with the Holy Nation, discovering that their supposed ally had been digging tunnels under their lands—without their knowledge, no less—would be infuriating.

"What is your reason for sharing such critical ‘information’ with us? Do you seek something in return?"

I hadn’t planned to share this information initially.

I glanced at Charlotte, who stood beside me. Her eyes trembled slightly—not out of fear or shock, but because she was trying to subtly convey her thoughts to me without her father noticing.

After all, she couldn’t just shake her head in front of the King, her father. If someone delivering sensitive information saw Charlotte shaking her head, it would only mean “Don’t reveal this.”

Given that this was the same person who had treated her as an adversary until last year, such a display would have caused a massive issue.

"Sharing this information alone brings substantial benefit to the Empire," I replied.

Not that I hadn’t thought of an excuse. This one, though hastily concocted, would hold up.

"Does the Empire still believe there’s a possibility of us forming an alliance with the Holy Nation?"

If the chance of a Belvur-Holy Nation military alliance was completely off the table, it would be a huge win for the Empire. Maneuvering military forces begins long before a war breaks out, after all.

But outright agreeing to his assumption would be too transparent.

"Does the Kingdom believe the Empire is planning a war?"

At my counter-question, the King paused.

At the very least, it seemed the current Emperor wasn’t actively planning a war—or at least wasn’t showing any signs of it publicly. Still, from the Kingdom’s perspective, they couldn’t simply trust the Empire’s restraint.

If it hadn’t been for the suspicious circumstances Charlotte had mentioned, the Kingdom might have already formed an informal alliance with the Holy Nation.

"In that case, let me rephrase," the King said, adjusting his posture. From his earlier slouched position with his hand on his forehead, he now sat straight, radiating the authority of a monarch.

"Does the Empire wish for relations between the Kingdom and the Holy Nation to become irreparable?"

"......"

From the Empire’s perspective? Probably.

From my perspective? Ideally, the Kingdom could keep the Holy Nation in check independently, without relying on an alliance. After all, the Holy Nation was rife with suspicious elements.

I didn’t want to see Charlotte become a puppet of the Holy Nation in the next decade.

But I couldn’t share all of this openly.

As for the tunnels—those could be excavated. Evidence would speak for itself.

However, other information about the Holy Nation... wasn’t something I should know at this point in time.

Thankfully, the King seemed to interpret my silence on his own.

"Regardless of the reasoning," he said, looking down at me.

"You swore on the name of Fangryphon. That’s not something one does lightly. It means you’re confident in your claims. While we’ll need to figure out how an Imperial princess came to possess information even our Kingdom doesn’t know, that’s a matter for later."

He continued to look down at me, trying to assert his authority. But judging by the slight twitch of his lips, he seemed on the verge of covering his face with his hands again.

Frankly, if our positions were reversed, I’d feel the same.

"The first priority is verifying the urgent matter. Do you know how this underground facility is hidden?"

I hesitated for a moment.

The tunnels lay beneath Lutetia’s sewer system. The quickest way in would be through St. Latina Cathedral, but there was no guarantee the Holy Nation hadn’t hidden the entrance.

Of course, the entrance was hidden. My concern was whether the Holy Nation had altered the original entrance after becoming aware of my existence.

Sure, I could blow the cathedral sky-high to find the entrance, but I was standing here precisely because I’d been told not to.

Still, there were alternatives.

"It’s not the only way into the underground," I said.

As expected of an RPG-like world, Azerna Chronicles had plenty of hidden areas. Many fields—like cities and towns—had inaccessible spots containing treasure chests. Those locations were often connected through dungeons, which were typically beneath urban areas, like sewers or ruins.

Of course, in a game, you don’t get punished for looting someone’s belongings.

The underground facility beneath Lutetia was similar. St. Latina Cathedral wasn’t the only entrance; there had to be other paths for people to sneak in or out.

The most important sections were near the cathedral, but that wasn’t an argument I could make now.

"I have a lead on a potential location," I said.

"...Do you now?"

The King’s eyes narrowed further.

I could almost feel his suspicion hitting its peak—and then some. It was like a game where a stat value went so high it broke the UI and overflowed the screen.

"In that case, you’ll need to reveal all these locations. Once the search is complete, we’ll have a thorough discussion about how you came to know them."

I’d need to run as soon as the search concluded.

"We can’t do anything drastic to an Imperial princess, but the Emperor will undoubtedly take an interest in this matter."

...I really needed to run. At least until this whole ordeal blew over.