Chapter 3
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Translator: 8uhl
Chapter: 3
Chapter Title: The First Misstep
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Seventy-two in total. Having collected all the magic lamps, Pernyan moved forward.
A massive cavern revealed itself, and in its center stood a small altar.
[“Is that the…?”
Aint’s gaze was fixed on one spot, unable to look away.
It was an instinctual pull.]
[At the edge of the altar was a sword. A crude longsword from which nothing could be felt. And yet, his eyes were strangely drawn to it. His heart, his soul, was pulled.
Aint slowly approached the sword.]
Unlike Aint, Pernyan felt no pull on his soul.
And there was no sword.
Of course. Aint would have already taken it.
Though the sword was gone, an impression remained on the altar, a mark where it must have been thrust.
[Aint grasped the sword. In that moment, a brilliant radiance rescued the entire cavern from darkness.]
[When Aint closed and opened his eyes, he was no longer at the altar, nor in the cavern.
“…Where am I?”
It was a secluded alley of the Armian Imperial Academy.]
“…It’s true.”
Traces of magic remained. Faint, on the verge of disappearing, but the fact that they were there, that there was a mark in the center of the altar, and that Aint was gone—all of it was significant.
Pernyan had no choice but to accept it.
“Damn it.”
The prophecy book was real after all.
“So.”
The demon legions return to trample the continent…
“In the process of the already declining imperial family’s revival, I clash with them and meet my downfall. To save the family, my father is forced to disown me, and I lose all my fame, honor, influence, and money…”
Pernyan laughed. Ha-ha, well now.
“…What a goddamn shitty future.”
*Grind.* A vein throbbed in Pernyan’s eye.
“…Who the hell do they think they are, taking my money.”
Money is everything in this world. With money, you can do anything.
A future where he lost it all was not, and could not be, allowed to exist.
He.
“I will never accept such a future.”
Would make it so.
* * *
He returned to his quarters. Having once again confirmed the truth of the prophecy book, Pernyan organized his thoughts.
Among the contents of the prophecy book dormant in his mind, three memories remained the most vivid.
And the key figure tying all three together was a single person.
The world’s protagonist, certified by the prophecy book.
The one who brings about Pernyan’s downfall.
The hero who protects this world from demons.
“Aint Armian.”
A first-year student who enrolled in the Knight Department of the Armian Imperial Academy this year.
A descendant of the now-declined former imperial family.
An aspiring knight whose foremost goal is to become a Royal Knight.
The one who, through a combination of all sorts of fortuitous encounters and effort, eventually achieves that dream and ascends to the throne as emperor.
“A conundrum.”
According to the prophecy book, Aint was clearly a rising stock. As a merchant, the proper virtue was to invest in him and feed on the scraps.
If only his disposition wasn't the polar opposite of Pernyan's, and if only he wasn't destined to be the one to bring Pernyan down, he might have run over and wagged his tail like a dog.
He had made a good first impression by giving Aint a high-grade potion, but what if continued investment backfired and became a bad move?
It would be like digging his own grave—a foolish act he must never commit.
“What is a conundrum, Young Master?”
Just then, his attendant entered and asked.
“Hyde.”
“Yes.”
“There’s a merchant guild that is guaranteed to grow if you invest. What would you do?”
“I would invest without question.”
“But what if the guild master’s disposition doesn’t align with mine?”
“Is that even a concern? Money can make any disposition agreeable.”
“…Yes, you’re right. It was a pointless worry.”
Pernyan’s eyes widened. It was a surprisingly simple problem. Money could do anything. A clash of personalities was a trivial matter in the face of immense wealth.
He had only cowered before the monumental problems of the world’s destruction and demons; the big picture remained the same.
Invest, and in return for bearing the risk, earn a massive fortune.
“I need to meet him at once.”
“Pardon?”
“There’s nothing more foolish than hesitating and missing the right time to invest.”
Without waiting for his attendant’s reply, he grabbed his coat and went outside.
“…Um, you have a visitor.”
One the Young Master himself had summoned.
The attendant shook his head.
“I suppose I’ll have to handle the cleanup.”
He let out a deep sigh and went out.
* * *
Prospective freshmen who passed the entrance exam were immediately assigned to dormitories according to their rank.
“Hoo.”
The same went for Aint. He lay down on his bed. The mattress was soft—not as good as the one at his family estate, but quite decent.
He had passed but hadn't ranked high, so he wasn't in La Vie Douce Dormitory, reserved for the top students, nor in the next best, Bless Dormitory. He was in the de base Dormitory, but Aint wasn't in a bad mood.
There had been a problem along the way, but he had overcome it and achieved his primary goal for coming to the academy.
His gaze shifted to the sword lying beside him.
Once the sword of the empire’s first Royal Knight, Sir Gardner Alpenparsen, it was now to become Aint Armian’s cherished blade.
It was a contingency left by the first emperor, a treasure that would guide him to greater heights.
—De base Dormitory!
And with the ego of Gardner Alpenparsen, no less.
—A descendant of Armian, at Armian Academy, staying not even in Bless, but in de base Dormitory!
—This is absurd!
—If the late emperor knew, he would rise from his grave and wring the demons’ necks!
“…Why are you suddenly bringing up demons?”
—Because there’s no way this could happen unless it was the work of demons!
What is this? Some kind of highly sophisticated insult?
“…It can’t be helped. I’m weak.”
—I can’t believe it. A descendant of Armian, this weak…
“If you think about it, it’s also the fault of the first Emperor, who made it so anyone could become emperor.”
No, that was all there was to it.
The seven Electors who supported the empire. The right they held through the Golden Bull was the right to elect the emperor.
When the current emperor died, a convention was held to elect a new one, and anyone who gained more than half of the Electors’ votes could become emperor of this nation.
“Or he should have just made it so only the throne was passed on. Why did he have to donate most of the Armian territories to the empire…”
It would have been fine if they had simply lost the throne ‘alone,’ but the first emperor had offered most of the Armian family’s holdings to the empire.
Of course, it wasn’t a problem as long as they held the throne.
But the moment the throne was taken, the Armian family had no choice but to hand over most of what they owned to the new imperial family.
In that process, the Armians had to struggle to survive, and somehow, even a part of the secret sword art passed down from the first emperor was lost.
Thus, they walked the path of ruin.
“That’s why, honestly, while I respect the first Emperor, I also resent him. If he hadn’t made that choice, the Armians would never have ended up like this.”
—How dare you!
—Losing the throne is itself an absurdity!
—To think such incompetent fools are Armians.
“Not everyone can be as great as the first Emperor.”
Aint smiled bitterly. Who would have wanted to lose the throne?
The imperial authority of an empire stitched together from various kingdoms was incredibly weak; that it had lasted for nearly a thousand years was a miracle in itself.
—…Enough. Fortunately, you have talent, so I shall support you wholeheartedly to restore that glory.
—Perhaps the late emperor foresaw such events and left me as a contingency.
“Thank you.”
It was a welcome offer. The very reason Aint had endured the humiliation to enter the academy was Gardner Alpenparsen himself.
It was then.
*Knock, knock—*
“Aint Armian. Are you there?”
“Who is it?”
“Your senior.”
“Pardon?”
—Do you have anyone who would visit?
No. After losing the throne, the Armian family had locked its doors to focus on internal affairs; they had no friendly relations with any nobles.
And yet, for someone to come calling himself a senior.
‘Could it be?’
Aint cautiously opened the door. As he expected, a familiar man stood there.
A man who was the epitome of a nobleman, exuding a natural air of dignity.
“Senior Pernyan?”
“It’s been a while. Ah, or has it not been that long?”
Pernyan shrugged.
“Are you busy?”
“No. I don’t have anything to do right now, but…”
“Then I’d like to borrow a moment of your time. It’s too conspicuous here, I know a quiet place I’d like to go.”
“…Uh. You mean right now?”
“Yes.”
“…Five minutes. Please give me five minutes to get ready.”
“Very well.”
Pernyan took out a piece of paper, scribbled something on it, and handed it over.
“I’ll go on ahead. Come to this location.”
“Yes, yes!”
Pernyan disappeared. Aint closed the door and took a deep breath.
“What was that? He said it was an investment, is he already asking for the potion money?”
“Or could he have seen me entering the dungeon?”
“No, that can’t be. There was no one around… Could I even detect Senior Pernyan if he was determined to hide?”
All sorts of thoughts threw his mind into chaos.
—What is it?
—Who is that fellow to make you fuss so much?
“He’s a rather important person within the academy.”
—He said he’s a senior, so he’s just a student, isn’t he?
“He may be a student, but you have to consider his status. His full name is Pernyan Fallenberg. He’s the eldest son of the Fallenberg family.”
—Fallenberg? That nouveau riche family?
“…Pardon?”
Aint tilted his head at the sudden slander.
* * *
Their first meeting had been unexpected, leaving no time for either to properly assess the other.
His impression upon proper observation wasn't bad. He had an ordinary, gentle-looking face, but his eyes glinted with intelligence, and ambition peeked through from time to time.
‘He’s an ambitious one. If he had talent and the right environment, he would have made it big.’
There was no certainty. But Pernyan’s intuition told him so.
One of a merchant’s most important virtues was the ability to read people, and he was fairly confident in his own.
Even without the prophecy book, he would have certainly given Aint Armian high marks.
However, he wouldn't have been able to be openly friendly. Friendship with the former imperial family would inevitably lead to conflict with the current one.
“Senior.”
Aint’s eyes were less shaken, as if he had composed himself before coming.
“Sit.”
“Yes.”
They were in a private room of a teahouse in the academy city. The teahouse was managed by the Fallenberg family, and the privacy of its rooms was excellent, making it a perfect place for such a conversation.
“What will you have for tea?”
“Anything is fine.”
“Two coffees here.”
“Yes, sir.”
A short while later, the server who brought the coffee left. They were in a completely sealed room.
A nervous Aint swallowed dryly. Pernyan’s gaze fell to Aint’s waist.
“You came with your sword.”
“Ah… I just feel more at ease with my sword at hand… I have absolutely no intention of harming you, Senior Pernyan.”
“I understand. Most knights don’t like to be separated from their swords.”
Pernyan nodded.
‘So that’s the sword. The one with the ego of the first Royal Knight, Sir Gardner Alpenparsen.’
It looked relatively old and plain, which raised a slight doubt, but since he had been wearing a different sword when they first met in front of the dungeon, this was probably it.
The prophecy book had also mentioned that its appearance was a bit worn.
‘The prophecy book is right, after all.’
Even though he had verified it several times, checking and re-checking was a merchant’s paranoid habit.
Of course, the greater reason was his reluctance to believe in a future where he was ruined.
“Is your injury alright?”
“Yes. Thanks to you… As for the high-grade potion, I will arrange for the money as soon as possible.”
“It’s fine. Didn’t I tell you? It was an investment.”
“…Yes.”
“By the way, have you eaten?”
Looking into Aint’s eyes, Pernyan decided not to bring up the topic of sponsorship.
Men like him were not easily tempted. Not unless they were dragged to rock bottom or given an offer so perfectly suitable they couldn't refuse.
And Pernyan had neither of those options at the moment. In fact, a premature offer would only scratch the pride of an Armian and was the perfect way to earn his resentment.
“Not yet…”
“In that case…”
The conversation that followed was mostly idle chatter. After a good while, Pernyan left.
“Well then, I’ll see you next time. Oh, and let’s not openly acknowledge each other, considering the eyes around us.”
“Yes.”
Left alone, Aint tilted his head.
“What was all that about?”
Did he really just come for small talk?
—He was just sizing you up.
“Sizing me up?”
—To see what kind of person you are.
—That’s how those nouveau riche types operate. Before they do anything, they check the person first.
“So you mean, whether I’m useful or not?”
—Precisely.
—The end of days is truly upon us.
—To dare pull such a stunt on an Armian.
“…It’s not a bad thing, is it?”
If he had talked about direct sponsorship as an extension of the potion investment, it would have definitely felt like his family was being disdained.
His view of Pernyan would not have been favorable. But he had maintained an appropriate line. If he simply wanted to build a friendship, there was no reason not to reciprocate.
“The Fallenberg family’s money is nothing to scoff at.”
—A good thought.
—When it comes to money, those upstarts have the most. Securing one as a backer would be very reassuring. The late emperor used to say so as well.
Gardner laughed heartily.
* * *
“Hmm…”
The conversation with Aint had been mostly trivial. But a person’s true nature often reveals itself in everyday conversation.
With the prophecy book on top of that, Pernyan had finished his general assessment of Aint Armian.
His will was firm, and he valued his family’s honor. He had strong pride, and a desire to one day restore his family, along with a thirst for honor.
“A rash move will only breed ill will. It would be best to get close to him slowly, letting it seep in naturally.”
Pernyan decided on his approach to Aint. Since their dispositions didn't match, getting too directly involved didn't seem like a good idea either.
The best course of action was to maintain a suitable distance, a suitable friendship, and suitably take what he could.
At least, that was his judgment for now.
“In that case…”
“Young Master. You’ve returned?”
“What is it?”
“Where have you been?”
“I had to meet someone for a moment.”
“It wasn’t Ruina Bercefe, was it?”
“Ruina Bercefe? Why bring her up all of a sudden?”
Ruina Bercefe was his peer and the second-ranked student in the Knight Department.
And, family to family, she was a debtor.
“You summoned her for a meeting today, did you not?”
“I did?”
“Yes, Young Master, you did.”
“…Right, I did.”
The Fallenberg family had lent money to the Bercefes to get their hands on their secret sword art.
He remembered setting up the appointment with the intention of pressuring her and her family, who were slowly being crushed by debt.
“…Was that today?”
“Yes. I was about to inform you she was waiting, but you suddenly left.”
“…Where is Ruina now?”
“She waited for three hours, thinking you would be back shortly, and then left. She probably suspected you did it on purpose to break her spirit.”
“…If you’re in debt, you should be able to endure that much…”
It was at that very moment that a splitting headache struck, and a passage from the prophecy book surfaced.
[—There is no doubt. Her talent is great enough to become a Royal Knight.
Sir Gardner Alpenparsen, the great first Royal Knight and the soul residing in the sword, declared it.
—It seems she has some inner demon, however.
If only the shackles that bind her were broken, she could spread her wings and soar to her heart’s content.]
A fragment of memory, surfaced because it was related to Aint Armian.
‘Royal Knight?’
The ten strongest knights on the continent, officially recognized by the Emperor of the Empire?
[Her flowing brown hair and aquamarine eyes were but a fraction of what defined her.
Her sword was noble, beautiful, virtuous, and alive.
Aint was captivated by her sword dance under the moonlight.]
[He wanted to free her from the shackles that bound her, the Fallenberg family.]
She was even Aint Armian’s first love, and the first pretext for the falling out between Aint and Pernyan?
“…Son of a bitch.”
Pernyan knew instinctively.
‘Why is something this important coming to me now…!’
That he had screwed up right from the very start.