Chapter 171
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 171
Brod, who had migrated to Asagrim from beyond the snowfields, was quite satisfied with his job as a guard.
In terms of rank, it was the bottom of the ladder, and his duties consisted of nothing more than patrolling the territory. However, being a guard was one of the few positions where he could actually put his experience as a warrior to use.
"Compared to our kin who are stuck at the bottom learning trades, we’ve got it good. We get to work right away and the pay comes in like clockwork."
"You said it. We’re the lucky ones," Tula, who had been hired alongside Brod, nodded in agreement.
Their fellow migrants had been forced to give up being warriors. Without a chance to use the combat skills they had honed their entire lives, they were currently busy trying to learn basic labor skills from scratch. In contrast, Brod and the other guards had already established themselves as working professionals, putting them miles ahead of the others.
In fact, the two were often the subject of envy among their peers, a fact they enjoyed with puffed-out chests.
However, the job of a guard did have its downsides.
—Waaaaaaaah!
"…Still, it’s a shame we can’t watch the event ourselves. I heard the famous King’s Great Warrior is making an appearance."
Tula’s shoulders slumped at the sound of the cheering echoing from within the walls. Though he was just a lowly guard now, he had once called himself a warrior. It was only natural to want to see the combat of the King’s Great Warrior, the one hailed as the strongest of all.
"It can’t be helped. That’s just the nature of a guard’s job. Besides, isn't it during times like this, when everyone else is relaxed, that we need to stay the most alert?"
"You’re right, but still…"
Despite Brod’s words, Tula couldn't hide his lingering disappointment. Brod understood exactly how he felt, so he didn't push the matter further. Truth be told, he wanted to see the legendary King’s Great Warrior with his own eyes as well.
"At least His Majesty is paying us triple this month. Let’s take that and buy our families something delicious."
"We should. My boy has been pestering me to buy him all sorts of things lately. That little rascal never threw tantrums back in the snowfields."
"That’s because there was nothing for a kid to want back there. If I had come here as a kid, I would’ve begged my father for one of those toy horses too."
"True. Those toy horses are quite something. You push them forward like a hoop, and the little wooden foal clatters along…"
The two men, deep in conversation, suddenly stiffened. They had spotted a pale shadow approaching from the distance.
Brod and Tula leaned toward each other and whispered.
"Who’s that? It’s a bit late for a mourner."
"Not a blacksmith either. If it were a craftsman, they’d at least have a basic set of tools with them."
As the figure drew closer, their suspicion grew. The person carried no luggage, which any traveler should have, yet their attire was strangely flamboyant. Even stranger was that despite looking wealthy, the person was wearing clothes so thin they were visibly shivering.
"They definitely don't look like they're from around here. Should we grab them for questioning?"
"Let’s wait and see. Might just be a lunatic."
The two waited quietly, ready to pounce and subdue the stranger at a moment's notice.
A moment later, the stranger reached the gate and shouted at the top of his lungs.
"I am the Rightful Heir of the Empire, Claude Fin Bay Astria! Open the gates at once and announce my arrival to Lord Lucian!"
Claude expected the guards to fall to their knees and tremble the moment they heard his name.
He was the one and only legitimate successor of the Empire—no, he was practically the next Emperor. Any commoner with a lick of sense should have felt their legs give way and their mind go blank in the face of such nobility.
But as if mocking his expectations, the guards simply blinked at him blankly.
"The Empire’s… what? What did he say?"
"I don't know. Sounds like he’s the heir to some house."
"Is it a prestigious one?"
"Search me. I’ve never heard of it."
"…!?"
Claude felt a profound sense of bewilderment at their exchange.
He had seen people look at him with genuine reverence when he revealed his identity. He had seen people look troubled, as if they had run into someone they desperately wanted to avoid, or hesitate, not knowing what to do.
But this was the first time in his life he had encountered people who simply didn't know who he was.
Reluctantly, Claude decided to be more direct.
"…I am the First Prince. The legitimate son of the Late Emperor!"
"First Prince? Late Emperor? That sounds familiar."
"Ah, I remember. That’s what they called the Emperor who died a while back."
"The Emperor? So this guy is the Emperor’s son?"
Claude’s face turned beet red. To think a mere guard would speak of the Emperor, the master of the Empire, as if he were some neighborhood acquaintance.
‘Just how much has Lucian looked down on the Imperial Family for his underlings to be this insolent!’
It was an absurd misunderstanding. The migrants from the snowfields had lived their entire lives isolated from the Empire. To them, any territory or entity other than Lucian felt like a foreign country. Naturally, they held no reverence for the Imperial Family, and thus spoke of the Emperor as they would any foreign ruler.
Unaware of this, Claude shouted in open fury.
"That a mere guard can insult the Imperial Family without shame speaks volumes of the Duke’s own conduct! Bring Duke Lucian here at once! As the Rightful Heir of the Empire, I shall hold him accountable!"
"…Accountable? You’re going to hold our Grace accountable for a crime?"
"Silence! I am done wasting words with a lowlife like you! Now, bring the Duke—!"
Slap!
Claude couldn't finish his sentence. A powerful impact sent stars dancing before his eyes.
Blinking, unable to comprehend what had just happened, he felt a second impact.
Slap!
Another burst of stars. A moment later, a stinging pain radiated from his cheek, accompanied by the metallic taste of blood. Only then did Claude realize his inner lip had been cut by the blow.
"W-What is the meaning of—"
"You crazy bastard, where do you get off wagging your tongue so recklessly? You’re going to hold His Grace accountable? A pipsqueak like you? Are you joking?"
"Ack, gack!"
Claude was helpless as Brod’s massive hand seized him by the collar. He tried to activate his necklace to manifest a barrier, but Brod’s palm was faster.
Slap! Slap! Slap!
"Guh, ack!"
"You’re clearly a weakling who’s never swung a sword in his life, yet you’ve got quite the mouth on you! Go on, say it again!"
"Wait… hurk!"
"Now that I think about it, what you said is hilarious. What? The Emperor’s son? Why would such a noble person come to the North all by himself without a single servant? At least make your lies believable!"
"Gurgle!"
Claude tried desperately to explain through his hazy consciousness, but it was no use. Brod and Tula had no intention of listening to his excuses. Under the relentless barrage of slaps, Claude couldn't hold out for long and lost consciousness.
"What? He fainted from just that? What a weakling."
"What should we do with him? I’d love to just toss him out into the snow."
"Let’s throw him in the dungeon for now and tell the Captain. He insulted His Grace, so I’m sure he’ll get the punishment he deserves."
No matter how angry they were, they were still just guards. Unless the opponent was an assassin, they didn't have the authority for summary execution. Since he had insulted Lucian, he wouldn't be let off easily anyway. If they threw him in a cell and reported his crime, he would be dealt with without them having to lift another finger.
"We should change him into prisoner’s rags first. Where did he even get clothes like these?"
"Probably stole them. He might have committed other crimes, so let’s set his clothes and jewelry aside to show the Captain."
Having finished their discussion, the two men hoisted the unconscious Claude over their shoulders and headed inside the gate—to put the delusional criminal in the place where he belonged.
Around the time Claude was being dragged away by the guards, Lucian was waiting for the swordsmanship contest to begin.
From his seat of honor overlooking the arena, which was already simmering with heat, Lucian scanned the surroundings and clicked his tongue.
"Despite my warnings, their eyes are all gleaming with greed."
Among the knights wishing to duel Felicia were many retainers and heirs of various noble houses. He could feel the burning desire radiating from all sides—the ambition to seize the title of Sword Saint and bring glory to their families.
To Lucian, it was reaching a point where it was more pitiful than amusing.
"I don't understand where they get such confidence when they haven't even accurately gauged their opponent's skill. Don't you agree, brother?"
At Lucian’s sudden question, Tristan replied with a stiff expression.
"…It’s unavoidable. Until very recently, there were few occasions where knights had to fight for their lives."
At most, it was territorial disputes or suppressing local rebellions. Other than that, it was mostly friendly sparring or duels fueled by grudges. They’d had no opportunity to encounter the true monsters hidden throughout the world.
"If a talented knight hasn't met a proper match, it’s only natural for them to mistake themselves for invincible. Moreover, this is the North, where strength is revered. I believe a knight of some renown in the North has every right to dream."
"The right to dream, eh?"
Lucian let out a short laugh at Tristan’s words. Interpreting the laugh as mockery, Tristan’s eyebrows twitched.
"What do you find so funny?"
"Oh, I wasn't mocking them. I just realized that you and I are looking at this from different perspectives."
"Different perspectives?"
"Yes. Your standards are still stuck on the day Felicia had her knighting ceremony."
"What does that—"
—Uwaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!
Tristan instinctively covered his ears at the sudden, deafening roar of the crowd. Other nobles also winced at the unexpected thunder of voices.
Turning their heads to see what was happening, they saw Felicia stepping out into the arena.
‘What? Why is everyone so excited just because she appeared?’
‘Even if she’s the woman designated as the next Sword Saint, isn't this a bit much?’
The nobles looked bewildered by the fanatical reaction. Such a roar couldn't be fueled by mere curiosity. There had to be something that set their hearts ablaze—a heroic feat or a savior-like act.
The nobles' question was answered shortly thereafter.
—The Supreme Warrior! The King’s Great Warrior!
—The Goddess of the Sword! The Dragon’s Right Hand!
—Receive our praise! Receive our praise!
—Receive the reverence of us all!
"…!"
The nobles froze as they heard the cheers that were loud enough to make their ears ring.
The people of Asagrim weren't worshipping Felicia for some heroic deed or because she had saved them. They were offering their reverence simply because they were captivated by the pure power she possessed.
As they realized this, another question naturally surfaced in the nobles' minds.
‘…Just how much power must a single swordsman display to be worshipped like a god?’