The Novel's Protagonist (4)
“……You want me to take the throne.”
The princess’s voice grew quiet.
“That’s right.”
“That’s……”
She could not continue. Her gaze wandered across the desk beyond her glasses.
I made no move to press her. An immediate answer would have been stranger than this silence.
After a long pause, she finally spoke.
“Please give me time.”
“How much?”
“I don’t know. I simply cannot answer right now.”
It was an honest reply. I nodded once.
“Very well.”
“……”
“But remember one thing.”
The princess looked up at me.
“The future you read is largely accurate.”
Her lips parted slightly.
“If it is for the Empire, I will remove Crown Prince Leon. He may find himself in danger during the process.”
Her small hands clutched the book.
“So I would prefer you not take too long to decide. The longer you wait, the more precarious the situation becomes.”
With those words, I rose from my seat. The princess remained seated, as though her legs had lost their strength.
Only then did I offer a formal farewell.
“I shall take my leave, Your Highness. I will await your answer whenever you are ready.”
I opened the door to the reception room and stepped into the corridor. Just before the door closed, I heard the princess’s murmur.
“The throne……”
Outside, I paused for a moment.
‘A little premature, perhaps.’
Removing Leon from the throne might indeed be a hasty judgment. Yet hesitation in such matters only allowed problems to grow larger.
The crown prince I had seen so far was not someone who could bear the weight of the throne. He was a man swayed by Perlin Claire, willing to shake the entire Empire at a single word from her.
Even if I separated Perlin from him, would he remain unblemished? Would he truly hesitate to bring foreign powers into the Empire if she asked?
No, he would not.
In ordinary times, such flaws could have been contained within the Empire. But these were not ordinary times.
The threat of the demons was approaching.
An unstable crown prince upon the throne meant the entire Empire would have to endure danger beneath that instability.
I knew how it ended. The North collapsing, the capital burning. The descriptions from the original novel still lingered in my mind.
To prevent that ending, I had to twist the original story even further. Therefore, Leon had to be replaced.
“……”
Even so, the decision to place Princess Luen on the throne had been somewhat impulsive.
The candidate I had originally considered was not Luen, but the Second Prince who wandered beyond the Empire’s borders.
Yet the more I thought about it, the more suitable she seemed.
Her legitimacy was unquestionable—she carried the blood of the imperial family. Beyond that, she possessed the intellect to identify the Empire’s obstacles and read people’s intentions from mere scraps of information.
The fact that she had tried to separate the protagonist from the crown prince in the original story showed she had more resolve than her appearance suggested.
Most importantly, the princess had never tasted power. That was the greatest advantage from my perspective. How she might change after tasting it was something I could manage from beside her.
Of course, it would be ideal if the emperor who had been praised as a sage king awakened once more, but that possibility was slim.
I exhaled and resumed walking.
It was time to meet the Saint.
#
When I entered the reception room of the detached palace, the Saint was already seated.
Two cups of tea sat cold on the table. He had clearly been waiting for some time.
“You’ve arrived.”
“My apologies. An urgent matter came up.”
“It’s fine. I needed time to gather my thoughts as well.”
I took the seat across from him.
“So, what matter prompted you to request a private meeting? We’ll see each other at the formal conference soon enough.”
“It’s a somewhat personal matter. I wished to speak with you alone.”
The Saint took a sip of tea before continuing.
“Marshal.”
“What is it?”
“Would you listen to my story?”
“I have time for stories.”
“It concerns Lady Perlin Claire.”
“Interesting.”
I set down my cup and looked at him. He hesitated briefly, then spoke.
“In truth, Lady Perlin and I have known each other since childhood.”
I already knew this. It was written in the original novel. They had grown up in the same village, and had parted when Perlin Claire left for the crown prince.
“Before I entered the Holy Kingdom, we lived in the same village for a time. She was very different back then. Quiet, fond of books, selective with people yet sincere to those she grew close to.”
He gazed at the surface of the cooled tea.
“Then, at some point, she changed. I don’t know exactly when. But one day, when I faced her, I realized she was no longer the girl I knew. Same face, yet it felt as though someone else resided within.”
He lifted his eyes from the cup and met mine.
“Much like you, Marshal Berhardt.”
My hand, holding the teacup, paused for a moment.
The Saint’s intuition, is it?
“……”
I could not tell exactly what he knew. He had not reached the concept of possession, surely.
Yet he had noticed the same change in Perlin Claire that he saw in me. He simply had not expressed it as outright hostility.
Suspicion existed, but not enmity.
He had merely pointed out that the two people before him seemed to have changed in similar ways.
Why had he done so?
Probably because he had not yet decided on an answer. He did not know how to accept Perlin’s transformation, nor mine.
“So, what is it you wish to say?”
“I am confused, Marshal.”
“……”
“In truth, she asked something of me yesterday. You can likely guess the content.”
“I can.”
It was obvious. She wanted him to side with the imperial family and keep me in check.
“If the girl I once knew had asked, I would have accepted. But the person sitting before me did not seem like her. So I do not know how to answer her.”
“I don’t care either way.”
It was the truth. No matter how high the authority of the Holy Kingdom and its Saint might be, this was still the Empire. Whichever side he chose, my plans would not be disrupted.
“Do as you wish.”
After a moment of thought, he replied.
“In truth, I don’t want to side with anyone.”
“A wise choice.”
I answered briefly.
“Are you mocking me for not choosing you?”
“No. I mean it.”
I set down my cup.
“I am not so weak that I require your help.”
The Saint looked at me again. His eyes held an inexplicable longing.
“This is the Marshal I remember.”
“……”
“Well, I understand. I don’t know what happened to you, but hearing you say that puts me somewhat at ease.”
“Good. Is that all you wished to say?”
“Yes.”
At his answer, I stood.
“Ah, may I ask one more thing?”
“Speak.”
“What should I tell Lady Perlin? Regarding her request for help.”
A good question.
“Decide for yourself. But delaying your answer is safest. An outright refusal would make her suspicious of you.”
“You mean I should keep an ambiguous distance.”
“Exactly.”
The Saint bowed his head briefly.
“Thank you, Marshal. No matter how much you’ve changed, you still seem to be someone I can rely on.”
“……”
“Just as you were during the Great War.”
That single sentence brought my mind to a halt. Immediately after, Arsens’s memories surfaced.
During the Northern Great War, the Saint I first met had been small—both in height and in hands too small to properly grip a sword. Yet his holy power had been abnormally strong.
In his first battle, when the boy used his holy power, allied soldiers nearby had been swept away by its aftermath. Too much holy power had become poison instead.
After several such incidents, unfavorable rumors began to spread among the troops. Though they could not openly persecute him because of his position as the Saint, the soldiers started harboring hostility toward the small boy.
It was I—or rather, the original owner of this body—who helped him then. With a single strike from a scabbard to the boy’s head, he placed the child beside him. From that day on, the Saint fought at Arsens’s side.
When the Saint unleashed his holy power, Arsens endured the backlash. When he swung his sword, Arsens corrected its trajectory. The Saint seemed to remember those days even now.
Yet the Arsens Berhardt he remembered no longer existed.
The one sitting here was a different person wearing that body. The Saint did not know this.
A strange sense of guilt stirred within me, though I did not let it show.
“……Farewell, Robento.”
At my words, he turned his head slightly. He seemed about to speak, then stopped.
The Saint slowly bowed his head.
“Please be careful as well, Lord Arsens.”
The door closed.
Alone in the reception room, I drank the cold tea.
“Bitter.”
Today, the taste lingered more than usual.