Chapter 142
Chapter 142
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 142
Chapter Title: A Prince's Grudge
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“Gather ‘round, everyone, pay attention! I have an incredible story to share with you all today!”
A man was shouting at the top of his lungs on a city street corner. Just as a woman in a robe was about to walk past the murmuring crowd gathered around him, his next words caught her attention.
“I stand before you today because I personally witnessed the magnificent exploits of the Empire's greatest genius! The one and only ‘Black Prince’ in the War of the Roses!”
At the mention of that name, the woman’s steps halted for a moment. She turned her head. The man was a street storyteller, a traveler who made a living by picking up rumors on his journeys and embellishing them for an audience.
“You’d best look forward to the tale I’m about to tell. After all, there can’t be many people in this city fortunate enough to have witnessed the fierce, bloody battle between the Holy Sword Master and the Black Prince up close!”
“Did you really see the two of them fight?”
“I most certainly did! It was when I happened to be treading the lands of the Lancaster Duchy, following the stars! Ahem, ahem.”
The storyteller paused dramatically. A few people in the crowd took out some copper coins from their pouches and tossed them into the basket in front of him. Only then did the storyteller clear his throat again and raise his voice like an actor.
“Ahem, so, as for that bloody battle, it took place while thousands of knights from both York and Lancaster were in a standoff! It was then! The two men stepped forward onto the open field as representatives of their armies for a fair, one-on-one duel…”
His voice, vividly describing the wartime scene, made people flinch in fear or clap their hands, completely drawn in.
A storyteller’s job is to sell stories—the most enchanting and immersive tales that will sell best. And in the eyes of the ‘Storytellers’ Guild’ he belonged to, there was no surer ticket to success than the heroic tales of the ‘Black Prince’.
But for the woman, it was nothing new.
The tales of gossips were always exaggerated, and she was tiredly familiar with ‘Dale’s reputation’ spreading with each new layer of embellishment.
“A clash unfolded where he didn't yield an inch against the sword of the Holy Sword Master, one of the Seven Swords of the Continent! It was a collision so intense that the heavens and the earth trembled, and thousands of soldiers held their breath!”
Soon, a crowd so dense there was no room to stand had gathered. From among them, the woman quietly turned to leave, hiding her crystal-colored hair under her hood and leaving behind an inexplicable longing that pierced her heart.
***
At that same time, in the northern Demon Territory.
Two scions of the imperial bloodline had set foot on this land for the cause of the ‘Grand Alliance Against Demons,’ a banner officially raised by both Sachsen and Lancaster.
“You have truly made a difficult journey to such a humble place.”
The Viscount of Sachsen, who governed the Demon Territory alongside his father, Duke Sachsen, spoke.
“As this is a military fortress my father erected against the demonic threat, which I then expanded into my own castle, I ask for your understanding, though it may be somewhat plain…”
“Ah, say no more.”
But before Dale could finish, the 7th Prince, Modred, interrupted.
“There’s no need for a lengthy explanation. I can see for myself that it’s a humble and unremarkable castle.”
“…Is that so.”
Dale bowed his head, unfazed by the incredibly rude demeanor.
“Rather, why do you think I have personally graced this backwater corner with my presence?”
Just then, Modred stopped in his tracks and turned his head toward Dale.
“I wanted to see for myself the talents of the ‘Black Prince,’ whom the fools of this country drone on about so tiresomely. What do you say, so overwhelmed with gratitude you don’t know what to do with yourself?”
“I am indeed overwhelmed with gratitude.”
“Then bring out what you have.”
“…Bring out, you say? What do you mean?”
“You have to ask? Your sword.”
Modred’s hand moved to the hilt of the sword at his waist as he spoke.
“Or was it not a sword? Magic, artifacts, whatever the hell else, I don’t care. Just bring it all out.”
*Shing.*
Before Dale could even respond, the prince’s sword, hanging diagonally from his sword belt, flashed. A momentary silence fell. Even the famed Black Prince could not hide his bewilderment at such a brazen and stubborn attitude.
“…”
Dale remained silent, not answering. In the silence, his artifact, the ‘Shadow Cloak,’ began to stir.
“Hoh.”
“I shall obey the prince’s command.”
As his Shadow Cloak billowed, Dale drew his jet-black magic sword, framing the act as reluctant obedience to an order.
“Good. Now, get these obstructions out of the way.”
Modred said, readjusting his grip on his sword hilt. Understanding his meaning, Dale glanced at the people around them and gestured with his head.
On the spot, people from both sides retreated, leaving Dale and the prince facing each other with swords in hand. Dale glanced at the 5th Princess, Kiara. In stark contrast to her earlier attempt to restrain her brother's rudeness, she now stood silent with a cold expression.
“You’d better pray that your title as the Empire’s greatest genius isn’t a lie.”
Modred spat coldly.
“Because I won’t be held responsible if your head goes flying off.”
“Why are you going this far?”
Dale asked in return, his tone bold and unyielding.
“His Majesty sent Your Highnesses, the Prince and Princess, for the sake of the Grand Alliance Against Demons, and by extension, for the cause of Sachsen and Lancaster, did he not?”
“Yes, and the genius of Sachsen, who holds that proud, damn cause…”
Just then, Modred readjusted his grip on his sword hilt and spoke.
“Do you know what you did to my one and only master?”
At those words, Dale momentarily held his breath.
“You tore his tendons to shreds, destroyed his Aura Heart, and to top it all off, spread false information that he was rescued by that idiot Phillip… You held him captive, tormenting him throughout the entire War of the Roses.”
Finally, the source of the hatred he harbored for Dale became clear.
However, Dale had already resolved to take responsibility for the Holy Sword Master’s fate the moment he broke his holy sword.
“And as it happens, the murderer of my master, who deserves to be torn limb from limb, is standing right before me.”
Though he had never imagined the consequences would arrive in this manner.
“…Is that not what war is?”
Dale answered coolly.
“War is killing before you are killed, and taking the most you can before you do the killing.”
He made no effort to hide the ruthlessness and cruelty of the ‘Black Prince’ that people whispered about.
“Every soldier who dies on the battlefield has parents and children waiting for them, perhaps friends or a spouse as well. Yet, when they swing their swords, none of them hesitate by thinking of the enemy soldier’s family.”
“…”
Modred remained quietly silent.
“No matter how wonderful and respected a master the Holy Sword Master was to Your Highness, Prince Modred—”
It was at that moment. Before Dale could finish his sentence, Modred kicked off the ground and charged.
*Clang!*
Blades clashed. Yet, against Modred’s swinging sword, Dale did not draw his own.
“…!”
Instead, his swirling Shadow Cloak shot out like a spike, aimed directly at Modred.
Had he been a millimeter closer, the deadly blade would have pierced his retina and blinded him.
“How dare you be so insolent to His Highness the Prince!”
Seeing this, the Iron Cross Knights all drew their swords at once. Simultaneously, Sachsen’s Night Raven Knights also drew their blades. The air in the hall grew chillingly tense, and a feather-like silence descended.
A standoff on a knife’s edge unfolded.
“Everyone, would you please stop this at once.”
Into that utterly murderous atmosphere, Lord Black finally broke his silence and spoke.
“Do you think you can get away with laying a hand on His Highness’s sacred person!”
One of the Iron Cross Knights shouted at Lord Black, to which Lord Black replied.
“Did you not hear me?”
“…!”
At the same time, the scenery of the grand hall began to be submerged in darkness.
From within the darkness, arms stretched out. The Iron Cross Knights, bewildered, tried to swing their swords, but the ‘arms of darkness’ were faster, seizing their bodies.
“Aaaargh!”
The knight who had shouted at Lord Black began to scream. An arm of darkness was now crushing his ankle. His armor crumpled, the bones in his ankle broke, and his flesh and bone twisted like a corkscrew.
At a glance, the scene was not so different from Dale’s Shadow Cloak. But one could tell. The quality of the darkness was different. A gluttonous, greedy blackness that seemed poised to devour all the light in the world was swallowing the area.
“As I said, that is enough.”
The voice echoed again. It was quiet, yet imbued with an authority that could not be defied.
Even before the imperial prince and the Empire’s finest knightly order accompanying him, there was not a hint of unsteadiness.
“Dale, withdraw the Shadow Cloak.”
“Yes, Father.”
Dale, too, disarmed without hesitation. Before him stood Modred, now caught and struggling in the arms of shadow.
“Prince Modred.”
Lord Black turned his head toward Modred.
“Lord Black, release me at once!”
“Even if you are of the imperial bloodline, do not think that reason alone will excuse all forms of disrespect.”
“What… what did you just say!”
“I mean exactly what I said.”
Lord Black replied.
“This is my domain, and my son is here as my representative, carrying out his duties.”
“And who do you think granted you that domain!”
“His Majesty, the Emperor of the Empire.”
Lord Black answered. There was not a trace of hesitation in his voice.
“And as a Duke of the Empire, I possess the right of Immunity, which allows me to take lawful measures to protect my domain. Not even the imperial bloodline is an exception.”
*Flutter!*
Several crows suddenly took flight from behind him, inside a hall where no such birds should have been.
Black feathers scattered as Lord Black continued to speak dispassionately.
The air in the vicinity froze. What now swirled inside the hall was a biting chill and the fear of death.
“I am well aware that Your Highness, Prince Modred, held the Holy Sword Master as close as ‘a true father’ and deeply respected him as a master.”
“…!”
As Lord Black’s calm words continued, Modred’s expression froze.
“That matter and this one are, strictly speaking, separate.”
Lord Black continued impassively. As one who knew an imperial secret that even Dale was unaware of, it was as if he was fastening an inescapable leash around Modred's neck.