Duke Waldstein
“That bastard! What the hell does he think he’s saying! Jerome! What are you doing! Tear that filthy mouth of his open right now!”
The Third Prince Edwin’s voice from behind had long since left the realm of a tantrum; it was closer now to the howl of a monster.
He felt an instinctive, visceral rejection of the spirit Evan radiated and of the fervent popular will surging toward him.
Yet Jerome’s ears no longer registered a single word of Edwin’s ranting. Every one of his senses was locked upon the figure standing before him.
Jerome felt his heart hammer the way it had the first day he ever closed his fingers around a sword hilt.
In the First Prince standing unshaken upon the earth, he finally understood what a true sovereign looked like.
Ahh…
Though they faced each other as enemies, the knight’s soul that had long lain dormant inside his chest had already dropped to one knee before the man in front of him.
It is an honor, Your Highness.
Jerome offered that silent salute. Then he raised his sword in earnest.
This was no longer a matter of obeying an order. It was the highest courtesy a knight could pay to the one who had reawakened his soul.
“With this, I will put an end to our duel. Your Highness!”
Shuaak—
Jerome’s blade carved the air. Every last ounce of his being rode that single stroke as it crashed toward Evan.
Sensing the ominous shift in the sword’s flow, Evan wrung out every remaining drop of strength.
“Come, knight!!”
Their blades met head-on.
Kaaang~~!
A thunderous crash rang out; sparks blossomed where the two swords clashed in midair. Everyone present prayed desperately for Evan’s victory.
But an Evan who won belonged only to the dreamlike tales of heroes in storybooks. Cold reality was nothing like those stories.
Kwajajak!
Jerome’s sword sheared Evan’s blade cleanly in half. The shock that traveled up the broken steel hurled Evan’s body across the ground.
Kuuung.
He rolled. Dust billowed up, and then absolute silence descended.
“……”
Jerome could not bring himself to look properly upon the ruined form of the prince lying before him. He stood motionless with his eyes shut like a man who had committed a crime.
Through the hush, murmurs began to rise.
“…Huh? Huh?”
“C-could it be…?”
“H-he’s moving!”
Something stirred inside the dust cloud. Moments later the haze cleared, and the murmuring had already become a roar of cheers.
“H-he’s up! The First Prince has risen again!”
“Waaa!!”
“Long live the First Prince!”
Cries of stunned joy erupted from the people. At the sound, Jerome opened his eyes.
“…Ah.”
A breathless gasp escaped his lips.
How… can he still stand with a body like that?!
Even if the empty-headed Third Prince screamed for Evan’s death, Jerome could never kill him in front of so many eyes. Yet he had still needed to win the match, so at the final instant he had carefully moderated his strength, intending only to end the fight without dealing a fatal wound. The impact should have been enough to crack several ribs without surprise.
And yet Evan had risen again, broken sword still clenched in his fist.
Beneath that proud exterior, however, Evan’s body was exactly the wreck Jerome had expected.
Kugh… Even breathing hurts… This is truly the limit…
The bodily sensations that had vanished under the Unyielding state were flooding back. Evan had no time left.
What matters most on any stage is the beginning and the ending. The opening had been perfect—but if he failed to deliver a fitting close, the entire stage he had so carefully built could become worthless.
Evan tried to lift the shattered sword hilt.
Tuk.
“……?”
In that instant his vision drowned in black. The moment Unyielding vanished, every scrap of pain and exhaustion that had been forced past its limit crashed over him in a single crushing wave and swallowed him whole.
In the bedchamber that belonged to the master of the Lily Palace—a place long left unvisited—guests had finally arrived: Marquis Gregory, called one of the pillars of the kingdom, and Duke Waldstein, the Commander-in-Chief.
The two men looked down in silence upon the sleeping Evan. At the end of their gazes, Emilia carefully wiped the prince’s face with a damp cloth.
Watching the deeply sleeping figure, Duke Waldstein at last broke the quiet and asked Walter beside him in a low voice.
“Walter. How is His Highness’s condition?”
Walter bowed from the waist.
“Thanks to the blessing bestowed by His Excellency the Bishop, there is no serious harm to his noble person. He has simply expended his strength beyond all limit and fallen into a deep sleep. He will awaken the moment he recovers.”
“Hmph. A blessing from the gods, is it.”
The snort left Waldstein’s nose the instant Walter finished speaking.
“They start the fire and then hand out the medicine. His Highness the First Prince was reduced to this because of the mess those bastards caused, and now they dare put on airs. One must give the Church credit for their cunning.”
It was a dangerously blunt mockery of the Church’s hypocrisy. Marquis Gregory’s brow furrowed at once; he spoke in a low, urgent tone.
“Duke, mind your tongue. Have you forgotten how many ears listen inside the palace?”
“Hmph. What do I care.”
Waldstein turned his head away with another snort, the very picture of his blunt, unyielding nature.
After watching him for a moment, Marquis Gregory sighed and addressed Walter and Emilia.
“Would the two of you leave us for a while?”
“As you command, Your Excellency the Marquis.”
Walter quietly led Emilia from the room.
Click.
Once the door closed and only the two remained, Gregory asked in the familiar voice of an old friend.
“Just what has you so furious, Waldstein?”
At the question the duke’s rigid face finally softened; he poured out the long-held bitterness that had sat heavy in his chest.
“Did you… know from the very beginning?”
“Know what?”
“About His Highness the First Prince.”
Waldstein’s eyes settled on the sleeping Evan.
“Everyone knew of His Highness’s incompetence. Yet what we saw that day—what in the world was that? That was never the prince of the rumors. Which means His Highness has been deceiving the entire world all this time… Tell me the truth. Have you been deceiving the world together with him from the start?”
The question carried the sting of old friendship betrayed. Marquis Gregory gazed for a long moment at Evan’s peaceful face before answering quietly.
“Deceiving? What nonsense is that… In a way, I am a victim myself.”
“A victim?”
“You remember the incident not long ago in front of His Majesty the King’s bedchamber… The truth is…”
“…Is that really true?”
When the full story was told, Duke Waldstein’s face drained with shock. Then a deep sigh heavy with apology left him.
“…I’m sorry, Gregory.”
“Hm? What reason do you have to apologize to me?”
When the marquis asked in genuine puzzlement, Waldstein scratched the back of his head and confessed with a bitter smile.
“When I first heard that story I thought exactly the same as everyone else—that you were using the First Prince as a puppet to seize the kingdom’s power for yourself. I cursed you in my heart for having fallen, and I kept my distance. I should have trusted my friend to the end…”
“Hahahaha!”
Gregory’s hearty laugh left Waldstein looking sheepish. The marquis wiped the tears that had gathered at the corners of his eyes and shook his head.
“It’s all right, my friend. Your misunderstanding was actually fortunate. In fact, I acted precisely so that the entire world would believe that. Hahaha.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“His Highness made a request of me.”
“A request?”
Marquis Gregory recalled a gaze still unforgettable—noble, brilliant, and pure.
“‘Give me time. Time to reclaim the authority of the First Prince that was cast into the dirt, time to reclaim what is mine.’ That is what he said. What else could those words mean? That he himself, as First Prince, intends to purge the worms that have been devouring the kingdom.”
“……”
Waldstein stood as though a massive hammer had struck him square on the skull. Silence stretched for a long while. Then something decisive kindled in his eyes.
Sss.
He straightened his clothes and strode toward the bedchamber door.
Startled by the sudden movement, the marquis called after him urgently.
“Where are you going this instant?”
Still gripping the door handle, Waldstein only half-turned his head to answer.
“To fulfill my duty.”
“Duty…?”
His eyes blazed as he spoke the next words.
With that single declaration, Commander-in-Chief Duke Waldstein left the bedchamber without a moment’s hesitation.
Thud.
The sound of the closing door seemed to announce a new oath between lord and vassal.
“Heh heh heh… Duty, is it…”
Watching the departing back, a quiet smile curved Marquis Gregory’s lips.
“Then I too shall take my leave to fulfill my own duty. Your Highness.”