The Lily Knights
The next morning, Evan headed for the training grounds as always.
His clumsy running was unchanged—but one thing was different from the day before.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
Through Evan's ragged breathing came the heavy stamp of boots.
"Hup, hup. Hoo."
It was Gareth, the giant commander of the knights, running right beside him and matching his stride.
"Your Highness. Your upper body is leaning too far forward. Keep your back straight and look ahead."
"......"
"If your breathing falls out of rhythm, your legs give out first. Two short breaths in, one long breath out. Match mine. Hup, hup, hoo."
He was not merely running alongside. Gareth was correcting Evan's form and teaching him how to keep his breathing steady through the lung-tearing pain. Exactly as it appeared—he had begun helping with the First Prince's physical training.
Hup, hup, hoo.
Evan regulated his breathing as Gareth advised and smiled to himself.
Got him.
It was a victor's smile.
There was a reason Evan had been running himself sick around the training grounds like a madman. Escaping his frail body was part of it—but he had another purpose entirely: turning the knights abandoned at the Lily Palace into his own hands and feet.
At present, Evan had nothing. He had secured the king's person and won over Marquis Gregory, yet he still lacked the military force that would march out and fight at his command. So the first thing he set his sights on was the knight order of the Lily Palace.
Birth and station, friction with superiors, factional strife—men cast out here like trash for their various reasons. But the talent they possessed was no counterfeit.
They may have been discarded here for this reason or that. But they were once selected for the kingdom's knight orders.
Only their passion for the sword had gone cold before a hopeless reality. He could not let talent the kingdom itself had officially recognized rot away like this.
Rather than drag the collars of these passion-cooled dropouts by force, Evan chose to fan the embers still left in their hearts. And his calculation hit the mark perfectly.
"Straighten your back! Just one more lap!"
"Hah, hah... Shut up, Gareth."
Gareth's booming voice and Evan's ragged breaths filled the training grounds. The air among the knights watching the scene began to change.
"...Damn it."
A red-haired knight shot to his feet.
"The First Prince—the one everyone calls incompetent—is out there doing that. Looking like idiots sitting here scratching our asses doesn't look good."
He flung off his outer coat and strode out onto the grounds.
"Hey! Let's go together!"
"Well, hell. Looks like my life's about to get a lot more exhausting thanks to His Highness the First Prince."
One by one the knights rose from where they had been sprawled. They complained with their mouths as if it were a nuisance—but the eyes that approached Evan burned with a passion they had lost long ago.
From that day on, what woke the mornings at the Lily Palace was no longer quiet stillness.
"One! Two! Three! Four!"
Steady footfalls and booming cadence calls filled the training grounds.
At first it was only Gareth. The next day three hesitant knights stood behind him; by the third day half had joined. And around the time a week had passed, behind Evan—without a single man left out—the entire Lily Knights were running the grounds, panting hard.
"Your Highness! Your pace is dropping! Are you giving up?!"
"Sh... shut up... I'll run one more lap... than any of you!"
At the sight of the First Prince clenching his teeth and running on under Gareth's provocation, the knights' eyes burned hotter still. And so the training grounds of the Lily Palace, which had been little better than a dump, transformed in an instant into a field hotter with zeal than any place in the kingdom.
Once he had built a base of physical stamina, Evan demanded swordsmanship training from Gareth in earnest. In a world where being poisoned or assassinated the very next day would not be strange, he needed at least the minimum force to protect himself.
The knights did not go easy on him just because he was a prince. No—more precisely, Evan made them that way.
Crack!
The sound of wooden swords clashing rang out. At the same moment Evan's body was flung to the ground.
"Guh...!"
"Y-Your Highness!"
Startled by the First Prince toppling under the force, Gareth lowered his wooden sword and moved to approach. But Evan raised a hand and stopped him.
"Who... told you to lower your sword."
Both of Evan's hands were already blistered raw; the wooden sword's grip was stained with blood. His limbs trembled faintly past their limits. Yet he used the wooden sword as a cane and forced himself back onto his feet.
"I am not playing at sword-fighting like children. I am thrashing about to survive those who aim for my throat. So I have no need for pity."
"But Your Highness has already reached your limit...!"
"I know the limits of my own body better than anyone! Do not look down on me with that paltry pity of yours!"
At that savage rebuke Gareth clenched his teeth. Any further consideration would be an insult to him.
"Taaah!"
With a rough shout, Gareth's wooden sword came down without mercy. Evan barely managed to parry. Blood ran from the hands gripping the wooden sword. But he did not let go.
At that venom and tenacity the knights held their breath and watched—as if determined not to miss a single detail of the lord they would serve from now on.
Two months of training that felt like hell passed.
Crack!
With a dull sound the wooden sword in Evan's hand flew into the air and clattered to the ground.
"Whew... Let's call it here for today."
Gareth lowered his wooden sword and caught his breath. In contrast to Gareth, who was only lightly winded, Evan—his entire body soaked in sweat—collapsed onto the ground.
The body that two months ago had been so gaunt it seemed a breeze might blow it away now carried decent muscle, and the once-pale skin was beginning to show a bit of color.
"Your Highness. Here are a towel and some water."
Emilia, who had been watching Evan anxiously from one side of the training grounds, approached. Even as she handed over the towel and water, she could hardly believe the reality before her eyes.
Barely two months ago he had been a frail prince who only watched the faces of those beneath him. Behind that First Prince now stood rough knights, breathing hard, their eyes filled with awe. Emilia felt an unnameable chill rise from deep in her chest and hurriedly lowered her gaze.
While Evan rested a moment, Gareth—who had been watching him—spoke with a satisfied smile.
"Remarkable progress in such a short time, Your Highness. I guarantee you won't be getting beaten up wherever you go now. You could handle three or four thugs on your own without trouble."
At his praise the surrounding knights nodded as well. Their eyes were full of respect for the First Prince.
After returning the towel to Emilia and wetting his throat, Evan asked casually.
"Gareth. In your eyes, do I seem to have any talent for the sword?"
At those words Gareth's hearty laugh stopped and his mouth closed. The knights around them also cleared their throats and averted their eyes in unison. At that awkward silence Evan let out a short laugh.
"It's written all over your faces. It's fine—speak freely. I had a fair idea already."
With Evan's permission, Gareth scratched the back of his head and sighed.
"...To be completely honest. Your Highness's talent for swordsmanship is... thoroughly ordinary. Your natural physique is a bit lacking for the path of a knight, and your reflexes leave something to be desired... Plus you started with the sword far too late..."
Gareth hurriedly added, afraid Evan might be hurt.
"But talent doesn't decide everything! With the fighting spirit and tenacity Your Highness has shown, you could someday reach the ranks of a knight..."
"Enough. No need to console me."
There was not a trace of disappointment or anger on Evan's face. He was perfectly calm. All this time swinging the wooden sword, he had been feeling his own limits. From the start, the idea that an extra like Evan would have a master's talent made no sense. So he did not mind in the least.
There's no need for me to become a Sword Master myself.
What Evan wanted was absolute power—not to be the strongest knight on the continent.
It's not that I become a master. I just need to put the masters under my feet.
Of course, lacking talent didn't mean he planned to quit swordsmanship. Training strengthened his weak body and could serve as a lifeline in unexpected situations.
Evan smiled faintly at the knights looking at him with concern.
"You will be the ones cutting down our enemies in my place. What does it matter if my talent for the sword is ordinary? Isn't that so?"
In that single line from Evan, the knight order felt a strong trust directed at them. As if they had made a pact, the knights all placed their fists to their chests and bowed their heads at once.
"Loyalty!"
Looking down at the knights swearing their oath to him, Evan's eyes gleamed.
The foundation is solid. Now it's time to cast off the old shell that has been hanging on me...
He had put his ruined body in order and completely finished tightening control inside the Lily Palace. Now it was time to show his transformed self to his political enemies and those still holding to neutrality.
To throw away the image of the incompetent prince in one stroke, he needed a stage on which to make a dazzling entrance like a protagonist.
Is there no suitable opportunity coming?
Just as Evan was waiting for that opportunity, the stage he had wanted arrived far sooner than he expected.