Drawing the Sword
The moment the Holy Empire’s golden carriage passed through the outer gates of the Phanelia Kingdom, a roar of welcome rose so loud it seemed ready to tear the royal capital apart.
The central avenue stretched on without end. Armed kingdom knights and soldiers lined both sides of it, forming a long human wall. Behind them, the people of Phanelia packed every available inch of space.
“Oh…! O God!”
“Please, bestow Your blessing upon this humble land…!”
“Grant us Your blessing!”
Crowds had poured in from every direction at the news that a bishop of the Empire was visiting the kingdom. To a people ground down by poverty and disease, a bishop—a guide of the divine—was nothing less than a savior descended from the heavens.
At the people’s desperate cries for the bishop, the procession came to a brief halt.
Creeeak.
For the first time, the door of the golden carriage opened, and Bishop Augustus appeared with a kindly expression. He rolled up the sleeves of his white priestly robes, slowly extended a hand toward the open air beyond the door, and began to murmur words no one could understand.
Ssshhh.
A radiant light gathered at the bishop’s fingertips. The cheers of the people watching that light twisted at once into screams that bordered on frenzy.
“Waaaaaah!”
“He’s given us the blessing! His Grace has heard our prayers!”
“Glory to the Holy Empire! Glory to Bishop Augustus!”
Thousands—tens of thousands—of people dropped to the ground as one at the single gesture of a single man. Watching them, Evan let out a silent sneer.
A blessing that is nothing but sleight of hand, and the fanatics who are blind to it…
Evan’s blue eyes grew still. The light the bishop had shown was indeed sacred power. But it was not a blessing bestowed upon the people. All he had done was make his hand shine brightly. The idea that a bishop who thought only of his own safety would waste precious sacred power on the commoners of this backwater was absurd from the start.
That aside… what am I supposed to do with this greedy pig…
As the people’s reaction made clear, the gap between himself and the bishop at this moment was the difference between heaven and earth. Rather than searching for a way to confront the bishop, it would be faster to find a way to survive in his grasp. Evan’s mind began to spin at high speed.
Just as his thoughts were about to sink deeper—
“Huh? Wh-what…?”
“W-what is that?!”
A commotion erupted among the crowd.
Thud! Thud! Thud!
Footsteps like a moving boulder boomed across the street. Soldiers in heavy armor toppled like reeds, and through the gap they left, a single enormous shadow burst forth.
Even at a rough estimate, the figure stood well over two meters tall. The first to react to the giant’s appearance were the Empire’s Holy Knights.
Clang! Chiiing!
“Ambush! Protect His Grace the Bishop!”
Holy Knights in pure-white armor drew their swords in an instant and barred the giant’s path. Keen blades from every direction leveled at his throat and heart. It was a situation in which his limbs could have been carved apart at any second—yet the man who had charged out simply stood there, frozen and stupidly still. Then, with a heavy thud, he dropped to his knees on the ground.
Not a shred of murderous intent could be felt from the giant of a man. Evan studied the kneeling figure carefully. For all that mountain of a body, the face covered in grimy streaks still looked boyish. The eyes beneath the thick brown hair were clear, yet at the same time unfocused and dull, as if the light behind them had gone out.
And what truly caught Evan’s gaze was the small shadow cradled in the man’s arms.
A girl who looked about ten years old was held against the man’s thick forearm. Her condition was wretched. Her complexion was corpse-pale, and the thin thread of her breathing looked ready to snap at any moment.
So he blocked the road because of that child.
Evan’s guess was correct. Even with the Holy Knights’ cold blades aimed at his life, the massive man seemed to know no fear; he simply pressed his huge hands together toward the bishop’s carriage and began to beg with desperate urgency.
“M-my little sister… sh-she’s dying… hic.”
The voice was thick and stumbling. Fat tears the size of beans rolled from the man’s large eyes and splattered on the ground.
“P-please… save my little sister… s-save her. Urgh…… p-please……”
Evan’s eyes narrowed at the sight.
He is not whole.
His intelligence was so low that he did not even understand what he was doing. He had probably thrown himself in front of the procession with nothing more than the single thought that if he reached the bishop, his little sister might be saved. But it was a reckless act. As Evan had already noted, to the bishop and the clergy, the poor were not objects of salvation.
Exactly as Evan expected, the merciful smile that had graced Bishop Augustus’s face only moments before vanished without a trace as he looked down at the man. In its place sat pure disgust and displeasure.
Sensing the bishop’s mood, Count Carlyle’s face went white as he shouted.
“Y-you filthy vermin! How dare you bar the way?!”
A disaster of this scale on the very first day of attending the Empire’s bishop—if he handled it poorly, his own head might fly. And someone who saw this grave crisis as a chance to shine was already watching with gleaming eyes from behind the carriage.
The Third Prince. Edwin Edriger.
Edwin crowed inwardly with delight. He was the one who had had the initiative snatched from him so neatly in front of the castle gate by Evan and had lost face for it. Watching Evan march along so full of himself at the bishop’s side had twisted his guts until he thought he might die—and now the perfect opportunity to vent that frustration had appeared.
Before anyone could stop him, Edwin broke from the ranks and strode boldly forward.
“Edwin?! What do you think you’re—”
The queen tried desperately to intercept the Third Prince’s sudden move, but she was already too late.
“You filthy, lowborn scum! How dare you stand in the path of His Grace the Bishop!!!”
Edwin’s sharp rebuke rang out across the avenue. As he passed Evan he lifted his chin with deliberate insolence.
“Brother. To serve as escort to His Grace the Bishop, a guide of the divine, and yet fail to control even a single lowly commoner, forcing us to commit so great a discourtesy—truly, it is pathetic beyond measure!”
It was a transparent ploy: to pin the incompetence on Evan and seize the initiative once more. Edwin bowed toward the carriage that held the bishop and raised his voice.
“Your Grace! On behalf of the royal house of Phanelia, I offer our deepest apologies for this unsightly incident! And as for that lowly traitor who has defiled the sacred procession—I shall execute him at once and restore the authority of God!”
Edwin’s gaze sought someone out. Jerome, commander of the Rose Knights who answered directly to the Third Prince.
“Jerome!”
“…Yes, Your Highness the Third Prince.”
Jerome stepped forward with a rigid face.
“What are you waiting for?! Cut off the head of that filthy, lowborn creature who dared to block His Grace’s path and mock the sacred rite—do it now!”
At Edwin’s cruel order, gasps and stifled screams burst out all at once among the commoners. In truth, the people knew exactly who the giant of a man and the child in his arms were. They were an orphaned brother and sister, abandoned without parents, who had clung to each other day after day just to survive on the cold streets. The older brother was massive, yes—but so gentle he could not harm even a stray cat that crossed his path. And now that act of trying to save his sister was to be punished by death.
“Oh no… that fool Garon. He’s going to die…”
“No… just for something like this…”
“Shh! Be quiet! If we get mixed up in this, we’ll die with them!”
They knew the giant of a man had committed a serious offense. They did not believe it was a crime that deserved death. But they could not say so aloud. No one wanted to stick their neck out for someone else’s trouble and die for it. They simply squeezed their eyes shut and offered silent prayers for the pitiful siblings.
Shiiing.
Jerome’s sword left its scabbard at his hip.
“……”
Sword in hand, Jerome walked toward the weeping giant.
“S-save her…. M-my little sister….. my little sister. Save her…. khh-hic.”
Looking at the girl in the man’s arms and the man himself wailing so pitifully, Jerome’s eyes wavered. A wave of self-doubt crashed over the years he had spent forging himself into a knight.
Is this truly the path I sought…?
What Jerome had dreamed of was certainly not this. Yet he could not refuse. He was the Third Prince’s knight—his sword. A lord’s command was absolute.
“…If you must resent something, resent your own inadequacy and this cruel fate.”
Jerome raised his blade high.
Whiiish.
Jerome’s sword plunged mercilessly toward the man’s nape.
“Khh!”
“Kyaaah!”
The people shut their eyes against the massacre that was about to unfold. Yet contrary to everyone’s expectation, Jerome’s blade never found its mark.
Clang!
With the ring of steel on steel, Jerome’s sword stopped dead in midair.
“…..?!”
Jerome’s eyes locked on the second blade that had blocked his own—and then on the one who held it. He could not help but startle. The last person he had expected stood right in front of him.
“…Your Highness the First Prince?”
The one who had intercepted Jerome’s sword and saved the siblings was none other than the First Prince, Evan Edriger.