Duty
In a moment when he had no idea how to handle the bishop, Edwin’s actions handed Evan an unexpected opportunity.
This might go more smoothly than I thought.
Evan called to Gareth, who stood behind him.
“Gareth.”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
“I will borrow your sword.”
Even at the unreasonable demand that a knight surrender his blade, Gareth handed it over without a word of protest.
Shiiing.
Sword in hand, Evan wasted no time stepping between Jerome and the massive man.
Swish!
At the exact instant Jerome’s blade drove for the man’s neck—
Kaaang—!
Two swords collided head-on. A metallic shriek that threatened to rupture eardrums slammed through the entire thoroughfare.
It had been a light swing, meant only to sever the throat of someone who could not resist. No killing intent rode the edge. Yet the weight packed into that casual stroke proved the Rose Knights’ commander was no empty name.
Kh…!
The shock raced up the blade, through Evan’s wrist, and into his arm until it felt as if the limb would tear free. Two months of building foundation and packing on muscle had not closed the gulf between him and Jerome. Still, for the stage he intended to create, Evan endured on sheer will alone.
“Y-Your Highness the First Prince?”
“Knight. Sheathe your sword.”
Evan’s voice cracked like a whip across the stunned Jerome.
“Have you forgotten the oath you swore before God and king as a knight? That noble vow to protect the weak and uphold justice—have you truly forgotten it?”
Jerome’s heart plummeted.
The reason he had become a knight: to shield the weak, never compromise with injustice, and guard the kingdom’s people.
Then what in the world am I doing right now…
From behind, watching the bizarre standoff, Third Prince Edwin could no longer contain himself. His face flushed crimson with fury as he bellowed.
“What are you doing?! Cut those siblings’ throats with that sword at once! Defy me and I will strip you of rank for insubordination and throw you into the dungeons!”
At the third prince’s venomous scream, Jerome glanced toward the queen standing behind him. With Evan intervening, following the prince’s will seemed reckless. Yet the queen had no choice either. They had already stepped before the bishop; withdrawing now would only shrink Edwin’s footing. Jerome would have to crush Evan and dispose of the siblings.
The queen’s eyes turned glacial as she gave a single nod.
Jerome squeezed his eyes shut, then opened them again. The crushing weight of reality settled in his gaze.
I… am a knight. I cannot refuse my lord’s command.
A knight’s first oath was absolute loyalty to his liege. Stifling his emotions, Jerome readjusted his grip on the sword.
“…Your Highness, step aside. As a knight, I must fulfill my lord’s order.”
But Evan did not yield. Instead of facing Jerome, he raised his voice toward the golden carriage where the bishop watched everything unfold.
“Great Guide of the Divine! That foolish man’s only crime was born of blood—saving the life of his one and only sister! Though he was discourteous, take pity on this pitiful plight and bestow God’s mercy upon him!”
Inside the golden carriage, Bishop Augustus—chin propped on one hand—let a strange light kindle in his eyes.
“Kh-huh… Khahahahaha!”
A sinister yet booming laugh erupted from within the carriage.
“How delightful. Truly delightful.”
The bishop leaned out the window, serpent-like eyes sliding between Evan and Edwin.
“One speaks of defending God’s nobility and authority. The other speaks of God’s mercy… Neither strays from the teachings of the divine.”
A rare amusement curved his greasy lips into a smile.
“Very well. God always sides with those who prove their own worth. Let the victor of this duel decide. If the third prince’s knight triumphs, we shall behead those siblings and exalt God’s authority. If the first prince prevails, I shall grant God’s mercy.”
Every gaze on the thoroughfare locked onto Evan and Jerome.
In that interval Walter and Gareth hurried to Evan’s side. Walter, who almost never lost his composure, spoke with open alarm.
“Your Highness… to challenge a knight-commander? This is far too reckless.”
“He’s right. Jerome was already campaigning across battlefields when I first took up the sword. Even I cannot guarantee victory against him…”
A duel with a knight-commander. The very words refused to make sense.
Yet Evan merely brushed his falling blond hair back and answered in a low voice.
“Stand down.”
“But, Your Highness…!”
“I have my own plans. Do not make a scene—stay out of the way. That is an order.”
The unyielding command carried the presence of a ruler no one could defy. Walter and Gareth had no choice but to retreat a reluctant step.
In the center of the silent thoroughfare, so quiet even the breathing of the surrounding commoners could not be heard, Evan lowered his sword tip to the ground and faced Jerome squarely.
Jerome’s blade trembled faintly. In the first prince he saw the knight he had always dreamed of becoming. His voice turned mournful as he pleaded.
“…Please sheathe your sword and withdraw. I do not wish to swing my blade at Your Highness any longer.”
It was not mercy—it was the entreaty of a man who did not want to shatter his own dream with his own hands.
Evan answered by raising his sword.
An unyielding figure like a mountain. No compromise lived in those eyes.
“…Haa.”
A deep sigh escaped Jerome as he accepted the inevitable.
Sssh.
He reset his grip and kicked off the ground.
Kaaang! Kang!
As everyone expected, the duel was one-sided. Even Jerome’s light swings left Evan scrambling simply to block. The only reason Evan lasted at all was because Jerome was deliberately holding back.
Thud.
In the endless exchange, the first to fall was Evan, driven past his limit. Strength fled his legs; he sank to one knee, using the sword like a cane to keep from collapsing completely.
Jerome looked down at him and withdrew his blade. Complicated emotion swirled in his eyes regarding the first prince.
He could not understand it. A man who could barely swing a sword, staking his own life to save siblings whose names he did not even know.
“…What are they to you, that you go this far?”
Evan, head bowed and gasping, lifted his face. Exhaustion painted every line of his features, as though he might topple at any second. Yet the blue eyes fixed on Jerome blazed as brilliantly as stars in the night sky.
“Knight. Just as you have your duty as a knight…”
Iron-Blooded Fighting Spirit
You enter the Unbreakable state for a limited time.
Power surged through a body that had reached its absolute limit. Evan began to rise once more.
“This is my duty as royalty of Phanelia.”
“……!”
Duty.
Those two syllables set Jerome’s heart hammering wildly. The third prince he served, Edwin, had never once spoken of a royal’s duty. To him the people were nothing but sacrificial offerings to maintain his own power.
But the first prince before him was different. He was declaring that he would protect the people with his own life.
“Oath-bound knight! You drew your sword by your lord’s command—so fulfill your duty to the utmost. I, too, as the First Prince of Phanelia, shall fulfill mine!”
Demagogue's Stage
“My duty is to protect the nation and its people! My sword may break, but it will never yield!!”
The instant Evan’s cry rang across the thoroughfare, an indescribable tidal wave of emotion rose in the hearts of everyone gathered there.
“Ah……”
An old woman clasped her hands together, trembling as tears streamed down her face.
“His Highness the First Prince… is risking his life for us…”
That soft, tear-choked gasp became a spark that raced outward in every direction. Every commoner’s gaze fixed on Evan’s dust-caked back as he held his sword aloft.
A royal’s duty. A promise to protect the nation and its people. For decades not a single ruler’s lips had uttered such words. The cry kindled fire in the people’s hearts. Strength slowly returned to eyes long downtrodden, and reverence for Evan blazed up like wildfire.
That flame reached even the neutral-faction nobles.
“A royal’s duty…”
Duke Waldstein crushed the hilt of the sword at his waist until it seemed ready to shatter. A man who had spent his entire life fighting for the kingdom on battlefields, he had believed Phanelia already finished. Yet in Evan’s figure he confirmed the kingdom still lived.
Duke Waldstein cast a sidelong glance at Marquis Gregory standing beside him. The marquis watched Evan’s actions as though they were only natural.
Gregory. Was this what you saw? Is that why you, of all people, bowed that stubborn head of yours?
The dying ember in the duke’s chest flared back to life.
King's Narrative
Passive Effect: When facing disadvantageous situations, allies’ fighting spirit and combat power increase.