Chapter 377: It's Mine (1)
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 377: It's Mine (1)
Flowers were in bloom.
While the red roses in the garden were still waiting for their day, spring was already in full swing everywhere else. The yellow freesias had withered and fallen before anyone noticed, replaced by a vibrant explosion of colorful blossoms.
It was a season where some welcomed new blooms, others grew accustomed to fresh scents, and still others felt a lingering regret for the flowers that had already passed. But at the training ground of Chermil Palace, a different kind of season was underway.
Clang! Clang!
Clash!
A sound that clashed with the purple petals fluttering in the wind outside echoed through the hall.
Clang!
A thin, ink-black sword plunged from above, only to be blocked by another sword—larger, but the same color. Immediately after, a blue-silver sword, held low as if hidden, thrust upward from below.
The defender held a single blade.
The attacker wielded two.
One might wonder how the defender could possibly block the second sword when he was already occupied with the first. But Kyrie, having parried Franz’s initial strike, solved the problem with a slight twist of his blade.
Clash!
The twisting motion deflected the immense force bearing down on him, causing Franz’s ink-black sword to slip. To be precise, it slid directly into the path of his own second sword.
The black blade fell right on top of the blue-silver one that was thrusting upward. In essence, Franz had just blocked his own attack.
“I thought he would dodge, but he just deflected it.”
“Kyrie doesn’t usually dodge. He almost always blocks.”
“Is there a reason for that?”
“Not really. He just dislikes dodging. It’s a strength, but also a flaw that I find incredibly frustrating.”
Oblivious to the two voices eagerly evaluating their exchange, Franz splayed both arms outward, thrusting his two crossed swords in opposite directions.
Claaaaang!
But that, too, had little effect. Just before the split Sinasta could fly apart, Kyrie’s sword struck the precise point where the two blades crossed.
Franz frowned as his two consecutive attacks were neutralized. Retrieving his swords, he took another step toward Kyrie and lunged. The sword in his right hand aimed for the neck, while the one in his left swung horizontally, as if to slice through the waist.
“…Moving like that will throw off your balance, Your Royal Highness.”
Kyrie’s voice was as calm as ever. Yet, belying his leisurely tone, he moved faster than a single breath.
Shhh… tap!
Clang!
The scrape of a foot on the floor, a light tap, and the loud clash of steel all rang out at once.
In a single fluid motion, Kyrie had stepped aside to dodge the thrust, lightly tapped Franz’s shin with his long leg, and swept the swinging sword away with an upward strike.
The tip of Franz’s sword wavered violently.
“Just like this.”
Kyrie’s movements—dodging, kicking, and blocking—flowed together like water. Franz, overwhelmed, failed to counter any of the three actions. Though he didn’t stumble or fall, his window of attack had completely vanished, forcing him to take a step back.
Seeing this, the spectator spoke again.
“I thought you said he dislikes dodging.”
“…I said he dislikes it, not that he never does it,” Calian answered, looking slightly embarrassed.
Demirea chuckled softly. “Still, Sir Bern is quite something. To actually kick the Crown Prince’s leg.”
“Experience is a better teacher than words. When both your swords are moving independently, it’s obvious you’ll lose your balance if you step like that.”
“Even so, most people wouldn’t dare. I imagine you wouldn’t either, Prince Calian.”
“Of course not. If I kicked him, it wouldn’t end with just that.”
Because my older brother is so weak.
At his added thought, Demirea simply nodded in understanding and turned her gaze back to the training ground. The voices of Franz and Kyrie drifted over to them.
“You mustn’t let your swords drag you around. If one hand thrusts and the other slashes, the application and direction of force will differ, won’t they? In those moments, it’s better to shift your entire body weight onto your feet. Otherwise, your force will scatter, and neither attack will be effective.”
“My younger brother doesn’t seem to do that.”
“Prince Calian has Aura. His movements are fundamentally different from ours. If you recall how the Prince moves with and without Aura, and compare his footwork, you’ll see the difference.”
“I see.”
Nodding quietly, Franz tightened his grip on his twin swords. Seeing this, Kyrie immediately lunged at him.
Clang! Clack-clack, clang!
Clash, clang!
Franz blocked Kyrie’s assault with Sinasta, which had instantly merged into one, then split it apart again as he spun in a wide arc. Kyrie deflected two rapid slashes, parrying the different-colored blades of Sinasta one after the other.
As they exchanged blows, Franz’s eyes narrowed. He hadn’t landed a single effective strike.
Quickly correcting his posture, Franz rushed toward Kyrie with both swords lowered. Then, just as he closed in, he abruptly changed direction.
Whoosh!
Watching the two, the corners of Calian’s mouth curled upward. Demirea, who had been sitting beside him with a relaxed posture, also wore a look of deep interest.
“That won’t work.”
“It won’t succeed.”
After all, abruptly changing an attack’s trajectory right in front of an opponent was Calian’s signature move. It was the tactic Kyrie was most accustomed to facing. For Franz, whose dual swords were heavier and movements slower, attempting to replicate an attack modeled after Calian—who was on another level entirely—was utterly impractical.
“There’s no way he doesn’t know that. What is he planning?”
As if he had heard Calian, Franz’s hands moved rapidly as he closed in on Kyrie’s side.
Click!
The hilts of the ink-black and blue-silver swords connected. Gripping the center of the weapon, now longer than he was tall, Franz threw himself forward.
Whoosh!
Claaaaang! Screeech, clang!
Kyrie’s sharp eyes tracked Sinasta’s every move. He blocked each strike as the weapon spun relentlessly, threatening to pierce him from all directions. Then, at the right moment, Kyrie struck one side of Sinasta’s blade with force and leaped forward, his own sword slicing through the air to close the distance in an instant.
Franz blocked the attack that came right for his face and twisted his upper body. As he did, the blade at the other end of the hilt swung naturally toward Kyrie.
Kyrie slightly lifted his sword, which had been locked with Franz’s blade, and struck down hard once more.
Clang!
The blue-silver blade of Sinasta was driven into the ground. Conversely, the connected ink-black blade was forced upward.
“Don’t lose your balance. Your form is broken again.”
Swish, clang!
With the curt instruction, Kyrie’s sword moved like the wind, striking the raised ink-black blade and sweeping it aside.
Hummm…
A faint vibration from the blade reached Franz’s ears, followed by a heavy thud as the weapon fell to the ground.
Feeling the point of Kyrie’s sword at his throat, Franz nodded. As if acknowledging his absolute trust, Kyrie withdrew his blade.
“I understand.”
“Yes, Your Royal Highness.”
Though Franz had attacked from an unexpected angle with unpredictable strikes, he had only succeeded in exposing his own weaknesses. Yet, he didn’t look discouraged.
After all, Kyrie was already strong enough to fight on equal terms with Ren, the Commander of the Royal Guard. This wasn’t a duel to the death, but a spar to identify his shortcomings. There was no reason to be disappointed.
Sheathing his sword, Kyrie picked up Sinasta, returned it to its twin-blade form, and handed it back to Franz.
Watching them, Demirea spoke. “His movements have gotten much faster. They’re more precise, and there’s more weight behind them.”
“My brother? Or Kyrie?”
“Both. Especially Sir Bern—his skills have improved yet again.”
“True. You have as well, but Kyrie trains with his sword every single day. I feel like we’re not far from seeing more people step onto the Path of the Sword. It’s a good thing.”
“Are you looking forward to it?”
“Of course. Whether you’ll reach it first, or if Kyrie will. And just how far my clever brother will grow. For me, there’s great joy in teaching and watching.”
“…Just how old are you, Prince Calian?”
Calian’s laughter echoed through the quiet training ground. “Why? Do I sound like I’ve lived a full lifetime?”
“Yes. When are you going to consider my position, hearing such things from a fiancé who is the same age? I felt as though my mother were sitting right beside me.”
“My apologies. I’ll be more mindful, my fiancée.”
“I meant you should look forward to your own growth. I didn’t mean for you to watch your words. Isn’t this the age when you should be doing exactly that?”
“Have I ever looked forward to that? I’m not sure.”
Demirea’s expression was disapproving. “I’m not curious about how you lived in the past, Prince Calian. I’m talking about now. You accept your own growth as if it’s a natural, predetermined course, while finding joy in teaching others. Instead of doing that, you should look forward to and care about your own potential. Just because you’ve never anticipated it before doesn’t mean you have to keep living that way.”
“Are you worried about me?”
“I’m nagging you. Because I don’t like seeing it.”
Nodding, his playful smile still in place, Calian said, “If I start holding those kinds of expectations for myself, my fiancée might never see the day she defeats me. Would you be alright with that?”
“I have never been interested in a stationary target.”
His red eyes, now holding only a lingering smile instead of mischief, gazed at Demirea. “My fiancée is so cool, it’s a problem. How am I supposed to call off our engagement later without any regrets?”
“You can worry about that after you finish playing the part of someone’s cat and fulfill all your duties.”
“Even giving up my title as prince?”
“Of course.”
“Then if I come to you wearing a crown instead of a prince’s title, will you accept me?”
“I will accept the annulment papers. Not you, Prince Calian.”
“Wow… Even my prettiest words don’t work on you.”
“Isn’t that why you like me?”
He finally burst out laughing. “True. That is exactly why I like you, Demirea.”
“Yes. I know.”
Nodding with a small smile, Demirea stood up. She pointed to the bandage wrapped tightly around Calian’s hand—the wound he’d “accidentally” given himself when he’d pulled his sword from the wall after threatening Gray.
“Will it heal by tomorrow?”
“Shouldn’t it take at least two more days if I want the rumors to spread properly?”
“With the Blessing and Viscountess Bern here, if your wound took two days to heal, people would be scattering Lenisita leaves in the plaza. Besides, you walked right past the nobles as they were leaving today’s luncheon. The rumors have likely spread far enough. It would be best if it healed by this evening.”
“I suppose I should do that, then.”
“I’ll return tomorrow. As you said, I will bring Dame Hill, and if it’s alright, my mother and Ririe as well.”
“Of course. Anytime.”
An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, and a rumor for a rumor.
The movements of Calian and Franz, Randel’s fiancée, the sibling rivalry over the crown… Calian was creating a new spectacle to drown out the rumors Gray had been so diligently spreading. In a way, it was a second threat.
On the day he returned from the Siegfried territory, Calian had entered the palace perfectly healthy in plain view of everyone, gone straight to Chermil Palace, and hadn’t sparred with anyone since. Yet, a wound had appeared on his hand right after Gray’s visit. The warning was clear: if Gray didn’t want strange rumors circulating about the cause of that injury, he had better stop his games.
A threat didn’t always require someone else’s blood.
“If you think that’s not enough, we could stop somewhere else on my way back.”
“Shall we go look at the flowers, then? Quite a few have bloomed.”
“The roses aren’t ready yet. Besides, the flowers in the royal palace are prettier.” Thinking of the petals fluttering outside the window, Demirea disagreed. She then glanced toward Franz, who was walking over with Kyrie, and said, “Let’s go to Astrisha. There’s no better place for rumors to spread.”
Astrisha Street.
It was a place where nobles gathered in droves at any time of day. Calian hesitated. “I’ve gone to various places while escorting you, but Astrisha feels a bit excessive.”
“It doesn’t matter, as long as you have a pretext.”
“What reason would I have to go there?”
It was true that no place guaranteed a rumor would spread faster than Astrisha. However, Calian had no plausible reason to go there with Demirea.
Without even turning her head, Demirea replied, “The person with a reason is walking over right now.”
“My brother?”
“His Majesty’s Birthday Festival. You and His Royal Highness aren’t the only ones who need to prepare, are you?”
“…Ah. Hina.”
“Yes.”
Before heading to the Siegfried territory for Lemain’s birthday, Calian and Franz had each ordered custom attire. But they weren’t the only ones who needed new clothes. The same applied to Demirea and Hina, who would have to stand by their sides throughout the festival.
Demirea had already summoned tailors to her mansion and ordered several new outfits. Hina, however, had not. Despite receiving a title, she had no estate of her own and still resided in the royal palace, meaning she likely hadn’t been able to summon anyone for a fitting. On top of that, she was undoubtedly too busy to even think about going out.
It wouldn’t seem at all strange for the Crown Prince to personally take his fiancée out to have some clothes made. And it would be perfectly understandable for Calian, who was escorting Demirea anyway, to tag along as their guard.
Grinning, Calian spoke. “As it happens, the most famous boutique in Kairis—thanks to me—is located right there.”
From impeccably neat suits to formal wear adorned with frills, from small ruby accessories to pitch-black cat brooches—no matter what Calian wore, his attire was always the talk of the nobility. And Satin’s boutique, solely responsible for his wardrobe, was on Astrisha Street.
“It’ll be expensive, but my brother’s vault needs to be flung wide open once in a while.”
Our Hina hates charity, so she’ll probably insist on paying herself, but I can just reimburse her later. I should tell her to pick whatever she wants. I wonder what kind of pretty outfit she’ll choose this time. She’s already so outstanding, and now she’s gotten even prettier—I hope she doesn’t attract any more weirdos. She hasn’t even managed to shake off that pale-faced bastard yet. This is a real problem.
A deep worry began to take root in his mind.
*
Naeransha.
The street had an entirely different atmosphere from Astrisha, which was lined with luxury shops and cafes frequented only by nobles or wealthy commoners. Naeransha was a place where markets drew both sight-seeing nobles and shopping commoners, featuring affordable cafes, restaurants, and taverns. Consequently, it was always bustling with large crowds, regardless of social class.
During the evening, Naeransha was packed. Some were doing late grocery shopping, while others enjoyed their leisure after an early dinner.
People in deep hoods were a common sight. Well-known nobles, mages who found public attention bothersome, or simply those who preferred to be covered—hooded figures were so common they drew no special attention.
Bump!
A man in a deep brown hood, walking unnoticed, lightly bumped into someone coming the other way. Brushing off his shoulder, he let out an irritated voice.
“Watch where you’re going.”
“Shouldn’t the one capable of dodging have stepped aside first, Marquis?” came the retort.
At those words, the hooded man, who was about to scowl, froze and slightly raised his head. On second thought, the man had a point. He had been the one to walk into the other person.
The hooded man—Marquis Gray Brissen—glanced around. The numerous passersby paid no heed to their brief exchange. None of them would have caught the word “Marquis.”
“I never made an appointment to meet you.”
“Be precise. It wasn’t that we never made an appointment, but that you unilaterally broke it, wasn’t it, Marquis?”
“I did not break it; I postponed it. Now stop being a nuisance and step aside.”
Gray spoke with clear irritation and tried to walk away. However, the person standing before him took a step and blocked his path once more.
“If things had gone according to plan, you would be informing me of what you discussed with Prince Randel at the palace yesterday. Seeing you moving so busily in a place like this… how could I not be curious?”
“I clearly stated that I would contact you again. Are even you looking down on me now?”
“How could I ever do such a thing?”
The voice of the person before him was filled with mockery.
“Since you are my father, after all.”
Beneath his hood, Gray’s face contorted.
Quickly scanning his surroundings, he raised his head a bit higher. He saw a young man with dark brown hair and green eyes, standing tall with his face completely exposed, as if he had no concern whatsoever about being recognized. Frowning again, Gray spat, “What are you doing here?”
"This is none of your business. Go back before you draw any more attention."
"I refuse."
Declining instantly, the young man leaned closer to Gray. A smirk played on his lips as he spoke.
"Astrisha is in an uproar. The Crown Prince and the 3rd Prince are out with their fiancées, yet here you are, Marquis, skulking around a place like this. How could I possibly be expected to wait quietly?"
Gray's eyes narrowed again.
Just yesterday, Calian had threatened him with a look that could devour him alive, and now his own son had appeared on Astrisha Street.
"I heard the 3rd Prince has an injured hand. Surely you weren't the one to cause it, Marquis? Though, I highly doubt the man you are now could even touch a single hair on his head."
"...What is that supposed to mean?"
"Ah, my mistake. It's nothing."
The remark was clearly intentional, implying he knew Gray was no longer a Sword Master.
Having said his piece, the young man waved a dismissive hand and stepped back. He glanced around before speaking again.
"I'll visit the mansion tomorrow night. I expect you to tell me what happened then, Marquis."
With a lingering chuckle and a slight nod, he turned and vanished into the crowd.
Clenching his fists, Gray stared for a long time at the spot where his son had just stood. If he gave in to his impulses, he would have charged after him to vent his rage, but…
“It seems you don't know when to lie low. Unlike me, and just like Brissen.”
The voice echoing in his mind forced him to a halt.
Franz.
His words were about lying low, about hiding one's true intentions. They were undoubtedly about his relationship with Calian.
What on earth could those hidden intentions be? After a moment's thought, Gray finally tore his gaze from the crowd. He resumed his walk toward the meeting place where the nobles aligned with him—the very counts Calian had explicitly named—were waiting. This time, he made absolutely certain no one was following him.
*
"...And here I thought he was supposed to be in the marquisate."
High on a rooftop some distance away, a figure watched the spot where Gray's son had vanished. Blinking her long lashes, she shook her head. The movement caused a matte buckle on her skin-tight black leather suit to click faintly.
The man who'd intercepted Gray and then disappeared—that had to be his son, right? Though she was too far away to hear their conversation, she had witnessed a scene Calian would find very intriguing.
Her immediate task, however, was to find out what Gray was discussing with the nobles he was meeting in secret. Tailing the Marquis took priority over someone who had already disappeared. She filed the new information away to report to Calian later and stood up, ready to follow Gray.
But just as she took a step—
“Honestly, that's the Marquis's problem. He can't even spot a single rat... and now he's gotten me caught, too.”
An unfamiliar voice spoke from directly behind her.
Eila froze. Something cold pressed against her neck.