Chapter 190
Chapter 190
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 190
Chapter Title: The Princess's Burning Gaze
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“Insight? That’s far too generous a compliment, Your Majesty.”
“Overblown? I never imagined the princess had such a keen eye for people. So please, forget I ever said that earlier.”
“No, it was my failing. I failed to recognize Your Grace, Duke Bartla, the knight of knights. It’s my error, my shortcoming. I’ll wash it away with my sword.”
“I look forward to it, Princess!”
“Yes! Your Majesty!”
‘They’re really hitting it off, aren’t they?’
Eugene watched as Luke and Princess Lilisein exchanged knowing glances brimming with fervent energy, like old friends of a decade. He was at a complete loss for words.
Deep down, Eugene wanted nothing more than to flip the whole table over.
But he couldn’t.
No matter that Luke was his squire, he was now the rightful King of Brantia.
To defy the king’s orders in front of all these watching nobles would be tantamount to outright disrespecting royal authority.
And Eugene, the very man who had placed Luke on Brantia’s throne, couldn’t be the one to do it.
In the end, he had no choice but to accept it.
“Princess Lilisein.”
“Your orders.”
Princess Lilisein shot to her feet. Her movements were so crisp and precise, she seemed less like royalty and more like a soldier. Even the look in her eyes as she faced Eugene was anything but ordinary.
‘Damn it. At least she’s got real skill, so she won’t drag us down.’
“Prepare to march out with Lord Prabo.”
“As you command. Let’s go, Master.”
“Ha! I give up.”
Prabo shook his head ruefully as he followed Princess Lilisein out of the office.
Watching the princess’s back—ablaze with enthusiasm—Eugene finally gave in and turned away, resigned to the situation.
“Phew. Ranslo, what forces do we have ready to deploy right now?”
“Heavy infantry: one hundred. Knights: about twenty, including those here. The Beowulf warriors can all be mustered, minus those sent north. If we need more, we can rally knights and centurions on the way.”
As if to prove his role as supreme commander in Eugene’s absence, Ranslo answered without hesitation.
“And Edmund and Randolph?”
“I’d suggest Lord Edmund for royal guard captain and Lord Randolph for capital defense commander. We’ll need to leave some troops behind, after all.”
“Good. Then we march immediately. Pack five days’ rations and water—supplement on the road.”
“Yes, Your Grace!”
Having stepped in this mess with Princess Lilisein—like stepping in shit—Eugene was determined to scrape it off as quickly as possible.
“Ranslo, the heavy infantry’s yours. Have the knights and Beowulf warriors assembled in one hour.”
“Master, you mean you’ll go ahead first?”
When Luke asked in surprise, Eugene nodded.
“That’s right.”
“But we don’t even know how many Baiman Orcs there are. It could be dangerous, Master.”
The nobles chimed in with their support for Luke’s concern.
“His Majesty is right, Your Grace.”
“We don’t doubt Your Grace or the lords’ prowess, but the Baiman Orcs once dominated these lands as a warrior race.”
“Indeed. It would be wise to march only after full preparations, Your Grace.”
Eugene was an undead noble of the highest order—a vampire who never tired so long as he fed on blood. Heading out right after his return posed no issue for him.
Yet, Baiman Orcs aside, every war demanded thorough preparation.
In that sense, the nobles’ advice wasn’t wrong.
But Eugene was resolute.
“Has anyone here ever crossed blades with Baiman Orcs?”
“Uh...”
“No?”
“N-No, sir.”
The nobles exchanged glances before bowing their heads. Not only they, but even their ancestors rarely had experience fighting Baiman Orcs.
“I’ve fought the Tollo clan—one of the Baiman Orc tribes.”
“Gasp!”
“I-Is that true?”
The nobles knew Eugene had briefly left the capital on some business, but not the details. Their eyes went wide.
Luke and Ranslo nodded in confirmation, leaving the nobles staring at Eugene in shock.
“I’m the only one here who knows the Baiman Orcs’ strength and numbers. You think I’d charge out without a plan?”
“...”
“My lords.”
Eugene swept his cold gaze over the silent nobles and spoke calmly.
“Who do you think I am?”
“...!”
That’s how people are. Even the most familiar faces fade from memory with time apart.
For nobles of such high standing—handling state affairs at the side of a king born after decades—it wasn’t surprising if their noses had gotten a bit haughty without realizing it.
So they’d forgotten, just for a moment.
How this red-eyed man before them had conquered Brantia.
‘R-Right. He’s that Duke Bartla.’
“As Your Grace wills!”
Having witnessed and endured the cruelty of their ruthless sovereign Eugene—and relieved he was now on their side—the nobles prostrated themselves, gripped by ingrained fear and reassurance.
* * *
Leading the knights and Beowulf warriors, Eugene exited through the royal castle’s rear gate.
“Haha! Finally, time to fight again!”
“Yeah! My body’s been itching for it!”
The knights, who’d spent nearly a month resting and training in the castle, were brimming with morale on the verge of exploding.
They’d all been granted lands or manors for their deeds, but these young, hot-blooded knights couldn’t stand lounging in comfort.
Moreover, their invincible leader—the man who’d brought them to this distant land—now stood at their forefront once more.
Knights already addicted to the scent of battle and victory had every reason to follow.
Hiya! Ha! Haa!
The knights’ fervor, unleashed after so long in the city, even excited Princess Lilisein.
“Their spirit! Incredible! They look strong just watching them.”
Riding beside her, Prabo nodded vigorously.
“They’re knights of exceptional skill, Princess. Without aura, you couldn’t pierce their armor or break their blades.”
“And the Beowulfs?”
“Same there. Their plate coats are two or three times thicker and heavier than elven or human knight armor. Even I couldn’t guarantee victory against four or five of those warriors.”
The Beowulf warriors’ renowned martial prowess was well-known even in Elrand. But hearing tales and seeing them were worlds apart.
‘Truly impressive! I’m genuinely awed!’
The moment they left the city, Princess Lilisein watched in admiration as Beowulf warriors shifted into Lycanslope form for scouting.
Her respect deepened for the man who’d united these mighty knights and warriors. Her blazing emerald eyes fixed intently on his back.
“...Princess.”
“......”
“Princess? Heh heh, Princess Lilisein!”
“Eep! Grave lapse. Forgive me, Master.”
Snapped back by Prabo’s rising voice, Princess Lilisein bowed her head in apology.
Prabo, who’d guessed exactly whom she’d been staring at so entranced, sighed.
“Phew! Princess, does Duke Bartla please you that much?”
“Yes, Master.”
Of course—as a fellow knight and warrior!
“Hmm.”
Prabo’s eyes darkened gravely at her instant reply.
He’d known her since birth and trained her in swordsmanship for over twenty years. This was the first time he’d seen Lilisein show such interest in anyone.
‘The princess must become the king’s consort. Things are getting complicated. Heh heh.’
Lilisein had always been an unusual girl.
Even among beauty-renowned elves, her striking looks were legendary—yet she cared nothing for adornment, pursuing only strength.
But that was just scratching the surface of her quirks.
While other princesses raised rabbits, puppies, or songbirds, she’d venture into the mountains to catch kobold pups—because they were just too cute.
While others learned embroidery, she roamed hills and fields, hunting monsters and beasts. Stamina was national power, after all.
Prabo truly cherished this eccentric princess—shunned and whispered about by others, yet gifted with extraordinary sword talent.
That made her burning gaze toward Eugene all the more worrying and poignant.
Still, he had to confirm, so Prabo asked softly.
“Princess. How much do you like Duke Bartla?”
“...!”
Princess Lilisein paused, then replied with even fiercer eyes.
“I want to be by his side.”
Naturally, to fight alongside him for years as a comrade-in-arms!
What greater honor than standing shoulder-to-shoulder with such an outstanding knight in battle?
And guarding Duke Bartla’s side would mean...
“Kyee! Subordinate No. 1, charge! We’re running! Kyeeee!”
Princess Lilisein’s eyes locked on the spirit perched on Silion’s mane, letting out its adorable(?) cheer.
‘I want that child. I want to bite it forever!’
The cutest spirit she’d ever seen—no, there wasn’t even a comparison.
Her breath quickened unwittingly, her eyes heating up. In the end, she blurted out her instinctual desire.
“I earnestly crave ownership.”
“Oh? That much? Ha! Haha...”
Blasphemous as it was, Prabo let out a rueful chuckle upon confirming his beloved princess’s sincerity.
‘They say you can’t gauge mana or justice in him. What to do about this?’
The sword master gazed with pity at the elf princess devouring the knight and his spirit with her eyes.
* * *
“Welcome to Brantia, the land blessed by the guardian spirits, Prince Rokarop.”
“I sincerely thank you for your hospitality, King Krollmarin.”
A direct descendant of the Roman Empire’s emperor held rank equal to other kingdoms’ kings.
It wasn’t formally decreed—just a custom hardened over ancient times.
“Haha! I’ve heard all about Your Majesty’s arduous adventures to claim the honorable throne. Quite the thrilling tale.”
“No need for such praise. It was only thanks to the great spirits of this land watching over us and Duke Bartla’s fine leadership.”
“Oh my! Such humility. And as a knight, Your Majesty’s valor is already legendary.”
“You flatter me.”
Seated side by side, Luke and Rokarop bantered amiably, trading compliments.
The attending knights and nobles stole glances at the pair, murmuring among themselves.
“Hmm. No matter how I look at it, something’s off. Very suspicious.”
Pitamoros—averse to crowds but unable to skip the welcome for an imperial prince as the king’s mage—scrutinized Rokarop and tilted his head.
“Hm? What do you mean?”
Ranslo, seated quietly for the same reason, prompted him. Pitamoros replied without taking his eyes off the prince.
“What else? The prince.”
“Why the prince? Oh, fake?”
Ranslo whispered. Pitamoros shook his head.
“No, his attire and his escort knights’ gear are authentic Roman Imperial style. I spoke to the knights in Imperial tongue earlier—they’re fluent. He’s genuine.”
“Then what’s suspicious?”
“Tsk tsk! What kind of nation is the Roman Empire? Would the emperor’s direct heir visit foreign soil without prior notice? Their court is sticklers for protocol.”
“Now that you mention it... If it’s to celebrate the coronation, advance word is standard. Hmm.”
Ranslo’s eyes sharpened.
“Hmm. In cases like this, the reason narrows to one.”
“Oho. What’s that?”
Pitamoros stroked his lavish beard and smirked.
“That prince is in some big trouble. And nine times out of ten, he came here without the emperor’s permission.”
“What? No way.”
“Tsk tsk! The emperor’s son travels with fewer than ten guard knights and one lone attendant? Even beggar lords of this land bring more entourage. So what does that mean?”
“...!”
Pitamoros flashed a knowing smile at wide-eyed Ranslo.
“Runaway or escape. One or the other for sure.”
(To be continued)