The Weight of a Tiny Yet Enormous Ambition
Ruang Caesar's swordsmanship was soaring rapidly into the heavens.
Of course, this did not mean it was literally piercing the sky.
Here, the sky represented the Imperial Guard Knights.
If he could truly harmonize with them, the average knight across the continent would be defeated.
—Keng!
Ruang caught the trajectory of the opponent's longsword with the flat of his own blade in his left hand.
A twisting pain shot up his arm, but he held firm.
The **God's Blessing** was truly convenient.
It didn't hurt.
Yet it never broke.
In the past, his body could not keep up with this power.
It was like a baby elephant that had grown too big and still couldn't scratch its own nose properly.
But everything had changed now.
The blessed body grew accustomed to the power with use.
The opponent knight immediately dove into Ruang's embrace.
It was a perfectly rational judgment.
Ruang wore only light clothing.
His foe was clad in thick plate armor.
Moreover, no mana flowed through Ruang's sword at all.
Under these conditions, even scraping the surface of the armor would simply bounce off.
Additionally, the knight wielding the longsword had the advantage in close-quarters combat compared to Ruang.
The double swords Ruang wielded might look impressive from a distance, but up close they became quite awkward.
With swords in both hands, swinging, twisting, or pulling suddenly became imprecise.
So Ruang solved it in the simplest way possible.
He kicked.
—Thud!
The knight was pushed back a full step.
Swordsmanship was not merely about swinging a blade.
Fists flew. Bodies collided. Wrestling-like techniques were applied.
When both sides grew exhausted and lost strength, sometimes it was faster to let go of the sword and grapple.
For someone in full armor, twisting the neck or arm was far easier to subdue than waving a sloppy, weak sword.
—Hah...
The knight, pushed back, gripped his longsword with both hands and brought the point down in a vertical strike.
Ruang raised his blade near his shoulder and thrust straight forward.
Clang!
The edge scraped upward, and the opponent's sword slid off.
The blade nicked his ear, tearing a shallow cut.
It stung, but it didn't matter.
On the contrary, that exact moment was the opening.
Ruang drove the tip of his sword into the gap of the armor.
—Kyah...! Hoo, hoo... I surrender.
A roar of applause erupted.
“Long live His Highness Prince Ruang Caesar!”
“Magnificent battle!”
The knight accepted defeat without hesitation.
Ruang wiped the blood at the corner of his ear with the back of his hand.
The wound was already almost healed.
Duels with the Imperial Guard Knights had clearly been beneficial.
But he still had not been permitted to properly wrap himself in mana.
One mistake and his neck could simply fly off.
Ruang had honestly been a little curious.
‘Even if my head were cut clean off, it would regrow, right?’
Yet no one would ever let him actually test that curiosity.
He ground his dulled blade a few times on a whetstone, then sheathed it.
At that moment, a servant he did not recognize approached.
Looking at the uniform, he was not from the Imperial House.
A retainer from another noble family.
“Prince Ruang, a letter has arrived.”
Ruang checked the sealed wax seal first.
[From Marquis Andes Lascaci, to Prince Ruang Caesar.]
“So the Lascaci Marquis sent it. Do you wish an immediate reply?”
“If you could have it sent quickly, I would accept it.”
“Understood. Wait outside.”
Ruang tore open the envelope and read the contents.
Then he gave a small snort of laughter.
“Take a look at this?”
In one sentence, it could be summarized like this.
“Wants me to take on the villain role.”
Politics has always had a pro-wrestling side to it.
They pretend to tear each other apart until a real benefit appears, then they clasp hands.
Even in medieval fantasy, it was the same.
They fight, cooperate, then fight again.
But this time it was a little more venomous.
This was not simply a handshake; it required Ruang to act like a true raider.
He had to make it appear as though he had forcibly seized the Emperor's direct domain in the northeast, as if by force.
That would give Manuel's faction a legitimate reason to reclaim it later.
Land given out of goodwill by the Emperor is hard to take back later.
But land seized by force is different.
It becomes a right that must be reclaimed someday.
In other words, right now Ruang had to become the excessive, raging villain.
And thanks to that villainous act—
The Rosefield family would gain a vast territory,
The Empire would gain a future pretext to shake things up,
And Manuel could simply yield for now and preserve his future.
It was a thoroughly aristocratic and cunning game.
Ruang set the letter down on the table and tapped it with his fingers.
The problem lay elsewhere.
‘This is going to make my workload explode.’
Acquiring land was good.
Gaining power was not bad either.
But to actually consume that power, people had to move.
Even if the Rosefield family were extremely competent, they could never absorb an entire direct domain in one go.
Furthermore, the land originally belonged to the Emperor's direct authority.
Central authority would never let distant provincial lords bow to it.
Who would have to step forward, then?
The one carrying the Emperor's blood—himself.
Ruang felt his head already throbbing.
Taming the wildmen of the northeast, solidifying the direct domain, blackmailing the stubborn nobles, reorganizing administration.
This was the exact opposite of the life he wanted.
What he wanted was not power.
It was rest.
A comfortable, free life.
The freedom only a royal bloodline could possess, yet the most difficult to obtain.
So he did not want to lose it.
Ruang muttered quietly.
“I want to live comfortably until the end.”
That was the truth.
*****
One week later.
In the reception room of Ruang Caesar's estate, the three people who had once been entangled were gathered again.
“Hello, Your Highness Ruang. And Lady Angela.”
“Hello! Bianca, it's been a while.”
Bianca greeted politely, yet slyly checked Ruang's eyes.
The terror had not yet completely faded.
The memory of being swung around at the banquet, grabbed by the waist in the garden, and shaken by his low voice.
It was not easy to erase.
On the other hand, Angela was as bright as ever.
She looked as though she had not a single thought in her head.
She greeted Bianca like an affectionate puppy.
The subtle, dangerous atmosphere that had once swirled between Ruang and Bianca seemed to have been wiped from her mind.
Bianca only grew more embarrassed and quietly sank into the sofa.
Ruang showed no reaction to her gaze.
No response at all.
So Bianca felt even more awkward alone.
‘Did he only notice me...?’
She forced the thought away and spoke first.
“Therefore, today the story I will tell you concerns the inheritance Your Highness Ruang will receive after our engagement.”
“Oh...”
Angela simply looked surprised.
It was a completely new development not present in the original novel she had read.
‘Huh? Ruang ended up marrying the saintess, but did the Emperor or Manuel not grant them territory?’
There might have been treasures or estates, but she had no memory of such a story.
The marriage between Ruang and the saintess in the novel had been one the Empire could hardly celebrate.
Granting lands would have been impossible.
But the marriage between Ruang and Rachel was one the Empire could celebrate.
They would need to provide a sufficient inheritance.
Angela's head spun at the suddenly enlarged stakes.
‘So what kind of family am I supposed to fight love battles in...?’
Yet no one paid any attention to her confusion.
This discussion concerned a territory far heavier than any single person.
Bianca continued calmly.
“However, Your Highness mentioned you have a separate request regarding the territory. The right of succession is naturally guaranteed, but the inheritance should go to a bloodline different from the Rosefield heir. This is because it is the Emperor's direct domain, after all.”
“I accept that part. What I want is something else.”
Bianca's eyes flickered.
“What exactly do you want?”
Ruang leaned back lightly and said.
“I should discuss it with the Rosefield daughter as well, but I imagine she would be pleased.”
“...?”
“Thoughts of unifying the measurement systems and currency of the surrounding territories.”
“...Yes?”
Bianca was momentarily at a loss for words.
It was utterly unexpected.
Normally, a noble's desires were simple.
More territory.
Even more territory.
And yet more territory.
Honour, authority, and money mattered, but once a noble held land, all three were obtained automatically.
Even as cities grew, most wealth still came from the land.
From grain, from taxes.
The Rosefield family's wealth up to now had ultimately been thanks to those absurdly vast and fertile lands.
But unifying measurements?
Unified currency?
That was not something a mere noble would even mention.
It was the work of a king.
Or the Emperor.
Bianca's breath caught.
No way.
No way could this man, who could not even sit on the throne, be aiming for the crown?
That enormous ambition squeezed her chest tight.
The memory of that night came flooding back.
The eyes that had seemed ready to swallow her whole.
Dangerous. Arrogant. Unrestrained.
It was realistically impossible for the Rosefield family to swallow the Empire.
Bianca knew that.
Yet strangely, Ruang's words and expression now made that impossible image seem almost achievable.
As though he truly could do it.
Bianca hurriedly pressed her hand to her chest.
To calm down.
To stop her heart from racing.
But it was useless.
Her heart beat even harder.