Chapter 288
Chapter 288
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Translator: uly
Chapter: 288
Chapter Title: How to Survive as the Second Son of a Magical Noble Family
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Whether the final incantation had been laced with intent or not remained unknown.
‘I establish my covenant with you: Never again shall all life be destroyed by the waters of a flood; there shall never again be a flood to devastate the earth.’
This was originally a spell not for imposing one's will on an object and manipulating it at will, but for erecting a large-scale barrier when natural disasters struck.
Yet he had bent nature itself to his command, and in a way that seemed to rewind time itself.
In other words, Lucas Everett had created a new spell. Young mages often tinkered with or invented spells, but most failed spectacularly. Few succeeded on such a grand scale, and even fewer drew from such passages to craft their ambitions.
The king's mind was filled with thoughts of Lucas Everett's magic. But now was not the time.
“What is the Crown Prince doing?”
The king asked as he crossed the middle courtyard of the Munich Residenz. He had been on his way to meet Everett, but upon hearing news of his son, he had changed course toward the Crown Prince's palace. His head ached from the trouble the boy had caused.
He showed no sign of it, though. His attendant, gauging the king's mood, replied.
“He hasn't left his room.”
“He hasn't warped off somewhere in secret?”
“We stationed one of his secretaries by His Highness's side. We just received word that he was still in the palace.”
Still doing well, my foot.
He had thrown a massive tantrum about going to watch the match and sulked when it didn't work. Hadn't they said from the start that he ‘wasn't coming out’?
‘Didn't expect him to drag the Royal Guard all the way to the spectator stands.’
By the time I arrived, the Royal Guard assigned to the Crown Prince was already at the arena. It was Leonard Crown Prince's orders. No idea how he convinced them, but pulling it off was impressive in itself. He must have planned to head straight to the stands with them.
This wasn't like him—putting off duties or boldly defying orders just to watch a match. Skipping his schedule on a whim for something he wanted was a first. The king desperately wanted to recruit Everett right away, but first, he had to deal with his son.
The king reached the warp point and teleported directly to the Crown Prince's palace. The guards opened the door for him. He strode unhesitatingly to the prince's room.
The guard stationed at the door looked startled to see the king without warning. The king gestured for him to step aside and pushed the door.
Click—
It was locked.
“Open it.”
[…….]
One of the king's secretaries opened it from inside. The sullen boy reluctantly climbed out of bed and bowed.
“You've come, Your Majesty.”
“I heard you moved the elite Royal Guard to the arena.”
“…….”
The sky-blue eyes, far below, stared straight up at the king without a hint of panic or fear. Instead of scolding, the king asked in the same tone as before.
“Have you nothing to say to me?”
“I'm sorry.”
His tone made it clear he wasn't sorry at all. The attendants licked their lips and exchanged glances.
They hadn't raised him to be insolent, and he was usually mild-mannered and obedient. But he was stubborn; in situations like this, he wouldn't yield an inch. He was not yet five, so there was time to correct it. The king worried overly because it was his first time raising someone, but with his sixth birthday approaching soon, the concerns mounted.
“Magic medicine is a regular lesson, so I thought skipping one day wouldn't matter. I know I should have asked Your Majesty first. I will focus on my duties from now on.”
“…….”
The king silently regarded his son.
He spoke well, as taught. Not words from his own mind, but recited verbatim from his teachers. No need to demand a sincere apology; it wouldn't make one appear. Besides, the Crown Prince thought the king was angry merely about skipping class and moving the Guard.
The king wasn't truly angry, no matter the reason.
There was only one concern.
The king knelt to meet his son's eyes.
“Why didn't you tell me first?”
“I thought Your Majesty wouldn't like it.”
“…….”
Spot on. The king fell silent, gazing into those large sky-blue eyes tinged with growing unease. It wasn't fear of punishment. The boy had never cared much who scolded him. This was anxiety over losing something he enjoyed.
The Crown Prince was showing more interest in battle magic than magic medicine with each passing day. That was what worried the king most. If it had just been skipping class to play, he would have joined him.
Battle magic was essential knowledge—better than obsession with self-destructive entertainment. It was good, so why couldn't he be glad?
Ignorance is sin. No individual can ever be free from society, their ancestors, or the blood of humanity they trampled. Turning away is shameless, a repeat of barbarism. As heirs bearing stolen rights and the duty to atone for that debt, it is accumulated original sin. If individuals bear this, what of one who shoulders the fate of millions?
To be the center of a nation, one must know what they wield. In a country that barely held its core after the magic era through medicine, what if the monarch were ignorant of it?
If the monarch fails to hold the center, the era becomes unjust. A child born in peace knows not that inherited blood stains their white hands across generations, hears not the ghostly screams of past humanity trailing their shoulders. Someone knocks, waiting—“Whence is that knocking? How is't with me, when every noise appals me?”—yet he knows no responsibility for the sound. Now he must learn he cannot chase only desires, or fresh blood will stain his hands, unwashed even by Neptune's oceans, as always. Thus, he passes on the sin.
The king had no intention of forcing a path the boy showed no interest in. But neglecting balance and royal duty for one field was a grave issue.
Since it was his first rebellion, no severe reprimand. It was too early for lectures.
“Sit.”
At the king's gesture, the boy sat at the table. The attendants and secretaries filed out.
“I was lucky—my talents aligned with my goals. My father exposed me to much of the world, but amid countless studies, I always wanted magic medicine.”
“…….”
“If it hadn't been magic medicine, and my father forced it on me, I can't say how I'd have turned out. I might have become someone begrudging this seat, doing the bare minimum before burning out and leaving. Or dismissed my true desires as sour grapes, unknowingly living my father's wishes, hating him and opposing everything he stood for.”
The Crown Prince looked confused, not yet grasping it. He tried to compose his expression, but while words could be schooled in rhetoric or etiquette, faces couldn't—at his age.
He needed the conclusion summarized.
“I will grant what you want.”
“…!”
The prince's eyes widened.
“The talents this nation has now aren't eternal, nor is your seat. When I die and you take my place, those unfit for your character will replace your aides. If you're ignorant of the nation's core, you'll be swayed by those seeking power through it. This country nearly fell after the magic era but clings to its place as the empire's second. That's thanks to magic medicine—that's why you learn it.”
The boy's eyes wavered. He wasn't fully captivated by other magic fields yet. He struggled between duty and preference. But that confusion could flip on a whim.
Whether it aligned with the king's hopes didn't matter. What needed saying remained the same. The king softened his usually rigid expression.
“You didn't tell me because you thought I hated battle magic?”
“…Yes.”
The prince rolled his eyes, voice shrinking. The king pressed on, knowing the boy might not fully understand—but skipping it for certainty wasn't healthy.
“Do as you wish. I don't want you living as a tool for duty or grudges. You have obligations, true, but learn them after finding your center.”
“…….”
“In return, study magic medicine to a certain level after learning your duties.”
Did he get it this time?
The prince had stared intently since the king began, eyes now wider than usual. The king smiled quizzically at the boy's flushed, expectant face. The prince mirrored it, unsure why.
‘Kids' logic is beyond me.’
He hadn't grasped every word but caught the mood. The king continued.
“I have someone in mind as your personal tutor. He won't disappoint in battle magic.”
He would assign Mia Rothenhan as the magic swordsmanship instructor.
Royal tutoring posts were usually stepping stones. For greater success. Or half-forced on scholars uninterested in advancement.
It wouldn't be Rothenhan's dream but satisfactory, and the prince would appreciate his vast mana and battle magic knowledge. The issue: he wouldn't temper the prince's inflexibility and might reinforce it. Another tutor would fix that.
The prince gaped unwittingly, then composed himself and leaned in. Raw, untrained mana leaked from him.
“Who is it?”
“You'll know soon…”
Before the king finished, the prince knelt on his chair and stood abruptly.
“Your Majesty. There's someone I want.”
* * *
My head still ached.
The Crown Prince made an outrageous demand.
‘Raising kids is no joke.’
Even leaving most to tutors was tough. Stubborn, proud, no compromise or flexibility…. Not bad traits. Looks aside, his personality mirrored the king's exactly—making it harder.
Where did he learn about the mage I had in mind? Without even seeing him? I need to find who told the prince.
As the king sighed and rubbed his temples, his attendant eyed him cautiously.
The king walked, relying on mana with eyes closed. He realized he was at the audience chamber.
“Her Majesty Queen Hildebrandt has arrived.”
The servant announced at the door. It opened, revealing the mage—looking more composed than before—rising to greet him.
“You've come.”
‘He looks just like Georg, no matter how I see it.’
A face stirring old memories.
If Georg saw him, he'd seriously wonder when he fathered such a grown son—or if he had a sibling.
Instead of voicing it, the king smiled briefly.
“Sit.”
“Yes.”
“Do you know why I summoned you here?”
A servant set teacups before them. Everett chose his words carefully before speaking.
“I don't know the exact reason, but I assume my magical prowess impressed Your Majesty.”
“Correct.”
The king lifted his teacup first.
“Meeting such an exceptional mage in our kingdom feels like a gift.”
“You overpraise me.”
“I heard you're from America.”
“Yes. Milwaukee, Wisconsin.”
“Lucas Everett. I thought British, but German descent?”
Everett derived from the Germanic Eberhart. No British-tinged German, fluent as a native—likely German-American. Milwaukee confirmed it. Possible German nanny or tutor, but worth asking.
Everett nodded.
“Yes.”
“You seem connected to Ascanien.”
“I don't know my ancestors well. If Your Majesty says so, there might be Ascanien blood… but my lineage broke during the transition.”
“Hm.”
America was freer with new human births—even commoners with wealth got permits. Long migration since the 17th century blurred roots. Most migrants were commoners, unconcerned with nobility's pedigrees.
Not in Ascanien records, but perhaps a distant descendant of a collateral branch that crossed to old humanity. It explained the magic.
“Why come here instead of staying in America?”
“To broaden my horizons. I need a job soon, but first, meet various mages.”
Needs a job, huh. He must expect royal enlistment by now.
“Who taught you magic?”
“Milwaukee magic school, then until recently, Professor Katrina Preston at Princeton.”
The king narrowed his eyes slightly, smiling.
“No private tutors before university?”
“All from school. The rest, self-study.”
“…….”
Impressive from a prestigious school alone? Beyond normal. Why America let him go was the question.
“When did you start using divine power?”
“Last year.”
Not from childhood?
The more known, the more mysterious. No immediate verification. And…
If sent by Emmanuel, no harm.
No point probing further. Before other nations' officials arrived for Lucas Everett, decide here.
The king smiled confidently.
“Want a position?”
“Pardon?”
“I can place you where you desire. At least support your goals. Royal Guard, magic bureau special forces, Munich priesthood—name what you want here.”
Everett's eyes widened briefly, then confusion. He racked his brain, not wanting to miss the chance.
Good offer, apparently. The king felt relieved watching him. Couldn't lose this once-in-a-century talent with divine power. Rejection for Prussia or America would ache more.
Soon, Everett set down his teacup.
* * *
This era's king, younger, showed his royal authority openly. Twelve years later, he spoke to his son with utmost respect. Not lacking now—using formal ‘Sie’ not ‘du’—but an subtle authority lingered in his tone.
Didn't matter either way. Young or old, a wise ruler. Just novel seeing the change firsthand.
More importantly…
‘Want a job?’
Success.
The king, future or present, offered extraordinary perks to desired mages. Those positions required a decade's grind for all but the exceptional. Think Imperial Magic Association.
Perfect for intel, great offer. But demanding work.
‘Don't want to grind that hard here.’
Not slacking entirely, but easier jobs yielded similar intel with less intensity. Why take the orthodox path knowingly?
Plus, those jobs posed issues. Problems at the king's birthday banquet. Guard or magic bureau—no mingling with foreign dignitaries. Unless the king pulled me aside personally, slim chance. No needless risks.
Needed a spot naturally at the banquet, chatting with guests. Required favor for legitimacy, but I had confidence.
I set down my teacup. Met the king's eyes—smug, expectant, relaxed.
“May I truly say what I want?”
“Of course. That's my wish.”
The king flicked his hand, urging me.
Fine. I smiled properly.
“I want to be the Crown Prince's personal tutor.”
The king's smile froze like stone. A first—I panicked inwardly. He muttered, as if to himself.
“Is this divine will?”