Chapter 12
Chapter 12
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 12
Chapter Title: I Told You I'm Not the Romance Fantasy Heroine (1)
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A clean floor is essential for any living space.
However, keeping an endlessly vast expanse of marble flooring spotless ventures into the realm of extravagance.
The imperial palace flaunted such luxury without restraint, brimming with gleaming statues throughout its halls as it lorded over all.
Amid the grand hall overflowing with the lifelong labors of sculptors.
Two royals were locked in conflict.
"That man really didn't do anything to me, I swear?"
Dorian, the prince bearing the blood of the Astraea imperial family, pleaded earnestly.
Naturally, the empire offered men far more opportunities to seize power than women.
And in most succession struggles, men held stronger positions than women.
But Dorian's opponent was different.
"Then execute him for a crime he didn't commit."
"Sister! What are you..."
"Dorian, my little brother. Listen well. This is all because of you."
Real authority, control over the nobility, intelligence networks. And even the ruthlessness that Dorian lacked.
Rebecca, Dorian's sister, surpassed him in every way as a wielder of power.
Dorian bit his lip. It was truly because he held no cards against his sister.
He had to heed her words first. Because he had nothing.
"Got it?"
Rebecca continued.
"A single drop of our blood is worth more than hundreds of slaves. The reason is our name, our honor, our dignity. Those are the most precious things on the land we tread."
She pointed at Dorian with a fan adorned in red feathers, her gaze icy cold.
"Sneaking out? That can happen. But you should have considered the weight of the imperial authority flowing in your veins."
The soldiers unaware of Dorian's disappearance that day were all guilty of dereliction of duty.
Guards tasked with protecting noble bloodlines, oblivious to their charge vanishing.
It was an offense worthy of total execution.
But Rebecca planned to show mercy to the rest, using one drunken vagrant as an excuse to spare their lives.
She added that without that drunkard, she would have slaughtered every last guard.
Dorian fell silent. He knew all too well what kind of man his father was.
And blaming himself for his part in it, he opened his mouth hesitantly.
Dorian finally gathered his thoughts and spoke, trying to make amends for his mistake.
"His Majesty doesn't know yet. Can't we just pretend it never happened...?"
"Then I'll spare the drunkard and kill all the rest."
"Sister!"
"Plenty of eyes saw you with that man. Someone has to pay for it."
"Then rather than..."
"What? You want to be punished instead? Who would dare? There's no judge in the empire nobler than you."
"I'll confess everything to His Majesty myself and beg forgiveness. No one defies an imperial decree."
"....... You want to die?"
Rebecca furrowed her brow at Dorian's childish defiance.
Was he trying to unleash a bloodbath across the empire? Throwing fuel on the tyrant's barely contained rage?
Eight years ago, their father had met someone and transformed into a tyrant.
Since then, he had grown obsessed with power above all else, plunging the empire into chaos.
For the brother who knew this better than anyone to step forward like this only soured Rebecca's mood further.
Rebecca snapped curtly at her pathetic-looking brother.
"Why do you even have that pointless pity in you?"
Rebecca posed the question.
Only a tiny handful could carry weapons near the noble imperial bloodline.
Yet that drunkard had drawn his sword right beside the prince.
That alone could fabricate dozens, hundreds of crimes.
For not executing him on the spot, Rebecca had already shown her brother plenty of favor.
'Pathetic softie.'
Rebecca assumed the only reason her brother defended the drunkard was misplaced pity.
Pity for lowly scum from someone who lived waited on hand and foot—even extending it to wretched humans.
"The streets crawl with trash like that. And you're wasting emotions now trying to save one piece of it?"
"...... I thought so too."
But in her brother's eyes.
It wasn't mere human emotion toward another person. It was awe-tinged vagueness.
Pupils like gazing at massive clouds above the heavens.
'This......'
Rebecca's patience finally snapped, and she asked in a low voice.
"Speak plainly. What is that guy that you're so desperate to save?"
"That man is..."
"......."
And Dorian decided to trust his senses, honed from childhood gazing upon countless powerhouses with his noble blood.
He might not be able to gauge the man's strength with his own eyes.
But Dorian was certain the drunkard possessed a colossal power even he himself hadn't grasped.
A bit of a gamble, but he answered thus.
"A strength that would satisfy even His Majesty."
"...... You're asking me to believe that?"
"Really."
"A pathetic drunk hiccuping from booze couldn't have that. Dorian, that doesn't happen in this world."
"I swear it's true?"
And so, the argument dragged on, as expected. Persisting long after those words.
Until Rebecca declared she would see the man herself and stormed out.
"Hoo..."
Dorian hoped the drunkard Guro's strength was real.
His father, turned tyrant, showed mercy to nothing but strength. Only strength.
'Even drunk he was that impressive. Sober, he'll surely astonish even the Knight Commander.'
Dorian rose to his feet.
This mess was entirely his fault.
So Dorian resolved to offer the most precious thing he knew as atonement, heading to the palace depths.
The prideful prince was changing, bit by bit.
"Aster... Th-thirsty... My throat...!"
"Who’s the knight and who’s the lady here? I have no idea anymore. Really... H-here, drink this."
"Ptoo! This is water. Thought it was booze."
"Isn't it... usually the other way around?"
This man called me was dying right now.
Unable even to smell alcohol's scent, sword and the little bottle in his bamboo hat confiscated.
I truly felt my head drying up.
Memories of the past, drowned in booze, resurfacing—it wasn't just painful; it was utter torment.
I twisted in agony, blaming the imperial family for this suffering.
"I hate the imperial family... You damn bastards."
"What was that just...? You?"
"Ah. I haven't explained."
Despite my protests, to Aster—who fanned me and poured water—I explained why I'd been caught.
Aster listened at first with her cheeks cupped cutely in her hands.
"......"
But her expression darkened more and more.
Pale-faced, she stared at me, her eyes trembling violently.
To ease her tension, I mixed in a joke.
"Long story short, the prince lost a bet to me and took revenge."
"That doesn't sound like it at all... No, why on earth did you get tangled up with... the prince... Urk."
I scratched my cheek apologetically, watching Aster clutch her neck.
"Don't worry. I'll bust out of this dump prison in no time."
"You're saying that... right now...?"
"Kidding. That prince talked to me, so he'll come rescue me soon enough."
I didn't think the refined guy would turn his back on me.
I hadn't fled or fought everyone there solely because of the prince.
- I'll... get you out safely somehow. I promise.
His expression was trustworthy.
"Let's trust him for now."
"Mister...... L-let me see your hand."
"? H-here."
Aster gripped my hand tight and took deep breaths.
Her breathing was so amusing I watched her with sparkling eyes.
"If... the prince doesn't come. Will you escape?"
"Of course. I'm your knight."
"Haha, then I'd be tied to an imperial-linked jailbreaker. No more nobility for me?"
"...... Hm."
"Might be fine. With your strength, mister, we could just seize a kingdom. Right?"
"A small kingdom... I could manage. Guerrilla tactics..."
"I was joking....... Haa."
I was seriously weighing my power against a kingdom's.
Killing the king was doable. Subduing nobles would take time.
But hearing it was a joke, I relaxed completely.
"Urgh..."
Aster racked her brains desperately, trying to find a way out.
I didn't fret over the prince not showing.
That man's face back then screamed "absolutely."
If he didn't come, I'd surrender my master face-reader title and live as an honest drunk.
And if ignored and slated for execution.
I wouldn't just lie down meekly then.
How many soldiers it'd take to subdue me—I didn't know either. The imperial family would have quite the headache.
"They're here."
I heard a large group approaching from afar.
That many squeezing into this cramped prison signaled nobility.
Expecting the prince's face, I stared at the stairs beyond the bars where light filtered in.
But.
"Mister... You said it was the prince."
The one descending had violet eyes, but stood just over 170 cm, clad in a dress exuding dignity and luxury.
"Loyalty!"
Whoosh, whoosh.
It was the princess. She waved the soldiers back and gazed intently at me and Aster.
'That prince.'
Aster probably greeted her per etiquette. Slight knee bend, polite head bow.
I mimicked Aster, bowing my head. Never learned proper etiquette.
"Mister, this is, ladies only!"
To Aster's frantic whisper.
I straightened my wobbly body, removed my bamboo hat in my finest etiquette, and bowed deeply.
Never imagined using Eastern 90-degree bows here.
"Really... This pathetic wretch... To that extent?"
I was baffled by the sudden "pathetic" label but recalled my ragged state and bowed lower.
She looked disgusted at my hunched, muttering form.
Then nodded at elegant Aster beside me.
"A noble?"
"Yes."
"Then... what's your relation to that man?"
"My knight."
"Haa... At least there's someone sensible to talk to."
The princess took Aster to an empty corner and conversed at length.
I stretched my stiff back, watching the two women through the bars.
Distance apart, but their voices carried clearly.
Aster held her own better than expected.
Even dodging the princess's trap questions deftly.
"How could my knight harbor ill intent toward Your Highness? He's a drunkard who lives for booze; he wouldn't know. And his origins are lowly..."
That answer came to the princess's probe: "Your knight couldn't ignore imperial blood, so drawing a sword must be treason, right?"
Our Aster was leveraging my lowly look perfectly.
'Even a wretched body helps sometimes.'
Listening raptly.
The princess shot me a sharp glance.
"Ears that catch every word from way over there."
"...?"
Seemed she'd just noticed I heard everything.
She took Aster upstairs entirely.
"This feels off."
In case something happened to Aster, I'd smash the bars. So I loosened my shoulders.
No harm should come to her because of me.
Then.
"What the hell... Hey, drunkard! Wh-what kinda freak are you for the princess to show up?"
"Goddamn. That tyrant's spawn. Gives me the creeps."
"...?"
"Nearly puked. Damn, what's with that noble girl chatting her up. Ballsy."
"Pair of lunatics dropped by."
The silent prisoners suddenly all yapped at me.
Flabbergasted, I shot back.
"Aren't you criminals?"
"Yup."
"Then shouldn't you be ogling women and gossiping crudely?"
"You nutjob, talk like that to the princess gets your head chopped. Die after one word?"
"Think criminals got holes in their heads?"
"I dreamed of being a doctor, asshole."
"Ah... Really?"
Somehow I felt like the freak among rational criminals; my head spun.
What was the imperial family that even trash-life crooks feared it so?
"Tch... Probably 'cause you never saw the tyrant yourself."
"Wasn't at the plaza that day."
They chattered in their private lingo, so I asked.
"Plaza? What plaza?"
Until Aster returned.
I learned why the empire had turned so strange, why everyone feared the imperial family so.
Eight years ago.
And when Aster came back down.
For some reason, I received notice that I had to fight the Knight Commander.