Chapter 1
Chapter 1
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 1
Chapter Title: I Became the Prodigal First Prince
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Prologue
Sword reborn, I spent my life striking down foes from behind my masters. Then opportunity knocked.
I took over the body of a prince infamous as a wastrel. A morbidly obese frame stuffed with fat, utterly devoid of any talent—but that was no issue at all.
"How many greats have I raised?"
The undefeated knight they called invincible. The dragon slayer who felled the mad dragon. All of them, I had nurtured.
Trivial obstacles like this meant nothing to me.
2. 01. I Became the Prodigal Prince (1)
『I was reborn as a sword. After passing through many masters, I met a true friend. Together we roamed the world, forging achievements none could rival. When we finally slew the white dragon of the Frost Mountains, my friend became the ruler of a nation.
"Please watch over my descendants."
And with the legend of the Dragon Slayer, I was passed down to his lineage.』
In a hazy dream-like state, I sensed a commotion. Wondering what was going on, I opened my eyes to find a fat pig crammed with blubber hoisting me up and shaking me wildly.
"From now on, I'm this sword's master!"
"Your Highness! No one but His Majesty may touch this! Please, put it back!"
Just as I was about to curse this swine—who dared grab and flail me without a thought—with a fate between life and death, a guard knight's plea reached me.
Belatedly, I recalled where I had awakened: the royal treasury. And this thunderbolt of morbid obesity was apparently the prince. That meant he was very likely a descendant of my old friend.
Nowhere in that flabby bulk could I see the lion-like valor of my companion.
"Shut up! Nothing in this kingdom is beyond my grasp!"
Threatening his own knights like some street thug—it was downright shocking.
I couldn't accept it. So I invoked the authority of Appraisal granted to me.
The evaluation scrolling before my eyes left me speechless.
There it was, plain as day: the Leonberger name. He was indeed my friend's descendant. But those qualities? No way could they belong to the heir of the man hailed as Sword Saint.
"With this, even Father and the nobles won't dare ignore me anymore."
I had no intention of lending him my power, yet the pig blabbered on regardless. What an utterly unqualified fool.
"Great Dragon Slayer! Grant me your power!"
No thanks.
"Gruh-on!"
I didn't respond. Even if he was my friend's descendant, I had no plans to empower some unworthy wretch.
"Gruh-hooon!"
He swung me around like a madman, bellowing like a wild boar stiff from tetanus.
"Kyaa!"
"Y-Your Highness! Please calm down!"
"You mustn't draw a sword in the palace!"
Stumbling and rampaging everywhere, he was a massive nuisance to everyone around.
Then it happened.
The idiot pig swung me recklessly and tripped forward. And of all the stupid ways, he'd grabbed me backward to show off.
"Guhk."
My blade, which had cleaved dragon scales, pierced the swine's soft, flabby flesh with absurd ease.
The scent of blood after so long.
But it had to be the blood of my oldest friend's descendant.
What a goddamn cursed fate.
Something was off. The wastrel got stabbed, yet my consciousness was fading. I fought it desperately, but my vision blackened until nothing remained.
Thus, I lost consciousness. My first blackout in centuries as a sword.
Ask anyone about Idrian Leonberger, and most would dodge with an awkward grimace. If you shared some trust, you might hear "the royal family's disgrace." Perhaps even the more pointed "utter disgrace of a bastard" or "hopeless wastrel."
"Born without a shred of royal dignity, yet arrogant as they come."
"No ability, but greed tops the kingdom."
"A dumb, lazy, brutish pig."
A drink or two in, and the insults turn venomous, even malicious.
Prince Idrian Leonberger was the shame of the valiant, wise Leonberger royals—a dark cloud over the kingdom's future.
And this supreme wastrel was the kingdom's leading heir to the throne. Tradition dictated primogeniture, and this headache happened to be the eldest.
[If Prince Idrian takes the throne, the kingdom has no future.]
No one disagreed. All fretted over the realm's fate.
Then one day, word spread through the palace.
[Prince Idrian lies gravely wounded, hovering between life and death.]
[The First Prince has been unconscious for four days.]
The hasty cheered that heaven had saved the kingdom; the prudent inquired first.
[He grabbed a sword alone, made a fuss, and stabbed himself.]
[That sword was Gruhon, the founding king's Dragon Slayer from the treasury.]
The rumor spread quietly at first, then to all. People mocked the prince's idiocy, claiming the founding king's spirit had protected the realm through the blade.
But it was short-lived. News came that Prince Idrian had awakened—fully recovered, without a trace of aftereffects.
Those hoping for a new heir sank into despair.
Meanwhile, subtle changes stirred in the palace.
[The prince has changed, if only a little.]
The First Prince's maids noticed first.
[The prince who flipped trays daily has been quiet for days.]
[Since waking, he hasn't summoned his gang once.]
Trivial gossip, unworthy of note. No one took the minor shifts in the prince's palace seriously.
Even a beast like him feels shame now, they'll say. He'll revert soon enough. People figured the dumb brute was just laying low briefly.
But Prince Idrian himself couldn't care less about the chatter.
He was,
"Good lord! I killed my friend's descendant and stole his body!"
in turmoil over the "accident" he'd unwittingly caused.
It was undoubtedly an accident.
The wastrel prince had been obsessed with the "Dragon Slayer" legend, delusionally believing a famed sword would turn him into a hero rivaling the founding king. When the royal blade fell into his hands, he lost control—blind to its lethal edge.
In the end, the wastrel died. And his pathetic corpse became mine.
How absurd to learn that.
My old friend had begged me repeatedly. Yet not only did I fail to protect his heir—I killed him myself. Intentional or not, I'd snuffed out the wastrel's last breath. Undeniable.
And I even took his body. No clue why, but I woke up inside it.
That was a fortnight ago. Now, no guilt over the broken promise lingered, nor shallow pity for the foolishly slain prince.
"Well, what's done is done."
Live well for the dead fool too—before he finished, a chuckle escaped: Pfuhuhu.
He'd lost more, truly. I'd discarded centuries of built power for this one flabby shell. Yet it didn't feel like a loss.
"Power? I can rebuild it."
I'd forged the timid coward into an invincible knight, the clueless villager into a nation's lord. Countless others into history's heroes. All that know-how remained etched in my mind.
Polishing this body into something useful? Child's play.
"First up: Mana Heart."
As always, start with Mana Heart. The only difference? This time, I'd take the steps on my own two feet.