Chapter 128
Chapter 128
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 128
Chapter Title: 41. One Lost, Yet One Remains (1)
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Maximilian quietly watched the people at the banquet table.
At first, it had just been a gathering to hear news of his missing brother. But before long, the conversation had shifted to discussing state affairs.
He had thought his brother was simply on the run. Instead, he was stirring up chaos within the Empire itself. The kingdom could no longer dismiss the possibility of war breaking out.
Someone argued that his brother's actions could be the Empire pressuring the kingdom—or worse, a prelude to full-scale war.
Another countered that the Empire had already framed the incident as a mere squabble between knights, leaving them no direct pretext to intervene.
"Since when has the Empire cared about pretexts?"
The king dismissed the notion outright. If the Empire wanted war, justifications meant nothing.
At his words, the room fell silent as if by prior agreement.
Everyone knew the Empire's shamelessness all too well.
As anxiety over war mounted, the prince of Dortmundt—who claimed friendship with Maximilian's brother—finally spoke up.
"Even if they grasp at straws, they need some kind of excuse at minimum."
He asserted confidently that the Empire could never trace the delegation's movements.
"They have no idea the Knights of the Sky were involved. We flew through the air, leaving no trail to follow. Without a trail, they can't link the disturbances to the kingdom's delegation."
He brushed aside even the remote chance of magical tracking, insisting a skilled mage had already countered it.
And to sow further confusion, they had deliberately chosen targets unrelated to the pursuing knight orders.
When asked what that meant, he explained they had picked a few territories unconnected to the pursuers and wreaked havoc there.
"We collected the pursuers' armor and swords, planting them as evidence at the scenes. With luck, it could spark infighting between the imperial princes' factions."
"A brilliant scheme!"
Marquis Billefeldt slapped his knee in approval.
The marquis conceded that a few swords or suits of armor wouldn't sway the Empire's nobles outright. But for paranoid sorts, it would be enough to breed deeper mistrust. He kept praising the idea effusively.
The heavy anxiety that had filled the banquet hall slowly lifted, then vanished entirely.
With the threat of war dispelled, the king and others began praising his brother's exploits.
It was astonishing that a knight who accumulated mana in his heart—forging rings to become a paladin—had triumphed over fully realized paladins.
"Your Highness has always displayed remarkable abilities in crises. He called it the power of the Martial Valor."
The one-eyed cavalry captain from Ballerhard spoke of his brother's gift.
It was a story Maximilian knew well.
He had witnessed the Martial Valor and War Valor firsthand during the recent northern war, multiple times. He had even joined the Winter Fortress knights in resonance training to attune to the War Valor.
But that was the extent of it.
He had viewed it as a power beyond his reach, giving it no further thought.
Until now.
He learned the truth through Dortmundt's prince.
That awe-inspiring, almost miraculous ability was, in fact, a heritage passed down through the royal family for generations.
Yet the Leonberger royals had abandoned heart mana several generations ago, opting instead to accumulate it in rings.
Unthinkingly, Maximilian glanced at his father.
The king sat with eyes tightly shut, his face rigid. He too seemed deeply shaken.
They had striven so hard to escape the Empire's shadow, only to discard the royal family's greatest potential themselves.
It would have been stranger if he hadn't been shocked.
"Your Highness always lamented it. Abandoning the heritage for rings was an inevitable trend, but the cost was immense, he would say."
Perhaps sensing the father and son's turmoil, the one-eyed captain spoke gravely.
Perfectly realized, it held immense power—but achieving perfection was nearly impossible. That was why his brother never forced other knights to accumulate mana in their hearts.
"Hold on. I think I just heard something incredibly hard to believe."
That was when Dortmundt's prince interjected.
He had assumed naturally that his brother had inherited his family's heritage, and now he looked flustered.
"Then how on earth did Idrian inherit the heritage?"
No one could answer.
No one knew.
One day, his brother had simply demonstrated the ability. Everyone assumed he had studied ancient texts on his own.
They exchanged glances, but no one spoke.
"It's not like he fell from the sky or sprang from the earth. No one found it strange, and no one even asked later..."
Dortmundt's prince was utterly baffled. Maximilian felt the same bewilderment.
Looking back now, he realized he knew nothing about his brother. Beyond talks of battle or governance, they had never truly conversed.
He only grasped that now.
He looked to his father, who appeared equally troubled.
"Your Highness was never much for words."
Even Marquis Billefeldt, who frequented the First Prince's palace daily, looked awkward.
"The only one who ever spoke candidly with him was the late Count Ballerhard..."
"Where is that gentleman now?"
Dortmundt's innocent question froze the room.
The royal family bore some responsibility for the previous Count Ballerhard's death. No one could answer lightly.
"He fell in battle against the Warlord."
In the end, Ballerhard's cavalry captain stepped forward.
"Warlord? You mean the greenskin warlord?"
The prince jolted in shock, nearly leaping from his seat.
The captain briefly recounted the northern war against the Warlord.
"This is insane."
Dortmundt's prince scratched his head furiously.
He could scarcely believe the Warlord's appearance, a ring knight severing its arm, or kingdom knights slaying it.
His words could be taken as belittling the kingdom, so Marquis Billefeldt politely pointed it out.
But the prince ignored him, speaking his mind freely.
This time, no one called out his rudeness.
"I'd wager the previous Count Ballerhard who severed the Warlord's arm was a Penta Chain knight."
The term "Penta Chain knight" carried that much weight.
Countless knights pursued linking five rings, but those who truly perfected it were exceedingly rare.
Even in the Empire, teeming with paladins, their existence was uncertain.
Penta Chain was such an exalted realm, its masters legendary rarities.
Yet the fallen previous Count Ballerhard had been one.
Incredible. But undeniable.
As the prince said, only a Penta Chain knight could inflict such a mortal wound on the Warlord—especially since the kingdom's silver lion had led hundreds of knights in a joint assault and still lost.
Gulp.
The king drained a glass of wine he hadn't touched until now. Not satisfied, he swigged straight from the bottle.
It was a side of his father Maximilian had never seen.
The king neither indulged nor relied on alcohol.
Even he could endure no longer without it now.
Only in loss did they realize a giant had stood among them in the kingdom. Everyone felt the same.
The one-eyed captain stared at the ceiling with reddened eyes. Marquis Billefeldt shut his eyes tightly, silent.
Maximilian could only sigh heavily.
"Now it makes sense. That power we saw that day demanded a certain caliber to wield. With the feat of slaying the Warlord, he could unleash it."
Undeterred, Dortmundt's prince remained lost in his own world.
"Even so, mastering a heritage severed generations ago alone? That doesn't add up."
He nodded to himself, muttering, then shook his head moments later—like a madman.
Even with collective effort across generations, Martial Valor and heritages inevitably degraded.
Reviving one broken generations back single-handedly? Impossible, he insisted.
He kept mumbling.
The king, having emptied a full bottle, finally spoke. His tone was deeply mournful.
The prince's change began after he shoved the founding king's divine relic into his own belly to survive a near-death ordeal.
Until then immersed in his mutterings, Dortmundt's prince suddenly asked if it was perhaps the Dragon Slayer used to slay the ancient dragon.
The king nodded, and the prince pondered briefly before clapping.
"It's certain!"
Relics existed in the world, each bearing one or more heritages.
He added that if his guess was right, the Leonberger royal family's Dragon Slayer was one such relic.
"Idrian was undoubtedly chosen by the Leonberger royal relic."
It sounded plausible even to Maximilian.
He had heard his troublesome brother changed abruptly a few years back, then showcased unprecedented abilities and rose to prominence.
If he had gained the Dragon Slayer's heritage and power, everything fit perfectly.
The king nodded faintly, explaining his brother's obsession with the Dragon Slayer.
He added grimly that it was fortunate a royal bloodline inherited the heritage before the vile Empire could seize it.
"Ancient records say the Leonberger heritage originates from at least Mythic grade. No wonder the Empire covets it."
To Maximilian, it sounded like a rebuke to the royal family for forgetting such a grand heritage. His father's already darkened face grew stormier, sharing the sentiment.
But the oblivious envoy pressed on regardless of their thoughts.
"Of course, Idrian couldn't have inherited a full Mythic grade. Not even with the Warlord feat elevating his caliber."
He declared confidently it was likely Heroic grade at most.
Mythic, Heroic—unfamiliar tiers. Maximilian asked what those powers entailed.
"If inherited intact, Heroic grade power is..."
Dortmundt's prince paused before answering.
"At minimum, equal to a Penta Chain knight."
Inside the Empire's vast enclosure, security was laughably lax.
The nobles blindly trusted their status, convinced no one would dare harm them.
What fools.
While hunting me and the delegation, they never dreamed I might hunt them.
From their view, I was just a pathetic prince from a weak kingdom, crushable anytime.
But they needed to learn.
Even worms writhe when stepped on. Cornered rats bite cats.
Draw a sword, and its edge might cut you too.
I taught them that lesson personally.
It wasn't free, of course.
The price was their lives. I rampaged through the Empire, beheading nobles indiscriminately.
Sometimes sneaking into bedchambers under cover of night. Sometimes massacring lords and knights on outings.
I tore through the Empire like a madman.
Over thirty imperial nobles fell to my hand alone—including five great lords of count rank or higher.
The Empire erupted in chaos.
They tightened checkpoints, scoured everywhere for the culprit.
Mounted on my wyvern, I sneered down at their knights and soldiers.
As my lips curled in a grin, a grumpy voice grumbled.
"Argh, seriously. I told you not to grab my waist. You have such a weird personality."
It was Jin Katrin.
Dortmundt's prince's retainer, vice captain of the Knights of the Sky. He complained nonstop.
"We've rampaged enough now. Isn't it time to stop? Security's tightening lately—it's getting dangerous."
His voice was exhausted from crisscrossing the vast Empire for months.
But I ignored him.
I was a lion with wings now, a knight with a heavenly steed.
"A winged lion? More like a wild colt off the reins."
Jin Katrin muttered under his breath.
I ignored that too.
It wasn't time to head back yet. Before returning to the kingdom, I planned a grand finale.
"One last stop."
"Where?"
To Jin Katrin's question, I grinned and replied.
"House Ipsaint, the marquisate."
A marquis's head would make a fitting final gift to the emperor.
"You're crazy! Totally insane!"
Jin Katrin clearly disagreed.