Chapter 14
Chapter 14
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 14
Chapter Title: Not Everything Had Disappeared (1)
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"No, why on earth?"
With a month and a half left in my half-year confinement, I couldn't for the life of me figure out why the king had chosen this exact moment to lift the punishment.
He'd tossed me into the prince's palace and acted like he'd never lay eyes on me again. Just thinking about the king's face soured my mood.
"Aren't you pleased, Your Highness?"
Kals asked, eyeing my expression with puzzlement.
"Not really."
There was nowhere to go even if I left the prince's palace, and no one I knew to meet. What was there to be happy about?
But there was.
"Your Highness."
Just a day after my confinement ended, a maid handed me a golden envelope.
"An invitation?"
Inside the needlessly ornate envelope was indeed an invitation.
To the esteemed First Prince Idrian Leonberger,
Last spring, the sudden ill news left me doubting my own ears. That such a valiant and robust Highness as yourself... (excerpted)
Skimming past the fluff,
Amid my grief-stricken days, I heard that Your Highness has recovered enough to venture beyond the palace walls once more, and in my excitement, I send this letter.
Ignoring the unnecessary pleasantries,
In a fortnight, I have prepared a modest gathering with the members of the [Social Club for Special Young Lords Only] to celebrate Your Highness's recovery. I humbly beseech your attendance to grace the occasion, and furthermore...
Stripping away the verbose padding, the invitation boiled down to:
"Now that your confinement's lifted, let's meet up."
"I figured no one would welcome me anywhere, but apparently there's at least one place inviting me now that I'm free."
An unexpected invitation. I asked the maid about the [Social Club for Special Young Lords Only].
"It was the social gathering of which Your Highness was a member."
The maid looked distinctly uncomfortable.
"Why? Is it some shady outfit?"
At my question, she replied with a troubled expression.
"The young lords' indulgences are an enigma beyond women's comprehension."
Indulging in "wind and moon" meant getting drunk and whoring around, no doubt.
I was too busy with training to bother with such pointless revelry. I planned to decline.
Your eternal companion in wisdom, valor, and discernment, Bernard of the Ilai House.
That is, until I saw the sender's name.
"Ilai?"
"Lord Bernard Ilai is the president of the [Social Club for Special Young Lords Only]."
The maid explained. She'd assumed I was asking who he was because I'd lost my memories. But that wasn't it.
Ilai.
It was a name I remembered.
[One hundred years ago, as the Ilai count family stubbornly clung to the Mana Heart to the bitter end and fell into complete ruin, the Mana Heart became a low-grade technique used only by mercenaries.]
On the day we'd discussed Mana Heart, my uncle had mentioned the Ilai count family among others.
"Your Highness. What shall we do? If you plan to attend, I'll prepare accordingly. If not, I'll send your regrets."
The maid asked while I was lost in thought.
"I'll go."
"...Understood. I'll make the preparations."
Her face visibly darkened. She looked utterly disappointed that I was attending.
It must be one hell of an indecent gathering. No wonder she was staring at me like I couldn't kick my bad habits.
But my reason for going wasn't to indulge in debauchery.
"The Ilai count family..."
I was intrigued by the house that had stuck with Mana Heart until the very end.
**
It wasn't a formal ball—just a small club meetup. I figured I could just show up as I was, no prep needed. But I was wrong.
"Come on, it's just one little gathering. Why the fuss?"
"Your Highness's figure has changed so drastically that we'll need entirely new attire."
Measuring, remeasuring.
"Still?"
The tailor tormented me all day, fussing over every inch.
"They say clothes make the man. A bit of patience is required to give you those wings."
"You're kidding, right? You think slapping wings on this body would make it fly?"
Irritated, I snapped, and the tailor replied with a face full of solemn duty.
"I may lack skill, but I'll pour my heart and soul into it! Even if it won't fly, I'll do my utmost to ensure Your Highness is satisfied!"
Damn fool. Won't even concede it could fly.
Well, my current body was a bit much. Awkwardly swollen muscles and fat coexisting in harmony—it was the textbook build of a muscle pig.
No doubt it'd look pretty sloppy no matter what I wore.
"Fine. Whatever. Get on with it."
I handed myself back over to the tailor. Or tried to.
"Did you make my old clothes too?"
"Indeed, Your Highness."
The image of my first encounter with that wastrel flashed in my mind. Garish clothes that clashed horribly with his piggish frame—apparently this guy's handiwork.
"What color are you planning?"
"Naturally, to Your Highness's taste: gold, silver, or perhaps white..."
"Forget it. Make it black."
I cut him off flat. Leave it to him, and I'd end up looking like the old wastrel clown.
"B-black, Your Highness?"
"Minimal decoration. Simple design."
The tailor's face fell dramatically.
Was it the wastrel's taste, or this guy's?
I glared and drilled it into him repeatedly: no flashy nonsense.
"As you wish."
The tailor mumbled dejectedly. His protruding lips made it clear he hated this.
But what could he do?
The one wearing it said so. And he was a prince, no less.
Not long after the measurements, the tailor returned with the finished garments.
"I omitted not a single one of Your Highness's instructions."
He'd been sulky taking the order, but now his face beamed with pride as he presented the work. I ignored him and inspected the clothes.
"Hm."
It was exactly as ordered.
Black color, minimal trim, simple cut. Yet somehow it still felt flashy. Griping about it felt petty, though.
"It's precisely as you commissioned."
As I frowned holding the garments, the tailor declared confidently.
"Yeah, yeah."
I grumbled and, with the tailor and maid's help, slipped into the outfit.
"It fits perfectly—no more, no less."
"Ho."
Once on, my complaints vanished. Top and bottom in varying shades of black, brown shoes, and an overcoat resembling a knight's standard uniform. It actually looked pretty sharp.
Even this body of mine didn't seem half bad.
"You've got skills."
"Your Highness's praise melts away forty years of toil in an instant."
His proud response was well-earned; the man had real talent.
"I'll leave the banquet attire to you too."
"I'll start immediately!"
"No. Hold off. My measurements will change soon."
The royal banquet the king had ordered me to attend was two months away. Plenty of time to burn off every last bit of flab.
"Then send word whenever. I'll come running."
Buzzing from the praise, the tailor bowed and left.
I checked myself in the mirror once more.
"I've slimmed down some."
I'd wondered when the weight loss would show, but my face had changed unrecognizably. Looking like this, the wastrel's original mug wasn't half bad.
The kind of face that might actually get called handsome.
"Clothes make the man, huh."
I chuckled to myself, then felt eyes on me. Turning, I spotted the maid in a dim corner not reflected in the mirror, watching.
Her expression was oddly mixed.
Like she was thinking, Don't embarrass yourself, or maybe admiring how surprisingly presentable I looked.
"Ahem."
Embarrassed, I cleared my throat awkwardly.
**
A few days passed, and the day of the gathering arrived.
"Five of us will escort Your Highness, myself included."
My first outing since being assigned to the prince's palace had Kals and the royal knights on high alert. They were wound tight, braced for any mishap.
"Relax. It's right around the corner. What could go wrong?"
It fell on deaf ears, of course.
As the knights stewed in tension, a carriage approached from afar. A four-horse team on a white base, emblazoned with a golden lion roaring atop a dragon.
"Please, board."
I nodded and climbed in. The maid followed. Kals and the knights mounted up, forming a protective formation.
"Let's go."
The carriage set off at my word.
"I'll secure the shutters."
Scarce out of the palace, Kals approached and latched the carriage's metal blinds. Thick iron plates designed against snipers cut off the outside world.
"Was hoping to sightsee a bit."
I'd wanted to peek at how the world had changed over centuries, but no dice. With Kals so rigid—especially today—he'd whip the carriage back to the palace the second I touched those shutters.
Boring. The carriage was dead silent, as if lavishly soundproofed. Too quiet, too still—it made my skin crawl.
"Hm?"
Shifting restlessly, poking at corners, I suddenly noticed the maid. She'd been skeletal at first glance, but now with some meat on her bones, her graceful figure stood out.
And so did the ugly scar etched across her lovely skin.
"That scar..."
She tugged her collar closed at my words. But it wasn't enough to hide the massive gash on her neck.
"This servant's inadequacy troubled Your Highness, so punishment was fitting."
Damn. I'd suspected, and sure enough, it was that wastrel's handiwork.
Awkward and guilty, I averted my eyes—but where in this cramped carriage? Our gazes met again in moments.
"Hm."
Come to think of it, she was the first face I saw upon waking and the last before sleep, yet I hadn't even known her name.
"What's your name?"
Asking that, the maid gazed at me with wide, doe-like eyes. My mood sank further.
Kind eyes, fair skin, and that scar. It wasn't even my doing, so why the guilt?
"Adelia Bayern, Your Highness."
She stated her name humbly.
"What?"
Hearing it, I froze solid.
"Bayern?"
"A house that barely scraped onto the noble rolls. Hardly worth Your Highness's interest..."
Before her cautious words finished, a reflexive question burst out.
"You're a descendant of the Bayern family?"
"Y-Your Highness?"
My god.
Dizzy, I pressed my forehead.
I'd never imagined hearing that name like this.
Sword Marquis Agnes Bayern
A dusty warehouse of memories. From its depths, a cherished name suddenly sprang forth.