Chapter 206
Chapter 206
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 206
Chapter Title: 62. The Ember in the Furnace Remains the Same (4)
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Occasionally, among knights who had reached a certain realm, there were those who preached that true mastery meant not being attached to the quality of one's sword. They believed only victories earned through pure skill, without relying on a blade's sharpness, held real value.
They deliberately stuck to ordinary swords.
As if that proved their enlightenment.
In my eyes, they were just posers—complete idiots.
The saying about not clinging to the sword was a warning against over-relying on its edge and neglecting to hone one's own abilities. It didn't mean you should stubbornly use an inferior blade.
[Why bother with famed swords when my own aura can replace their sharpness?]
Even among past masters, some proudly spouted such nonsense.
They took great pride in splitting iron plate armor or cleaving rocks with blunt training swords, boasting about exchanging hundreds of blows with cheap, junk-steel longswords. They were the type who blindly worshipped the power of aura blades.
They even belittled other masters who wielded famed swords, calling them frauds dependent on their weapons' edges.
And they all died.
To the very masters they'd mocked as fakes.
When skills were evenly matched, it was obvious that the side with superior equipment held the advantage.
Even with the same amount of mana channeled in, the aura blade coating a junk sword and one on a famed sword wouldn't shine the same.
A cheap junk longsword might squeeze out just one unit of power from a handful of aura, while a famed sword could generously produce two.
That difference was no small thing.
In a duel where life and death hinged on a paper-thin margin, a high-quality sword was more than enough to tip the scales like that single sheet.
And if it wasn't just any high-quality sword, but one forged by dwarven master smiths? The gap would widen to three or four sheets.
The swords in the chest were exactly that kind of treasure.
Or rather, even better.
These blades, carelessly tossed into the chest, weren't the work of ordinary dwarves—they were masterpieces among masterpieces, specially crafted by their meisters.
Treasures that even aura blades couldn't easily sever.
Maximilian, having inspected the chest's contents, couldn't tear his eyes away.
A man with zero material greed was showing rare hunger in his gaze.
"To think you went and fetched these..."
He finally snapped out of it, letting out a gasp of admiration.
I nodded.
"Once the Teutons learn the kingdom has a line on dwarven armaments, their eyes will bulge. Relationships are always about the desperate one bending. Nations are no different."
Maximilian's eyes widened at my words.
"It sounds to me like you're planning to sell these to the Teuton Kingdom."
His expression was full of disbelief, as if he'd heard something absurd.
"That's right."
I shot back, as if asking what the problem was.
"I thought these were betrothal gifts you'd prepared before the marriage talks."
I scowled at his words.
"What nonsense!"
I'd never even considered marriage—what betrothal gifts?
"A rare sucker shows up willing to get fleeced, and you think I'd give it away for free? Why would I do something that stupid?"
Here I'd finally secured a supply of dwarven gear, but imperial trade blocks meant no good buyers. And now, customers come knocking on their own.
Missing this chance would make me the world's biggest fool.
Stunned by my brazenness, Maximilian fell silent for a moment.
Eventually, he started babbling with that innocent look of his.
Boiling it down, he hadn't expected a crown prince to personally haggle like a merchant.
I gave a cold laugh.
"A duke from another nation comes all this way to buy and sell people. Selling a few swords and suits of armor is hardly a big deal."
They dressed it up as a marriage delegation, but it was just pawns selling off their princess for political gain.
If that's their goal, no reason I can't play the game.
"Brother! How can you say such things!"
Maximilian freaked out.
He lectured me that speaking so crudely about a royal marriage was unacceptable.
I ignored him completely.
"Enough. I have no intention of marrying those who look down on the kingdom."
To be precise, I had no intention of marrying at all.
I'd resolved to become king out of fury at the empire's tyranny, but I'd never forgotten my original ambition, not for a single moment.
Attaining true transcendence.
That was my deepest desire.
A goal I could never reach while chained to the throne. Sooner or later, I'd have to leave the kingdom behind.
Marrying under those circumstances would be utterly irresponsible.
"The crown prince has no mind for marriage? You, who must continue the royal line?"
"It's not like I'm the only one in the family."
"What do you...?"
"Exactly what I said. There are others in the royal family. Why should I bother producing heirs too?"
"Brother!"
Realization dawned, and Maximilian yelped.
"My ears work fine."
"What are you thinking? It's high time you embraced your role as crown prince."
He straightened up, unleashing a torrent of nagging.
"You're dying to sell me off."
I half-listened, picking my ear to cut him off.
"That's not it! Your marriage isn't just your personal affair! Don't you know how crucial this alliance is for the kingdom?"
I replied indifferently to his rare outburst.
"Exactly. You're trying to sell me."
"Brother!"
"If you're so set on it, you could marry the Teuton princess yourself."
The idea actually sounded plausible, so I gave it serious thought.
Maximilian had been betrothed since childhood. But as the kingdom's eldest, unmarried, his wedding kept getting delayed.
Then came the massive purge.
And wouldn't you know it—among the nobles I purged was his fiancée's family.
The engagement broke off, leaving him, unusually for royalty, unmarried past twenty.
Truly tragic.
"What kind of talk is that? I have no intention of interfering in your marriage like some scoundrel!"
"No one's even mentioned marriage yet—what scoundrel?"
"Brother!"
He jumped in agitation.
"If it's just a symbol of alliance they want, any heir of Leonberger blood would do. They'd prefer you over a wastrel like me anyway."
"Brother!"
"Why are you yelling so much today? Come here."
I grabbed the hand of the near-frantic Maximilian and dragged him to the chest.
Then I pulled out a suit of armor buried deep inside.
A full iron plate set, complete with helmet.
"Try it on. It's yours."
"What...?"
"Made specially by the dwarven meisters. Even an aura blade won't split it easily. From now on, think of it as a spare life—wear it whenever you go out."
Maximilian's face went blank at the sudden gift.
"Brother..."
Then his eyes welled up.
Forgetting our earlier spat, back to his usual gentle self.
"I can't accept it. You wear it, brother. Or give it to His Majesty."
"I prepared one for His Majesty too."
I pulled out another suit from the chest's depths.
"How could I rest easy otherwise?"
A king who kept charging into battle despite middling skill wouldn't meet a silly end by enemy blade.
Maximilian finally relented against my stubbornness and took the armor.
"I'll treasure it like my own life."
"Tch. No matter how precious, it's just scrap metal. Nothing dumber than valuing a lifesaver more than your actual life."
At my offhand remark, he looked at me with moved eyes again.
"Even priceless treasures are mere scrap compared to one's life."
"Obviously."
"Your words, brother—I'll engrave them in my heart, and remember them always."
I smiled, satisfied at the sight of him cradling the armor like a heavenly relic.
"Off with you now. I'm tired after that long northern trip."
Only then did he remember my journey and hurriedly excused himself.
Seeming to have forgotten our conversation entirely.
"One hell of a nagging bill."
I chuckled at the spot where he'd vanished.
Despite my words, I felt no regret.
Just relief that the royal family's days of dying pointlessly were over.
"Ugh, I'm beat."
Having chased off all the unwelcome guests disturbing my rest, I headed straight for bed.
"Your Highness. Allow me to prepare your bed."
Adelia Bayern appeared the moment Maximilian left, straightening my sheets.
"Thanks."
She beamed at my gratitude.
"I'll stay by your side. Sleep well."
I closed my eyes with her seated at bedside.
Soon, a soft hum reached my ears.
"What song is that?"
I cracked an eye open.
She looked apologetic.
"A lullaby I sang to my little brother when he couldn't sleep. You've been restless lately, so..."
With the emperor's schemes and Teutons on my mind, sleep had eluded me. She'd been worried.
"Did my singing keep you awake?"
"Nah."
I reached out, patted her head fondly, then shut my eyes again.
"Keep singing."
She resumed her tune.
A lullaby? At my age?
I was almost embarrassed myself.
But her voice truly soothed me.
I drifted off to her humming.
**
Your Highness.
Your Highness. Please wake up.
A soft voice pulled me from slumber.
"Your Highness."
Arwen Kirguyen gazed at me.
"Banquet time already?"
A grand feast awaited the Teuton delegation. I was due to attend.
"The banquet's postponed. It's morning now, Your Highness."
Postponed?
"Why?"
"The Teuton princess is unwell from travel fatigue, so it was inevitably delayed."
My face soured.
She'd holed up in her carriage at first sight, not even showing her face. What a diva.
"Totally spoiled."
How much contempt for our kingdom to act so freely? I could only scoff.
"I meant to inform you right away, but you were sleeping so soundly..."
True enough, it was the deepest sleep I'd had in ages. Adelia's lullaby must've worked.
"Guess I'll have to request it more often."
"Request what?"
"Never mind."
I hopped out of bed.
"What are the delegates doing?"
"Staying holed up in their lodgings. The princess seems quite ill. Rumor is she's never been robust, never even left the palace. After a month-plus sea voyage, it's no wonder she's worn out."
"If she's that frail, she should stay home instead of troubling others abroad."
Her behavior grated so much, even her frailty looked bad now.
"Doesn't that show how eager they are for this marriage?"
"Eager types don't act so rude from the first meeting."
I grumbled, and Arwen stared pointedly.
She had something to say.
Only then did I realize she'd woken me for a reason.
"Spit it out."
"I have a humble request."
Arwen asking a favor? Pigs might fly.
"What?"
She looked more resolute than ever.
"Could you arrange a spar, without causing diplomatic offense?"
Finally, I saw the fire in her eyes.
Being outmatched by foreign knights had clearly burned her up.
Normally, I'd grant it.
Not this time.
"No."
She hadn't expected refusal—even from the empire trip, I'd arranged spars. She looked flustered.
"Why? Do you fear I'll shame the kingdom's honor?"
"No."
I shook my head.
"Your turn won't come."
She stared, then shuddered.
The heat in my eyes now burned hotter than hers, no doubt.
If yesterday chafed her, it enraged me.
We'd driven out the empire, only for these nobodies to strut in our front yard.
It boiled my blood.
"They call him the West's Greatest Knight."
Teuton's strongest. The West's Greatest Knight.
I swore it.
"I'll show him how hollow that title is firsthand."
It meant nothing before me.
"Relying on petty tricks and arrogance? Once I prove them worthless, he'll pipe down."
Regret flickered in her eyes.
"If Your Highness steps in, won't it escalate?"
Uncharacteristically, she dissented—loath to lose her shot at revenge.
I smirked and shook my head.
"They're hoping for it too."
Arwen wasn't the only one eyeing payback.
Duncan Seymour Tudor, who'd watched his presence crumble, must be grinding his teeth at me.
"Mark my words—they'll bring it up first."
I was right.
After repeated postponements, at a banquet excluding the princess, Duncan Seymour Tudor rose with feigned courtesy.
"First, Duke Seymour, representing Teuton, expresses admiration for the kingdom's astonishing victory and offers congratulations."
The kingdom's interpreter translated from Teuton.
"He says fostering harmony between our isolated kingdoms requires mutual understanding above all."
"Shorten it."
The interpreter flinched but summarized.
"Like Leonberger was once called the Land of Knights, so is Teuton. And nothing lets knights understand each other faster than crossing swords."
"Didn't sound that wordy."
The interpreter sweated, avoiding my gaze.
I eyed Duncan Seymour Tudor.
No way that arrogant knight minced words so politely.
He'd probably swaggered it like granting a grand favor.
"Whatever. Doesn't matter."
End result unchanged.
Even wrapped in frills by the interpreter, the core was a challenge: West vs. North honor.
Maximilian eyed me uncomfortably, signaling to refuse and avoid trouble.
I spoke amid his pleading gaze.
"Sounds good. Tell him."
Maximilian winced, eyes shut tight.
The delegation's interpreter broke a sweat explaining my words at length to Duncan.
Full of flowery phrases I never used.
Duncan curled his lip at me.
I smiled back.
We were both just baring teeth through grins.
The interpreter asked for a date. The Teutons would accommodate.
"I don't want excuses about travel fatigue sapping their strength. After the delegation's fully rested, then."
The Teuton interpreter trembled, sweating as he relayed it.
The banquet ended in mutual snarls and glares.
"Haah. Was this for peace or a declaration of war?"
Maximilian sighed beside me.
"What the kingdom needs are comrades shoulder-to-shoulder, not haughty neighbors lording over us."
I replied flatly.
"How about showing them the dwarven gear? As you said, seeing it might humble them."
"After we've crushed their spirits first."
Showing dwarven arms now wouldn't shift their disdain much—just pity a weak kingdom lucky enough to snag some.
"Don't worry. Men bond through battle, right?"
Not always true. This was an exception.
The next day, and the day after.
Just more growling. The mood never thawed.
It seemed set to stay that way.
But no.
The moment Teuton's princess—who'd skipped banquets due to illness—finally appeared, the razor-sharp tension melted away.
Effortlessly. Without a trace. Like magic.