Chapter 219
Chapter 219
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 219
Chapter Title: 64. Empty Yet Full (5)
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There was still some time before the High Elf arrived at the palace.
In the meantime, I sought out the King again.
Any worries I had that he might refuse an audience proved unfounded. The King granted my request all too easily.
"You've come."
The King, who had been sitting by the window basking in the sunlight, greeted me with a gentle smile.
It wasn't awkward so much as deeply uncomfortable.
His warmth felt like the final kindness a dying man offers to those he leaves behind.
"Sit here."
Unaware of my thoughts, the King gestured to me with a smiling face.
As I took my seat, I glanced around the room.
The gloomy days had passed, and the sunlight was warm, yet in the King's chambers, the fireplace crackled with burning logs.
The garment draped over the King was a fur coat suited for the depths of winter.
And yet, as if feeling the chill, he huddled his shoulders tightly.
"I've heard everything from Maximilian."
He must have visited in the interim, for the King knew all the details.
"You did splendidly. No one else could have done better than you."
I shook my head at his words.
I had no desire to take sole credit for a victory achieved through everyone's united efforts.
And the reason I'd sought the King wasn't to receive praise.
"Your Majesty."
"Speak."
"Show me your wound."
The King stiffened at my words.
"Didn't I say it's improving?"
But he quickly composed himself, feigning calm as he lied.
"If it's improving, there's no reason not to show it."
"The royal physician has already examined it. What good could come from you looking, when you know nothing of medicine?"
"I may know nothing of medicine, but I've seen more than enough of war. I've witnessed countless soldiers whose wounds festered because they weren't treated in time."
"That warriors who fought for the kingdom couldn't even receive timely treatment... This too is my failing as king. I'll command the Grand Marshal at once to ensure the survivors receive the best care, and take concrete measures for those who fell..."
"Your Majesty."
I cut off the King's earnest words.
"This room reeks of the stench one would find on the battlefield right now."
Then I said it bluntly.
"It's the rot from Your Majesty's festering wound."
"I knew you'd seen more battles than your years would suggest, but I didn't realize you'd mastered some mystical art of diagnosing wounds by scent alone."
The King denied it to the end.
At this rate, we'd just argue without ever checking the wound.
"Your Majesty."
So I grew serious and said,
"I am the Crown Prince of this kingdom."
"I know."
"I need to know your condition to make preparations."
My somewhat forceful words left the King silent.
In the past, he would have scowled and thrown me out immediately.
But not now.
The King stared at me intently for a long while.
Then he let out a sudden sigh.
"Did you hear it from Sir Schrumhilde?"
"I saw the rotting flesh and bandages and confirmed it."
The King sighed again at my answer.
"If you already know everything, why ask to see the wound now?"
"So I can prepare for treatment."
"Don't worry. I'll take sufficient measures to ensure your path forward remains smooth."
I frowned.
What was this nonsense?
I looked at the King's face properly then.
His wrinkled features were etched with complex emotions.
Faint disappointment and anger,
but far stronger regret and self-reproach.
Only then did I realize he'd misunderstood my words.
The King clearly thought I was talking about succession to the throne.
Otherwise, he wouldn't gaze at me with such a desolate expression.
"Not that kind of preparation. I mean treatment."
I corrected the misunderstanding right away.
"It's a blade thrust by someone filled with hatred and grudge, like a serpent's strike. The hatred and grudge have seeped into the marrow. It's too late to turn back."
"It's not too late. As long as there's breath, there's a elixir that can save even one with a pierced heart."
"I've never heard of such a medicine."
"It's not a human medicine."
I explained about the nectar possessed by the High Elves.
"Would they part with something so precious so easily?"
The King asked after hearing my full explanation.
"I'll make them."
Bribing a High Elf—who carried his innate arrogance but lacked the maturity to match it—was child's play for me.
The King chuckled at my bold declaration.
"Well, if you could force the Empire's arrogant prince into a humiliating armistice, you might manage that too."
Even as he said it, the King didn't show me his wound.
Wondering if he doubted the nectar's efficacy, I prepared to explain again, but the King spoke first.
"It's not that I don't believe you. If you say it exists, it does. And its effects will be exactly as you describe."
"Then why..."
"It's something with no connection to me."
The King stared at me intently as he said that.
"From the north to the war with the Empire. I've heard everything—how you fought, how you won."
His sudden words made me frown.
Seeing this, the King continued.
"Getting wounded is routine for you, and you've been carried off unconscious from grievous injuries more times than I can count. I heard that upon reaching the Master realm, you underwent some mystical transformation that erased all your scars. Yet now, your body is covered in them again."
Unthinkingly, I looked down at my body.
And I flinched in surprise.
"When did these..."
My hands, forearms, every exposed inch of skin was scarred.
Those scars should have vanished cleanly when my body was reconstructed upon becoming a Master.
"Judging by your appearance, you wandered the battlefields without even realizing scars were forming on your body."
The King clicked his tongue.
And added,
"That's precisely why you need that nectar more than I do."
He told me to save the life-restoring elixir for myself.
His unexpected words left me dumbfounded.
"I've made up my mind. Don't try to persuade me further."
As I stood there stunned, the King gestured for me to leave.
I visited him repeatedly, trying to convince him, but he wouldn't budge.
He merely looked at me with a pleased smile.
As if he found it admirable that I would yield such a treasure to him.
Even as he lay dying.
"This isn't the time to worry about others!"
I ranted to myself in frustration, fit to burst.
But it did nothing to ease my pent-up irritation.
"First, let's secure the nectar."
In the end, I gave up persuading him for now and focused on obtaining the nectar.
If he still refused treatment afterward, I'd force it down his throat.
And then Gurne returned. The High Elf was with her.
"The High Elf Arnnand of the Mistletoe Clan greets His Highness, Crown Prince Idrian Leonberger of the Kingdom of Leonberger."
His words were polite, but his face was full of displeasure.
I couldn't tell if it was because I'd left him cooped up in the Iron Lion Fortress without summoning him sooner, or because I'd sent a half-elf as messenger.
It seemed the latter.
His gaze briefly flicked over Gurne.
In that instant, disgust flashed in his eyes.
As if he'd spotted something filthy.
Come to think of it, Gurne's expression was somewhat stiff.
She bowed her head deeply when our eyes met.
I could guess what had happened.
The arrogant High Elf must have mocked her for her bloodline, even knowing she was my messenger.
[I'm sorry.]
Gurne signed to me, still keeping her head bowed.
I let out a sigh.
She'd done nothing wrong.
If there was blame, it was mine for sending her as messenger despite knowing the instinctive fear High Elves instilled in her. It was mine for underestimating the terror rooted in her heart from being raised like livestock under the Elder High Elf Sigrun.
[I'm truly sorry.]
She signed an apology again.
"No. There's nothing to apologize for. You did well."
Instead of getting angry, I patted her shoulder gently.
I wasn't angry. It simply made me realize anew the immense courage it took for her and the sword spirits to point their blades at Sigrun for my sake.
"You can go now."
Gurne left the room, head bowed low.
"Tch."
As I watched her go, I heard a disapproving click of the tongue.
I turned my head.
The clueless young High Elf was staring in the direction Gurne had gone.
With eyes full of disgust and contempt.
The moment I saw that look, I made up my mind.
Fair dealing was too good for him.
"Hoo."
I exhaled deeply.
The boiling in my gut subsided a little.
"Any discomfort during your stay?"
With my composure regained, I formally asked the High Elf.
"Aside from the barbaric dwarves camping nearby, it was a time where I felt Your Highness's consideration and goodwill in nearly every way."
He emphasized "consideration and goodwill" with heavy sarcasm, clearly harboring many grievances.
It was only natural.
For a lofty High Elf to be denied entry to the castle and forced to live in tents on the outer bailey's open ground—comfort would have been the real surprise.
Especially when the dwarves were lodged in the inner fortress, feasting and drinking every day with utmost hospitality.
Aware of his complaints, I pretended ignorance.
"Glad you're at least comfortable. The war's sudden end must have been inconvenient."
His original goal had been to sway my grudge against the elves—born from Sigrun—and ideally rack up merits in the war to settle any debts.
But the armistice had robbed him of that chance.
His first outing ending in failure couldn't sit well.
"How could it be? I was rejoicing in the kingdom's victory as if it were my clan's own."
Knowing his situation full well, he put on a pathetic act.
But I had no patience for the fairy’s nauseating pretense.
So I cut straight to the point.
"You High Elves wanted diplomatic ties with the kingdom, right?"
"More precisely, friendly relations with Your Highness."
"Not a difficult matter."
The High Elf's expression shifted subtly at my words.
Looking at him, I dangled the bait.
"But to discuss something so important, shouldn't our relationship be a bit closer first?"
"A most reasonable point."
And the naive elf bit.
"Good. Then I take that as acceptance."
"What do you mean? What exactly have I accepted..."
I grinned at his dumbfounded face.
"Nothing bonds men like crossing swords."
The High Elf looked utterly bewildered by my insistence.
"I trust a High Elf won't refuse a mere human's—nay, a young human's—challenge to spar."
"Worried about losing? No need. I'll go easy."
"The leader of the sword dancers can't be a coward."
Provocations that wouldn't faze another High Elf.
But this one, fresh to the world on his first venture, was still a greenhorn who hadn't learned its dangers. An arrogant, narrow-minded thunderhead lacking even the experience to hide it.
"An elf's sword dance is far fiercer than it appears."
In the end, the provoked High Elf accepted the duel.
And so, we faced each other in the training grounds, surrounded by the Royal Knights.
Spotting Gurne among them, I turned back.
The High Elf held his sword low, watching me. In eyes that seemed calm at first glance, the fairy's signature sticky malice flickered.
"Oh, right."
As if it had just occurred to me upon seeing that gaze, I said,
"Just sparring would be boring. Let's make a wager."
Here we go again.
Can't duel without a bet now.
I ignored the murmurs from the Royal Knights.
"Scared of losing? We can call it off."
He frowned at my low blow and asked,
"What wager?"
"The one who admits defeat or drops their sword loses. Loser grants the winner one request."
"Pacts with elves are not made lightly."
"Really? Funny. Same goes for promises with me."
Arnnand smirked arrogantly at my words. Overt mockery.
A face that didn't for a moment consider losing.
The Royal Knights murmured again.
The late Count Ballerhard got wrecked just like that.
The Tue ton Duke too.
He's totally hooked now.
I shook my head slightly at their whispers.
They were different from the High Elf before me.
He would lose far more than they had.
Tap tap.
The High Elf stamped lightly, beating a rhythm.
And I,
Thud.
stomped in the gap between beats.