Chapter 224
Chapter 224
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 224
Chapter Title: 65. The Deep Darkness is the Prelude to the Dawn Soon to Come (4)
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Lionel Leonberger had a long dream.
It was closer to a recollection or a lifetime reflection than a mere dream.
The humiliating days of living as a monarch of a kingdom groaning under the Empire's oppression.
A life of enduring with all his heart, only for it to ultimately fall short of his wishes.
Memories riddled with failure and humiliation—ones he had no desire to revisit.
Yet even so, upon waking from the dream, the first sensation that struck him was an overwhelming sense of loss.
With melancholic eyes, he ran his hand over the empty spot on the bed.
The cold touch of the sheets, devoid of any warmth, only deepened his yearning.
But he forced himself to steady his heart.
Such a long dream was surely the regret that naturally visited those nearing the end of their lives. Reminding himself that the day he would reunite with her was not far off eased his somber mood considerably.
His day began in such a poor frame of mind, but aside from that, his mind was unusually clear—almost eerily so.
The medicine prescribed by the royal physician had proven quite effective in dulling the pain of his wounds, though it fell short of eliminating it entirely. Moreover, it came with the side effect of leaving his mind foggy even while awake, as if trapped in a dream.
Never before had his head felt this refreshed.
The chronic headaches and stifling oppression that had plagued him constantly since ascending the throne had vanished as if they were nothing more than a lie.
Vitality surged through his entire body.
It felt as though he had been utterly reborn.
He wondered if this was what people meant by the final flicker of a dying candle.
That thought lingered until he glimpsed the pale skin peeking through his disheveled garments.
"Ah..."
Lionel froze in shock.
Belatedly lifting his tunic, he widened his eyes.
Nothing was there.
No filthy bandages that oozed pus and foul discharge mere hours after three daily changes. No blackened, rotting wounds beneath them. Nothing at all.
Wounds that even the warlocks of Dotrin and the palace physicians had abandoned to fate.
It was a miracle.
He knew immediately who was responsible for this miracle.
"That child's words were true after all."
He had claimed there existed an elixir capable of saving even those teetering on death's door, so long as a breath remained—and it had not been a lie.
Come to think of it, it seemed Ian had visited him briefly.
Lionel furrowed his brow.
He struggled to discern where the dream ended and reality began.
He clutched his head.
'I'll finish it soon! Just endure a little longer!'
Recalling that forceful voice amid his beastly howls of agony, memories long dormant in the depths of his mind began surfacing one by one.
The horrific sense of loss and pain as something within his body shattered.
The unfamiliar energy that rushed in to fill the void before he could even gather his wits.
Memories severed amid the clashing sensations of depletion and fulfillment.
Then, abruptly, his consciousness brushed the boundary between dream and reality.
'Your Majesty might scold me for wasting such precious medicine once you awaken. Though perhaps, changed as you are now from the past, you might even offer me thanks.'
That child's voice, heard at dawn as the pain ebbed, had been unmistakably real.
'But gratitude is utterly unwarranted.'
The voice—familiar yet strangely novel—blurred the lines of distinction.
'As a sworn ally of House Leonberger, I merely fulfilled my duty. Your Majesty need only etch the royal oath into your heart and live out the remainder of your days accordingly.'
And the final words, uttered just before consciousness slipped away, were certainly not reality.
"The royal oath..."
Amid the confusion, he recalled the vow of House Leonberger that his eldest son had spoken of in the dream.
A kingdom founded by those who fled the Empire's plunder and tyranny.
A monarch acclaimed by people tormented by savage monsters and bitter cold.
The oath sworn by the founder of House Leonberger before them.
"I shall live as the king of the weak."
The moment he repeated those words, his heart thundered fiercely.
Whoosh.
A beat later, his chest ignited in heat.
Hot breath seeped through his gritted teeth. It felt as if a fire blazed at the center of his chest.
An inexplicable exhilaration. An unknowable sense of fullness.
Faced with emotions he had never felt in his life, the king could only gasp raggedly.
The heat refused to subside easily.
To the point where he feared his body might combust entirely.
Yet the flames died down as abruptly as they had erupted. When Lionel regained his senses, only a faint warmth lingered, drifting through his body.
The heat that had rampaged across his form converged in one spot.
Somewhere near his chest, where it had first flared.
The gathered heat vanished as if it had never existed.
In its place remained a heavy mass, pulsing like a heart.
"Mana Heart?"
It was mana. Mana utterly different in nature from what he had once possessed.
A heart mana.
Realizing the identity of the substantial mana now rooted in his body, Lionel went slack-jawed.
Talentless as he was, managing only two rings, he was still a ring knight in truth.
Yet upon waking, his rings had vanished without a trace, supplanted by this new heart hovering in their stead.
Perplexity would have been the abnormal reaction.
But the true bewilderment lay not in the altered mana quality.
As he moved to summon a handmaiden to change his sweat-drenched tunic, he froze once more.
In the mirror Margarita had used in life—placed not far from the bed—stood a man with a face both familiar and foreign.
The spitting image of that child, save for hair color and age.
If one more difference were named, it was the softer cast to the eyes in the mirror.
Lionel raised a hand to caress his face. The silver-haired man in the mirror mirrored the gesture.
He was stunned. The man in the mirror wore a stunned expression too.
Then realization dawned belatedly.
It was his own reflection.
He could not fathom why his bleached-white hair had turned mystical silver, nor where the wrinkles that had etched his face had fled. Knock knock.
Lost in the mirror's gaze, someone rapped on the door.
"Enter."
After a moment's hesitation, Lionel spoke lowly.
The door swung open soon after, revealing the kingdom's leadership, headed by the Captain of the Royal Knight Order.
They gawked, eyes bulging at his transformed appearance.
Lionel frowned, at a loss for how to explain.
But the worry proved unfounded.
The Captain of the Royal Knight Order. Grand Marshal Billefeld. Chancellor Kirguyen.
Not one questioned the situation.
"Congratulations on your full recovery!"
They offered jubilant felicitations with faces alight in emotion.
As if they comprehended it all.
Now, Lionel was the one compelled to inquire after events.
"What in the world transpired? I grasp that the child treated me, but I cannot fathom what has taken root in my heart, nor the reason for this altered visage."
The Captain of the Royal Knight Order stepped forward to reply.
"His Highness the Crown Prince stated that two rings alone could not contain most of the elixir's energy, which would dissipate. Thus, to render it fully Your Majesty's own, he shattered the rings and forged a new Mana Heart."
Incredible words, hard to credit.
He had witnessed advanced knights shatter foes' rings aplenty, but creating a Mana Heart arbitrarily within another's body? He had never heard of such a feat in his life.
Yet disbelief was impossible.
The weighty presence in his chest served as irrefutable proof.
"Congratulations, Your Majesty."
The Old Knight, noting how Lionel unconsciously pawed at his chest, offered unprompted well-wishes.
Questioned for the reason, the Old Knight smiled faintly and explained.
"Your Majesty has acquired mana rivaling a Master's in volume. It holds little immediate utility, but with diligent training, it may one day match the power His Highness shall fully claim."
He could only marvel anew.
The mass in his chest had felt substantial, but he had not anticipated its magnitude.
Soon, however, he quelled the awe and scowled.
"You speak as though I am destined to become a Silver Lion."
"Should you attain enlightenment worthy of it and achieve great mastery, it is far from impossible."
"I know full well that my meager talent precludes even minor mastery, let alone great."
Despite gaining mana equal to a Master's through inferior aptitude, he had failed to breach the wall. The thought that this precious elixir had met an unworthy recipient weighed heavily on him.
"Where is that child—the Crown Prince?"
"His Highness the Crown Prince is in seclusion, restoring his depleted energies."
Lionel reproached himself all the more.
To enact such an extraordinary alteration of another's mana essence—how could the toll be slight?
Likely, oblivious to his own exhaustion, he had squandered his labors on the kingdom's future in vain pursuit.
His eldest son struck him as profoundly foolish. Yet that same son's heart, employing a treasure of ages on his father without hesitation, stirred profound gratitude.
His emotions tangled so fiercely he could scarcely speak.
A needless sigh escaped him, prompting Marquis Billefeld to offer a gentle smile.
Only half the elixir had been used for the treatment, he revealed—the remainder secured by the Crown Prince himself.
Those words brought him no small comfort.
"I must go to that child."
As Lionel made to depart for the 1st Prince's Palace at once, Marquis Billefeld interceded.
"He insisted on seclusion to recover his strength for the interim and bade us not seek him until he emerges of his own accord."
He appended one final note.
"He entrusted the completion of remaining affairs to Your Majesty."
"That boy scurried tirelessly until his body nearly crumbled, handling my aftermath amid his own decline—what task could I possibly shirk in wrapping things up?"
With that, Lionel turned to Chancellor Kirguyen.
"Chancellor, prepare a full report on all that transpired in my absence."
"You have only just recovered from grave injury. Further rest would be wisest."
Lionel merely smiled at the Chancellor's counsel.
"In all my years, never have I brimmed with such vigor or clarity of mind as now. So spare your concern for me, Chancellor, and summon the Teuton emissary without delay."
This was no empty boast—vitality truly coursed through him. The frantic impatience that had dogged him like a pursuer had evaporated like mist.
With impatience banished, much had shifted.
His constricted vision expanded; his parochial thoughts broadened.
Innumerable feats once beyond reach now seemed attainable.
A torrent of immediate priorities flooded his mind.
He wasted no time.
Unlike the aimless anxiety that had lorded over an inept king's life.
This was drive. Passion.
The mission-sense of his vanished youth, extinguished amid ceaseless setbacks and defeats.
"The Chancellor must not tarry a single instant."
Lionel's voice rang with unprecedented force, his eyes aglow with piercing resolve amid serene calm.
Witnessing this, the Chancellor and Grand Marshal ceased their remonstrations and obeyed his command.
Thus did they depart the king's bedchamber.
And at that very hour, the very architect of the king's labyrinthine thoughts—Crown Prince Idrian Leonberger—languished immured in his own palace.
Utterly unlike the suppositions of the king and countless others, who envisioned him bedridden to replenish sapped vitality; he brimmed with vigor.
"To think the main body rejected me on account of the oath with the royal family!"
Gripping the royal house's sword, radiant with luster, in his hand...