Chapter 230
Chapter 230
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 230
Chapter Title: 66. Sometimes a Gentle Appeal is Stronger Than a Sword (5)
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The commotion died down. Even the musicians had lost themselves, halting their playing hands.
In the perfect silence that ensued, I stared blankly at the woman standing in the distance.
Jet-black hair like ebony.
A starkly white face in contrast.
Eyes sparkling like stars.
Perfectly sculpted features, neither more nor less.
All the hallmarks of the woman I knew.
Yet I couldn't quite believe it was truly her.
After all, this was the woman who'd once said that if I desired her as a sword-bearing harlot, she'd sooner end her own life. The one who'd begged to live as a knight rather than a woman, asking me to treat her as such. There was no way she'd suddenly appear before me all dolled up in finery and a dress.
I looked again and again. In the end, I had to admit it.
Even if she wore a flowing white dress instead of her stiff uniform and iron plate,
Even if her hair, usually just roughly tied back to avoid getting in the way of movement, was now elegantly brushed and cascading like ebony.
She was the very same woman I knew.
Arwen Kirguyen.
The knight I trusted most.
I was dumbfounded.
Even as my thoughts swirled, my gaze never left her.
Unlike the young ladies proudly baring their slender necks and delicate shoulders, her dress was an antique style that fully covered neck and shoulders, drawing the eye.
Her simply brushed hair, falling like ebony without any ornaments, was mesmerizing.
Her cheeks, lightly powdered to add a touch of vitality, kept pulling my attention.
Gazing into those starry eyes against her pale face, set off like the night sky, made my mind hazy.
A beauty profound enough to shake even the unyielding mind of a Sword Master, firmer than any fortress.
Until now, I'd thought Elder High Elf Sigrun's appearance was the pinnacle of beauty. That no human could match a fairy's innate allure.
Today, it seemed I'd have to revise that view.
Sigrun's twisted, warped, faded soul couldn't even compare.
Arwen was supreme.
"Hoo."
I steadied my breath.
Then it hit me—how unnaturally quiet the surroundings were.
I turned my head and surveyed the room.
The men were staring at Arwen, forgetting even to breathe. Their states were far from normal.
As if they'd been bewitched by a succubus.
Clap.
I clapped my hands sharply. The clear energy I released spread through the banquet hall.
"Gasp!"
"Ah..."
The men exhaled roughly. Light finally returned to their dazed eyes.
Truly venomous. Utterly venomous.
I clicked my tongue where no one could see.
I felt a fresh wave of relief that she paid so little attention to her appearance normally.
Had she not, the uproar would have been immense.
It was fortunate it was Arwen.
Her soul was flawless, without a single blemish. I was deeply grateful for her stubborn focus on her own path, never glancing aside. Her single-mindedness was a blessing.
As I sighed in relief again and again, the musicians finally snapped out of it and resumed playing.
To the tune, Arwen began approaching the dais.
But her stride was so bold.
She looked like a peerless beauty, yet walked like a knight through and through.
Who else in the world would strut in a dress like that?
I couldn't help but laugh.
That mismatch suited her so perfectly, it was quintessentially Arwen.
Clothes might change, but her essence never would.
Click.
Arwen reached the front of the dais.
"Your Majesty."
She paid her respects.
With perfectly knightly precision.
Behind her, Siolin clutched her head.
I swallowed a laugh that threatened to burst out.
"Your Highness."
Arwen turned to me.
I wiped the smile from my face and looked at her.
I had so many questions.
Why appear before me like this?
Whose scheme had she fallen for?
But I held my tongue.
Only now, facing her up close, did I notice her agitation.
Tense shoulders, subtly unstable aura.
It wasn't just discomfort from the flimsy dress replacing her stiff uniform and heavy armor.
Something was off.
I decided to calm her first.
Smoothly,
I reached out and took her awkwardly fidgeting hand.
Just as she had done for me back in the imperial palace, when I'd met the seer and lost my composure.
I believed it would steady her, as it had me.
But no.
The moment I grasped her hand, Arwen flinched.
I felt her body stiffen even more. Her unstable aura now churned wildly.
An awkward expression, eyes trembling like in an earthquake.
Far from calming, she grew more agitated.
Tilting my head at this unfamiliar face I'd never seen, I said softly,
"Relax your shoulders. Aren't you the proud silver lion?"
Arwen's wandering eyes fixed on me.
Two conflicting emotions flashed in them.
Disappointment, then relief.
Incomprehensible to me.
Before I could ask, those fleeting feelings vanished like illusions.
Simultaneously, her turbulent aura rapidly stabilized.
Her rigid facial muscles softened, the ripples around her eyes fading away.
Arwen looked at me with a relieved expression.
Déjà vu hit me.
A scene I'd seen before, a situation I'd experienced.
After much thought, I realized.
It was exactly the face my maternal uncle had worn when he finally shook off his nightmare.
"Your Highness is truly steadfast."
She smiled softly.
Now seeming calm, I moved to release her hand, but Arwen gently clasped mine.
"That's why I truly admire Your Highness."
Her warm voice, one I'd never heard before.
My eyes widened.
My heart tickled inexplicably.
It felt akin to the thrill of Martial Poem activating, or raising an aura blade.
Yet different.
This familiar yet novel sensation came not from an artificial mana heart,
But from my real one, flesh and blood.
How strange.
Mana shouldn't even flow there.
From the moment she stepped into the banquet hall, Arwen began to regret it.
She must have gone mad briefly. Her head must be addled.
Otherwise, why would she parade before the Crown Prince in such a state?
It was all her foolish father's fault.
'What do you think of Arwen, Your Highness?'
'Do you intend to take Arwen as your concubine?'
She'd overheard her father and the Crown Prince by chance.
At first, she was simply furious at her father's rash attempt to misconstrue their relationship.
That was all. But once the anger subsided, a small doubt lingered.
What would the Crown Prince have answered if she hadn't intervened?
Her heart felt unsettled. Despite her efforts, she kept fixating on his every move.
A more personal interest, unlike before.
All because of her father. His constant trailing and odd remarks had muddled her mind.
She resented how their perfectly fine relationship had grown awkward because of his dramatics.
She disliked how she kept reading meaning into his trivial actions.
With her mind clouded, she'd ended up sharply scolded by the Crown Prince to get a grip.
She steeled her resolve, shaking off stray thoughts. Lingering emotional residue she burned away sparring with a Tueton knight.
Only then did she regain her peace.
A momentary lapse into delusion, she vowed, and redoubled her training to never fall again.
Then the King summoned her.
And requested she attend the banquet not as a knight, but as the lady of House Kirguyen.
'I'll fight any foe you command. Even against ten or a hundred times our number, I'll draw my sword without hesitation. But to demand anything of me as a woman... I cannot obey. This is what Your Highness the Crown Prince promised me—please understand.'
She resisted fiercely an unacceptable order.
But the King persisted, shaking her resolve.
With an argument she couldn't refute.
'Have you ever heard that child praise the blue of the sky? Seen her captivated by brilliant starlight? Or lost in thought under gentle moonlight?'
'All she knows are the sword and war.'
'That won't do. She's human too—how can she live staring only ahead?'
The King's words mirrored her own concerns exactly.
'Taut strings snap, rigid ones break—that's the way of the world. And to me, that's precisely her state.'
'I want her to see more broadly. To reclaim some leisure. To live a bit happier.'
After agonizing, she agreed.
Her decision stemmed purely from concern for the Crown Prince's future.
She repeated it to herself endlessly.
And it was true.
She worried for the Crown Prince, who knew only sword and war, living as if intensity was life's sole purpose, against any possible mishap.
For her lord's future, what did it matter if she wore rags or a dress?
With resolve firm, she headed to the banquet hall.
The flowing hair and flimsy dress felt far more awkward and cumbersome than imagined.
Enduring the discomfort, she stood before the Crown Prince.
In that instant, the stifling makeup, cumbersome hair, and dress—all forgotten.
A strange feeling washed over her.
When he suddenly took her hand, her heart even thumped.
"Relax your shoulders. Aren't you the proud silver lion?"
But unlike her, the Crown Prince was utterly serene.
His gaze full of trust, eyes clear without a hint of confusion.
She felt disappointed, yet relieved.
Grieving, yet unburdened.
Conflicting emotions swirled, leaving only one.
Lightness.
Her clouded mind finally cleared.
"Your Highness is truly steadfast."
The Crown Prince still regarded her with pure, impartial eyes, as promised from the start.
"That's why I truly admire Your Highness."
His presence filled her with joy.
Her mood lifted abruptly, a change too swift to comprehend.
Perhaps that's why.
"Your Highness. I have one request."
She acted on a whim.
"Would you dance with me?"
A plea she'd never have made normally.
"I don't know how to dance."
The Crown Prince frowned.
"Neither do I."
Question marks appeared on his face.
"Then why..."
"To clear the delusions from my heart."
His doubt deepened.
"You dislike it?"
Instead of explaining, Arwen pressed again.
"It's not that I dislike it."
The Crown Prince replied with a troubled look.
At his rare expression, she smiled faintly.
Then boldly extended her hand and took his.
"Uh, uh."
Leading the startled Crown Prince to the center of the hall.
Quick-witted musicians struck up a tune.
Sweet music flowed around them.
The pair exchanged glances.
Blankly.
Arwen felt awkward.
Acting bold had been fine. The problem? Neither knew how to dance.
If only one led, she could follow.
Smoothly,
A pair appeared in the hall's center.
And began dancing demonstratively.
With exaggeratedly slow steps, easy to mimic.
Arwen, eyes narrowed at the self-appointed instructors, widened them suddenly.
Her gaze locked on the man's hand around the woman's waist.
"Ah. So that's how it's done."
"Y-Your Highness, wait..."
Before she could stop him, the Crown Prince strode forward and wrapped his arm around her waist.
Their faces inches apart, breaths mingling.
This was nothing like she'd imagined.
All she'd wanted was to dispel delusions through the dance.
Now, could she even shake them off like this?
It'd be a miracle if they didn't grow.
As she sorted her thoughts, her feet unwittingly followed his steps, oblivious to her mind.
"Relax. It's not as hard as it seems."
The Crown Prince spoke to her smugly.
Unaware of her inner turmoil.
Arwen sighed.
Exhaling, she let everything go.
What choice did she have now?
She decided to embrace the moment.
Returning to Knight Arwen Kirguyen could wait until tomorrow.
But the world rarely goes as planned.
Bang!
A sudden explosion shattered the banquet hall's doors.
From the wreckage flew a dark lump.
Crash.
The lump rolled across the floor several times.
"Urk!"
Young Lord Ilai sprang up and vomited blood.
"Enemy attack!"
Before his urgent shout finished,
Dong-dong-dong.
Frantic bells rang out.
Short and urgent.
The signal for intruders.