Chapter 235
Chapter 235
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 235
Chapter Title: 68. The Return of the Legend (3)
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The wizards, their faces grave as they poured healing magic onto the crown prince, finally withdrew their hands once the blood stopped flowing from his body.
The lady knight, who had watched without taking her eyes off him even for a moment, carefully lifted the crown prince into her arms. His blood quickly stained her pure white dress red. But she paid it no mind.
She simply cradled his limp form with a caution bordering on reverence.
Kals Yulihi stepped forward to take the crown prince from her.
Right then,
A flash.
The crown prince, whom everyone thought had completely passed out, opened his eyes.
His lips moved faintly, his voice so weak and soft it was barely audible.
Only Kals and the lady knight heard his words.
"Yes, Your Highness. Don't worry."
The lady knight murmured her reply, and only then did the crown prince close his eyes again, his face finally easing into relief.
This time, he had truly lost consciousness.
The king asked the lady knight,
"What did that child say?"
A flicker of embarrassment crossed her face.
The king couldn't understand the emotion that appeared there.
The only one in the room who could was Kals, who had heard the crown prince's final request alongside her.
Kals not only understood her discomfort but empathized with it completely.
The crown prince's words had been that out of left field.
"It's mine. If anyone touches it, I won't let them off easy."
At first, even Kals hadn't grasped what he meant.
It wasn't until later that he realized it referred to the greatsword wielded by the enemy knight, nearly bursting into laughter in the process.
In truth, it wasn't all that surprising.
When facing an enemy sword in hand, the crown prince was a heroic knight worthy of the title "great." But without an enemy before him, he was far from great.
He was more like an immature child.
To Kals, who knew this side of him well, the request was utterly in character for the crown prince.
But that had nothing to do with the current situation.
Kals glanced around subtly.
The kingdom's nobles and knights, along with envoys from foreign lands—countless dignitaries had gathered here.
They were still entranced by the crown prince's awe-inspiring battle, gazing at him as if he were a great knight unparalleled in the world. Repeating his request verbatim in front of such people would be rather embarrassing.
Especially in front of someone as famously rigid as Arwen Kirguyen.
"Did he say something secretive that's difficult to reveal here?"
The king asked the lady knight again.
"Not exactly, but..."
The lady knight, who rarely trailed off, hesitated.
"Unable to stand it any longer, Kals answered the king's question in her stead.
"His Highness said the enemy knight's sword is a magic sword, and that touching it carelessly could bring great harm, so it must be handled with utmost care."
"He also made sure to add that it should ideally be left untouched until he awakens, but since it can't just be left there, have Lady Arwen move the sword."
In truth, the crown prince had said exactly that.
It was out of worry that someone might touch his possession, but it wasn't fabricating words out of thin air, so it wasn't a lie before the king.
The lady knight gave Kals a grateful glance.
"I'll attend to His Highness the Crown Prince."
Kals approached and extended his hand.
Her expression hardened slightly as she alternated between the crown prince in her arms and the ominous magic sword rolling on the floor.
She wanted to carry him herself, but she couldn't bear to keep the unconscious crown prince near that cursed blade.
"Lady Arwen."
With a sigh, she finally handed him over.
Kals carefully lifted the crown prince's body.
Then he looked to the king.
A nod.
Kals turned and began walking, cradling the crown prince.
The kingdom's nobles and knights, who had crowded in darkly around them, parted like waves, clearing a path.
He strode down the center of that path.
Snap.
Wherever he passed, people knelt silently.
Among them were the kingdom's nobles and knights, envoys who had come to attend the banquet, and even the prideful Silver Lion knights of the realm.
All expressed their reverence in the same manner.
Their gestures—hand over heart, heads bowed—were profoundly solemn.
Kals couldn't help but feel a surge of emotion.
The boy who had lived under gazes of scorn and mockery.
The eldest son of the royal family who hadn't even received proper royal courtesy.
The prince exiled to the harsh northern winds, abandoned even by his father.
Seeing that prince now receive such reverence filled his chest to bursting.
He suppressed his surging passion, stepping forward with firm resolve. Chest out, shoulders squared proudly.
Lest his own unworthy appearance bring shame to the crown prince.
Thus, Kals walked through the throng and exited the hall.
The king, silently watching his departure, struggled just as much to contain his rising emotions.
But they differed as well.
If the court knight's turmoil stemmed from joy and感動, the king's boiling feelings arose from guilt.
Those scars on his body—had they come to be like this?
Had he fought, drenched in blood like this, all this time?
While I sat on the throne, wasting away the hours, had he arrived at this desperate point?
The king suddenly recalled a conversation with his eldest son from a few years back.
"Fifty-six battles just in the past year."
"And where were you, Your Majesty, during all that?"
He had only grown angry at the question then, seeing it as an attempt to shame him with empty rhetoric.
So what if the boy spouted rhetoric? These were hard-won achievements.
In hindsight, it had been a petty response.
The king regretted, and regretted again.
But what was done could not be undone.
A simple truth everyone knew, yet his past self had been ignorant of it.
Thus, he had lost much by dwelling on an unchangeable past, mired in regret.
He had no intention of repeating the same mistake.
The king looked not to the past, but to the future.
He would devote himself to making the kingdom prosperous. So that the throne the boy would inherit would shine even brighter.
That was the king's vow of atonement.
It was only the beginning.
The king surveyed his surroundings.
Looking upon the kingdom's nobles and knights, he bellowed,
"Behold! How futile are promises with the faithless!"
The nobles' eyes began to blaze. Rage against the brazen foes who had ignored even prior negotiations and invaded the kingdom's heartland spread like wildfire.
The king turned his gaze.
The envoys stood there.
"Behold! The price of having greedy petty folk as neighbors!"
Anxiety and unease flickered across the envoys' faces.
"The empire's knight declared that the nightmare has already begun!"
Instead of soothing them, the king fanned their fears.
The Nightmare Knight's words were tantamount to a declaration of war. Perhaps even now, imperial forces were marching with blades drawn.
The envoys murmured. Pale faces filled with dread. Some fidgeted as if ready to flee back to their homelands.
The king watched calmly.
Once the fear and anxiety among them peaked, he asked,
"Will you face ruin alone in battle? Or fight together and claim victory?"
A question that would not have worked at another time.
The envoys would have sought ways to avoid war before calculating odds of victory.
But now was different.
It came after the empire's knight spoke words akin to a declaration of war. After witnessing the inhuman power of Penta's knight.
The events of this single day had driven them to the edge.
And a cornered rat will bite even a cat.
"We'll fight together!"
"We can't just sit and take it!"
Just like now.
The king smiled inwardly in triumph.
"The kingdom supports your choice and will gladly stand as your ally if needed!"
Outwardly, he played the role of a trustworthy friend.
Not all lost their composure to the king's incitement, however. Some stepped back to observe.
One such stepped forward and asked fluently in the kingdom tongue,
"Does Leonberger possess such power?"
The heated atmosphere cooled as if doused with cold water.
"I ask if Leonberger will have the capacity to look elsewhere should war resume."
Silence fell as the envoys awaited the king's response.
The king's expression remained unchanged despite the blunt query.
"We defeated thirty-seven imperial legions that invaded the kingdom, dismantled forty-two knight orders. We burned twenty-nine territories in the empire's south and center, beheading their lords. Eleven enemy legions were annihilated in the process."
He merely listed the kingdom's victories from the last war in a flat tone.
"The kingdom triumphed, and the empire retreated. And."
The king turned his head.
"Today, here, the kingdom has triumphed once more."
A pool of crimson blood, shattered metal fragments.
At its center lay Penta's knight in a gruesome corpse.
The king gazed silently at the remains.
It was a wordless protest, a silence more persuasive than a hundred words.
"Indeed. That suffices as an answer."
The envoy who had stepped forward bowed and retreated.
No one else questioned the kingdom's capabilities after that.
"All remaining events are canceled, so rest your bodies and minds at ease. Then, with clear heads, ponder the current situation and render your judgments."
The king declared the official proceedings concluded.
The envoys bowed in farewell as the king passed before them.
Then, as if it had just occurred to him, he paused and added,
"Dotrin, Tuton, and several kingdoms have already pledged their solidarity, so take that into account in your decisions."
Those who extended hands first in hard times would not be treated the same as latecomers riding the tide.
The envoys snapped their heads up at his words.
But the king did not look back, departing as is.
"Exactly two days."
Marquis Villepeldt said.
"That's how long it took for the envoys to compete in requesting audiences with His Majesty."
Lying on the sickbed, I listened to the marquis and voiced my doubt.
"Dotrin was an ally from the start, and Tuton signed the accord, so that makes sense. But what about 'several kingdoms'?"
"Before the banquet began, His Majesty had already held close discussions with those nations. The envoy who questioned the kingdom's power was from one of them."
I let out a small exclamation at that.
I hadn't anticipated the king preparing so much while my main body was locked in combat.
It made me feel the worth of using precious nectar to save him.
"I would have phrased it more mildly, as 'winning them over in advance.'"
The marquis nagged, displeased with my wording.
"Whatever. And if you're going to act all refined, at least put down the bottle. Isn't it proper for a dignified noble to pour into a glass?"
I grumbled sourly, then frowned upon realizing the precious liquor gifted by Tuton's princess was all going into the marquis's gut.
"Whether from glass or bottle, what does it matter? The key is savoring the taste."
The marquis offered a lame excuse with an embarrassed face but didn't set down the bottle.
I wanted to snatch it away right then, but my body wouldn't cooperate.
After groaning for a while, I sank back into the bed.
Seeing me like that, the marquis—perhaps feeling a bit guilty—changed the subject.
"By the way, do you know what people are calling Your Highness?"
"What?"
I snapped gruffly, and the marquis grinned.
"They say the sight of Your Highness wielding a blade wreathed in blue light, slicing through the crescent moon-like sword aura from Penta's knight, resembles dawn chasing away the night. So, they're calling you the Knight of Dawn."
"What?"
My heart thumped hard at his words.
"Knight of Dawn—a noble, grandiose title straight out of ancient hero tales."
I scowled unwittingly at the sudden pounding.
"You seem embarrassed."
Misreading me, the marquis teased relentlessly.
A strange dizziness washed over me.
"This is all self-inflicted, Your Highness. You were the first to speak of the dawn light that awakens nightmares..."
Even the marquis's voice grew distant, then faded.
Silence enveloped me.
A whining wind echoed from somewhere. Impossible, with the shutters sealed tight.
My vision blurred hazily.
Beyond the misty sight, a dreamlike scene emerged.
In the midst of a snow-covered plain stood a lone man.
On his knees, head bowed, he had thrust a broken sword into the ground.
I stared, entranced.
A flash.
The man raised his head sharply.
An oddly blurred face.
Suddenly, he lifted the broken sword high.
Thud.
Without a hint of hesitation, he plunged it into his own chest.
A sharp pang.
As if my heart were being gouged by iron, I clutched my chest with a start.
At that instant, the hazy face turned straight toward me.
The man moved his pale lips.