Chapter 274
Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 274
Chapter Title: 76. Idrian Leonberger (2)
Idrian Leonberger was a hero.
None of his legendary exploits lacked heroism, and none of his achievements failed to shine brilliantly.
But that had not always been the case.
His past, in fact, was despicable enough to warrant the scorn of the world.
Born with a savage temperament, he routinely beat his subordinates black and blue, and he frequently insulted or tormented those who approached him with good intentions.
It was only natural that this bred countless enemies harboring grudges against him.
They never believed the rumors about Idrian Leonberger.
The so-called national savior the people raved about? They dismissed him as a phantom fabricated by the royal family to quell the chaos of the times.
Once the world settled into peace, they expected his ugly true face to emerge.
His falsely built fame would crumble to dust, and his infamous reputation would echo across the heavens once more. They had no doubt of it.
Yet no matter how much time passed, the reckoning they anticipated never came.
On the contrary, Idrian Leonberger's renown only grew with the years.
Even in their own circles, people began to personally witness his selfless, heroic deeds.
At that point, they could no longer dismiss the rumors as baseless fantasies.
They had no choice but to admit it.
Idrian Leonberger—the man they had loathed so deeply—had changed.
The irredeemable wastrel was gone from the world.
All that remained was the unparalleled knight who had risen above his youthful follies to become the kingdom's savior.
When realization dawned, it felt like their insides were collapsing.
The hideous scars on their bodies lingered unchanged, their hearts still burned with deep-seated hatred and resentment, yet for that scoundrel, it was all just "the past."
The horrors they had endured were shrugged off as mere childish mistakes made in ignorance, while their anguished cries were condemned as the narrow-minded slander of the petty and irreverent. The world had stuffed their mouths shut.
Thus, they wandered aimlessly, bereft even of the sole outlet to vent their hatred and rage.
That was when envoys dispatched by the royal family sought them out.
From their lips came word that Idrian Leonberger repented his past sins and was taking the time to track down his victims.
"Once this turbulent era stabilizes, come to the palace. His Highness said he would welcome you with open arms."
The herald left those brief words and departed.
Behind him, he left a pouch brimming with gold—enough for lowly folk like them to never dream of seeing in a lifetime. Beside it lay a silver badge, specially crafted for them.
Yet amid their poverty, they could not bring themselves to touch the money.
Not because it felt tainted.
They feared that spending it all would erase Idrian Leonberger's wicked deeds from the world forever.
Nor could they use the badge proving them guests of the crown.
They dreaded that the Idrian Leonberger they met again might truly be the monster the world described.
And so time dragged on...
Until one day, news struck like a bolt from the blue.
"His Highness the Crown Prince has passed."
It was the death notice for Idrian Leonberger, the very man they had hated so fiercely.
And his death was so noble that it rendered even the hatred they had clung to for a full decade utterly hollow.
They said he had faced an enemy so formidable even the Silver Lions could not withstand, plunged the royal sword into his own chest, sacrificed his life like a mere blade of grass to dispel the dark clouds looming over the kingdom, and met a heroic end.
Even if he had wished to survive, he could easily have preserved his life—but he offered it up without hesitation.
Hearing that heroic tale, their hatred lost its direction, and their wounds became eternal.
They rushed to the capital like madmen.
Clutching the royal token left by the palace herald long ago.
The palace gatekeeper seemed to know of them already; he opened the gates without a word.
They were escorted straight to the Crown Prince's palace.
"His Highness awaited you. You're too late."
A court knight in shattered armor yielded the way, his face etched with grief.
And at last, they came face-to-face with the man they had so desperately longed to meet... and dreaded ever seeing.
Before the corpse that had grown cold and stiff, they were forced to swallow the venomous barbs they had honed for their foe.
The object of their hatred was not some bloated, grease-dripping glutton of a wastrel, but a saintly figure, rags hanging from his frame after long ordeals, finally arrived at rest.
They stared at Idrian Leonberger's corpse in a daze.
Not a patch of exposed flesh beneath the pristine shroud was free of scars and wounds. Not one of those dense marks was shallower than the scars on their own bodies.
Gazing blankly at the wounds, they reflected.
They had heard he had wandered battlefields since before his coming-of-age ceremony, fighting endlessly.
They hadn't believed even half of those tales—but now they had no choice but to accept them all.
The scars covering his body bore witness to the brutal path he had walked.
Born to noble royalty, he could have reveled in every luxury—yet Idrian Leonberger had chosen to fight on savage battlefields until his body was reduced to that state.
Could it be that he had lived so fiercely to atone for his past mistakes and pay the price?
If that were truly the case... if those dense scars were the marks of self-inflicted punishment...
Then he had more than paid his debt.
"Ten years ago, there was a great incident."
Those lost in staring at Idrian Leonberger's corpse jolted to awareness.
"In my foolishness, I believed it was this child's doing and harbored nothing but resentment and hatred. I used it to flee the responsibility that was truly mine. In truth, it was no fault of his from the start."
The king stood there—no one knew when he had entered, or perhaps he had been present all along.
"To a mere twelve-year-old boy in desperate need of his parents' love, it must have been an unbearable weight of hatred and blame. This child's misdeeds toward you stemmed from my own hatred, so the true apology you deserve is not his... but mine."
They watched the king apologize in a stupor.
"Of course, that doesn't erase his wrongs. Which is why I make this shameless plea to you."
The king implored them not as the sovereign of a nation, but as a father.
"Do not hate this child too much. Curse and revile this worthless father instead."
They could offer no response to the king's request.
They merely gazed vacantly at Idrian Leonberger's corpse.
Clank.
The door opened right then.
And from beyond it emerged a man.
"Y-Your Majesty."
The man's face twisted in horror, as if he had overheard something he should never have.
"W-What did you just say?"
The king squeezed his eyes shut.
"Is the incident from ten years ago truly the one I know—the one I think I know?!"
In a shocking breach of decorum, the man bellowed at the king.
"The knights of the forsaken fortress—three hundred and twenty-three of them. The day they severed their own chains yourselves! Is that what you're talking about?!"
The king did not rebuke the man's impertinence. He simply opened his eyes and nodded quietly.
The man's face contorted further.
"Th-That can't be..."
"There was another who sold you out. That child was merely a pawn in the schemes of wicked adults."
The truth of the catastrophe from a decade ago spilled from the king's lips.
"D-Did His Highness know of this as well?"
Faced with that truth, the man paled.
"He was the first to uncover what no one else knew."
"I-I can't believe it!"
"The informant confessed directly, and we verified it multiple times through Montpellier. There is no lie in my words."
The man shook his head in denial.
"It can't be. His Highness admitted his guilt himself. He told me to grow strong and exact punishment with my own hands."
"Did that child say as much?"
The king sighed.
"It seems the Ballerhard blood runs thicker than Leonberger's in him after all. That's why he's so stubborn, insisting on the difficult, perilous path like his maternal kin—like his mother."
The king gazed into empty space for a moment before turning back to the man.
Meeting those profoundly deep eyes, the man cried out like a man possessed.
"Why?! If that's the truth—if it's really true—why didn't His Highness reveal it?!"
"He didn't want that. He said you needed motivation to sharpen your blades once more. Even if it meant bearing your hatred and resentment, he hoped you would rise stronger. He believed it was the best path—for you, and for the kingdom."
At those words, the man staggered.
* * *
The world had flipped countless times. And in the end, it had crumbled.
Gawain Gaust lost his senses entirely.
He barely remembered what was said after that.
When he came to, he was dead drunk, sprawled in some back alley of the capital.
"If you're gonna hide it, hide it to the end—why reveal it now..."
Leaning against the wall, he muttered like a madman.
Then his face twisted into a demonic snarl.
"Gawain. Gawain. Trying to escape reality by blaming someone else again? How utterly pathetic and ugly."
Memories from the past flooded his mind.
Reunited with the Crown Prince, he had spewed venomous words and rejected every gift offered.
Even after reaching upper-class Sword Expert with the Prince's full support and earning a military medal, he had remained utterly scornful.
Back then, he had seen it all as the punishment the Prince rightfully owed. The compensation he deserved.
In truth, not a single one of those things had ever been his to claim.
Nausea surged. Vomit rose in his throat.
"Blegh!"
He heaved up his guts.
But no matter how much he retched, the sludge of self-loathing and disgust churning inside him refused to diminish.
It felt just like ten years ago—that horrific time.
No, back then had been better.
At least then, his hatred and resentment had a target: someone else. Now, it was himself.
Tormented by self-loathing, disgust, and hatred for his own being, he writhed.
And despaired.
There was no path to right his wrongs. The one he needed to beg forgiveness from no longer walked the earth. He broke, and broke again.
Thus, he staggered through the capital's back alleys, drowning in drink.
Then, he overheard something unbelievable.
"His Highness the Crown Prince has risen!"
At first, he thought his muddled mind was conjuring hallucinations.
"His Highness lives!"
But the shouts he dismissed as nonsense echoed repeatedly.
Filling the fetid alleys and shadowed corners with frenzied joy.
He repeated to himself endlessly that it was impossible, that he had confirmed the Prince's breath stop multiple times.
Still, he wandered the alleys.
Days later, ducking into a tavern for more booze, he saw patrons raising their glasses high.
"To Crown Prince's triumphant return!"
"Long live House Leonberger!"
There were far too many for it to be mere fantasy. Their faces shone too brightly for lies.
He headed straight for the palace.
And there he met the Crown Prince.
Not the icy corpse, not the coldly shut eyes—but alive. Pale-faced and leaning against the bed, bereft of his former vigor, yet undeniably alive.
Swish.
As he approached in a trance, the Winter Castle Lord and the Prince's knights blocked his path.
"It's fine."
The Crown Prince waved off his knights.
"Your Highness is unwell. Disturb him, and you'll answer to me."
The Winter Castle Lord warned in a voice cold as ice.
"No need for threats. Out."
"Your Highness. He's harbored ill intent toward you from the start. Let me stay."
"I said it's fine. Just go."
"If anything..."
"Really fine."
"Then we'll be right outside. Call if anything happens."
"I'm not a kid. Adelia's here—what's to worry? Enough nagging. Go."
After more pleading, the Winter Castle Lord withdrew.
"Don't try anything stupid. If you so much as breathe wrong, I guarantee you'll regret being born."
With that sharp warning, the Winter Castle Lord and knights departed. Gawain Gaust stood before the Crown Prince.
The Prince's gaze swept over him, lingering on the hand gripping the carving knife.
It trembled violently, as if stricken with palsy. Clearly just a tiny, lightweight trifle compared to his usual sword.
"Your hand's completely ruined. Mana Heart shattered too."
At those words, Gawain Gaust froze solid.
"Strutting about 'start over,' huh? Self-inflicted wound. Right?"
Watching him turn to stone, the Crown Prince chuckled, as if venting one's spleen.
Gawain Gaust went blank.
His mind was a chaotic mess.
He couldn't grasp what he had just heard. He couldn't even recall why he had come here.
So he just stood there, staring at the Crown Prince.
Only after a long while did he squeeze out a question.
"...Why did you do it?"
"Do what?"
The Crown Prince asked back with an innocent smile.
"Why shoulder sins you didn't commit?!"
"Ah..."
The smile faded from the Crown Prince's face.
"I thought you'd be grateful! That you'd say it was useful fuel to hone your blades! That I'd be so moved by your noble sacrifice I'd shed tears!"
He tried to stop, but his mouth ran wild unchecked.
"And what's with that pathetic state?! Why are you lying there like some diseased chicken?! A man who lived high on the hog!"
Shing.
The woman who had been at the Crown Prince's side drew her sword to his throat in an instant.
A warning: raise your voice again, and off it comes.
"Relieving, huh?! Damn right it is! Feels like I'll burst from satisfaction! Back then you mocked our weakness and scolded us! I'll do the same!"
Bang!
The door flew open as knights poured in.
"Don't be so damn weak! Pathetic! Mana Heart broken? So what?! Just rebuild it!"
Regardless, Gawain Gaust kept shouting.
"Start over! Heart shattered? Make chains then!"
The knights advanced, drawing blades with fierce glares.
But he didn't stop.
"Why preach so easily to us, but can't manage it yourself? Because it wasn't your burden, so it was easy talk?!"
The woman who had held her sword steady thus far flashed a chilling gleam in her eyes.
And then she vanished.
Thud!
A shock like his knee bones shattering slammed into the back of his leg.
Crack.
A cold edge pressed against his throat at the same moment.
"How dare you threaten his safety..."
The woman's voice, dripping with killing intent, pierced his ear.
The blade bit into his neck.
Drip, drip. Blood trickled down.
"Enough."
The Crown Prince spoke then.
The woman pinning him withdrew her sword and stepped back.
"Adelia, why so extreme lately?"
"Anyone who insults Your Highness deserves death."
"Then we'd have to kill all the Rangers too."
"If that's what Your Highness wishes..."
"Are you nuts? Dial back the edge. Your killing aura's stabbing my heart right now."
"A-Are you alright?!"
The bloodthirsty woman rushed to the Crown Prince's side, face crumpling as if she might burst into tears.
"Your Highness! Where does it hurt?!"
The Winter Castle Lord demanded, more frantic than ever.
"Fine now. But if everyone keeps yelling like this, it'll really hurt."
At that, the Lord and knights clamped their mouths shut in unison.
"Finally, I can breathe."
Only then did the Crown Prince look satisfied.
"Ahem."
His gaze turned to Gawain Gaust, kneeling on the floor.
"Won't ask who told you. Not important."
The Crown Prince's tone was utterly calm.
"Start over?"
Gawain Gaust glared provocatively at the Crown Prince.
As if to say, We did it—so why can't you?
The Crown Prince smirked at the childish challenge.
"No need for petty taunts."
He added,
"I've already started. Long ago."
Proudly displaying the crooked statuette and carving knife.