Chapter 29
Chapter 29
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 29
Chapter Title: Starting Ordinarily and Finally Becoming Extraordinary (2)
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Even Arwen Kirguyen couldn't help but be impressed when the probationary knights rolled across the ground one after another.
How much time had passed since they parted, for him to have grown this much?
The prince's skill had finally drawn out a formal knight from the Iron Lion Knight Order.
A solemn air hung in the atmosphere. It felt like sword auras would whip through the air at any moment, accompanied by the clash of steel.
But absurdly, the anticipated metallic ring never came. Instead, a dumbfounded murmur drifted in.
"My sword is the seventeenth one made by the master smith..."
"Mine is the master's hundredth creation."
The prince and Dunham, who had looked ready to cross blades with grim resolve, suddenly began bragging about their swords out of nowhere.
"I've never heard rumors of the master smith completing his hundredth sword."
"Of course not. He finished it just a few days ago."
"I heard the seventieth was made around a year ago."
Their bickering over swords was so childish it was hard to watch.
"He melted down quite a few swords before making this one, or so I'm told."
"Even so..."
"To my eyes, your sword looks inferior to all those melted ones."
He hadn't actually seen the melted swords, but the prince's face brimmed with smug satisfaction. Dunham, in turn, scowled at the remark.
It was ridiculous. These grown men were no different from snot-nosed boys boasting about whose toy was better.
"If you can't believe me, send someone to the Ellen count's family and ask."
"Is that true? Is that really the master's final work?"
How long did she have to endure this farce? As Arwen sighed, the childish bragging finally came to an end.
"Who knows? If you beat me, this sword could be yours."
Dunham's demeanor shifted at the prince's provocation.
Whoosh.
Sword intent radiated outward in all directions.
For someone who had stepped forward leisurely, deeming his opponent beneath him, the power he revealed was considerable. His expression, too, was more serious than ever before.
"Though your path is misguided, I can recognize the relentless effort in your steps."
The prince was the only one known to have mastered Mana Heart, yet he had defeated several ring-bearers. It seemed Dunham acknowledged that effort as admirable.
"I shall face this duel with all I have, to show Your Highness my small token of respect."
An eerie glow enveloped Dunham's sword. Proof that a substantial amount of mana had been infused.
"A small token of respect."
The prince chuckled.
"How presumptuous."
It was an ambiguous smile that seemed both mocking and pleased.
"But since this stage isn't truly mine to begin with, that might be just about right."
To some ears, it sounded like a rebuke of the Iron Lions' stiff pride. To others, self-deprecating about his own position.
Yet the prince's face, as he said it, held neither anger nor self-mockery.
"The respect directed at me need only come from my own people."
The prince turned back. Arwen flinched and met his gaze. But his eyes weren't on her.
"Adelia."
"Yes, Your Highness."
The woman who appeared to be the prince's handmaiden responded.
"Watch without missing a single moment."
"As you command."
The prince faced forward again.
"This is the path you must walk from now on."
Thud.
The prince kicked off the ground.
**
"How many is this now?"
York Willoden answered Count Bail Ballerhard's question nonchalantly.
"The fourth."
Bail frowned.
"While the 1st Prince has been under confinement, Their Highnesses the 3rd and 5th Princes visited. Just recently, the 2nd Prince came by. His Highness the 4th Prince hasn't arrived yet. And he probably won't."
He's not interested in the throne, after all. York Willoden lifted his teacup to his lips with a relaxed expression.
"Then..."
"The Iron Lions haven't chosen yet."
Before the words finished, York Willoden's mouth opened again.
"How dare you speak of choices."
"It's unbecoming of you to say that."
York Willoden chided him in response to Bail's sharp tone.
"This mess arose because you held back from the start. If the commander of the 3rd Legion had backed him, the nobles and even His Majesty wouldn't feel as they do now."
"I'm a soldier. My duty is guarding the borders, not politics."
"Then go guard the borders, just as you've done until now. Stop playing at being a political noble so awkwardly."
Bail fell silent at those words.
He knew full well that his own nephew's isolation was largely his fault.
But he had his excuses.
His nephew was too foolish to be king. If that were all, Bail wouldn't have abandoned him so coldly, even if he became a foolish ruler.
But his nephew wasn't merely incompetent. He was violent, greedy, and impulsively vicious.
He had the makings of a tyrant.
Of course, Bail had tried to correct his nephew's rotten temperament. But his efforts bore no fruit, only earning the boy's resentment.
He had dragged his nephew, drunk on some bizarre elixir from forbidden arts, from bed and scolded him harshly. The boy, in his stupor, had even grabbed a knife and lunged at his uncle.
That was when he realized his nephew was beyond saving.
Disillusioned, he returned north. Soon after, poisoned wine arrived as a "gift," complete with a brazen letter.
Bail drank every drop. The cheap poison, from who-knows-where, was incinerated with mana. Along with it, any lingering familial affection burned away.
He covered up the incident out of love for his sister. He met his nephew again out of pity for her.
[Confining a child who should be building his foundation for half a year is as good as declaring he is no longer a legitimate heir.]
She had said that, threatening to die. If he refused again, she would take her own life. She was the type to follow through.
Left with no choice, he took the boy under his wing.
He held no hope of change, no familial warmth to cheer him on. He just planned to slim him down a bit and return north.
Yet the wastrel he believed would never change had transformed.
Enduring grueling training, growing visibly day by day. Whether due to lost memories or surviving death, he couldn't say. What mattered was that his nephew had finally changed.
He thought he had burned away all familial ties with that poison. But embers remained.
When he came to, he had accepted his sister's plea to start over and reclaim the 1st Prince's rightful position.
That was why he came to Iron Lion Castle.
"You said it yourself: His Highness the 1st Prince must never become king."
Bail snapped out of his reverie at the cold voice piercing his ears.
"So why act like his guardian now?!"
Bang! York Willoden slammed the table.
"Has greed for power struck you in your old age? If so, you shouldn't have hesitated from the beginning! Have you considered how much chaos your choice will sow in the kingdom?!"
Bail had no retort. York Willoden spoke the truth.
With His Majesty reshaping the line of succession, the 3rd Legion's commander intervening would stir no small turmoil.
Yet Bail's response was decided.
"It was a mistake."
He met York Willoden's gaze squarely.
His closest friend, one of the five Silver Lions like himself, a Quad Chain knight.
"I intend to correct it from now on."
And the man his nephew needed most.
"Give him a chance."
Bail said.
"At least let him start on equal footing with the other princes."
His rigid head bowed. The proud warrior, who bowed to no one but the king, bent his waist.
"I beg you."
York Willoden opened his mouth, then closed it.
"I don't know. Whether you've changed or the 1st Prince has."
When he spoke again after a long pause, his tone had softened considerably.
"I'll think about it."
At that moment, the door burst open.
"Excellency Willoden!"
Before a reply, an Iron Lion knight flung the door wide and poked his head in.
"What's the commotion?!"
York Willoden scowled and scolded the knight. But the knight seemed more urgent to deliver his message than heed the leader's rebuke.
"You need to come out for a moment!"
"With a distinguished guest here, what could it..."
"It's about that guest!"
Bail reacted first to the knight's words.
He shot to his feet.
"Lead the way. I'll hear the details en route."
York Willoden rose a beat later.
**
York Willoden bellowed upon hearing that the 1st Prince and Dunham Fahrenheit had begun a real-sword duel.
"Knights never think about the aftermath!"
The knight flinched at York Willoden's words.
"What do they gain from this?!"
Even if they won, no honor would elevate them. If the prince suffered a serious injury, the castle's master—himself—would face needless trouble. Naturally, York Willoden's voice rose.
"Don't worry. Dunham is skilled among the regular knights. He's frivolous in temperament but knows his limits, so nothing major should happen. Wait, why are your steps so slow?!"
York Willoden turned to his friend, spouting inconsistent remarks.
"The one who should be worried isn't me."
Bail Ballerhard said, watching him.
"What?"
"You should be worried about yourself, not me."
York Willoden frowned. Embracing the nephew he had cast out must mean his eyes had dimmed. He clicked his tongue.
"I crossed swords with the prince recently."
Bail Ballerhard continued, looking at him.
"I used Aura Blade in that duel."
York Willoden scowled deeply at the baffling statement.
"Pray your knight doesn't get hurt."
"You've really changed. Your complexion looks off, and everything you say is strange."
With that, he quickened his pace. He had to stop the duel before his muscle-headed subordinate caused an incident.
But they had dawdled too long.
"Woooah!"
Cheers pierced his ears. They were nearly at the clearing York Willoden aimed for.
"Kaaack!"
A scream followed, and a dark lump hurtled toward them.
York Willoden's eyes widened.
The airborne mass, tongue lolling long and eyes half-rolled back, was someone he knew well.
Of course it was. His eyesight hadn't failed to the point of not recognizing his own knight.
The bloodied lump flying through the air was a regular knight of the Iron Lion Knight Order.
Why?
Where was the duel participant, and why was some unrelated fool in this state? York Willoden couldn't comprehend.
He scanned the surroundings. Iron Lion knights, oblivious to their leader's arrival, cheered excitedly. At their feet lay several men, eyes rolled back. Dunham Fahrenheit was among them.
In the exact same state as the flying one.
York Willoden turned his head. There stood the 1st Prince, real sword dangling loosely. Though breathing heavily to the shoulders, the prince bore not a single wound and stood unharmed.
"I told you."
As he took in the sight, his friend interjected.
"I had to use Aura Blade."
Before he could fully digest the words, the prince suddenly shouted.
"Next!"
His roar was arrogantly thunderous.