Chapter 37
Chapter 37
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 37
Chapter Title: Finally, I've Found Where I Belong (1)
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The next day, when I attended the banquet again, I could feel more people watching me than ever before.
Blatant, probing gazes.
Those who weren't satisfied with just watching approached me.
They fished for information with all sorts of words, trying to gauge my intentions.
Sometimes they fawned over me pathetically, other times they subtly inquired about my affairs.
When I brushed them off and moved elsewhere, another group swarmed in.
Is a banquet always this exhausting?
This position I once envied so much back when I lived by the sword had now become nothing but tiring, uncomfortable, and boring.
The Queen looked at me. Oblivious to my feelings, she wore a pleased expression throughout. She seemed thrilled that I was drawing the nobles' attention.
While I was just exhausted.
"Your Highness."
That's when that damned ambassador from the Empire appeared.
"I hear you've become engaged to an elf."
His tone toward a mere prince of a small kingdom was utterly arrogant, as if I weren't even worth considering.
"Unfortunately, I had business that day and couldn't attend. I missed quite the spectacle."
Montpellier's face showed genuine regret.
"Yet here you are today, all alone."
A strange heat flickered in his eyes.
Greed, desire.
The raw instinct of a man toward the famed elf beauty was palpable.
"Hah."
I hadn't sought the engagement, and I had no real intention of marrying her, but on the surface, Sigrun was my fiancée.
His attitude, treating a prince consort of a nation like a cheap dancer, was utterly outrageous. I turned my head. I scanned the surroundings. The gazes following me remained unchanged, and many had overheard Montpellier's words.
But not a single one stepped forward to call out his insolence.
First, I was dumbfounded. Then I got angry. And finally, my mind cooled to ice.
"Why don't you try calling her? The Empire has everything, but alas, no elves."
Montpellier kept flapping his loathsome mouth.
"Hoo."
Suppressing my boiling rage, I glanced up at the dais.
The Queen's face was frozen stiff. She clearly worried I might cause a scene.
I saw the King's face. Even as his own prince—his eldest son no less—and that son's fiancée were treated like cheap entertainment, his expression remained utterly impassive.
Did he not care about his discarded wastrel son?
No, he couldn't. No matter how much he despised or hated me, the King had no right to sit there like that.
The Empire's dog was strutting about like he owned the kingdom, insulting our nation.
The King should have stepped in. Or if not him, at least one of these nobles.
But no one did.
So I did.
"Marquis. Do you see a prince consort of a nation as some cheap dancer who comes when called and leaves when dismissed?"
In that instant, the ripe atmosphere of the banquet hall chilled like a lie. The music stopped flowing, and the nobles' ceaseless chatter fell silent.
The nobles stared at me, eyes wide as if disaster had struck.
The King stared at me. Less overtly than the nobles, but the emotion in his gaze was no different.
"How dare you..."
Montpellier's voice rang out. I turned to see his face flushed beet red.
The Empire's dog opened his mouth again.
"A prince of a petty kingdom insulting a marquis of a great empire..."
"A prince of a nation pointing out the rudeness of some foreign marquis."
Gasp after gasp echoed from all around.
"H-how dare..."
"Shut your mouth. Before I cut out that treacherous tongue."
At my outburst, the nobles' jaws dropped. It was like a silent scream. The kingdom's nobles paled white.
Looking at their faces, I thought to myself.
From today onward, I'd face even greater contempt than before. Gaining the throne's support from the nobles was now utterly impossible.
I knew it. I knew what I was doing was foolish.
But this was the path I had to take.
The soul of one who turns a blind eye for personal peace and gain gradually loses its light.
One who compromises can never reach transcendence.
Small greed leads to great loss.
What was big to them was small to me, and what was small to them was big to me. I had no intention of sacrificing the big for the small.
"Oops!"
That's when Marquis Billefeldt appeared. Just like that day, he staggered as if drunk, spilling his drink. The difference? This time, it was Montpellier who got drenched, not me.
"What a blunder! Ambassador!"
As he wiped Montpellier's face with his sleeve, the marquis shot me a glance.
"You must change! I'm worried sick about your precious health!"
Marquis Billefeldt fussed dramatically, dragging Montpellier away. Watching his shameless acting, I couldn't help but chuckle.
Montpellier was the one soaked in cold liquor, yet my head cooled even further.
"Let go!"
Montpellier roughly shoved Marquis Billefeldt away—or tried to. The marquis shook the sturdy Montpellier around like a ragdoll.
It was a rare sight: the aged Marquis Billefeldt manhandling the robust Montpellier.
"Urgh!"
Unable to contain his fury, Montpellier stormed off in anger. Only then did Marquis Billefeldt release him.
The marquis clicked his tongue at me. His wrinkled eyes held both reproach and concern.
At least there was one. Someone who knew who truly ruled this kingdom.
"Come on! Let's get you changed!"
Marquis Billefeldt and Montpellier vanished from the banquet hall.
Hm.
The banquet hall's chilled atmosphere lingered. The King's and nobles' cold glares upon me remained.
But it didn't last.
The King and nobles averted their eyes. They never looked at me again. They acted as if I were invisible, leaving me stranded alone in the middle of the hall.
"Your Highness."
If Sigrun hadn't arrived late, I might have finished the banquet in solitude.
Her entrance reignited the hall's energy. Those who had treated me like air now turned their gazes back to me.
No—precisely to Sigrun.
"Your Highness is truly an entertaining person."
Sigrun whispered softly to me.
"I didn't do it to entertain you."
"I'm already looking forward to three years from now."
Sigrun said to me with heated eyes. The men who caught that gaze let out gasps as if fainting.
But to me, those gazes were merely repulsive. I knew the twisted joy they held—smiling at the sight of a rival's ruin.
3rd Prince Gillian Leonberger's insides twisted upon hearing of the 1st Prince's engagement to the elf.
"Stealing the flower of Iron Lion Castle wasn't enough—he dares take an elf too..."
He hadn't planned to attend the banquet. But the rumors of the elf itched at him unbearably.
So he went to the unscheduled event.
It was a mistake. He'd thought, how pretty could some wench be? But even from afar, the elf's beauty exceeded imagination.
His gut churned with rage.
After the banquet, he sharpened his blade. For the arena match soon to come.
"Should I cripple him? Or fake an accident and kill him?"
No, no. Killing would cause too much trouble. Just slash him enough to ruin him as a man.
Gillian endured the daily fevers while plotting how to punish the wastrel.
"I'll crush you utterly."
He planned the most humiliating defeat possible. Perhaps the elf would even break off the engagement and choose him instead—a cheeky fantasy.
Just thinking about it was delightful.
Gillian eagerly awaited the day.
Days felt like years, weeks like decades. Finally, the arena day arrived.
Ignoring the wastrel who sauntered in with a crude training sword slung over his shoulder, he scanned around.
"What? Waiting for someone else?"
Regrettably, the elf woman he awaited was absent. His plan to win spectacularly before her eyes was dashed.
His energy deflated. As he lowered his sword and sighed in deep loss, the wastrel spoke.
"No one's coming? Then let's start."
Even standing still, he'd start on his own, yet this fool urged him on. Gillian grinned sinisterly and turned.
Palace Knight Order Captain Count Schrumhilde Stugart stepped forward.
The count was the royal family's dispatched notario to prevent rumors about the royal duel and an observer to prevent mishaps.
"Your Highness the 1st Prince has named Your Highness the 3rd Prince as his arena opponent. Is this correct?"
The count confirmed procedure with the 1st Prince.
The 1st Prince nodded perfunctorily.
"Your Highness the 3rd Prince has accepted the duel with Your Highness the 1st Prince. Is this correct?"
"Yes."
With consent, the count continued swiftly.
"Both desire to prove their swords here, but only one shall prevail. May the gods' unclouded eyes choose that one, and we gathered here witness victory and defeat as those eyes. Thus, the result's truth is beyond question. Do both Your Highnesses agree?"
Both nodded simultaneously.
"Both Your Highnesses wish to prove their swords and claim victory, so I declare the duel established. This is permitted by His Majesty King Lionel Leonberger, rightful ruler of this land, and notarized by Schrumhilde Stugart, captain of the Palace Knight Order and bearer of the honored title Silver Lion from His Majesty. None may object to the result."
So much talk for one sword bout, the 1st Prince snapped irritably, but the count ignored him.
"The duel begins. It ends when one cannot continue, admits defeat, or the notario judges it decided. The victor shall show mercy to the vanquished, and the vanquished shall not contest the victor's rights."
As the count stepped back, the 1st Prince advanced eagerly. Gillian gripped his sword and took position in the arena's center.
"Both Your Highnesses, raise your swords. I beseech you: let not this duel sour the bond between you."
The count declared the start.
Gillian smirked at the 1st Prince.
"I've prepared all this for my brother. Like it?"
Thanks to the recent banquet, far more nobles had gathered than expected. No elf was a shame, but humiliating the wastrel before them would be satisfying.
"I've felt it for a while now."
The 1st Prince tilted his head crookedly.
"You talk too much."
Gillian's face hardened.
"I hope you're the same when this ends."
"If you're not coming, should I?"
Gillian raised his sword. Countless forms flashed in his mind. He chose the flashiest, most complex one.
Gripping tighter, he stepped forward.
In that moment, he saw the 1st Prince. Sword held high, his aura sharp as a blade.
But his foot was already committed, sword in motion. He couldn't retreat against a wastrel versed in crude mana heart arts.
To bolster momentum, he kicked off harder.
Huh?
He'd clearly kicked toward the 1st Prince, yet the opponent receded farther.
Crash, tumble.
Sky and earth flipped endlessly. Agonizing pain surged from his chest. Chaos reigned. He couldn't fathom why he rolled on the ground, staring up at that bastard.
"I was gonna play longer, but I'm busy."
Too flat for mockery.
"Your Highness. Are you all right?"
The count approached. Gillian said he was fine, trying to rise. Or tried to.
But he couldn't speak or stand.
"Wh-what happened?"
"N-no way His Highness lost?"
Amid the spectators' murmurs, he struggled to rise.
"As notario and observer, I judge Your Highness the 3rd Prince unable to continue."
No. I can still fight.
But the words stayed trapped in his head, fading away.
"The victor of this duel is His Highness the 1st Prince."
At the declaration, the world spun.
Physical agony and mental shock wracked Gillian. He blacked out.
As the 3rd Prince lost consciousness, the watching nobles were speechless.
No one had foreseen the sword prodigy 3rd Prince falling so anticlimactically. His intermittent tremors faded. The nobles averted their eyes.
There stood the 1st Prince, sword dangling carelessly.
No excitement or triumph befitting a victor. Just a bland gaze at his fainted brother.
"Tch."
The 1st Prince clicked his tongue. He glanced around suddenly.
"Not the picture you hoped for?"
No threat or sneer—just a voice that mesmerized the nobles staring entranced. They flinched, lowering their eyes.
What kind of gaze...
Those who met his eyes shrank back at the unnaturally rippling intensity. Instinctively, they bowed their heads.
"Nobles, flocking like kids to a playground brawl."
The 1st Prince shook his head and walked off into the distance. Until he vanished completely, no one spoke.
Even as men checked the 3rd Prince at the count's order, the nobles stayed mute.
They just exchanged glances, mouths agape then shut.
"Did His Highness really lose?"
Finally, someone spoke. That sparked it. Nobles buzzed competitively.
"H-how?"
"Our prince, against the 1st Prince who's barely trained a few months!"
Some disbelieved.
"He let his guard down! Caught by a surprise attack, couldn't even move!"
"Right! It was cowardly!"
Others denied.
"As observer and notario, I caution you."
Count Schrumhilde Stugart said coldly to them.
"Any who add personal opinions or fabricate this just duel will be seen as doubting my credibility as notario and observer."
The nobles fell silent.
Sealing their mouths, the count gazed where the 1st Prince had gone.
"Impressive..."
A dry voice, but laced with faint, clear admiration.
Gillian regained consciousness a full day later.
Blinking dazedly, he shook off confusion and screamed belatedly.
"Damn it! That filthy wastrel bastard!"
He hurled everything in reach. He vented on the servants who rushed in.
But his rage didn't subside.
The humiliation of tumbling before his summoned crowd without landing a proper strike was unbearable.
His insides burned.
Staying put felt like he'd combust.
"Prepare! I'm going to the 1st Prince's palace!"
The servants fidgeted at his words, hesitant as if they had something to say.
"Didn't you hear? I'm going to settle this rematch!"
This time, no complacency. No more losing blindly like before.
The 1st Prince's unexpected skill surprised him, but in a fair fight, he'd win. The opponent's art was an outdated relic gathering mana in the heart; once he drew his circle's mana, defeat was impossible.
That's why the quick strike. He ground his teeth, vowing revenge, when his guard approached.
"Your Highness."
"Is my word a joke? I said I'm going to avenge the shame!"
"That's not it."
Already irritable, the usually prompt guard's dawdling ignited fury.
"How many times must I repeat myself!"
"Your Highness, the 1st Prince is not at his residence."
"What! Has that dirty habit flared up again—off carousing in the pleasure districts?"
Imagining the 1st Prince boasting of him over drinks made him dizzy.
"Where is it? I'll drag him back."
"No, Your Highness. The 1st Prince is not in the capital."
Gillian gaped blankly at the knight.
"What do you..."
"The 1st Prince departed with Count Ballerhard."
The guard hesitated before adding.
"Departed? Where to?"
"To the north, to the Ballerhard lands, I heard."
Gillian stammered blankly.
"Th-then what about me?"
His foolish words, born of shock, made the guard bow his head. Likely embarrassed for his pampered 15-year-old lord.
"Arghhh!"
Gillian screamed, hurling objects again.
"Must we rush so?"
My uncle asked from horseback.
"The capital has no place for me."
The moment I clashed with Montpellier, the air around me shifted.
I felt the sharp hostility and contempt fully. I realized no capital noble would stand by me.
I wasn't disappointed.
No point clinging to those who didn't know their own king and fawned on the Empire's dog.
Better to invest time in those who suited me than waste energy on such pitiful lot.
"And such people exist?"
At my uncle's jab, I grinned.
"Soldiers and knights might suit me better than nobles, no?"
"They're less shrewd than nobles but far more conservative. Winning them over won't be easy."
"What if we roll in the mud together? Bonds form where none existed. Why worry?"
My uncle shook his head at my words.
"I can't shake the feeling you're rushing too much."
He had a point.
From banquet's end to meeting the King for northern travel permission, then departing again—it was lightning-fast.
"Marquis Billefeldt said it too. Nothing for me in the capital. If even he says so, why waste time there?"
After the banquet, Marquis Billefeldt visited me.
He didn't pledge support outright, but offered solid advice. Building power outside the capital was his suggestion.
"Still too hasty. Haste makes waste. We must tread carefully, step by step."
"No time for leisure."
Uncle probably couldn't imagine.
The world's craziest maniac chasing me with a sword.
Sigrun. The grace period she gave was short.
Dawdle, and I'd truly marry the maniac. Or more likely, get devoured first.
I'd seen countless times how she ruined others.
Like a child plucking dragonfly wings, she'd sever limbs, then smile only at their gasping end.
All she fixated on met the same fate.
This time, it was me as the dragonfly.
I had to grow strong before her patience ran out.
I knew surpassing an Elder High Elf's millennia-old power in short order was impossible without reclaiming my original strength.
But no one just dies.
I had my plan.
If it worked, no lifetime of anxiety with the maniac wife, no being eaten by the hungry elf.
Of course, executing it required swift growth.
Impossible in the capital.
Peace weakens men and dulls blades.
The capital embodied that.
The place to accelerate my growth and sharpen my sword was elsewhere.
Where men face the ultimate test, where most war tales are born.
Where I belonged was the battlefield.