Chapter 7
Chapter 7
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 7
Chapter Title: 03. The Famous Eatery (1)
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"Not yet."
It was an utterly transparent question, but I pretended not to know and shook my head.
"Well, well. Count Ballerhard must have quite the headache over this."
The 3rd Prince spoke as if it were a grave matter.
"He can't put a regular knight up against royalty, but finding someone of the proper rank is easier said than done."
"So?"
"That's why I'm saying..."
After rambling on for a good while, the 3rd Prince finally got to the point.
"How about me as your opponent in the arena?"
It was exactly what I'd expected.
"I just advanced to a single ring not long ago—now I've got exactly two. It won't tarnish the royal family's reputation, and win or lose, it'll look good as brotherly bonding. I can't think of a better match."
Even as he rattled off his pitch like a machine gun, his eyes darted around in impatience, as if he feared someone might snatch away a tasty morsel.
And in this case, that tasty morsel was me.
He must have overheard about the bet between me and my uncle, seen it as a chance to shine, and come running. He probably figured he could easily crush a fat, prodigal brother like me.
Using his own brother as a stepping stone to make a name for himself—what touching brotherly love.
"Think about it. You won't find a better opponent than your little brother anywhere else."
"Hmm. I'll consider it."
At my lukewarm response, the 3rd Prince grew urgent, whining over and over that no one else could match him.
"It looks good, saves face. Like I said..."
"Keep this up, and I'll find someone else. I hate chatty types."
At my words, the 3rd Prince clamped his mouth shut with a "hmph." He couldn't hide his intentions at all—a textbook kid.
"Then think about it positively! I'll be waiting for word! You have to!"
Glancing nervously, the 3rd Prince vanished after those words.
"Tch. He's really desperate."
I shook my head and turned to leave when a low voice came from behind.
"You were wise not to give him a firm answer right away."
It was my escort knight, Kals Yulihi.
"His Highness the 3rd Prince has been renowned for his sword talent since childhood. Word is he recently bested a knight in a spar."
A kid who looked barely fourteen or fifteen had already beaten a knight—that was no ordinary talent.
But I hadn't committed for any grand reason like his skill. I just didn't want to drag other princes into my personal bet with my uncle and draw extra attention.
"But."
I narrowed my eyes at Kals.
"You're awfully talkative today."
This taciturn man, with whom I hadn't exchanged more than a few words in months, seemed unusually loquacious. He bowed his head stiffly.
"If I've overstepped, I apologize."
"No need for apologies."
He'd said it out of concern for me, but I didn't bother thanking him. Such words just tickled.
"I'm heading back for today."
I'd only meant to take a stroll, but this weirdo had ruined the mood. Time to return to my chambers.
"Your Highness."
Back in my chambers, a familiar maid approached cautiously and held something out.
"What's this?"
"Letters addressed to you, Your Highness."
A thick bundle of envelopes in the maid's hand. I broke the seals right there and checked the contents.
Stripping away the flowery language, the gist was the same across the board:
"Please grant me the chance to kick Your Highness's royal behind."
The next letter, and the one after, all said the same. Excuses varied—ambition, justice, curiosity, personal grudges—but they all boiled down to one request.
They wanted me to name them as my arena opponent in the bet with my uncle.
Ha. Look at these guys.
I glared at the names on the letters and handed them back to the maid.
"Write down every name from these letters."
With that, I figured I'd sorted the pesky mail in my own way.
But I was wrong.
The next day, and the day after, more letters kept coming. Identical in purpose to the first batch.
Everyone wanted a legal shot at pounding me.
Hidden behind polite, refined prose—vaulting ambitions, quests for justice, idle curiosity, petty vendettas—they earnestly begged to be my opponent.
"It's a full-blown famous eatery now."
The whole kingdom seemed to be throwing a feast with me as the main course.
"Any more letters for me? Skim the contents—if it's the same deal, just jot down the name."
With that instruction, I offloaded a good chunk of the hassle.
Still, some required my personal touch. Maids couldn't casually break seals from earls or higher marquises, so I'd do it for them.
But once opened, that was it.
"Write it down. Every single one."
The 1st Prince's palace staff eyed the names curiously, wondering what I planned to do with them. No one asked outright, though. Nor did I feel like volunteering the info.
They'd find out soon enough anyway.
While letters flooded the palace, keeping everyone busy, I leisurely recovered my strength, awaiting my uncle's return.
"A bowstring stretched taut will snap eventually."
My uncle appeared after about ten days and immediately scolded me. Guilty as charged, I stayed quiet and took it.
But even quiet listening has limits. His nagging showed no sign of ending—we'd probably wrap up training with just a lecture.
"Uncle. Is this ending today, or what?"
Unable to endure, I cut him off and asked when we'd get to training.
"Insolent brat."
Clicking his tongue once, my uncle waved me off. I bolted around the training grounds as if I'd been waiting.
Huff, huff.
My efforts hadn't been wasted—my body felt surprisingly light. At least, that's how it felt.
I'd escaped [Morbid Obesity], but I was still fat, with a dad-bod layered in flab. Sure enough, my traits listed a bold [General Obesity].
Ugh. When will I look human again?
Sighing at my sweat-soaked bulk, my uncle tossed me a wooden sword.
As always, I gripped it and followed the Dragon Slayer Sword's forms.
After swinging for a while, my uncle raised his hand. Far earlier than usual.
"Rumors are flying thick in the kingdom."
I instantly knew which rumors he meant.
"It's making my life hell."
"Tell me about it."
Though I'd dumped the letters on the maids. I exaggerated anyway.
"So, it's time to decide."
"Decide what?"
"The Double Chain knight you'll face."
"Ah, perfect timing. Once it's settled, these clingy pests might back off a bit."
My uncle nodded. Our first agreement since training began. Not that it built camaraderie—just mutual urgency to pick an opponent.
"You decide."
"Me? Didn't you have someone in mind?"
"It's your fight anyway. Might as well let you choose."
It sounded reasonable, but why did it ring like "Too lazy to decide—your problem now."?
"If you want, seek advice from others."
The court knights' eyes might pick an easier mark. He didn't entertain my odds of winning even a smidge.
Despite the blatant dismissal, I laughed it off. Guess I'd grown numb to the scorn—no bruised ego anymore.
"Need time? Take a few days."
"No need."
I rejected his half-hearted courtesy.
"I've already decided."
**
"Excellent choice! Truly wise!"
The 3rd Prince, visiting the next day, grinned ear to ear.
"A decision worthy of you, brother!"
"I could always change my mind."
"That's how good your pick is—don't twist my words."
Fearing I might actually back out, he hurriedly added,
"I'll repay your faith. I promise to save face for us both. We're brothers, after all."
"How touching. Thanks ever so much."
"No need for sarcasm. I told you—picking me is your best bet."
This kid must be an idiot. He took my sarcasm at face value, puffing up like a clueless sword-obsessed fool.
Bad genes, maybe.
Sighing inwardly at the rotten Leonberger stock, I felt a lament rise.
"Your role is crucial, brother. It's a royal duel—needs to look the part. If you're too hopelessly weak, even I can't prop up your dignity."
Treating me like a total stooge, I replied indifferently.
"Fine. I'll do my best."
"Perfect. Absolutely perfect."
Shaking my head at his cocky display,
Well, he was only fourteen, right?
Trying to act mature, but still just a kid. So what if he let his excitement slip after getting his way? That's what fourteen-year-olds do.
"Anyway, time's on our side, so train hard—ditch that practice sword and master a real blade. For the optics..."
But even I had limits to my understanding—especially when he dissed the Dragon Slayer Sword.
My uncle and all the knights might dismiss it as a toy, but Leonberger blood shouldn't.
Even if lost traditions hid its true worth. Not in front of me, at least.
"Brother?"
The chattering 3rd Prince finally noticed my face and froze.
"Looks like..."
Time to remind them of the treasure they'd discarded.
"Picking you was a brilliant choice after all."
The 3rd Prince made a fine sparring partner for that.