Chapter 8
Chapter 8
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 8
Chapter Title: 03. The Famous Spot (2)
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Unlike what people might think, the role of a handmaiden was far from a lowly profession.
It was a clearly distinct specialized occupation from the maids who handled general chores and housework. Their duties were closer to those of personal aides, assisting their masters and occasionally offering counsel.
Most of them came from noble families rather than common stock, so it was hardly surprising that they took pride in their work.
Among them, the handmaidens of the royal palace held exceptional pride. Their position, serving the monarch and his kin up close, fully justified such self-assurance.
But not every handmaiden in the palace felt that way.
The ones in the 1st Prince's Palace were a prime example.
For handmaidens whose pride stemmed directly from their master's abilities and whose prestige mirrored his own, the 1st Prince was nothing short of the worst lord imaginable.
"The shame of the royal family." "A cur unfit for company." "An irredeemable wastrel."
The terms people used for the one they served were crude, insulting, and biting. And sadly, none of it was untrue.
1st Prince Idrian Leonberger was a tyrannical wastrel. He was so dim-witted he couldn't even distinguish handmaidens from maids.
Lecherous harassment was commonplace, and he often spewed vile abuse.
Whenever something irked him, he'd hurl objects in a rage, leaving scarcely a handmaiden in the 1st Prince's Palace without scars marring her fair skin.
Given all this, not a single handmaiden there harbored any affection for their wastrel prince. No, they all despised their brutal master.
Then one day, that brutal master changed overnight.
His crude speech and manners remained the same, but in nearly every other way, the 1st Prince had become a completely different person.
He stopped drinking, stopped summoning his sleazy cronies for debauched revelry. He ceased harassing the handmaidens with insults and ceased his destructive tantrums.
He simply spent the entire day in the training grounds, swinging a wooden sword or running laps.
Some handmaidens attributed the sudden shift to a humiliating incident that had crushed his spirit. Others said he'd learned to restrain himself after facing the king's wrath. Still others blamed Count Bail Ballerhard's harsh training for leaving him too exhausted for mischief.
No one in the 1st Prince's Palace believed the prince had truly reformed. The handmaidens' distrust ran as deep as the scars etched into their bodies.
They saw his change as a mere whim, certain he'd revert to his old ways the moment he grew bored.
But a month passed, then another, and the wastrel prince remained steadfast, devoting himself solely to training.
It was utterly bizarre. Utterly unlike the prince, who tired of everything so quickly.
Then one day, amid a torrential downpour, the 1st Prince was practically dragged back to the palace by the Royal Knights.
"Knew it was too good to last. Two months of holding back? That's a miracle."
"So much for the good days."
The handmaidens assumed the wastrel had finally shown his true colors, caused some disaster, and been hauled in by the knights.
But they were wrong.
Astonishingly, the prince had been brought back for training too obsessively.
The handmaidens were baffled. The 1st Prince they knew would never push himself to the point of injury.
It was probably around then.
"Perhaps the rumors about His Highness the 1st Prince are malicious fabrications."
"No one that dedicated could be innately lazy and indolent."
"His words and actions are rough, but not like the tales we've heard..."
That the Royal Knights were saying such things about the 1st Prince.
Of course, the handmaidens couldn't agree in the slightest.
They wanted to correct the knights' hasty judgments—mere novices who'd only been at court a few months—but they held their tongues.
As time wore on, yet another change swept through the 1st Prince's Palace.
Visitors began thronging the place, which had been deserted since the king's furious house arrest decree.
"Please, help us out. Let my son stand as His Highness's sparring partner."
"Put this letter at the top of the pile."
Nobles or their agents arrived bearing letters. It was all because of the prince's bet with Count Ballerhard. Every one of them hoped to be named as his opponent and was ready to show their gratitude.
"No way we've actually got people lobbying us?"
The handmaidens exchanged bewildered glances as they accepted modest gifts from the nobles. They knew handmaidens serving prestigious masters sometimes dealt with this, but never dreamed it would happen to them.
What might be routine for handmaidens in other palaces felt utterly alien to them.
"Well, with the sparring partner decided, this nonsense should end soon."
After learning their master would face the 3rd Prince, they figured these bizarre pleas would dry up.
And indeed, noble traffic halted for a while.
Until word spread that their now-designated opponent was seeking sparring partners.
"Already three months in, huh."
Bail Ballerhard frowned.
It had been three months since he'd entered the capital at his sister's behest. Far longer than he'd anticipated.
He'd expected the wastrel nephew to quit quickly.
Under the pretext of slimming down, he'd planned to grind him mercilessly until the boy gave up. The bet was a joke anyway; he hadn't taken it seriously. The kid would burn out on his own.
But no.
On a night of crashing thunder and lightning, he'd seen his nephew swinging a wooden sword like a madman right beside a lightning strike. Oblivious to onlookers, hands torn bloody from relentless practice.
That was when he knew. His stay in the capital would drag on longer than planned. And perhaps,
His nephew wasn't beyond saving after all.
The delay wasn't welcome, but for his sister's sake, he could endure it. At least while the wastrel focused on training, she could sleep soundly.
But the growing scrutiny from the kingdom's nobles? That was harder to stomach.
"Playing the long game, eh."
It had to be his sister's doing. With her son effectively confined after falling from the king's favor, she'd spread rumors to keep him on the nobles' lips. Especially now, while his brothers gathered supporters, she couldn't let him fade from memory.
By now, nobles were probably gossiping about the wastrel nephew all night long, for better or worse. And with every whisper, Bail Ballerhard's name would surface too.
"Royal politics can rot for all I care."
Bail shook off the distractions and focused on the task at hand.
"So, you're set on sparring a Single Chain knight?"
"You heard me. Don't make me repeat myself."
Watching his nephew brazenly mouth off to his fearsome uncle, Bail's eyes narrowed instinctively. But the boy didn't flinch.
"What nonsense."
Three months into training, and he wanted to face a knight. The brat still hadn't shed all his flab, yet he overreached.
"If you're asking me to scout Single Chain knights for you, count me out. I agreed to the bet, not to play nursemaid."
"Wasn't asking."
The nephew shrugged indifferently at Bail's words.
"I've already got a list of Single Chain knights who'll come running at my call."
"Then why bother telling me?"
"Well..."
The nephew grinned.
"They're all itching to take a bite out of me."
So, he wanted Bail to spectate. With the Northern 3rd Legion's commander and a Quad Chain knight present, they'd think twice about funny business.
The boy blabbered on shamelessly.
Not all the nobles who'd sent letters begging to be his sparring partner were Double Chain knights.
Quite a few were Single Chain knights. Fools who figured they could easily crush someone with just one chain's worth of Mana Heart refinement.
I'd culled those from the pile and handed the list to Kals Yulihi.
"Rank the weak ones first, in order."
Kals obeyed without complaint, organizing the list as instructed.
"Compiled from rumors, so I can't vouch for accuracy."
"Eh, close enough. Risk we gotta take."
I thanked him curtly and dismissed him, then summoned a handmaiden.
"Send replies to everyone on this list."
"What should I write, Your Highness?"
"Tell 'em I'm giving them a shot. Get here now."
I shot back without hesitation.
"Follow the order listed. Coordinate arrival dates yourself. Don't want 'em all piling in at once."
The handmaiden scrambled to note my instructions.
"Yeah. One every three days sounds good."
I redoubled my training efforts. Days spent swinging the sword, nights gathering mana without sleep. I had to advance at least one step before the first opponent arrived.
Easier said than done, of course. But I hadn't rushed in blindly.
"This has to be 'that' feeling."
Lately, my chest had been tingling. My Mana Heart throbbed multiple times a day. Classic sign.
I cut back on morning and afternoon training, devoting the extra time to mana gathering.
"So close, yet not quite."
The tickle persisted, but the breakthrough didn't come. Still, I kept at it.
Ten days after the signs began, a change finally hit my body.
"Yes!"
I snapped my eyes open and pumped my fist.
The Sword Learner realm—also known as Sword Practitioner.
I could finally infuse mana into my sword.
This happened three days before my first sparring partner arrived at the palace.