Chapter 9
Chapter 9
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 9
Chapter Title: 03. The Famous Eatery (3)
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Taylor Tailheim was the second son of an utterly unremarkable baron's family.
He possessed no notable talents, nor any impressive connections. All he had to his name was a single ring woven around his heart—an ordinary man who, in the natural order of things, would never have set foot in the royal capital, let alone the palace. That was Taylor Tailheim.
But at this moment, he was en route to the palace itself, clutching an invitation in hand.
"If only it had been an honorable summons bearing His Majesty's royal seal."
Alas, the seal stamped on his invitation was not that of the king. It came from the wastrel first prince, derisively called the disgrace of House Leonberger.
"First Prince Idrian Leonberger"
The degenerate everyone shunned. And yet, Taylor's footsteps toward the palace carried no trace of hesitation.
He had a task to fulfill.
The palace loomed into view. The dazzling, majestic heart of the kingdom, incomparable to his family's modest estate.
That wastrel lurks within...
He steeled his resolve and pressed on.
But that determination didn't hold for long.
First, the palace's opulent splendor crushed his spirit. Then, the extraordinary caliber of those coming and going within subdued him further. By the time he arrived at the First Prince's Palace, Taylor was thoroughly intimidated.
"What the hell? This shrimp is supposed to be the first one?"
As he stood waiting in the training grounds—vast beyond even his family's barracks—a sneering voice rang out. Turning toward it, he saw a plump boy eyeing him with disdain.
"You sure you didn't pick the wrong guy? He's a total shrimp."
Arrogant eyes looking down on him, a bloated frame that even expensive finery couldn't conceal. It was obvious at a glance. The fat boy before him was none other than the notorious wastrel first prince.
"Heir to House Leonberger! The second son of House Tailheim shall show due respect!"
As Taylor sized up the prince, a booming reprimand erupted. It came from a court knight clad in gleaming golden armor.
"S-second son of House Tailheim, Taylor, greets First Prince Idrian Leonberger, Your Highness!"
Startled, Taylor reflexively bowed.
"Yeah. Sure."
The prince accepted the greeting with all the courtesy of a rock—none whatsoever for a guest who had traveled far.
Arrogant, insolent, vulgar. The prince was every bit the figure from the rumors.
Hoo.
Taylor drew a shaky breath. He straightened his slumped shoulders and steadied his faltering nerves. It wasn't easy. Every piercing glare from the court knights threatened to curl him back up.
Get it together.
Taylor composed himself, recalling the grudge between his family and the wastrel.
Years ago at a banquet, his father and brother had crossed paths with the first prince and suffered an indelible humiliation. The incident had tarnished their house's honor, turning father and brother into laughingstocks, still mocked by nobles to this day.
He was here today to repay that insult in kind.
I need to steel my heart.
"Sheathe your hostility. The duel hasn't even begun."
As he glared at the prince, steeling his inner blade, a deep voice cut in.
A knight renowned throughout the kingdom: Count Bail Ballerhard.
"C-Count Ballerhard, Your Excellency! Second son of the Tailheim barony and squire knight Taylor greets the lord of House Ballerhard, supreme commander of the 3rd Legion and Quad Chain knight, Your Excellency! It is the greatest honor of my life to meet you!"
"Good to meet you."
The curt reply carried a weight worlds apart from the prince's. Taylor gazed at Count Bail Ballerhard with flushed cheeks.
"Hah. Look at that difference in respect. Anyone'd think my uncle was the king."
The prince cut in with a pout, souring what should have been a momentous first encounter with the great knight. Taylor's face twisted in irritation.
"If only you'd conducted yourself properly all along."
"I'm reformed now, aren't I? Quit dredging up the past."
How could he be so brazen with his own uncle? The prince truly lived up to his arrogant reputation.
"What was ancient history for you is current wounds for others."
Count Ballerhard rebuked the prince crisply before gesturing.
"Do you need time to warm up?"
"I've loosened up plenty on the way here!"
"Then we can begin immediately."
At the count's words, the court knights withdrew to the edges of the training grounds.
Without so much as asking me, the prince grumbled but took his position on the opposite side. Taylor hurriedly did the same.
As they waited, the court knights brought each a sword. Wooden training blades with dulled edges.
Taylor smiled to himself at the sight.
Dulled or not, they were real steel. A solid hit would sideline someone for months—perfect for settling his family's score.
"I am Taylor, second son of House Tailheim. Squire knight of Single Chain, wielding the swordsmanship of House Tailheim."
"This isn't a formal duel. Keep it simple. Whatever."
Even in sparring, there were courtesies among swordsmen, but the prince couldn't be bothered.
Arrogance personified.
"Please go easy on me."
Still, Taylor showed proper deference to the prince's station.
"Begin."
But even that modicum of respect lasted only until the command fell.
"Hup!"
The moment Count Ballerhard spoke, Taylor spun the mana ring at his heart's core. Vitality surged through him, loosening his tensed muscles in an instant.
All that remained was taut readiness and the mission to avenge his house.
Taylor grinned wolfishly.
"I'll go first, then. Do be careful."
Less a warning than a declaration. He kicked off the ground, closing the distance in a flash.
Thunderbolt runt. Time to teach you the world's fears.
"Hah!"
He thrust his sword, putting his full power behind it as if it were the finishing blow. Just in case the wastrel panicked and forfeited.
He pictured the prince tumbling across the dirt, wailing in tears. The thought alone lifted his spirits sky-high.
Clang.
"Huh?"
The grating metallic ring shattered his soaring mood. The prince had parried effortlessly.
"Must be 'cause you've only got one ring."
The prince spoke from behind their crossed blades, held vertically.
"Just a little sting."
Taylor channeled mana from his ring subtly into his blade—enough to cripple for months, if not kill. No greenhorn prince who had trained for a mere two months could block it.
Yet it was blocked.
Taylor couldn't comprehend it.
"H-how?"
He blurted out, and the prince chuckled from behind the sword.
"Well."
The perfunctory answer twisted Taylor's face in fury—just as the prince shook his blade.
Vmmm.
The prince's sword emitted an eerie hum. Unmistakably,
"Sword resonance?"
The song left in the blade's wake by flowing mana.
"Gasp!"
The court knights gasped at Taylor Tailheim's thrust. Their feet twitched as if ready to rush the arena's center.
But before they could intervene, Taylor's blade bore down on the prince.
All expected the prince to hit the dirt.
Conventional wisdom held that mana-infused strikes could only be parried by mana-infused blades. For a prince who had trained a mere three months, it was far too fierce.
That was the assumption.
Clang!
But no.
The prince didn't retreat an inch, blocking Taylor's sword on the spot.
Perhaps he withdrew the mana at the last moment?
The knights figured Taylor had held back out of respect for his station.
"H-how?"
But Taylor's face, laced with raw disbelief, betrayed no such mercy.
Vmmm.
And then sword resonance echoed.
No one present would be surprised to hear it. Yet they were stunned regardless.
The resonance emanated from the prince's sword.
"Hah."
The court knights let out sighs or groans.
Sword resonance was a realm far beyond a prince three months into training.
"To think His Highness hid such talent."
"How could the world have overlooked him?"
The knights lamented.
Had the world recognized the prince's true worth sooner, he wouldn't have picked up such ridiculous habits despite his gifts.
It was tragic.
"Hiyah!"
Then the Tailheim baron's second son unleashed a flurry. A sharp chain targeting vitals in sequence.
The knights admired the prince's feat but doubted he'd weather this assault unscathed.
Yet their expectations missed again.
The prince's sword smacked away each incoming strike. Taylor's blade flailed wildly, slicing air or stabbing ground.
An unexpected rally from the prince. But it seemed that was his limit.
Wounded pride? Taylor unleashed a barrage. The prince's movements grew frantic, his stance precarious.
The knights prepared to intervene.
"Hold."
Count Bail Ballerhard stopped them.
"Don't watch the sword. Watch your lord."
They turned to the prince.
"Does your lord still look endangered to you?"
The knights fell silent.
The prince was smiling.
Even if his face was a mangled mess, he was undoubtedly smiling.
The saying that a ring's mana countered the heart's mana rang true.
Ugh. Churning.
Strikes that merely stung at first now rattled my guts with every parry. My mana flow was already fraying.
My roiling innards and boiling mana heralded classic mana reflux. Left unchecked, I'd soon be puking blood and collapsing.
Yet I smiled all the same.
I saw the man's face twist like a demon's. Frustration at failing to handle a fool prince, grudge and malice now openly bared after initial concealment. His expression screamed blood feud. I spoke up.
"Taylor Tailheim, second son, was it?"
He answered with a stab. He'd held back at first, but now he aimed openly for vitals.
"You need to cool your head."
Deaf to my words, lost in assault, I unleashed what slumbered within.
A demonic sword, divine blade, or myriad other titles borne by one of countless "me"s—
A fragment of my soul too potent for frail flesh to bear unveiled.
The most recent sword's memory: the heart's essence forged to slay dragons.
Forged for dragon slaying, abandoned by its master and dulled, the blade wailed upon reuniting after centuries.
Kirrrrr.
A cry distinct from sword resonance reverberated,
"Hiyah!"
as the opponent's shout pierced through.
Facing the incoming blade, I unleashed my sword.
The blade extends.
Two swords clash midair.
The paltry ring mana shatters before the immense will.
Sturdy steel screeches and breaks.
Crunch.
The ravenous blade devoured the pitiful squire's sword whole.
Kirrrrr.
Unsated, it surged forward—and onward.