Chapter 90
Chapter 90
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 90
Chapter Title: 29. The Difference Between Gifts, Rewards, and Spoils of War (2)
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When Maximilian the 2nd Prince returned, Marquis Billefeld felt a fresh shock.
The boy who had been merely kind and wise had transformed into a sturdy man in just a few months.
Watching him, the marquis was moved to tears, thinking that the blood of lions had not been severed, that there was still hope for this kingdom. The 2nd Prince's growth was remarkable enough to inspire such emotion.
"Compared to my brother... I'm still far behind."
When sharp-eyed nobles praised his changes, the 2nd Prince humbly downplayed it, as if embarrassed.
At the time, everyone admired how this good and virtuous prince was humble to boot.
The saying "no brother matches his elder" didn't apply—at least not in the Leonberger royal family.
But it turned out those words weren't mere humility.
The 1st Prince, reappearing in the capital, was an entirely different person.
Aside from his arrogant gaze, nothing remained the same.
His body was covered in scars, his eyes fierce like a beast's. Behind the boy who once wandered alone trailed countless lords and knights.
His presence was so overwhelmingly intimidating that even haughty nobles instinctively bowed their heads.
If his younger brother had a charm that embraced the room, his elder had a boldness that crushed the atmosphere.
From the moment the 1st Prince appeared, he dominated the gathering, and the nobles all watched his mood.
Yet the marquis found that fierce boldness both pleasing and worrisome.
The 1st Prince was excessively rude and radical.
Even toward his father privately and the kingdom's ruler publicly, his words and actions were too rough. It made him seem precarious, like a child without restraint wielding a sharp sword.
His words rang true, and his path was straight and just. Regardless of the past, that much was fact.
But his strides were so excessively aggressive and flashy that images of those trampled and screaming underfoot came to mind.
He had boldness but lacked the包容 to unite the room.
It was a shame.
Did he have no one to advise him? Or did he ignore even advice?
Either way, it wasn't good.
The strong inevitably break someday.
And even that strength wasn't absolute—the northern nobles propping up the 1st Prince were just a fraction compared to the kingdom's entire aristocracy.
He respected their spirit, born from barren lands, but their poor, barren foundations were undeniable.
It wasn't yet time for the 1st Prince to bare his fangs.
Greedy, cunning wolves wouldn't let a young lion grow fully. For now, they bowed under his prestige and justification, but their insidious nature could prove deadlier than a lion's bravery at times.
The young lion still needed the pride's protection—even if its leader was an old lion with claws clipped and teeth pulled.
The marquis hoped the 1st Prince would realize this soon.
But it was mere old man's worry.
The 1st Prince was no mere cub.
The moment the empire's envoy selected him as the Magic Tower's lord, the marquis realized it.
It wasn't that he lacked room to embrace others. He had no intention of doing so.
No Magic Tower lord in the world ever stepped forward first to plead scarcity.
Especially not in a kingdom where mages had nearly died out over the past century.
Proof came as those who grumbled about losing precious bloodlines or money to the empire's prestige lingered long after the meeting, debating whom to send north.
Some boldly offered their eldest sons; others, their pampered youngest.
A few already acted as if their sons were mages.
Of course, regaining composure, they'd recall not just anyone became a mage. But the vague hope that their son might be one of the few would persist, leading them to send off fairly promising heirs—eldest, second, or even collaterals.
"Hm..."
Watching even his close aides debate the Magic Tower, the marquis quietly left the banquet hall.
And headed straight for the 1st Prince's palace.
"Well! He says he has important words!"
"His Highness has already retired for the night. Please visit again later."
The prince's palace was already swarmed by quick-footed nobles.
"It's Count Dunstein. Tell His Highness I seek an audience."
Among them was Count Dunstein, one of the eastern great lords' most prestigious.
"His Highness has retired. We'll inform him you called later."
Even a mighty count couldn't cross the threshold.
"Hm."
Watching this, Marquis Billefeld realized the prince knew exactly the value of the weapon he held.
Meeting him today will be difficult.
With such a stiff gatekeeper, he truly meant to see no one. The marquis turned, planning for another day.
Or tried to.
"Is that not Marquis Billefeld, Excellency?"
A court knight, unwavering amid nobles' complaints and threats, acknowledged him.
"Here to see His Highness, by chance?"
"I am, but since he's retired, I'll return later."
"No need—come in and wait."
"Well, really..."
"This way."
Pretending reluctance, Marquis Billefeld followed the court knight across the threshold.
"What? Some get in, others don't?!"
"Marquis Billefeld, Excellency, already had an appointment."
"Such a lie! I saw with my own eyes him turning to leave."
"Likely considering His Highness's fatigue from the elders."
Behind, nobles wailed in protest, but the court knight played ignorant.
"Heh. Truly a gem."
Court knights were known for stubbornness, but he hadn't expected one with such spirit to speak his mind before so many nobles.
And at the 1st Prince's palace, ignored until now.
"What's that knight's name?"
"Who do you mean... Ah, Sir Kals, you mean."
The guiding court knight revealed the name: Kals Yulihi. And that he and a few others had guarded the lordless palace for over a year.
Does he have virtue or not? Hard to say.
The marquis shook his head.
"Your Highness. Marquis Billefeld, Excellency, has arrived."
The court knight knocked and opened the door.
"Please enter."
The marquis patted the knight's shoulder and stepped inside.
"You came sooner than expected."
"Your Highness."
Despite claiming retirement, the 1st Prince sat with two women opposite, sipping tea.
"Marquis, Excellency."
The women recognized him, rising to bow.
One was the daughter of the Kirguyen family, well-known near the capital; the other unfamiliar. But ignorance of her face didn't mean her identity.
Rumors of the 1st Prince knighting his handmaiden were still a staple in tales of him.
Mostly vulgar gossip, which the marquis ignored.
"I heard you'd retired from fatigue to rest, yet here you are leisurely with tea."
"You believed that?"
"Of course not. No one would, least of all me."
The 1st Prince chuckled at the marquis's reply.
"Sit, anyway. Arwen, Adelia, you too. It's fine, right?"
The marquis nodded curtly to the prince's request and took a seat.
"A year ago, right here, we spoke."
"I barely had the mind for tea then."
"Understandable."
A year prior, here, Marquis Billefeld had advised the 1st Prince there was nothing to gain in the capital and to leave for the provinces to gather power.
The prince followed, going north with his maternal uncle, subjugating seventeen lords, and returning as the north's hegemon.
"Sometimes I wonder if I needless made you suffer in the north."
The marquis eyed the prince's face. Pretty like the queen's, but scarred deeply. The boy's northern hardships were plain.
"I suffered, sure. But it was worth it."
"Even empty words lighten my heart."
"If they were empty, you wouldn't have let me in."
The 1st Prince sank deep into the sofa.
"So, Marquis. Here for the Magic Tower too?"
"I'd be lying to say no interest, but I came with words to say."
Glancing at the women as he spoke.
"We'll take our leave."
"Pleasure meeting you. Let's meet again sometime."
Understanding the look, they withdrew.
"What requires clearing the room?"
"Your Highness."
The marquis spoke gravely, smile gone.
"Don't antagonize His Majesty so."
The 1st Prince scowled.
"Don't judge His Majesty by surface results alone. He is not the man you think."
The prince said nothing.
"The empire spent ages dulling His Majesty's edge and severing the royal family's limbs. It worsened in his reign— he's lost more than you imagine."
Seeing the prince's hardened face, the marquis spoke softly.
"And protected much."
As the prince opened his mouth, the marquis rose first.
"Remember this: the royals are your sturdiest pillar, not foes."
He added,
"A sharp sword in hand isn't for casual draws— it breeds resentment from those cut by its edge."
The strong break easily.
With sincere advice, the marquis departed.
The next day, the king began the delayed merit awards for the recent war.
First, central lords and central army who halted the monsters' southward push received honors, followed by consolation payments to hard-hit northern lords. Additional rewards followed merit.
"Representing the royals, to Maximilian Leonberger the 2nd Prince, who led the remaining legions and fought valiantly at the forefront: one hundred fine steeds, fifty suits of plate armor, one hundred bolts of silk. And one royal hunting ground."
"Your Majesty's grace is boundless."
With the 2nd Prince's reward, the king fell silent.
But no noble present thought the merits concluded.
The 1st Prince remained.
Even half the campaign reports' claims demanded rewards greater than any here. If all true, his feats rivaled national saviors—gauging the prize was impossible.
Agony showed on the silent king's face.
To Marquis Billefeld, the king's dilemma was clear.
The reward would shape the prince's position.
A grand one would signal father-son rift mended, restoring all the eldest should have as heir, lost from disfavor.
A meager one meant rejecting him as royal, denying even the north's hegemon authority—troubles ahead.
Even maimed, he was the throne's king.
Though prepared, the king hesitated.
Thankfully, the 1st Prince wasn't rude or radical as yesterday.
The marquis smiled.
Don't make enemies. Royals aren't foes.
His advice seemed heeded; relief.
But illusion.
"Give me the reward I want."
The marquis clutched his head.
Before the sovereign, claiming merits to dictate his own prize.
"I need nothing else."
Facing the king's rigid face, the 1st Prince demanded boldly.
"Just one sword will suffice."