Chapter 91
Chapter 91
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 91
Chapter Title: 29. The Difference Between Gifts, Rewards, and Spoils of War (3)
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Marquis Bilefeldt shook his head slowly.
The First Prince was utterly unpredictable.
One might think he was leveraging his achievements for personal gain, yet after claiming the greatest merit in halting the southward advance of tens of thousands of monsters, all he demanded was a single sword.
For the Marquis, who had been deeply worried about what outrageous request the prince might make, this was a relief. The king's hesitation stemmed from the political implications of the reward.
Big if big, small if small.
Considering the shifting political landscape ahead, it was far from a trivial matter.
But the First Prince had demanded a mere sword with his own mouth.
Even if they offered the sharpest treasured sword in the kingdom, it wouldn't be excessive, and even if they gave the most modest blade, it would suffice since it was what he wanted.
Had he made an unreasonable demand, the situation would have grown dire, but now things seemed poised to resolve smoothly.
Or so it appeared—too hasty a judgment.
"I hear you possess a sword left by a renowned master. One cannot assume the royal family's treasured blade surpasses it. Is it truly fitting as a reward?"
"It is fitting."
He answered without the slightest hesitation, clearly having something specific in mind.
"Speak plainly, without dragging it out."
The First Prince didn't hold back.
"The sword used by the kingdom's founder to slay the light dragon."
He made the demand as if it were the most natural thing in the world, oblivious to its meaning.
"That is the sword I desire."
The banquet hall froze in an instant.
The king stared at the First Prince with a face rigid as stone.
"You mean the Dragon Slayer, correct?"
His tone matched his stiffened expression.
"The one that pierced my side."
Yet the First Prince's response was utterly nonchalant, as if asking why they were so surprised over a mere sword.
"Do you understand what that signifies?"
"It's an item gathering dust in storage, unused. Let someone who needs it use it."
Marquis Bilefeldt squeezed his eyes shut at the reply.
"You don't know, do you? Well, if you did, you wouldn't have dared."
The king's voice, lowered in grave displeasure, reached his ears.
"That sword was passed from king to king: from the previous sovereign to his successor, and through my father to me."
The Marquis opened his eyes again.
"The blade you arbitrarily drew from the treasury without permission was never meant for your hands."
The First Prince's face came into view first.
"It is the sword wielded by this nation's successive monarchs."
A crack appeared in his nonchalant expression.
"And as such, it symbolizes the throne of this kingdom."
The faint crack quickly mended. But the prince's calm facade had changed subtly—somehow unnatural and awkward. After a long pause, he asked in a mosquito-like whisper.
"Can't I just have the sword?"
As if they couldn't simply hand over the sword apart from the throne.
"Hah."
The king let out an incredulous chuckle.
The sheer absurdity left him too stunned for anger—just repeated hollow laughs.
But that lasted only a moment.
The king's face hardened further, more rigid than before.
Marquis Bilefeldt fully understood the king's distress.
And rightly so: before numerous nobles, the First Prince had demanded the sword symbolizing the throne, backed by ample merit.
Refusing now would equate to declaring the royal family intended to bar the eldest son from succession.
The question of giving just the sword was never one the nobles would entertain.
No one took such an absurd demand seriously. They saw it as the prince's resentment after being denied recognition as heir despite his birthright.
Marquis Bilefeldt had thought the same—at first.
Until he saw the turmoil in the First Prince's eyes. Until he glimpsed the bewilderment within.
I'd assumed the royal family didn't know my true value since the sword was buried in the treasury, untouched by anyone. That they'd managed it so sloppily as to let a wastrel prince waltz in and swing me around meant they must have undervalued its very existence.
But no—it symbolized the throne.
I'd thought claiming one useless relic from them would be no big deal.
Instead, I'd inadvertently demanded the crown itself.
This was awkward.
"Can't I just have the sword?"
In my fluster, I'd blurted out nonsense.
The king's face, glaring at me, was filled with bafflement—his hatred and fury seemingly forgotten.
I glanced around.
The nobles were murmuring.
Through my Authority, I heard their conversations.
With unparalleled achievements, the Mage Tower secured, and as the rightful eldest, it wasn't an excessive demand.
They truly believed I wanted the throne.
I didn't.
Well, I did. But not like this.
Even if I inherited it, I had no intention of bargaining for it like some merchant flaunting merits. My plan was to force the king to offer it willingly, unable to refuse.
I even had a scheme for that.
This situation wasn't what I'd intended.
I looked at the king.
A flat refusal would have been preferable, but unlike usual, he seemed deeply conflicted.
His face weighed the consequences ahead.
"Mm."
After agonizing silence, the king raised his head. His gaze struck me like frost falling.
And an equally icy voice emerged.
Damn it. Retrieving my original body would have to wait.
The king, itching to devour me, wouldn't yield a throne symbol.
So I thought. I was certain of it.
"Very well."
I was wrong.
"Since you desire it, I shall grant it."
The king accepted my demand.
"But though I grant it, not at this moment."
A completely unforeseen turn.
"Only after accomplishing one task will you claim what you seek."
A condition attached, but unmistakable approval.
"Fail, and the Dragon Slayer shall not be yours by fate."
I was dumbfounded.
What shift in sentiment had occurred in a single day to prompt this reversal? I couldn't fathom it.
But the shock was fleeting.
Right after the king departed, I realized what he wanted.
This was a battle of legitimacy.
The task ahead would likely be beyond a mere prince's capacity. Failure would justify stripping my succession rights formally.
In essence, a test.
Though its setter hoped I'd fail.
"Ha."
I let out a hollow laugh at the futility.
It was hilarious how thoroughly the king—one I took for a mere throne-warmer—had outmaneuvered me.
Yet he was king, after all.
Unable to conquer the chaos of the era, but enough to handle one immature prince.
"Interesting."
Far from anger, excitement welled up.
I recalled a past wager.
The Quad Chain knight who mocked my crude Mana Heart and proposed a bet.
What happened after?
I smiled.
Genuinely thrilled.
Seems I've grown hooked.
Since awakening in this wastrel's body, everyone looked down on me. None acknowledged me; they all scorned me equally.
Defying their expectations and watching their faces twist was quite amusing.
My heart already pounded in anticipation.
This wager—or test, whatever it was—hadn't even begun, yet I eagerly awaited the king's expression.
And my own, standing before him, smiling.
"Brother. Congratulations."
As I stood lost in thought, Maximilian approached with well-wishes.
"It seems everything is finally falling into place."
I shook my head at his sincere congratulations.
Save them for later.
No rush—they'd be timely before the stunned king.
The nobles vied to offer me congratulations.
Already flattering me as if I were king.
It might have been nominal celebration of reclaiming my position as eldest, or sycophancy toward me, bearer of the Mage Tower treasure.
Either way, my standing had undeniably changed.
Of course, some had pierced the king's scheme.
The great lords offering congratulations kept even greater distance than before.
Testing the waters, no doubt.
Pass the test: heir apparent. Fail: outcast.
Their machinations over the extremes were transparent.
"Your Highness. Did you truly not know?"
After shaking off the clinging nobles, I returned to the prince's palace.
Marquis Bilefeldt, following, asked me.
After hearing of the wastrel's misdeeds from that Montpellier fool, I'd spent time investigating my past.
To avoid any unknown history tripping me up again.
Vincent eagerly spilled it all, claiming it from his father. Thus, I learned every pathetic detail of the wastrel's history.
But nothing about my original body symbolizing the throne.
The reason was obvious.
Too obvious to mention. No one imagined a prince ignorant of the throne's symbol.
Marquis Bilefeldt scolded my recklessness at length.
The nagging had intensified since yesterday, his demeanor like a self-appointed tutor.
One tutor—Niccolò—was enough.
"Out!"
I snapped at the endless tirade.
"Even if His Majesty assigns a task, do not accept rashly. Deliberate thoroughly and discuss before deciding."
Ignoring me, he finished his final admonition before rising.
Soon after, the Queen arrived.
The Queen was profoundly uncomfortable for me.
The world despised the wastrel. No one valued him.
Thus, I could face them without qualms, assuming none would grieve his death.
But the Queen did.
She truly cherished her son. If I remained in the sword and the wastrel died, she'd be the only one weeping.
That's why she unsettled me.
Today, too, I avoided her. But as before, it failed.
Not even Kals, who evicted countless nobles, or the rigid court knights dared bar the Queen.
Why hadn't I sought her since entering the palace? What of this wound?
I endured her fussing awhile.
"Well done. Truly well done."
And at the end, suffered the indignity of her stroking my head like a child.
Finally rid of her and catching my breath, another visitor came.
The old knight who once sought me after I awoke in the wastrel's body.
He led me somewhere.
Unlike my expectation of the king's office, he guided me astray.
"Do not touch it, nor do anything else."
Deep in the palace, a secret place unknown to all.
"Merely look with your eyes."
Just out of reach, a single sword was embedded.
My original body, so desperately sought.
"Huh?"
No matter how I looked, it was undoubtedly my body.
Yet it felt strangely unfamiliar.
I rubbed my eyes. Rubbed again. But the sight before me remained unchanged.