Chapter 92
Chapter 92
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 92
Chapter Title: Anyway, a Wastrel (1)
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The dark gray blade started at about half a handspan wide and tapered narrower toward the tip, exactly as before. The gem flickering blue and red was unchanged. The black and white wing ornaments, evoking those of angels and demons, and the hilt wrapped in black leather were the same as in the past.
But even so, I felt a profound sense of incongruity.
The aura accumulated over hundreds of years was gone. No, it was there, but so faint that you wouldn't notice unless you focused on it.
My true body, which had drunk the blood of every auspicious and ominous thing alike and ascended to the rank of a divine artifact, now felt as insignificant as if it had just been forged.
It was a change I hadn't anticipated in the slightest, leaving me utterly stunned.
What I wanted back was Gruhon, the divine sword and demon blade—not just some sharp, beautiful sword.
"Impossible..."
I let out repeated sighs in my daze.
"Your Highness, just look at it."
"Step back."
I instinctively reached out toward the sword. The Royal Knights and the Old Knight immediately blocked my path with warnings.
A surge of anger rose within me.
This was my body—my precious body—and something was wrong with it. Their behavior, barring me from even checking, infuriated me.
"Get out of the..."
But before I could finish, an unfamiliar voice echoed in my mind.
A frivolous, sniveling voice.
"His Majesty said never again like before..."
"Shh."
I raised a hand to silence the Old Knight.
That same frivolous voice kept chattering away in my head.
I froze as I listened to the voice prattling on.
'From now on, I'm the master of this sword!'
The voice of a certain boy I'd heard right after waking from my slumber.
'Shut up! There's nothing in this kingdom I can't lay my hands on!'
'With this guy, even His Majesty and the nobles won't be able to ignore me anymore.'
The voice brimming with arrogance and inferiority.
'Great Dragon Slayer! Lend me your power!'
'Gruhon!'
The voice of that wastrel who had desperately called my name before thrusting the sword into his own gut.
'Gruhiiiin!'
It overlapped perfectly with the voice resounding in my head.
"First Prince?"
The voice, which had been nonstop, cut off abruptly at my inadvertent mutter.
And after a long pause, a choked-up voice followed.
Unrefined thoughts scrambled my mind.
That desperate voice belonged to the original owner of the body I'd taken over—the First Prince.
And I was left utterly dumbfounded by this absurd turn of events.
**
"The royal command is absolute."
The Old Knight was resolute.
"So go ask him, then."
But when I kept insisting, he had no choice but to send a Royal Knight to relay my request to the King.
"His Majesty has accepted Your Highness's plea. You absolutely may not take the dagger out, and the time granted will not be long."
Only after the Royal Knight returned with the King's permission did the Old Knight relent.
"The Royal Treasury has only one entrance, so harbor no other intentions."
The Old Knight issued one last warning before leading the Royal Knights out of the treasury.
Finally alone, I strode forward and grasped my true body.
The wastrel started yammering the moment I gripped it.
I ignored him and examined my true body.
"Ah..."
I let out a sigh of relief.
The aura I'd thought was completely gone now touched my hand. It was frozen solid, showing no sign of stirring—but it existed. My true body seemed to have fallen into a deep slumber, just as I had for the past four hundred years.
I poured every ounce of effort into waking it, but my true body refused to stir.
And I knew exactly why it was sleeping like this, why it was so unresponsive.
It was because the wielder was unqualified—because it didn't recognize him as its master.
"Does this even make sense?"
I'd longed for the day I'd reclaim my true body, and now this bolt from the blue.
I'd been rejected by this very flesh.
It was beyond absurd—it left me hollow.
My head throbbed. This was a situation I truly hadn't foreseen.
The wastrel's racket only made my headache worse.
"Shut up."
The bastard bellowed.
His tantrum cooled my head instead.
"You're the moron who pulled every rotten stunt imaginable, then stabbed himself and got stuck in the sword."
"No one but me can hear your voice, right?"
Benefactor my ass. I growled at the spouting nonsense.
"Don't say a word unless I ask first."
"Looks like you don't grasp the situation. I could just walk out right now. Then you'd spend eternity rotting here, yelling at the Royal Knights' backs—and they wouldn't hear a thing."
It was childish blackmail, but it worked wonders.
The whiner, oblivious to his plight, begged desperately.
It was only natural.
Facing time alone in a forsaken place was utterly horrifying. I knew that better than anyone, so I understood his feelings all too well.
But understanding his solitude didn't mean I pitied his plight.
The harm he'd inflicted on the world in life was immense. On the small scale, he'd tormented his subordinates, making their lives miserable. On the grand scale, he'd crippled hundreds of knights, plunging the kingdom's future into the gutter.
And he hadn't shown a shred of remorse. What was the point in pitying a bastard like that?
It might seem brazen coming from the one who'd taken his body, but he was better off trapped in the sword.
I firmly believed it was the path that served the world best.
No—before that, I didn't want it. I had zero desire to return to the sword now.
"How long have you been in there?"
I started with questions to gauge the situation.
It matched exactly the moment I'd awakened in his body.
"No special signs or omens?"
A few more questions yielded nothing useful.
He knew absolutely nothing.
The sleeping true body, the sudden soul swap, the reason for this bizarre phenomenon—he was clueless about it all.
He just kept repeating that he'd woken up inside the sword like some dimwit.
"You're really no help."
Then he said something unexpected.
Marquis Montpellier's name popped up from an unlikely source.
It felt like a smack to the back of my head.
"Tell me the details."
"I'll decide after hearing it. Finish what you were saying."
The wastrel rambled on at length.
By the time I'd heard it all, I couldn't help but laugh in disbelief.
"This fucker played me."
I kept chuckling at the sheer absurdity when the wastrel cautiously asked,
"Who am I?"
I pondered his question for a moment.
"The guy cleaning up your shit."
"Your Highness. Time's up."
The Old Knight's voice came from outside before the bastard could unravel his confusion.
"I'm coming in."
More announcement than request, the door flew open as the Old Knight and Royal Knights burst in.
"Put down the sword."
At that, I glanced between the knights and my true body before letting go.
"I'll be back soon."
The bastard cried out desperately, but I'd already turned away.
"Then, as promised, I'll take you out."
Extracting his soul from the true body was beyond my power, but pulling the sword itself from this dim treasury wouldn't be hard. Of course, I'd have to pass the King's test first.
**
Gawain's mind was a mess.
Since arriving at the palace, nothing made sense anymore.
He'd endured grueling days imagining a steadfast king unbowed by foreign powers, loyal and wise nobles following him, and himself and his comrades standing tall before them. But reality was nothing like his imaginings.
Even with the monarch of a nation plainly seated on the dais, the Empire's dog acted without restraint, and not a soul raised an objection.
There were no loyal, wise nobles as he'd envisioned.
Just feeble weaklings trembling before the Empire's might.
Even the King was the same.
As the Imperial Envoy meddled in state affairs and intimidated nobles right before his eyes, the King sat idle on his throne.
When the Envoy spoke of unsealing the Mage Tower, the King rejoiced as if receiving a grand boon.
His head understood.
A kingdom with its Mage Tower sealed, now able to train mages again—it was monumental. As a monarch, being handed a chance to strengthen his nation, joy was natural.
But his heart couldn't accept it.
He hadn't vomited blood to break the ring just to witness this pathetic spectacle.
He'd at least hoped—no, believed—the King would stand firm.
But he didn't.
To Gawain's eyes, the King looked like a dog happily gnawing a bone tossed by the Empire.
Blasphemous, profane thoughts. He tried to banish them, but the delusions lingered stubbornly.
His comrades had grown unusually quiet since the palace too.
Their expressions showed they were mired in the same disillusionment.
Better if they'd died back then. If they'd cut their lives instead of the ring, they wouldn't have reached this wretched state of mind.
Gazing gloomily over the palace walls, he spotted the First Prince returning from his errand.
The Prince's expression, normal when he'd left, was now rigid as stone.
"Your Highness. What happened...?"
Kals Yulihi—that was his name? The handsome Royal Knight greeted him with concern.
Gazing at Kals Yulihi, the First Prince spoke in icy tones.
"Send for Marquis Montpellier."
"Your Highness?"
"Tell him I want to see him."
At the sudden command, Kals blinked in confusion, so the Prince repeated,
"Tell him to come here right now."
He spoke as if summoning a subordinate, despite the man being the Imperial Envoy whom even the kingdom's sovereign handled with care.
"Will he come just because we ask?"
Kals voiced the same doubt Gawain felt.
"He will."
The First Prince replied without a hint of hesitation.
"If he doesn't want to die."
Startled by the razor-sharp words, Kals glanced around warily, checking for eavesdroppers.
"Hm."
Kals's gaze fell on Gawain.
Gawain feigned ignorance and quietly observed.
One of the Royal Knights left the First Prince's Palace. He returned shortly, accompanied by the Imperial Envoy.
But the Envoy's face, so bold before the King, was now taut and stiff.
Like a man gripped by fear.
"Kals."
The First Prince said lowly, eyeing the Marquis.
"Close the doors."
No sooner had he spoken than the Royal Knights sealed the palace entrance.
Bang.
The heavy door slammed shut with a thud.
"Y-Your Highness..."
The Imperial Envoy, pale as a ghost, glanced frantically between the firmly shut door and the First Prince.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
The First Prince said coldly, staring him down.
"Wh-what do you mean...?"
"Tell me everything. Leave nothing out."
Regardless of the Envoy's words, the First Prince pressed on.
"What do you know about the Dragon Slayer Sword."
At "Dragon Slayer Sword," the Imperial Envoy froze solid.
"And what you planned to do after pulling the Dragon Slayer Sword from the treasury."