The False Goddess
I had heard Bulise's words, yet the imperial palace's defenses had grown far stricter than before, and the distance to the ruins had increased considerably.
I had grown careless, thinking I could slip out of the palace as easily as in the past.
Harold, upon hearing of the Crown Prince's disappearance, immediately slammed his foot into the ground. Unlike the guards who were still scrambling for clues, he already knew exactly where the young prince was.
Dense mana enveloped his legs as his gait manifested.
When he reached his destination, Harold was overwhelmed with despair.
The carriage lay in ruins, and it was clear someone had been harmed. An abnormality with the Crown Prince's safety would spell disaster.
Suppressing late regret, he followed the traces downward.
Then he stopped.
Artan had been injured, but he was safe. There was no sign of any lasting harm to his life.
Before the Crown Prince stood a woman. Harold recognized her face.
He blinked in disbelief.
"Why is this woman...?"
There was no connection between them.
They had only met once in the central library, but the unforgettable face was etched firmly in his memory.
Why was she with the Crown Prince?
He had warned her against interfering, yet she had instead aided the prince.
With an inexplicable spell, she had even summoned the carriage. A technique he had never heard of.
"Reversing the human body... What kind of magic is this?"
At first, comparing Quillere's "components" to a human's would have been an error, but Harold, unaware of it, was stunned.
In the long years of battle, he had never witnessed such sorcery.
Seeing her aid Artan made him suspect she might be an ally.
Maintaining a faint wariness, she spoke in a low tone, like a reprimand.
Harold's eyes widened. Every word struck straight to the core.
The prince himself looked stunned, mouth agape. Was this the same boy who had stubbornly clung to his high-sounding speeches, letting them slide past one ear?
Perhaps this brat would change. The moment hope kindled, darkness crashed in.
"Those bastards...!"
A group cloaked in assassin garb.
The Sword Master Harold instantly discerned their identities. As one who had wielded the imperial blade for years, he knew them all too well.
The shadowy figures of assassins or killers from the underworld.
His hand reached for the hilt at his waist.
The Crown Prince was in peril. Whoever had set them in motion, that matter could be resolved later.
Yet the situation had taken a strange turn.
"So it's not the Crown Prince you're after... but the woman?"
That seemed to be the case.
Surprisingly, the killers showed no interest in Artan.
A prince of the empire being rejected by assassins? What an extraordinary sight.
The woman's true identity became intensely fascinating.
Despite numerical superiority, the assassins wore expressions of deep tension. They were clearly skilled.
Especially the woman who appeared to be their leader.
From the Sword Master's standpoint, it was not an easy opponent, yet for a normal master, it was a sure hunt.
Harold prepared for battle.
Being taken alive would not end well.
The woman's choice was either fight or flee. Either way, the abandoned Crown Prince was in danger.
However, Quillere made an unexpected decision right there.
"Send this boy away."
She had chosen self-sacrifice to protect a boy she had no familiarity with. Harold froze with his hand still on the hilt.
He had only thought of her as a cold woman.
Her use of such a mysterious technique marked her as a master, but her foundation remained unchanged.
It was incomprehensible.
Fight or flee.
No matter how the assassins pursued her, the choice was still one of two.
There was no reason whatsoever to help a boy he had never met.
Yet her true heart shone through the sacrifice.
If she were that strong, she could have charged straight into battle.
But if she did, Artan would become the primary target. Moreover, the opponents were assassins specialized in speed and stealth.
Therefore, she must have chosen to follow for Artan's sake.
There were no other reasons.
"...Impressive."
She was not a simple woman.
A warrior carrying a steel blade of resolve within a slender frame...
To Harold's eyes, she seemed more noble than any noble lady.
And yet.
"Aaaah!"
As Quillere departed, Artan screamed.
He struck the ground and shouted. This was not the reaction she had wanted.
Harold clicked his tongue and approached him.
"You truly learned nothing from this."
The startled prince turned around and stared directly into Harold's eyes.
Rarely had such intense heat flared. The prince's expression, as if enlightened by her words, was clearly an act.
"Sword Master Harold...?"
"Is this the action she desired?"
Ignoring his words, Harold continued.
"She must have wished the Crown Prince to become a flower. A flower that blooms with nobility different from weeds, one that can survive without a greenhouse."
"...!"
Artan's pupils shook.
"Yet look at His Highness now. To anyone, he is no more than a weed sunk in the mud."
The prince remained dazed despite the harsh words.
Normally, he would have raged fiercely.
Instead, Artan suddenly sharpened his mind and pleaded.
"Sword Master Harold! Help her... help Quillere! It is not yet too late...!"
"You still fail to grasp your own position."
It was a plea heavy with urgency.
While Harold wondered at such a sight, he coldly refused.
"I respect and wish to aid the Crown Prince more than her, but I cannot. You are the Crown Prince and the one who will stand at the summit of this empire, the father of all humanity."
The lofty imperial blade, Sword Master Harold Grifeon.
He mixed respect and disrespect without fear and murmured.
"Even heroes who devoted their lives to training humbly accept this Sword Master's blade, yet you have carried it since birth."
That was the weight of a position Artan could not fully feel.
The heavy voice crushed him.
"Understand this? The certain peril of an unknown woman weighs far less than the uncertain peril of a pathetic boy."
The enemy's identity was unknown.
No size was known, no ambush possible, and those lurking behind remained veiled.
Even the Sword Master found it impossible to guard the Crown Prince with zero information.
"So...?"
Artan lowered his head with a dazed expression.
"Seeing His Highness now, she must also regret it."
The boy flinched at those words.
Clenching his teeth, he shook with fists tightly gripped.
The words were harsh, yet they were true.
Her advice had been cold, yet carried genuine concern.
Setting aside her mannerisms, it showed she had thought of him to turn him into a more composed person.
But how was he now? Wasn't his state completely opposite to her heart?
He could not stay sitting like this.
He had to change. No, he wanted to change.
He had to become a man who could stand proud enough that she would never regret it.
"...I will escape from the hothouse flower."
It was not immediate.
It would be a difficult path. But he did not think it was too late.
He was still young.
What would become of her?
She would not die. She did not seem like the kind of person who would fall into peril.
If both of them survived, one day they would meet again.
A small, intense spark bloomed within his heart.
The moment when Artan Prickus would grow into a legendary wise ruler.
...It had only been yesterday that the empire was reached.
I was returning to that cursed city once more. I had thought there would be no more entanglement with life, yet it turned out differently than expected.
As expected of those whose profession was assassination, the march was far swifter than before.
In my pulled state, I could not ask them to slow down, so I followed on.
Surprisingly, they had not treated me harshly.
Instead, they seemed to worry that I might be injured. Perhaps the head had not ordered them to bring me cleanly...
"Which is which..."
The fat one or the thin one?
It was equally terrifying.
When we crested the hill, Sigilla spoke to me.
"Lord is in a difficult situation."
Her face was endlessly serious.
"I need your help."
It was absurd.
I had already roughly grasped the lord's intentions. There was no reason anywhere to expect my aid.
And a difficult situation?
A man who had corrupted citizens by exploiting them, what difficulty could he face? Perhaps he feared the assassin threat.
Or perhaps he wished to recruit me as a subordinate after mistaking my skill for that displayed against the Snake God's subordinates.
Upon thinking, that possibility existed.
But since I had clearly harmed the subordinates, refusing would mean a dangerous, forced proposal.
This hypothesis was just as ruthless.
"I find it disgusting."
The words were dangerous, but I would not swallow them this time.
A burning desire for freedom rose.
"Why must I work under such lowly beings?"
The assassins were extremely sensitive to footsteps and slept very little.
As escape chances dwindled and accumulated resentment exploded.
Sigilla furrowed her brows but did not flare up.
Yet the calm atmosphere around her shattered.
"Lord's father... I mean, the previous lord took me in when I was a wandering orphan."
"Repaying a debt?"
"Yes. Since that day, I have bet my entire life on the family."
It was a trivial reason.
In childhood, to repay a debt, one did not hesitate to do dirty work. Such types were impossible to persuade.
They could not even establish a proper moral sense from the start.
I fell silent, finding no value in continuing the conversation.
After a while, Sigilla spoke again.
"Lord possesses talent, but he is still immature."
I clicked my tongue inwardly.
Whether fat or thin, he had wrinkles.
At that age, being immature?
"You have fought against the unstable atmosphere that lurked since your youth. No matter how painful, you never gave up. Even in agony, you believed tomorrow would come."
...She had saved an orphan and was too generous. Exaggeration has limits.
Unstable atmosphere? It was the people's voice calling to overthrow a corrupt ruler.
I sneered bitterly.
"Even if tomorrow comes, the painful reality does not change."
Fundamentally, he had to change himself.
Living so vilely would naturally invite counterattacks. Sigilla's eyes widened in surprise.
After a rare reaction, she nodded as if enlightened.
"Ah... That is correct. Nothing has changed."
Immediately, her sharp eyes turned toward me.
More serious than ever.
"Do you understand, Quillere? That is when you appeared."
...I had occasionally glimpsed opportunities, but there was never an opening to escape.
Night was the only avenue I had thought possible, yet they had perfect surveillance and never left their weapons unguarded.
Unfathomable creatures.
Even if we fled, a single signal would bring them all rushing. Their preparation was flawless.
Under the pressure to flee and the urgency of the approaching city, eventually... the day had come.
"Arrival."
The familiar outskirts of Uristia came into view.
The place I had arrived with Petr the researcher before.
Back then, I had escaped smoothly, but... this time, it was wrong.