Hunting Festival (4)

The metallic scent of blood hung thick in the air—a nauseating stench I could never seem to grow accustomed to, no matter how often I encountered it.

Now just another part of my daily life, the smell stabbed at my nostrils.

I turned my head and saw a man drenched in blood, scrambling to flee. The moment our eyes met, he dropped to his knees.

"P-please, spare—"

Before he could finish, my sword sliced through his neck.

Whether his vocal cords had been severed or not, he could no longer make a sound—only gurgled helplessly.

Even as an empty platitude, it wasn't a pleasant sight, but I felt no particular sense of rejection toward it.

Then again, considering the amount of blood staining my hands up to now, the days when something like this would have made me vomit were long past.

The man collapsed, his eyes rolling back. Around him, nearly a dozen men and women lay strewn about haphazardly, their throats slit.

The one thing they all had in common was the unsettling tattoo carved into the napes of their necks.

What more was there to say? They were the Emperor's Eyes, replacements for the nobles who had died in the recent auction house incident.

'I had my suspicions, but as expected. Even nobles aren't exempt.'

The Price of the Scales was one reason I had attended the Hunting Festival, but my primary objective was this—to identify who had been replaced by the Emperor's Eyes and extract information from their Brands.

"W-what in the world are you doing to us?"

A nobleman trembled as he clutched a self-defense sword, stumbling backward. The young master of the Griffe County family, if I recalled correctly.

I took a single step toward him, and he hastily retreated two.

Then, whether he tripped over a rock or not, he fell flat on his back.

'Disgusting.'

The Emperor's Eyes didn't know their own true nature.

They were beings crafted to mimic not just the body, memories, and personality of their originals—but even their thought processes. As such, they remained oblivious to the fact that they had long since been replaced.

The Brand carved into their napes was also invisible to anyone who hadn't reached at least the realm of an Archmage, so they had no way of knowing.

Artificial humans who existed everywhere yet remained unaware they were spies. That was why they were called the Emperor's Eyes.

"P-please—"

Before he could finish begging, my sword pierced his throat. With a final, unpleasant gurgle, the man collapsed.

I pulled my sword free and tossed it carelessly into subspace.

Though it was now covered in blood, I could always clean it with magic, so it didn't matter.

Not that it would have mattered either way—once the corpses were properly disposed of, no one would be able to tell whether this was human blood or monster blood.

"...You. What the hell do you think you're doing?"

I turned toward the voice and saw a familiar man with golden hair and golden eyes—the Crown Prince, Le-o von Shu-pen-haim.

Even though I'd ventured deep enough into the forest to deter most people, I still ended up running into him.

I'd even triggered a landslide as a warning signal long before entering, yet here he ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠was—completely oblivious.

And all because he was tailing a Duke of the Empire, supposedly to "protect Estelle" from Adel.

Was this supposed to be romantic, or just plain stupid?

'No guards, either.'

Was this bravery or idiocy?

Did he really think he could take me on alone just because he'd barely scraped his way into the lowest ranks of Sword Masters?

Then again, given how one-dimensional his thinking was, it was no wonder he'd been nothing more than a fool to be used in the original work.

"I asked you a question. What the hell did you just do?" ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

"What does it look like? Exactly what you see."

The Crown Prince glared at me, his teeth clenched in fury at the carnage before him. A golden energy began radiating from his body.

I suppose even rotten fruit still carries the imperial bloodline—his aura was substantial even for a Sword Master.

Of course, given that he was only barely qualified as one, the quality of his aura wasn't particularly impressive. In the end, aura was something that grew stronger and more refined only through consistent training.

Relying solely on his bloodline to reach the rank of Sword Master meant his ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠realm was, ultimately, nothing more than half-baked.

"I'll kill you!"

Losing all reason, the Crown Prince drew his sword and charged—a sight so absurd I nearly laughed.

It didn't matter how the Emperor's Eyes died; they could always be resurrected.

In principle, any exposed Emperor's Eye was to be disposed of—but if he had known that, he wouldn't be this enraged.

'How ironic—that a princess without succession rights knows the Imperial House better than he does.'

I flicked my finger, and a pure white magic circle materialized in the air, blocking his path like a shield.

KANG!

A metallic clang rang out as if two blades had collided. The Crown Prince's golden aura failed to cleave through the magic circle, instead rebounding uselessly against it.

His pupils trembled slightly, as if startled that his decisive strike had been blocked. Did he truly believe I would simply stand there and take a headlong charge like that?

Even before considering his mastery of aura or combat power, his glaring lack of battle experience was ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠painfully obvious.

"Calculation Deployment."

At my words, countless magic circles materialized in the surrounding space, and the Crown Prince's eyes shook even more violently.

Yet, instead of immediately retreating to regain his stance, he remained frozen—proof that his situational awareness and reflexes were sorely lacking.

'Well, he's nothing more than a brat, after all.'

Before meeting Estelle, his entire existence had revolved around drowning in alcohol and leering at women.

A trash heap like him, undeserving yet wielding the might of a Sword Master, had never hesitated to wreak havoc. That was Le-o von Shu-pen-haim, the Crown Prince, in a nutshell.

Too stupid to know better and too strong for his own good, he had committed every act of trolling imaginable. It was no wonder he had been the second most hated character in the original work's comment section—second only to the author himself.

"Fire."

White bullets shot forth from the magic circles.

He frantically swung his aura to block them, but the bullets pierced straight through.

No matter how much aura he had, its quality was so poor that stopping even a single bullet was beyond him.

"Ghk—!"

With the sound of crumpling armor, the Crown Prince was sent flying. His body slammed into a snow-laden tree, and he gasped for breath, half-buried in the snow shaken loose from the branches.

Somehow, the sight of him coughing up blood while partially buried in white felt deeply satisfying.

Perhaps it was the pleasure of seeing the man I had once cursed more viciously than anyone else in the original work's comments.

"You... bastard—"

"The Golden Lion Knights."

The moment those words left my mouth, the Crown Prince stiffened.

The raid Adel and I had faced after our first banquet together.

Given my familiarity with the Imperial swordsmanship, it hadn't taken long to deduce the attackers' identities.

The Golden Lion Knights.

An order sworn to protect those of Imperial blood—a final weapon of the Empire, one that only the Emperor and the heir apparent could command.

What would happen if it became known that such forces had suddenly attacked a Duke, a pillar of the Empire, and his fiancée?

Well, the outcome was obvious.

What the Crown Prince had done was no different from declaring hostility against the Nobles. They'd be lucky if it didn't spark a full-blown rebellion.

Had he read my thoughts? His face paled in an instant.

"Did you think I wouldn't know?"

"H-How...?"

"His Majesty the Emperor would be heartbroken to learn of this."

Not that the madman was capable of such emotions, of course.

"...What do you want?"

At least he knew how to take a hint. But situational awareness? Still lacking. Even now, he refused to lower his head.

Then again, when had the Crown Prince of the Arieh Empire ever needed to mind his manners?

Thud!

"Guh—!"

My foot slammed into his armor, sending him crashing back into the tree with a pained groan.

His eyes trembled violently, startled by my sudden action.

"You still don't understand the situation, do you?"

I am the one in control here.

You are the one at my mercy.

"Your life is hanging by a thread right now—one that rests in my hands."

Would the Emperor really shield the Crown Prince once he learned of this reckless act?

Hard to say. But I doubt a man who butchered his own son without hesitation would extend such mercy.

More likely, he'd sever the Crown Prince himself—just another loose end to trim. To the Emperor, children were nothing more than tools for governance.

And the Crown Prince, having witnessed this truth closer than anyone, knew it better than most.

"...What is it you want?"

His neck remained stiff, but this was probably the best he could muster. Pressing him further would be pointless—better to cut to the chase.

"The Emperor's Sword—Luke von Shpenheim."

"...H-How do you—?"

His reaction to the title "Emperor's Sword" confirmed he wasn't entirely ignorant of Imperial affairs.

Did he even know that the Second Prince, Luke von Shpenheim, had become the Emperor's Sword?

Then again, he had only become Crown Prince after the Second Prince—once the legitimate heir—had been declared dead. It'd be stranger if he didn't know.

At one point, despite not being of the main bloodline, the Second Prince had been considered the strongest candidate for succession—surpassing even the First Prince, the man now before me.

"Where is his mother—Luka von Asrihi?"