The Crown Princess's Warning
Grind……! At Achillea's words, Leonhardt ground his teeth with such force that it sounded lethal. A murderous glint flickered in his sunken blue eyes, yet Achillea did not so much as blink.
"Shut your filthy mouth… you disgusting whore."
"Huhu, still as crude as ever, I see."
Even Leonhardt's vulgar insult failed to make Achillea flinch. If anything, her composed, almost leisurely demeanor only soured his mood further. He glared at her with bloodshot eyes, but she met his gaze with effortless poise before speaking again in a calm voice.
"Until now, I have paid no attention to whatever you chose to do."
"……."
Both Leonhardt and Silvia pressed their lips together and stared at her. Achillea continued, her posture regal and unyielding.
"You held no value to me whatsoever."
"……You crazy bitch."
"Keeping you around brought no benefit, nor did it require any effort on my part. After all, you were the type to destroy yourself without any help."
The reason Leonhardt had been allowed to remain in his position as a prince. At the same time, Achillea was personally dismantling every illusion he had clung to. The moment he heard her words, Leonhardt realized they were not merely her own thoughts. They reflected the opinions of the Second Prince—his own brother—the nobility, and everyone within the Imperial Palace.
"However."
Achillea's crimson eyes grew cold. Her gaze fixed solely on Leonhardt as she delivered her warning.
"That is no longer the case."
"Following that commoner girl around, insulting nobles and commoners alike, calling yourself the crown prince, and tarnishing the imperial family's honor through your actions—I will no longer overlook any of it."
Even seizing the position of a noble house's head required a bloody struggle. The Imperial Palace was no different; if anything, the stakes were far higher. The legitimate bloodline of the imperial family was always a blade aimed at the emperor's throat. In politics, enemies were inevitable, and one never knew when they might strike. Those who failed to become emperor either lost their lives or were forced to bow their heads. Yet Leonhardt had openly called himself the "crown prince," making it clear he coveted the throne. His stupidity and ignorance made him the perfect weapon for Achillea's enemies.
"Bow your head. Lower yourself. Cast your eyes down. Even your breathing should be cautious in my presence."
Once more, Achillea was warning him.
"If you wish to cling to your wretched life."
Achillea had endured countless hardships on her path to becoming crown princess. Nobles—and even commoners—had viewed her with suspicion, calling her a descendant of vampires. After the First Prince's accidental death, despite being the strongest candidate, the nobles had ignored and belittled her, openly suggesting the Second Prince should be named crown prince instead. But now? The crown princess's investiture was within reach, and the nobles who supported her were steadfast. Those who had once mocked and refused to follow her now lay prostrate, not daring to breathe too loudly. Achillea remembered every slight and had no intention of letting her position crumble.
"The only reason I have not taken your insignificant life is because you share the emperor's blood."
Same father, different mother. Same seed, different womb. That alone earned him this mercy. It was also a testament to her confidence that Leonhardt could never become a threat, no matter how many times he died and revived.
"So bow your head of your own accord. Do nothing else to draw attention to yourself. That is the only way you will survive."
Leonhardt possessed no talent, no powerful backers, and not even a decent personality. Achillea, who had shown him mercy despite all that, exhaled slowly and fixed him with the same steady gaze. In truth, her mood was far from pleasant. Seeing her foolish younger brother still causing trouble, combined with the annoyance of being dragged into such a petty matter when she already had mountains of pressing issues, had left her irritated. Of course, she showed none of it outwardly. Revealing her emotions would only hand her enemies a weakness.
"……You insane bitch."
Achillea had been calmly observing Leonhardt's reaction when his voice reached her, forcing a deep sigh from her lips.
"So you've chosen the worst possible option."
The best choice would have been to lower his head and leave. He should have either clung to her skirts while wailing or accepted everything and departed. Instead, Leonhardt's eyes burned with fury, his voice thick with hatred. The mana swirling around him confirmed he had chosen the worst path.
"Bow my head? Don't even breathe too loudly…? Don't make me laugh. I am… I am…!"
"……Hah."
"I am Leonhardt fil Hamen Ulais!! Who dares command me to bow my head?!"
Leonhardt's voice cracked as he poured out his resentment. Achillea found even that pathetic.
"What exactly are you so bitter about?"
"……Shut up!!"
"You have never put in any effort or taken any action. What could possibly make you wear such an expression?"
"Shut your mouth!!"
As Leonhardt screamed with veins bulging in his neck, Achillea frowned and shook her head.
"The only thing you have ever done well is being born as His Majesty's son."
"Aaaaaagh!!"
Being born a member of the imperial family by sheer luck—that single fact was the only reason Leonhardt existed before her. From a young age, he had consumed and applied countless elixirs worth hundreds of thousands, even millions of gold for magic. He had studied under the continent's greatest tower master. Despite receiving benefits others could only dream of, he had entered the magic department as merely the second-ranked student. When the First Prince died, many nobles had flocked to Leonhardt just as they had to the Second Prince. Yet he had squandered their trust through his arrogant and reckless behavior. In the end, he had thrown away everything he possessed with his own hands. Achillea had absorbed it all. Though it had not been his intention, she had shown him a measure of mercy because of it. But even that mercy, Leonhardt had just discarded completely.
From Leonhardt's hand, a vivid red—yet deeply black—flame surged upward. No matter how foolish and dull he might be, the magic he had honed through millions of gold in elixirs and the tower master's near-brainwashing education blazed with genuine threat. Achillea still did not blink. Her utter lack of concern finally snapped the last thread of Leonhardt's sanity.
"Dieeeee!!"
Whoosh——!! The black flames formed a sphere and tore through the air. Achillea watched the blazing orb, which looked ready to incinerate anything it touched and explode at any moment.
"……You have to dodge!!"
Only Silvia, standing beside her, let out a horrified scream and tried to pull Achillea away, but Achillea remained rooted in place.
"So, if you are going to throw away even my mercy……"
Then disappear. As Achillea murmured this and slowly raised her hand—or rather, was about to—someone else leaped in front of her and Silvia.
"……You crazy bastard!!"
If not for the boy who had thrown himself between them, she would have completed the motion. If Leonhardt's magic was a pitch-black burning flame, the hair whipping before their eyes now was a true, vivid red. The blazing crimson naturally drew their gazes. Felice had jumped between the massive fireball—magic so powerful that even an artifact or a mage's aid would struggle to block it—and the two women. He bit his lower lip hard and glared at the sphere of flames.
It was reckless. Cutting through magic with a sword was no easy feat. It was certainly not something an ordinary academy student could accomplish. Yet Achillea could not raise her hand. The boy's eyes—Felice's deep, dark eyes—were not shining with a brilliant golden light. No, it was the resolve shining within that golden gaze that reached her.
"Huu……."
With a short exhale, he raised his sword. It was a motion he had performed tens, hundreds, thousands of times. Felice gripped the hilt tightly and stared at the fireball until the very end.
He would cut it. The sword fell from above. The fireball was already upon him; there was no dodging or fleeing.
"No……!!"
Silvia squeezed her eyes shut and let out a piercing scream, unable to watch. But his sword did not waver.
Swish. His blade bisected the fireball vertically. Magic did not vanish simply because it was cut by a sword. Only by severing the mana core connected to the spell could the magic truly dissipate. That was not something one could achieve by chance. If it could not be seen, it could not be cut. In other words, Felice's strike should have been a futile gesture.
Knowing this, Leonhardt's lips curled into a sneer. He was disappointed that the filthy whore Achillea would not burn, but watching that unpleasant Felice burn to death would not be so bad either.
'Die, you insect.'
The bastard who had coveted what was his… and stolen it. Leonhardt cursed the bug inwardly, yet……
……The expected explosion never came, forcing him to furrow his brow.
'……He cut the magic?'
Only then did Leonhardt grasp the situation. The sphere of flames, which should not have been cut if it could not be seen, had been cleanly bisected. Felice stood with perfect posture, sword lowered, quietly catching his breath. Untouched by even a speck of the flames, he stood there with arrogant composure. Only the brief gust of hot wind that had swept past confirmed that magic had occupied that space moments ago.