Forcibly Drafted into the Academy - 5
Oath of Chivalry has not been fully fulfilled.
A number of Knights' Stars express dissatisfaction with your chivalry.
What the fuck—!!!
These pervy assholes up there started flipping out over this outcome that satisfied everyone. Fine, fuck it. Should I have stabbed the second prince in the head or something? Hey, I'm not doing it. If you're pissed, jump down here yourselves.
Seeing those bastards just standing up there gawking and throwing tantrums because they don't like it made my biceps twitch like they were about to rip this tuxedo to shreds. That'd just add public indecency to the charges. Fucking bullshit.
Now I've got a reason to reach those stars no matter what. I'll bulk up huge and shove a sword right in their faces.
A number of Knights' Stars acknowledge your chivalry.
However, among that swarm of stars, there were some actual knightly knights, it seems.
Knight's Star, Lionheart Knight, expresses dissatisfaction with your actions.
Knight's Star, Old Sword Knight, acquiesces that bare-handed combat can also be an honorable duel.
Knight's Star, Indestructible Knight, expresses dissatisfaction, stating bare-handed combat cannot be a proper duel.
Knight's Star, Saintly Virgin Knight, counters that there could be no better outcome than this.
Knight's Star, Cross-Dressing Knight...
The notifications kept pouring in. Before I knew it, the Knights' Stars had split into factions and were bickering via messages.
To sum it up: the boomer faction insisting that bare-handed combat in a sacred duel was unacceptable, versus the real knights saying a duel is a duel—win it, and it's acknowledged.
Ding! Ding! Ding!
Their debate heated up.
Knight's Star, Lionheart Knight, raises an axe.
Knight's Star, Sun Knight, raises a holy sword.
Now they'd decided to settle it with a duel among themselves, drawing swords and all.
Just fight quick and get it over with. But can they even fight?
And then—zzzt!
The overheating notifications suddenly cut out.
Ding!
Two new ones popped up in the air.
The Oath of Chivalry has not yet concluded.
Prove your chivalry to the Knights' Stars.
Fuck that, I'm not doing it. Why the hell should I? Throw down a gauntlet or something? I've already done everything—defied the prince, kept Isabella from getting slapped, dueled the prince. I've done it all! Whatever, hit me with the penalty. Let's see what your fancy penalty's like, fuckers.
"Ian de Logres."
The second prince spoke up. I looked down at his words, and he gazed up at me with a relieved expression. My guts were churning right now, but he looked like he'd hit the jackpot.
As I kept mentally cursing the world...
"Having tested you this far, I've felt enough, Ian de Logres."
Suddenly, the second prince was acting like a proper romance-novel male lead, all polite. Both Angelica and Isabella reacted with surprise at his changed demeanor.
Why the sudden formal speech? Stick to casual like before...
"You know the future, don't you?"
What? The prince's dagger words stabbed right into my chest.
Angelica's eyes widened slightly. Isabella's eyes went wide, her body trembling.
How the hell did he jump to that conclusion? It's similar, but...
I stayed silent as the prince continued his deduction.
"When we dueled bare-handed, you countered every move of mine as if you knew them all."
"Because I'm a genius."
"No genius could parry those moves without thought. But you didn't hesitate."
He narrowed his eyes, laying out his reasoning. It was chilling how half of it was spot-on. Right intro, wrong conclusion. Should I have fumbled a bit more?
My head hurt. This pattern never showed up in the game.
The prince, oblivious or not to my nerves...
"I'm kidding. Just testing. Ian."
He laughed it off. Up and down, up and down—pure push-pull masterclass. Fuck, what do I even do? My life hangs on this guy's mood. Like a fish on the chopping block.
And can you drop the formal talk? It's cringey as hell.
"Whether you see the future or not, it doesn't matter anymore. I just have something to ask you. Answer that, and we're good."
His face hardened.
I'm fucked! He's calling the guards now!
"If someone lost their way, unable to find the path no matter how they tried—what would you do, Sir Ian?"
What the hell is this?
"I'd poke around till I found it."
"If countless people with countless chances fail to find it? And you learn someone else could use those chances better?"
...
"Then that person must have some use."
This was a pattern I'd never heard. Even playing as the heroine, I'd never seen the prince like this. Sure, only 29 playthroughs, so maybe hidden piece... But I never expected to counsel the male lead after transmigrating.
They want me to film Our Prince Has Changed or some shit?
The world perishes. This is no coincidence—it's an inevitability of the future.
I witnessed the downfall. The day eternally charging knights fell pathetically. The day arrogant tower mages abandoned this world. The day god-worshipping priests cursed unresponsive gods.
The dawn that should have come was buried in night without reason. And when I was suddenly thrust into that seat, it was already too late.
A seat I'd once dreamed of but deemed unworthy and discarded. Once admired, now nothing but shackles. Not lofty glory—just a doormat.
But even thrust there by others, it became a new dawn. Seated on that empty throne, I met the eyes of the watching masses one by one. Steadying thoughts of What if not me? What becomes of this nation?
I tossed aside my hobby of dueling as folly from the past. In a perishing world, fruitless duels were useless.
Just seated on that throne by chance, slowing this empire's doom even a little—that was my task.
I shouted confidently, Let's stop the end once!
Humanity's full force. United all races. United all nations. Formed an unprecedented alliance. Waged an unprecedented war. Faced an unprecedented doom.
Yet the five unyielding pillars crumbled first, dominoes falling one by one. Elves, beastkin, dwarves—none withstood doom.
Some cried for a hero. But that's fairy-tale delusion—no hero exists.
They perished calling unresponsive gods, meeting their resentful eyes one by one until I reached here.
Where did it go wrong? Even late, we forged an alliance never seen before or since—yet all crumbled before doom.
Watching doom approach for 100 days. Bearing their eyes for 1,000 days gone. Finally, realization dawned.
From the start. From the very start. I should never have sat here.
From the start, my brother should have. My more capable brother to lead them.
Then maybe we'd delayed doom longer.
Vomiting blood as doom neared, I returned to my pre-doom room, unbroken.
Returned, before doom began. Surely divine revelation. Gods unresponsive to endless cries—but what else to call this?
Doom revealed my absence aids the future more. Without me, it'd resolve somehow.
But that alone didn't solve it. Even witnessing doom, I lacked courage to die.
Lived as wastrel. Discarded the passion to stop doom again without even death's courage.
Just hoped no one sought Second Prince Kyle. Even Isabella forcing betrothal.
Spoke harshly to sever ties. When she slapped me, demanded annulment—finally leaving, I thought. Raised my hand to fully break it.
But someone grabbed my wrist. One claiming Ian de Logres. He blocked me, challenged to duel.
Duel. Past hobby, discarded. Did he know what challenging me to duel meant?
Intrigued, I accepted. Laid countless moves—shattered blatantly. As if he knew my future.
Long time since dueling someone and getting dismantled without a single move landing. Just like facing doom in my past life...
But no displeasure. Facing inevitable defeat felt like seeing my younger self, hopeful and charging.
Suddenly, I approached that casual duel with seriousness.
Was challenging me to duel for this? Even when I moved to strike Isabella, he blocked a prince bare-handed—like a fairy-tale knight.
Maybe to enlighten me. Perhaps he's from the future too.
Curious what choice he'd make in that seat.
Second Prince, Kyle de Astoria. The wastrel act is just performance—he's a regressor from the future.
His wastrel act ties to regression. But artbook only mentions Regressed from ruined world, so acts wastrel. Game never explains.
Just Saw doom, decided to be wastrel. DLC IF without heroine? Still wastrel there.
Regressor trait, but reason for wastrel? MacGuffin. Scared of doom? Cursed to act like me with chivalry? Real reason?
I don't know his ordeal. But his fuckups got Isabella poisoned—hard to see him kindly.
So, unsure what to say...
"Why would he be useless?"
I blurted something.
"Pardon?"
"Why useless? Think countless people and chances were given to him for nothing?"
If truly useless, better absent—no chances, no people.
"How do you confirm someone else uses them better?"
"Because he's more capable..."
"He didn't gather the people."
He fell silent at my words.
"Just do your best from where you stand."
"Maybe him there was the better choice, not me?"
"That's clueless."
Even if third prince sat instead, race/nation unity might fail from start. In DLC world without heroine, second prince was wastrel like main story—but later rallied all, fought doom. Lost, but third prince took baton, beat final boss.
Prince sees self as failure. But with or without heroine, third prince—unknown to him—finishes what he starts.
"Even if meaningless, as long as someone carries the baton, it has meaning. We just run till we reach the stars."
Don't run—charge toward distant stars. Even if we fail exhausted.
"If we don't reach, others will walk the path we paved."
Trust those who follow. So quit moping like protagonist syndrome.
I wanted to say that.
"Is that so... Paved path... to the stars..."
Something dawned; he muttered.
"Why didn't I see something so simple..."
He chuckled hollowly.
"What is your dream, Ian? As a prince, I want to hear it."
Like Alfred. Why do listeners always ask my dream? No idea what it has to do with princes.
"Dream? Well."
Still.
"Gonna be a knight."
"Not hard for you."
"Nah, not that kind of knight."
"I know, Sir Ian."
Pointed to his wrist, smiled.
"Anyone brave enough to grab my wrist will surely reach it."
Your efforts have rewritten the protagonist Kyle's fate.
This world diverges slightly from the doom-scheduled world, heading toward the DLC route.
"Unbelievable, now of all times..."
Isabella, who'd watched from duel to prince's redemption, looked conflicted. Ultimately, the second prince accepted her annulment letter, apologizing for everything.
But even seeing that, she wasn't in a forgiving mood. She knew he quit wastrel act, but his antics killed her once—or at least suspected—so forgiving wouldn't be easy.
Time'll sort it. Anyway, this duel bullshit took forever. Should be wrapping up.
And then.
You have impressed your chivalry upon another.
Reward for the Oath of Chivalry will be granted.
The peeping toms up top were satisfied too. Check rewards later. Time to head back to the banquet.
"Let go now."
Suddenly Isabella grabbed my collar, refusing to release.
Keep gripping and you'll rip the tux. Really.
"What makes you think I'd send you back to the banquet without knowing what you'll say inside?"
"This Ian's lips are sealed tight as my biceps."
Let go already, it'll tear for real. You let the prince go. Why hold me? Angelica heard too.
"Oh my, Ian."
A welcome voice from somewhere. Donnesia!
Never so glad. More than real-world reunion.
"You vanished so long, I wondered where you'd gone."
I looked toward Donnesia's voice.
And there...
"Never thought you'd be chatting here. With two ladies, no less."
Donnesia stood with a shadowed face, lips smiling. Not the relief pitcher I hoped?