The King and the Crown Prince (3)
"Roy Greenhilt, third son of House Greenhilt, presents himself before His Majesty the King."
The king already knew everything that had been discussed that morning; the prince had reported it all in advance. For Roy, that meant he would not have to repeat himself, which suited him perfectly.
Before long, everyone but the prince and Roy had withdrawn from the royal study. It was the king's command. Attendants, officials, and even the knights filed out without the slightest concern that anything improper might occur. After all, the two men remaining with the boy possessed the greatest reserves of mana in the entire Steel Kingdom. A mere twelve-year-old could never so much as approach them, even if he rose from the dead—who, then, needed to worry about whom?
"I have heard your tale. I remember well the medal I sent you for the merit of slaying an ogre."
Roy had worn the medal on his shoulder for the occasion. What else was one supposed to do with a scrap of metal like that, if not display it at a moment like this?
"You are still very young. How old are you this year?"
"Eleven, Your Majesty. I have only just entered the Knight Academy."
Roy's birthday had not yet come around; he was still eleven. Only after the autumn would he turn twelve.
"Young indeed. And yet they say you brought down an ogre when you were a full four years younger still. It is difficult to believe."
Roy gave a brief account of how he had felled the ogre.
"...and that is how I caught it. It was a matter of quick thinking rather than pure strength on my part."
"I see. Yet that only makes it more remarkable. To display such wit at so tender an age—your cleverness is no ordinary thing."
The prince added his voice in support.
"He is a bright child. They say he has already inherited every technique from his master. One look at the sword I showed you earlier will leave no doubt."
"Hmm. The words you spoke to the prince were true, I trust?"
"Yes, Your Majesty. This humble one has uttered no falsehood."
Roy answered with perfect shamelessness.
In the end, things went exactly as Roy had hoped—though not regarding the Dragon's Breath. The matter at hand was the supply of enchanted weapons for the army stationed along the border.
"The Amin Trading Company will secure every material you require, along with the weapons to be enchanted, and deliver them to your doorstep."
"Might they be sent not to my home, but to another location?"
"Where?"
"I have purchased a building for use as a laboratory. I have already set up a workshop there; sending everything to that place would spare us unnecessary trouble."
"Very well. Discuss such particulars directly with the Amin Trading Company."
"I shall do so. And I must ask that security be kept absolute."
"That goes without saying. The Amin Trading Company has stood with us for many long years. You need only guard your own tongue."
"I will take that to heart."
Because the transaction was with the royal house itself, Roy saw little need to worry over security. The last thing the king himself would want was for word to spread that a mere boy was supplying enchanted arms. Should the enemy kingdoms learn of it, they would make him their foremost target. If Roy were killed or abducted as a result, the kingdom would find itself at a grave disadvantage in the coming war.
"A contract has already been prepared. Before you leave, meet the master of the Amin Trading Company together with Aron and review it."
"As you command, Your Majesty."
"Now then—let us move on to the next matter."
The most basic deal had been struck. Once the contract was signed, a fortune would come rolling into Roy's hands. Within a few months he would likely earn a sum that surpassed everything he had made over the past four years.
"The next matter, Your Majesty...?"
"I speak of the sword you gave to Aron."
"Is there some problem with that blade?"
Roy played innocent. He was already set to make a killing from the enchanted-weapon contract alone; to start talking of gifts and demand further compensation now would leave a thoroughly sour impression. That was the last thing Roy—who still hungered for the Dragon's Breath—wanted. Even if it meant losing four hundred gold coins.
Two hundred, actually. The remaining masterwork sword is still sitting perfectly safe in the manor.
The king answered the question of whether anything was amiss.
"Nothing is wrong. It is a splendid piece—fine enough to serve as the heirloom of any house. My son received so precious a gift, and as both king of this realm and his father I cannot simply close my eyes and pretend I never saw it. If there is something you desire, speak."
"Forgive me, but nothing comes to mind. Whatever Your Majesty deigns to bestow, I shall accept with gratitude."
"Mm... This part is always the most difficult."
"Your Majesty, you might grant him the thing I mentioned earlier—"
"Quiet, Aron."
"...Yes, Your Majesty."
Roy clicked his tongue inwardly. Whatever the prince had been about to suggest was surely the very thing Roy himself was thinking of. From their perspective, handing it over to a baron's bloodline would pose no real threat. Yet without knowing precisely what materials it required or in what quantities, Roy had never expected them to part with it lightly. An object of that value demanded either matching payment or a proper justification.
Justification!
First and foremost, Roy wanted to examine the state of the king and crown prince's mana. Simply announcing that he meant to put on his goggles, however, would not fit the moment. Then a single idea flashed through his mind.
"Ah—there is one request that has just occurred to me."
The sudden declaration that he wanted something after all drew faintly displeased looks from both men. Only moments earlier he had said he would accept any reward; now their disappointment was plain.
Look at them change their tune the instant I actually ask for something.
"Speak. What is it you desire?"
Roy shifted his gaze to the prince.
"The sword His Highness wears at his waist—"
He had not even finished the sentence when the prince's rebuke exploded.
"Insolence! Do you have any idea what that object is? Have I misjudged you entirely? Did you not yourself say that neither you nor your master could fashion anything so fine? Or has a full belly after lunch simply made you greedy!?"
What Roy had mentioned was the ancient relic sword at the prince's hip—the only one of its kind in the entire kingdom, and First Prince Aron's beloved blade. Judging by the prince's reaction, he cherished it deeply.
"Calm yourself, Prince."
"Your Majesty, this is the moment to take a firm rod to that greedy little brat."
"Let us hear his reason first. His face suggests he has rather a lot to say."
"......"
"Roy. Do you covet the Spirit Prince's sword?"
"Not at all."
"Then what?"
"All I ask is to examine the blade for the briefest of moments."
"Examine it?"
"Yes. As you already know, I possess a certain talent for enchantment. Though it shames me to admit, I also harbor the ambition of one day surpassing even Master Geren. For the sake of my future studies, I wish to look upon a relic that holds ancient magic with my own eyes. When else might I ever have the chance to see something so extraordinary? If I have been discourteous, I beg your forgiveness."
"No. Aron, it seems you jumped to conclusions. You ought to have listened until he finished speaking."
Aron's face flushed scarlet. The shame was his own; he felt no lingering anger toward Roy over the matter. The disappointment the father and son had shown only moments before vanished without a trace. If anything, Aron now felt a budding sense of guilt for the misunderstanding. Everything was unfolding exactly as Roy had planned.
"If that is all, it is no great hardship. Is it not so?"
"Of course, Your Majesty."
Aron stepped forward at once and offered the sword from his waist.
"Look your fill."
"Thank you. And... if I may be so shameless as to ask one more small favor?"
This time Aron remained silent.
"What is it?"
"I would like to examine the sword a little more closely. May I summon my spirit? It is only a spirit—my eyes will simply change color a little."
"Your eyes?"
"Yes. Because of the meager mana I possess, my spirit finds it difficult to manifest fully. I usually summon only a portion of its body."
"And why summon it now?"
"Objects that hold magic like this relic can only have their secrets interpreted through a spirit's eyes. It does not always work, of course, but one learns far more than by looking with ordinary sight alone."
"Oh-ho? Very well—do as you please."
Roy activated his Golden Eyes at once. The king and crown prince watched the sudden change with keen interest. Yet Roy's words had been a lie. His sole purpose was to check the king's mana.
This cannot be...
Roy nearly fainted on the spot. The king's mana was so vast that it was fully three times greater even than Prince Aron's. How could a man of fifty-odd years possess such an ocean of power?
Did he drink one or two more elixirs than the prince? Or has the prince yet to take any at all...? No. That is impossible.
When Roy stared only at them instead of the sword, father and son grew puzzled.
"Hm? What is it you can see?"
Roy hastily collected himself and, to paper over the moment, cast a Silent Casting. A meaningless magic circle flickered into existence in midair and vanished just as quickly. The effect, however, was outstanding. The audience began assigning their own significance to the display.
"Oh! Just now—something definitely flashed!"
"I saw it as well. It was unmistakably a magic circle, Your Majesty."
Roy quickly reined in his mana. He could not afford to waste any more of it on an empty show.
"Thank you. I have seen enough."
"Did you learn anything?"
"Regrettably, no. My mana is far too weak; I could not begin to interpret the essence of magic left by the ancient mages. Forgive me."
"There is nothing to forgive. One cannot help how one is born. It is all right. The skills you already possess are a treasure to this kingdom."
"You honor me too highly, Your Majesty."
I have emphasized enough that my lack of mana is the problem, and I have made clear that I possess techniques no one else has. Time to withdraw for now, perhaps?
There was no helping it. How wonderful it would be to receive the Breath right here and drink it on the spot—but an object of that value was not something one simply handed over, and it would have to be taken in secret, thoroughly concealed.
I would never give it away either, were I in their place.
He had secured the supply contract; from here he needed only to apply pressure little by little. The chance would come. Roy intended to reveal his abilities piece by piece and leave the king and prince salivating. Show them an Amulet and they would be astonished all over again; after that, armor reinforcement...
He would play the part of a genius boy whose techniques kept advancing while his mana alone held him back—a tragedy that would make them desperate to see him grow.
I have to make them itch to raise me themselves.
It was a grand design. For now, patience was required.
Damn it...
A bitter taste filled his mouth. Then the king before him began to say something unexpected.
"Roy. If your mana were to increase, do you believe you could create relics like that sword yourself?"
Something is coming...
Roy instantly grasped the implication behind the king's words.
Shall I forge the justification right here and now?
"Your Majesty. Because I am still so young, I imagine you find it difficult to place your full trust in me. Therefore I have something I wish to show you. May I demonstrate?"
"Show me."
It is a pity to use this so soon, but the Dragon's Breath is on the line...
With a resolute expression, Roy made his request of the king.
"Your Highness—cut off my arm this very moment."
"......!?"
"......!?"
Facing the utterly stunned father and son, Roy added one more line.
"I am certain you will find it impossible without using mana."