Chapter 130: A Pathetic Son
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 130: A Pathetic Son
“Damn it!”
Emerging from the Archduke’s Castle, the Prince kicked a piece of debris on the street.
Despite his huffing and puffing, tears were welling in his eyes.
A man’s tears. Rare and precious.
However, even those precious tears were useless if there was no one around to see them.
Scratching his head aggressively, he recalled the conversation he’d had with his father back in the castle.
“Hus is… becoming independent…?”
“Yes, Father! Alto Bertrand said that if we support their independence, he’ll take care of everything—the Black Rose Movement, the Dungeon Backflow, all of it!”
“…Even after handing over Donovan and Levantello?”
“Aren’t they just ambiguous nobodies anyway? You’ve got them tucked away in some rural corner where they can’t even go anywhere.”
“You utter fool…”
“Pardon?”
In his frail state, the Archduke couldn’t even muster the strength to scold him properly.
Archduke Marcin instinctively knew that the Duchy would end with his generation.
“War veterans… even if they are no longer of use, they are symbols in themselves… They represent the prestige of the Duchy…”
“Ha! But Father, weren’t you the first one to look the other way when that Yobeste fellow had his wife and child taken from him?”
Did you think this day would never come, you idiot?
The Archduke felt like vomiting blood, seeing his own son sit there bringing up his father’s past shames.
Marcin, who had once led the Duchy with a robust physique, had lost all his muscle; now, he could do little more than huff through his nose.
“That… was the doing of his tribe’s representative… and it was because they made a deal with us… But that… was my blunder. Posterity will mock me for it…”
It was a truly painful mistake.
If he had comforted Yobeste and kept him alive, the man—sensitive as he was to demonic energy—would have been the first to notice the Dungeon Backflow disguised as the Black Rose Movement and organized a defensive line.
If he had, things wouldn't have turned out like this.
Never.
“This is the price… for mistreating a hero… And yet, you are doing the exact same thing…”
“Father! I only did what I learned from watching you!”
He wanted to hit him. If only his body were intact, he would have beaten some sense into the boy.
If only the boy’s late mother, who had been frail herself, hadn't made him promise on her deathbed never to teach with his fists, he might have turned the boy into a decent man by now.
“Besides, I’ve even offloaded Aztera—which was nothing but a cancerous growth—to them. I’ve disposed of both the dead weight and the cancer in one fell swoop, so why are you acting like this!”
“Aztera…? You even handed over Aztera…?”
“What’s the point of keeping a place that’s nothing more than a breeding ground for the undead?”
The Archduke’s eyes darted around the room.
There was no one.
Not a single minister or servant was attending to the Archducal family.
It was cold.
A sudden, piercing chill made the Archduke feel utterly desolate.
He had to admit it now.
He had been arrogant, and his rule had been a failure.
How could a man who couldn't even raise his own child properly expect to govern a nation?
Holding back a wheezing breath, he looked at his son.
Finally, he admitted another truth.
This son of his was absolutely not kingly material.
Still, if the Duchy were to continue, he might have pinned his hopes on a grandson.
He had wanted to berate the Prince for his absurdity and sheer incompetence, but realizing that everything was already over, Marcin decided to give up.
Even so, he had to carve out a path for the boy to survive, hoping that a great figure might one day be born from this pathetic bloodline to succeed him.
He tried to lift his head, but it was impossible.
His body refused to listen after a lifetime of overexertion in his youth.
“Un… under the pillow…”
“What?”
“The pillow… under the pillow…”
“What is it?”
“Look… under my… pillow…”
“Huh?”
“The Archducal Seal is under the pillow, you brat!!!”
“Why are you shouting at me?!”
“Huff… huff…”
It was hopeless. The son only shouted back at his father, unable to understand a thing.
“Take it… just take it… Take it and go to Hus…”
“I already have an agreement. Why would I take the seal to Hus?”
“Just go… The Duchy is finished…”
“What are you talking about?!”
The Prince couldn't accept the truth.
Or rather, he simply couldn't grasp the situation.
He didn't understand what it meant that there was no one around them. He didn't realize that the women outside shouting about "love" were already dead—undead repeating the same words like parrots—and that they symbolized the Duchy’s irreversible downfall.
“Just you wait! I will surely overcome this crisis and gain independence from the Kingdom, just like Hus!”
“You… you brat…!”
“Just watch! Watch the foundation of the Duchy that your son will build!”
In the end, he left without even checking under the pillow.
“You pathetic excuse for a son…”
It wasn't just dejection; it was a sense of utter futility.
Could a nation really fall this hollowly?
How did it come to this?
He knew now.
Only now, on the verge of death and ready to let go of all lingering attachments, did his vision clear.
“The manly men, the loyal subjects… they all died on the battlefield trying to save the Duchy.”
To govern the country, he had kept the nobles, the wealthy, and their children in the rear to keep them alive.
Along with his own son.
“At the very least… I should have shown them… even if only as part of a military band.”
He should have shown them the backs of true heroes.
Not in the safety of the far rear, but even from behind the front lines, he should have made them witness and understand the sacrifice and devotion of the fallen patriots.
“I held them close because they were precious… and in doing so, I caused them to wither…”
Gurgle.
He was hungry.
The Archduke, who had once crossed swords with Kings, was now reduced to making pathetic stomach growls, lying in an empty bed waiting for death.
He wept miserably. The warrior who once galloped across battlefields had, at some point, become a coward who feared combat and cherished his own life too much.
Would that boy know? That this was the last time he would see his father?
With trembling hands, he fumbled under the pillow.
He never imagined the ivory seal would feel this heavy.
Clutching it with both hands, he placed it upon his chest.
This way, even when he died, it would be easily found.
Marcin prayed that the person who found it would be his son, no matter how pathetic he was.
Gurgle.
“Pfft…!”
Despite his grim resolve, a sigh and a tear escaped him, born from the embarrassment of his hunger.
He regretted everything; he loathed his past self.
*
“Damn it! Once the support from Hus arrives… once Alto Bertrand gets here, this crisis will be over.”
Unaware of the state in which his father awaited death, the Prince was still sitting on a pile of rubble, scratching his head.
He scratched so hard that scabs had formed and his skin was flaky, but he didn't care.
“When the hell are they coming?!”
At some point, the Prince had begun to take his solitude for granted.
It was natural, after all.
Everyone who had stayed by his side was dead.
Actually, it was slightly different.
It wasn't that those by his side had died; it was that the things by his side had tried to run away and leave him, only to die on their own.
Who would truly stay by his side?
He didn't have to worry about such things once everyone was dead.
“We want our own Alto!”
“Hey! You’re not even human, what do you need an Alto for?! It’s me! I’m the one who needs Alto!”
“Me too.”
“Huh?!”
He looked around.
Coming from straight ahead, not from anywhere else, was a woman dragging a long, pitch-black needle-like spear.
“Are you a citizen of the Duchy?”
“I’m from the Kingdom. Hehe… hihi…”
“What is a woman from the Kingdom doing here? Are you even alive?”
At the reasonable suspicion, Mirei wore a look of surprise.
“I thought all you nobles were idiots, but I guess you’re not at the absolute bottom. Hehe…”
“How dare you! I am the Prince of this country!”
“A Prince with nothing left, My Lord. What are you going to do about the undead approaching from right over there?”
“Alto Bertrand is supposed to come. I just have to hold out!”
“Alto Bertrand is coming here?”
“That’s right! If you want to earn some merit, help me defend this place!”
He was a Prince after all, it seemed.
To be that confident in such a state.
Mirei reached into her pocket and pulled out a tattered piece of paper.
“What’s that?”
“Hero-rank adventurers can receive personal quests. Usually only about once a year.”
The request form the Prince took already had details written on it.
The content was simple.
In the face of the Duchy’s crisis, Mirei would join forces with Alto Bertrand to clear the dungeon.
“Mirei…?”
“You know me?”
“Of course I do.”
A look of disgust crossed the Prince’s eyes.
“Aren’t you that ungrateful bitch who was fooling around with Alto Bertrand in Lukart?”
“……”
“The Duchy has not fallen so far that we need to ask for help from a filthy woman like you. Get lost, you harlot!”
“……”
“I said get lost!”
“…Heh~.”
Mirei clutched her chest.
“That really hurts. Hu, hi, hihihi… heh…”
Mirei gritted her teeth, stumbling back a few steps as if she’d been struck by an arrow.
Tears flowed, but they were filled with rage rather than remorse.
“Damn it, picking the wrong woman and causing such a ridiculous mess… Alto, you went and hurt my masterpiece…!”
It seemed like she was holding back tears, but it was soon clear she was suppressing laughter.
Sensing a strange dissonance from Mirei that was different from the undead, the Prince clumsily balled his hands into fists and took a stance.
“You… you’re definitely not sane.”
“Shut up. Just put your thumbprint or whatever on this. I’ll protect you.”
She thrust the request form at him.
The Prince clenched his fists tighter.
“Insolent! I am the Prin—!”
CRACK!
The iron shaft of the spear slammed into his skull.
The Prince collapsed, only one eye open.
His head was dented, but he seemed to be alive.
“Ah, his fists are clenched, so I can’t get a thumbprint.”
After a moment’s thought, Mirei saw the blood flowing from his nose and mouth and simply rubbed the request form all over the Prince’s face.
“With this… the contract is sealed, right?”
With a creepy, wide grin, Mirei lifted the spear she had been dragging and propped it on her shoulder.
“Now then, shall we head to Aztera!”